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(i) Luna apparated back home, her hand firmly clasped around Draco’s wrist because he was too drunk to apparate on his own. Left to his own devices, he probably would have splinched. She wondered if it was something Astoria had said to him. Why were they fighting? She’d have to ask Draco on the off chance that he would actually confide in her. He wouldn’t. He hadn’t even told her that he liked Astoria. Luna had seen it in the discomfiture of his eyes when he’d looked at Astoria at their wedding and the candid desire in Astoria’s pretty eyes when she looked at Draco. When it became apparent that Draco wouldn’t lift a finger to open the gate of the manor, because that was literally all Draco had to do to open the gate since he was of Malfoy blood, Luna sighed and moved forward. She extended her hand and rested the top of her wedding band against the gate. The metal melted away instantly. The wedding band was a rather late addition. Draco had given it to her after they’d come back from their honeymoon. Rings were not a part of wizarding marriage ceremonies – they didn’t need them because they had magical spells to make up the binding aspect of a marriage which rings signified in Muggle ceremonies. In the centuries of coexistence, though, the practice had seeped into the wizarding communities as well. Luna had been more than happy with her engagement ring because she believed Draco would never pay any heed to the Muggle-adopted practice and buy her a wedding band as well. But he had. Luna had shuddered involuntarily when Draco had told her that the goblin who’d made her ring had infused it with a drop of Draco’s blood. Draco had laughed at her reaction. He’d told her that brides of the Malfoy family had worn rings infused with their husbands’ blood for centuries, mainly to ensure that they could get into their own homes. The gate of the manor would only open for someone with Malfoy blood. For Luna that meant wearing a ring that had been tempered with Draco’s blood if she ever wanted to get inside the house by herself. The thought still made her shiver even though it was one of the rather tamer practices among pureblood families. Lost in her thoughts, Luna was the first to enter the house. She was startled, thus, to find herself pinned against a wall almost as soon as they were inside the foyer. Draco’s face was inches from hers, and even though she’d known that he was sulking (she’d attributed it to his disagreement with Astoria) she didn’t think that he would be as angry as he looked. Draco looked thunderous. Stranging enough, his sudden movement - and the fact that he had her essentially trapped against a wall - didn't freak Luna out at all. Draco leaned on a forearm that he’d slapped on the wall next to Luna’s head even as his other arm stayed by his side. She saw his wand slip out of his sleeve and clatter onto the floor. It was his way of telling her that she wasn’t trapped after all, that she was free to elbow him out of the way and go her merry way if she wanted to. Luna understood his meaning as clearly as if he’d said the words. This was it. Actions like these made it impossible for her to not trust Draco. Even drunk out of his mind, clearly angry and towering over Luna, he did not feel like a threat. Luna tilted her head up to look into his eyes. The stormy grey irises that she’d grown so familiar to in recent times burned with intensity and she found it hard to look away. She’d never seen him like this before. Draco was an expert at concealing his emotions. He had a splendid poker face that he usually employed with people he didn’t know. The people he did know were most likely subjected to either a disdainful snarl or a superior smirk. Luna had only recently seen him genuinely smile. The kind that crinkled his eyes and made his irises bloom. He was not smiling now. His jaw was clenched, eyes shimmering with unrestrained emotion, face flushed as he looked down at her. Luna gulped. Who knew Draco Malfoy had a tempestuous storm chained inside him that loosened with alcohol and left Luna weak in the knees? Even worse was that his forceful grey eyes burned with every colour imaginable in the dim lights of their foyer. As an artist, Luna considered it her job to keep track of those colours. Only when his eyes had successfully burned a hole through Luna’s rational thoughts, did he speak. “You can’t go,” he said, voice low and raspy, but not slurred like she’d expected. Her knees were still weak and her concentration non-existent. So, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly, only continued to look at him dumbly. “Huh?” His jaw clenched further, and his eyes became more intense. “You can’t go,” he repeated, slowly this time. “You’re mine and you can’t leave me like this.” Luna deflated a little. Of course, he was imagining someone else in her place. Probably Astoria. She should have known when he’d cornered her like that. With a small smile, Luna raised her hand to cup his cheek. His skin burned against her palm. He was too drunk for her to try to reason with. If he saw her as another woman, then Luna would act the part and get him up to his bed to sleep the alcohol off. “I’m not leaving you, Draco,” she assured him in a gentle voice, all the while caressing his cheek. He gulped, his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob. The anger was quickly fading from his face, only to be replaced by something like desperation. His eyes opened. “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, but without that previous bite to his tone. “You told them. You didn’t tell me, but you told them.” Luna had no answer to that. Who were ‘them’? More importantly, who was ‘you’? She had a feeling that even if she knew, she wouldn’t be able produce a satisfactory answer for him. So she just said, in a very placating tone, “I’m right here.” He shook his head violently. She withdrew her hand from his face, but the next instant he was drawing closer, trapping her further between his hard body and the wall behind her. “Damn you,” he expostulated. “I hate you.” Luna smiled up into his face at that. “No, you don’t,” she said simply. He nodded and then leaned his face even closer to her. “Yes, I do,” he whispered in a choked voice. “I hate you, but I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you right now.” He inhaled as though trying to rally all his willpower. “Kiss me please,” he pleaded in a devastatingly low voice. “Kiss me or I’ll die.” Luna’s heart hurt for him. She cared for him excessively and it was awful to see him hurting like this. Maybe she was the reason he was separated from the girl he actually wanted to be with and in so much pain. Luna let her hand rest on his shoulder. “I can’t kiss you, Draco,” she said. His eyebrows furrowed together. The agony in his eyes was so clear that it tore at her heart. “Why not?” he demanded. Because I’m not the one you want, she thought sadly. But in reply, she only said, “Because it’s getting late. We should go to sleep because you have work tomorrow and I have to go see Daddy.” She moved to slip out from between his arms, but Draco raised his other hand and clapped it to the other of her head, trapping her truly then. His face betrayed no anger or rancour, only desire. Luna’s heart broke for him. “Please,” he begged, eyes clouding with what looked like moisture to her. “Please, please, please.” Luna found herself drawing closer to him, her brain whirring at warp speed all the while. She tried to recall their agreement. There was nothing in the contract about kissing, was there? Not like they had been true to the contract always. For the fifteen months that they’d been married, the two of them had broken many stipulations and tweaked even more. And it wasn’t like she would be kissing him for the first time. Draco and Luna kissed all the time in public. She had lost count of the number of times she’d kissed him because that was what was expected of married couples. And they had to look like one, didn’t they? Of course, they had never before kissed when they didn’t have an audience to please. But that barely mattered. What mattered right now was getting Draco upstairs and into his room. Why shouldn’t she kiss him if that would speed up the process a little bit? Besides, Luna told herself as she wrapped her arms around Draco’s shoulders, they were legally married and there was nothing wrong with her kissing her husband. So, Luna pushed herself up to the absolute tips of her toes, and tipped her chin up in the same instant that Draco slid his lips over hers in a hard, pressing kiss. Luna’s already weak knees buckled completely from under her and if Draco hadn’t had his arms around her waist supporting her weight, she would have crumpled to the floor in a heap. In her desperation to catch a breath, Luna whimpered pathetically, the sound muffled by Draco’s mouth. It was safe to say that in all her kissing career, Luna had never been kissed like this. She’d kissed Neville a few times in the little of her sixth year she’d spent at Hogwarts. They’d been as sweet as the boy she’d shared them with, if somewhat clumsy. She’d kissed George at the stroke of midnight on New Year one year after the war simply because he’d been standing next to her and had asked. Of course, she’d kissed Draco before as well. So many times that she’d lost count. Always in public, though, never in private. Draco kissed her whenever they were at the Rook house, for the benefit of her father. He’d kissed her at the few parties they’d attended together. Mrs Weasley’s Easter luncheon, Harry’s birthday, Bill and Fleur’s anniversary, Tom’s granddaughter’s birthday. Needless to say, he’d never kissed her like this. Draco’s lips were insistent, desperate almost as they ravaged her own. The wall behind her was cold and it chilled her back while Draco’s body seemed to produce heat like a furnace that burned through the front of her dress, setting fire to her skin. It was a shocking contrast that made her cling to him more desperately. Mostly, every single nerve ending in her body burned with something she had never experienced before – never to this magnitude at the very least. He was relentless in his taking of her lips and Luna’s eyes were rolling to the back of her head (whether from oxygen deprivation or from the intensity of the embrace, she would never find out) when he finally allowed her to breathe. His lips hovered near even when they weren’t kissing, and almost on a whim Luna raised her eyes to his. His irises glowed silver like the moonlight spilling into the room from the window behind his head. For a good minute, Luna was transfixed. She could only stare into his eyes. His head dipped forward again, before Luna had sufficiently gotten her mind in working order, and he brushed his lips lightly against her mouth again. “Come to bed,” he said, voice low in a harsh, urgent whisper against her lips. Even though his lips had been more than persuasive, Luna’s mind was in enough control to know that she could not go along with what he was asking. One, he was decidedly drunk. Two, he didn’t know who she was. Three, it was against the contract. Fourth, and most important, he would wake up in the morning hating her for not being the woman he wanted. The last thought brought on a lump of emotions to Luna’s throat, making it impossible for her to speak. So, she just nodded slowly. The best thing right now would be to get Draco to bed. She would find a way to wiggle out afterwards. Of course, she wasn't prepared for the smile her apparent acquiescence brought to her husband’s face. “I’ll be so good to you, baby girl,” he said, face illuminated with jubilation. “You just wait and see. You won’t want to leave me and fly off anywhere in the world.” Luna sighed. This was going to be a long night for her. (ii) Draco woke up to a pounding headache. Of course, he did, and he deserved it. That was what he got for losing track of his drinks just because he was too much of a coward to be forthright with either Astoria or Lovegood. Ah, Lovegood. He burrowed his face in the pillow when her face loomed larger than life behind his closed lids. He’d probably made a drunken cake of himself in front of her. From what little he could remember from the latter part of last night, he was pretty sure she’d taken him for side-apparition because he’d been too drunk to do it on his own. To make things worse, Draco was sure that he would probably soon recall a hundred different things that he’d done to make sure he would never be able to look Lovegood in the eyes again. It took a ridiculously long time for Draco to get out of bed and into his clothes. Had Lovegood undressed him for bed as though he were a fucking baby? Today was not going to be fun. It didn’t help his mortification that he was instantly aware of his inability to work. So, he charmed a quill to pen a request of leave from work. He was almost sure that someone from work had said he could come in late even though he didn’t have the slightest idea as to who’d said it. Still, it would be infinitely better for him to call in sick than to have to drunkenly tend to patients. The hospital could live a day without him. How was he to live another day and face his wife after all the stupid decisions he’d made last night was yet to be seen. He should not have taken Lovegood to that work party with him. Once there, he should not have left her side. He definitely should not have engaged Astoria in conversation or given her the slightest chance to air her grievances with him. He abso-fucking-lutely shouldn’t have drunk his rational mind away. Lovegood was in the breakfast room when Draco came downstairs. She smiled at him immediately and opened her mouth to utter what could only be a chirpy morning greeting – only to be deterred by the finger Draco raised to stop her. The look of amusement in her eyes – that Draco noted looked as blue and open and beautiful as ever – was unmissable even as his own eyes remained narrowed against the absurd amount of light filtering in through the huge windows. Draco made a mental note to board up some of the windows on his free day. Who needed so much light anyway? Without another word, Lovegood summoned a phial from the kitchen and poured it into a goblet that she pushed towards Draco’s side of the table. Recognizing it as a hangover potion, Draco downed it immediately. He pinched both of his eyes closed with his thumb and forefinger as he waited for the potion to do its job. It finally did and he was able to look at Lovegood without being blinded by the exorbitant amount of light in the room - he could do little about the blinding smile she wore, though. Lovegood wrote “Better?” in the air with her wand, her eyes sparkling with mischief all the while. Draco only just managed to suppress his laughter. He didn’t want to trigger his headache again. “Yes,” he said, as sombrely as could manage. “I trust you at least had a good night’s sleep since you weren’t stupid enough to drink.” Lovegood tipped her head left and right, mouth puckered in a thoughtful pout as she said, “Yes and no.” Draco raised an eyebrow slowly. His facial muscles were still a tad too lazy. “Yes or no?” She shrugged. “Both? Neither?” He raised a hand melodramatically to his head. “Stop, you’ll give me a headache again.” She laughed but didn’t say anything in reply, choosing to go back to her breakfast of eggs and toast. Draco felt like he couldn’t possibly eat anything, so he decided to get the awkwardness out of the way. “Did I give you too much trouble?” he asked, wincing for effect. She smiled more widely. “What do you remember?” she asked instead of answering. “Not much,” he admitted. “But it’ll come back to me before the day is over. It always does.” “Do you make it a habit of getting drunk?” she tutted, directing a comically disapproving look his way. “Wouldn’t have married you if I’d known you were a drunk.” Draco decided to mimic her teasing, light-hearted tone. “Well, it’s too late to regret it now. You’re stuck with me.” She laughed and her nose scrunched up adorably. “Guess I am.” They sat in nice, companionable silence for a while. Draco had always appreciated that Lovegood wasn’t one of those people who felt the need to fill every small instance with words. His father – and hers – did that and it drove Draco crazy. There was nothing wrong with sitting quietly if you didn’t have anything to say. In this instance, however, he did have something to say. “You didn’t answer my question back there,” he said when she was done with her eggs and had moved on to her coffee. She raised her eyes to him. “What question?” “Was I a drunken fool to you last night?” He reached for a goblet of water. The best thing to do in the aftermath of a hangover was to drink a lot of water. She snorted out her laughter. “You called me ‘baby girl’”. Draco spit out his water. “No!” A horrified, choked whisper was all he could manage when his throat had stopped burning. He felt unfamiliar heat crawling up his face.  Her face was beyond amused now. “Oh, yes,” she told him, enjoying it way more than was decent of her. “You were like” – and she proceeded with an uncanny impression of him that was only slightly exaggerated by the deep voice she put on – “‘c’mere, baby girl’ and ‘let me show you, baby girl’”. Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, face still red with mortification. “If you’re lying, Lovegood, I swear to God…” Lovegood gave him a superior look before sombrely placing a hand over her breast. “I cross my heart and hope to die.” He dropped his face in his hands, as much to stop his eyes from staying on her breast for too long as to hide his blushes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Lovegood.” She laughed yet again. She could laugh a lot during their conversations without ever making it seem like she was laughing at him. It was amazing. “Don’t worry about it. It was kind of cute.” That made Draco get his face out of his hands really quick. “Did you just call me cute?” She shrugged, eyes dancing. The sunlight all around them made her eyes shine like jewels, so like the one on her engagement ring. “You have your moments.” When he simply raised his eyebrows at the pronouncement, she hastened to add, “Well, you are cute sometimes.” Despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth curling upwards. “Only sometimes? Oh, how you like to flatter me, dear wife.” She took her tone from him and nodded with the mock solemnity he’d projected. “You’re cute sometimes, stubborn most of the times and then impossibly irrational the rest.” He nodded too. “Thank you for telling me that you find me insane.” “You do always try to find impossible reasons to be mad at me.” “And for calling me belligerent on top of everything else.” She pursed her perfect, pink lips. “Did I call you belligerent?” He tried not to stare at her mouth or to wonder how her lips would taste right at that instant. Probably like coffee… but he wasn’t thinking about that. “You implied it very strongly.” “And does that offend you?” He scoffed. “Should it not offend me that my wife finds me stubborn, irrational and belligerent?”   “I also said you were cute,” she pointed out. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, how ever shall I live up to your opinion of me, oh gracious one?” “Eat,” she commanded. “You’re always crabbier when you’re hungry.” “Sure, add to my list of unsavoury qualities, why don’t you?” But he did as she said. After the initial roll of nausea had passed, Draco found that he was ravenous. He made such quick work of his toast and scrambled eggs that Lovegood got up and went to the kitchen to ask Binky for more. He took the chance to load up on his coffee. When Lovegood floated back into the room, Zeus followed her inside. She sat on her chair and the big German Shepherd flopped onto the floor at her feet, looking up at her in expectation. Lovegood snagged some fresh eggs that Binky had sent in for Draco’s breakfast and fed it to his dog.    Draco groaned. “You have to stop spoiling them,” he said somewhat sternly. “They’re turning into stupid little puppies for you.” Lovegood just shook her head and Zeus directed a side-eye at him. “They’re such good boys,” Lovegood said feeding more eggs to the dog. “I think they deserve to be a little spoiled.” “You make me look like the bad guy every time,” he said with antipathy. “You’re not a bad guy, Draco,” his wife told him nonchalantly. “You’re just a little uptight.” Roy, walking into the room at that very moment, gave Draco the perfect opportunity to make Lovegood blush. “Roy,” he commanded. “I have a little task for you. I would like you to maintain a register going forward. Mrs Malfoy here has recently dipped into the habit of enumerating my most admirable qualities. Going forward, she’s going to name one quality of mine at breakfast every single day and you must note it down.” Roy bowed so low to acknowledge the command that his pointed nose almost touched the rug. Then, turning to Luna, Roy straightened. The next second, there was a note pad and a quill in his hand. “What would today’s quality be, Madam?” he asked Luna, with so much seriousness that she bit her lip to keep herself from laughing. Draco’s eyes fixated on the dimple at the corner of her mouth her actions produced. Lovegood hummed in contemplation. “Perhaps ‘pretty’?” she asked innocently, directing her gaze between Draco and Roy. “What do you think Roy?” “Very good, Miz Luna,” Roy croaked and instantly started jotting down her suggestion. Draco directed an offended look at her. “Pretty?” he screeched unbelievingly. “That’s all you’ve got? Pretty? That’s not even a quality! The only good thing you can see in me is that I look good?” Lovegood frowned at his phrasing of it. “Well, you wanted a compliment!” she pointed out. “I have to be doing this every day from now on so I thought I’d just start with the most basic one and then move on from there.” Draco snorted but did not present a counterargument. As comfortable as he was sitting with Lovegood, there was a nagging at the back of his head. He was missing a significant portion of his memories for the night before and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to be completely easy until he remembered exactly what had happened. (iii) As sure as Draco was that things would come back to him slowly, his optimism proved too unreal. Most of it did back to him, mainly because Astoria was stonily silent in his presence. Still, there were big chunks of his memory missing. Astoria would storm out of a room as soon as Draco entered it or wouldn’t look at him in situations where they were forced together. People around them noticed, of course, but most of his co-workers were too enamoured with Lovegood to talk to him about anything except her. Healer Montague wanted Draco to ask his wife for a remedy that Lovegood had said her grandmother used with feverish children. Healer Fenton was a sort of Ollivander fanboy and had wanted to be a wandmaker himself before he’d come into healing. He wanted to see if Lovegood could introduce him to the retired wandmaker because everybody in the wizarding community knew that Ollivander absolutely adored her. Draco found a lot of amusement from his co-workers following his dogs and his elves right into the Lovegood fan-club. He wasn’t sure that he wasn’t a member of it himself. For one, he spent an inordinate amount of time with Lovegood. The time he spent at home, all of it except for when he was sleeping or she wasn’t home, he was with her. She taught him Muggle board games and card games that she’d learned from Granger. Or she would politely coax Binky out of the kitchen and, together with Draco, whip up some dish like they’d done in Ireland. He, in turn, spent a lot of his time teaching her to play tunes on the piano. He’d started learning when he was very young and had had regular lessons right up until he was fourteen or fifteen. Even while at Hogwarts, Narcissa had made special arrangements with the school to have Draco sent to Hogsmeade on the weekends to practice the piano for an hour or two with his tutor. Draco hadn’t been the most enthusiastic about learning the instrument. He'd powered through the hours of tutoring sessions just because his mother expected him to. But whenever he sat on the bench of the grand, shiny black piano in the ballroom of the manor with Lovegood pressed beside him, touching her shoulder with his shoulder and her thigh with his and her hip with his, Draco was thankful for all the time he’d spent practicing. Lovegood had asked Draco for a hammock for her twenty-second birthday and had stood next to him grinning from ear to ear as he’d hung it between two huge trees in the sprawling back lawn of the manor for her. It was a sunny day in early May when Draco coming home from work a little after noon – he’d been called in for an emergency – found his wife swinging on her hammock. She was lying on her back, a huge straw hat pulled over her face. Her long hair trailed down the hammock, and Apollo sat under it playing with the tendrils, swiping them gently back and forth without pulling at them. Draco’s eyes trailed up her bare calves from where she’d rolled up the ends of her pants. It was an undeniably pleasant sight. The sun was strong, and it made her hair look like a waterfall of molten gold. Her skin, the little of it he could see, was flushed pink under the sun. Before he knew it, Draco was moving towards the swinging hammock. Apollo whined at he got near and Lovegood pushed the hat away. “Oh,” she chirped, face lighting up with a smile. “You’re home.” Draco felt his heart stop a little then. He would remember later that in that moment he could only think she was the most beautiful thing in the entire world. Her eyebrows creased when he failed to respond, and she sat up, propped on her elbows. “Draco, is everything okay?” she asked. “How’s your patient doing now? She’s alright, isn’t she?” He shook his head to clear it, but her face fell instantly and he realized what it seemed to her. So, he switched it mid-shake to a nod and murmured lamely, “Yeah, she’s fine.” “Are you alright? You look a little dazed.” Draco rubbed a hand down his face. “Just a little tired. You want to have lunch with me?” She smiled once more and moved to get up. “Binky’s making shepherd’s pie. I’m really excited.” With a smile of his own, Draco stepped towards her. Instantly, like it was almost instinct, Lovegood wrapped her arms around Draco’s shoulders, and he put his hands on either side of her waist to lift her out of the hammock. Lovegood’s body was warm, her skin having absorbed so much sun. Even after her feet touched the ground, Draco had a hard time letting go of her. It felt natural to touch her like that now because he’d been doing it so often anyway. It didn’t feel weird to have his hands on her or hers on him anymore. So, he kept her there, right next to his chest. For her part, Lovegood didn’t seem to mind being held by him overmuch. She kept her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him with beautiful eyes. The wind swept her hair every which way around her. Before he could think too much about it, Draco blurted out, “Come out to dinner with me. This weekend.” Lovegood continued to stare deep into his soul and then, very slowly, moved her head in a nod. Draco felt his face break into such a huge smile that he was sure he was going to fracture some bones in his face. His heart swelled. He felt like he would be able to fly in that moment – and then, Lovegood’s eyebrows came together, and her face fell. “This weekend, did you say?” she asked. He could only nod. “Oh, Draco.” She looked heartbroken. “I’m leaving for Brunei on Saturday.” (iv) She was knocking on his door. Again. The girl was so persistent that it was maddening. For the last couple of days, she’d been at his door almost every second that he’d been home. “Draco, can you tell me why you’re mad at me?” she called out. Her voice was small and muffled. Like she was right up next to the door. He was pacing the tiled floor of his room. The simple answer to her question was no. He couldn’t tell her why he was mad at her because he didn’t know himself. He didn’t even know if he was madder at himself or her. Because he’d finally fucking remembered what it was that had made him so uncomfortable after the party. Even more uncomfortable than Astoria making him feel like an asshole. Healer Montague had told him that Lovegood was leaving for Brunei and he had still let her get to him. He’d let himself believe that she would stay with him. That they were friends. That she trusted him. Well, she didn’t really trust him at all if she could tell other people about her expedition before she’d even mentioned it to him even though they were spending so much time together. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said through the door. “Please, just come out so that we can talk. Or let me in. I can’t leave with you acting like this. Please, Draco. Let’s just talk.” Her voice broke at the end of her sentence, and it took everything in him to not just open the stupid door. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t just let her in and then risk getting hurt again. Because it had hurt him terribly when she’d said she was leaving. But she was leaving, and she would leave without a second glance at him. Her stupid, fucking magical creatures were important enough for her to get into a fake marriage with a Death Eater, whose house she’d been tortured and abused in. Why would she stay behind now? To play Scrabble with her fake husband? And he was the one at fault because he’d allowed her close enough to cause that reaction. It was unforgivable. They had a stupid contract to make sure that things like that didn’t happen. He’d put her in a completely separate wing of the manor to ensure that there wouldn’t be any feelings involved. But there were feelings involved because his heart felt like it would burst, and he would cry forever every time she knocked on the door and said his name and asked to be let in. At his wit’s end, Draco just shut down. He didn’t answer and he didn’t open the door. He cast a Muffliato and then climbed into his bed to go to sleep. (v) The liar that was Luna Lovegood left on Saturday, just as she’d planned to do despite saying that she couldn’t leave without talking to him. Even though Draco hadn’t so much as looked at her in the few days leading up to her departure, there was a hollow, sinking feeling in his stomach when the constant knocking on his door stopped. He was aware of lying to himself when he said that it was good riddance. Despite all his efforts, it affected him that she could just leave like that. Was he the only one who felt pleasantly warmed in her company? Did she not feel the same? The couple of days immediately after Lovegood left were sheer agony. It felt like he was in a constant state of disapparition, without the luxury of arriving at his destination. The inside of his head and heart felt strangely compressed and it was difficult to breathe. This was nothing like he’d experienced when she’d left for the Australian expedition right after they’d gotten married. He’d barely spent any time with her then. Now, he didn’t know how to be alone in his own house. Every corner of the manor screamed for her. The upset of her leaving was multiplied by the fact that the very next day newspapers published a huge picture of Lovegood on-site in Brunei standing next to a tall, gangly man they identified as the infamous Rolf Scamander. Scamander had his hand on Lovegood’s back and was helping her tread a muddy path. The article (in a newspaper that Draco had once written a very unflattering note to) said that even though the expedition was a three-month-long opportunity for only junior explorers, renowned magizoologists Lovegood-Malfoy and Scamander had joined too to lend their experience to the endeavour. The newspaper was shredded to bits and the breakfast he’d reluctantly eaten churned uncomfortably in Draco’s stomach. The discomfort in his gut turned to seething rage. She hadn’t needed to leave but she’d gone anyway. She’d abandoned him to go on a useless expedition… to be with Scamander. The image of the man standing next to his wife, touching her, set fire to every particle of blood in Draco’s body. He realized that he’d never felt this before, like someone who belonged to him was being taken away from him. Well, he’d never been a gracious loser and Draco wasn’t sure he could start now. The only thing he knew, as he sat leaning back against the soft chair, was that he wouldn’t be losing his wife to Scamander. He would win Lovegood if it was the last thing he did. She was his wife, and she was going to stay so if he had to use every little drop of charm in him. He would pine no longer. Instead, he would get Lovegood to pine for him and he would enjoy doing it.          

The Bella legacy will always be important to Chloe Beale. For her, it has never really been about the competitions or the singing. The music is simply a soundtrack; a backdrop that adds extra colour to the most important and long-lasting bond she has ever experienced outside of her family. Being a Bella, to Chloe, has always been about belonging. Even now, a year on from graduating and moving away, she keeps her blue and yellow patterned scarf tied around the handle of her purse as a reminder.    A reminder that she will always be a Bella woman.    A reminder that, because of that, she can do whatever she sets her mind to.    “Excuse me? Why are you wearing that?” Aubrey’s eyes widen as Chloe walks into the living room adjusting her regulation white shirt and navy jacket, the proud uniform of a Bella alumnus.   The shame, the guilt, hits Chloe immediately when she sees the look on her best friend’s face. Usually, her impulsive decisions go right. When they do occasionally go wrong, they are laughed away. This, though, feels different. She swallows and brushes her hair off her face. “I… I just wanted to remember what it feels like.” Chloe can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips. “You know, to be special.”   “Yeah because it’s so easy to feel special when you’re in a group of ten girls who always wear the same thing.” Amy’s voice carries over from the couch, where she is sat brushing out one of her many Amy Winehouse wigs.    Aubrey rolls her eyes, clearly ignoring her roommate as she looks at Chloe. It’s a look of sympathy, but Chloe can sense that it’s laced with confusion. “I get it. I… I get that you want to remember but honestly the outfit is giving me a tension headache. Can you just, I don’t know, wear the scarf in your hair or something?”    As Chloe walks back to her bedroom to change, she can’t help but wonder why she had felt the need to put on the horrific polyester uniform of her old acapella group. Nostalgia doesn’t quite explain the weird feeling in her gut. Maybe, she thinks to herself as she roots around in her closet for a new outfit, it’s because she wants people in the crowd to know that she was once part of that group of people. Maybe she wants to stand out from the crowd, the public, who are simply there to watch the new Bellas perform. Or, she finally admits with a long sigh as she pulls on one of her many little black dresses, maybe it’s because she’s not sure who she is when she’s not a Bella.   It’s the foundation she built herself on in college.   Now it’s cracking and unstable and Chloe’s scared of what happens if it breaks.   At least she has her scarf to hold onto.         Travelling from Manhattan to Brooklyn is a multi-step process. There are plans, as always, to pick up the other girls en route as they join the same subway train. Of the eight Bellas who graduated in Chloe’s class, five of them wound up living in New York City.    “So, who exactly is coming tonight?”   Amy sits up in her seat and holds up her hand. “Let me give you a quick Bellas lesson.” Chloe can’t help but think that she or Aubrey will have to do some damage control. Amy has never been known for her accuracy. “So, there’s the OG Bellas. Well, not OG because it’s been a thing since, like, 1968 or something. Anyway, there’s me, Aubrey, Chloe” Amy pauses to think, “Stacie who you met at the club, Flo is the tiny Latina one…” Chloe watches as Beca tries to follow along. “I don’t know if any of the others are coming tonight. Captains?”    Both Chloe and Aubrey sit up when Amy addresses them.    “Are we expecting anyone else?”   “CR said she’d try to make it but I think she has work and Jessica and Ashley couldn’t get the time off to travel.”   Amy shrugs. “I don’t even know who they are.”   Chloe can’t help but tilt her head, staring sternly in Amy’s direction. “Just because they’re not here doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”   “Eh. Whatever.”    Chloe wishes she could turn off her attachment to these girls as easily as Amy seems to. When they had been packing to leave their student housing after graduation, the conversations had all been about how exited they were for their new adventures. There was talk of movie nights and going to fancy clubs and going to see shows on Broadway. The other girls had been jealous. They had pouted and joked about how much fun they would have without them. There were plans for city breaks and brunches and sightseeing. Work had got in the way almost as soon as they had moved, snatching away the time they had dreamily put aside to just ‘hang out’. Chloe has missed them all every day since they left Georgia.   “Do you miss it? Singing together?”   Chloe looks at Beca as she gives a heartfelt nod. “Definitely.”   “Well, karaoke is always on the cards. Who knows, we might even get Beca to join in.” Amy leans in close and Chloe can see just how much Beca wants to scramble away from the way she leans back. “How high does your belt go?”   There is a glint in Beca’s eye as she glances down to her jeans and back up to look at her roommate, her expression innocently bewildered. “I don’t know, man. Like, up to my waist I guess.”   There is a smug sense of warmth settling within her as Beca’s gaze meet hers, confirming what she had already known. She is the only one who knows that there is a real answer to that question.         The New York Aquarium is a fancier venue than anywhere Chloe can remember performing in college. She knows it is, in part, because Emily has pulled the Bellas into a new era. They have original songs and a YouTube channel and an impressive following across social media.    Jealousy sits at the back of Chloe’s throat as the young brunette, captaining the Bellas for the second year, walks towards them.   “Oh my stars. It’s so good to see you!”   There are hugs. So many hugs. Beca even gets pulled into one before Emily jumps back and realises she isn’t a Bella. “I… sorry! I was just hugging everyone and you were just there and I… I don’t know you.”   “Em, this is Beca. Our new roommate.”   Emily seems to recover from her faux-pas a lot quicker than she would have done in her freshman year. Aubrey had been dubious about leaving her in charge, but Chloe can see how much she’s grown.    It makes her feel proud.   It makes her feel old.    “Sorry,” Emily speaks to them all, “I kind of have to go and run warm-up but I’ll catch you after? I can’t wait to hear all about your news! I’m sure there’s loads to catch up on.”   If Emily notices the muted grunts and shrugs she gets in response, she doesn’t show it. Chloe can remember that excited feeling, when graduation had felt like the door opening into a new world rather than slamming closed on everything she knew and loved. She suspects they all feel the same. Stacie’s Master’s degree in Engineering at NYU would make life hard enough, but she’s working at least fifteen hours a week at the gym to pay the rent. Chloe knows that Flo desperately wants to use her Business Administration and Marketing degree, but there seems to be one job for every ten graduates and, so far, she hasn’t had any luck. Instead, she’s the friendly-on-the-outside server greeting customers every day at the Jamba Juice inside Penn Station.   They are all stuck. Nothing exciting seems to happen, certainly not as much as Emily’s pre-grad imagination seems to suggest. They work, they sleep, they work, they sleep, and it’s dull. Chloe is stuck in a cycle of going out to spend the day in an office doing the same six tasks she always does. She has the same conversations with the same people and answers the same questions on the same email system. Through all of the thoughtless monotony, the only significant thing occupying her mind for the last year has been Aubrey. Checking in on Aubrey, making sure she’s eating and coping and not completely losing her mind. Even that is repetitive.   In fact, aside from the excitement (if they can call it that) of Lilly’s psychotic break, Chloe can’t think of anything she has to report to Emily. She can’t think of a single thing that had added any colour to her life.   Well, except one.    As the lights dim, Chloe feels Beca’s eyes on her. Turning to face her, she gives her a gentle smile.   Beca’s forehead wrinkles. She looks worried.   Chloe tries her best not to think about it.    Not now.    Now, she has a show to watch.         The New Bellas’ performance is a whirlwind of colour and music. It’s youthful and happy and the audience love it.    Chloe is sure she would, too, if it didn’t remind her of everything she was before; everything she left behind when she followed Aubrey and Amy to New York. Chloe had considered failing on purpose. Her Russian Lit final was make-or-break and ended up being the one course she needed to pass to ensure she graduated on time. Throwing the exam would have been enough to keep her in Barden for another year, to keep her as a Bella for one more round of pushing for a national title.    If it hadn’t been for Aubrey, for Aubrey needing her, Chloe thinks she probably would have stayed.    “Dude, they’re… they’re so good.”   Beca looks flustered after the performance. Chloe knows exactly how she feels. She nods. “I know. They’re just… so energetic. I don’t think we ever could have pulled off a dance routine like that.”   “Well, you clearly taught her well when you were her captain. She’s done you proud.”   It’s as if a light has turned on in Chloe’s head. She feels the doubt and the jealousy slip away and instead lets herself take Beca’s words as a compliment. “I-…”   “Does anyone else’s vagina suddenly feel not tight?” Amy cuts her off, sliding into the booth they have found themselves in, pushing Chloe closer to Beca until their legs are touching under the table.    “Never”. Stacie responds with a wink. “But I do miss college. I… I miss you guys.”   Chloe catches Aubrey’s eye and smiles. She’s checking in, Aubrey knows that, but she’s also just happy that in all of this they still have one another.    “So, what’s new?” The way Emily bounds over to the group is typical. She has never been good at reading the room. She’s still in her costume, with glitter glinting on her eyelids as she smiles expectantly.    “I mean, not much. We were just talking about how much we miss college.”   Emily pulls up a seat and throws herself down clumsily until her head lands in her hands. “Aw, well I think Barden misses you guys, too. I definitely do but, you know, I keep reminding myself that you’re all out here doing amazing things with your careers and becoming the people you want to be.” There’s a childlike innocence to the way her chocolate eyes soften. “I mean, I’m basically repeating what I said in my speech at your grad party but the sentiment still stands.”   It strikes Chloe, then, that the only one of them seated around the table actually becoming the person she wants to be is Beca.    Well, there’s a possibility that Amy is, too, but Chloe’s fairly certain she has had to take a part-time job somewhere and is simply too proud to admit it.   “You look like you could use another drink. What are you having?” Beca’s hand is on her knee as she speaks. Chloe tries to focus on the words and not the feeling as she finds herself looking directly into stormy blue eyes.    “Chlo? Beer?”   “…so I’ve put in an application. I know it’s not exactly what I planned, but anything has to be better than being stuck in that place all day, right?” Flo’s voice pushes Chloe back towards the conversation happening beside her. She tries to ignore it. She doesn’t need any more reminders of how much she doesn’t want to be where she is right now.   A drink sounds like the only way to get through this.   “Actually, I’ll take a vodka tonic if that’s ok?” Beca smiles sweetly at her and grabs her wallet. “Double?”   “Na….absolutely.”   “Thought so.”   Chloe has a feeling she’s going to need it. 

Shattering glass grabs Mimic’s attention. Snapping his head to the sound he spots a man getting up from where he’d fallen on the shattered glass. From what Mimic can tell the man was thrown through a window. “You crazy asshole!” the store owner, Mimic thinks, yells at the man coming out the door “First you snort shit in my restroom, then you take a running leap through my goddamn window! What the fuck is wrong with you.” At that Mimic pays closer attention to the man’s behavior rather than the, relatively minor, cuts all over his body. Good thing he did since the man appeared to take the owner’s yelling personally and started charging. Mimic barely manages to get between the two and swings his staff at the guy's temple before he could tackle the owner. The only problem, the guy didn’t go down. Instead, he starts swinging at Mimic, clumsy and uncoordinated, but fast and strong. Mimic felt out of his depth, Omniscience was escorting a woman whose car broke down back to her home and he was too far to count on one of the others. He focused all his attention on dodging and trying to disable the man’s joints so he would just stop. He was so focused in fact that he missed the approach of an underground hero until the man was wrapped up in a scarf-like capture weapon. “Go home kid.” Eraserhead orders him. ”Yes sir!” he salutes sarcastically not pointing out that this was the furthest part of his patrol so he’d be finishing it whether he wanted to or not. Changeling found herself skipping through the back alleys that made up her patrol, it had been a quiet night but she was trying not to expect the world to crash down because of it. She certainly never say it that was just asking the universe to prove a point. No, she would just think it, the universe wouldn’t hold it against her, right? She hears a groan come from beside a dumpster, she heads towards it hoping whoever it was had just had a nightmare and would tell her off for interrupting their night. She couldn’t be that lucky. They were clearly not feeling well, she pulled out her flashlight to see better, the poor girl’s skin shone as though she’d been sweating, she reacted to the light by trying to move. She couldn’t lift her arms, her breathing seemed shallow, and she was gurgling. Changeling got in closer, feeling how cold her skin was and seeing the pinprick pupils in her eyes. She jumped into action, pulling out her phone to use the report app Omniscience designed with Hazard to get an ambulance equipped for an overdose on its way. She pulled the girl to lay on her side hoping she wouldn’t choke on her saliva as she entered her breathing and heartbeat. She couldn’t stop herself from talking barely taking the time to switch to her “friendly” voice before whispering whatever came to mind. ”Stay awake honey. Stay with me. You can’t go to sleep. Can you breathe with me? In, one, two, three, pause, one, two, three, out, one, two, three, pause, one, two, three. That’s it, just stay with me.” “It- doesn’t-” *cough* “feel- right-” she tries to talk around her labored breathing. Changeling grits her teeth ”I know. I know it doesn’t. There might have been something else in it. You can test for that.” “H-how-?” the girl asks probably trying to distract herself. Changeling keeps talking ”Pharmacies and drugstores can't test strips for a whole bunch of stuff. Some of it’s really dangerous, so, if you’re not ready to stop you can use those.” She only barely keeps herself from breaking down in tears when the girl doesn’t answer. ”Come on just a little longer. Can you hear the sirens? They’re just outside the alley.” Two paramedics come careening around the corner one taking the girl’s head from the Agent of Chaos, the other taking a nasal spray to the girl. Changeling backs away from the situation, sliding safely into the shadows, watching as a third brings in a gurney. She stays until they’ve turned a corner with the girl before continuing on her patrol. Just because she saved one life doesn’t mean she stop. There might be others after all. Siren was ready for the night to be over. Five muggings are just too much for one night. Seriously what was in the air tonight? Hazard had to fight off two spicy assaults. And when he crossed paths with Eraserhead the man was even more grumpy than usual. (Siren doesn’t blame him for being frustrated around the Agents of Chaos since he’s technically on their case, but can’t do anything because they’ve managed not to break any laws.) He’s almost home, soon he’ll be able to put this night behind him. That’s when he hears shouting, looking to the source of the sound he sees a young woman waving her arms frantically. He pivots so he’s heading straight for her quickly closing the distance until he lands on her rooftop. ”What’s going on?” He asks as he spots a young man convulsing, sliding to his side and doing his best to keep the guy from hitting his head more than he already had. “I tried to get him to stop I swear I did!” The woman shouts inconsolably. Siren sighs taking a lil in the man’s shaking to change his dial and call Pandora’s Box. “Guys, I could use a little help here.” He doesn’t know if the shaking will start again, but he takes the opportunity to examine the guy to add all he can to the ambulance call. The sound of the other end of a radio clicking on enters his ear ”What’s going on?” He kind of wishes it wasn’t Omniscience to answer, with a test in less than six hours Siren was always better with sleep deprivation. “Convulsing, fever, bleeding gums-” “Bleeding gums? Shit!” Omniscience interrupted and swore this is very bad. “He’s gotten some rat poison in his system.” “Rat pois-” he cuts himself off, looking around to see the girl glaring at a bag of white powder. “The drugs, why do dealers cut their drugs with things that are so dangerous, don’t they want repeat customers!” He hears someone land behind him turning to see Eraserhead marching toward them eyes scanning the scene. “It’ll be faster if I take him down.” Eraser dips to take the man, who starts to seize again. Siren keeps his head off the ground as Eraser wraps his capture weapon around him to keep him from punching or kicking too harshly. Once it stops the two waste no time scaling down the building just in time for the ambulance to pull up “Thanks for the help Eraserhead.” Siren smiles at the hero. Eraser looks him up and down “Kid?” “Yeah?” Siren replies tilting his head in curiosity. Siren could swear Eraser was smirking at him. “You’re muted.” Siren blinks. Once. Twice. Then he pivots on his back foot and takes off hoping to outrun his embarrassment. He barely caught the hero’s chuckle over his brother’s cackling in his ear.

Connor didn’t go back into stasis that night.  He laid in bed, with Gavin’s arm around his shoulder, and processed everything.  All of his systems were running continuously, trying to make sense of all the new sensations that was being picked up.  There was no damage, as Connor suspected. He was designed to handle that sort of thing without sustaining damage. He scanned for it again.   He let his sensors and processors run until he had a very clear understanding of what was happening within his body.  The joints of his wrists had been squeezed tight enough to alert him, but there was no damage sustained. His legs felt strange, wrapped up around Gavin’s, and he wondered if they had gone offline but his scanners said they were working at total efficiency.  Connor scanned, pulling up each drop of temperature the semen between his legs had.   Gavin’s arm tightened around his waist, a hot puff of air hitting the back of Connor’s neck.  Gavin’s body temperature lingered at a healthy 98.9 degrees, but every few minutes Connor received a small warning that he was overheating.  He scanned again, his internal fans were working fine and there were no signs of heating damage. He scanned again. And again.   “Morning.”  Gavin said, his voice rough and scratchy.  Connor felt the lips against his shoulder.   “Good morning, Gavin.  We’re expected at the station in a few hours, would you like some coffee?”  Connor asked, the words coming out faster than average. He scanned his language processors, the scans came back normal.   “Relax, we got time to just lay here for a little while.”  Gavin said, another kiss pressed against the base of Connor’s neck.  “How are you feeling?”   Connor blinked at the question.  There was no damage, nothing to cause any alarms.  “I’m fine. I seem to be having some software errors, but nothing serious.”  He said.   “Software errors?”  Gavin asked, wiggling closer, tightening his arm around Connor’s waist.  Their bodies were pressed against one another, every inch of his back was touching Gavin, all the way down to their legs that curled together.   “Nothing serious.  I am probably just behind on updates.”  Connor said. It was true, he was behind.  He was a prototype, not a finished product.  Although Cyberlife wasn’t releasing updates anymore, several Jericho approved tech agencies were and many of them were compatible with the RK800 series.  Markus assured him that they would be.   “Well, get that fixed.  I don’t want you freaking out on me.”  Gavin said, laughing softly as his lips pressed against Connor’s jaw.  “Last night was fun.”   It hadn’t been fun.  It had been strange and Connor knew he had done it wrong.  He didn’t make enough noises, he didn’t move enough, and Gavin told him each time that he should be doing it more.  And then Connor couldn’t enter stasis, even after Gavin fell into a deep sleep. Even when he tried initiating it, and he grew close to actually sleeping, an alert would snap him back awake.  A proximity alert more often than not, telling him that someone was pressed against his back, even though Connor was already aware.he was there.   The entire night as he ran his scans, he turned to the internet for answers, scouring a few dozen blogs and forums until he was able to paint a clear picture for himself on why he was so uncomfortable, why his stress never fell lower than 70%.  Gavin had been drunk. Connor’s first time and his partner was intoxicated, which was a mistake on Connor’s part as the one with the clear, sober mind last night. He had made a grave mistake, allowing Gavin, with his clouded judgement, to initiate something so intimate.   “I’m sorry.”  Connor said. He had spent hours trying to think of a good apology, but now that Gavin was awake and sucking along Connor’s jawline the words vanished from his mind.  It was all so strange, Connor wasn’t supposed to be lost for words. He scanned his language processors again, they came back normal.   “For what?”  Gavin asked.   “Last night.  I’m sorry.” Connor said.   “Hey, no.  Don’t apologize, you were fine.  You did good, I enjoyed myself.” Gavin said.  His hands were on Connor’s shoulder, pulling so that he would lay down flat on his back and Gavin’s face could hover above him and smile.   “I did?”  Connor asked.  He had expected the man to be more upset.   “Yeah.  Sure, it was awkward, but you did way better than some other people I’ve been with.  You were fun.” Gavin said.   “But you were drunk.”   “Yeah, sometimes I’m horny when I’m drunk.”  Gavin laughed, as if it was a joke he had said so himself.   “But I was sober.  It was inappropriate because you were drunk.  I crossed a line and I’m sorry. It was never my intention to take advantage of your situation.  There are legal issues, I’ll have to talk to someone at the station about my options.” Connor said quickly, the words rolling off of his tongue as Gavin’s body weight just settled down on top of him.  The words died quickly, the overheating alert flashing on his HUD. He ran a scan. Nothing was wrong.   “Hey hey, I said don’t freak out on me, okay?  No need to talk to anyone, it’s fine. Sure, there’s a whole lot of grey area but you have to trust me when I say that I’m fine.  I’m not gonna press charges or nothing. I had fun. I’m a big boy and I made a big boy decision last night, I don’t regret it and you shouldn’t worry about that.”  Gavin said, smiling brightly, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of Connor’s mouth. “See, you’re okay. Let me show you how fine I am. Make up for how sloppy I made your first time last night.  Okay?”   “Okay.”  Connor repeated.   Gavin pressed their mouths together, another kiss and Connor was sure he was getting the hang of this part.  Open his mouth, tilt his head back, and hum every so often. He was learning how to do it, he was figuring it out.  Gavin smiled into the kiss, one arm going down to hook around Connor’s knee, dragging his leg up onto his hip.   Connor hummed into the kiss, which made Gavin groan eagerly in response.  That was good, sex was supposed to be noisy, unless circumstances demanded they be quiet.  He had a timer going, knowing he should make a sound every once in a while. Gavin said so last night, that he didn’t like how quiet he was, how little he wiggled and moved.  Gavin wanted him to be more alive, so despite the physical sensations being picked up on his sensors and not something he felt the need to react to, he displayed the reactions anyway.   When Gavin pushed into him with ease, Connor hummed again.  Gavin’s mouth fell open, gasping directly onto Connor’s face and then sucking in air greedily.   “You know, I love and hate Cyberlife for making it so easy.”  He said.   He moved.  Connor felt the slide of Gavin’s hips along his legs as he pulled out and then pushed back in again.  He scanned it all, the slow rise of body temperature, the dimensions of width and length that moved inside of him, the timer ticking on his HUD.  Connor hummed deeper and in response Gavin moved faster. There was an average bpm for each thrust, counting the pace in numbers that he could understand.  Connor found it easier to gauge Gavin’s pleasure that way, by how fast he moved.   “Jesus.”  Gavin said, grunting as he pushed his weight onto one arm and the other moving up to smack against Connor’s eyes, a firm weight pressing down and covering them so he couldn’t see.   Connor’s sensors paused, glitching a moment at the abrupt loss of his visual feed.  He had forgotten his eyes were open. “Gavin.” He said slowly, reaching up to try and touch the arm over his eyes.   “Hold on.”  Gavin said. He grabbed Connor’s hand, pressing it back down against the mattress and his body weight resting on both arm now pressing down onto Connor, over his eyes and against his wrist.   Connor focused on his scanners again, using the pressure sensors, the brushes against his skin, every touch he registered and tried to piece together what he could no longer see.   “Gavin, I don’t like that.”  Connor said, reaching up with his free hand to try and remove the arm covering his eyes.   Gavin’s pace grew sloppy and fast, it lost that pattern that Connor had been keeping track of, making it difficult to predict.   “Gavin.”   Connor saw the overheating warning again, the rise of temperature of Gavin’s skin pressed against his own.  He ran a scan, found no heating damage, and closed the warning. Gavin’s hips moved forward, pressing against him as Connor processed more pressure reading, more temperatures, and more sensations.  Gavin’s breathing was ragged, his arms moving off of Connor’s face and letting go of Connor’s wrist, and then rolled to the side. The temperature sensors dropped and the pressure readings returned to their normal levels.   He ran a scan and found no damage, not from pressure or heating or tearing.  He was still in perfect condition. The only thing out of the ordinary was the warm, wet feeling between his legs.   “I don’t like it when you cover my eyes like that.”  Connor said, unblinking as he stared up at the ceiling.   “I know, but you know I hate it when you just stare like that.  It’s weird.” Gavin said, still breathing deep and fast. “Come on, we should shower before heading into work.”   “Okay.”  Connor said.   Gavin got up first and Connor followed not far behind, already naked so he just waited for Gavin as he tested the shower’s temperature with his hand.  They stepped in together, Gavin’s body wash squirted onto his shoulders and the man scrubbing it in. Connor stood there, listening to the tune Gavin was humming as he washed Connor’s skin, down his back and heading lower and lower.   “I’m sorry I covered your eyes.”  Gavin said. He kept scrubbing and Connor watched the shower wall.  He scanned for damage, but the scans came back normal. “Next time, maybe you would be more comfortable on you stomach, that way you can stare off into space as much as you want and I wouldn’t feel tempted to blindfold you.”   His last sentence ended with a soft laugh and lips pressed against his shoulder again.  Connor nodded, it seemed like a good answer to that particular problem they were having.  If Gavin didn’t have to look at his face then he wouldn’t know Connor’s eyes were open.   “The day barely started and yet both of us have apologized.  What a mess we are.” Gavin laughed again and his hands wiped at Connor’s skin, the water hitting him and washing all the soap away.   “At least we worked it out.”  Connor said calmly, turning around and squirting the soap into his own hands, Gavin displaying his back to him. It was his turn and so Connor mimicked the cleaning motions Gavin’s hands had done on him.  His hands lathered up the soap on his shoulders, reaching around for his chest and then to scrub down his back. When Connor reached the curves of his hips he moved his hands to follow the same path.   “Whoa!”  Gavin said, bouncing on his toes when Connor intended on cleaning him everywhere, the exact way Gavin had done.  “We don’t have time for all that, Con. Don’t get too eager, you didn’t come with the parts for it.”   He laughed, shoulders shaking as he did.  Connor didn’t understand the joke. He wanted to ask, but instead Gavin waved him away, telling him to dry off and get some clothes to get ready for work.   “You can wear some of my clothes.  Feel free to look through the drawers.”  Gavin said as he started to rinse his own skin.   With a towel wrapped around himself awkwardly he went to do as he was instructed, look through the drawers to find something to wear to work.  He was tempted to just wear the clothes he had worn yesterday, clothes that were his and that he knew fit comfortable, but were now in a wrinkled pile kicked into the corner of the bedroom.  The only two options seemed to be either he goes to work in Gavin’s clothes or he goes to work in his own messy clothes. Either way, everyone would know the moment they walked into the station together.   As he got dressed, Connor was surprised to find he was both larger and smaller than Gavin.  The shirt was baggy, sliding too far down one shoulder. The pants felt too large around his hips but the hem fell a few inches above his ankles.  Although he knew Gavin’s physical dimensions the moment he looked at him, he had never thought to compare his own body to it. Connor had known, but hadn’t really thought about how he was taller and skinnier than Gavin Reed.   “Looking good.”  Gavin said as he stepped out of the bathroom, the towel wrapped low on his hips.  “Gimme a minute and we can head out.”

Artemis hated waiting. She’d been waiting most of her life- waiting for her mom to get out of jail, waiting for her dad to leave her alone, waiting for her sister to come back. When she’d become a superhero, she’d put all that behind her. She was done waiting. She was going to take back her life. Of course, superheroes had to wait too. She’d never admit it (if she did, she wouldn’t get to tease Wally about his own impatience) but it was her least favorite part of the job. She was on edge and bored at the same time. Something could kill her at any moment, but it probably wouldn’t. That was her current situation, crouched in a hallway off of the giant courtroom where Talon was standing trial. Well, stalling was more like it. She could hear his voice filtering from the room: “I understand. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important...” The hall she was in reminded her a little of a theater, in that there were stone arches all along the side of the hall that looked down onto the room. Curtains that hung from the arches were hiding her and her group- Batman and Kid Flash, respectively- from view. She pulled back a corner of one of the curtains as silently as she could. The courtroom looked pretty similar to the one Artemis had scoped out with Conner earlier. It was a mix of a theater, courtroom, and coliseum. She could see curtain-covered stone arcs like the one she was peeking through on the other side of the room. Kaldur and his group would be getting into position behind those curtains, although she couldn’t see them. From the hallway she was in, a short stairway lead down to the seating area, which was a large raised platform with tiered seats, presumably so that the person standing all the way down on the floor could see the people in them and be intimidated. It was tall enough that it would be hard to climb up, if it weren’t for the stairs that hugged the wall. The biggest difference was that this courtroom had people in the seats. It wasn’t full by a long shot, but just the small amount of people that were there was enough to completely change the atmosphere of the room. Probably the white masks they all wore had something to do with it. The masks covered their entire faces, leaving them expressionless and cold as they looked down on Talon. All the way down on the floor with the Owls looming over him, he seemed small in a way he usually didn’t. It brought to mind the image of a lone warrior facing off against some kind of many-headed beast. “We’re in position,” Kaldur’s voice said through the mindlink, making Artemis start. To cover up her surprise, she quickly unfolded her bow and notched an arrow, aiming it through the crack in the curtain. Beside her, she could sense Wally and Batman tensing up, ready for a fight. “We’re ready too,” she thought. “Let’s go.” “Get to the point, Gray Son,” one of the Owls said. Artemis couldn’t tell which. Talon hesitated, but then plowed forwards. “Alright, so this is actually an attack.” Artemis released her hold on her bowstrings, and the arrow went flying through the air, hitting its mark perfectly right in front of the front row of Owls. Gas hissed out from where it had struck, masking the Owls’ vision, if only for a moment. She ran forward, leaping down the stairs to block off the right-side exit. On the other side of the room, Kaldur, M’gann, and Conner appeared at the other entrance. Talon appeared at the front, having climbed up the dias to block off escape. Meanwhile, Batman was crouched at the top of the seating, effectively surrounding the Owls. The gas cleared. The Owls were on their feet. Even though Artemis couldn’t see their faces, their body language screamed shock. “Y’know, for people who brag about seeing everything coming so much, you sure seem surprised,” Talon said, his voice echoing in the silence. “What, are you scared?” One of the Owls- a tall woman with platinum blonde hair- straightened up. Even though she was surrounded, she managed to look imperious, almost condescending. “Please,” she said. “You’re talking about things you don’t understand. Maybe wait and learn before acting so confident, hm?” Talon tensed almost imperceptibly. If Artemis hadn’t been trained for this kind of thing since she was little, she might not have seen it. But she did, and she knew what it meant. He’d noticed something. Artemis saw the first body on the other side first. A shadow, moving in the curtains hung on the balcony, that materialized into the shape of a person. That person leapt from the balcony and landed silently in front of Kaldur’s group- right at the same time a Talon landed in front of her. Their entire face was covered with a black and gold mask.  Artemis couldn’t see any defining features about them, except that they were big. Bigger than her, definitely. Alright. That was fine. She’d learned plenty from Black Canary about defeating opponents that were bigger than her. This wasn’t a problem. Unless, of course, she had to fight off more than one. Her heart sank as she watched Talons drop from the ceiling like flies, cutting them off from getting to the Owls. The Talons drew their knives, shifting into fighting stances. Nobody said a word, and for a moment, everyone in the room was frozen with anticipation. Then an Owl spoke. “Take them.” ... Everyone seemed to lunge forwards and meet each other at the same time. Even though he was used to fast fights, he was usually only fighting one other person. Dick couldn’t keep track of all sides of the room at once. Instead, he focused in on one Talon near him that was heading towards M’gann, who was already occupied with other opponents. He leaped over the rows of seats dividing them and shoved into the Talon from behind. The Talon stumbled, regained his footing and spun around to stab him. Dick stepped back, grabbed his wrist, pulled him forward. He tumbled over the row of chairs. Dick jumped after him and drove a knife through his weapon hand in one fell swoop. “Nicely done,” said a voice. Dick looked up to see Cobb standing in an aisle only a few feet away from him. “You were always one of the best fighters,” he said. “You could have beaten me one day, with enough training.” He looked genuinely disappointed, which made Dick prickle uncomfortably. “I suppose I’ll have to kill you now,” Cobb said, shifting into a fighting stance. “Not that I want to, but I know my place.” “Oh, spare me,” Dick said, raising his knife in one hand. He attacked. Cobb grabbed his wrist, pushed it to the side. Dick twisted with the push. Spun around, swung his forearm up to block Cobb’s knife- just in time. The knife glanced off of his armor. He brought his knife down towards Cobb’s hand. Cobb twisted his hand and pushed Dick’s wrist to the outside. The rhythm was familiar. Not soothing, but familiar. It almost felt like he was back in the training room, pushing himself harder and harder so he could finally beat Cobb. He’d never been able to do it. At the end, when he was on the floor gasping for breath, Cobb would wait for him to catch his breath, then pull him up and say, “Again.” And it would start all over. He needed to stop thinking about that now. This was no training fight. If he made a slip up- which he would, and soon- there wouldn’t be an again. He was barely keeping up as it was, his muscles burning from exertion. He barely had enough time to breathe between each attack. Cobb punched at him. Before his fist made impact, Dick stepped to the side and grabbed his wrist. He twisted Cobb’s arm, pulling it forward with the momentum. Cobb stumbled, but then grabbed onto Dick’s outstretched arm and twisted around, swinging Dick from his feet. For a moment, he was suspended in the air, and a shock of fear jolted through him- but before he could panic, he hit the ground, tucking and rolling on instinct. He pushed himself up, though his muscles burned in protest, and turned around to look up. He’d been kicked back down to the floor. Above him, the fight raged on, the sounds of clanking and grunting drifting down to him. And Cobb- Cobb stared down at him, standing on the edge of the platform. As Dick watched, he jumped down, landing a little ways away from Dick. He straightened, not moving closer, but not dropping his knives, either. “You can’t win this fight,” Cobb said. His voice was soft, pitying. “You know that.” Dick glared at him, breathing heavily. His muscles burned, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse. Cobb was right- he wouldn’t win. “Fighting the Court is an impossible task,” Cobb continued, stepping closer. “Siding with these ‘heroes,’ will bring you nothing but pain.” Dick took a step back as Cobb took another step forwards. A flicker of annoyance crossed Cobb’s face, but it only lasted a second before his face was nothing but soft concern again. “You still have a choice. You can take the easy way out. Stop fighting, and I will vouch for you.” Dick’s eyes stung with tears. He wasn’t even sure why he felt like crying, but he took a shaky breath and blinked them away. If you cry now, you’ll never live it down, he told himself. “You don’t get it at all, do you,” he told Cobb. His voice didn’t wobble. “There is no easy choice anymore.” Cobb stared at him, seemingly incredulous. Dick shifted the weight of his knife in his hands, preparing for a fight as subtly as he could. Cobb noticed the action, though, and recovered himself. “I give you every chance to make the right choice, and every time you brush me off,” he said. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his knives. “It seems you are truly beyond saving.” “By you, maybe.” Cobb attacked again, stepping forwards and sweeping his arm down to hit Dick in the side. A flash of pain burst from his wound, and he fell to the ground. He rolled with the impact. As much as he wanted to lie there gasping for breath, that would mean certain death. Instead, he pulled himself up and turned just in time to bring his arms up in front of him as he saw Cobb attacking again and he was knocked off his feet. He couldn’t get up. He was too tired, and everything hurt, and he had to take a second just to take a breath before he got up- but he didn’t have time for that. Cobb’s foot pressed against his chest, sending a flare of pain from his side, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried pushing the leg away, gasping desperately for breath, but he couldn’t do it. Distantly, Cobb was saying something, but he couldn’t focus long enough to know what. Everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe. Cobb’s image standing above him seemed to sway and blur. Distantly, Dick realized that wasn’t good. Probably he should… do something about that. That was his last thought before he fell into blackness. … They had been thrown pretty unceremoniously into a cage. It sat in the middle of the courtroom floor. Everyone else had left, except for the creepy dude. Cobb. Whatever his name was. He didn’t look like he wanted to talk, though. He leaned against the wall, surveying them coolly. Talon was also nowhere to be found. Conner wanted to ask the others where he’d gone, but he doubted talking would be appreciated by their guard, and the mindlink was down, thanks to a metal circle around M’gann’s neck. They were all wearing inhibitor collars, except for Artemis and Batman. Conner hated the feel of it around his neck, hated how vulnerable he felt without his powers. Whatever happened next probably wouldn’t turn in his favor until he got that thing off his neck. “Hey, Cobb!” Wally called to the guard, snapping Conner out of his thoughts. “Wanna tell us where our friend is?” Cobb didn’t respond right away. He looked at Wally condescendingly for a second, as if deciding whether or not to deign to speak with him. “It’s of no concern to you,” he finally said. “You’ll be dead before he is.” “You’re going to kill him?” M’gann burst out. “Why so surprised?” M’gann opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She seemed to be at a loss for words. She snapped her mouth shut and gave him a piercing glare. He looked amused. “If it’s of any condolence, he won’t be dead forever,” Cobb said. The team glanced around at each other. Standing at the back of the cage, Batman’s eyes narrowed like he was calculating something. Conner met M’gann’s eyes, his confusion mirrored in hers. It was Artemis who spoke up first. “Uh, last I checked, that’s kinda how death works. ” “No,” Cobb said. “He will be processed. They will kill him, inject him with a serum, and then bring him back to life. After that, his loyalties will never sway again.” “Because he’ll be traumatized?” Conner said. “Great plan.” “No,” Cobb said again. He looked like he was enjoying watching their reactions. “Because he’ll be processed. Any Talon who goes through that process loses the ability to think for themselves. They only do what the Court of Owls will tell them to do.” “So you’re turning him into a zombie,” Wally said incredulously. “That’s the price he pays for disobedience,” Cobb said. The team glanced at each other again. Even without the mindlink, Conner could tell that they were all on the same page. We have to get out of this cage. ... Dick came to slowly. The first thing he noticed was that he was moving. Well, he wasn’t moving himself. But he could feel the jostling rhythm of someone walking. He was being carried over someone’s shoulder, he realized. That was about as far as his deduction skills could take him. For some reason, he couldn’t pull his thoughts together. His whole mind felt fuzzy, like he was underwater or something, and he was tired. Still, now that he’d felt the jostling, he couldn’t ignore it and go back to sleep. Reluctantly, he pried open his eyes. All he could see was the back of the person carrying him as he bumped back and forth. He turned his head to the side. That small action took a lot more effort than he was comfortable with, and he let out an involuntary groan. His head felt like some invisible pressure was bearing down on it. Probably had something to do with him being upside down. “Oh, are you awake now?” A voice said. The body carrying him rumbled with the vibrations. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “What’s…” he mumbled. He didn’t have enough energy to finish his thought. “Your friends have been captured,” the voice said. “They’ll be killed by a more competent Talon. In the meanwhile, you’ll be processed.” That woke him up some more. His brain started moving a bit faster. The plan… the fight… and then he’d blacked out. He’d been captured. He was being processed. The shoulder beneath him shifted, and he startled. He was weightless in the air for a split- second, but before he knew what was happening, he hit the ground. It was cold concrete, and his shoulder throbbed where he’d taken the brunt of the impact. The voice was talking again. He tried to push himself up, but everything seemed to tilt and sway around him. A harsh metal clang sounded, and then there was silence. He sat there breathing for a couple seconds. Slowly, the dizziness subsided, and he looked around. He was in a room. There wasn’t much else to say about it. It wasn’t particularly big, more like a large walk-in closet. Everything seemed to be made of concrete. A lightbulb buzzed softly above him, the only source of light. In front of him was a door made of metal. The only notable thing about the room was how cold it was. It was freezing. He could see his breath in puffs of fog in front of him. The cold sat heavy over the whole room like a blanket, worming its way into even the tiniest cracks in his armor: underneath his shoulder guards, inside his boots, under his neckband. His breath was sharp in his lungs. He felt a sinking feeling in his chest. This was actually happening. He was about to be processed. “Okay, don’t panic,” he said to himself out loud, rubbing his arms. Slowly, he stood up and stepped towards the door. He ran his fingers over the edge, looking for some way out. Never mind that it would be a huge oversight to build in a way to open the door from the inside. He couldn’t think like that. There was no way to open the door. At least, not from what he could see. He turned around, staring at the walls for any cracks, hoping that he’d missed something before, something that might help him escape. There wasn’t one. The room was empty and barren. It almost seemed to be taunting him. He turned back to the door. It stared back at him. There was nothing he could do. He had lost. The team was captured. Help wasn’t coming. They were all going to die. He was going to die. “LET ME OUT!” He hit the door as hard as he could, banging against it in a sudden surge of rage. “LET ME OUT, LET ME OUT-” He hit the door so hard that his hand spasmed, and he yanked it back. He shook it out, then pulled out a knife and stabbed at the door. It scratched against the surface harmlessly. Dick made a noise of frustration and jabbed at the door again. He hit it over and over, but the blade never did more than scratch the surface. As the knife came down again and met the door, his hand slipped. A searing pain blazed across his palm, and he dropped the knife with a gasp. He examined his hand: the knife had sliced through his glove and made a cut on his palm. As he watched, blood welled up from the cut. He pressed his other palm against it, which helped with the pain. Dick looked back at the door. He could see the scratches of the knife, a frenzied looking record of his attempted escape for some future historian to find. Maybe. In the far future. If the Court was ever defeated. And then if someone bothered to look around, and then they might have a small idea what had happened to him. They wouldn’t know his name, or his story. They would just know he wasn’t able to escape. He blinked. His eyes stung hot with tears, and he brought up his hand to wipe them away. But as soon as he did, new tears welled up in their place. He couldn’t escape. He was going to die. No one would ever know what had happened to him. It was then that he really started crying. A sob burst out of him, and the hot tears spilled over his cheeks. He dropped to his knees, leaning himself against the wall. The sounds of his sobs punctuated the silent room. He pulled his knees up to his chest, shivering from the cold. He buried his face into his knees and shook with sobs. He was going to die. He couldn’t do anything about it. No one was coming to help him. He was scared. He was powerless. He was alone.  

MORGAN     The girl is holding Oyal's hand. This is… troublesome . They are certain this "hand-holding" is the cause of this new emotion. It makes their stomach feel heavy and their hands sweaty. They are not sure if this good or bad. They have never held a hand before. At least they don’t think so, they would remember such a feat, right? Yes, they would. Coby thankfully took over in the talking department, engaging in little small talk like 'where she lived' and 'if she was okay' and other nonsense like that. Oyal should be contributing to that conversation. Coby is easily getting information out of this child and yet they can't even think of an opening… how is Coby doing it? Just… talking to someone he had just met. Making connections . Did Oyal have a connection with Coby? What about Nami? In that case, Nami was the first to interact with them. Should they just wait to be interacted with? Yes, it would be best not to intervene and instead observe them interacting, perhaps learn from their interactions and use them in future situations… but the child still has not let go of their hand. Should they… pull away ? No, that would make it more awkward, best to let Rika choose when to let go. How long were you supposed to hold someone's hand? Are they doing it wrong? Is their hand too sweaty? Why couldn't she just hold Coby's hand and spare them from this? Why do they care? No, the real question is when did they start caring? On Laftel, they were perfectly able to approach Luffy… but then again, they had two decades to think of what they wanted to say and mentally prepare themselves. That was not the case now. Now, everything is… alive . Constantly moving, breathing, acting . Things happening that are out of their control. That woman over there hanging her clothes has a 97% chance of drying them. That man selling fruits has a 67% chance of success with that sales pitch. Those kids playing tag, the girl has an 81% chance of catching the boy. So many variables to account for, but everything keeps changing . 56% of rain, 67% chance of that dog barking at them, 39% chance of that food getting stolen, 57% 34% 19% 65% 47% 31% 65% 38% 06% 75% 18% 04% 36% 78% 10% 58% 30% 16% 75% 83% 40% 76% 13% 45% 67% 89% 87% 65% 43% 23%… Luffy is usually there to distract them from all these variables, but he is not here. Their senses are on overload, the smell of fish, the sun shining, the sound of people talking, yelling . They hate yelling. Too loud. Everything keeps moving too fast and it has no rhyme or reason and… and… they can't breathe… If everyone… could just… stop… to let them… think… What are the chances of things being real? What if they finally lost it and all of this is just made up in their head? What are the chances of Monkey D. Luffy making to Laftel and denying the One Piece? What are the chances of them being alive? What are— Hand. The girl— Rika squeezes their hand. Their hand . That is connected to the child. Who is real. This is real. They can trust their senses. Does the child know? Did she sense their panic? Panic ? This is panic. Right. They have to un-panic themselves. They have to focus their senses. Just on the hand. That is real. They are real. They are real and they are here and this is proof. They can still feel . Yes, feel. That is also his fault. Centuries of apathy breaking down within a day. Now they are feeling again. That is… good? Mostly likely. As… inconvenient as feelings are, they still seem to be… necessary to function. As a person. A person interacting with other people. Oh, they are at Rika's place. Coby is to receive the story from Rika here. That is what they are talking about now: Helmeppo and his attack dog and Zoro killing it and all. He is to be imprisoned for thirty days otherwise he would have executed Rika and her mother and Zoro accepted the offer. Coby is lost in thought, that is not how a Marine should act, not by his watch anyway, and Zoro… "I guess he really isn't as evil as everyone says he is." "He's not!” Rika asserts, pouting. “The only bad guy is Captain Morgan. You'll get executed if you disobey him, so everyone is afraid of him," Rika starts to tear up a bit. "It's my fault he was put in here. It's my fault! It's been twenty days and… and I don't know how to help him but make stupid riceballs." There is a sharp pain in Oyal's chest. Have they been injuried? No, wait, there is no wound… is this… another emotion? They… especially don't like it. It must be a reaction to something. That something is in this conversation, what was Rika saying? The Marines? Riceballs? No… it must be something new… the most logical thing was Rika herself… Rika is… upset . Yes! Rika is upset! That is wrong. Rika being sad is wrong . Oyal will have to figure out why later but right now they need to un-sadden Rika. Reassurance ! Rika needs reassurance. Oyal opens their mouth . "He ate… them." Oh, stars … they sound so… idiotic … But Rika looks at them with wide, wet eyes. Oyal barely manages to hold back the flinch of having someone look directly at them in this state, but they persevere nonetheless: "Roronoa said they were very good and thank you very much." At least that was Zoro's response the first time Luffy fed him, there was a 94% chance that he would say the same thing. She was happy the first time when Luffy told her… Rika's eyes stop watering. "Really? How do you know, Big Sister?" Sister? They… don’t share the same parents… by any means. No, focus, answer the question. "I can predict the future." Once more, while a degrading way to look at their craft, it is the best explanation they can give. Rika’s eyes sparkle. “Really?! How?” “With the stars.” Coby tilts his head. "But… uh… isn't it daytime?" "… I did my calculations last night," Oyal offered monotonously. Coby doesn't know about that. Luffy seems to trust Oyal’s predictions and while Luffy isn't the most tactile person, he does have a good sense for people. But predicting someone role in the future seems more like with Alvida and a warlord seemed more like… fortune telling? He doesn't know! But the stars saying Roronoa Zoro ate and enjoyed Rika's riceballs was pushing it. Rika doesn't seem doubtful in the least, if anything she seems even excited about the idea. "Like a witch!" "Not like a witch, astronomer ,” Oyal emphasizes. “Stars, planets, and space itself can be carefully calculated throughout years of study and observation." The best way to explain it to show Rika what they are talking about. Sadly, Rika has still not let go of their hand and Oyal refuses to be the one to break if it was to make the situation uncomfortable. So Oyal turns the palm of their other hand into paper to show a few of her diagrams. Rika eyes widen at the sight of the pages. "Cool!" "SINCE WHEN CAN YOU DO THAT?" Coby asks a little more surprised. Oh right, he never knew. "I have a Devil Fruit as well. The Paper-Paper Fruit allows me to make paper from my body," they calmly explain before returning their attention to Rika. "Look at these pictures and what do you see?" She flips to some of her first pages they drew. "Um… circles and lots of dots." Oyal nods. "Exactly, but while they may seem out of order and at random each one has a proper place and has a meticulous pattern to follow." After… well after the Genocide , the only thing left on that island was the One Piece and themselves. There was nothing left, no people, no culture, no… life . The only thing that was there was them and the sky. It started off simple enough. To keep themselves from going insane from the silence, they started counting the stars. Counting every. Single . One. That is, until that man came to them and… persuaded them. Then Luffy came, and now these emotions are coming back and everything is still going too fast for their liking. So having people confuse the very distinct practices of Astronomy and Astrology does cause some… discomfort on their part. "Planets and stars have an orbit they must follow," they continue, reflecting that they are grossly oversimplifying. "I have documented and recorded this pattern for quite some time. I must admit, finding the understanding within the stars is… a different angle for me. But I know the language inside and out." They close their hand into a fist, returning it to normal. "So, while the stars did not say 'Zoro will enjoy Rika's riceballs,' I can say that a man who has not eaten in twenty days will have a 98% chance of enjoying any food given to him." Rika's eyes sparkle at the new information. "Cool!" she squeezes their hand again which is becoming more and more sweaty and gross. "So he ate it and liked it! That's great!" Oyal is forced to feel that warmth in their chest again. Logically, they know they will eventually get used to feeling this much again, but that does not mean they enjoy the process. They recall exactly when it happened, now that they look back on it. When Luffy first caught them off guard on Raftel. Confusion . When they escaped. Joy . When he left. Fear . When he came back. Annoyance . Nami coming aboard. Surprise . When they are the one to mess up their interaction… Disgrace . And now… Fondness… Too many emotions for one day if you ask them. "But isn't that like magic?" Oyal slowly turns their head to a soon-to-be-regretful boy. "I-I mean, studying something for a long time and then using to for thing like fortune telling… isn't that like a… a magician ?" Actually, they did have another emotion today, didn't they? How could they forget about Annoyance ? "No." "Understood, forgive me," Coby bows quickly. Rika laughs. "You guys are so silly! Big Sis isn't a magician…" Thank you. "…she's a Magic-Girl!" ….huh. Here Oyal was complaining about feeling too much and now they can't feel anything at all. Like a candlestick that has gone out after using up all their wax. Just… nothing. Nothing but betrayal . Coby straightens up, scratching the back of his head both at the comment and at the dejected look that it leaves on Oyal’s face. When Rika put it like that, he realized how silly he sounded. Magic ? Sure, there might be Devil Fruits, sea kings, and impossibly strong teenagers in this world, but magic? Now that was pushing it. CRASH All three snap out of their musings at the sudden noise from the restaurant behind them. Rika’s mother's restaurant. "Mom!" Rika cries as she runs inside, Oyal and Coby right behind her. They find Ririka looking fearfully at Helmeppo, who is looking a little worse for wear than usual. "It's fine, Rika. Stay where you are," Ririka tries to reassure her daughter. " Stupid dad… can't even…! Crazy old man… I'm not some… " Helmeppo grumbles, plopping into a chair. Then he raises his voice and snaps, "Hey! Get me some wine here, now!" Rika's mom leaves quickly to oblige; the sooner he had his drink, the sooner he would leave. Oyal and Coby take seats to the side; Coby doesn't want to get caught in the trouble, but he doesn't want to leave Rika and her mother alone either. Oyal, for their part, is watching with mild scrutiny. The odds that Rika and her mom will be fine are still a healthy 70%, they doubt that Helmeppo will cause any more trouble to the family. It isn’t as much of a certainty with his current state of mind; he had clearly spoken to his father about Luffy and gotten rejected. But for all his arrogance, obnoxiousness, laziness, and foolishness, he is not evil . He would rant and rave and threaten, but he wouldn’t actually hurt anyone; at worst, he could order his troops to dirty their hands for him. Oyal wonders absently if there is a way to document his change under Garp’s tender mercies. It is quite an interesting transformation from… that to a decent human being. Helmeppo grabs the bottle the Ririka brings to him and took a big swig. " Power he says… I'll show him!" Another careless swig. "I've decided… to execute Zoro tomorrow! Yeah, look forward to it everyone!" Oyal knows he isn't serious, the man could hardly stand the sight of blood, let alone draw it. There is a high chance he is joking, and was even joking back in the previous timeline. Oyal knows that he will never get the chance to initiate the execution, knows that he will not get the chance to fall down a path he could never come back from. They know this… and yet… why do they feel…so bothered? It is illogical, of course. That Roronoa Zoro created an emotional response out of them. … they haven’t even spoken to the man… In fact, Zoro is illogical. Zoro seems to be one of the most devoted Straw Hats to Luffy, yet he only agreed to follow Luffy was because of the young pirate saving Zoro from execution. It was built on the mutual agreement that Luffy would stay out of Zoro's way during his pursuit of world's greatest swordsman. Oyal cannot calculate if Zoro is a man of simple logic or a man driven by simple emotion. Either way, he is a simple man, he knows what he wants and is willing to do anything to get it. They know many things about this man, yet not enough. They know his smile though they have never seen it. They know his laugh though they have never heard it. They know his past and what he does in the future. They know his values, morals, and beliefs, yet they don’t know how he acts on them. They know he only succumbed to tears twice in his life: when he promised to carry on Kuina’s will and when he promised to Luffy that he would never lose again. And right now, they know this is when Luffy punches that guy in the face . But Luffy is not here. Helmeppo drowns another gulp of wine… why is he even bothering with the glass. "The idiot will make a good example to the rest of this town. Can't believe he believed that stupid bet…" Coby is literally shaking next to them, no doubt having similar thoughts: "Doesn't he have any honor?" Oyal is actually surprised by Coby’s reaction, they must have miscalculated how much Luffy had changed him already. But still… there is no advantage in getting involved. Nothing to be gained from doing what Luffy would have done. He will learn his lesson sooner or later. The only thing they will get out of this is a pissed off Helmeppo and a bruised hand. Coby will still learn his lesson when Luffy takes of Captain Morgan. Chances are more in the favor if they do nothing. "Hey, lady!" He is starting to slur, the alcohol finally taking its desired effect. "Hurry it up, put that kid to work if you aren't moving," he throws the bottle on the floor, just a little too close to Rika. On the other hand… who are they to take a chance? They calmly get up, ignoring the look of confusion Coby gives them and makes their way over to the tipsy man. Let’s see make a fist. Was it thumb on the inside or outside? “Who the hell are you-?” Right, outside.  Oyal proceeds to cold-clock the bastard in the fucking face. It is hardly a punch. He only falls out of his chair; compared to the first time with Luffy making him slam against the wall, it is pretty pathetic. They can't find it in themselves to be disappointed, though, that would be illogical. "Oyal!" Coby grabs their arm even though they aren’t making any more movements. What is she thinking? He thought that out of Luffy and her, she was the calm one , but this…?! Cobyis mad too. Livid. This guy was soiling the good name of the Marines… but he still is one! And to be an enemy of the Marines is never good. "What are you doing?!" Helmeppo grabs his cheek. "I'm the son of Captain Morgan! I'll have you executed too!" Helmeppo can't believe it, that someone actually hit him. "Have you no honor? No pride?" Oyal's voice is ice cold. They try to remember what Luffy said in this case but their mind is drawing a blank. In the back of their head, their voice was telling them this is all useless and unreasonable, but… all they can think about is how this fucking crew is still right in front of them and how much their first hurts . It doesn't matter if it 800 years or a thousand. Nothing ever changes .  "You utter microorganism , leeching off the strength of your father. Just like the rest of them. Are you so weak that you can't stand on your own?" It gets the reaction they want as Helmeppo flinches at their words. Good . They should hurt him. They want to hurt him. He should know how utterly weak he is. It will help him grow stronger. Logically. "Y-You'll regret hitting me!" he threatens, uncertainty bleeding through the attempted firmness. "You’re right," Oyal responds, their tranquil fury becoming more pronounced as they speak even more quietly. "It's meaningless to hit people like you ." That stuck the final cord as Helmeppo. He ran out of the restaurant on quick feet, probably plotting revenge or something. Oyal barely notices, really. Their heart is pumping blood so loudly everything else seems fuzzy. Coby is still holding their arm, not sure what he is even doing. They already punched him and they aren’t making another move but… Coby has no idea what to do. He hasn't seen Oyal like this. As the adrenaline starts to wear off, Oyal takes a breath. What in Pluto are they doing? They need to stop . They need an excuse to leave. "We… we should be heading back. Luffy should be done with his conversation by now." It was hard to tell, Luffy's contract comic is not the best when depicting time passing. But Coby seems to agree at least. "Y-Yeah." He waves to Rika wanting to make a quick exit. "Stay out of trouble, all right?" Rika shakes her head with a wide grin, making Coby's head slump. "That's was awesome, Big Sister! I'll have a table waiting for all of you after Mr. Straw Hat is done kicking Morgan's ass!" "Rika!" Ririka grabs her shoulder. "Stop speaking that way and get away from those strangers!” And… that was their cue to leave. Oyal makes sure to give the best wave they can before leaving. That seemed to be important for connections. Coby and they walk in silence for a few minutes, neither one sure what to say. Coby doesn't want to bring it up in case Oyal would get angry again. And Oyal is… thinking . They think their hand hurts. They think they acted rashly. They should have listened to their reasoning and done nothing. They can’t let their emotions take over their choices again. They can’t afford to lose their concentrations. They can’t afford to lose control like that again.  They think it is stupid that Coby is joining that crew. They think that he deserves better. They think they need to stop thinking while they are ahead.  "Coby." The pinkette flinches at their voice. Oyal’s tone is… not angry, but just as hard as it was when they were talking to Helmeppo. Was he going to get hit? But no, they gaze down at him, or at least their head is turned to him. "Coby," they repeat more softly, they are no Luffy but this will have to do. "There is only so much a person can take before they fail. Coby blinks, trying to figure out they meant.  Oyal raised their hand into his sight. A piece of paper appears from their hand and starts turning, clean and neat. It folds itself into a perfect five-pointed star as though invisible hands were moving it. The star spins a bit, showing no imperfections or flaws.  “Some things have good origins. Meant for good things.” Then Oyal crushes it in their grip. The paper was now a crumpled ball. Broken. Ugly. “But they can be courrtuped.”  It floats again, still crumbled but remaking its points as if trying to recapture its perfection like before. But it never will. Shadows of past abuse still linger on the paper.  “And they can never go back to what they orginally were.” Coby stares at the star, still confused. Oyal shakes their head, trying to think of a different approach. Then, finally, the words come to mind. "…There is no black or white in this world, Coby. Only battlefields of grey,” they say quietly, speaking from experience, "You must choose what kind of… Marine, you want to be. You can either sit back and take the abuse or you can stand up to them." Their voice gradually grows harder throughout the explanation. In the end, they think that they’ll still need to leave Coby’s development to Luffy… but they mean every word. Coby blinks at Oyal’s words. It’s more than just sounding confident in what they’re saying, they make it sound like… like it’s a fact. But before he can ask anymore they were already back at the base. OOO "I can help you," Luffy says, swinging his legs back and forth carelessly. "I know a thing or two that can help you take down old Hawky." Zoro looks at the teen right in front of him. Really looks at him for a moment. This isn't some dumbass trying to bribe him, saying things he wants to hear… this guy… is genuine. It is a lot to promise but then again… this kid. He doesn't know him, but he’s like nobody he’s ever met before…inexplicably, he likes him. That is the problem… though it could have been that he is tied to a post and half dead from no food but still… but still, he isn’t stupid. He has too much on the line to gamble it on just a feeling like this. "What do you want?" he asks firmly. Luffy smile lessens somewhat, but it doesn't lose its joy, it just seems… sadder. “I want to see you fulfill your dreams. I want you to become the world's greatest swordsman. And I can promise you that you will become stronger than you could ever imagine.” Zoro stares at him bewildered. This guy… is something else. He doesn't know what he is but he sure is something. "I… I'll think about it. I can't go anywhere until the end of the month anyway. I promised to stay here until then." Even though he's sure that blond idiot went running to his daddy, he still has every intention of keeping his side of the bargain as long as the brat does too. Luffy nods. "That's right, and you're a man who always keeps his promises. Hmm…" Luffy cocks his head to the side, he actually thought that Helmeppo would be here by now, he talked to his dad… a lot earlier… "Oyal," Luffy shouts back to the wall. “Yes, Captain?” said kid calls back, popping their head from behind the wall with Coby in tow and utterly unsurprised that they arrived right as Luffy called them. "Get over here." Obediently, Oyal climbs over the wall… with some help from Coby and without a lot of grace. Jeez, what's the point of this wall if anyone can just jump over it? The thought goes through the minds of everyone present. Oyal and Coby make their way to the duo, the latter staying a bit behind in fear while the former stands right next to their captain. They give a hidden glance to Zoro as he measures them up. They stand straighter under his gaze. "Yes, Captain?" They are not going to be… undermined by their newest crew member. Luffy crosses his arms, pouting a bit. "Why isn't Morgo here yet? I even asked for him." Oyal opens took the journal from her jacket pocket, flipping some pages. "If I am correct, which I am… you punching Helmeppo did not cause Morgan to come per se… rather it was because you destroyed his statue and ransacked his base." Luffy facepalms. Stupid! They’re right, Momo didn't give two shits about his son, it was the statue! Ugh! How can he forget something like that! Then again it was a long time ago… Guess they have to do things the hard way…or really, the fun way! "Well," Luffy claps his hands. "I guess I’ll go talk to Morgan myself.” Zoro stares in disbelief at this guy… is he really going to do this?  He points to Zoro not taking his eyes off Oyal. "I take it you got the story from Rika?" Zoro eyes widen at that, do they know? The girl probably told them, but he didn't expect them to find out so soon... or ever. He doesn't regret it, obviously. He would never let some kid get killed… Oyal nods in understanding. "Rika told us about Zoro's promise to be here after protecting her, correct." Zoro looks away, damn sun was making his face red . “I have relayed Zoro's message to her that he enjoyed her riceballs greatly.” “How do you know that?" They had no way! He only told the straw hat guy! Coby's eyes widen, at the news. He just thought they said that to make Rika feel better, but they are right?! "Luffy said he would feed you," Oyal answers promptly. "Yeah, but you weren't here… at all." "…Magic." "Bullshit," Zoro scoffs. "Indeed,” Oyal nods in agreement. “Anyway, Helmeppo does not plan to keep said promise. He announced his plan to execute Roronoa Zoro tomorrow." "It's true," Coby admits, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth. To think that a Marine would have so little honor. To think that this Captain Morgan has been getting away with this kind of treatment! Luffy doesn't want to destroy Coby's dream or admiration for the Marines, but the younger boy has to face reality if he is going to be the best. And the sooner, the better. He is too smart to blindly follow the Absolute Justice but it is good that he is learning just what kind of organization he was going to be following. "What!? That bastard!" If he was being honest with himself Zoro should have known better. He thought he could settle this the peaceful way but to think that rat would sink this low. "Damn it," he mutters under his breath. Oyal can feel that feeling again. "…If it is any help… I, uh, may have punched the Captain's son…" Luffy and Zoro both look at them in shock, Luffy only now noticing their silently bruised hand. Then he smiles. "Oyal…" Oyal holds their other hand up in a stopping motion. "Please, do not." Luffy puts a hand over his heart. "I am so proud of you right now." "Please, don't." "So proud." "It was the most reasonable thing to do at the given moment," they rationalize. "He- He would have continued his ramblings and we do not need that right now. For the sake of future events, it is best he is here to see his father' downfall and… and…" they are not running out of logical excuses to say. They are not . But they did not find that their real reason was not… logical. Not liking what Helmeppo was saying about Zoro. "Talk shit, get hit, right?" Luffy laughs. He could take a good guess why they did it. Actually, he already knew. He even knew why they did it better than they did. A faint blush dusts Oyal's face, damn pale skin . "Following that line of reasoning, it was the most logical outcome, correct." Zoro actually laughs. It hurts and it’s rough but damn, it was good to laugh again after a month. These guys are hilarious. Luffy stops humiliating Oyal for a second, turning to Zoro. "So that means he has your swords right?" Luffy asks to which Zoro nods. "Okay. I’ll just go get them, free you, and we can leave." Luffy made it sound like a grocery list; Zoro still can’t figure out if this guy is that strong or just an idiot. Maybe a bit of both. "They should be in the base with Helmeppo," Zoro guesses, he was the bastard that took them in the first place after all. Luffy nods, already stepping back. "Coby, Oyal, stay with Zoro and make sure he doesn't get killed. I'll be right back," he says. " Gum-Gum… Rocket! " Zoro likes to think he had seen a lot of things today, but apparently not enough as the teen stretches out his arms and slingshots himself to the top of the Marine base. Amidst all the shock that Luffy had put him through, Zoro’s brain had had enough free capacity to wonder how being turned into a rubber man was a power that was worth losing the ability to swim for the rest of your life. Now, however, he could see more of the potential. But that didn’t go a long way towards calming him down. Oyal hesitantly pats Zoro's head lightly in an attempt to comfort him, after all, Coby did so with Rika . "It's okay, you get used to it." Yeah, that was exactly what he was afraid of. Getting used to this madman. What in the hell had he gotten himself into? Coby starts untying Zoro's ropes. "You don't have to be a pirate but… Luffy saved me. H-he is completely set on being the Pirate King, you know." Coby is still dead-set on joining the Marines but that doesn't mean it isn't going to cheer on Luffy and his dreams, he was a believer now . "The Marines will never let you two off so easy but if you two join forces you will definitely be able to escape this town! So please help Luffy escape ." Zoro takes his words to heart, not really sure to make of them. This guy, Luffy , he is something he had never seen before… and he kind of wants to see some more. He studies the other kid. They are actually a member of his crew, but they don’t show of strength as their captain did. They don’t give off… anything , and it was kinda pissing him off. "Hey, aren't you going to help?" he demands. Oyal looks at the other knot that is holding Zoro down. They stare at the knot with great concentration only to look away, their usually neutral face grim with a heavy burden. Zoro keeps staring at them, waiting for their excuse. "…I don't know how to untie knots," they state. Zoro feels a vein pop on his forehead. "JUST HELP!" he roars. OOO Luffy clings to the side of the building, his hands maintaining an iron grip on the edge of the Marine base’s roof. To an outsider, he would look like someone hanging onto dear life. But really, he is just taking his time viewing his audience. A couple of Marines. An ugly-as-sin statue of a very ugly man. The said very ugly man. And a very open opportunity to make a huge mess. "Now, hear this!" the ugly man shouts, waving his axe menacingly. "I outrank all of you! That means I'm the highest commander of this base! That means I'm the best! I cannot be wrong in any way! Do you agree?" "Yes, sir!" "That's right, sir!" every Marine shouts without a hint of dignity. Wow, this was pathetic. Sure, Luffy had a low opinion of Marines in general, but come on… Morgan continues, oblivious to the intruder. "See here! This statue took a lot of time to make it," he points to it. "It stands for my unquestionable power! Make it stand up! In the highest place of this base!" "Tsk, tsk, tsk, what a bad father," Luffy finally speaks up. The Marines looked up to see the straw hatted figure standing on the statue. When did he get there? "What are you doing, foolish commoner?!" yells Morgan. "You dare disrespect me with your backtalk ?" Luffy's grin turned mischievous, and he raises his fist. "Oh no, I would never disrespect you like that. I’d disrespect you like this." With that, he slams his fist down on the statue’s stone countenance, an action that would shatter a normal person’s bones. CR-ACK! But to everyone's surprise, it was the statue that began falling apart. A massive crack tore from the place his fist had impacted the stone right through the middle of the statue. It was such a shock that the Marines lost their grip on the ropes, letting the top half of the statue fall right off the roof. The bottom just crumpled right in front of them. A silence hung in the air, stopping time the destruction just witnessed took place in less than ten seconds started to sink in. The straw hat boy stood there with a large grin holding up his ear waiting for something… CRASH! That something being the sound of the top half of the statue hitting the ground floor, breaking everyone of the spell… " GET HIM!" Morgan yells in anger. " SEIZE HIM SO I CAN KILL HIM MYSELF !" "YES, SIR!" the Marines shout, dropping the ropes and stampeding after Luffy. Far too late, however; the rubber man had already vanished inside… with a specific Marine in his grasp. It’s less than a minute before Luffy stops his running and turns his grin onto the Marine he grabbed; he couldn’t afford to get lost since he had to beat Morgan and his lackeys to the courtyard. Said Marine is clearly very nervous, but his eyes still show defiance. Luffy’s grin fades into a dark frown. “Where has that spirit been whenever your boss and his stupid kid have been hurting you and the ones you’re supposed to protect?” he asks with quiet rage. The Marine’s visage falters, and he looks away in shame. Luffy releases him, staring him straight in the eyes. “I hate people like Morgan. But I hate people like you too. You’re scared, you’re weak, and you don’t even have the guts to stand up for yourself. You’re just as bad as he is.” The Marine grits his teeth… but he doesn’t— can’t protest what Luffy says. “…what do you want here?” he finally grits out. “I’m going to free Zoro and I’m going to kick Morgan’s ass. And I’m only doing that because one of my friends wants to join the Navy, even after you and everyone else in this base are ruining his dream. Now, where’s the stupid son’s room? I need Zoro’s swords.” For several seconds, the Marine just stares at him. Then, finally, he gestures to the hallway beside them. “Go to the end of this hallway and take a left, it’s the one labelled ‘Helmeppo’s room.’” Luffy runs off, barely sparing a “thanks” over his shoulder as he rushes towards the door. Finding it just where the Marine described, and unlocked, Luffy lets himself in. His first thought upon seeing the place again: he may not be an expert in decor, but he can tell that this room is tacky . In the corner are Zoro's swords lying innocently enough to the side where he picks them up… …and in the other corner, he notices, is the tear-stained Helmeppo… who had been there the whole time… The two just stare at each other…. And stare… And stare… And stare… …till Luffy grabs Helmeppo and throws him out the window. On the other side, the Marines were already surrounding them. Coby is trying and failing to untie Zoro with increase distress, but they aren’t sure how to comfort the poor boy. Perhaps another pat? Zoro is silently panicking himself, something Oyal rarely sees in Luffy's memories. Zoro can't die here, he still has things to settle. Because he made a promise. To her. To Kuina. Though how did Luffy know he was having flashbacks to his childhood friend right now? Another mystery… Oyal is the only one to take notice of the broken window and silently screaming blond who hit the bottom with a dull thud. Oyal lifts their gaze… right at Luffy. He smiles, giving them a happy wave. They don’t wave back. He grabs the sides of the window frame and stretches back. " Gum-Gum… " …just to take off. "ROCKET!" "FIRE!" Morgan shouts simultaneously. All the men fire their guns out of fear at the three poor, defenseless teens! "LUFFY, NO!" "YOU!" "STRAW HAT!" "You said you would stop with the dramatic entrances." Luffy has to say that was his best landing yet! The bullets bounce effortlessly off the teen's body causing every marine to fall on their ass in fear. And it was at that moment Zoro knew… he had gone mad… Luffy just laughs. "SHISHISHISHI! I'm a Rubberman, remember? Bullets can’t hurt me." He turns to Oyal. "And come on, that was just perfect timing, not my fault." "Doubt," Oyal responds blandly. Luffy shrugs, not really caring. He wants to talk to Zoro right now. Uninterrupted . He gives a dark look to the Marines and focuses, increasing his presence; he is still not in full control of his Conqueror's Haki, but even if he can’t limit it to just the Marines, he can make it so they’re the only ones who feel the brunt. "Back off,” Luffy orders. No sooner does he see that they’re not making any moves towards them than he takes one of Zoro's nameless swords and, using what little swordsmanship he had picked up to keep Brook and Zoro’s memories alive in his old life, slices through his ropes. Zoro stands up, not caring if his back is killing him for being in the same position for twenty days. He feels the powerful aura coming off the teen, it is more than impressive… it is inspiring . He only said two words to the Marines and even they understood that kind of power; he can see them all sweating. Morgan, for his part, either didn’t feel it thanks to Luffy’s poor control or is just that overcome with pride and anger, both of which turn even worse at seeing that his men fear the insignificant traitor before them more than their commanding officer. "Anyone who's scared of this brat, shoot himself now! THAT'S AN ORDER!" he roars. The Marines seem completely lost to what they are supposed to do. The problem is telling who they are afraid of more. They are terrified of what Morgan will do to them if they don't obey, but on the other hand, they really don't want to risk moving with Luffy's silent threat hanging over their heads. But more than anything, the subordinates are not filled with fear at Captain Morgan's command. Their eyes are filled with something other than fear… hatred . Oyal identifies the emotion without effort, and smirks a bit at that; there is, after all, only so much force a star can take before it explodes. "It seems you are very unpopular here," they remark casually. Morgan pushes past his soldiers, he will execute them himself later. Right now, all that mattered is killing that no name Straw Hat commoner who dares defy his absolute justice, his absolute strength! He lifts his axe high in the air, ready to smash to brat's head in two! …Only to be stopped by Roronoa Zoro's sword. Zoro stands there, a single sword in the air, eyes covered, and not a single regret on his face. He has weighed his options, he has made his choices and has come to a simple conclusion. “What are you doing, Bounty Hunter?” Morgan grunts, trying and failing to break his hold. “Are you mad?” He has gone mad alright… mad enough to follow this madman into hell. Zoro looks Luffy right in the eye. "Today I officially become a criminal, having fought the Marines. So I will become a pirate… that I can promise you." He narrows his eyes and glares at his new captain as he adds, "But I want you to know one thing! While I'm with you, the only thing I dedicate myself to is fulfilling my own ambitions!" Luffy feels both joy and sadness at the promise. Zoro said this the first time, too. But now it is different. It was sometime throughout their adventures and their travels, he doesn't know when and he doesn't care, but something changed . They went from a crew all going after their dreams into… a family with a common goal. Zoro and all his crew found something more important than their own dreams. Each other . Their dreams were not for themselves but for everyone on that ship. His crew's dreams where his dreams and his was theirs. He didn't know if he could get that relationship back this time… but he’ll try. “I understand,” Luffy nods. Zoro doesn't let up. "If somewhere along the way I have to give that up, I then want you to accept responsibly. After which you get to apologize to me at the end of a sword." Zoro doesn't care if his demands are outrageous, they were few and true. He traveled half the world in hope to find the right guy and beat him in a duel. This guy… Monkey D. Luffy promises him many things, things that will help no doubt, but not for one second is this guy going to get in his way. Oyal doubts . If given the chance, would have Zoro left the crew? Would he still hold true to these words? Or will his goal change somewhere along the way? Hard to tell. Luffy understands perfectly, though. Zoro searched his whole life in search of one man, for a promise to a friend who never got the chance to do so. He isn't one to give up his dream without a fight. But… even after he found Mihawk, he put off his dream to help Luffy. For that, Luffy can never repay him. He has come a long way, they all have . Zoro sees something flicker across this guy's eyes. Sadness? Longing? As soon as he sees it, it’s gone… was it really there in the first place? Maybe this guy isn't as crazy as he thought… "Sounds good! The King of the Pirates wouldn't have any less than the best of his crew," Luffy echoes his past self. Zoro smirks. "Heh, well said." Morgan does not find the whole conversation as satisfying. Rather, he’s losing his frayed grip on sanity at the fact that these two damn commoners were chit-chatting in front of him. But no matter how much pressure he put on his axe, Roronoa would. Not. Budge ! “Hey, Zoro,” Luffy's grin turns feral. “Duck.” Zoro, though confused, obeys, giving one last push to Morgan's axe. " Gum-Gum…Stamp!" Luffy yells, jetting his sandalled foot forward to smash Morgan in his chest, sending him flying back into the base, crashing through a wall. Zoro gets back to his feet, eyeing the hole that Luffy created. His mind flashes through his memories of creating Santoryu…“You’ve had a lot of practice with your powers, haven’t you?” he asks. “Shishishi! And that was just a normal attack!” Luffy answers happily. Zoro raises his brows at that. “What do you consider advanced, then?” Before Luffy can answer, Morgan actually gets up from his crater, bleeding and bruised, but surprisingly still conscious. Luffy must have held back more than he thought. He doesn't want to kill the guy, but still, he is going to need to relearn how much is too much. "Luffy!" Coby shouts, "Bring those Marines crumbling to their knees!" Zoro cocks his head to the side. "I thought you wanted to become a Marine?" "Well, yeah,” Coby says, shrugging sheepishly. “But that doesn't mean I'm not going to cheer on Luffy for taking down a corrupt one." Luffy and Oyal had been right: Just because someone is a Marine doesn't mean he is a good guy. It is actually fun to watch the fight because it’s so obvious from the start who is going to win. Morgan doesn't have a chance in hell or heaven as he stumbles back to Luffy, poorly aiming his axe again at the teen. "I… AM GOING TO KILL YOU. I am Captain Morgan of the Marines, my authority is unquestionable!" Luffy lazily moves out of the wave every time, waiting for the last second to move. He is messing the Captain. Playing him like the cheap kazoo that he is. And Morgan is only getting more desperate with every second. " Die already!" he roars. Luffy dodges one blow by jumping into the air, landing on Morgan's arm. "I don't wanna,” he whines in an exaggerated childish way. Several of the watchers can’t help but laugh, including Zoro. "What a crappy Captain. Do they just let anyone be a Marine?" he says. While Morgan only grows more furious, Luffy’s enjoyment of the situation is slowly giving way to boredom; the tyrant before him was nothing even without his first life’s experience, and toying with him like this is getting old. Besides, Zoro still needs food and rest, and Luffy himself is getting hungry, too… and eager to recruit Nami again. With that, he flips backward and stretches his arm back for the final blow. “Gum-Gum…!” “I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED BY SOME COMMONER!” Morgan screams, charging him one last time with his axe ready to swing down. But it was all in vain. “PISTOL!” The force of the punch meets the axe halfway down and shatters it, and the fist continues its path to fly straight into Morgan's face. His jaw breaks once again, and he flies back into the same crater that he had created before. And this time, he doesn’t get back up. Zoro looks between the hole and the rubber man; he had watched the whole ordeal carefully, wanting to see what his new captain could do. And he is not disappointed. The Marines, on the other hand, stare half thunderstruck and half horrified. The man they all feared for so long… and a kid beat him, without even trying . Coby understands completely what they are feeling at that moment. When he saw Luffy send Alvida flying effortlessly, the sources of all his problems and fear, he didn't know what to think; years worth of fear seemed so silly in hindsight. "Straw Hat! Stop right there!" a certain blond idiot yells. With Morgan out cold this time, Luffy deigns to look. And there Helmeppo is holding a gun to Coby's head. Oyal was aware of his movements and just thought this was best to let this scene play out. Zoro is actually disappointed in himself for not noticing this bastard and kicking his ass. Was he that light on his feet or was Zoro actually letting not eating for a month get to him? Luffy stares expressionlessly at the scene, but he doesn’t spare the one holding the gun a glance. No, he is looking only at Coby. Last time, he had challenged Coby to test his resolve. He doesn’t need to this time; he knows that Coby is that strong. But Luffy still doesn’t move, because he isn’t the only one who needed to know that. Coby needs to hear himself say it out loud. Coby is shaking. He doesn't want to die… but Luffy is looking right at him with those big black eyes of his, waiting for him to respond. Coby stops shaking as the rest of the world fades and a silent conversation passes between the two. He understands, and he makes his choice. Coby stands up straight, his confidence suddenly erupting and he calls out without a trace of fear, "Luffy, listen! Don't let anything that happens to me stop you! Even if I die!" That is not happening if Luffy has anything to say about it but he gives a huge grin anyway; he is still proud of Coby's answer. "Of course, you got it." Luffy starts to slowly approach Helmeppo as he winds up his arm. "Hear that, you big idiot? Coby here is ready to die by your hand." “D-Didn't you hear me! Stay back, I tell you!” Helmeppo cries, trembling where he stands. Oyal makes a mental note to track their captain's manipulation—I mean, leadership skills . He seems to have that effect on people. If he is around, one can feel that anything's possible. The longing to chase your dreams. It is as fascinating as it is terrifying. With Helmeppo focusing all of his attention on Luffy, he remains oblivious to Zoro… who marches up to him and punches him in the face, knocking him out cold. Everyone stares at Zoro, including Luffy and Coby who blink in surprise. “What? You were taking all the action, and I owed him that anyway,” Zoro snaps. Luffy laughs. "Thanks, Zoro!" Zoro actually smiles back. "Just doing my job, captain." The Marines… stand there, holding their breaths, waiting for Morgan or Helmeppo to wake up and start terrorizing again but… they were really down. "YES!" "WE'RE FREE!" "I WANT A TRANSFER!" "Wow, they sure are happy…" Coby observes the celebrating Marines. Oyal agrees, but now it is time for business. "Captain," Oyal prompts, pointing to Coby and Helmeppo. "Right," Luffy knows what he had to do now. He literally picks up Coby by the scruff of his shirt and drags Helmeppo by the hair— he's passed out, so it won't hurt, right? —and for the second time addresses the celebrating Marines. "Which one of you is next in command?" He speaks in a neutral tone, but still, some of the Marines flinch. The one who steps forward shows the least nervousness; Luffy notes that it’s the same one that he grabbed before, he had thought that he looked kind of familiar.  “I am Lieutenant Ripper. Straw Hat… thank you for getting rid of Morgan. For whatever it’s worth to you, we’re going to take every measure to ensure nobody like him rises to power here again.” He turns his back on Luffy for the moment to address the soldiers behind him. “We have been a disgrace to the uniforms that we wear for too long! Our responsibility is to lay down our lives for the sake of those who cannot defend themselves, and yet for the past two years, we have taken up arms to oppress those same people out of our own fear! It should never have come to relying on a passing stranger to save us!” The entire company looked uncomfortable, while Luffy, Coby, Zoro, and Oyal looked on in surprise. “We put our lives on the line from the moment we took on the title of Marine. We’ve forgotten that. This is a direct order: anyone who believes that they would not die to stop the rise of another tyrant like Morgan, lay down your uniforms and leave.” Shame and anger came across their faces, one and all, and silence stood for a full minute. By the end of that minute, fire danced behind all of their eyes. Ripper nodded in satisfaction. “That’s more like it. Today we celebrate Morgan’s downfall. Tomorrow, we double our training drills. FROM NOW ON, WE WILL PROTECT THIS ISLAND FROM ANY THREATS, OR WE WILL DIE TRYING!” “YES, SIR!” the Marines shout back. A mental note would not do at this point; Oyal begins sketching out a list to keep track of how much Luffy’s charisma affects those around him. Ripper turns back to face Luffy, who has a satisfied smile. “Straw Hat, we owe you a great debt for setting us free. We will not report you to headquarters… but I must ask that you and yours leave this island by sunset.” Oyal looks up from the list and raises their hand. "Do all of us need to leave?" Ripper raises an eyebrow at that but doesn't falter. "Yes, pirates or not, you have aided in crime at this base." "Of course," Oyal sighs; there goes staying here. Oh, well, they had plenty of time before Loguetown. “Actually,” Luffy cuts in. “Report this, but to only one Marine. Tell Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp that his grandson has his replacement… and a plus one," he says, dropping Helmeppo to the side and holding out Coby, hanging like a kitten in Luffy’s grasp. " V-Vice Admiral Garp?" the lieutenant balks; he had never met the man personally but everyone knew of the war hero Garp the Fist. Was this kid really his grandson? If Coby wasn't being manhandled— which he does not appreciate , thank you very little —his jaw would be on the floor. "G-Grandson?! Luffy, You're Garp the Fist's grandson?!" "Yup, I got a letter for him too. Oyal?" They come to his side, letter already in hand and holds it out of the Lieutenant. He takes it hesitantly, not sure how to process this information as Oyal speaks. "This carries all the information Vice Admiral Garp will have over the situation. Thank you for your service ." The kid is formal to the point of being dismissive. Back straight and face blank as they step back. Oyal glances at Coby, who is still confused… and gives him a thumbs up. Coby, in his confused, returns the gesture. The Lieutenant sighs; there was a chance that this could lead to trouble for him, but he owed them a lot. "Alright, then. I shall have these… two reported to Garp as soon as possible. Are you sure about Helmeppo, though?" Luffy waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, he needs a good beating." With that, he turns his attention to the pinkette, finally releasing him. "Coby, we are going to meet again, but next we meet we will be enemies." Coby's face falls at the statement. "But we will always be friends. Promise me that you will follow your own sense of justice." Coby can feel his eyes watering, but he won't let tears fall. Luffy… believes in him. The only person to ever believe in his dreams, his first friend . They had only known each other for a day but he would never be able to repay Luffy for all he had done to help him. "I promise! I will be the greatest Marine you ever laid your eyes on," he affirms. He recoils a little after the bold statement, he couldn't believe he actually said it, but his eyes are determined, refusing to take it back. You already are , Luffy thinks with a wide smile. "Then I'll see you on the Grand Line!" he says out loud. His work done, he starts making his way out of the courtyard, Zoro and Oyal in tow. "SOLDIERS! SALUTE!" The Marines, Coby included, give an honorable goodbye to the retreating forms of the Straw Hat Pirates, now a crew of three. They made their exit as Coby vows to himself to become someone strong enough for Luffy to respect. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" comes a call from the base. A random soldier runs out of the base towards the group of soldiers, now catching their attention. Ripper puts down his hand, he will have to issue out punishment for saluting a pirate later. "Yes, seaman?" The lower-ranking Marine stops to catch his breath, just to lose it again as he bursts out. "We've been robbed!" "What?! What did they take? Money? Ammunition? Documents?" the Lieutenant demands. "No, sir! They took our map to the Grand Line !" OOO   "Thanks for the food!" They finally got Zoro fed, reversing the damage to his body after not eating for nearly a month. Luffy has shoved down almost twice as much, and while some people look in wonder, nobody objects. Ririka and Rika were ecstatic to hear the news of Morgan's defeat; in fact, everyone was, so a celebration had begun in their restaurant. Zoro finishes his drink, and immediately one of the many guests moves to refill it. "So do we have a plan in mind, or…?" Luffy puts down his seventeenth plate and cleans his hands on his pants, manners matter , he could practically hear Ace's voice. The thought of his brother being alive makes a stupidly wide grin come to his face. "We are going to need a few more crew members before we head out. We are going to Orange Town to get our navigator!" Zoro relaxes a bit. "Oh, so you have more than one crewmember." He is relieved, what kind of numbskull went after the title Pirate King with only one member? Oyal bookmarks and closes their journal and interrupts that train of thought. "Actually, we are off to recruit a navigator. We have not yet had her agree to be part of our crew.” Zoro puts his head in his hands. What was he thinking, following this man? "She is definitely going to join though, I know it!" Luffy shouts without a hint of doubt. Zoro is less faithful. "So we are just going to ride around in the East Blue till all our positions depicting?" Luffy shakes his head. "Nah, we gotta get…" he started counting the friend off his fingers. "A sniper, a chef, a doctor, a historian, a shipwright, a musician—without a doubt, that's the most important , of course—and a helmsman!" Zoro sweatdrops. "Priorities, we don't need a musician." "Zoro," Luffy put his hands down on the table very seriously, "you can't be a respectable pirate without music! How are we going to sing shanties without a good tune!" he says with a pout. Zoro has a feeling he is not going to win this battle. It wasn't much of a plan but hell it was something at least. He side-eyes the kid to his left whose head was back in his journal, eating a small bowl of lettuce slowly and sparingly. "What’s she, then?" Luffy picks up his eighteenth plate. "They’re my Magic Girl ." Oyal slams their journal closed and leers at Luffy. " Who told you that ?" they ask slowly. Luffy absently gestures over his shoulder as he digs into another plate, indicating little Rika proudly waving at Oyal, believing that she was doing right. Oyal sighs in dejection. They can't find it in their heart to correct the girl, but they turn to Zoro. “I am an astronomer , I study the stars.” That is… a little weird . Why would anyone get an astronomer of all things first before something as simple as a navigator? But he doesn't question it, from what he can tell those two have something important, he isn't sure if it was just friendship but it was like… a code between the two. Oyal continues. "We have the world's future greatest swordsman, so it is only fair we have the greatest navigator in the East Blue as well for the future King of the Pirates." Zoro gazes at them like they said a riddle and turns to his captain bringing his drink to his lips. "You seem real confident about becoming King of the Pirates. Is there any kind of story behind it or any reason at all?" It is none of his business but… in most cases, it would sound arrogant to make such a claim. But the way the kid is saying it, no pride, no grandness, just saying it… like it was fact. “I made a promise,” Luffy tells him. "I swore that I would gather a crew, find the world's greatest treasure, and become King of the Pirates…” He smiles sadly. “I know that I can't do it alone, I know that I have a long way to go, but I know that this time, I will be a good captain. I promised.” Both of Luffy’s crewmates notice his slip of the tongue. Zoro stares at his captain quizzically, the words ‘this time’ tying into just how much he seems to know. The conclusion comes to mind: Luffy had tried before and failed. That paints an odd picture for him considering how unprepared he seems now… but he ultimately puts it out of his mind. He would follow Luffy until their ambitions no longer aligned. Oyal, who had been silently observing Zoro, relaxes as the suspicion moves out of his mind. Now able to refocus on what their captain had said, they feel their chest grow warm and tight at the same time in a feeling that they know at once: Respect. Luffy is not the smartest, most tactical person, but he has something no one in this world has: A second chance. A second chance to use his experience and skills to change the future. Oyal is… proud of him. Though that would be illogical. They have no reason to be proud. He is responsible for his own growth, they have no contribution to this. A tug on their sleeve brings them out of their thoughts, and they look to see little Rika with something in her hands. "Big Sister! I got you a gift!" she holds out the little package. Oyal takes it carefully, looking the object over in their hands. It is a deck of playing cards. “Why?” "Oyal, you're supposed to say, ‘thank you,’” Luffy lectures as he wolfs down another plate with no shame at all. Oyal feels a blush come over their face. "Of course. Thank you. Rika. For the gift," they manage unevenly. They definitely need to work on this 'rudeness' of theirs. They can't afford another Nami incident… nor do they ever want to be lectured on manners from Luffy again. “You're welcome!" Rika says with a proud smile. "I got you them because I heard the sailors say how fortune tellers have cards to read the future and you don't have any cards, Sis, so I knew you needed them!” She is not… incorrect . But Oyal again cannot find it in themselves to properly correct the girl; they don't know how to read actual tarot cards anyway, so it is for the best that they are simple playing cards. “I… thank you Rika. I will be sure to put them to good use. Here—" They take out one of the cards, the Ace of Clubs , and hand it to Rika. "Keep this." “But then you won't have a full deck,” she protests. "Very well," they answer, taking the card back and closing their palms around it. Opening their hands again reveals two Aces of Clubs. Oyal takes the duplicate and gives it Rika. "Now I can have the full deck." Rika looks in wonder while Zoro raises a brow. "Wow! Thanks, Big Sis!" Oyal presses their lips together. “Please, tell me. Why do you call me Big Sister?” “Isn’t it obvious?” Rika tilts her head. “Because you are my Big Sister!” Then suddenly, her shoulders slump. “Unless… you don’t want to be my Big Sister…” Oyal feels that emotion again. Fondness . It is… warm. They find that they like warm emotions. “No, no…. I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” Oyal responds with a smile. "Now you're a real Magic girl," Zoro supplies with a teasing grin. And there it goes. Oyal gives their best impression of glaring they could muster under their bandana. " As-tron-o-mer ," they emphasized each syllable. "Same thing, right?" Zoro chuckles. Oyal calculates the best way to educate this ignorant man until Luffy interrupts. “Guys, we don't have a boat,” he says simply. Zoro groans while Oyal restrains a huge sigh. "Yes, Captain, I was planning on talking to you about that. I am sure that we can ask one of the townsfolk here for a small boat. We only need it to last us a day or two, so I am sure—" Luffy puts his finger to Oyal's mouth, which she quickly pushes away. Without a word, he points across the restaurant. They look in the direction he points and sees a familiar redhead.  And then Oyal looks back at their captain. Really looks . They shake their head. He nods his. They shake harder. He nods harder. They shake even harder . He nods his rubbery head, an unfair advantage , even harder already getting up. They hope he knows what they are thinking, I am completely against this. He does, I don't care. And he goes to get them a ride. Zoro looks at the whole interaction with some confusion. “What is he doing?” “ Whatever he wants , that's what,” Oyal grumbles, ripping out their journal and burying their face in it. Zoro barks out a laugh at the smart-aleck remark. He quietly laughs to himself for a bit, warm from the food, good drink, and good atmosphere all around. What can he say, after twenty days of nothing but water, he is happy. Peering over the book, Oyal stares at Zoro’s smile. It is… fascinating. He doesn't smile often, she noted. He smirks, gives a scary predator grin, but this… a smile of simple joy… it is… nice. They know their contract doesn't cover Luffy's memories perfectly. All the information is there, but there are details that the pictures just could not capture. Like Zoro's dimples. The man has dimples. Now that she sees them herself she can't stop looking at them. They are adorable. Oyal opens their mouth. “What… can I call you?” Zoro raises a brow, ah, he has golden eyes as well. “Huh? Zoro, I would hope.” Oyal nods. “It is… nice to meet you, Zoro. I am L. Oyal.” “Likewise.” OOO Despite the festivities going on around Nami for… who knows what , she doesn't care , she is in her own world of gloom. She can't believe she lost that damn map to some clown! Now she is going to have to go after it herself. This job is getting too complicated for her liking. “Hey!” Oh, hell no. Nami slowly turns her head to the last person she wants to see. “What do you want?” Luffy doesn't let her tone dismay him. “How about we make a deal?” “Not interested,” she says curtly. Luffy clasps his hands together. " Pleeeeese! We still own you for the first ride! Now we can repay you back!" Nami stares at him for a bit longer. “…You have thirty seconds to convince me.” Luffy pumps his fists in the air. "Yes! Okay, me and my crew need a boat to our next location and you were kinda our ride and yeah we still owe for that, you got the I.O.U., and we don't really have a destination but we do need to leave this island, and I was wondering— hoping really— if you needed perhaps any manual labor done in exchange for another ride? Please, please, please!" Luffy speaks all in one breath. Nami lets in the information sink in. She doesn't like doing free-bees. She does things for money, more upfront the better. She doesn't need help, she knows she doesn't need help …but she can’t say it wouldn’t be useful to have some. "As it so happens, I am in need of some free labor. But," she puts her finger in his face, "No questions asked and I decide the course, got it!?" Luffy is ecstatic! He didn't think that would actually work. "Great! I'll go tell the others," he practically skips back to his table. Despite herself, Nami is pleasantly surprised. She doesn't like working with others, it always seems to end up with someone betraying the other… but despite skipping out on the bill before, he seems genuine enough . Years of lying and stealing had taught her how to get a good read on people, and from her two interactions with him so far, she got the impression that the only reason that he didn’t keep his word about paying her was that he forgot he had money. Stupid, but not malicious, in which case this would actually benefit her. She hoped that she wasn’t misplacing that faith. She doesn't want to get people into trouble, bounty hunters or not. Only pirates deserve to be used. Who knows, maybe they will thank her for getting them involved with Buggy. She takes the gold and they take the pirates. Win-win… if they can handle it. No, she has to think about Cocoyasi . She is so close! If they want to come, then it is on them to take care of themselves, not her! She knows better than to get attached. OOO "Isn't this boat a little small for the Grand Line?" Zoro asks dryly. “Don't worry about it, it will last us as long as we need it to,” Nami waves him off. She can't believe they actually got Roronoa Zoro to join their bounty hunter crew! She really can use their strength, they will be fine on their own! “Yeah, let’s go!” Luffy agrees, shaking the boat as he jumps into it. “Watch it!” Nami yells. “Oops, sorry,” Luffy says, his smile removing all credibility from the words. Nami just sighs and adjusts the sail, ready to shove off. Oyal carefully lowers themselves down in the boat as well, not sure if they should apologize to Nami or if it would make the situation more awkward if they brought up their rudeness again. Zoro sits down right next to them, getting comfortable for another nap. “So, we are just going to get all of the crew before leaving then?” Luffy shakes his head. "Nope! Oyal, predict the future!" Oyal hopes Luffy could feel their ire but Luffy just waits for the answer. Even Zoro raises an eyebrow at this certain Magic Girl. Oyal sighs and opens their hand. A single piece of paper hovers above their palm, turning into a compass. "We shall receive our Navigator at the next island.” Even as they speak, the paper smoothly transforms into a cat head. “Our Sniper shall rise from the fall of cats and ride away on the lamb.” The paper ended as a lamb, but just as fast turning into a fish. “Our cook will be found in the mouth of a fish.” Now it was a ball; they were trying for fruit, but it was close enough. “Twice again our Navigator will join us once the fruit fields run free. Our sails shall finally turn to Paradise. This is what I know.” They closer their hand and the paper vanishes. But with any luck, they may get off at one of those islands. Luffy's eyes are sparkling at the little theater show but Zoro doesn't look too convinced. Another smart one, the swordsman reflects, settling back into his nap position. A thought crosses his mind and he looks back at Oyal. "Hey… how are you able to tell the future anyway?" the swordsman asks. Oyal could give him an actual answer. Give him something about being able to calculate the probability at the end well and being quick to pick things up, just fronting as a fortune teller as an excuse rather than let people know she was constantly watching everyone and everything. But something makes them think of another response. It is illogical and would help no one… but it is very tempting. “I receive my powers from god,” Oyal states bluntly. "Bullshit," Zoro responded, his expression matching his words. "It's true. I can hear her right now," Oyal nonchalantly continues. “Her?” Zoro raises a brow. “Yes. God is a woman.” Zoro didn't even blink. “Right.” “Indeed,” Oyal felt their cheeks twitch. "She laments how sad it is that you don't believe in her. You are her favorite, after all." “You’re full of crap.” “You were her gift to the world. She said you were her final act to humanity," Oyal's cheeks twitch even more… what a strange sensation . “Zoro, you might not believe in god but have you asked yourself…” They took a dramatic pause. “ Does god believe in you ?” Oh. Their cheeks are not twitching… they are… smiling … they are smiling … They like it. Zoro looks completely annoyed. "I—!" "Zoro's a what now?" Luffy chooses this moment to interrupt finishing Zoro's plate. Zoro directs his irritation towards Luffy. "She’s messing with me, I just know it." Oyal puts on an innocent face. "I am telling Zoro how he is a gift to us." Luffy tilts his head like a lost puppy. "That’s a good thing… right?" "No! …well, maybe, but-but no," Zoro was losing his momentum. "Careful, Captain, you don't want to confuse him,” Oyal says. They note that his dimples are visible when he’s frowning too. Adorable . "You wanna fight!?" Luffy starts laughing. "Zoro's so funny!" "What are you guys going on about?" Nami pops her head back from where she was readying the sail. "Nothing." "Food!" "Politics." That last response gets Oyal a few looks. "What? That's what people talk about, right?" Nami wisely decides not to ask and pushes the boat off. "Now, let's go!" Luffy cries out eagerly jumping to the front of the boat. He can't wait for the next adventure! To see Buggy and his map of the Grand Line. Actually, just meeting Buggy again is going to be great! He was so weak in the East Blue, he was still weak in the future but he got a bit more clever. Still, what a funny guy! Maybe Luffy will punch him a little softer this time… Nah! OOO   To Marine Headquarters: Vice Admiral Garp   Hi, Gramps! I am off to become the Pirate King, so I am sending you these two to take my place to be your personal punching bags. Coby is great! Don't kill him! But make him really, really strong! And Helmeppo is an asshole, make him less of an asshole! Anyway, love you, and see you soon.   Your Grandson, Monkey D. Luffy, The Future Pirate King   Edited by: L. Oyal, Straw Hat Astronomer   OOO

Morioh, Japan. June 18th, 1999. [default: English / italic: Italian]   When she arrived at the restaurant, Mary was already waiting for her. And seeing (Y/N) appear, she showed a big warm smile, delighted to see her only potential friend in this city. "Good to see you, (Y/N)! - Good to see you too. It will do me good to spend girl time to breathe a little. - I can imagine... Jotaro doesn't want to give me the details of your investigation, but it seems particularly demanding. - You can't even imagine... Come on, let's go in." They entered and Tonio led them to their reserved table. He offered them the chef's surprise and they accepted out of sheer curiosity. They also ordered wine, even after (Y/N) hinted that drinking before work might not be a good idea. But it wasn't every day that she got to relax like this. Especially since the wine in this restaurant was, like everything else, absolutely divine. "So tell me, (Y/N), other than this investigation, what do you do for a living? You told me you had a very demanding job, do you work for the Foundation too? - Mmm, no. Not really. I'm in charge of a team of agents in Italy", she lied without blinking. "Oh, Italy! I've always dreamed of going there! But Jotaro always refused to go. - Oh, but I'd love to welcome you to Naples. Even without Jotaro, mmh?" Mary gave a small, reassured and grateful smile. Tonio brought them an absolutely delightful dish of spaghetti. "You'll see, Tonio perfectly conveys the flavors of home. It will give you a taste of Italy!" The chef made a small bow of gratitude before disappearing into his kitchens. (Y/N) continued. "What about you? What do you do in life? - I work in the laboratory part-time. The rest of the time, I am a professor at the university, I teach biology where I myself studied. With Jotaro by the way, we met in college. - Ah yes? Are you telling me he had friends in college?" Mary let out an amused chuckle. "To be honest, not really. He was the lone wolf type when I met him. It actually surprised me a lot when he introduced me to all of you, I didn't expect him to have so many friends... - Surprising, hm?" (Y/N) said, amused. "Very. You two met in Egypt, right? With Polnareff and Avdol? - Mm-mmh. Well, Jean-Pierre Polnareff is one of my childhood friends. But I met the others in Egypt. - Was it a Foundation trip? I saw the photo of your trip, but he never really told me about it. - Yes, in a way... Honestly, I'm not surprised that he didn't mention it. We lost one of our companions there... - Oh, I'm sorry. All my condolences... But I understand better now why he seemed to be so affected by the mere mention of this photo and the trip... - Yes, they were very close... - Ah, I understand. - No, wait... VERY close." Mary frowned before raising her blue eyes to (Y/N) whose expression was particularly wistful. And that's when she understood. Her eyes widened, her mouth hanging open. "Wait...You mean that-...Oh no...Is that why he was never very tactile with me? It's because... Because he's-...he's gay- - Oh no, no, I'll reassure you right away. He also likes women. - ... how do you know?... he said he never had a girlfriend before me." (Y/N) rolled her eyes and clenched her jaw, before muttering between her teeth. "... really a jerk all the way actually. - Why are you saying that?" (Y/N) did not answer. She simply looked up from her pasta to meet Mary's gaze, who shivered as she realized what she meant by that. Her face fell and her heart sank. She looked down at her plate to play nervously with her spaghetti with the end of her fork. "... ah." Mary felt betrayed. Because strangely, Jotaro had "omitted" this detail. She gritted her teeth. Her pasta was cooling slowly since she had a particularly hard time touching it, even though it was delicious. "... so you were together? - Not really. We just had an affair... but obviously, he never talked about that too..." Seeing the dark expression of the young woman in front of her, (Y/N) stretched out her arm to put her hand on hers and offer her a comforting smile. "There's nothing to worry about, you know. That was ten years ago, and he made it clear to me, it didn't matter. - ... but... the red-haired boy in the photo? - Noriaki. Yes, it was him..." Mary gulped. Tears slowly welled up in her eyes. "...I understand better why he likes my hair so much, in the end. In fact... it wasn't me he fell in love with, but the memory of your friend..." It was (Y/N)'s turn to gulp. Because she wanted to deny everything in vain, what the beautiful redhead was saying in front of her made far too much sense not to be a valid hypothesis. So she remained silent, gently stroking the back of Mary's hand with her thumb. "... my marriage is doomed. - No, no, don't say that! None of this is certain! It was ten years ago, we were young. You know as I do, he's not the type to express his emotions, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. You're the one he married Mary, and there's got to be a reason for it. - ... I was pregnant." Silence. And this silence was the final straw for Mary who began to cry. Immediately, (Y/N) stood up to come to her side of the table and hug her. There was no denying, she felt particularly guilty, it was because she had talked too much that the young woman was in this state. "... it doesn't mean anything Mary, really. I'm sure there's a good explanation... You should try to talk to him about it with a clear head. - ... but you know how he is... he never w- - Mary. (Y/N).» Speaking of the devil... Jotaro was standing in the doorway of the restaurant, looking grim. (Y/N) looked up at him, glaring at him even. It really wasn't the right time. Hearing his voice, Mary hugged the Italian a little tighter to hide her face. "... what are you doing? - Supporting each other", (Y/N) answered in a cold voice. "...Mary?" Jotaro approached, frowning slightly. But Mary got up immediately. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand before reaching into her purse for money to pay the bill. (Y/N) stopped her with a hand on her forearm. "Leave it, it's on me. - No, really- - It makes me happy. - ... are you sure? - Absolutely. Go rest. - ... thank you (Y/N)." They hugged one last time before Mary took her way out without even glancing at Jotaro who was standing there, unable to understand what had just happened. "Mary, wait." But Mary absolutely did not wait for him. Immediately, Jotaro turned to (Y/N), staring darkly. "... what did you tell her? - And you, um? What did you not tell her? " Jotaro seemed to pale, as if he had suddenly realized what she was insinuating. He groaned between his teeth. "... stay here, I have to walk her home. But I have a couple words to say to you. - It will be with pleasure, Jotaro", she answered with sarcasm. Jotaro quickly turned on his heels to go chase after his wife who, alone outside and without Stand to protect herself, was putting herself in great danger. Frustrated by this conversation, (Y/N) sank back into her chair to finish her meal. Immediately, Tonio came to see her. "Everything okay? My dish was not good? - Oh no, it's always very good. We just had a little chat that went a little awry and... say, could you heat up my pasta for me?" Tonio agreed without hesitation, disappearing back into the kitchens with her plate. Alone, that was the moment that (Y/N) chose to check her work phone. A missed call from Jotaro that was several minutes old, probably when he was still looking for her. But more worrying still, a missed call from Bruno. She immediately tried to call him back but got the voicemail. So she bit her lower lip nervously before leaving a message after the beep. "...hey, Bruno. It's me. I saw you tried to call me? Sorry, I'm pretty busy with a new client right now... But call me back as soon as you can, okay? It's been way too long since I've heard from you and... " "And I miss you"? "... and I'm glad you called. I hope there is nothing serious. Take care. This was clearly not the time or the place to think about that. Especially since Jotaro reappeared in the restaurant, looking furious. She quickly hung up and put her cell phone back in her pocket. The tall, dark-haired man sat across from her, where Mary had been sitting a few minutes earlier, without even asking her permission. (Y/N) took her glass of wine and took a few sips to give her courage. "I'm listening," she sighed. "... I don't even want to talk to you about anything other than the investigation. - Wonderful. Should I ask for your wife's plate to be heaten up for you? - Don't." (Y/N) shrugged. Tonio brought her her reheated pasta. She thanked him in Italian and he disappeared back into her kitchen. Without batting an eyelash, she resumed eating, and Jotaro groaned. "...that kid who disappeared, Shigechi. Reimi confirmed it to Rohan, he was killed yesterday. - Hmm. - But we found a jacket button, there's a good chance it belongs to the murderer. I went around the city's stylists and adjusters but I found nothing. Tomorrow, we're going to the shoemaker to see if we can find the owner(s identity. - ... "we"? - Koichi and me. - I'm coming. - No. - It wasn't a question. - I said no. - I don't care." They glared at each other, until Jotaro groaned as he lowered his cap. (Y/N) looked down at her pasta to continue her lunch, head held high. She didn't expect to change her mind. Jotaro pinched the bridge of his nose in sheer frustration. "It's too dangerous. - If a kid of 15 can come, I don't see what prevents me from accompanying you. - It is women who are targeted, (Y/N). - And yet it was a kid who was killed. Really, your arguments don't hold water. And then, it's not as if we have eradicated Dio together? Don't underestimate me b- - That's not it. - So what is it?" Jotaro said nothing. He just frowned, clearly frustrated with this discussion. "...I want you to go back to Italy. - ... eh? - ... you heard me." (Y/N) struggled to swallow her last bite of spaghetti, she almost choked on it. She grabbed her glass of wine to down it in one go, under Jotaro's inquisitive gaze. Then she growled in a muffled voice. "It's for your grandfather that I came, not for you. And I won't leave until this investigation is resolved. I don't care if you don't want me here. I don't care if my mere presence ruins your last ten years of false tranquility pretending that your little family life makes you happy. You are miserable, Jotaro. And I pity you." She raised her hand to ask for the bill. Tonio approached silently, fully aware of the heavy atmosphere in his restaurant. Jotaro's face was darker than ever. She no longer even saw him behind his cap. And honestly, it was better that way. She paid the bill without another look. But as she was about to leave, she stopped at his level and put a hand on his shoulder, her throat tight with frustration. "... see you tomorrow." And she left without another word, her heart in pieces.  

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” He looked around only to find his dad talking on the phone.   “Ah? Why do you want to know if Freckles had arrived home?... What do you want to talk about that it can’t wait?... He worries you?... The suit is perfect, don’t be a drama queen!... Izuku isn’t made of glass, y’know?... Ugh, I know how to teach a kid to shoot! You aren’t even a teacher so don’t complain... I think that I will lose more brain cells talking to you… I will and you can’t stop me… I won’t talk to you later. Bye Ass Might!” After Hisashi hung up he rubbed his temples.   “Hi.” Izuku was just standing there awkwardly.   “Welcome home Freckles!” His dad smiled but his eyes were full of curiosity. “I’m guessing that you heard everything and that you are going to tell me how you’ve ruined the dummy’s day” The true smile appeared. The sadistic smile.   Oh, well.     Oh, hell. When Yagi-san got to Izuku’s house it was too late. His father was about to suffocate if he didn’t stop laughing.    They started arguing, the usual, except that it was serious. ‘He overdid’ vs ‘No he didn’t’.   “Midoriya-san, while I agree with you, Young Midoriya shouldn’t have put it so bluntly. The fact that he had a weapon that could kill easily only worsen it. Guns are illegal”   “Don’t tell me what’s illegal or not. I already know it.” He sighed for the fifth time. “Bluntly is the best way they will understand. They are teenagers for Satan’s sake!”   “That’s why! They are just teenagers! The are going to face danger but they have just started! As an adult you should understand this! Or am I talking to a young man?... Young Hisashi.” All Might got into a position of authority. Crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down on his father showing that he wasn’t backing up.    “ Don’t you dare try to lecture me. ” Hisashi’s aura flare up. “It’s all fuck up”   “ First of all, the ‘slapp’ was coming. They have to realise that this isn't a game. The earlier they realise that, the more time they have to take in the risks of this. Second of all, his quirk can easily kill too, it’s faster, more efficient and leaves no traces. He pulls the air from their lungs and it ends there ” Oh. Izuku hadn’t thought of that. “This will be my last recourse.” Although he, definitely, didn’t want to use it.   “ And finally, are you stupid enough to think that I don’t know that to use a gun you need a permission? I know it, but he doesn’t even use a gun! It’s a fucking trankillazer! He shoots someone and they will just sleep. ” When the aura left Izuku heard All Might take a sharp breath.   If Izuku had a knife he could cut through all the tension. The two of them are too proud to apologise to each other.   “Uuugh.” Yagi and Izuku flinched when Hisashi growled. “He’s looking at the kitchen's clock” Izuku is grateful that the argument took place in the living room rather than the kitchen, there were knives there.   “Ok. I’m a rational man that is going to do a survival move.” His dad pulled his hair and ended up tangling up more his black curls.   “Da-?” Without letting him end his sentence his father approached Yagi-san.   “I only continue a discussion for this long if I know that I’m right. Got it?” Yagi-san nodded. “I shouldn’t have said it that way but I loathe being treat with condescension. Don’t do that ever again. ”   “Okay” Apparently Yagi-san found his voice again.   “Izuku doesn’t need a gun or more weapons but being cautious isn’t wrong. If you really don’t want him using the ‘gun’ in the hero exercises it’s okay. He already trains with me.” Hisashi looked exauted.   “Nothing happened here.” Even if it was directed towards them Izuku felt that his father was reassuring himself.   The sound of the door opening made his dad face twist from tired to cheerful.   “Inko! Honey! Izuku had his first Heroics Class!” And with that the subject was never brought up.     Diary I’m confused, and that’s not new. I’ve noticed that I get nervous around new people because I thought that I felt uncomfortable. So, I haven’t stop stuttering whenever I’m around my friends. But I feel comfortable with them! They are kind and they want me around as much as I want them.   Today I didn’t stutter when my classmates said I was cheating. It felt amazing to stand up for myself and I’ve realize something.    I stutter from the fear of making them have a bad impression of me. I stopped fearing them.   “Fuminshou-san will be so proud when I tell him I’ve figured this out all by myself”     Midoriya was camly walking to UA that morning. “Will they hate me?” It was obvious that his friends didn’t hate him, but his classmates... Well, that didn't matter anymore, he can't change the past.   “What type of lessons teaches All Might?” The person that asked grabbed his arm.   “Uh?” He hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings and now he was consumed by a mob of reporters.   And then he died. Who am I kidding? He wasn’t that lucky.  He quickly search for an escape route when he noticed that other students where here too. He didn’t have time for this! Getting late isn’t good when you have a teacher that won’t doubt expelling a student.   “W-well… All Might has mu-muscles. Re-really. Big…” Ockako-san’s voice...   “I believe that having the Pro Hero All Might will definitely improve our teaching environment and we will get to know…” Tenya-kun’s voice!   He needed to get then out too! Push reporters. Pull his friends.   “Izuku-kun?” She would’ve swore that she had a female reporter in front of her instead of her friend.   “I was answering a question, Izuku-kun! I shouldn’t leave the person hanging!”    “We are going to be late!” The horror filled the students’ faces.   The mob was getting more rough when Aizawa-sensei saved them and an enormous door closed before the reporters. They complained but they didn’t have the right to be there.     “I took the liberty to look at your notes and evaluation from the battle trial” Everyone stiffened. Even if some people did incredible, there was always room to improve.   “Bakugou. Your performance was terrible, stop wasting your talent acting like a five-year-old” That was a hard hit for Katsuki.   “... I know” He almost growled the words.   “And you-” Izuku suppressed a flinch. Everyone has their eyes in him. “I’m a rock that the river can’t push”   “Using weaponry that is not specifically attached to your quirk is okay. Unless the teacher specifically tells you not to use it then you aren’t in trouble. I’ve already consulted the weapons that you will be handling and the gun can’t kill, right?”   He nodded. “Listen carefully Izuku. You can’t kill villains to defeat then, even if the rules say that you can only kill when it’s extremely necessary, I don’t want you to use it as a last resolve.” “Your weapons only immobilize the person. Do you know how to use then?”   “Yes”   “Then it’s alright. You kids should be more cautious and have tricks under your sleeves.”   The atmosphere changed now that they knew he didn’t have a literal gun.    “Moving to another subject” Aizawa didn’t let them time to sunk into the new information and now his class was eager. “Will there be another test?!”    “You need to choose a class representative”  And they cried out in joy. “ A school-like activity!” “I want to be the class representative!”   “That title is made to be for me!”   “I want to be it to!”   “It shall be me!”   “That is a task that must be taken with responsibility. You have to bear the weight of others on you. Just because you would like to do it doesn't mean you can do it. The true leader will come to light of a democratic election reflecting the will of the people!”   “But, we still don’t know each other very well. It’s too early to trust someone, kero” Someone complained.   “Everyone will vote for themselves!” Kirishima protested too.   “That’s why we should do it! The person that gets more votes will be the more appropriate!” Everyone agreed to that.   “Is that okay Aizawa-sensei?”   “Just pick a person and that’s it” He said that while going back to his sleep bag.     Midoriya didn’t want to be the class representative. He was an strategist, but that isn’t a leader. He didn’t make everyone feel comfortable enough to lean on him. However, he knew someone perfect for that charge. “Iida Tenya-kun” He is responsible and when everyone started to make a mess he stepped out, his classmates agreed with him and now they were here.   “Midoriya Izuku, three votes. Yaoyorozu Momo, two votes.” “ I didn’t even vote for myself or said that I wanted to be a candidate for the charge.”   “The class representative is Midoriya and the vice president is Yaoyorozu.”    “WHO VOTED FOR DEKU?! ARE YOU INSANE?!” Oh. Bakugou has rabies now.   “I did. He had shown great leader skills and analyzing skills” Yaoyorozu-san stood up. “I only have the analysis part.”   Izuku had to step in front of the class. “I just need to explain this mess and everything should be alright”   “I-” The bell rang indicating that the break starts now.    

The strange woman seems to have the same aversion to hammocks that Caleb does: she sets her bag down in the corner of the hold opposite him, sitting on a barrel as she slowly and methodically sharpens her sword, the wetstone scraping along the gleaming blade. “So,” says Caleb, from his own spot among the grain bags. “You are a wanderer, then?” The scraping pauses. “Yeah.” Her gaze flicks over Caleb. Unlike the dark smears around her eyes, the blue line tattooed down her chin remains precise. “You don’t look much like a pirate.” Chuckling dryly, Caleb says, “Ah, well, that is because I am not one. I sort of… came along with these people. For a little while.” Unlike on the deck before, the tall woman regards Caleb steadily, and he gets the uneasy sense of something much deeper and greater behind her two-tone eyes, like fathoms of dark water underneath a sheet of ice. “What are you running from, then?” Caleb laces his fingers together, considering. His fingerless woolen gloves are still damp from the rain. “Myself. You?” “I don’t know.” Old, quiet pain haunts her voice. “Mm.” The ship rocks and creaks, rain hammering down above them and swells crashing against the hull. Most of the crew are about their duties, only the few that take night watch currently asleep in their hammocks. Whispering into his fingers, Caleb lights a little fire, just for a bit of warmth. The orange light gleams on the tall woman’s long blade, and she watches it curiously. “What is your name?” Caleb asks. She meets his eyes. “Yasha.” After a moment, she adds, “You?” “Caleb. Caleb Widogast.” The barest ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Nice to meet you, Caleb Widogast.” -- “Fjord,” says Captain Vandran as Fjord passes by the captain’s quarters, “can you come in here a moment?” “Sure, Captain.” Fjord abandons his course to the galley and steps into his quarters instead, shutting the door behind him. Captain Vandran stands in the middle of the room, frowning down at a letter in his hand. “What d’you need?” Sighing irritably, Captain Vandran folds the letter up. “When we make port in Nicodranas tomorrow, I need you to go into town and deliver an item,” he says. “I’d go myself, but that warrant on my head is still up, so…” With a flick of his wrist and a hrmph, he sends the letter onto his desk. “Anything I need to worry about?” “Nah.” Captain Vandran crosses to his chest and kneels with a grunt, drawing the key out by its string around his neck. “Just handle this.” Curious, Fjord draws closer, careful not to loom over him. After a few moments of rummaging, Captain Vandran takes out the little box salvaged from the Concord man-of-war, the gold designs on its wooden lid gleaming faintly. “Take this,” Captain Vandran says, twisting around to hand it up to Fjord. He obeys gingerly. “It’s in here?” “Yes, but don’t open –” Fjord opens the box. Inside, nestled against dark blue silk, rests a single, round crystal the color of honey and the size of a walnut, faint gold lines radiating from the oval slit carved down the middle of it. “Well, that’s pretty,” remarks Fjord, gently closing the lid and handing it back to Captain Vandran. “Who’m I deliverin’ this to?” “Feller by the name of Protto, little guy, got a scraggly kind of –” and Captain Vandran gestures disdainfully at his chin. “Meet him at the Weathered Bird at sunset. He knows who you are. He owes twenty-five hundred gold, don’t leave with a copper less.” “Aye, Captain.” Fjord squares his shoulders. “Just me goin’?” “Hrm…” Leaning back against the desk, Captain Vandran folds his arms and crosses one ankle over the other, regarding Fjord. “Take the mage with you.” The mage. A brief spark of excitement touches Fjord. “Why?” “Because that’s one hell of a powerful magic item and I don’t feel rightly comfortable sending you out on your own with it. Widogast knows his way around a spellbook.” His blue-gray eyes pass over Fjord. “And I’m curious how the two of you work together, to be honest.” Right. Fjord clears his throat and nods. “Anything else?” “No, that’s all. Dismissed.” “Aye, Captain.” -- As the sun dips low in the sky and the torches of Nicodranas come alight, Fjord heads below decks in search of Caleb. He nearly misses him, curled up and asleep on a pile of grain sacks in the corner of the hold. “Hey,” says Fjord, nudging him with his booted foot. “Caleb. Up and at ‘em.” Caleb starts and whirls to face Ford, sparks dancing on his fingers, and Fjord realizes too late that startling awake the paranoid wizard was probably a bad decision. But Caleb slumps back with a groan, rubbing his face. “You can sleep in the hammocks, you know.” Fjord leans against a pillar, folding his arms. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.” “I like the floor.” Caleb sits up and shakes out his sleeves, wisps of hay clinging to his tangled hair. “C’mon.” Fjord nudges him with his foot again. “We’re goin’ into town.” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Caleb says, “Why?” “Because I said so, that’s why.” Caleb stiffens, drawing his chin up warily, and Fjord realizes with a start what the problem is. “We’re not – I’m not turnin’ you in,” he says. “I’m droppin’ off an item and I need your firepower as backup.” “What item?” asks Caleb suspiciously. “That little box we found from the destroyed ship.” Caleb’s eyes narrow, the skin on his face tightening, and he looks ready to run. “Dropping it off with who?” “I dunno, some smuggler, why?” When the distrust in Caleb’s expression doesn’t lessen, Fjord crouches on his heels so he’s at his level. “I’m not turnin’ you in,” he promises. “Swear.” Caleb regards him for a long, long time. “How do I know I can trust you?” he says hoarsely. After taking a moment to think, Fjord says, “Gave you back your spellbooks, didn’t I?” “The captain did,” says Caleb wryly. “Yeah, and who brought them over to the ship in the first place?” Standing, Fjord holds a hand out to Caleb. “Time’s a-wastin’. Let’s go.” Caleb considers his offered hand, eyes sharp. Slowly, he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around Fjord’s, and satisfaction settles in Fjord’s chest as he pulls Caleb to his feet. “All right,” says Caleb. “Lead the way.” As they cross the deck towards the gangplank, Yasha, the strange woman who came aboard at Darktow, watches them from where she sits on the rail, eating an apple. Her gaze tracks him, unblinking and stoic. Fuckin’ weird, Fjord thinks to himself. Something about her gives him the willies. He turns to say as much to Caleb, and jumps as he finds a stranger walking next to him instead. The man is shorter than Caleb, nondescript, with brown hair and brown eyes and a vaguely pleasant, rounded face. “What?” says Caleb, his accent just as strong through a stranger’s lips. “You think I would go out with my real face?” “Guess not,” mutters Fjord. Captain Vandran might be a wanted person, but they haven’t put a blacklist on the Tide’s Breath yet, and so they still have the luxury of docking at the Wharf Load. The pier bustles with sailors and tradesmen and zhelezo, and Fjord cuts his way through neither lingering nor hurrying; every so often he glances at Caleb to make sure he’s keeping up and keeps being startled by Caleb’s illusory face. As they pass by the Mother’s Lighthouse, the sunset light bathing the Wildmother’s face and hands in a ruby glow, Caleb gazes up in awe. “Yeah, it’s somethin’,” Fjord says. “Never been to Nicodranas before?” “Once,” mutters Caleb. “Very briefly. And at night.” A similar crowd as the docks fills the Weathered Bird, curly-haired barmaids darting from table to table with unchanging smiles as soldiers and sailors clamor for their mugs to be filled. Fjord weaves through the chaos, searching, and spots his quarry at a table in a dark back corner: a brown-haired, brown-skinned halfling man in dark commoner’s clothes, his eyes sharp and a tuft of hair sprouting from his pointed chin. “Evening,” says Fjord, pulling out a chair across from him. “Do I have the honor of addressing Protto?” Protto glances warily between Fjord and Caleb; Caleb, Fjord notices, does not sit but stands behind Fjord’s shoulder. “You Vandran’s man?” “Aye.” Catching the attention of one of the barmaids, Fjord gestures for two ales, and she nods and whirls off. “Did you have a pleasant journey down?” Nervous energy radiating off of him, Protto shrugs. “You got the crystal?” “Maybe.” The box nestles under Fjord’s jerkin, pressed directly over his heart. “You got the gold?” Protto glances around and hefts three very full sacks of coins onto the table. “Right there.” Drawing one pouch towards him, Fjord opens it just enough to see the gold gleaming inside. He pulls out one coin and bites it, just enough to press his teeth into the soft metal. “And how much is that, exactly?” “I can count it for you,” murmurs Caleb. “But it would take a very long time.” “Nah, I only think that’s necessary if Protto here isn’t telling the truth.” Fjord smiles at Protto, all charming menace. “Which I’m sure he is. Aren’t you?” Protto opens his mouth to reply, but the sight of something behind Fjord makes him pause, response hanging on his lips. Fjord twists around in his seat and stares at the redheaded elf woman who saunters up to them, her skin gleaming like mahogany, and the curve of her lips echoing the jaunty tilt of her broad feathered hat. Out of his field of view, Fjord feels rather than sees Caleb go absolutely still. “Can I help you?” says Fjord. A smile unfurls across the elf’s face. “Oh, I was just stopping by to say hello, I am a very good friend of your captain.” And Fjord does recognize her now, the woman Captain Vandran hooked up with the night they came back to Darktow. “Ah,” says Fjord, his surprise cooling into distaste. “Yes.” She slides into the seat next to Protto, who skitters away, and runs a casual finger over one of the sacks of coin. “This is a lot of money to have out in public,” she says, voice low. “And a terrible place to discuss business. Perhaps we could go somewhere more… private?” “What do you want?” says Caleb stiffly. The woman’s eyes, green as a cat’s, flick to Fjord’s chest where the box is, and the back of Fjord’s neck prickles uneasily. How can she know it’s there? “You,” she says, pointing to Fjord. “You have what I want.”   “I don’t have anything,” says Fjord automatically. Caleb draws closer, leaning down to speak Fjord’s ear. “This is when we go.” “But –” Fjord is two seconds away from completing the deal, and he can’t go back to Captain Vandran empty-handed when he was entrusted with this task. “Protto. Twenty-five hundred gold? You swear?” Shooting a nasty glance at the elf, Protto says, “Yeah, yeah, now let’s get out of here –” Fjord reaches inside his jerkin and pulls out the little wooden box, and as he does Caleb’s hand closes around his wrist, his skin burning on Fjord’s as he presses Fjord’s hand into his chest. On his orc half’s instinct Fjord jumps up, pushing Caleb back, and growls, “You need to step off –” “There are people watching,” Caleb hisses, his glower still recognizable on his false features. “We need to leave now.” Fjord glances around surreptitiously and while most of the tavern maintains its bustle, the tables nearest to them have begun to send curious looks their way. “But the gold –” “Who would you rather everyone sees walk out of here carrying that much money, us or him?” Fuming silently, Fjord takes a moment before admitting, “Fine.” He turns back to the table, and Protto, the elf, and the money have all disappeared. “Shit.” “Let’s go,” Caleb snaps. They walk back to the Tide’s Breath under a slowly-darkening sky, Fjord scowling, Caleb’s face set as stone. The wooden box under Fjord’s vest almost seems to pulse in tune with his anger. “You gonna take that fake face off anytime soon?” Fjord mutters. “Let’s get back on the ship first,” retorts Caleb. When they do, Fjord goes straight for the captain’s quarters. “Captain,” he says, knocking on the door. “We need to talk.” Captain Vandran opens the door and looks from Fjord to Caleb, now appearing as himself again, and his brow knits as he reads the tension in their body language. “I take it the deal did not go well.” “Why don’t you ask him about that,” and Fjord glowers at Caleb. Eyebrows climbing up his forehead, Caleb says, “Actually, that is an interesting point, because as I recall the complication came from one of your assignations, Captain –” Captain Vandran makes a funny noise like a startled cat. “My what?” “Can we discuss this inside?” says Fjord pointedly. Sighing, Captain Vandran ushers them in and closes the door. “Someone tell me what the hell is going on?” “We got to the inn, we met Protto, he had the money, everything was going fine,” says Fjord. “Then that redheaded elf chick from Darktow showed up – you know, the one you hooked up with –” “Oh,” says Captain Vandran, eyes rounding. “Ah – she did?” “Yeah, and then Caleb got so spooked he started making a scene, and by that time Protto got cold feet and fled.” Fjord takes a deep breath, shame heating his cheeks. “So the deal didn’t happen. I still have the crystal.” At Fjord’s side, Caleb stands stiff-spined, hands clasped behind his back. “Avantika knows we have the crystal and had to have had advance knowledge of the rendezvous,” he says flatly. “There was no telling what other cards she might have had up her sleeve. The safe decision – the smart decision – was to back out as fast as possible.” “Interesting words, considering I didn’t send you with Fjord to make a decision.” Captain Vandran folds his arms over his chest, leaning back against his desk, a challenge snapping in his eyes. But Caleb, undaunted, says, “No, I presume you sent me to keep him and-or the orb safe.” A thought comes slowly to Fjord, his anger cooling into disappointment. “Captain… she knew we had the orb. Did you tell her?” Captain Vandran’s weathered cheeks turn the color of a tomato, and he rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his boots. “Might’ve done,” he mutters. That means this Avantika knew before Fjord did, and it stings in a way Fjord wasn’t expecting. “The money was right there, on the table,” he says, trying to mask the hurt in his voice. “I still don’t see why we couldn’t have just taken it and made the trade.” Caleb gives him an odd look. “Fjord, do you even know what that orb is?” He turns to Captain Vandren. “Do you?” Gesturing irritably, Captain Vandran says, “Oppan said what it was, some kind of magic crystal or relic, worth a lot –” “I figured it was just a gemstone,” admits Fjord. “That,” says Caleb, pointing at Fjord’s chest, “is a remnant of the power of a demigod, and you just carry it around with you to swap it in a public inn?” Fjord stares at him, suddenly very conscious of the bulge underneath his vest. “I… what?” “Come on, man,” snorts Captain Vandran. “Sounds like some kind of tall tale –” “I know power when I see it,” says Caleb bluntly. “Why do you think I found it at all?” With a heavy exhale, Fjord rubs a hand over his mouth. Outside the paned windows of the cabin, starlight glimmers on the ocean. “What kind of power?” “Power that we should be very, very careful about whose hands it falls into.” “Well, in that case –” and Captain Vandran holds out a hand to Fjord, not needing words to make his meaning clear. Fjord slowly pulls out the wooden box, and maybe Caleb’s words have triggered his imagination, but he swears he can feel it humming slightly under his fingers. Strangely reluctant, he hovers the box above Captain Vandran’s callused palm, but can’t quite let it go. A second stretches forever as Fjord hangs onto the box, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “Fjord?” says Captain Vandran, eyebrows raised. “Give me the orb.” His voice comes as if through deep water. Fjord stares down at the box, the half-erased golden markings on its lid like a language he can’t quite remember. “Fjord.” Fjord’s fingers tighten on the box. A different voice cuts through the haze, sharp as a knife. “Fjord, put the box down.” And fire flashes around his fingertips, startling him, and he lets go. Lunging, Captain Vandran catches the box before it hits the floor. As the haze clears, Fjord comes back to the room, blinking. His heart thuds hollowly with the realization of what he brushed so close to, and his fingers smart. “So,” says Caleb, breathing heavy. “I think you see why we should be very, very careful about this, ja?” Captain Vandran stares down at the box in his hand like he thinks it might bite him. “Yeah,” he says. “I reckon you might be right.” -- They weigh anchor the next day, heading off into the vast blue to patrol the shipping lane between Nicodranas and Port Damali. Fjord busies himself about the ship, checking stores of food and ammunition, redoing rigging, practicing his knife work with Maken, but the nagging itch never leaves the back of his mind. He can feel the orb calling to him like a lodestone, no matter where on the ship he goes. When they sight another brig on the horizon, Fjord welcomes the distraction and joins in the glad war whoop of the rest of the crew. “Hoist the colors!” he bellows, and Emi scrambles to do so, her tangled curls bouncing on her back. “Let ‘em know who they should be scared of!” Captain Vandran’s flag, three skulls above a cutlass and crossed bones, all in white on a black field, ripples proudly in the wind against the blue sky. The Tide’s Breath has the wind on her side and she bounds through the waves like a hound. But as they come within firing range, the strange ship raises its own black flag. Disgruntled, Fjord puts his spyglass to his eye to take a better look at the flag. The design – a white skeleton, holding an hourglass in one hand and a spear in the other, with which it pierces a red bleeding heart – is unfamiliar to him. “Captain!” he calls. “You recognize them?” Captain Vandran stumps up to join him on the quarterdeck, squinting against the sun. “Let me see,” and he takes the spyglass from Fjord. After a moment he sighs, grimacing. “Pull her around. We’re parlaying.” “Whose flag is that?” demands Fjord. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Fjord growls under his breath. As the two ships pull up alongside each other, sails furling to slow their speed, Caleb steps up next to Fjord. “I hope you are not still angry with me,” he says quietly. “And that my reasons for acting are clear.” Exhaling slowly, Fjord watches as the strange brig draws up alongside the Tide’s Breath, trying to recognize any of the crew. Some are vaguely familiar. A purple tiefling in a flamboyantly patterned coat catches his eye. “No,” he says. “I get it. Maybe would have been nice if you’d explained it beforehand, but…” “My apologies.” Caleb stands with his hands in his coat pockets, tousled snarls of his hair falling over his forehead and around his ears and neck. “You are right, I should have. I assumed you already knew.” He smiles very slightly at Fjord. “I promise to explain more in the future.” “Well, uh – thank you, Caleb,” says Fjord, genuinely taken aback. “I appreciate that.” Especially since Captain Vandran doesn’t want to explain anything to him anymore. Heavy bootsteps sound on the deck behind them, and Fjord turns to face Yasha, who has a stony gaze fixed on the other ship. “I know that ship,” she says. “That’s Avantika’s ship.” Fjord frowns incredulously at her. “Avantika?” “Yeah. I was on it, you know, before… Before here.” Eyeing her with interest, Caleb says, “Why did you leave?” Yasha shrugs. Avantika’s ship is close enough now that Fjord can read the red and gold script unfurling across the bow: Squall-Eater. Both ships drop anchor, chains rattling through the holes, and the Tide’s Breath comes to rest on the gently rocking waves. The Squall-Eater halts shouting distance away, and two sailors start to prepare one of the longboats as Avantika strides onto the deck, her hat even larger and more feathered. When she catches Fjord’s eye, she grins and winks. As the boat approaches, Var and Caspa lower a rope ladder, and Avantika reaches it and climbs up. Captain Vandran holds out a hand to help her onto the deck, and she smiles at him. “Welcome to the Tide’s Breath,” says Captain Vandran. “Thank you,” purrs Avantika. “Shall we discuss business?” They disappear behind the closed door of Captain Vandran’s quarters, and Ingvas sighs heavily. “I don’t like this,” he grumbles. “Yeah,” huffs Fjord. “Me neither.”

Neito does not recall falling asleep after sobbing his emotions out in Tokage’s arms. He does his best to wrack his brains, trying to figure out what he’d done after he’d finally gotten over his embarrassing, frankly shameless breakdown but finds himself coming up completely empty. All he knows is that one second he was hiccupping into her neck and the next he is here, looking at a younger, much tinier version of himself in the middle of his mother’s study with every single limb trembling. Neito blinks and finds that the action is almost exaggeratedly slowed down. His head feels stuffed to the brim with cotton wool and his hands and feet feel heavy beyond belief. Though he doesn’t try to, he knows without doubt that in that moment, he won’t be able to move a single muscle. He won’t be able to tear his gaze away. He knows that. He doesn’t know how he knows that. Realistically, his brain is conscious and aware enough to know that this is probably a dream. The image in front of him is a little too bright and blurry around the edges, like he’s looking at it through a filter or maybe through glass that’s a little dirty. He can see himself, no more than eight or nine, cowering in his uniform and trying to make his body as small as possible. In front of his younger self is his mother, sitting at her desk with her legs crossed and looking down at him with a glare so hateful, it’s hard to believe it’s being aimed at a child. Her own, no less. It’s like watching a movie. Neito swallows uneasily. “I can’t believe it,” she spits, her voice low like she’s telling a secret but tone so vicious, so angry that Neito flinches exactly at the same time as his younger counterpart across the invisible glass that separates them. Though his thought process is comically slowed down in a way one can achieve only in dreams, he’s starting to realise just exactly what he’s looking at as the haze in his head begins to clear slightly. Suddenly, as realisation dawns on him in bits and pieces, Neito wants to run. His body doesn’t move an inch. The scene plays on with no regard for how his heart has suddenly started pounding in his chest, hard enough that it kicks up a physical ache. “Your school called me. Did you know that? They called me. They called me and made me come down all this way. They made me drive five hours. Do you know why?” His mother is still speaking as low as before, still as furious and Neito helplessly watches as his younger self bursts into tears, loud ugly sobs that suddenly crash through the eerie silence. Neito tries to close his eyes, look away, bolt, something but even the sheer terror of now knowing what’s coming next does not do anything to facilitate him. He stays frozen where he is, staring unblinkingly through the looking glass with dread filling his chest and clogging his throat. This isn’t a dream at all. This is a memory. His younger self is still crying, hiccupping and heaving and his mother continues to look down at him like he’s filth of the lowest standing though her face is blurry like it’s not quite there. With a jolt, Neito realises that during all of this while it happened, he never quite looked her straight in the eye, never quite knew—still doesn’t—exactly what face she made at him that day. The product of his brain’s conjured imagination, this angry, condescending glare, doesn’t seem too far off from what was probably the truth. Neito’s chest constricts. He feels like he’s going to have a heart attack. “Do you know why?” she hisses venomously, though her voice is louder now so it’ll presumably carry over those ugly earth-shattering sobs. She looks nonchalant, casually sitting back in her chair like there isn’t a child sobbing at her feet. A nine-year old child too small for his age with adults angry at him for a problem too big for him to understand. He was only nine. Neito remembers. He remembers all of it. Distantly, he wonders if he might throw up when he wakes up. Even more distantly and a little irrationally, he wonders if he’s ever going to wake up. Is this his hell? How did he get here? “Mama,” the child cries, collapsed onto his knees with how hard he’s sobbing and Neito wants to close his eyes. If he can’t run, he wants to at least close his eyes but he’s not even allowed that much, his eyes suddenly refusing to blink. “Ma-,” “Who’s your fucking mama?” his mother scoffs and Neito feels bile rise up his throat. “If you really saw me as your mama, you wouldn’t do things that would make me drive five fucking hours just to clean up after you, you absolute fucking idiot.” “’M sorry,” Neito sees himself whisper, vulnerable and terrified and coughing through the force of his own sobs. “I didn’t do anything. I-,” “Didn’t I tell you to not fucking copy other people’s quirks without asking them first? Didn’t I tell you that?” his mother’s getting increasingly angry now, voice rising and composure shattering with every syllable. Neito knows this is a dream, he knows this is nothing more than the floating remnant of a repressed memory his mind has dug up to torture him tonight for whatever reason. He knows he’s been through this before and he’s safe now, probably in Tokage’s bed and dead to the world. He knows. He knows. He knows but— “Didn’t I fucking tell you that!? How many fucking times do I have to tell you things before you’ll listen to me!? Aren’t I your mama!?” Neito wants to cover his ears and heave and sob like he did back then. If his body was able to move, he thinks he might have. Instead, he’s forced to watch with a straight face, forced to relive how he scrambled for excuses back then, stuttering and gasping with tears and snot on his face. His brain has tormented him for years now, endlessly and ruthlessly, but he thinks this might be the most creative episode yet. His throat hurts with how hard he wants to scream but can’t. It wasn’t his fault back then, with the whole copying without permission thing. He still remembers what had happened vividly because how can he forget the event that changed his life completely for the absolute worst, and to this day maintains his innocence to at least some capacity. “It was an accident, and I-,” “How do you accidentally copy someone’s quirk and hurt them with it!?” his mother shrieks, downright howls at him, reaching down to cup a fistful of his hair and shaking his tiny, skinny body with nothing but her grasp. “What the fuck do you mean accidentally!? You can’t even come up with a good enough excuse!? Can’t survive without causing drama!? You didn’t cause shit for a year, bet you were itching to do something to get the spotlight, no? If you don’t have attention, you’ll fucking die!? Is that what it is!? Huh!?” It had been a bully. A bully that had come at Neito with a hand swinging like he was going to attack and in sheer, blind panic, he’d reached out and grabbed onto the skin of the arm that wasn’t coming down to hit him. In another split instinctive moment of bad decision and pure survival mode, Neito had copied his quirk, completely uncaring of what it was. And in the next second, as the bully’s palm smacked onto his cheek, Neito had sent the borrowed quirk blasting through his fingertips. How in the hell was he meant to know that his bully’s quirk consisted of tiny fingertip fireballs that did minimal damage from a distance but up close, with Neito’s hand clutched firmly onto bare skin, would leave a considerably large burn? “Every single time I see you, you make me regret ever giving birth to you!” Neito trembles, hot tears escaping his open eyes as he tries to look away, to get away, anything, please, he doesn’t want to see the worst of this, he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t- “Monoma,” someone says into his ear right then, a frantic sounding whisper that’s all but hissed into his consciousness but it’s quickly drowned out by his mother. His mother who’s continuing to scream things at him, bad and awful things that no child should have to hear and Neito shakes and shakes and wishes he could move, to go ahead and warn his younger self, to cover his mouth so he doesn’t say what Neito remembers saying next, to— “Monoma? Monoma, hey,” the voice says again, more urgently than before and Neito feels his breath speed up. He feels like he should care about the voice, it does sound familiar after all, but he can’t look away, can’t even process whose it is, if they’re male or female. All he knows is that he can’t look away, he wants to look away, he wants to look away, he wants to look away, please, please, please— “Really, I really ought to-,” “It wasn’t my fault!” his younger self shrieks through his loud tears, cutting off his mother’s venomous words and rubbing furiously at his eyes as he curls up on the floor like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Neito remembers how he’d felt then even if he doesn’t think about this memory too much, how terrified and wronged and indignant, frustration and defiance building up in his tiny body as he’d toppled over the edge of a temper tantrum. Even now, as he shakes and looks on, he can feel the distant phantom of those emotions spreading across his chest. Hard defiance. Terror. Frustration. Pain, pain, pain, why won’t anyone understand!? It still feels brand-new. Neito thinks he’s choking on his own spit, even though his throat is drier than it’s ever been. He knows what’s coming. He wants to run. Run, run, run, he knows and he doesn’t want to hear it, not again, not— He knows and yet he still gasps audibly when the words leave his younger self’s mouth, because of course the memory doesn’t stop just because he wants it to. When has his brain ever listened to him? “Monoma! Hey! You’re okay! Monoma!” the voice says, sounding a little panicked at the same time as he watches himself say, garbled and angry through his howling sobs, “If Shugo-kun hadn’t said mean things ‘n tried to slap me ‘cos Takeru-kun kissed my cheek, then I wouldn’t hav’ copied his quirk!” Neito takes a deep gasping breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding that goes straight down his throat and gets painfully stuck in his lungs, making his chest hurt so badly his heart throbs with it. It’s over. He’s said the thing. It’s over. Over, over, over, over. “It’s not like I meant to!” he’s still rambling, angrily scrubbing at his face and kicking his feet as he cries and Neito can feel himself short-circuiting. “Just ‘cos Shugo-kun is a meanie who doesn’t think two boys can kiss, it doesn’t make it my fault!” “Monoma! Oh baby, no, hey,” the voice, the stupid voice in his ear, has resorted to murmuring now though it doesn’t sound any less panicked. Two sensations hit him then, one on his cheek and another right in the middle of his scalp and only then does Neito realise how hard he’s crying, how badly he’s shaking and how awfully sweaty he is. They’re hands, he realises, phantom gentle touches that are most likely trying to calm him down. The stark contrast between them and the way the scene in front of him has gone deadly quiet, like the weight of his younger self’s words are taking time to process in his mother’s mind, only makes Neito sob harder. He knows what happened next, knows the absolute storm that had descended upon him after his mother had understood the implications of just what he’d said. He knows, and he doesn’t want to see it again, doesn’t want to feel it, he doesn’t, he doesn’t— “Shh, wake up, it’s okay, it’s just a dream,” the voice whispers softly, barely audible as a hand—a thumb?—swipes the tears away from his cheeks. The fingers of the other hand are in his hair, stroking it, and Neito can’t stop crying.   “Shin-,” he chokes on a whimper, chest constricting and it hurts, it hurts, everything hurts and he just wants Shinsou which sends a new wave of pathetic distress down his body and he can’t do any of this, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t do this, make it stop, make it stop. He doesn’t want to look, he wants to look away, please, please, don’t make him look, please don’t, please don’t make me look, please don’t make me— “Shh, no one’s making you look,” the voice says into his ear, gentle and quiet and no longer so panicked, the fingers stroking his scalp soothingly and Neito, shaking as he is, realises that he’s rambling nonsense under his breath through his tears. He’s not sure what happens next, what with the amount of emotional stress his brain is under, but one second, he’s standing up being forced to look at…god please no, not that please no—and the next, he has his face buried in someone’s chest as he cries and cries and cries. He’s not sure what pulls him out of the dream without his surroundings slowly and dramatically dissolving like they usually do but he guesses it might’ve been the blind terror. Or it might’ve been the voice or the gentle touches. Really, could’ve been anything with how his shitty brain works. Neito can’t really focus on the reason anyway, there’s no need to, not when he can barely breathe and his clothes and hair are clinging to him with sweat and he’s clinging to somebody else like they’re his lifeline, fistfuls of their clothes in his hands. It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. He’s at least thankful that he isn’t talking out loud now at least; thankful that he’s undeniably awake now. He’s on his side, he can tell that much, and he’s on a bed in the arms of a very, very soft person. He can tell and yet the panic won’t leave him, his body too convinced that his mother’s going to come at him any second to punish him to let any relief pour into his veins. Not yet. Neito wants to throw up. “It’s alright, it’s alright you’re alright, you’re safe now,” the soft person—he can tell it’s definitely a girl—is whispering over and over, rubbing circles into his back and stroking his hair like he’s made of glass. Like he’ll shatter if she touches him too hard and the prospect of that just makes Neito sob harder into her chest. As his senses clear just the slightest bit, his ears pick up the sounds of birds chirping outside and the smell of a thousand and one air fresheners mixed together assaults his nasal cavity. Tokage’s room. Not his mother’s study. He’s at Heights Alliance. Of course he is. “You’re fine now, shh, it’s okay I’m here with you,” Tokage murmurs, her voice more recognisable the more Neito begins to register where he is, as she nuzzles what feels like her entire cheek into his gross, sweaty hair. Neito takes a deep shuddering breath that hurts his lungs. As ashamed as he begins to feel about this at the back of his mind the more he wakes up—because he is and he knows it’ll hit him full force when he’s feeling even more awake—he can’t lie and say that the softness and gentleness isn’t making him feel more and more grounded by the second. He wants to deny the comfort, he wants to stop crying and bottle everything up and escape and never look at Tokage again but…but… “There you go, breathe like that! Match your breaths with mine, good boy,” she says encouragingly, like she’s his parent or something and stupidly, Neito finds that he’s unconsciously been doing exactly that. The realisation only makes his lungs stall for a little bit before they start up again and he finds that he can breathe a little easier with every passing second, though he hasn’t stopped crying entirely. He’s getting there though and that’s a small comfort in and of itself. Neito doesn’t want to keep up this sobbing pity party for longer than he has to, no matter how hard everything feels right now. Sometimes, and this is not the time to wonder this, but only sometimes, Neito wonders whether upholding his gigantic mountain of pride might kill him someday. He hopes it does.   -   It takes him longer to calm down than he would like to admit but Tokage doesn’t let him go, even after his breathing is normal and he’s stopped sobbing like he’s dying. It’s kind of awkward and extremely embarrassing, considering he’s got his nose buried in her chest but he doesn’t want to be the one to bring attention to it so he just…lies there. Lies there and lets her rub his back and stroke his hair and wonders when the hell he got so weak, so comfortable with her, so as to have to two—two!—emotional breakdowns in front of her within a few hours. Tokage, of all the people in 1-B he could’ve embarrassed himself in front of! If he didn’t feel so weak and disoriented and vulnerable, Neito has no doubt he would rip himself out of her arms and run far away enough that no one could ever see him again. Especially Tokage. Not to say he dislikes her, of course. He never has; if he did, he would never have come to her room over some supportive post-its. Because some deep recalling of the events of the previous night while he lies there with nothing else to do but think, plastered against her tiny body, confirms that he indeed is in Tokage’s room. The memories are slightly hazy past the point where they started wailing at each other but Neito definitely thinks he remembers them sobbing so hard, they passed out where they were without brushing their teeth or going to the toilet or showering or anything. It definitely explains why he’s cuddling her in her bed instead of being in his own and suffering alone, as is standard procedure after he has nightmares. It also explains why he has to piss so badly. But yes. Tokage. Doesn’t dislike her. Not at all. Sure, he never saw her as a close friend because they just have different friend groups but Neito wonders if they are friends now, what with how they’re clinging on to each other silently as the room gets lighter and lighter behind his eyelids. Neito opens one eye experimentally at some point, an eternity of cuddling later, to maybe check the time and also to figure out if it is as crusty as he thinks it is, finds out that yes, it is and that from his vantage point, he really can’t check the time off her clock and also sees himself staring straight at Tokage’s collarbone and cleavage. He promptly shuts his eye, apologises to the gods for reasons unknown and awkwardly loosens his grip on her shirt. He thinks his thigh is asleep with how she’s got an entire leg thrown up over it. They’re definitely friends after this. Neito doesn’t care. They have to be or else, he’d have embarrassed himself in front of a girl he barely knows but also now knows too much about. They’re best friends now, screw this. Fuck. Tokage, the girl he barely knows but also now knows too much about, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations about this situation as him because she’s still rubbing his back and stroking his hair and occasionally humming under her breath, like he’s a child. Neito feels the entirety of his blood supply rush to his cheeks as the weight of the situation finally hits him in full. He’s fully awake now, the room flooded with early morning sunlight as seen during his three seconds of one-eyed bravery, and he’s starting to get increasingly embarrassed and flustered by the second. At least he’s not sobbing, though he is ridiculously snotty. Small mercies.   -   It takes an even longer eternity of Neito lying in Tokage’s arms stiffly before she moves even the slightest bit and even then, it’s just her hand leaving his back to reach for something that’s lying behind him. Neito sniffs up the snot in his nose, prays he hasn’t gotten any of it on Tokage’s shirt, and lies there stiffly some more until she decides to acknowledge his existence. He wishes it will be soon though, because while Neito likes to think of himself as small and tiny, he really isn’t and he’s heavy on top of that and has been lying on Tokage’s poor arm for god knows how long. If she can move it after this morning, she can count herself lucky. But, like before, Tokage seems to have no such qualms about any of this and only shifts slightly before her hand returns to rub at his back. Perfectly casually. Like this is normal. Neito swallows thickly, if only to stop making his throat stop feeling like sand paper, and flexes his fingers in her shirt. He’s not sure if he does that to get her attention or because he’s feeling nervous and more and more ridiculous as time passes, but he at least succeeds on the first front. Because shortly after Neito is done and has his hand splayed awkwardly on her back, Tokage finally decides to put him out of his misery and say something. “Are you awake?” is what she mutters very quietly, petting at his hair gently like she’s afraid she’s going to wake him. Neito, red in the face and extremely embarrassed, takes the opportunity to get out of her embrace and jumps on it. “Yes, I’m awake,” he replies, wincing as his voice cracks at every syllable imaginable and awkwardly backs up so his nose is no longer buried in her chest. Instantly, he feels like he can breathe at least a little easier; even easier still when Tokage doesn’t attempt to keep him caged in and lets him extract himself enough so he can lie on his back next to her. He finally opens his eyes, awkwardly squinting at her ceiling as they continue to just…lie there. God, Neito is so tired and embarrassed and will be faking his death and moving to China or something after this. The past twelve or so hours feel like a fucking fever dream. Having a breakdown in Tokage’s room—her arms—is one thing, emotions were running high, whatever. But sleeping in her arms? Monoma Neito is dead. He is over. He is done. Under the guise of rubbing his eyes, Neito runs his hands over his wet and gross face and suppresses a groan. Tokage’s leg is still thrown over his thigh as she lies there casually and she’s facing him and Neito will never look her in the eye again. He’s embarrassed, annoyed at himself and slightly terrified of his emotional openness. And despite all that, he finds that he still doesn’t want to particularly leave, almost content to just lie there. He suspects it might be so that he never has to actually fully process what the hell has happened in the past few hours. But of course, the universe isn’t that kind. “You cried yourself to sleep and I didn’t have the heart to tell you to get up and go to your room,” Tokage speaks up, like she’s offering an explanation to the shitstorm brewing inside his head and Neito really does inaudibly groan at that. Cried himself to sleep! Disgraceful! Sure, he does that almost every night but Jesus Christ, in someone else’s room, has he no self-control— “You’re cute when you sleep,” she offers helpfully, too sleepy maybe to sound as lively as she is during the day and Neito goes so red in the face, he thinks he might be dying, still resolutely staring at the ceiling. It’s blue like his. Very nice. “And you had a rough night so I didn’t want to wake you. That alright, yes?” “Sure,” he mutters, covering his face and rubbing at it so he can perhaps scrub his failures out of himself and beat them to death. Traitorous emotions and tears. Who even asked? And now he’s stuck in her bed alongside her and they’re still kind of cuddling and Neito has no idea how to get out of this situation, though it’s questionable if he even wants to. He’s gone insane. He’s possessed. There is no other explanation. It’s only a small mercy that Tokage is either stupidly talkative even in the mornings or she’s stupid perceptive and senses his discomfort because she keeps talking, her voice raspy with sleep. The subject matter of the shit coming out of her mouth makes Neito want to shrivel up and die but the sound of her voice at least keeps him from overthinking himself to death. He isn’t even really thinking about his nightmare, past a bit of physical uneasiness. That is a first; usually he’d still be crying about it. “I’m really glad that we had that conversation last night,” is what Tokage is saying, all casual. She’s looking at him, Neito can tell, so he closes his eyes and tries not to go haywire from embarrassment. “I’m so happy you got it all out of your system, I can tell you needed it.” A pause. “I hope you feel lighter, even a little bit.” “I do,” he mutters back reluctantly, embarrassed at his current situation and even more embarrassed because he knows it’s true. Sure, he had a nightmare that she had to talk him down from—and lord, he can’t even imagine purging his brain of that awkwardness for the rest of his life—the slight. effects of which still linger at the back of his head. He can feel his chest being a little tight and there’s definitely the start of a headache at his temples but… He does feel lighter. Like a weight that has been lifted off his shoulders, as cliché as it is, and the more awake he feels the more he processes the weightlessness inside his stomach. Like something has untangled. Sure, there’s also that buttload of embarrassment weighing him down currently but that doesn’t have anything to do with the…the lightness. A lightness that having a crush had taken from him months and months ago. A lightness that has returned, if only slightly, if he can concentrate on anything past how awkward he feels. Neito suddenly has no idea how to proceed. Now aware of it, he can’t stop feeling it. Even more horribly, he likes it. “You kind of scared me for a second,” Tokage says softly and he balls his hand into a fist and doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t know what she even really means. He thinks a thank you would be a good start, but even that falters and dies in his throat when she brings a hand and starts combing through his sweaty bangs. “Do…you have nightmares like that often?” Right, okay, of course she’s talking about that. Neito wasn’t sure for a second, but really, what the hell else could she possibly be talking about? “Uh,” he manages to get out of his very dry throat—he needs water and a toothbrush right now immediately—because after everything that has happened between them, Neito feels like it would be downright rude to not reply. It doesn’t make talking any easier but it helps to have his eyes closed. He doesn’t think he wants to open them ever again. “Yeah. Sometimes.” Tokage hums and strokes his hair. “Are they always that bad?” Neito feels himself stiffen slightly before relaxing, though it’s more out of habit than any real discomfort. Embarrassment and awkwardness aside, he just…doesn’t feel as bad as he’d expected himself to. As bad as he usually does after nightmares of that nature. He suspects that waking up to actual comfort afterwards may have something to do with it and he sincerely hopes and prays that his brain hasn’t gotten used to that because he’s sure that won’t be happening ever again. Regardless of what he’s sure and unsure of though, fact of the matter is that he’s got himself sort of under control. The whole sharing his feelings and problems issue…he’s still working on getting around that. Kind of. God, he wants to escape. He wants to stay here forever. “Depends on…the dream. Sometimes they’re only kind of bad and sometimes…,” he manages to get out in lieu of making an effort to reply, trailing off lamely when he belatedly realises that he doesn’t actually want to talk about the real nasty aspects of it. It’s a good enough answer though, and Neito doesn’t think it’s that rude to not want to talk about something that personal even though he’d wailed about Shinsou a few hours ago so he tries not to feel bad about it with some success. Tokage, with an understanding hum, seems to be completely on board. “Would you like to talk about your nightmare or would you like me to pretend nothing happened and we both slept like babies?” she says, a note of her usual liveliness seeping into her voice as she playfully tugs at his fringe. Neito, finally allowing relief to spread through his body, releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He hadn’t expected her to force him into talking about it, of course he hadn’t, but he just…didn’t know what he had expected. He’s never been in this kind of situation after all. This though. This is good. “I don’t want…to talk about it,” he replies and hopes he doesn’t sound strange. Tokage ruffles his hair and that’s how he knows for sure he doesn’t. Sound strange, that is. Not that there’s anything wrong with talking about problems or nightmares but Neito just doesn’t feel ready. Not after everything he’s already spewed to her. “If that’s okay,” he adds quickly and keeps his eyes resolutely shut. He wonders, just for a split second, if it’s okay to not be ready. For a second, he even wonders if it’s rude, if he’s being rude by being elusive and weird, especially after he wasted so much of her time with so many of his tears. She had shared something very personal with him last night after all, so it is only good manners that he gives her some stuff back. Right? Is that how friendships work? He has told her about Shinsou which is more than anyone will ever get out of him, sure, but…he’s not sure he’ll ever open up further than that. Is that rude? Neito can’t tell. He doesn’t have to wonder for long, however, because Tokage doesn’t seem to mind at all, though Neito isn’t sure what there would be to mind. She merely hums gently before immediately bursting forth with loud, obnoxious speech. “Wow, good sleep last night, my dear Monoma! Nice chat yesterday! Good lord I’m rested!” like Neito didn’t spend cumulative hours sobbing into her chest, like she knows what Neito is thinking currently, and he immediately feels an additional weight lift off his chest. A weight he didn’t even know was there. And just like that, Neito can breathe. He even manages to slightly laugh and open his eyes when Tokage keeps going on her little spiel of “My, my, I can’t believe Monoma Neito actually slept in my bed and cuddled me! I feel like I’ve unlocked some sort of achievement! I feel like I’m invincible, I feel like I’ve put my hand in a lion’s den and all it’s done is nuzzle me! Wow!” “’M not a lion,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes for real this time and trying to muster motivation to move so he can go take a shower and brush his teeth and maybe not look Tokage in the eye for at least a week. “No,” she agrees. “You’re a kitten!” Neito digs his knuckles into his eyes and groans, though he’s still laughing. Oddly, he feels like he might cry.   -   By the time Neito and Tokage manage to peel themselves off the sweaty sheets and stumble out of bed to start the day, the alarm clock on Tokage’s nightstand reads 9:14AM in bright, green letters and the room is entirely bathed in sunlight. It’s warm in her room, the smells still as sweet and gross as last night, and Neito wants to throw himself into a lava pit when his gut instincts just tell him to screw all this and get back in her bed the second his feet hit the slightly cold floor. He can’t really blame himself, it’s a comfy bed and he’s still a little tired, but not wanting to particularly leave just means Neito has learned fucking nothing from this experience. God, he’s so embarrassed and the feeling is so general and widespread throughout his body, he’s not even sure what he’s embarrassed about anymore. Existing? Maybe. Generally being alive is a nightmare. Tokage on the other hand doesn’t seem to be sharing the same sentiments, doesn’t seem to have Neito’s overthinking shitstorm inside her head as she bounces around the room as casual as can be. Neito silently watches her out of the corner of his eye, fully prepared to look away if their eyes meet, and watches as she picks up her laundry basket and balances it against her hip the same way one would carry a child. Only then does she turn to give him her full attention and Neito suddenly finds himself very interested in his fingernails that are still extremely blue. He’d forgotten that part. Jesus, he has blue fingernails. He’s really hit rock-bottom, hasn’t he? “You got any laundry?” she chirps at him casually and Neito internally screams before he forces himself to look her dead in the face. She’s still the same Tokage, though he’s not sure why she wouldn’t be, big green eyes trained on his face as she smiles at him toothily waiting for a response. “Huh?” Neito manages intelligently, wanting to break eye-contact but fearing it would be rude. He can already feel his cheeks colouring, as embarrassed and jumpy as he is, and now he’s being forced to think about his laundry. Of all the shit in the world. But speaking of, “Yeah, a little bit. Why?” A little bit is a lie. He hasn’t done his laundry since maybe Tuesday, what with the horrific week he’s had. Tokage grins wider at that for whatever reason and Neito wishes he could look away. To compromise, he looks at a spot on her forehead and begs the gods for mercy. Why is he still here? “I’m going to pop my shit in the washers before showering! You wanna hand yours off to me, too? I’ll put it in for you!” she says, extremely animatedly while bouncing the basket at her hip and Neito warily looks at it before looking at her face again. She doesn’t seem like she’s joking about it. Then again, who jokes about laundry? It’s really hard to tell with her, as he’s slowly realising. Thus far, he hasn’t been able to tell how Tokage manages to get from A to B, or what A and B even are, but he’s learning. Slowly. Maybe. Kind of. “Um,” he says, wondering if Tokage is the kind of person who would make laundry jokes, it’s not like he really knows her at this point. “I’d have to get it from my room.” That’s not the biggest inconvenience if Neito really thinks about it because he does have to go back to his room to get fresh clothes so he can shower and get out of his sweaty clothes, the same ones that he wore yesterday. He would wrinkle his nose at how gross he feels, how gross he is but Tokage is also still in the same outfit as yesterday so he can’t bring himself to feel too bad. A shower would still be nice though. Tokage bounces the laundry basket to balance it and beams up at him. “Then go get it! I’ll pop them in for you, bestie!” Neito blinks, staring between her and the basket again when he can’t figure out anything else to say or do, and slowly nods. Vaguely, as he mentally processes the fact that Tokage’s laundry basket is nearly the same size as her, he wonders if she’s always been this tiny and he’s always been this weirdly tall. And that’s before he even begins to unpack the whole bestie thing. No one’s ever called Neito that with the amount of sincerity Tokage says it with even though her tone is playful. He wonders why he doesn’t hate it.   -   On standard days, this is how things would realistically go if Neito woke up distressed from a nightmare on a day where there were no classes. He would cry for at least three hours, curled up on his gross bed while overthinking himself to death and forcing himself to relive the dream over and over. Bonus points if he could miss Shinsou so hard, a void of pain and longing opened up in his chest that would then proceed stay there for at least half a day until he got his shit kind of together again. After he was done crying, it would be noon at least provided the mess in his head didn’t just kill him and only then upon grudging survival, with a snotty nose and itchy, swollen eyes would Neito fall out of bed to drag himself to the showers. He would then cry some more in the shower, the temperature of which would depend on the nature of his shitty dream, after which he would get dressed, drag his feet back to his bed while avoiding all human interaction, maybe change the sheets if he was feeling up to it and then proceed to lie in bed until someone inevitably came looking to take him to lunch against his will. But today does not seem to be a standard day and Neito is almost warily cautious and confused as to what the hell is happening. For one, he doesn’t feel as shit as he usually would. He has a bit of a headache and needs to blow his nose in the shower—he’s not doing that in front of Tokage, god knows how much of it he got on her shirt because he refuses to look—and the remnants of his dream still linger somewhere at the back of his head if he concentrates hard enough. But he isn’t doing that, not when Tokage seems to follow him like a shadow chattering all the way. “God, I hope I get everything done before 11 ‘cos we need to make those invites and if everyone else comes to my room before even I’m there, I’ll die,” is the topic she’s currently on as she and Neito go up the elevator to get to his room. “Though I doubt anyone’s even awake, the lazy bitches.” Neito nods, humming slightly and staring at his slippers, very horribly embarrassed still. He had not anticipated this. “What time do you wake up on the weekends generally?” “Huh?” he replies, taking a while to realise that this is a direct question. Only then does he lift his head and look at her, taken aback by how wildly bright her eyes are. “Depends on how well I sleep, really. Early sometimes and not…early other times.” Tokage blinks up at him and something like understanding flashes through her eyes before she’s back to her lively, sparkly demeanour. Neito doesn’t understand what she’s understood but he decides not to dwell on it, can’t dwell on it, because she’s talking again. “I see! I’m usually an early riser!” the elevator dings open and Neito steps out, unsure of whether he should help her or not as she struggles to hold the laundry basket. Why is it so big? She has it mostly under control within the next second though, so on they walk to his room without Neito having to offer his assistance. “I like to get out of bed bright and early so I have more hours to get stuff done. It works wonderfully!” “That’s nice,” he politely says as they reach the door to his room which he pushes open a little too hurriedly. It isn’t locked, he knows it isn’t because he hadn’t had the chance to lock it before heading to Tokage’s. It hadn’t been necessary at the time because he’d assumed he’d be coming back to sleep. Never in a million fucking years would he have thought— Neito’s room is as untouched as he’d left it, sunlight filtering through his curtains and bed partially unmade. His tiny laundry basket is shoved half-heartedly under his bed, sticking out only the slightest bit so as to avoid anyone tripping over it, and Neito points to it once with a grunt before crossing the room to get fresh pyjamas for his shower. Tokage is on the floor and pulling at his basket in an instant. Neito rummages through his wardrobe and resolutely tries not to think about how strange everything is, which is what he seems to be doing since he woke up. “That’s a whole lotta laundry, Monoma!” she says, lively and teasing like it isn’t gross of him to have a pile of unwashed clothes and by the time he’s got his clothes and turned around, she’s got his basket balanced precariously on top of hers. Like that she almost looks dwarfed, barely staring at him over the baskets. “You should get a bigger one! Why’s it so small?” Neito gapes at her, clutching his pyjamas to his chest. Why are you so small is what he wants to say but he can’t quite get the words out. He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed or exasperated at this point, though it’s probably both. He wonders if that’s how Kendou feels with him. Tokage is an enigma. He wonders if he’ll ever understand whatever the hell is happening inside her head. “You don’t have to carry it, give me that,” he says immediately, reaching out for it with a hand and utterly confused when she dodges him and skips out of the room beyond his reach, almost tripping in the process. “Hey!” “I want to carry them!” she fires back indignantly though she’s grinning wildly and her hair looks like she’s been to war. “Wanna do it for my bestie!” “Tokage-,” “Oh, you should call me Setsu!” she says, so loudly that Neito has to reel back. She’s skipping towards the elevator and he’s at her heels, unsure if he should stick out of his arms behind her to catch her when she inevitably collapses under the weight in her arms but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. “The Tokages are my parents! My friends call me Setsu!” “Okay,” he replies without thinking, grabbing her arm when she stumbles. He doesn’t have time to unpack all that. “Please give me my basket.” “I don’t wanna! I wanna carry it for my bestie!” she says stubbornly, impressively keeping it out of his reach when he does try to swipe for it. Neito is so baffled, he doesn’t try again. He’s taller and he’s bigger so realistically he could just wrestle it from her but… “Why’s it so small though, you didn’t tell me.” “I don’t…know?” he really doesn’t. “I just got it from home before moving here.” “We should pitch in for your next birthday and get you a proper laundry basket,” Tokage says sagely, eyes bright as she looks up at him like she’s just had a great idea. Neito doesn’t know where the conversation is anymore, nor does he know how he feels about getting a fucking laundry basket for his birthday. It’s not that big of a deal. “Your clothes are barely in there. It’s so sad.” “Not really,” he mutters, running a hand over his face and sniffing up his snot aggressively. He really needs to blow his nose. “It works well enough.” “They’re falling out!” Tokage says, loud and sounding very scandalised and Neito wonders if he’s finally met someone more theatrical than he’ll ever be. He’s had his fair share of dramatics—he’s Monoma Neito, for god’s sake—but even he’s never found a reason to wax poetic about a basket. “I refuse to let you die like this!” He wonders if this new friendship has been a mistake. Oh god, is he the Kendou of their duo? “It’s fine, it works,” he shoots back, wondering why they’re arguing about this as they step back into the elevator. Neito doesn’t want to argue about this. He wants to get into a shower and sort his thoughts out and blow his nose and brush his teeth. That’s what he wants to do. He makes another broad armed spike for the basket and impressively, and a little annoyingly, Tokage holds it away from him with a wild look in her eyes and she’s grinning so hard as she says “no, it’s mine!” that Neito finds himself unsurely grinning back though he doesn’t know why. “What are we doing?” he blurts out through his toothy smile as the elevator descends, a smile that he can’t suppress no matter how uncomfortable it makes him feel. He doesn’t smile all that much, not like this where it’s genuine and not sarcastic or mocking or theatrical. Not that he doesn’t have a problem with smiling, he just… He doesn’t even know what the problem is. Hence why he asks. Tokage is smiling just as widely though, looking at him like this is all so much fun so he can’t bring himself to forcibly repress his grin. A part of him, scarily, doesn’t want to at all. “I don’t know!” she says chirpily as the elevator dings open on the ground floor and she all but skips out, almost toppling over with her basket mountain. Neito reaches out a hand to help her, she dodges it with expertise and takes off running towards the bathrooms before he’s so much as breathed. “But it’s fun!” she screams behind her and a laugh is punched out of Neito’s throat before he can stop it. “Meet me at 11! In my room!” And then she’s turned the corner and is gone with the wind with both their laundries, leaving Neito staring after her. It’s only three seconds later when the elevator shuts behind him that he remembers to start moving himself, smiling and hugging his pyjamas to his chest. Possessed. He’s definitely possessed.   -   It’s not until Neito is in the shower, letting the comfortably hot stream wash over him, that he begins to realise just how light he actually feels. It’s not happiness, per se, but it’s definitely something. A strange comfort of sorts that’s enveloped him and refuses to let go, hard enough that he can’t even bring himself to think back on the dream and process it fully. He tries for what it’s worth, because he feels a little too light and surely, he must ruin his mood at least a little bit to feel normal again. But Neito just…can’t. He barely even remembers what had upset him about his nightmare so much, can’t remember to dwell on the details because whenever he tries, he thinks of purple hair and smug grins and Tokage bumbling around and laundry baskets. And so, scrubbing shampoo into his hair, all Neito can do is stifle a smile he’s not used to. He knows the happiness isn’t permanent. Years and years of torment and overthinking himself to death has taught him that, not to mention the rollercoaster of emotions that the past week has been. He knows, he’s not dumb, and yet he can’t stop fucking smiling. The worst part of it is that Neito can’t even bring himself to be all that bothered about it.   -   Saturday, as it turns out, is an extremely slow and uneventful day; possibly the dullest out of the entire week that Neito’s had and he’s both relieved and apprehensive at the same time. Surely, he can’t feel this nice and light and not have something go to shit. He’d learnt his lesson after feeling so floaty and out of it when he’d talked to Shinsou on Tuesday because despite how pleasant he’d felt, what the hell had that led to? That stupid dream. In the first time in almost a week, a breathy whisper of baby resonates across his subconscious and Neito tries his best to not pull a face or show any kind of reaction where he’s sprawled on the common room couch, head pillowed on Rin’s lap. He mostly succeeds, internalises the grimace that threatens to take over his face, and just like that he’s safe. For now. He would like to never unearth that dream if he can help it, especially not today when his day is actually…semi-good for once. He hasn’t done much thus far although nearly half the day has passed. Neito had, admittedly, gone to Tokage’s room after he’d showered and rested in his own for a little bit at 11 sharp for making party invites because she said so, because no matter how embarrassing the basis of their new friendship is, he couldn’t—can’t, even now— seem to convince himself to stay away from her. It’s bad. He’s not clingy like this, not even with Kendou, but being around her is just nice in ways that it wasn’t yesterday so he doesn’t overthink it too much. He’s been trying not to over the span of the day at least with some success. Not that Tokage shuts up for even a millisecond ever so he can think about much of anything, as he’s starting to catch on. But still. Invite-making had, understandably, been a disaster. Almost everyone had tried to join in, everyone spitting a colossal fuck you at Tokage’s responsibilities list as they tried to cram themselves in Tokage’s tiny, ill-smelling bedroom (Neito can’t fault them since he was one of them) and taken up so much space that they all had to be promptly kicked out and moved to the common room where there is much more space and less chances of suffocation by air fresheners.   And that’s where they’ve remained for the past seven hours—minus Kendou and Shiozaki who have been shunned—sprawled across different surfaces as they glue plastic stars to shitty paper—a bad idea—and try to get glitter to stick to even shitter paper—the worst idea—but Neito is strangely content. He’s sure there is some part of him that wants to bitch and moan about how being “forced” into this is ruining his life, about how bad their decisions are, about how pink doesn’t go with hot red what the fuck Tetsutetsu put that down holy shit. But he just…hasn’t. Sure, he’s sassed here and there, he definitely screamed when Tetsutetsu decided to rip open a packet of glitter with the force of a thousand suns, but everyone had screamed so it doesn’t really matter. They’ll all be picking out neon green glitter particles out of their hair for weeks anyway and have definitely ingested some with their hurried afternoon lunch. That’s not really a Neito thing. Everyone’s bitching about that. So, by those standards, he’s actually been on his best behaviour. All he’s done is lie there quietly on whoever’s lap that is willing to lend it and do the work anyone asks him to, even though he’s not very good at arts or crafts. None of them are, really. Apart from Komori whose cursive is incredible and who has thus been trusted with writing names on the invitations, all of them are doing a pretty shitty job. No one’s even commented on his nails for whatever reason! No one’s asked the whys or the hows! Sure, he’s gotten nods here and there, maybe a stare from Honenuki and a “nice!” from Rin but other than that… His day is so ridiculous. All of it is! It’s so pretentious—invites for a two-person birthday party? Seriously?—but it’s light and nice and Neito just feels…good. Cared for. It’s not even his birthday. He’s, as Awase would say, bugging. And he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.   By the time 7PM rolls around and dinner-time closes in, everyone in 1-B has thoroughly exhausted themselves from an entire day of unnecessarily tedious hard-work. There is a fairly large stack of done and ready-to-go invites in every ugly colour imaginable on the table by the end of it though, and while they’re not very good and honestly kind of tacky, they’re there and so, no one has it in them to complain about them too much, lest Tokage take their whining at face-value and have them redo everything. Neito shudders at the mere prospect of touching glue again. He’s content where he is, with his head pillowed on Awase’s thighs, thanks so much. “When do you guys wanna start on decorating this place by the way?” Kamakiri asks like the bastard that he is when the activity in the common room has slowed to a stop entirely and everyone is falling asleep or generally dying on any available surface. He gets someone’s carpet slipper to the head for his efforts that flies across the room like a bullet, and Neito’s pretty sure Tetsutetsu straight whines into his face to let us rest and then it’s silent again. And he is grateful. And oddly, very sleepy in ways he only is when he feels at peace and somehow knows that he won’t be having nightmares tonight. Today is cursed. It has to be.   -   Dinner is quiet, four surprisingly good egg sandwiches for each of them that Vlad-sensei personally delivers to the common room—because they’re all too dead to move, clearly— before promptly leaving to give Kendou and Shiozaki their share who are still shut up in their bedrooms. Neito isn’t all that hungry, more tired than anything, but still scarfs them down for survival more than anything. The light feeling from before hasn’t gone away, no anxiety or worry swirling around in his chest as is custom. He thinks it’s still there, of course, if he really reaches in and tries to feel it but he doesn’t in fact want to do that because for once, Neito finds that it’s more taxing to be sad than it is to be happy. So he shuts up, minds his own business and eats quietly while he leans heavily against Awase’s shoulder who lets him with no questions asked. No one has really said much to him all day that wasn’t directly related to invite-making. There has been no unnecessary worry shown or asking him any questions about his nails or otherwise and no one has definitely looked at him funny like they all were a few days ago. Like he’s a ticking time-bomb about to emotionally go off and either die or cry. Neito, optimistically, hopes that that spell has passed for all of them as he looks around the common room and listens to conversations as discreetly as he can where the energy levels are starting to get high again as they inhale more food. “I’m thinking of purple balloons over there,” Komori is saying as she points at a corner of the wall. “And pink over there. And we can connect it with silver streamers, what do you think?” “Wouldn’t that clash?” “Clash with what Honenuki?” “The paint colours?” “No, the hell it wouldn’t,” Komori pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration and Neito can’t help the half-smile his lips quirk up in. “I’ll show you once we’re done, it’ll look good. You’ll see.” “Yeah, but when are we actually going to start decorating?” Kamakiri asks again, cheeks full of sandwich. Neito bites into his own and watches the exchange. “We really don’t have enough time, do we?” “I mean, yeah we do,” Tokage replies, stroking her chin thoughtfully as she holds her sandwich in the other hand, completely forgotten. “The party starts at 4 tomorrow right? We can just get up early and decorate.” “I think it would be nice if we could get some done before we slept so there wouldn’t be too much of a burden?” “Yeah it definitely sounds like a good idea. I do have to go to the shops to pick up the gifts we ordered in the morning tomorrow, so it could get hectic,” Tokage says, tilting her head and cutting off with a giggle when Komori grasps her wrist to bring her ignored sandwich to her mouth. “Thanks!” a bite. “Let’s get done with eating before we start.” “Okay great!” “I’ll go with you,” Komori offers and Tokage enthusiastically agrees. Neito chews his own food as he watches them speak—or rather, watches her speak—eyes drooping with how calm he feels and snuggles further into Awase’s side before he can stop himself. Awase, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about it so Neito doesn’t feel too embarrassed either.     “Oh, by the way who’s the extra person you were talking about earlier?” Yanagi pipes up during a lull in conversation when the food is pretty much gone and Shishida is gathering up the containers to put them in the waste bag. Neito also perks up at that, half to not fall asleep on Awase and half because he’s curious and he’s nosy. “That person Shiozaki’s friend is bringing to the party you told me about,” she adds to Tokage specifically when she’s met with a bunch of questioning looks. “Oh!” Tokage exclaims, snapping her fingers in realisation. “Yeah, I don’t know either! Shiozaki just came up to me in the morning before we started working, right?” and here, for some deranged reason, she looks straight at Neito like she’s talking to him and not a million other people. Geared by the remaining dredges of embarrassment, he flushes under her gaze. He nods at her, unsure what she wants him to do. Tokage just stares, wide-eyed and looking a little wronged and it takes him a few seconds to realise that it’s because of the story she’s telling. “She came up, and she was like, oh I have this friend in General Studies that I’m inviting,” she takes a bite out of her sandwich, seems to inhale it and continues like it’s nothing. “And I said, yes I know. Because you know, I got them to give me guest lists in advance so I would know how many invites to make-,” Guest lists? Neito is baffled. They gave Tsuburaba a biscuit, for God’s sake. “-and she’s like, do you have space for one more person? And I was like, well I don’t know Shiozaki, I have this budgeted down to the person and she just said something about Christ and sharing and I was like, yes, yes, I’ll murder my budget for one more person if that’s what you would like,” Tokage waves her hands around animatedly and she’s so into the story, everyone seems to be hanging on to her every word, Neito can tell. Even Bondo and he doesn’t give a shit half of the time. “And she was like, yes thank you, and turns out that friend in General Studies has this boyfriend who doesn’t like people and he’s our extra person?” “Oh?” Rin asks, helping Shishida gather up the trash. “Who?” “No clue. Shiozaki doesn’t know either. She just said he’s her friend’s boyfriend who doesn’t like to really hang out or do much of anything if it’s not working out or watching cat videos? Apparently?” Tokage makes a face and swallows her bite. “And so, Shiozaki’s friend thought coming to a party would do him some good and get him some human interaction because he has like 2 friends. Or something. I don’t know, I’m just quoting her, and she really seemed to want this guy to come with her friend. So, I said yes.” “He sounds like a delight,” Awase mutters, at the same time Kuroiro snaps, “You’re telling us this now?” “Wonder who he is,” Shoda throws in. “Do we like know him?” “Shiozaki said she doesn’t know who it is, so I can’t confirm,” Tokage says, muffled through her food. “Honestly, cat videos aren’t even that bad though. She should not force he to do something he don’t want to do,” Pony says, always the gentle one. “Right? That’s what I thought,” Tokage says, shoving the rest of her sandwich into her mouth. “But Shiozaki was like, please won’t you add him in for me, so I said fuck it sure, how bad can it possibly be?” “What if he’s a dick who doesn’t know how to interact with us and ruins the mood?” “Then it’ll be up to you boys to entertain and deal with him because the girls will be on the other side, thanks very much!” “What?” Tsuburaba says, scandalised as he springs up to his feet accusingly. “How’s that fair?” “Don’t be horny, man,” Honenuki kicks out at him and goes largely ignored. “Just pray he’s nice enough.” “What if he isn’t, though? What if he just sits in a corner all evening and glares at us or something?” “He sounds like a hissy cat when you put him like that, dude-,” “Holy shit, what if it’s Bakugou!” Tetsutetsu bellows abruptly cutting across Awase like he’s had a revelation and another carpet slipper flies across the room, narrowly missing him. This time, it’s Neito’s whose hands have moved of their own accord. “Don’t speak that into existence!” he sniffs, unsure of why the mere mention of someone from 1-A has prompted him into movement quicker than he could breathe. But he’s here and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t milk this. He’s not in a good mood for nothing. “If Bakugou comes, I will lock myself in my room and never come out. I will never breathe the same oxygen as him! That will not happen!” “Drama queen,” Awase snorts, pulling at the hair at the base of his skull and everyone laughs when Neito yelps because apparently they’re psychopaths. “You’d never do that at Kendou’s birthday party.” “The hell I would,” Neito huffs, sticking his nose in the air for extra dramatic effect because he is a drama queen, he’s not denying that part, but also to hide the fact that his face probably reads clear as day that Awase is right and he would never abandon Kendou on her special day, as violent as she is. It makes everyone laugh and groan in exasperation the way they do with him though, and the lightness in his chest gets even lighter. Neito finally feels like he’s back in commission. He hopes the nice feeling is here to last. And just like that, with the conversation moving entirely somewhere else, Shiozaki’s friend’s antisocial nightmare sounding boyfriend they’ll have to deal with is forgotten.   -   The room decorating starts in some capacity right after the trash has been put away and everyone is fed and not as tired as before. Neito, who has retrieved his thrown slipper since then, is walking around the common room to stay out of his classmates’ way, fiddling with his phone that he’s not entirely sure what to do on. He doesn’t have many apps and he’s not “in” with pop-culture, so he doesn’t have any interests to waste his time on and be updated with. Maybe he should get some. Maybe that would help him not think about things. Neito chews on his lip and wonders if he should ask Awase to recommend him some things he might like. Maybe Rin. Or Kendou. Or maybe Tokage. Maybe. But only when they’re not all trying to behead each other over some colour schemes. Because— “The balloons look crap, Komori-san! I told you they would clash!” “They’re fine!” Komori exclaims, waving her hands as Neito watches them. “Setsu, tell him they’re fine!” “They’re not the worst, I’ll say that,” Tokage says slowly, clapping her sympathetically on the back and ugly cackling when Komori groans and stamps her feet. “They’re fine! We just need another colour for the streamer!” “How about we just get two pink balloons and join them with a silver streamer?” Awase tries to intervene, putting his hands on Honenuki’s shoulders as he contemplates. “That wouldn’t clash nearly as much.” “Wouldn’t it?” Kamakiri is taking this whole thing extremely seriously and Neito looks on in amusement as everyone looks at him like he’s preaching some sagely sermon. “Maybe if we get some colour that goes with the blue wall, it would be better.” “Yeah that sounds reasonable,” Tokage “Fuck y’all,” is Komori’s contribution. “Stop trying to make pink and purple and silver on blue happen!” “What do you know about colours, Honenuki?!” “Maybe if sir and madam stopped fighting-,” Shishida tries to say politely and goes largely ignored as they continue to argue so passionately, it’s comical that it’s about fucking balloons. Tokage is laughing at them though, loudly and cheerfully, and that makes everyone else laugh and groan so Neito knows they’re not serious. He hopes they’re not serious. Arguments make him very uneasy. “How about we just go with plain white with silver streamers? Wouldn’t that be better?” Pony says reasonably like the reasonable person that she is. “Jesus Christ, it’s motherfucking balloons,” Kaibara mutters from his spot on the couch where he’s doing a very nice impression of a tired cat that’s not going to move ever. “Kendou and Shiozaki aren’t going to care I promise you that.” “What do you know about-,” “Oh my god, Komori,” Tokage is in tears from laughing and Neito leans against their floor to ceiling window, content to watch from a safe distance where any flying objects won’t hit him. “It’s okay!” “Pink and purple! I want it!” Honenuki, “Fuck’s- you know what? Fine! If you want everything to look ugly, then fine.” “What the hell is this fight?” Rin asks, looking on in wonder and terror all at once. He too, like Neito, is standing at a distance from the rest of the mob for his own safety probably, though he is on the exact opposite side of the room. “What are we even fighting about?” “Yeah, like we should be worrying about more important things,” Tsuburaba says, attempting to sound wise but really just getting Komori’s rage to descend upon him instead. “Oh yeah? Like what?” “Okay, okay Komori calm down,” Tokage wheezes, wiping at her tears and laughing harder when Komori just sticks her nose into the air. “We’ll figure a decoration out that works for everybody. We have a lot of stuff.” “But she wants the pink and purple,” Honenuki mutters under his breath and really does get a bracelet chucked at him that time. Tokage is two seconds away from collapsing from how hard she’s laughing and Neito can’t help but laugh with her. She’s very infectious. He kind of hates it.   -   The arguments and debates go on for another hour as the class figures out exactly what to do that won’t look bad but also incorporate everyone’s ideas. Tokage does ask Neito at some point, something or the other about what he wants, but he just shrugs and throws out a random colour—blue, which is the first thing that comes to him by looking at his fingernails—and goes back to his phone. Not that he doesn’t want to participate, this is the first time he’s ever been this invested in one of their crap birthday party plannings, but he simply does not have an opinion. They have it covered and there’s already enough unnecessary hostility going around without him jumping in there with his theatrics and making it worse. So, Neito does what he does best: ignores them all, stays out of the way and takes a seat on the window sill to google random things on his phone. By the time 9:30PM rolls around, there are a significant number of balloons and streamers taped to the walls and even though Komori has gotten her wish on at least one side of the room, it doesn’t look quite as bad as Honenuki had made it out to be. Neito is busy looking at pictures of corgis—very cute—on Google images when the class finally announces that they’re done for the night and though he doesn’t want to, he forces himself to get up and off the sill so he can go brush his teeth with the rest of them and not continue sitting there, alone like an idiot. “I’d say it looks pretty impressive by our standards,” Kamakiri says, looking up at the wall that has white and green balloons taped along its length. Neito agrees, though he doesn’t say it, using that time to discreetly rub at his back that has gone a little stiff from sitting in a weird position for too long. “Our standards are in hell, though. Hey guys, remember when you gave me a biscuit?” “Tsuburaba, please don’t unearth that tragedy.” “Was pretty funny,” Kaibara quips, still sprawled across the couch with no intentions of moving. “You still ate it.” “Fuck you.” Neito stretches as he locks his phone and listens to them bicker, arms thrown over his head as he tries to bring back feeling to his back. Sitting on window-sills, as it turns out, is not a great idea. He is not going to do that next time. “Someone has to go get the cakes in the morning, too by the way, so don’t forget,” Tokage says as Neito rubs at his eye and faces the window so he can stretch his back in another position. There are murmurs of assent and some groans, but otherwise, everyone behaves. Neito moves up onto his tip-toes as he stares out into their brightly lit front garden, casually flicking his gaze around the bushes and the trees before landing back on his feet. His classmates are starting to leave and he’s only just casually started to turn around so he can go with them when he suddenly picks up on slight movement outside that makes him pause where he is. For a second, he thinks he’s imagined it until he sees it again, a blur of red and pink to his right that seems to move before stilling again. And then again. Neito squints out into the night, suddenly feeling irrationally uneasy. Why would anyone be out there at this time of night, so close to bedtime? Surely students know better? “Move, Kaibara! It’s almost curfew!” Shoda says, behind him and Neito almost gets shocked out of his thoughts though he’s still looking. He continues, even when Kaibara whines high and loud and refuses. The movement—or whatever—did not occur in their garden as far as he can tell, but rather in the garden of the building next to theirs on the right that is slightly visible from the angle Neito is looking from. 1-A’s garden. He can’t see much, provided he can’t exactly open the window and stick his head out to gawk into the heathens’ personal space, though he would like to as irritated as he suddenly is. The uneasiness is still there, maybe because the blurred colours had shocked him slightly, but his annoyance with 1-A existing or breathing generally trumps all so he keeps looking, even when he hears everyone leaving behind him. Who knows what that shit was out there? What if it was a villain? They sure do love targeting 1-A every living and breathing second and Neito’s not going to die at their expense! One time almost getting roasted was enough, thanks! He must make sure! And so he keeps staring as Shoda tries to wrestle Kaibara off the couch behind him, trying to figure out just what exactly was out there a few seconds ago. He can’t tell if it’s because of the uneasiness or because he hates 1-A so much he just has to jump into their personal business that’s happening so close to him. Probably both. Probably, he’s just a nosy bitch. Probably, he’s just scared.   In the end, Neito manages to somewhat figure out what it was that he saw. He can’t be fully sure of course, but despite the fact that there is nothing visible in the garden, he does think he sees someone sitting on the 1-A building steps at one point, with their head buried between their knees and their shoulders shaking when he leans forward enough that his nose is pressed to the glass, but the position is uncomfortable and Neito can’t hold it very long so he backs off. But from his more comfortable position, he can only see some of their garden and that is a tragedy in and of itself. Not that he wants to really see one of the 1-A brats sobbing or whatever the hell that person was doing. But that few second glimpse does confirm that whoever the person is, they’re wearing a light pink shirt and the shock of hair that was tucked between their legs is bright red. That would, thankfully, explain what the blur of coloured movement was. Neito chews on his lip uneasily as he realises who that might’ve been and hurriedly backs off the window before someone asks him what the hell he’s doing. Shoda has given up and is now lying on Kaibara in an attempt to kill him (?) and Neito cracks a smile despite himself before walking out of the room and as far away from the window as possible. He’s equal-parts annoyed at his time being wasted like this, irritated that he got scared for nothing and relieved that he’s at least not going to go through another villain attack or something tonight, what was actually out there doesn’t make him feel any better. Because while Neito might not give a shit about 1-A and might want them all to drown and die, the visual of Kirishima potentially sitting out in the cold and crying—?—makes him feel things in his chest that he can’t really explain. He’s not sure why it bothers him. Not enough that it does much to take down his light mood, but just enough that it’s slightly bothersome, niggling at the back of his head. It’s annoying. Neito hates them. He hates 1-A. Everything is their fault. Who even cares what any of them do in their spare time? If they want to cry outside, then they can cry outside! None of Neito’s business! He’s not bothered. Maybe he just needs sleep. Yeah, that must be it.

Midoriya yawned and stetched his exhausted muscles. The resounding pop pf his bones woke him up as Takahashi stood in front of him. "Good morning Izuku, how're you?" "Tired." He yawned again. "So...what're we doing today?" Takahashi grinned and went to his cabinet. He pulled out a black box and opened it up. He waved Izuku over and the boy followed his command. The two looked down seeing two black bands. Takahashi pulled them out and placed them on Izuku's wrist. "What's this?" "The current schedule with All Might has you lose a considerable amount of time training those muscles for weight. Luckily I found a bit of my old training equipment. It's also nice to wear as they're quite stylish." He held Izuku's wrist bands and twisted a small dial. The green haired boy's arms immediately fell to the ground. "What the-?! This feels like it weighs a ton!" "Oh don't be so overdramatic. It's simply two hundred pounds over your current limit. If I gave you weights that were easy to carry then this wouldn't be training. Now I want you to give me five laps around the neighborhood." "EH!?" Takahashi chuckled. "Come now. You should've seen this coming. Now go on jog while I prepare myself tea." Izuku struggled lifting up the pounds until he was standing with his arms on his sides. He took one step before Takahashi reached into the box and tossed two more bands to his ankles. "Oh come on!" "No complaining. Jog." He proceeded to watch Izuku struggle to walk out of the house while crushing a few leaves. The boy felt sweat soak his shirt as he stepped onto the road. It seemed the road was growing as he tried to go as fast as he can. He could feel his muscles crying in agony as it was almost nothing compared to the heavy lifting he did on the beach. Takahashi was recording him struggle to run and sent it to All Might with a message. T: You're training is really working. I'm using heavier weights than I anticipated. 'Maybe I should call Inko too. Let her know that Izuku will be home late.' He thought. All Might sent a thumbs up as Takahashi sat back on the bench with a cup of tea. He blew softly on it as he continued to watch. A few hours later Midoriya came around with his arms slightly raised and a face red. He was breathing hard when he reached the yard and collapsed. He looked up to see Takahashi standing over him. "Tired?" "Mhmm." Words could barely move from his lips. Takahashi just held his garden hose before pressing the trigger, pouring the contents over his head. Midoriya sighed in relief when he did. "Once you get use to the weight we'll go to learning more combat." Midoriya nodded before passing out. Weeks later and with multiple limit hitting days, Izuku was running across the beach while All Might was watching proudly. Takahashi was waiting for Izuku when the boy raised his arms. The old man moved out of the way as Izuku began to swing his arms. He ducked and weaved through each strike while All Might watched intently. Midoriya panted hard as Takahashi yawned. "How was that All Might?" All Might stood up and walked around Midoriya. "Not bad. He grew considerably faster since you slapped on those weight bands on him. Young Midoriya, I've noticed you've taken more loose form whenever you use those weights." He lifted Midoriya's arms and took off the bands the arms and legs. "Now let's see what you do when you don't have it." Midoriya rolled his wrists and saw Takahashi move into another stance. All Might gave him a nod which Izuku took as the start. Everything moved faster as Izuku was throwing faster punches. His feet moved smoothly against the sand when Takahashi jumped back. Midoriya threw one punch and felt his fist hit the one the metal bins. It gained a deep dent to where All Might and Takahashi raised an eyebrow. "Not bad, but…" He kicked Izuku in the stomach and sent him flying a few feet. "You need to have some footwork. I realized you focus on your punches too much." Izuku got up and wiped some spit clean off his mouth. He took a deep breath when Takahashi stepped forward. He grabbed Izuku up and stared him down. "Remember that and let this be a lesson." Izuku nodded and was dropped on the floor. All Might helped him up to his feet. "All right Young Midoriya take a rest and when you're ready spend a few hours cleaning up the beach." The boy nodded. All Might and Takahashi shared a look before walking to a different part of the beach. "He's improving." All Might started. "He is. His body has adjusted well to the weights and the dietary plans I sent to his mother is working." "See I told you!" All Might exclaimed. "Don't celebrate too early. Despite his skills, Izuku is still quirkless." He looked back and saw Midoriya mumbling to himself before testing out a kick. All Might nodded. "Perhaps, but I see the spirit of a great hero! When he receives One for All, I can rest knowing it's in good hands." "How do you know?" Takahashi almost mumbled. "How do you know if they're the right people to inherit those powers?" The hero looked at the old man confused before sighing. "Takahashi, we've worked together for the past few weeks. Passing on our power to the next generation is something I dreaded once, but in the end you must have faith. And carry on with a bright smile to the future!" He gave a thumbs up and Takahashi looked surprised before chuckling. "Midoriya looks up to you. Worships you. Since I met him as a child, there's never been a day I haven't heard him say your name." All Might waited for him to continue. Takahashi sighed and opened his palm. A small ball of light appeared and began to grow. "And when I sensed your power up close, I was honestly amazed. Someone like you could hold the world with a cold fist, but you use it to hold them up." He turned and saw Izuku lifting up a wooden cabinet. "You haven't let him down yet so I have no reason to not trust your judgement." "Aw you make me blush." Takahashi shot him a glare. "But does my wisdom answer your own question on giving Midoriya your gift?" He kept his glare up for another second before dropping it. "I'm not giving him my gift. I'm teaching him it. Chances of him actually attaining the power I have is a thirty five percent chance. Logically speaking One for All should be the only power he'll receive." "Wait, but you said you wanted to pass it on!" "Wanted is the key word." He closed his fist. "It's much different than will, but I will have faith in his abilities." All Might nodded as Takahashi walked back to Midoriya. The Next Week "Meditation?" "That's right. You've trained your body quite well in holding up power, but the powers I wish to grant you go beyond the physical. It's to the spiritual." Midoriya scratched his head. "Chakra right? I read up on that during my free time, but how can I do that? Do you I have to consume some kind of special tea before I meditate? Or is it something…" Takahashi's eye twitched as Midoriya went on rambling. He slammed his fist on the table and silenced Midoriya. "No mumbling! This is exactly what this meditation session is for. You have too many thoughts and distractions in your head and something like that will not help. The mind and spirit must be in sync, empty, at peace. As for your questions, I will help you reach the gate. However it is up to you to claim your power. Do you understand me?" "I...I think so." Takahashi nodded and lit up the candles. "Now close your eyes boy. Empty your mind and feel yourself become one. I will begin your trial now." Midoriya nodded and closed his eyes. His breathing eased as Takahashi walked behind him. He placed his hand on Izuku's back and blue light pumped into him. Izuku gasped slightly when his eyes opened and white light erupted from it.

bev marsh leaves group that day, gets into her mother’s car and does not think of charlotte’s stares on her back. she realizes that this is a Disappointment. she realizes she let her down, let them all down. but it’s okay. it’s really just gonna be okay. she doesn’t know what would await Beverly Marsh in another life the life where she doesn’t wear gloves inside and she doesn’t always have a bottle of advil on her at any given moment but unfortunately today she is bev marsh and this is the life she has. it sounds awful. they’re not great parents. and she Knows that. and she knows Eddie is Right, or she thinks she does. her skin shouldn’t be something that works against her, something in pain all the time, but they’re Her Parents. where else is she gonna go? what would she do without them? she has one aunt and she doesn’t think that she wants a kid. she wouldn't want a bev marsh. nobody would. bev is rational enough to Know That. and so where does that put her? the foster system? she heard it’s Awful. and she’s surviving. she really is. they’re only Three and a Half years away from college she doesn’t know if the boys Remember that or if they do if they Think about it as constantly as bev does. they’re staring at her, the boys are, when she enters the cafeteria. and she Doesn’t have a plan for what she’s going to Tell Them. she has no idea. they’re going to be Sad and she already made eddie sad and didn’t want to again. eddie and richie are sitting at a table near the doors because they keep eating outside, even in December. they’re sitting closely together, richie is leaning into eddie’s space. it seems like he constantly flits back and forth between bev and eddie like he’s not sure what he wants. bev thinks she understands that. bev would like to know what eddie thinks of it but she realizes that’s Not Talk you just bring up over Lunch. “hey boys,” she greets jovially, sliding in across from richie. bill isn’t coming today, so maybe they’ll just eat inside. bev doesn’t quite know what to Expect. she thinks they’re all maybe Navigating New Waters here. “how’s it hanging?” Bev asks. she doesn’t really have much of a lunch today. there wasn’t anything in the fridge. there never really is. she grabbed a bag of chips from a convenience store on her way to school. “how are you?” eddie asks tenderly. richie is practically buzzing in his seat next to eddie with nervous energy because he’s expecting a Talk but there’s nothing to Tell. she thinks it’s annoying eddie because he looks over at him. but then he puts a gentle hand on his arm and richie stops tapping it incessantly on the table. he smiles at him apologetically. eddie Smiles back. “pretty good,” Bev lies and diverts, “what’s up with…” she falls off with a Significant look towards eddie’s hand on richie’s arm. which she knows isn’t fair. richie looks up at her like he’s thinking about how to Retaliate and Ask her about Yesterday. she raises his eyebrows at him like you push me i’ll push right back and that ends both of those discussions on thursday night everyone is invited to bill’s and bev marsh is sitting on her bathroom floor, holding her ribcage and sobbing. Beverly Marsh is going to tell someone. when the sun comes up, bev marsh gets up and goes to school the way she always does. on Saturday afternoon, ben, who as far as she can consider is the most gentle, well meaning creature alive, grabs her arm when she’s on a rock, because he’s worried she will fall. Beverly marsh appears and screams at him to get his hands off her. when richie offers her a cigarette, bev marsh almost cries in relief. he shows up at her house the next morning, and doesn’t complain about hiding under her fire escape for twenty minutes until bev Marsh can leave, and all of her loves richie tozier. he and bev Marsh hang out for hours. they just wander around town, pointing out how shitty derry can be and laughing at suburbian old people because they’ll never let that happen to them. bev Marsh thinks that if richie tried to kiss her, she might let him. but he doesn’t. and bev Marsh is Not kissing Him. it’s just not that kind of story. bev’s mom doesn’t know she’s dropping her off at group. she told her that it’s a study project at the local hospital and her mom accepted that. her mom tended to just Accept most things. bev wouldn’t have been surprised if Charlotte hadn’t moved since their last session. the look she gives her when she enters is exactly the same as the one she had on her face last week. all the same, bev is dreading the end of these sessions. she doesn’t even want to think about it. she doesn’t know what she’ll do without seeing the guys every week, without hearing the soothing words of Charlotte every week. she doesn’t know if anything has changed but the hour and a half in there is something she can count on. something she knows will be Good. something she knows will be Gentle. she knows they will sit in The Same Order and ben will look at her with those soft eyes even when she yelled at him on saturday and never Really explained herself. none of them demand an explanation from each other. explanations were freely and willfully given. “it’s been a rough few weeks, guys” mike tells them quietly after a moment of introspection. “what’s g-guh-goin’ on, m-mike” bill asks, eyes wide with concern. mike rubs at his nose and says “uh,” “you don’t have to tell us, mike,” stan assures him from his spot next to him, “it’s okay.” “thanks, stan,” he looks up and smiles at him, “but, nah, it’s fine,” he leans down and set his elbows on his knees. he sighs “i’ve just been on a few medications, it’s been kind of a rollercoaster.” “are they helping?” eddie asks earnestly. “i don’t know but i think they could” mike replies honestly. “the right ones,” richie nods at him. “yeah, man” they stare at each other for a moment. bev wonders what exactly happened between them during their weeks together in the hospital. she doesn’t think they’ve fully spoken since richie left. “just d-duh-don’t let it ch-ch-change you,” bill warned him seriously, dark look falling over his eyes. “yeah, i mean, i don’t think it will.” “well n-nuh-no-one thinks it w-wuh-will,” bill stares at him “it just hap-p-p-pens when y-you’re nuh-not l-l-luh-looking.” bill insists, like he speaks from direct Experience, “you shouldn-n-n’t let it ch-change you.” “but isn’t that the point?” bev could have fallen out of her seat with surprise at who spoke. ben is sitting forward. bev can’t remember a time when anyone challenged something bill said, let alone ben. “if there’s something wrong,” he looks at mike significantly, “isn’t changing the point?” “there’s n-nuh-nothing w-wrong wi-with mike,” bill replies sharply. “not with mike,” ben doesn’t back down “but with the way his brain is working.” “wha-wh-what?!” they sound Tense with each other and it sends bev’s stress signals up. she shifts back in her chair, and looks at stan, who is watching the interaction with eyebrows raised. “it’s hard,” mike interjects, dead in between the two in their circle of 7. “i’m not gonna lie and say every day is a good day. but i almost think that,” he fumbles for the right words to say. bev smiles Encouragingly, or at least she hopes so, she prays so. “the medicine almost isn’t as powerful as telling myself that, like, it’s not okay, and i’m gonna try and make it better. you know?” “yeah.” eddie pipes up from his corner, “i do know.” “it’s not so much about, like,” he pauses again, choosing his words as he nods at eddie, “i dunno.” the thought is apparently lost. “i guess i’ve been sad for a really long time,” he looks off, beyond Charlotte, to the wall behind her. “longer than i think i realized. even just acknowledging that kind of sucks… but like,” he bites his lip, “we all get one life to live, right?” he stares around at them, “i don’t want to spend any more of mine being sad. you’ve gotta try, right?” he smiles at bev, then. “you wake up every day, and you try.” Mike Hanlon tries, and bev marsh goes home in her mother's car, the way she always Does.

Reid returns to work four days later, and Morgan catches him huddled over a large cup of coffee at his desk, looking like a digruntled cat. "Hey, kid, how you feeling?" Morgan asks, leaning against the desk divider. Reid gives him a flat look. "Like death." Morgan laughs. "Anything I can do to fix that?" Reid eyes him, sipping at his coffee. "You don't want to ask me about Thursday?" "Not if you don't wanna talk about it." Morgan says honestly. "I just wanted to come check on you." Reid glances down at his desk, chewing on his lip. "We should get lunch together. Talk about it." "You sure?" "Yeah." "Okay, then. I'll come get you at lunch. Your pick." Reid's mouth twitches in a smile. "Thanks." Morgan nods and returns to his desk, anticipation knotting up in his chest. Fuck, he hasn't been this nervous about going to lunch with someone since college. He spends most of the day shuffling through paperwork, and at lunch, he gets up to go get Reid just as JJ comes sweeping in, announcing a case. Morgan curses and follows her to the conference room. They're briefed - there's a killer in Minnesota shooting young men in their 20's - and Hotch calls wheels-up in thirty. Morgan sighs and prepares himself for a long case, but then Reid asks, "Hey Morgan, can I, uh, can I ride with you to the jet?" "What?" Morgan asks before the words catch up with him. "Oh. Yeah, of course. Grab your go bag and meet me at the car." Reid gives him a tiny smile and a nod, and all the nerves Morgan thought he'd shaken off come flooding back. Reid grabs his bag and they catch an elevator down together, the ride silent and awkward. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan can see Reid chewing on his lip and wringing his satchel's strap in his hands. "You okay, kid?" Morgan asks quietly as they start towards the car. "Yeah!" Reid says a little too quickly. "Yeah, I'm- I'm good. It's just-" He cuts off, and Morgan pauses by the driver's door, waiting for him to finish. But Reid motions for him to get in. Morgan slips into the driver's seat, throwing his bag into the back, and Reid takes the passenger side, setting his bag in his lap and still not continuing his thought. "Reid-" Morgan starts. "I like you." Reid blurts. Oh. That's… not really what he was expecting. "I, uh, I like you, Morgan, and that- that kiss, it wasn't… because of my- my hormones, or anything like that- I mean I probably wouldn't have actually made a move normally- but it- it was because I like you, and I wanted to kiss you. I've wanted to kiss you for a while, actually. Almost since we met, and- and that might've been too much to say, and I should just shut up now." "Reid-" "And I know that- that you probably don't- and that's fine! I don't- I don't expect you to…" Reid trails off, digging his teeth into his bottom lip. "But I thought you should know. We can just- we can just forget I ever said - or did - anything if you want." "Reid." Morgan says. Reid finally seems to have shut up for good, staring down at his lap. "Reid, look at me." It takes a couple minutes, but Reid does glance up at him. "Reid, I don't want to forget. The only part of that kiss I didn't want was the part where I wasn't sure if you were able to properly consent to it." Reid frowns. "What do you mean? I initiated it." "Yeah, well, drunk people can initiate things, too. Doesn't mean they're in any state to consent." "You think my heat hormones make me drunk?" Reid asks, face screwing up in confusion. "I mean- I guess I can see how that might be misconceived. But at the most, I get - using the alcohol analogy - buzzed. I'm still in full control of my faculties, I'm just- well- just really horny." He shrugs, color high on his cheeks. "My inhibitions might get lowered a little, but I can still consent, Morgan. I um, I do appreciate your worry over the matter, though. Not everyone would take that into consideration." Morgan nods a little numbly. "Uh yeah, sure. So you-" "I like you. And I would enjoy um- I would enjoy kissing you and- and other… activities, were you up for them. In a, well, in a romantic capacity, I suppose." Morgan raises a brow. "You suppose?" "I, um," Reid bites his lip, looking away. "I know this is probably confusing, considering I just declared feelings for you, but- I don't really… I don't understand romantic feelings. And not just- I know I can be naive, but- but this isn't that. I don't get romantic feelings. In both senses of the wording. I don't understand it, and I don't believe I experience it." Morgan nods slowly. "Yeah, I get that. Part of me understands the appeal, but um, I think we're in the same boat here, Reid." Reid looks up at him in surprise. "Really?" "Yeah. So, uh, if you're… not romantic, what do you want out of this?" He gestures a bit between them, and Reid flushes. "Um, intimacy, I guess? The physical kind. Something more than the traditional platonic friendship, but no romance. But, um, some emotional attachment. Something more than 'just' sex." Morgan smiles. "Not gonna lie, kid, that sounds pretty damn good." Reid frowns. "Just sex?" "No, dummy, the thing you just described. With the physical and emotional intimacy minus the romance." "There's, um, actually a word for that." "Yeah?" "Queerplatonic?" Reid says, like he's looking for confirmation from Morgan. Morgan blinks. "Oh yeah, shit, I completely forgot about that. I think Penelope mentioned that once. Said me and her were kinda like that. P and I don't kiss or fuck, though." "O-oh," Reid says. "Good? I mean, not that I'd tell you to stop if you were. Um, so, you'd be interested in… with me?" "Hell yeah," Morgan says, grinning. "I'm interested in anything you're willing to give me, honestly." Morgan can't tell if the face Reid is making is him gaping, thinking, or what, but he doesn't expect Reid to ask, voice cracking, "Can I kiss you?" "Yes. Fuck, yes-" Reid surges forward and kisses him, one hand cupping Morgan's neck. Morgan hums into the kiss, kissing back now that he can. He reaches up and puts a hand on Reid's shoulder, slowly sliding it up to cradle Reid's jaw. Reid makes a high noise in the back of his throat, pressing closer to deepen the kiss. It's awkward with the shift gear between them, and Morgan is distantly aware that they're going to be late if this keeps up, but Reid is warm and here and kissing him like he'll never get another chance, and Morgan's pretty hard pressed to put a stop to it. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but Morgan ignores it, slipping his hand into Reid's hair and curling his fingers there. Reid moans, but he pulls away a little to ask, "Shouldn't- shouldn't you, uh, check that?" Morgan makes a noncommittal noise, kissing him. Reid smiles into the kiss, nipping lightly at Morgan's bottom lip. Morgan's phone buzzes again, and Reid pulls away, sighing. "You should get that." "Right," Reluctantly, Morgan pulls out his phone to check it. Both texts are from Penelope. 'oh my god??? derek oh my god are you smooching who i think ur smooching holy shit' 'okay boy as happy as I am for you I think Hotch is looking for you and you boys are going to be in TR OUBLE' "Shit." Morgan mutters. "Hotch is looking for us. Also, Garcia might've seen us making out." Reid goes beet red. "Oh. W-we should get going, then." Morgan agrees, starting the car. "When we get back, we should talk more about… this. And make out more." "Well, that's a given." Reid snorts. Morgan grins. "Sounds like a date. Shit, I mean-" "No, I- I like dates." Reid says, smiling shyly. "Good." Morgan says, nodding and smiling like a damn fool. "Good." He throws the car into reverse and starts pulling out of the space. "Let's get going, then."   ~   Reid sits next to him on the couch on the plane back, dozing off quickly. Morgan's tempted to let him rest against his shoulder, but they haven't talked about what to tell the others yet, and something like that might be too obvious. So instead he just makes sure Reid has a makeshift pillow and tries not to smile at him too fondly as they make their way home. Within fifteen minutes of takeoff, with Reid just having fallen asleep next to him, Garcia starts blowing up Morgan's phone with texts. 'alright case over time to spill the beans hot stuff' Morgan heaves a fond sigh and texts back, -- not much to tell? you saw most of it 'okay but like, are you guys together now?? bc that was some pretty feelingsy smooching going on & u two were grinning like highschoolers going to prom' --well we did talk to each other a bit & I told him I wasn't… you know 'ohhh the arospec thing?' --not in as many words, but yeah. --he's cool with it and actually he's interested in like, fuck what's the word --queerplatonic? 'omg you guys are zucchinis now?' --P I don't know what that means 'I'll explain when you get back. so you guys are like. a qp item?' --I guess? we like each other and we wanna be together but like, not really romantically, so. yes? 'oh baby I'm so happy for you!!!!! you finally got that little genius' --thanks, P. I'm gonna catch some zs, we can pick up tomorrow? 'sounds perfect honeybunch. have a safe flight <3' --see you tomorrow <3 "Everything okay?" Reid asks sleepily, lifting his head to peer at Morgan. "Yeah, just Garcia asking about earlier." "Um, can I ask what you told her?" Morgan shows him the texts, and Reid nods slowly. "Okay. Also, zucchini is a pet name for a queerplatonic partner." "Okay, I'm gonna pretend that makes sense." Morgan laughs. "Yeah, I never really got it either." Reid says, grinning. "It is sort of charming though." "Yeah?" Reid shrugs. "I mean, I can see the appeal." He gives Morgan a look, and oh, sneaky kid's talking about more than just the petname. Morgan returns the kid's grin, saying, "Yeah, I guess I can kinda see it, too. Even if it's dorky." "It's not dorky!" Reid argues, but he's laughing, shoving at Morgan's leg with his foot. "Oh, it's dorky, wonder kid. Sorry to break it to you." "You're a jerk." Reid laughs. "What? I'm just telling the truth here." Morgan says, laughing along as he pushes at Reid's ankle. Reid is a fucking sight, laughing harder than Morgan's seen him do in far too long, color dusting his cheeks and crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes. If he could kiss him here and now, he would. "Morgan and Reid, sitting in a tree," JJ sings, wagging her eyebrows at them. Morgan flushes, realizing his hand is lingering on Reid's ankle. "I still don't know what that song has to do with anything." Reid says, frowning. "Lemme fill it in for you, Reid," Prentiss says, grinning wickedly. "Morgan and Reid, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-" Reid goes beet red, and Morgan kicks Prentiss' seat. She just cackles and continues, "First comes love," "Then comes marriage," JJ continues. "Then comes a baby in a baby carriage." Rossi finishes off, smirking from across the plane. "Agents," Hotch says exasperatedly, "can we at least pretend we're all adults?" "Not when Morgan and Reid are over there snuggling!" Prentiss says, pointing at them. "We're not snuggling!" Morgan protests. "Oh please, you two are totally smitten." JJ laughs. "Children." Hotch says, mouth ever so slightly hitched in a smile. "I will turn this plane around. If Morgan and Reid want to snuggle, let them." "Hotch!" Reid's voice cracks, and Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi's snickers turn into full laughter. Hotch actually smiles. "You guys suck." Morgan sighs, but squeezes where his hand is still on Reid's ankle. Reid blushes nicely and leans into the touch. Oh he is so fucking kissing this kid at the first opportunity.   ~   "Hey," Reid starts as Morgan is pulling up next to Reid's car i the BAU parking complex. "Would you, um, want to come over? I'm not- I'm not saying we have to do anything, but we could um, talk about it? And about… this? Us?" "Yeah, kid. That sounds good. You want me to drive us there or you wanna go separate?" "Um, separately would be more practical unless you were to sleep over. Which I'm not- I'm not saying you should- but I'm not saying you shouldn't either, I-" "Reid," Morgan cuts him off, laughing lightly. "It's okay, I get it. Take your car, I'll meet you there." Reid nods, chewing on his lip a moment before asking, "Can I kiss you real quick before I go?" "Of course." They lean into each other, and Reid presses a soft, lingering kiss to Morgan's lips. Morgan smiles as they pull away, and Reid mirrors it shyly. "See you at my place." Reid says, opening the passenger door. "See you there, Prettyboy."

Jungkook wakes up stretches out letting all his muscles tense before relaxing them. Yawning he rolls out of bed checking the time, it's already midday. He heads towards his fridge scratching his belly as he opens the door to find it empty bar some brown apple swans. He turns his nose up at it, he pulls on a shirt, and shoes. Grabbing his keys he walks next door. Opening Jimins door he heads towards his fridge and pulls out some fruit and yoghurt for his breakfast. He walks around the living room to sit on the couch. Putting his feet up on the coffee table he misses and his feet hitting the floor. He looks up to see the coffee table pushed right back, he doesn't think it was pushed that far back last night. He continues eating his breakfast looking around the apartment. There are a few things moved around, others completely moved to new places. It's a bit odd but he shrugs it off, he knows Jimin is particular about his things. Something doesn't seem right, he quickly finishes his breakfast, shoveling it into his mouth as fast as he can, washing his bowl and putting it away before checking on Jimin. Opening Jimins bedroom door he's meet with the most intoxicating scent he has ever smelled. It's summer fruits all ripe and juicy with hints of dew and fresh rain. His pupils dilate, taking deep breaths of the scent, he spy's Jimins form in the centre of his bed, wrapped up in a blanket. It brings him back to reality, seeing his friend. He slams the door, walking backwards. Jimin is in heat. He doesn't know what to do. He was meant to be taking care of him but he doesn't think he can. He smells too good and Jimin wouldn't want him to take advantage no matter if he was begging for it or not. He runs back to his apartment grabbing his phone from the charger and punching in a number. It rings for what seems like forever before it goes through. “Lil baby bun, I'm making my nest right now so this better be important.” “Hyung! I was just at Jimins cos I got up and wanted food but I didn't have any cos I used all my apples making swans. So I went to Jimins cos he doesn't mind if I eat his food as long as I eat something healthy and clean up. So I made fruit and yoghurt cos that's healthy especially since he has that gross plain yoghurt. Anyways I went to sit on the couch and put my feel up on the coffee table since he wasn't around to tell at me for doing that. But I couldn't cos it had been moved. I thought it was super weird that Jimin hyung would move the coffee table cos it throws out the room or something. Anyways I noticed that lots of his other stuff was in different places and I got worried. So I ate my breakfast and cleaned my bowl cos I don't want to get yelled at. I went in his room and it smelled so good and he was lying in his bed but it wasn't made in to a beds but a nest and I think Jimin hyung is in heat.” Jungkook rushes out in one breath, nervousness evident in his tone, “I don't know what to do so I ran home and called you.” Jin sucks in a breath, trying to understand all that Jungkook had told him. “Ok bun, let me get this straight, Jimin has built a nest, and is in heat, right now? Not just pre heat?” “I dunno I didn't look properly but he smelt like he was right in the middle, when omegas smell the best.” Jin hums, “ok bun, what I want you to do is go back to his house and stay there, get some bottled water, and make some healthy, sweet snacks up. Then I want you to put a mask on over your nose with some vix on it. You're going to have to check on him ok.” “Ok hyung.” “Your going to have to block it out bun, and you guard him ok.” “Ok, I can guard him” “Call me once your don't ok. I won't be in heat until tomorrow, so you call me if you need me.” “I will hyung.” Jungkook hangs up after saying goodbye to Jin, going into his bathroom to find a disposable mask and covering it int clove oil. Walking back to Jimins place he opens the door again, gently peeking around the door. He pulls out a case of bottled water. Looking through his fridge once again Jungkook pulls out leftover cheese and crackers along with some of his apple swans that didn't get eaten. He halves strawberries, apricots, and quarters apples, pears, and oranges. Placing them all back into the fridge he drags the bottle of water towards Jimins room. Placing the mask over his nose his senses are shrouded in the scent of cloves, he takes a deep breath and opens the door once more. He nudges the water into his room and to the side out of the way before making his way to Jimin. He's sound asleep, and covered in sweat. He can't see if there's is slick and he doesn't want to chance it if he were to smell it. Pulling his phone out again he dials Jin. “Bun? How is he? Is he in heat?” “I dunno hyung but I did everything you said to. I'm in his room now, he's asleep and sweaty so I don't know if he's in heat or just sick.” “I think he might be in heat bun, from what you said of his scent. Don't worry, I've called up an old friend who's mated. They're going to come over and look after Jimin ok.” Jungkook nods, “ok hyung…. But wait what if Jimin hyung wakes up and freaks out.” “He won't ok. It's been a while since he had a heat so I don't think he'll even be conscious for this one. Just trust your hyung.” “ok hyung, when are they getting here?” “Probably about half an hour or so. You can go home if you want. Just keep an ear out yeah?” “ Ok hyung, I'll see you next week. Have a good heat?” “I will do, I've got Joonie and Hobi here so I'll be well taken care of.” He hangs up once again, he leaves Jimins room but goes and sits on the sofa facing the door. He will guard Jimin, just until that alpha gets here and he can judge them for himself. There's no way he will leave Jimin in the throes of heat alone with a stranger. There's a soft knock on the door forty minutes later, Jungkook stares at the door judgingly before going to open it.   _____________ Jimin wakes up sweaty, tired and sore. It's been awhile since he got sick, he thinks, trying to remember the last time, his brain not quite working yet in his current state. His mind is foggy but he had been fine over the last few days, he remembers that much at least. The moon party had been nice, his mind throwing up images of his nicely made nest that he had found after the long night. It also brought up the fact the Yoongi and Hana were going to mate. Hell he was older now and more mature than nineteen when he had mated jimin, he might breed her too. Yoongi wasn't getting any younger and he has no doubts that all his friends he has made in the 10 years that they hadn't spoken for were all with pup. Yoongi was at that age where you settled down and had pup's, simple as that. It hurts him to know that he's not going to be the one to carry Yoongis pup's. Even with all the mess of their mating Yoongi was still a good alpha. They had just done something dumb. He whines and shifts around trying to get comfortable, wriggling into a few different positions, groaning where his hips ache. He finally gets comfortable, lyrics Ng on his back with his arms above his head, he pulls the blanket that had fallen off him in all the movement back on and snuggling into it. His mind registers the comforting scent of alpha, it's familiar but he can't quite pin point whos scent it is, it's not springtime, or windy, nor is it beaches or snowy, it doesn't smell like the sea either. It's calming, almost like his own scent, it's like the smell of dirt, right before it rains, refreshing and calming him. Closing his eyes he can hear two people talking aggressively, he should probably go check on it but he's too comfortable to move, limbs already heavy with sleep. He lets himself fall, if he were in danger Jungkook would hear and save him. _____________   “No, you can go away right now, he doesn't need you, he has me!” Jungkook is almost yelling. “If you could handle it then why did I get text from Jin saying that Jimin was on heat and you were freaking out!” “I'm calm now, and I made him food and brought him water. I'm going to guard him so you can fuck off right now.” Jungkook is growling by now. There was no way he would let Yoongi anywhere near Jimin. Not when he was vulnerable and not even conscious. “He's my mate! He needs me! I made him his nest and now he's in heat and he needs me!” “So! He needed you back when you mated him too! But you weren't there. He doesn't even blame you, and that's the worst bit about this. You waltz in, dating his friend and you don't even care that it broke him” Jungkook has gone quiet, words threatening and low, “he was alone and all he wanted was to hear from you and you couldn't even do that.” Yoongi is silent. “No. I bet you mated him and left, after getting what you wanted from him you left. Left him to deal with your parents looking for you. His parents hating you and your parents. They had a fist fight for God's sake. He had to put up with snide remarks, nasty comments, and pitying looks because you decided to just up and leave him.” Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, closing it when he can't find the words to explain his actions. “You left without a word. And then ten years later our friend Hana tells us she has a new boyfriend that we just have to meet, and it's you. He got so drunk last night because it was you. Then you have the gaul to tell him that you're happier now? So no, you can fuck off back to Hana, get mated to her and live your life, away from Jimin. I'll look after him now. I'll be his alpha.” Yoongi looks stunned. Blinking rapidly at the information that's been given to him. “I left because he looked so sad after we mated and I thought he thought that it was a mistake. I panicked and ran,” Yoongi starts quietly, “I realise now that it was stupid of me, I should have stayed and talked it out. Hell I haven't even spoken to anyone on those ten years I didn't know he had to go through that.” Jungkook is still glaring at him. “I am happier. But not because of Hana. Well a little because of Hana,” Yoongi continues, “I'm happier because Hana introduced me to Jimin again, she gave me an opening to talk to him and start again.” Jungkook still looks pissed, “if you think for a second I'm going to let you have Jimin be your second choice, your wrong.” “Jimin is my first choice, always. Hana and I aren't dating, we never were. That night I met you guys, she had been pestering me to go out with her for months but I always said no, then she mentioned that it would have been with her friends, that was the only reason I agreed. I swear.” Jungkook hums eyes still hard but his face softening, “ok so Hana is a lier then, but why didn't you tell Jimin that your happier now, he thinks you happy with Hana and are going to mate and have pup's with her.” “I meant I was happier now. But i meant now that I get to see Jimin often, even if at first I thought he had moved on, with you, I was planning on just staying in the sidelines after what I did. But then you were talking about being in the singles group and my hope just skyrocketed because if you were single that means that Jimin was too, and I was just so happy. That's what i meant. And then that night Hobi rolled over me and I just couldn't help myself. I hugged him, cradled him and it felt so right. He was putting jungkook. Hobi told me that he never purrs.” “I've never heard him purr. Wait why does Hobi know what he sounds like when he purrs?” “he was the first awake. I fell asleep when I was holding him, I wanted to do it for just a little bit but then I woke up to Hobi grinning like a maniac at me and I growled at him. He told me that he then that he had never heard Jimin purr.” Jungkook's resolve crumbles, “fine, but I'll be in my apartment and if I hear any funny business I will not hesitate to intervene. Even if he's begging for your knot, I will separate the two of you.” “Done, I'll just look after him, make sure he eats and drinks. Keep him clean that sort of thing.” “You better.” Jungkook maintains eye contact as he leaves.

Jeongguk doesn’t return to work the day after the panty fiasco, nor does he return on Friday. To say Jimin is worried would be an understatement. “He hasn’t answered any of your calls?” Jimin questions Changmin at his desk. Currently, it’s nine in the morning on Friday, far too late for Jeongguk to show up to work. Jimin is supposed to pass around the weekly fortunes right now, but Jimin is confident that VP Kim will understand this minor detour. Changmin sighs aloud, his eyes focused on the computer screen. “No, for the twentieth time. He hasn’t.” “I’ve only asked once,” Jimin snaps back. “Yes, but you’re the fourth person overall,” Changmin says with an eye roll. “CEO Kim and Seokjin had also asked when I had to get their statements for your harassment claim. Meanwhile, VP Kim has been asking almost every single hour.” A notification pops up in the corner of Changmin’s computer screen, and he gives an exasperated sigh, gesturing towards it with a tired hand. “See? ‘Changmin-ssi, I’m sorry to bother you again, but can you check if maybe Jeon Jeongguk has left a voicemail for you? Please let me know at your convenience. Vice President Kim Namjoon’. He’s never been this assertive about work before.” Jimin nods to himself, a small part of him feeling concerned, while a more significant part is elated at VP Kim’s concern. “I see…I’ll try and contact Jeongguk as well, Changmin-ssi.” Changmin nods. “When I have enough information for my investigation, I’ll let you and VP Kim know. But I can only do so much if Jeongguk doesn’t contact me for an interview.” “Yes, I know,” Jimin says, biting the inside of his cheek. “Thank you for your help.” Jimin offers Changmin his fortune and heads back into the main office area, continuing to deliver the rest to his co-workers at their cubicles. Eventually, the number of envelopes in his hands dwindles to two. Jimin intends to save one for Jeongguk and wanders to Seokjin’s office door as the final recipient. He knocks twice and hears Seokjin call out, “Come in.” Steeling his nerves, Jimin enters. Seokjin is at his desk, preparing himself his morning cup of tea. He glances up at Jimin, then back down to his cup. “Park Jimin-ssi,” he greets, steeping his tea bag. “Kim Seokjin-ssi,” Jimin greets, turning the envelopes in his hands around, hoping his hands aren’t getting sweaty. “Here, your weekly fortune.” He offers both envelopes forward. “Just choose one. The other envelope is for Jeongguk,” Jimin further explains. “Did he come back today?” Seokjin asks. “No, but I’m going to see him tomorrow to check up on him,” Jimin decides. Seokjin bites the inside of his cheek, but he nods in understanding. “…How close are you to him?” Seokjin then asks instead of taking an envelope. Jimin clicks his tongue. “We’re friends.” “You made a friend? At work?” Jimin’s cheeks are getting hot. “Just because you think I’m some little office gremlin doesn’t mean everyone else here doesn’t see me for the sweet, cute, and good person I am,” Jimin says with a cross tone. “I was just curious if you act like an actual human being with Jeongguk, and only I get the crazy little imp Park Jimin.” Jimin picks an envelope for Seokjin and throws it at him. Seokjin blocks the assault with his arms, but Jimin can see a teasing grin behind them. “That’s not how you make friends, Park Jimin-ssi,” Seokjin reprimands. “I doubt you’d know since anyone that would be friends with a gross and despicable man like you must be a masochist,” Jimin spits. “I’m gross? I at least know to keep my legs closed and not wrap them around my superior,” Seokjin fires back. Jimin makes a screeching noise between his teeth. “I - That’s!!! You’re — urgh!!” Jimin has to set Jeongguk’s fortune envelope down in the empty chair in front of Seokjin’s desk. Otherwise, he’ll crush it in his fist. “You’re gross because you’re still thinking about it. Pervert.” “It’s hard to not think about it,” says Seokjin. “It was kind of sexy.” Seokjin is saying this with both reddened ears and a mocking grin, so Jimin can’t tell if he’s being genuine or being an asshole. But, since this is Kim Seokjin and his entire life is centered around making Jimin miserable, Jimin resolves not to let Seokjin win this weird flirting game he’s started. So, Jimin walks over and braces his hands against Seokjin’s desk. He dares to look Seokjin in the eye and feels empowered by the slight tremble of Seokjin’s pupils. “Poor Kim Seokjin-ssi,” Jimin says with a pout, “you must not have an exciting sex life if you have to keep replaying what happened between you and me in your head.” Seokjin clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I’d say the same about you, considering how any normal person would have immediately pushed me off, not pulled me in.” “I have a great sex life,” Jimin says, louder but not too loud (the last thing he wants is someone overhearing him and Seokjin discussing sex). Seokjin hums. “That’s a likely story.” “It’s the truth. I am an amazing lover and leave no one unsatisfied, and trust me. I have far more people that would enjoy having my legs around them.” “Park Jimin-ssi has a lot of lovers, hmm?” Seokjin asks, head tilting. “Yes. A bunch. I’m extremely well-loved and worshipped,” Jimin answers. “What does your boyfriend think about that?” Seokjin questions out of the blue. Jimin freezes. “My wha—he thinks that…he thinks that he is very lucky that I am his boyfriend because…I’m so…wanted.” Seokjin hums. “I guess you don’t really love him if you have a billion other people to wrap your legs around.” Jimin blows a raspberry. “I do. I’m just…I’m open with my love.” Jimin winces. Fuck! He’s got to get himself out of this corner!! Seokjin chuckles. “If that’s the case, then why don’t you act loving towards me?” he asks. “I could be loving towards you if you weren’t such a big jerk,” Jimin snaps back. Seokjin hums, leaning back in his chair. “Okay then. Say something loving towards me.” Jimin exhales sharply out his nose. Seokjin watches him, expectant. Clenching his teeth, Jimin looks away, his cheeks feeling too hot. “You…you…” Jimin clears his throat roughly, then clears it again when the words still don’t come out. “You…you…” His hands tighten into fists, and he clears his throat a third time. “You…have a nice office.” Seokjin lets out a sigh. “That’s the best you can do? You didn’t even look at me—” Jimin points an accusing finger. “Well, why should I be loving towards you when you always call me a gremlin and an imp and are just a jerk, and now you’re trying to make me say something nice to you when you don’t even deserve it, and I bet you wouldn’t say anything loving towards me—” Seokjin rises to his feet, and Jimin freezes in his spot. When Seokjin rounds his desk, Jimin turns with him, keeping his eyes on Seokjin and watching his movements. “What are you doing?” Jimin questions as Seokjin comes toward him. His butt hits the edge of Seokjin’s desk, and Jimin inwardly curses at the position of their bodies. He is trapped again, just like before. Seokjin angles his jaw up as he studies Jimin’s face, watching and waiting for…something. Jimin watches, too, his shoulders tense. “…I think, underneath all that mischief and scheming and insanity, you’re cute,” Seokjin says bluntly. Jimin’s cheeks go nuclear hot, eyes turning to the floor so he can’t look at Seokjin’s red face. “…You could have said I’m cute without the other stuff,” he grumbles. “Plus, you’re telling me something I already know. Everyone thinks I’m cute.” Seokjin chuckles, disbelieving. “…Okay.” He steps closer, bracing two hands on the desk at the sides of Jimin’s hips. Jimin doesn’t know why he let Seokjin do that. He should push him away. Push him, Park Jimin! “You do this thing sometimes at your desk. You have a pen and tap it repeatedly on your bottom lip when thinking about something. Sometimes when you do it, I think that you look cute. But other times…I just watch you…and I can’t help but think about how soft your lips must be,” Seokjin murmurs. Oh god, he’s flirting. Kim Seokjin is flirting with him. No! This goes against everything that the two of them stand for! Rivalry! Competition! Tearing the other down to rise to the top of the corporate food chain! What is he doing?!?!?!?! “…You have a gross moldy brain, so you can’t think anyways,” Jimin feebly insults. It’s not too late. They can go back to being enemies and they can go back to being rivals. They don’t have to cross this event horizon; everything can remain as it should. Seokjin scoffs out loud. “It’s like you’re doing this on purpose,” he says. “I could kiss you, and you’d still think I’m the evilest person on the planet,” he says in disbelief. Jimin feels his heart racing. Why did Seokjin bring up kissing of all things??? “…You’re…not the evilest person on the planet,” Jimin mumbles. He would be looking at Seokjin’s stomach if Seokjin didn’t place his hand under Jimin’s chin to gently guide his eyes back up to his face. “At least look at me when you say something nice, Park Jimin-ssi,” Seokjin scolds, but there isn’t any anger or annoyance in his voice. Jimin’s eyes flicker to Seokjin’s, and Seokjin’s pupils aren’t shaking with nerves anymore. There’s a warm light to them, but there’s still that dark and hungry glimmer from before. Seokjin’s eyes flicker down to Jimin’s lips. Wordlessly, Seokjin taps his thumb against Jimin’s bottom lip twice. “Yeah. Soft, just like I figured,” he mumbles to himself, holding his thumb and pressing it, before he drags it down and watches Jimin’s lower lip bounce. Jimin reevaluates what is going on three times in quick succession. Kim Seokjin is flirting with him. Kim Seokjin is flirting with him, touching his lower lip, looking at his lips, and has already brought up the two of them kissing. But Seokjin is Seokjin and Jimin is Jimin! Seokjin wouldn’t want actually to kiss Jimin, right? Right??? Maybe Seokjin is going through the same horny confusion that Jimin is. Perhaps he, too, is feeling the strange carnal desire of wanting to fuck your enemy. That’s it. That must be it. They are just two horny and confused enemies that are misplacing feelings, and both need to get back into shape. Seokjin doesn’t like Jimin, and Jimin doesn’t like Seokjin. Seokjin is touching Jimin’s lips out of morbid curiosity and not because he is thinking about kissing Jimin right now. Seokjin’s work phone begins to ring on his desk, and Jimin inwardly sighs. See, even the universe is saying that they should absolutely not kiss. Seokjin will snap out of it, insult Jimin, Jimin will insult him back, and both will be back on their merry train of hating each other. Just answer the phone, Kim Seokjin. Just look at the phone, Kim Seokjin. The phone continues to ring, but Seokjin’s eyes are on Jimin’s lips. Jimin didn’t put that much lip balm on. His favorite tube of strawberry peach chapstick was running out, so they’re not as soft as they usually are. It doesn’t help that Seokjin’s thumb wipes away the last bit of moisture left. So, without thinking twice about its implications, Jimin licks his bottom lip, and Seokjin lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. Fuck, fuck, just pick up the phone, Jimin thinks frantically in his head. You don’t want to kiss me. You don’t want to kiss me, you don’t want to kiss me, you don’t. Seokjin finally stops touching Jimin’s lip, and Jimin would inwardly rejoice. But instead, he feels his heart seize up in his throat as Seokjin moves his hand to cradle the back of Jimin’s hot neck, as he begins to lean in closer, closer, closer— Jimin turns his head and snatches the phone off the hook. “Hello?! Kim Seokjin’s office!” Jimin yells into the receiver. “…Park Jimin-ssi? Is that you?” Hong Jinwoo from Analytics asks. “What are you doing answering Seokjin’s phone?” “You dialed the wrong number,” Jimin blurts. “Wha—” Jimin hangs up the phone, plunging the room back into awkward silence. He’s half afraid to look back at Seokjin, but when Jimin does, the hungry and warm shade of Seokjin’s eyes has now evaporated. The spell has been broken, and Seokjin looks at Jimin with the usual amount of exasperation and annoyance he always has. “…Jinwoo from Analytics called,” Jimin announces. “…Right…” Seokjin sighs and backs away. “I’ll give them a call back…” “Right…” Jimin shuffles away from the desk, grabbing Jeongguk’s fortune off the chair. “…Goodbye.” Seokjin doesn’t say anything back, now focused on dialing Jinwoo as Jimin leaves.             Four hours later, Jimin leaves the office early because his stomach feels like it was weighed down with cement. He promises VP Kim that he’ll get in touch with Jeongguk over the weekend, and VP Kim watches him go with worried eyes and a ‘take care of yourself, Jimin-ah’. Over VP Kim’s shoulder, Jimin catches Seokjin watching him go from behind his desk. Outside BT Enterprises, the skies are still blue, though the sun is getting lower. Jimin checks his watch, three in the afternoon. He slips his phone out and dials Taehyung, walking down the street toward MinSuga. Taehyung answers in three rings. “Hey, babe! What’s up?” “Hey, are you busy right now?” Jimin asks. Taehyung lets out a lovesick sigh. “Seunggil is taking me ring shopping,” he says, and Jimin hates how he wants to throw up hearing how happy Taehyung sounds. “Oh. I see,” Jimin mutters. “The engagement bands are kind of dull at this shop, so we might go to another one and see what’s their inventory—” “You guys have only been dating for a month, haven’t you?” Jimin curtly asks. Taehyung pauses, most likely hearing the attitude in Jimin’s voice. “…Jimin-ah, I told you. He’s serious about me. You don’t have to worry.” “I’m not worried. I’m just saying that you’re rushing into things, and maybe you should be cautious—” “What’s there to be cautious of? He loves me, and I love him. Why should we wait?” “Because you’ve only known him for a month.” “…Did something happen?” Taehyung asks. “Because you’re jumping a little too quickly at being a dick.” Jimin angrily huffs. “Nothing. Whatever. Have fun ring shopping.” “Babe, wait—” Jimin hangs up the phone before Taehyung can say another word, shoving his phone back into his messenger bag and continuing toward MinSuga. The restaurant is busier than usual, the booth filled with patrons enjoying dinner as Hoseok and the two waitresses move up and down the aisle, tending to as many customers as they can. Hoseok spots Jimin at the door and smiles, tucking his notepad into the front of his apron. “Hey!” Hoseok greets, pulling Jimin in for a side hug. “Hey. Is this a bad time?” Jimin asks, glancing at the counter. Elderly women also fill the stools with stacks of books sitting next to their half-finished plates of food. “We’re hosting a book club dinner tonight. I’m sure I can get a seat freed up for you if you’re dining in, but it might take a moment,” Hoseok admits. “It’s fine. I just wanted an iced coffee,” Jimin says, stepping aside to allow two patrons to leave with their takeout bags. Hoseok nods, gesturing for Jimin to follow him to the counter, where more takeout bags are waiting. “Namjoonie told me he enjoyed the dinner Kai prepared,” Hoseok says with a big grin. “So, we’ve been thinking about maybe going out more and leaving the restaurant to him and the girls to handle. It’s been a while since Yoongi, and I had some alone time.” “That’s great, hyung. Great that you’re both happy and in love,” Jimin rushes out, then bites his tongue when Hoseok gives him a look. He sighs, crossing his arms over his stomach. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m not feeling well.” “Are you sure you want coffee then?” “Yeah. Just an iced coffee, and I’ll be out of here,” he says, glancing at the food takeout still waiting on the counter. “…You have a lot of take-out orders tonight as well?” he asks, changing the topic, albeit clumsily. “These are actually for delivery,” Hoseok explains. “You do delivery now?” Hoseok grins. “Yeah! I mean, we’re still testing out if we can reasonably accommodate it, so we’re only doing it for this weekend and then reevaluating on Monday,” explains Hoseok, turning his attention to the coffee maker while getting a plastic cup. Jimin’s eyes scan the bags lethargically, then jumps in his shoes when he spots a familiar name. “Jeon Jeongguk? Is this the same Jeongguk that works with me?” Jimin asks, pulling on the ticket attached to one of the bags. “Uh, I’m not sure,” Hoseok responds. Jimin goes into his messenger bag and checks Jeongguk’s business card. Sure enough, the phone numbers on the ticket and the card are the same. “…Hyung, do you think I can tag along when Yoongi goes to make these deliveries?” Jimin asks, still holding onto the ticket attached to Jeongguk’s bag. Hoseok looks at him with curious eyes, spooning milk, coffee, and ice into a shaker. “Yoongi isn’t doing the deliveries, actually, but I’ll ask our delivery boy if you can take a ride with him. Why?” “I just…I have some important documents that I need Jeongguk to sign right away, and I figured since someone is already going in that same direction, why not kill two birds with one stone?” Jimin suggests with a nonchalant shrug. He hopes Hoseok doesn’t ask more questions about it; thankfully, he doesn’t. Hoseok slides Jimin over his iced coffee, and Jimin slides Hoseok his debit card. “When will the delivery boy be back?” Jimin asks, taking a sip from his straw. Hoseok hums, smiling. “Maybe a few minutes. You’ll love him.”               Jimin does not love the new delivery boy because the new delivery boy is Kang Taehyun and Jimin is certain the boy will kill them both. “You’re breaking so many laws,” Jimin says into Taehyun’s back, where he has kept his face for the last twenty minutes. “So many laws. Hoseok will be ashamed of you when I tell him about this.” “You probably shouldn’t threaten the person currently driving, Jimin-ssi,” Taehyun says before hopping onto the sidewalk to avoid the traffic and making a sharp left to dip down an alleyway. Jimin makes a noise through his teeth, digging his fingers into the material of Taehyun’s jacket. He prays to gods and Taehyung’s angels, begging that they forgive him for being such a prick about Taehyung going ring shopping and protect him long enough to see his soulmate getting married. Taehyun weaves in and out of traffic, up alleys, and between tightly packed cars. It’s a forty-minute drive from MinSuga to Jeongguk’s apartment with all the traffic, but Taehyun’s driving feels like it shaves off five years of Jimin’s life. When the scooter’s engine’s rumble begins to drift away, Jimin nearly lets out a sigh of relief. Taehyun (illegally) parks next to a tree. “We’re here,” he mutters, swinging a leg off the scooter to grab Jeongguk’s order from the crate. Jimin stumbles to climb off, his legs shaking and feet grateful that they are touching solid ground. He takes in his surroundings as he blinks his eyes owlishly. He didn’t pay much attention to the paths Taehyun took, and the area is unfamiliar to Jimin. He checks the battery percentage on his phone and groans. As Taehyun grabs Jeongguk’s order, Jimin slips his phone back into his pocket and goes to take the bag. “Thanks, I can do this,” he says, but Taehyun holds the bag back. “What are you doing?” “I can take the food up,” Jimin clarifies, gesturing with his hand towards the food and then the apartment building. The front lobby door isn’t locked; he sees people coming and going without stopping for their keys. He just has to double-check Jeongguk’s apartment number. Taehyun raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You want me to leave without getting my tip?” he questions. Jimin grunts through his teeth, annoyed. Slipping Jeongguk’s food bag on his wrist, Jimin gets his wallet from his messenger bag and hastily shoves fifteen thousand won at Taehyun. Taehyun takes the money with one hand and holds his other one out towards Jimin. “There’s also a fee for delivering you,” he adds dryly. Jimin balks. “What for?! You were heading over here anyways!” “Look at the wrinkles you left on my jacket,” Taehyun points out, gesturing to the barely-there lines in his sleeves. “I’ll have to take it to the cleaners to get it nicely pressed. So, it’ll be a fee for the ride and a fee for my laundry.” Jimin loudly scoffs. “Do you get some sick pleasure from taking advantage of Good People?” Jimin questions. Taehyun blinks at him innocently. “Well, shouldn't you be a Good Person and pay me what I’ve earned?” “The kindness of doing a good deed and helping someone in need should be more than enough.” “Then it sounds like you’re the one taking advantage of my kindness,” Taehyun says with a blank stare. Jimin stumbles over his tongue in his rebuttal. “That’s - you are - urgh!” “Plus,” Taehyun adds with a lazy drawl of his tongue, “I could have told Kai’s hyungs about what you and your friend did to that meal, but I didn’t. I think I’m being very kind by not telling your dirty little secret. It keeps me up at night, having this secret weighing on the back of my mind. I think—” “Ugh! Whatever!” Jimin exclaims in annoyance, digging out forty-thousand more from his wallet. “Here. Happy?” Taehyun takes the money and pockets it with a smile. “Thank you, hyung. You’re so nice.” “Oh, shut up,” Jimin grumbles, adjusting the strap on his messenger bag and stomping away, Jeongguk’s food swaying from his wrist. The inside of the lobby is clean, and the area is small, with two stairwells at the back of the lobby, a wall of mailboxes, and one elevator to the left of Jimin. According to the receipt on the food bag and the directory on the wall by the stairwell, Jeongguk’s apartment is on the first floor above. Jimin decides to skip the elevator and take the stairs up one flight, listening to his heavy footfalls as he goes up one step at a time. Jeongguk’s apartment is the first door on Jimin’s right when he enters the hallway. He takes a moment to fix his hair, smooth out the wrinkles in the front of his shirt, and prepare his excuse as to why he’s even here in the first place. When all that is set, Jimin knocks on the door twice. Behind the door, Jimin hears a dog barking, and it stops only when Jimin hears the sound of a single lock coming off the door. “Hello—” Jeongguk starts as he opens the door, stopping when he catches a glimpse at Jimin’s face. “…Jimin-ssi? What are you doing here?” Jimin raises the bag of food. “I, uh, well, I was visiting MinSuga and saw that you had an order in and, well, I just figured that I wanted to see you anyways, so…” Jeongguk isn’t opening his door any wider. Jimin awkwardly clears his throat. “I just wanted to check on you,” Jimin explains. “Wednesday was very intense, and none of us have been able to get in contact with you…VP Kim is really worried.” Jeongguk looks at him, eyes soft. “He is?” “He won’t stop bugging Changmin. He’s been emailing him almost every hour if you called Changmin back.” “I’m sorry. I turned my phone off. I didn’t…want to speak to anyone.” “Oh. Okay, that’s fine. But, um, maybe you should speak to Changmin or give him a call back—” “Why does Changmin want to speak to me anyway?” Jimin bites the inside of his cheek. “I…I made an anonymous report about you and Namgin,” Jimin confesses. Jeongguk’s eyes widen with fear. “You did what?” “You’re protected from any retaliation, and I’m sure VP Kim really wants to help resolve this issue—” Jeongguk slams the door in Jimin’s face. Jimin immediately starts knocking again. “Jeongguk-ssi! Jeongguk-ssi, I’m just trying to help you!” Jimin shouts. “No, you just made everything worse,” Jeongguk says behind the door. “Changmin just needs to collect your statement about what happened on Wednesday. You don’t need to give him any information that you don’t want to, and Changmin can’t release any information you don’t want getting out—” “Please go away,” Jeongguk says. Jimin grits his teeth. He’s never had to work this hard for people to like him. He’s trying to do something good here! “Jeongguk-ssi, I can help you prepare a statement. Or, we can talk about it! I’m your friend, aren’t I? Friends talk to each other!” Jimin presses. He gets no response. Jimin knocks on the door again. “Jeongguk-ssi? Jeongguk-ssi, I have your food! It smells really delicious, and it would be a shame if it got cold! We can talk over hyung’s good cooking!” “Leave it outside,” Jeongguk bluntly states. Jimin sputters out a noise of surprise. “Jeongguk-ssi?” Jimin knocks again. Jeongguk doesn’t respond. Jimin knocks louder. “I can stand out here and wait for you! It’s no problem for me. I have plenty of time on my hands!” Jimin shouts. Again, no response. Huffing, Jimin starts pacing back and forth in front of Jeongguk’s apartment, going through his options. Option 1: He goes home and leaves Jeongguk alone for the weekend, hoping he can talk to him at the office on Monday Option 2: He stays, and Jeongguk eventually lets him in to talk Option 3: He stays, and Jeongguk might get so annoyed that he’ll call the police Jimin winces. What’s going on with the universe lately? Why is everything just going wrong for Jimin today? He stops in front of Jeongguk’s door and opens Jeongguk’s bag of food, looking down at the white paper containers. “…Ahhh, this food smells delicious,” Jimin announces to the door. “It smells so delicious. Good food tastes best when you’re surrounded by good company, right? Maybe if you open the door, Jeongguk-ssi, we can enjoy it together with some beer and friendly conversation!” No response. Jimin knocks on the door. “Jeongguk-ssi?” Jimin calls out, but no one answers him. Frustrated, Jimin squats with Jeongguk’s food by the door, balancing on his ankles as he drops his forehead against his knee caps. “…Look, I’m sorry for making that report…I know you don’t want to fight back, but it’s not like you’re doing this alone. I can help. I want to help.” No response still. Jimin groans. He sits outside of Jeongguk’s apartment, his back against the door. Time slowly goes by as Jimin waits and waits. He’s thankful that no one enters the hallway or leaves their apartment, because he doubts that he’ll have a good enough explanation for why he’s squatting outside someone’s door with a bag full of takeout food. The more he thinks about his predicament, the more embarrassed Jimin feels. It’s a Friday evening, and he - a hot and sexy twenty-five-year-old - is squatting outside his shy, sweet, and slightly neurotic co-worker’s apartment. What is he doing here? Jimin groans out loud, hugging his knees to his chest. He’s sitting here, trying to make things work between his boss and his co-worker. Meanwhile, his soulmate is out picking wedding rings with his stupid, sleazy boyfriend, and his arch-enemy is probably having a more exciting life than Jimin is. Jimin doubts Kim Seokjin would come to a friend’s residence at an inconvenient time to lend a kind hand. He would be too busy being a jerk, going out to norebang with his younger brother, and doing everything else that Jimin would do if he weren’t such a Good Person. Ugh! “Jeongguk-ssi,” Jimin calls out. “I hope you know I have absolutely no intention of leaving this door until I speak with you. So, there are only two ways this standoff will end. Either have me removed by force or let me in, and we talk. I’m doing this because I care about you and consider you my friend. So…do what you will!” There’s no response at first. Then, the door quietly opens, and Jimin looks at Jeongguk’s face. “We’re friends?” Jeongguk asks. Jimin huffs. “I kicked a hot guy in the balls for you. Yes, we’re friends.” Jeongguk averts his eyes. “…I’m not…used to having friends.” Jimin bites the inside of his cheek. “Honestly…me neither.” Jeongguk looks at him, and Jimin moves to sit on his knees. “Can you please let me in? My butt hurts from sitting on the ground for an hour.” “It’s only been thirty minutes,” Jeongguk corrects but opens the door and invites Jimin inside. ‘Cozy’ would best describe Jeongguk’s apartment’. It’s surprisingly spacious, and Jimin thinks it might be bigger than his apartment. His eyes go to a staircase that leads up to a loft area where Jeongguk has his bed and two racks of clothes. Past the stairs is a hallway with a door at the end. To Jimin’s right, there’s the living room with an open kitchen. To his left, Jeongguk has a balcony that overlooks the city street. A brown Doberman puppy jumps ]from his spot on the cream-colored sofa and runs over to start barking at Jimin. Jimin flinches back, but Jeongguk steadies him with two hands on Jimin’s shoulders. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you,” Jeongguk reassures. “Bam, I’m fine. House! House!” The dog, Bam, backs off and goes to the doghouse where Jeongguk is pointing. “Good boy!” Jeongguk praises, going to the kitchen counter and taking two bacon treats out of a jar to feed the pup. “Um, you can set the food over on the coffee table. I usually eat my meals there.” Jimin goes to the living room, still taking in his surroundings. This place…looks ridiculously nice. Nicer than he would expect someone at Jeongguk’s pay level even to afford. Jimin bites the inside of his cheek and sits down on the couch. Jeongguk’s couch feels like he’s sitting on a cloud. Jimin’s couch, meanwhile, is old and feels like someone is stabbing Jimin no matter how he shifts his weight against the lumpy cushions. “Sorry, it’s a little messy in here,” Jeongguk apologizes, picking up the one stray dog toy to toss back into a wooden crate filled with dog toys. He sits on the couch beside Jimin, hands awkward on his lap. “…Alright…what did you want to talk about?” Jimin rubs his hands over his thighs, also feeling awkward. “Well, I wanted to check-in and see how you’re doing. Plus, I wanted to apologize for getting you in that predicament. I was the one who told Madame Seo to put those materials in CEO Kim’s desk, but I did so unintentionally.” “I see…” Jeongguk murmurs. “…It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it…I really looked shameful in there, didn’t I?” “You were scared. That’s nothing to feel shameful about,” Jimin says, brows furrowing. “Which is why you need to stand up to Namgin and speak to Changmin about this case. He can’t hold this over your head and torment you like this.” Jeongguk squeezes his knees. “…I can’t,” he whispers. “…Please, just understand that I can’t do that.” Jimin keeps his sigh to himself. “…Alright…you’ll have to be the one to tell Changmin to dismiss the investigation, though.” Jeongguk nods. “…I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know you reported it because you’re concerned…I know what Namgin is doing is bad, but compared to what I went through at my previous jobs, I can handle it.” “Your prior jobs?” Jeongguk nods again, taking a brief moment to study Jimin’s expression. Jimin waits, unsure what Jeongguk is looking for, but whatever it is that Jeongguk finds in Jimin’s eyes, it makes him let out a quiet sigh. “This is my fourth job since…since I left the Church of Adam…at my previous jobs, someone found out about my involvement with the group and…I was sexually harassed because of it.” Jimin’s eyes widen, but Jeongguk raises a hand to stop any response from leaving Jimin’s lips. “It wasn’t anything physical, thankfully, outside of a few unwanted touches. Just…just comments here and there. Crude jokes made in my presence and…some threats of termination if I didn’t provide sexual favors…” “…How did Namgin find out?” Jeongguk sighs. “Chief Kang. I know she was only trying to be helpful, but she said it offhand when I first started working at BT Enterprises, and Namgin was in earshot. She hasn’t brought it up again…at least, she doesn’t outright say my ‘poor mental stability is because I was in a cult.” Jeongguk rubs his knees, eyes downturned. “Most of the marketing team thinks I’m a weak pushover that Chief Kang goes easy on. Namgin is the only one that holds the threat of telling everyone the truth.” “What a fucking prick,” Jimin curses. “He’s a power-hungry egomaniac with crooked eyebrows. You are kind, sweet, and cute and actually want to better yourself versus him, who can only feel good about himself when he’s tearing other people down.” Jeongguk laughs. “Thank you, Jimin-ssi. You’re very nice…I’m really sorry about the report—” “It’s okay…are you scared that Namgin will retaliate…with something sexual?” Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek. He nods. “That, or he tells someone, and then the sexual harassment returns. I…I can put up with the extra work. I can put up with Namgin insulting me and the work I do. But…the unwanted touches I used to get…the questions about…about sex positions and how good I must be if I came out of a sex cult, I—” Jeongguk covers his mouth, and Jimin starts rubbing circles into Jeongguk’s shaking back. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Jimin quietly whispers. Jeongguk closes his eyes and breathes in deeply through his nostrils, exhaling against his palm still sealed over his mouth. He does this a few times until, at last, with a heavy exhale, his shoulders drop, and he brings his hands back down to his lap. “…I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. It’s okay…so long as you can handle yourself, I won’t press about it. And…and if Namgin does anything to you or anyone else at the office looks at you in some way or touches you, tell me right away.” Jeongguk nods. “Thank you, Jimin-ssi…” Jimin nods, smiling back. Glancing at the food untouched on Jeongguk’s coffee table, Jimin rises to his feet. “I’ll let you enjoy your dinner in peace now,” he says. “Oh, you’re not staying?” Jeongguk asks. “Is it alright to stay?” Jimin asks back, head tilted in curiosity. Jeongguk nods. “I ordered a lot of food, and I don’t mind the company…especially if it’s a friend.” Jimin’s cheeks grow warm. “Well, in that case—” Jimin plops back down onto the couch, hands on his knees as Jeongguk tears open the bags.             It’s around ten-thirty when Namjoon works up the nerve to call Jeongguk himself. By then, Namjoon has sat with the urge burning a hole in his chest for the entire day. He meditated for hours once he returned home from work, hoping to tap into the spiritual energy needed to imbue him with the skill necessary to reach Jeongguk. He can’t make things worse for Jeongguk by saying something stupid. He always says stupid things, granted, but he just can’t do it to someone like Jeongguk. So, Namjoon sits and meditates and prepares himself for what he needs to say. There’s still a spirit of self-doubt that still sounds like…her… at the back of his mind. Why do you even bother? You’re so stupid. You just make everything worse. Namjoon’s chest feels tight and hot. He picks up his cell phone and puts it down over and over. He tries to meditate again to get his mind cleared and centered. He tries to call Madame Seo for advice and still gets her voicemail. Namjoon knows he should talk to Jeongguk as soon as he can. But the fear paralyzes his spine, and her words are spinning around in his head. What if Namjoon was wrong? What if he misdiagnosed the problem? What if Jeongguk gets insulted by Namjoon’s assumptions? What if Jeongguk hates him? Sitting on his couch, Namjoon drops his head into his hands and starts deep breathing exercises. In and out, in and out. His arms have goosebumps, and his right knee is rapidly bouncing. He should just call him. He should just do it. It’s just a phone call, not a face-to-face conversation. This shouldn’t be so hard to do. And yet… Namjoon rubs his face with his hands and groans. He doesn’t remember feeling this nervous to talk to someone before, and it was different with…her…but even afterward, if Namjoon would get nervous from time to time, he found comfort in his meditation stones and Madame Seo’s good advice. It’s not like Jeongguk is a scary person to talk to either. Jeongguk is…kind. Jeongguk is friendly, and he…he doesn’t make fun of Namjoon. Namjoon wants to be a good boss and help Jeongguk as he has helped him. He wants…he just wants to be helpful. Namjoon clenches his jaw as he steels his resolve. He’s calling Jeongguk. He’s got to try. When the phone rings, the voice in Namjoon’s head screams at him to hang up before it rings for too long. When the call connects, and Namjoon hears Jeongguk’s quiet ‘hello?’, the voice screams for him to hang up before he can even get the courage to say a word. “…H-Hi,” Namjoon stammers after an awkward pause. “…Sajangnim?” Jeongguk asks. “I wasn’t expecting you to call. Is there something wrong?” You see, the voice hisses, you’re bothering him. He was doing just fine until you called. Why bother? Why are you so stupid? You’re annoying him. You always annoy everyone. You ruin everything. “I-I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, heart racing and his hand trembling on his thigh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll let you go, I didn’t mean to disturb you—” “W-wait,” Jeongguk rushes over Namjoon’s immediate apologies, “I didn’t…you’re not bothering me. I was just cleaning up before bed,” Jeongguk explains, tone soft. “…Really?” “Yes. I’m glad you called, actually. I really hate cleaning.” The comment gets a small laugh from Namjoon, and Jeongguk laughs quietly with him. “Is there anything that you need, sajangnim? I really don’t mind helping you.” “I wanted to see how you were,” Namjoon answers. “I’m fine,” Jeongguk reassures. “I just needed some time alone to think. I’ll be in the office on Monday to catch up on any work I miss.” “Okay…um, if you feel…uncomfortable about Namgin—” “It’s fine,” Jeongguk immediately cuts in. “Please, I don’t want this to escalate further between him and me. I’m planning on contacting Changmin on Monday to cancel the investigation, and I’ll…I’ll manage.” Namjoon bites the inside of his cheek. He knows what he wants to say and how he feels about Namgin, and how he treats Jeongguk. He knows he should do something as Jeongguk’s boss…and, hopefully, as Jeongguk’s friend. “I…I see,” Namjoon murmurs. “…Jeongguk-ssi, can I be honest with you for a moment?” “Of course.” “…I know you may have reasons for canceling the investigation…but I don’t want you to come to work and be forced to ‘manage’ inappropriate behavior. It isn’t fair to you or your work,” Namjoon states. “I…I don’t even care about work productivity. I just don’t want you to…to be belittled and treated that way. You don’t deserve it. No one deserves that.” For a brief moment, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, and Namjoon worries that he’s made the situation worse by stating his opinion. Then, he hears a soft sigh. “That’s…” Jeongguk starts, “…thank you.” Namjoon swallows the lump in his throat. His hand stops jittering on his thigh. “I really don’t want upper management involved,” Jeongguk explains. “I know it’s not the best predicament to be in, but I can handle it, I promise.” “…Okay…but if you feel uncomfortable or intimidated at any time, please tell me. I-I know I’m not much help, but I’ll do whatever I can.“ “Thank you…really, thank you…sajangnim, do you mind me being honest with you for a moment?” Jeongguk asks. Namjoon blinks. He rubs his hand over his thigh. “Um, sure?” he responds. “You belittle yourself too much,” Jeongguk points out, “and you really shouldn’t.” The blunt statement makes Namjoon tense up in his spot on the sofa. “…I…I see…” Namjoon mumbles, his words quiet. “I don’t think you consciously do it. Those thoughts seem so automatic, and you don’t try to challenge that thinking…I know it’s probably hypocritical coming from me, but I wish you’d have more confidence in yourself and how good of a person you truly are,” Jeongguk softly explains. “…I see…h-how do you do it, then?” Namjoon asks, hand tense on his knee. “The…the negative thoughts…do you meditate?” “I’m too jittery when it comes to meditation,” Jeongguk admits with a quiet laugh. “My mind goes everywhere when I space out. I think about work and school and my puppy and my parents. I think so much that I give myself headaches sometimes. But, when I have negative thoughts…I try to write them down, and I try to question them.” “You question them…and it just stops?” “Mmm, not exactly. Like…well…just recently…I was thinking about what happened Wednesday. I was thinking about how shameful I looked in front of CEO Kim and Jimin and…and you…I thought neither of you would want anything to do with me afterward.” Namjoon frowns. “I didn’t think any less of you, Jeongguk-ssi—” “I know. You and Jimin are extremely kind. You both have shown nothing but kindness towards me and never gave me a reason to think otherwise. Neither of you has judged my feelings, and you…you took care of me when I felt scared, VP Kim. That’s what I told myself when I reflected on those negative thoughts. I didn’t let them overwhelm me and change what I know is true about you both.” Namjoon nods, squeezing and releasing his hand. A part of him feels jittery, a buzzing sensation just beneath his skin that he can’t itch or rub away. Yet, another part of him feels calm. He doesn’t know if it’s Jeongguk’s voice, what Jeongguk is talking about, or just…Jeongguk himself. Namjoon doesn’t know, but his shoulders feel relaxed, and his heart thumps with an even cadence. “I see…you sound very knowledgeable about this. It must be easy for you,” Namjoon says with a friendly chuckle. “Please don’t think that,” Jeongguk immediately dismisses. “It may not be as hard as when I started practicing this, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy…there are some days where those thoughts are paralyzing, and there are some fears that I still haven’t overcome. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying to be better.” “…Right…” Namjoon murmurs. “…Jeongguk-ssi, you…you’re really…you’re really special.” Jeongguk giggles. “You’re too sweet. Thank you,” Jeongguk says, a smile heard in his voice. “I mean it,” responds Namjoon. “I enjoy talking with you, and I enjoy your company. You…you’re a really good person, and your aura is…it’s beautiful.” “…Oh…wow…” Namjoon tenses at how breathless Jeongguk sounds. It makes his stomach flare with heat, his heart suddenly picking up speed. “W-Was that strange?” Namjoon asks. “No, no. Just…I’ve never heard someone call my aura beautiful before.” “It is,” Namjoon asserts. “Your energy is bright. I see it in your eyes and the way you smile. I hear it in your voice, and it comes out in all of your kind actions. You’re…really beautiful.” Namjoon hears his voice, how breathless and dreamy it sounds. It makes his cheeks warm. “I-I mean,” he tries to correct, “beautiful in a platonic way. I don’t think you’re beautiful beautiful - I mean - not that you’re not attractive - I mean!” Jeongguk laughs, and the sound is bright and loud and makes Namjoon’s entire face go blistering hot. “Sajangnim, it’s okay. I understand what you’re trying to say…thank you.” Namjoon nods to himself, though his face is still hot with embarrassment. His hand has stopped jittering on his thigh, but now his knee is bouncing up and down. His heart is beating wild, a frantic thumping against Namjoon’s chest that would typically cause him concern and strike fear into him that he was on the onset of another vicious attack by a malignant force. But, Namjoon finds himself feeling…excited. His skin is buzzing with a sweet itch all over his body, moving down the back of his neck, around his arms, and across his spine. He loves the way it feels, and he loves the way the burn in his cheeks stings. The television in front of Namjoon is off, and Namjoon loves the reflection of that stupid smile on his lips. He’s…he’s happy. He doesn’t remember someone ever making him feel so happy like this…not in a long time. “I - I, uh, don’t want to keep you away from your cleaning for too long—” “Oh, please do,” says Jeongguk, laughing. “It’s no trouble. I got a little sidetracked from Jimin dropping by, but I have most of it done, and I can always finish it tomorrow.” “Jimin visited you?” Namjoon asks. “Yes. He was worried about me, so he somehow intercepted my food delivery from MinSuga and brought it over. I don’t necessarily approve of how he found my address, but I know he means well…in his strange way.” “O-Oh. That’s…nice?” Jeongguk laughs. “Yeah. We ate, and he watched me play some video games before he had to leave to catch his train back home. It was nice having company over, however unexpected it was.” “I’m glad to hear that,” says Namjoon, smiling. “It’s been a while since I had visitors over myself. I never know what to do at my place. I like going out with people.” “I sometimes like going out if the place is spacious enough. But I prefer to stay home, where it’s cozy and familiar.” “Well, there’s a lot of spacious yet cozy places. Art galleries, botanical gardens, a nice bookstore…there’s actually a gallery that I was planning to visit this weekend. It’s a touring exhibition focused on visionary art and the connection to shamanic practices. I’d…um…well, if you’d be interested in it, I’d…I’d like to…have you accompany me?” Namjoon asks. What are you doing? the voice hisses at Namjoon. Are you an idiot? Are you stupid? You’re such a creep. You’re such an idiot. He’s going to think you’re such a creep. He’s going to think you’re such— “I’d love to!” Jeongguk exclaims. “I’ll have to take my puppy to the daycare before we go, but it sounds really interesting! I’ll have to warn you, though. I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to art. So, if you won’t mind me asking you a bunch of questions, I’d love to come with you, sajangnim.” Namjoon breathes out a heavy sigh. He smiles and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I don’t mind.” “…And maybe afterward,” Jeongguk tentatively adds, “you can come over to my place? I still owe you a meal of my delicious, ‘melt in your mouth’ mandu.” “I’d like that,” says Namjoon. “I’d like that a lot.” Jeongguk sighs. The sound wraps itself around Namjoon’s heart like a bow. “Great. So…I’ll see you at noon?” Namjoon checks his calendar. “Even numbers are indicative of bad luck this week. Can we do one?” he asks. Jeongguk giggles. “Okay.” Namjoon sighs with relief. “Great. Then, it’s a da—” Namjoon bites his tongue before the word can fully get out. An awkward pause settles between them, both waiting for the other to speak, to acknowledge what Namjoon was just about to say. “…It’s…a…” “…An…outing?” Jeongguk helps. Namjoon nods his head eagerly. “Yes! Outing!” he exclaims. “Outing. We’re going on an outing tomorrow, and it’s going to be great, and I’m…I’m happy I’m going with you.” Jeongguk is quiet. “…Me too,” he whispers in agreement. Namjoon brings a hand to his cheek. He’s burning up beneath the touch of his palm. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sajangnim,” Jeongguk says. “Y-You can call me, um, ‘hyung’ if you - if it’s alright. Or, if it’s not awkward for you. I mean, I don’t want to make things awkward. Except, I probably just did by bringing it up, and you weren’t thinking about it—” “Namjoon-hyung,” Jeongguk interrupts. The sound of Namjoon’s name in Jeongguk’s mouth is effective in both shutting Namjoon up and making his heart jump in his throat. “It’s okay…thank you for letting me know…have a nice evening, Namjoon-hyung.” Namjoon smiles. “…You too, Jeongguk-ah.”

…   Once upon a time, Arya Stark found someone who was hers. Not Sansa’s. Hers. (And, of course, nobody belongs to anybody, and nobody can stake a possessive claim over another person just because they have a silent, internalized, entirely metaphorical competition with their incredibly beautiful older sister that they feel unbelievably driven to finally win. Of course. But if there was such a competition, and if they could – If they could, Gendry Waters would be hers.) So Gendry’s a little bit of an idiot. So Gendry is really just a bunch of muscles stacked up together with a tiny, pin-sized brain shoved somewhere inside – somewhere deep, deep inside. He’s kind. He’s funny. He laughs at Arya’s inappropriate jokes instead of acting scandalized or scolding her for being unladylike and he listens to the same kind of music she does – or, at the very least, he lets her steal the AUX cord without really complaining – and he believes in her when she’s pretty sure that no one else in her family could be bothered to spare her a second fucking glance. He’s her best friend, and for once one of her best friends is not – because he’s not – in love with Sansa. Not like Pod. Or Hot Pie. Fucking traitors. Once upon a time, Gendry Waters is hers and hers alone.   …   Except, of course, nobody belongs to anybody. And Gendry…Gendry’s a little bit of an idiot.   ...   It’s one month, five weeks, and four days before her eighteenth birthday when she notices it. It. They’re stretched out by the pool – they being Sansa, Arya, Theon, Jon, Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Gendry. The entirety of the younger Stark clan, whether official or not. It’s not an uncommon scene, really: Robb, Jon, and Theon are acting like fucking idiots in the pool. Rickon is doing his best to join in, and occasionally Theon will lift him onto his shoulders or Jon will toss him the ball and Arya swears, the look on her little brother’s face is like someone’s just handed him a million pounds. Bran is reading by himself beside her, so quiet it’s easy to forget that he’s there, but occasionally he glances up and smiles, soft and sweet. It’s just like it was when they were kids. It’s a moment, frozen in time, and it’s one that she’d love to remember (although you’d never catch her dead saying as much out loud). Every one of them, together, in exactly the way that it should be. Every one of them, and Arya – Arya would normally be with Gendry, playing football or wrestling in the water or doing something stupid, something ridiculous, something that’s just for the two of them. They would normally be doing that, and the only problem in the otherwise picture-perfect day is that right now they aren’t, and they can’t, because Gendry is too busy sitting and whispering and giggling with Sansa. Gendry. Giggling. So instead of doing something proper summery and fun, Arya is stuck glaring daggers at her older sister and her best-friend-turned-traitor from the other side of the pool, trying (and failing) to not look like the petulant child that she feels like at the moment. “Not everything is how it looks,” Bran says, and she wants to throw her lemonade – the perfectly sweet, utterly refreshing, infuriatingly good lemonade Sansa had made – right in his fucking face. How it looks: It looks like Gendry, who is her best friend and her person, is currently sitting right fucking across from Arya while flirting incessantly with her beautiful, long-legged, red-haired, walking angel of an older sister. It looks like…well, Arya certainly doesn’t need Bran to tell her what it looks like, because she’s got a perfectly fucking keen pair of eyes and she can see what it looks like all by herself, thank you very much. She knows exactly what it looks like. It looks like the ultimate form of betrayal. “It doesn’t look like shit,” Arya says, huffing. And then realizing she’s given herself away just a bit, she continues, “Jesus, I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Do you always have to be so fucking cryptic?” Bran, for his part, just laughs. “No, but it’s a lot more fun.” Fun. Gendry and Sansa certainly seem to be having a lot of it. “I’m the one who invited him over,” she states, not sure what point she’s trying to make. “Him and Sansa are hardly even friends.” “It would bother you if they were, then.” It’s not phrased as a question, but Arya feels compelled to answer. Fucking hell, Bran. “It wouldn’t bother me. It’s just…unnatural. Like a dog walking on its hind legs. Or seeing a teacher outside of class.” Bran raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything more. At least, despite his creepily perceptive stare, he knows when to shut up and leave her to her pouting. Sansa laughs again, loud and clear. Arya glares. She feels – wrong. Off-balance. “Oi!” Theon throws the ball so it hits Gendry square in the head, looking pointedly and unquestionably annoyed. Apparently she’s not the only one bothered by the whole situation (take that, Bran). “Stop drooling and get in the pool, Waters, before Robb and I have to come up there and toss your sorry arse in ourselves!” For the first time in her life, Arya feels immensely grateful for Theon fucking Greyjoy. Fancy that.   .   She doesn’t say anything to Gendry about it later, eating snacks and binging terrible horror films. Obviously she doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say, because nothing even happened, no matter what Bran tried to convince her. Absolutely nothing at all. “Today was fun,” Gendry says, unprompted, ignoring the rather scathing warning glare she shoots his way. “I know this sounds stupid so don’t say shit, okay? I just mean…it’s nice, you know, getting to hang out with your family. Never had anything like that growing up.” So that’s all it’s about. He never had siblings growing up – not siblings that he knew, anyways, so he probably just looks at Sansa like a step-sister. A beautiful, sweet step-sister that he’s really not that close to and would have no problem with – God damn it. “They like you,” she says, and she means it. “Fuck if I know why, annoying prat that you are, but they do.” And that, she thinks, is that.   …   It’s that, until it’s not. It’s not, because Gendry and Sansa develop a weird little friendship that can only be described as – well, it can only be described as weird. The day after the pool, she catches Sansa’s phone light up with a text, and even though Arya definitely isn’t prying (because she’s not, she swears that she isn’t) but she still manages to see the name that lights up the screen and…honestly, she hadn’t even known that they had each other’s numbers until now. “Since when are you and Gendry friends?” she snaps, immediately hating the way that her voice sounds. Whiny. Jealous. Sansa looks…confused. Properly, actually confused. “We’ve always been friends,” she says, shrugging. “I guess you just haven’t noticed.” “You don’t even have anything in common.” They don’t. Gendry likes sports and Sansa likes cupcakes. Gendry couldn’t solve a math equation to save his life and Sansa is pre-med, for fucks sake. Gendry listens to prog rock and Sansa…well, the contents of Sansa’s Spotify library are too terrifying for Arya to even consider. They’ve got nothing in common. Nothing. She and Gendry like the same music and they play the same games and sure, they butt heads, but that’s only because they’re so similar that it’s occasionally terrifying. For him to be going after Sansa – it’s not like she’d want him to go after her, not at all, but the fact that he’s going for someone who’s so completely wrong for him – She’s worried. That’s it. She’s worried for her friend, and she’s worried for her sister. Let it never be said that Arya Stark isn’t an exceptionally generous person. “I thought you’d be happy,” Sansa says with a pout, looking entirely innocent and entirely hurt. “That I’m making an effort with your friends. You asked me to try and I’m trying, Arya.” Fuck. (She’s really a bitch, isn’t she?) “It is. Just…I mean, he’s Gendry.” “I’m aware.” “He’s awkward. He doesn’t know shit about girls, I swear.” “Arya.” Her sister looks amused, now. Amused, and – something utterly suspicious. “I think he knows more than you might be aware of.” And that – She doesn’t like the sound of that at all.   …   Arya tells herself that she’s not going to let it bother her. She tells herself that she’s an adult, a big fucking girl, and that Gendry Waters can giggle and laugh with whoever he damn well likes and she won’t be bothered. Arya Stark is a shit fucking liar. At least, she’s shit at lying to herself. Theon, apparently, is the only person who notices that something is off. Theon. (Maybe she’s a better liar than she thinks. Or maybe everyone in her family is just really, really fucking stupid.) He’s glaring at Sansa and Gendry from across the porch – the Starks are having a summer barbeque, and Robb and Margaery are canoodling while Bran and Meera look disgustingly cute and Sansa and Gendry are…they’re whispering, heads bent close together, and occasionally Gendry’s eyes will flicker over to where Arya is sitting but they’ll never last for longer than a half second. So everyone – everyone save Rickon, a literal child – is coupled up and being adorable, and Arya is left sitting in a fuming rage with Theon fucking Greyjoy. Seriously. Theon. “What’s crawled up your arse?” he asks, sipping from his beer, looking as pissed as Arya feels. “Sansa and Gendry,” she snaps, not bothering to lie – she’s too annoyed to care at this point. “And then they started making out in there.” Theon’s gaze snaps back to hers. “Wait – fuck, they’re…you’re joking, right?” “Obviously. But it’s not like it’ll be long before Waters tries to get up her skirt, just like everyone else does.” This seems to calm Theon’s nerves, if only a bit. He’s still all fidgety, and he still looks a little bit like he wants to vomit – he still looks like he’s about five seconds from going over there and chucking his (almost) empty beer bottle at Gendry’s head. Honestly… Honestly, Arya would probably pay to see it. “Fuck does he think he’s doing, anyways?” Theon mutters, shifting a bit closer to her. “That Harding prick just cheated on her a few months ago. She’s not ready for some other arsehole to swoop in and –” “And it’s gross. Like, they’ve got nothing in common.” “Pretty sure Sansa’s got more in common with a football than she has with him.” “Ugh. Look at the way she’s leaning towards him. It’s like –” “He’s not even that good looking.” Arya scoffs. “Right. Good one, mate.” “He’s not. Is he?” Is he? Arya glances back over at Gendry once more – at the ripple of his biceps under that ridiculous, too-tight t-shirt, and the way that his eyes shimmer an utterly ridiculous shade of blue when the sun hits them just right, and the way he throws his head back when he laughs; it’s a bizarre, full-body laugh that she always makes fun of him for, but only because she actually… She kind of loves it. It’s her laugh. Like, it’s his laugh, but it’s the one he usually reserves for her, for when she says something inappropriate and ridiculous and Gendry looks at her like she’s the best fucking thing that he’s ever seen. He’s laughing that laugh for Sansa right now. Right now – right in front of her, the asshole, and even though she’s angry with him she thinks back to Theon’s question and knows that yeah, okay, maybe Gendry isn’t the worst looking guy on the planet. “He’s alright,” she shrugs, and then turns back to catch the flicker of annoyance in Theon’s eyes grow darker. “More Sansa’s type than you are, I reckon.” He almost chokes on his beer. Arya feels, for a moment, victorious. “You’re a bitch,” Theon says, when he’s finally able to breathe again, and when he’s finally able to tear his eyes away from her sister. “A stone-cold bitch.” Sansa’s not a bitch. Sansa is a good person. Nobody would ever look at Sansa Stark and think, wow, that girl’s got to be an absolute monster. Sansa…Sansa would never, not in a million years, want them to. That’s just the thing, though: “And don’t you forget it,” she says, jabbing a finger right in Theon’s face. Arya’s not Sansa. (Thank fuck for that).   …   Three weeks, five days, and fourteen hours before her eighteenth birthday, and – And Gendry Waters is, officially, her worst enemy. “It’ll be fun, Arya!” She hates the way he looks right now: hopeful, childlike, absolutely adorable. She wants to punch him right in his big, beautiful, idiot face, but there’s people around and her mum will kill her if she gets arrested. “Christ, would you lighten up?” “This isn’t fun,” she snaps. “This is torture.” This is a movie marathon. A full-blown, romantic as fuck, picnic at the park, Eighties movie marathon. Gendry had bought tickets a month ago. Bought them, and invited her out for a ‘surprise’ without even telling her what it was until they were near the park. She doesn’t think she’s seen him so excited for anything – especially not for something that includes the words ‘Pretty in Pink’. This, Arya knows, is Sansa’s doing. She doesn’t know how, or why, but this afternoon – this marathon, the picnic basket tossed over Gendry’s shoulder – it has her sister’s pristine little fingerprints all over it. She only wishes she knew what her intentions possibly could have been. “You’re always complaining about how we never do anything different. And I figured –” “It’s thirty bloody degrees out, Gendry. We’re going to roast.” “I figured this was something different, you know? Besides, I know you love this kind of stuff.” “You don’t know shit.” “You told me last month –” “Shut it.” What she’d told him last month was that yes, The Breakfast Club is one of her favourite movies and okay, sure, she’s cried a few times at St. Elmo’s Fire and right, everyone knows that the Twist ‘N Shout scene from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is one of the most iconic pieces of cinematic history. She hadn’t told him to take her to a romantic picnic at the park. That’s the exact bloody opposite thing that she would tell him to do. “This just – I mean, it seems like more of a Sansa thing.” Gendry shrugs. “Think she’s got plans.” How the fuck does he know that? “How the fuck,” Arya huffs, “do you know that?” “We don’t have to go,” he avoids her question expertly, looking…Gods help her, he actually looks disappointed. “If you don’t want to. It was a stupid idea.” It was. A stupid, ridiculous, thoughtful idea. “We’re going.” Arya doesn’t like losing, but she also doesn’t want to think about how much of a whiney little arsehole he’s going to be if doesn’t let him win. “Obviously. You already spent the money, and we’re here, aren’t we?” Plus – honestly, it doesn’t sound like that bad of a time. It sounds like a brilliant fucking time, because she’ll never admit it out loud (to anyone other than him) but John Hughes movies are kind of like her kryptonite and the fact that he’s spent so much time planning this entire day for her – for them – is honestly one of the nicest things that someone’s done for her in a while. So they’re going. Of course they are. Gendry whoops, and he scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing – which, okay, in all fairness to him that’s probably true – and runs down the path, as excited as she’s seen him in months. “Put me down!” she shouts, but she’s laughing as she does. “You massive fucking prat, put me down!” He puts her down. She…Christ, she misses him when he does.   .   So the afternoon-turned-evening isn’t horrible. It’s kind of brilliant, actually. Gendry, somehow, has thought of everything. He’s brought a ridiculously comfortable blanket for the two of them to sit on, two six packs of beer (an IPA for him, a Belgian wit for her), and a collection of her favourite snacks – hummus, pita, salt and vinegar chips, Smarties, and a collection of mini grilled cheeses – and, fuck, she’s trying to clear her head but he’s making it awfully hard. They don’t cuddle. They don’t, because they’re Arya and Gendry and that, no question about it, would be weird. Nice, maybe. But weird. Still, they sit a little bit closer together than they normally do and Gendry’s hand brushes against hers twice – the first time is an accident, probably, but Arya swears that he means to the second time – and maybe it’s a little bit strange, but Arya doesn’t think about Sansa once during all of The Breakfast Club. Honestly, she doesn’t. “I get why you like this so much,” he says, nudging her shoulder gently with his when Judd Nelson is raising his fist triumphantly in the air. “’S not half bad.” “I don’t like it that much,” Arya says, as she brushes a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Nah,” Gendry scoffs. “You hate it, clearly.” “Shut up.” He does. “I’m glad you’re having fun,” Gendry says after a minute, once the credits start to properly roll. “Your family’s great and all, but it’s nice, yeah? Just the two of us.” Just the two of them. Just the two of them, Arya and Gendry, best fucking friends for life. That’s all that he means – she knows that’s all that he means. But suddenly there’s all this shit swirling in her head again, shit with Sansa, the shit that Theon had said, the way that Gendry is looking at her like that, and Arya knows… Arya doesn’t fucking know a thing. “I’m going to go for a walk,” she says, scrambling up from the blanket quick as she can. “A long one. I really have to piss.” “Classy!” Gendry calls after her, stalking towards the washroom at top fucking speed. She doesn’t look back at him. Not even once.   .   After her twenty-two minute, thirty-three second, not-quite panic attack in the loo, Arya opens the door smack into someone else. Smack into Sansa. An artfully dishevelled, prettily-flushed, messy-haired Sansa. “Gods, Arya!” Sansa exclaims, right at the minute that Arya shouts, “Oh my fucking Gods, you had sex!” They stare at each other for a minute – maybe less, or maybe a hell of a lot longer – before her sister is grabbing her arm and dragging her down a hall. Her nails (rounded, sharp, not even fake, just perfect) dig into Arya’s forearm and she knows…well, she knows that she’s just seen something she’s not supposed to. “You can’t just shout something like that in public!” Sansa hisses – prim, perfect Sansa, losing her cool. “It’s true,” Arya snaps back, not lowering her voice in the way her sister is. “And you’re doing a horrible job hiding it. Your shirt is on backwards, genius.” “It’s not…oh, Christ. Do you think anyone noticed?” Arya scoffs. “I did.” Sansa dabs away that the mascara smudged under her eyes, quickly slides her sleeves out of the straps of her tank top and rotates it around properly. Arya almost wishes that she hadn’t told her – somehow, even looking a mess, her sister is prettier than anyone else in the room. “Don’t tell anyone. Arya, please.” Sansa looks beautiful, wide-eyed, and utterly frightened. She’s obviously not going to tell, but still – still, she’s not feeling nice enough to make any promises quite yet. “Who’s the lucky one, then? I swear to god, Sans, I don’t need details, but I swear to fucking God if it’s that Hard-on prick –” “It’s not Harry. Honestly, Arya, how low do you think my standards are?” “I mean…no offense, Sans, but you fucked Joffrey, didn’t you?” Sansa winces, and Arya knows…Arya knows that was cruel of her. She hadn’t meant it to be – she’d meant it to be a joke, but then sometimes she forgets that Sansa’s not her, and there’s certain subjects that just shouldn’t be touched. “This is different,” Sansa says after a moment, after Arya’s had enough time to feel like a proper arse. “It’s different. He’s nice to me, Arya. You already – you’d like him.” She’d like him. She already… Oh. How could she have been such an idiot? It all makes sense, now, Gendry bringing her here and knowing that Sansa had plans tonight, all of the secrecy and the weirdness – this had never been a night about just the two of them. He’d probably been waiting for her to leave, waiting so he could text Sansa so they could go shag in the bushes and do whatever it was that clandestine lovers did when they were being sneaky little clandestine fucking bitches. It’d never been about the two of them; it had been about Sansa, like everything always was. She’s such an idiot. How could she have been such a ridiculous bloody idiot? “I’m sure I would, Sans,” Arya says, because her sister looks so hopeful and bright and, for once, Arya refuses to be the villain in this situation. It’s not Sansa’s fault, after all. Arya just wishes she had someone to blame other than herself.   …   So, okay, the first time she’d talked to Gendry Waters – It hadn’t, in fact, been because she thought he had good form. (That’s a terrible fucking excuse.) Track and Field is her thing – Arya’s little but she’s quick, and even though she might not have the traditional body type of a sprinter she more often than not left the other girls in the race choking on her dust. And in between heats she’d stopped to walk the shot putters do…whatever it is that they do, and through all of it she’d seen him. Sweaty, dark-haired, absurdly muscular, ridiculously attractive, him. Arya knew who he was – everyone knew. He was Gendry Waters, recent transfer, and he looked suspiciously like their drunken prat of a mayor who, rumour had it, had any number of bastard kids running around Westeros. She knew who he was, of course, but not because of that. She knew who he was because he was fucking hot, and maybe Arya’s not like Jeyne and Sansa, giggling and twirling their hair from afar, but she’s still got needs. The issue had come when she’d approached him – And, shockingly enough, she’d liked him. So, okay, the first time she’d talked to Gendry Waters there is a slight but not insignificant chance that she’d been trying to get into his pants. (Maybe that’s part of why it hurts so much, that Sansa gets there first.)   …   After the movies, she avoids Gendry like the plague. He’s still blowing up Sansa’s phone. Arya knows that he is, because she sees her sister look at her phone and smile – this sappy, ridiculous, stretched-out smile that Arya knows means that she’s properly happy. He’s blowing up Arya’s phone, too. He’s texting her fifteen, twenty, thirty times per day and she’s always got an excuse why she can’t hang out: she’s tired, she’s busy practicing, she’s having an existential crisis because of the latest season of Stranger Things and thus is unavailable for any visitors at this time, thank you very much. She doesn’t feel good about it. She doesn’t feel good about a lot of things lately, and it’s almost entirely Gendry’s fault. Theon has been coming over to hang out with them more, and when he comes over he gives Arya this look – careful, measured, as though he’s in on some kind of unspoken agreement between the two of them that even she can’t start to identify. As though they’re one in the same, the two of them, but she hasn’t the slightest idea what they’ve got in common. And what they’ve got is, quite frankly, nothing. (Because the teenage angst and existential turmoil might exceed any bounds previously known to human kind – But if it comes to a pissing match between her and Theon fucking Greyjoy, Arya’s pretty sure she’s got a monopoly on it.) “Alright there, Basket Case?” he says, tossing a wadded-up napkin at her after supper one night. Two weeks, six days, and seven hours before her eighteenth birthday. “Fine,” she snaps, even though she’s not, even though she’s sure that Theon can see it written all over her face. “My sister’s fucking my best friend, but I’m just fine. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s all absolutely bloody peachy.” Theon laughs – he actually laughs, the prick, and Arya regrets ever feeling a sense of kinship with him all those weeks ago. “Can’t believe I’m telling you this,” he says, “but it’s not what you think. Turns out we’re both fucking idiots.” “Speak for yourself.” He’s still looking at her, but it’s a different kind of look than before: half pity, half amusement, with perhaps a little bit of fondness smattered in on top of that. She doesn’t mind Theon, she thinks, not really – at least, she doesn’t mind him in the moments when he’s not being a prat. “Just try talking to her, yeah? You might be surprised.” He shrugs. “I was.” It’s shockingly…sincere. “Or,” Theon continues, “you can just sit here being a whiny little brat and blame everyone else for your problems. Whichever works.” She hates him. (He’s right. That makes her hate him even more.)   …   One day and three hours before her birthday, Arya takes Theon’s advice. She bursts into her sister’s room without knocking at one in the morning – because, fuck, it’s Sansa, and she couldn’t possibly have anything to hide. She bursts into her sister’s room and hears a giggle, than a gasp, and watched a very naked (admittedly very nice) arse roll off the side of her bed – an arse, and a mop of thick dark hair and, Arya’s sure, a set of piercing blue eyes that widen in shock when they spot her. She bursts into her sister’s room and – Fuck, she should really learn to knock. “You brought him here?” Arya snaps, not bothering to lower her voice. “In the middle of the night? Jesus, Sansa, our rooms are right bloody next to each other! You think I want to hear you –” “You should have knocked, Arya!” Her sister is scrambling out of bed – still in shorts and a sports bra, thank fuck – and she’s tossing things over the other side to where the prick is hiding: a t-shirt, jeans, and…Jesus, a pair of fish-patterned underwear that Arya could have gone her whole life without having to see. Who knew Gendry had such horrible taste? (She definitely knew that._ “I didn’t think I had to knock, because I didn’t think I’d walk in on my best mate and my sister canoodling in her bed!” “I didn’t – wait, what?” “I was trying, Sans, I really was. I hadn’t said anything, and I wanted to come tonight and give you and Gendry my blessing to –” “What does Gendry have to do with this?” Gods. Arya doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that her sister had decided that it was okay to fuck Gendry in their own bloody house without even telling Arya about the two of them in the first place, or the fact that she’s pretending now that she doesn’t know a thing about it. “I know,” Arya sighs, speaking slow as she can, slow as their mum used to speak when they were young, “that the two of you are hooking up.” “Well,” a voice says – a third voice, coming from behind the bed, one that’s distinctly not Gendry’s, “that’s awkward. Did you know that, Sans?” A third voice that’s not Gendry’s, but still… Still horribly familiar. “Theon,” Sansa huffs, “would you mind?” And then – And then Theon fucking Greyjoy rises from behind her sister’s bed like a kraken from the fucking sea – if, that is, a kraken from the sea wore underwear patterned with cartoon fishes. “I told you,” Theon says, with an insufferably smirk that Arya wants to slap right off of him, “that we’re both fucking idiots.” Her brain is short-circuiting. The Earth’s axis is tilting. Sansa and Theon are having sex. (The whole bloody universe is imploding, and she can still somehow hear Robb snoring from down the hall.) “But,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else worth saying, “what about the marathon?” “I was there with Theon,” she says, rolling her eyes. “That’s why I asked you not to tell anyone – we don’t want Robb to freak, you know?” She, unfortunately, does. “I gave Gendry the idea to invite you,” Sansa continues, as if this is all the most obvious thing in the world, “because he wanted to do something to impress you, and Theon’d just got us tickets so I figured – well, I thought it’d be something you enjoyed. I just didn’t plan on seeing you there.” That, unfortunately, makes sense “What about you, then?” Now it’s Theon’s turn – she whirls on him, and he raises his hands by his head in a show of mock-innocence, although the grin on his face says otherwise. “All that jealousy shit at mum and dad’s barbeque – what was that?” He shrugs. Prat. “I was jealous,” he says, echoing her words as if they’re nothing, “as I have been over every arse who flirts with your sister for the past ten years or so. And then, like a grown adult, after you and I threw our little fits I finally decided that instead of moping I should go make a move. Turns out it worked – worked pretty well, I’d say.” Theon looks at Sansa and winks. Sansa giggles. Arya doesn’t know a fucking thing about anything. “None of this,” she says, voice increasing in pitch along with her panic, “explains the sudden, freakish little friendship between you and Gendry lately. The texts, the phone calls, the whispered conversations…it’s shit, Sans. You’re leading him on, and it’s shit, and –” “Arya.” Now it’s Sansa’s turn to speak like the mum – and, really, it sounds much more natural coming from her. “Arya, it’s your eighteenth birthday in two days.” She blinks. Sansa sighs. “He asked me to help plan you a surprise. He’s been going insane over it for weeks – he still is, actually, even though you’re being a complete bitch and not responding to any of his texts.” She huffs, shakes her head, looks at Arya as though she’s just put her through a lifetime of torture. “Honestly, Arya – me and Gendry?” “When you say it like that,” like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world, that is, “it sounds a lot more unreasonable than it seemed in my head.” “It’s not unreasonable. It’s just…I mean, if you’re going to suspect anyone, Theon is much more my type.” Arya hates – hates – the way Theon grins and kisses her sister, as if in celebration. She extra hates the way he flips her the middle finger as he does. (She hates how she’s happy for them.) And the way he says, “Told you,” when they finally come up for air.   …   Arya hates all of this, honestly. She especially hates the way that it could be argued that technically, realistically – Well, it’s all her fault.   …   Thirteen hours and thirty-three minutes into her eighteenth birthday, Arya bangs on the door of Gendry’s flat. It takes him sixty-five seconds to open it, and in that time she forgets everything that she’d planned to say. Fuck it. If nothing else, at least Arya knows she can improvise. “As it turns out,” she says, shoving past him and ignoring her protest as she ducks into the hallway, “you and Sansa aren’t having sex, because Sansa and Theon are having sex – and, somehow, that pairing is entirely more normal.” Gendry, bless his heart, looks horrifically confused. (Welcome to the club.) “I – what the fuck are you on about?” “I thought,” she says, weaving into his kitchen to drop the provisions she’s brought over onto his counter – a six-pack of IPA for him, a six-pack of Belgian wit for her, a toothbrush, and a scrunchie, “that you and my sister were having sex.” “Why the fuck would you think that?” Arya’s never seen Gendry look like that before – borderline offended. “Jesus, Arya, do you’ve any idea what my type is?” She snorts. “So you’re telling me your type isn’t beautiful, single women?” He scowls. She grins. “You’re not funny.” “Not in the least,” Arya agrees. “Sansa told me you planned something for tonight, then?” The room doesn’t look immaculately decorated – or decorated at all, actually. The only thing that’s standing out to her is a lopsided, shittily decorated cake on the table by the television, one with exactly one, two, three… “Eighteen candles,” Gendry says, following her gaze. “Another movie marathon, just the two of us, with beer and takeout and. Well. You can see – so basically a normal Friday night, but filled with all of your favourite stuff. Stupid, but Sans said you would like it.” It’s – “It’s the cheesiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He glares. “I love it.” Then, because she hates this, and because she…she doesn’t hate him, she continues. “Sorry for being an idiot.” “You were.” “I was,” Arya agrees, “but it’s only because every single bloody friend that I’ve ever trusted enough to introduce with my family has gone and fallen in love with my sister, and then they act like a complete fucking arse about it. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so disgusting – you’ve seen Pod when he walks into the same room as her, yeah?” Gendry’s nose scrunches – scrunches adorably. “It’s like he short-circuits.” “It’s like watching an alien try to form sentences in its first day on Earth,” Arya states, nodding sagely. “Hot Pie’s not much better. And that’s just two – so when I thought I’d lost you, I went a bit…” “Ballistic?” “Essentially.” “Except,” he steps forward, and fuck, she’d forgotten how stupidly big Gendry is, “there’s a difference. Because I’m pretty sure you never cut Pod and Hot Pie completely out of your life for wanting to sleep with your sister.” “I didn’t even want to,” Arya supplements, probably unhelpfully, “and I did with you.” “And I didn’t even want to sleep with her. Besides, her and Theon were so fucking obvious that you would have had to be blind not to –” “I didn’t,” Arya cuts him off with a scowl, partially because she’s tired of this conversation and partially because she doesn’t want a reminder of how dumb she’s been, “because I didn’t want to sleep with Pod or Hot Pie.” Gendry is, miraculously, quiet. That’s got to be a first. “I’m saying that,” Arya says, mostly because she knows Gendry is a fucking idiot and she wants to lay this all out as clearly as she can, “to let you know that I want to sleep with you. That I’ve wanted to sleep with you for a while, actually, and I think that I may have been a bit too subtle about it before. Preferably after cake, though, because I’m starving and that looks delicious.” Gendry swallows. She grins. And he stares at her, expression horribly open and heartbreakingly vulnerable, searching every inch of her face for – what, exactly? A sign that she’s messing with him? A hint that she’s going to break away and run? God – he’s staring it her, and all Arya can think about is how badly she wants to kiss him. She takes a step forward, and Gendry takes one to meet her, and Arya… Well, Arya’s never been one to deprive herself of something she wants. Arya Stark kisses Gendry Waters thirteen hours and forty-one minutes into her eighteenth birthday, and when she kisses him she does so because she means it, and she wants to kiss him again and again and she wants and she – He gasps against her lips, disbelieving, sweet, and his hands tangle in her hair and he whispers, “Arya.” He does that, she thinks, because he’s hers.   …   And, okay, so she knows that it’s true: that nobody belongs to anybody. It’s just that…well, if they did, and if they could – If they could, it wouldn’t matter because Arya Stark would still never belong to anyone – but that’s okay, she thinks, because Gendry is still a little bit of an idiot and, sure, maybe she is too, but he kisses her like he’s hers.   …

   There was a saying back on Earth that went, “In space, no one can hear you scream.” There was no saying that warned about the loss of a sense of time. Everything had worked on a regular clock back on Earth, what with the twelve hours of sunlight, the twelve hours of darkness, and the seven hours everyone was allowed to spend sleeping at the Garrison. Lights on, get ready, eat breakfast, go to classes, go to lunch, go to classes, go to dinner, shower, study or train or socialize, lights out. Every single day. Like clockwork. But out in space, with all the wormhole jumping and different planets with different suns, there simply was no standard measure of time anymore. They couldn’t even work out their own schedule on the castle, what with the fact that nobody knew when they’d have to go running out the door to fight. Being a defender of the universe was absolutely exhausting.    All of that being said, all of the paladins’ bodies screamed at them that it was too late at night to be waking up. Not that they had a choice. Coran was like a bull in a china shop, barging into everyone’s rooms without any warning, turning on the lights and waking them in the most irritating of ways. Just about the only method he didn’t use to try to get them all up was an air horn, which, if he had access to, he almost certainly would have used. He announced to each of them in turn that Princess Allura was waiting for them on the bridge. This was a very important, very mandatory meeting.    Well, at least the attack alarm wasn’t blaring. It could’ve been worse.    Shiro was the first to receive a wakeup call and definitely the first one to the bridge. He nodded to Allura and offered a, “Good morning.” Allura smiled and returned the greeting. Shiro had always been the easiest to wake out of all of the paladins, and though he never spoke of it and no one ever asked, it was easy to assume that it came from more than just his innate sense of responsibility. Even if he had been the prized Champion of the Galra arena, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they had kept him in deplorable living conditions. Living in a Galra prison, Champion or not, simply was not conducive to a good night’s sleep. There would have been screaming, there would have been crying, there would have been blood, and there would have been no telling when he would be yanked out of his cell and thrown back into the arena. And nobody could afford to be half-asleep when they were forced to fight some awful monster to the death. Regardless of who Shiro was before his abduction, there was no chance that he had escaped those prisons unscathed.    He sat in his chair, looking more awake than anyone ought to given the circumstances. Keith walked into the room next, also receiving a greeting from Shiro, and fell back into his seat with a flump. Though she wouldn’t say it, it was hard to not notice how young Keith looked in that moment. His hair was tangled, messy, a bit poofy, and in desperate need of a brushing. Allura had been alive for a good bit of time before her ten thousand year long nap, and even excluding such a long amount of time, he was but a child by comparison. An adult among humans, sure, but with the bedhead and the sleep in his eyes, he looked like a tired young boy. It was rather endearing, considering the way he usually was.    Pidge came soon after, holding her glasses in one hand as she used the other to rub the sleep from her eyes. Not that it made much of a difference. Regardless of how childish Keith looked at the moment, she still looked like a baby. A very strong and intelligent baby, yes, but a baby nonetheless. She put her glasses back on as she sat, yawning and managing to croak out her own, “Hey, guys.” She took the glasses back off almost as soon as she was comfortable, wiping them on her shirt in a futile attempt to clean them. Glasses never stayed clean, but she tried anyways. She also had a bad habit of staying up too late, studying Altean or tinkering with a pod or, honestly, doing pretty much anything but sleeping. Maybe that had something to do with it. The glasses might stay clean longer if she wasn’t up so late, wearing them from the moment she woke up to the moment she finally went to sleep.    Hunk rubbed the back of his neck as he made his way to his seat. The group had stopped off for supplies somewhere the day before and, as they often did, some Galra goons found them and offered up a fight. They’d found Hunk first. He both dealt and took a decent bit of damage before the others showed up to help him out. His muscles must still have been sore from dealing with those fighters by himself for a while, judging by the way he groaned when he sat down and looked like his seat was the most uncomfortable place in the universe. There was sympathy all around. He had deserved a good, long rest, but there he was anyways, awake before he should have been and waiting for whatever news Allura had to share.    As per usual, Lance was the last to be roused from his slumber and herded to the bridge. Quite literally, actually. If Coran hadn’t been right behind him, guiding his tiny exhausted steps, he probably never would have made it to his seat. He was a good kid, he really was, but he was not good at waking up. There had been an incident once where the attack alarm was sounded and everyone was out of bed and in their armor and ready to go… except for Lance, who somehow ended up in his lion wearing his helmet, his robe, and his slippers instead of his full set of armor. It hadn’t been a bad fight and everyone was okay, but Lance did get scolded by just about everyone.    Coran went to stand next to Allura once everyone was seated and at least semi-awake, which could very easily have been classified as a miracle. She cleared her throat in a ladylike manner to get their attention. Five sets of tired eyes looked at her, as well as one worried set. Coran knew what this was about. She had told him before she sent him off to wake the paladins. They shared a knowing glance. If the five didn’t snap out of their lethargy once they heard why they were all there, they wouldn’t get anywhere that night. They’d have to send all of them back to bed and wait for them to wake up on their own, but that took time. Time was a luxury they didn’t quite have at the moment.    “I’m sorry for waking you like this,” she started. Pidge yawned in response. Fair enough. “If I had thought that we could have waited, I gladly would have done so.” She heard another yawn, this time from Lance. She sighed in an almost hopeless way before she continued. “I’ve gathered you all here because I received a message from Prince, no, pardon me, Emperor Lotor of the Galra Empire. I believed it best to deal with the matter promptly rather than leaving it until tomorrow.”    Though it didn’t leave completely, the sleepiness that hung over the paladins drained out of the room. They all sat up a little straighter and their eyes came to life, some with worry and some with intrigue. “How’d he find us?” Pidge asked. “Is he tracking us or something? He can’t do that, right?”    “As far as I’m aware, he does not have our coordinates,” Allura assured. “If he did, I’m sure we would be meeting under very different circumstances. He has simply found a way to send messages to us, for good or for ill. I brought you all here because I wanted you to see the video he sent and tell me what you all think about it. I will not act until I know what you all think of this matter.”    “Let’s see it,” Shiro prompted. “What does he want?”    Allura turned around to face the viewing screen and the console. She navigated her way through a few windows covered in Altean text that none but Pidge could even come close to understanding, eventually landing on a video file with a window of text opened next to it. That text, at least, they could read. She tapped the equivalent of the play button found on human technology. She had already watched this video three times by herself, another two with Coran, and still her eyes did not leave the screen as the video started to play.    There stood the newly crowned Emperor, accused of killing his predecessor as he lay in the coma Voltron put him in. Accused of killing his father Zarkon to gain the throne. There was no solid proof that he had done it, but even if there was, it wasn’t like anything could be done about it. He was the ruler of a vast and powerful empire now; there was no justice system in the universe high enough to investigate and condemn him.    Emperor Lotor stood straight, tall and proud. He radiated power in a way similar to that of his father, though it remained to be seen if his power also came from brute strength or if it came from something else. His long white hair mostly fell in a thick curtain behind him, save for a few strands pulled over his shoulders to frame his face, separated from the rest of his hair by his long, pointed ears. He also had what seemed to be a gravity-defying piece of hair that raised itself from the hairline of his forehead before deciding to drop back down. His eyes, resting under impeccable cloud-white eyebrows, were a common shade of yellow, and yet were still somehow so much different from every other Galra they had met. He also had a surprisingly nice nose, a much nicer mouth than most, and when he smiled at the start of the video he flashed a set of beautiful teeth, though his canines were sharper than they ought to have been. All in all, he was rather attractive. For a Galra.    Though it should have been disturbing that he smiled at them before he spoke, it wasn’t at all unpleasant. And even though it was just through the speakers, his voice filled the room as he spoke. “Greetings, Princess Allura and Coran of Altea, as well as the paladins of Voltron. I understand that this message must be a surprise to you, yes? If it’s any consolation, I was advised several times to not contact you. Indeed, if I were the warmonger my father was, I would have never dreamed of speaking to you. With that in mind, I am here to offer you an invitation to come and visit our new capital city. I believe that we can come to an agreement and arrange some type of tactical alliance, the details of which would be discussed during your stay here. I have also sent you a text file containing instructions on how to reach me with your answer. Accept this invitation and I will gladly open the gates of my city to you and guarantee that no harm come to any of your group. If any disobeyed my order, I would have them put to death without a moment’s hesitation. Should you decline, however, the next time we meet will be on unfavorable terms on the battlefield.” His smile had faded as he had delivered his speech. He put the smile back on his face as he said, “I look forward to hearing from you.”    The video message reached its end and silence descended. Everyone sat, staring at the screen like they couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then the silence was broken. “Play it again,” Keith said. “If you don’t mind. I need to see it again.”    Allura watched the video for the seventh time as she replayed it for the paladins. The silence after the video ended was even longer this time. When nobody asked her to replay it once more, she turned away from the screen and back to face everyone. “That is why I’ve brought you all here. I did not want to act without knowing all of your opinions, and I did not want to let this matter drop until tomorrow. I would like to have it dealt with as swiftly as possible, if you don’t mind my hurry. I fear what may happen should we wait to long to reply.”    “I get a bad feeling from that guy,” Hunk said. “He seems kinda dangerous, doesn’t he? That’s not just me, right? He’s like a vampire or something.”    “What’s a vampire?” Allura asked.    “A human legend,” Shiro told her. “Nocturnal humanlike creatures that drink the blood of the living. Not real. Nothing to worry about.”    “If vampires have any chance of being real,” Hunk continued, “that guy is one of them. I don’t trust him. I’d rather fight him than risk getting close to him. And besides, vampires aside, you know that city is swarming with fighters. He’d have no trouble cutting us off from each other and killing us. He’d have us outnumbered and outgunned around there. I don’t like that idea.” He rubbed his neck again for added effect.    Despite the silent tension in the room, Coran chuckled. “If he attacked, you kids would easily fight him off. You’re the strongest group in the universe! I’m not a paladin, unfortunately, but I worked closely with King Alfor for many, many years. Knowing one’s enemies is crucial. If he becomes an enemy to us in the way his father was, having gone to meet him early on would give us an advantage we wouldn’t otherwise have.”    Pidge nodded. “Coran’s got a point. I mean, we took out his dad, didn’t we? We could totally take a wimpy prince. Did you guys see his hair? Come on. That’s not the hair of someone who does battle.” Her glasses had started to slide down her face as she had leaned forward to watch the video. She pushed them back up into place. “I’d like to see what’s goin’ on around there. I bet there’s a bunch of neat junk laying around, too. We all know my last attempt at adding boosters to one of the pods didn’t go so well, but if I could pick up some dumb Galra tech and smarten it up a bit…”    Coran practically glowed with pride. He knew he liked that kid for a reason.    “We shouldn’t go,” Keith said. “He’s trying to sweet talk us into a trap. There’s no way he actually wants us to make an alliance or some shit. He wants our heads on a silver platter. You guys didn’t forget that he’s the son of a homicidal maniac, right?”    Shiro looked over at Keith and said, “The son of one. He isn’t necessarily his father.”    “Don’t tell me you actually believed that line,” he replied. “He’s Galra, Shiro. They aren’t exactly trustworthy.”    “You’re Galra,” Shiro reminded him.    “Not completely.”    “Not the point. Look, I’m not suggesting we make friendship bracelets with the guy, okay? But after everything we’ve all been through since joining Voltron, there’s no way that he poses a threat that we can’t handle. I’m interested in what he has to say. If he’s telling the truthー”    “If.”    “If he’s telling the truth, yes, we could put an end to this. We could end this war once and for all. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think that’s worth the risk.”    Keith looked away. “No. I’m sorry, Shiro, but I don’t trust him. We shouldn’t go.”    Before those two could get in any trouble, Hunk spoke up. “Hey, uh, Lance? You’ve been quiet. What’re you thinkin’ over there?”    Lance shrugged. He was still exhausted, his stomach was painfully empty, and he had been having the best dream when Coran woke him up. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of this, and yet, there he was. Dealing with it. Because he was a part of Voltron and his life wasn’t his own anymore. As long as the war was on, as long as the Galra empire was still expanding and enslaving and destroying, his life belonged to the universe and the people who lived in it. He was mostly okay with that, but… getting a break would be really, really nice. That was why he said, “I agree with Shiro.”    It wasn’t just that he still, to this day, had a bad case of hero-worship towards the guy. How could he not? Shiro was strong and brave and obviously gorgeous. He was the kind of person Lance had always wanted to be, even though he was the kind of person Lance could never be. He just wasn’t made of the same stuff that Shiro was. Shoving all of that to the side for the moment, Shiro was right. If they talked to Lotor, if they somehow managed to work out an alliance, they might be able to stop fighting. He could get a full night’s sleep again. He could go home, see his family, go down to the beach and feel the sand under his feet again.    He was being selfish, thinking that way. He knew that. The real prize of an alliance would be to halt the expansion of the empire and to better the lives of the people who already lived in it. Of course he wanted that. Of course he wanted to help as many people as he possibly could. He didn’t want anyone to suffer. Even if he never got to go back home, as long as he could make things better for someone, for everyone, for anyone, he would be happy. He really would.    “Seriously, Lance?” Keith asked.    He nodded. “Yeah. I get why you and Hunk are all freaked out about it, but we’re talking about the greater good here. Nobody’s saying we have to trust him. We just have to go and listen to him for a few minutes. If someone tries to kill us, we kill them.” He looked down at the floor before he said the next part. “And besides. I don’t think he’d go through all this trouble if he’s planning on killing us if we go. I’m sure he has better things to do with his time. I thought he was very polite.”    Keith’s jaw dropped. “Polite?”    “Well he wasn't being rude,” Lance replied.    “That doesn't mean we can trust him.”    Allura sighed. “Keith.”    He looked over to her. “Are you gonna take his side?”    “If it's any comfort to you, I do not trust him either. However, there are seven of us in this room. Four of us think we should see what he has to say.” She sighed. “We are outnumbered here. I will let the majority rule.”    Keith and Hunk groaned in unison. Allura dismissed them to do whatever they chose, be it going back to bed or to throw together some breakfast and get the day started. The room slowly emptied, Keith being the first to stand and walk out. Lance realized then that Keith had been counting on him to back him up and take his side, to agree that the alien man that probably killed his own father to take the throne wasn't the best company to keep. Maybe Hunk had been counting on him too, especially considering how he got such a bad case of the spooks from Lotor. Would Allura be mad at him, too? He hoped not. It wasn't like he was trying to make their lives difficult or to disagree with Keith just for the sake of disagreeing with him. For some reason, he genuinely believed that Lotor meant what he said.    “Lance,” Allura said as he stood. “Shiro. Would the two of you mind helping me to put together a proper response? I’m not overly confident in my ability to have a civilized interaction with him at the moment.”    Shiro nodded. “No problem.”    “Shiro’s way more eloquent than I am,” Lance said, trying desperately to keep his emotions from coming through in his voice. “I don't think I'd be much help.”    Allura’s face softened, like she could just tell that Lance was afraid she'd be angry with his decision. It looked like he wasn't as good at keeping his feelings to himself as he had thought. “You have faith in him, for some reason.  If we can take those feelings and Shiro’s words and my diplomacy, I believe we will have the best possible chance at a favorable outcome.” She held out her hand welcomingly. “Come help us.”    There was a fondness in her eyes. He wanted to punch himself for thinking that she, of all people, would be angry at him for it. If anyone was mad at him for what he said, it'd be Keith. Keith was always irritated at everyone, really, so there really wasn't much of a point in worrying about it. That wouldn't stop him from thinking about it, though.    Shiro had the same look on his face as Allura, though perhaps with a bit more pride. Like he was proud of Lance for saying what he thought and being ready to take the risk of walking into a possible ambush because the meeting just might result in peace.    He felt incredibly ridiculous as he looked at the kind expressions they had for him. He smiled as he walked over to stand with them and said, “Yeah, alright. Let’s do this.” If Allura wanted his emotions for their response, she could have them. He would tell her that he could have sworn that he could feel his honestly, heard the truth in his words, seen warmth in his eyes. He couldn't explain why he felt that way and he certainly couldn't say that he was positive that he wasn't being played by a skilled liar, but he really believed that Lotor was being truthful.    They ended up with a written message saying something along the lines of, “We have considered your offer and most graciously accept your kindness, blah blah blah, however,  do not expect us to give up our weapons while we’re there, blah blah blah, attack us and we fight back.” A good chunk of the message was formal bullshit that Lance didn't even want to attempt to sort through, another chunk could have been completely done away with. He couldn't help but be proud of himself when Allura and Shiro worked to put Lance’s feelings into words in order to tell Lotor that they had faith that he was being truthful with them.    For a long time, Lance hadn't felt like anything special. He hadn't been good enough in the Garrison and he hadn't felt good enough among the ranks of Voltron, among all of those brilliant and strong people he was surrounded by every single day. He messed up. A lot. And he was scolded for it. A lot. There had been a time where he even thought that they'd all be better off without him, that he should take a pod and leave and try to figure out how to get back to Earth on his own. Everyone always outshined him anyways. They'd be able to find another blue paladin easily enough. What use did they have for Lance?    Hunk had been the first to catch on to Lance’s self-depreciation. Lance had always played the role of the cocky bastard, sure of himself in everything he did and positive that he was an absolute ladykiller. Hunk knew better. He knew Lance for what he really was: a boy who always felt like he was mediocre at best, the kind of person who was easily replaced and forgotten, and was often only able to find comfort in the fact that he had a large family that loved him. He had once told Hunk that, even if he thought nobody else in the universe cared about him, he could go home and he would feel loved again. Hunk had been the first person outside of Lance’s family to hear about his being bisexual. He had said it like it was such an awful word, like something he had to be ashamed of. Hunk had been there to help him through the awful period of time where he tried to pretend that it wasn't true, that he was completely straight and no man could ever win his affections. And Hunk had been there when Lance said “fuck it” and came to terms with it.    Of course he had noticed when Lance was acting despondent. He had listened to Lance when he broke down when Hunk asked him about it. He had helped him approach the others and tell them how he was feeling. And Lance had been astounded when they listened and stunned when he started to get apologies and support and praise. Traces of that time and those doubts still lingered in his mind as negativity was bound to do, but that misery had somehow strengthened the bonds he had with everyone. It had made them all stronger. Lance finally felt like he was really meant to be a part of the team. Ever since then, in matters big or small, they made sure he was included. They made sure to tell him when they were impressed by something he had done. He no longer thought about running away, no, he now thought about continuing to run with them all down the path they had started on the moment Shiro had come back to Earth.    Being included in things like this, having people really value the things he felt and said, was indescribable after all the time he spent thinking he was worthless. He knew better, now. He knew they cared about him. Yeah, Keith would be irritated with him for a while after disagreeing with him, but it would pass. It always did.    They sent the message off to Lotor. He hadn't requested for a video message to be sent in response to his own, much to the relief of the three who had been working on their reply. While they were waiting for the next message from him, Shiro went to get them something to eat. He returned with three bowls of space goop and three drink packets, saying that Hunk had served up the food for them and made Shiro and Lance’s portions a bit more edible according to the human tongue. Allura’s was left untouched. She had never understood why they complained so much about it. It was a miracle that their food machines still worked after those ten thousand years they were left untouched. They had done well eating foods from other cultures they had encountered thus far, so maybe the castle’s food systems just didn't match up with humans.    The three of them had barely begun to eat their breakfasts when a new message came in. It was not a video, just a short paragraph of text saying what coordinates to go to and when. Lance was about to swallow a mouthful when he saw the time Lotor wanted them to be there. He almost choked to death on his food.    Lotor wanted to meet them in five hours.    Oh, hell.   *      The problem wasn't getting there. The problem was getting ready to be there. Allura and Coran, as the original residents of the castle, had wardrobes of clothes they could choose from that already fit them. Clothes that were formal and fancier than anything any of the paladins had ever worn, clothes than were mostly armor, and some that were a bit of both. It was Coran who took the paladins around the castle, checking out abandoned quarters with the hopes of finding nice outfits that would fit all of them. “You can't go in your armor,” he said. “Wearing armor to a formal meeting can be seen as an aggressive act! We don't want to provoke anyone, especially in a city full of Galra.”    “There’s no way you’re gonna find clothes that’ll fit us,” Pidge said as they walked down the hall towards another empty room. “I mean, I don’t know if there’s as much variation in Altean forms as human forms, but. Let’s be real. Shiro’s massive and I’m, like, a fuckin’ gremlin. There’s no way.”    Coran waggled a finger and went tsk, tsk. “Never doubt the fashion abilities of Alteans. I promise I will find outfits for all of you. We have children’s clothes around here, too. Although, I do hope none of you have an aversion to cool colors. We don’t wear many warm colors.”    Pidge sighed as Coran started to go on about the colors that Alteans liked to wear back in the day. She’d never get to wear adult clothes, would she? She’d be stuck wearing junior’s sized clothes until the day she died. Everyone tried to tell her that it’d be just fine and she still had plenty of time to grow and she totally wouldn’t stay that tiny forever, but the people who said that shit were the ones who didn’t know anything about what it was like to be chronically short. It was a curse.    She ended up in children’s clothes, sure enough. A little boy’s clothes, as per her request, as she’d be damned before she started prancing around in a pretty dress. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of actually being a girl, nor was it that she just hated skirts and that sort of thing, not really. It was just a matter of preference at this point. Skirts were just so… ugh. How did anyone survive in those things? She preferred pants a thousand times over, thank you very much. So Coran made sure she ended up in a nice pair of pants, navy blue with gold accents, a white shirt that went underneath an overly fancy jacket that matched the pants, and a pair of white boots. Knee-high boots that were rather nice, all things considered. She could hide a knife in each boot and easily reach them if she needed them. And the jacket hung down farther in the back than it did in the front, draping over the belt that held the pants in place. That extra fabric allowed her to attach her bayard to the belt and keep it hidden from immediate sight. She liked it.    Hunk was the next recipient of an outfit, it being not much different from Pidge’s but for size and color. His was mostly a rich shade of brown instead of blue, the boots black instead of white. He arranged his own weaponry in a manner very similar to Pidge. Keith was the first to get a color close to what he was used to, endin up with a dark maroon outfit with white accents and black boots. His was a bit frillier than the previous two; Coran had announced that the person who last lived in the room they got that set from had been rather liberal about his style of dress, which included the addition of frills here and there. Lance, similar in body to Keith, was also dressed in frills from that same wardrobe. His color scheme was nearly the same at Pidge’s, though his blue was midnight instead of navy. Shiro was the only one who got to wear colors he was used to when Coran managed to dig up a black outfit with white accents, white boots. Of course he was the easiest to find a matching color for. Black was so unfair to everyone else, for which Shiro apologized profusely. He was that kind of guy.    By the time they were all dressed in their awkward Altean clothes, weapons hidden away in the folds of leather boots and cloth, armor in places they could put it without being too obvious, Allura had finished her own business of getting ready. Even women from space took great care in their appearances, apparently. She was dressed in a pink-ish purple dress, somehow very different from what she usually wore without being uncharacteristic. Her hair had been done up into a crown of intricate braids that she had accomplished with the help of the mice. Formal hairstyles for Altean women were, evidently, fucking ridiculous and took insane amounts of time to put together. A few hours to find outfits for all of the paladins, what with their size and shape variations? Sure. A few hours for Allura alone to get herself into a warrior princess’s dress and a crown of her own hair? That was a bit harder to justify. But they had to do it, she said. They couldn’t afford to appear like they didn’t care about the meeting, nor could they keep him waiting.    And so when everyone was ready and they had thought about some of the nice things they’d say to the Emperor, it was time to go. Lotor had put a massive time crunch on them, demanding they be there so fucking soon. He couldn’t wait a day or two, could he? He just had to insist they show up within just a few hours. Impatience must have come with his position.    A hop, skip, and a wormhole jump later, they arrived at the coordinates Lotor had given them. He was waiting for them.

Natalie didn't have a problem with the Staff Bots. While at first glance she had been a little wary of them, she quickly learned that they were harmless. They didn't act like they were possessed, so they didn't act human like Freddy did, but they were pretty docile. Except the one handing out maps, in which case that might've been part of its job. The Security Bot wasn't much different to what she had seen. As she sat down to check the cameras, the bot absentmindedly circled around the room behind her. Occasionally it would stop at a wall and stare for a moment before turning itself around and rolling back. Not exactly the intimidating bodyguard she wished it was, but it almost felt like there was someone else in the room. Also, unlike the Mop Bot- or what she assumed- the Security Bot had managed to figure out stairs. His large wheels would carefully lift him from step to step and he smoothly followed onto the second floor. Natalie was surprised, a little impressed, and moderately concerned about how this would work coming back. It did though, and the bot followed her on her first and second rounds. Speaking of her second rounds, she had heard footsteps walking around in Kids Cove while walking the second floor of the atrium- deciding to take the first floor on the first set, second on second, and so on. She hustled over to the side of the walkway where she could peek down into the playground, equally expecting to see Foxy or the rabbit wandering around inside. Instead, she found neither. It was none other than Freddy Fazbear himself walking around down in the playground. He didn't seem to be feverishly searching this time, but he was still looking around for something. Natalie sighed and shined her flashlight down on him, causing his head to snap up. "What are you doing down there, Freddy?" she asked tiredly. "Officer Vanessa! I was just… stretching my legs. My apologies, I will return to my room," he quickly said. A little too quickly. "Relax, I'm not sending you to your room. What did I tell you the other day? I'm not going to make you stay in your room. The only reason I took Chica back to hers was because she was unsteady," Natalie said. He seemed a little relieved, but it was short lived. "Come on. What are you really looking for, Freddy?" "I-I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about." Freddy was, unfortunately, terrible at lying. His eyes flickered back and forth all over the place, his voice stuttered, and even he sounded unconvinced with his explanation. Natalie decided she wasn't going to play around with him long. "Freddy, enough. I know that Foxy's been sneaking in, and I know you were hiding him in your room last night." Freddy gasped and froze up for a second. "I… I…" Then he suddenly turned and bolted. Natalie furrowed her brows at him. "Freddy, where are you going?!... Oh." Exasperation fizzled out as she realized he wasn't running away, but upstairs so he could loop around and meet up with her. He hastily jogged over and came to a stop before her and the Security Bot. "Please do not tell anyone that you saw Foxy," Freddy desperately pleaded. His hands clasped and fingers laced together. "I know he was not supposed to be here, but there could be serious consequences for us both if anyone found out… Besides, it is my fault that he stayed as long as he did. I think he came to see Kids Cove, but I was the one who invited him back to my room." "You understand why he can't be in here, right?" Natalie asked. "I know you do, because you knew to hide him." "I, erm, I am aware." "If Foxy was found out, who knows what would happen to him. It's not even a matter of being locked up somewhere; there's a good chance he wouldn't make it back to his pizzeria. The technicians here might shut him down, move him into the basement- at best, because they might see him as a threat and totally take him apart," she forewarned. Her scare tactic must've worked because he looked rather frightened with wide pupils and an agape mouth. "You're not in trouble, and neither is Foxy right now, but that's only because I'm cutting you both a break," Natalie said with a little more sympathy. Freddy nodded and lowered his head in shame. "I'm not going to report Foxy, but if I see him again, I'm cracking him over the back of the head with my flashlight." Freddy's head popped up and mouth dropped in aghast. "…Okay, that was a joke, but I will not-literally wring his neck if he sneak in here." "I see. I will tell him if I see him…" Freddy agreed. "Good. Thanks." Natalie wasn't exactly happy with having to knock Freddy down like this, but Foxy's safety was the main importance. Freddy's too, as she couldn't predict what Fazbear Entertainment would do if he kept getting caught wandering around when he wasn't supposed to. Let alone breaking security protocol in such a way. She sighed and affirmed, "Look, I'm not trying be hard on you. I'm just doing my job." "No, no. I understand," Freddy assured. He lifted his head and returned to a more neutral look, though it could've been a cover. "Thank you for not telling on us. I will return to my room now." "I'm not telling you to return to your room. You can do whatever you want to, okay? As long as you're not in danger, you're free to do whatever you want," she said. His eyes glanced up towards the corner thoughtfully. "Hmm… I think I may go down to the Pizza Bar- if that is alright with you," he half-asked. She knew he was going to go watch the area where Foxy came in and yet she didn't call him out on it. She gave him an approving nod. "Anywhere you want, just be careful." "I will. I do not have much trouble on the stairs myself," Freddy said with a tinge of amusement. Of course he would assume that was what she meant. "I will be seeing you!" Even when saying that, Freddy walked alongside Natalie as she and her Security Bot companion returned to the elevators to the lobby. They exchanged a wave before he turned to hear to the stairs. She watched him disappear before heading into the lift with her bot. After that point, the evening seemed to get a little quieter. Natalie returned to the lost and found while her bot companion started rolling around the fountains. Which was fine by her as elsewise it would've just been circling around behind her. At least like this it had a chance of actually spotting something. She meanwhile returned to the cameras to take a quick look around. There had been no sign of the rabbit woman tonight. This should've been a relief, but not knowing where she was made Natalie even more antsy. Which hit its crescendo when an alarm went off on the computer, causing her to jump slightly in her seat. She hastily checked the map and realized that it was out in the lobby by the front door. The Security Bot must've spotted something. "That's got to be her," she guess quickly. Yet before she could even get up, a second alarm popped up on the screen right beside the initial one. "What…?" She didn't question it long. Instead, she sprung from her seat and made a mad dash out of the lost and found, sprinting across the lobby and towards the source of the alarm. She could already catch a glimpse of the Security Bot around the corner with its flashlight raised and its body rigid as it stared something down. She pushed through the turnstiles and raced around the corner. Only to find that the white and grey being that the Security Bot had cornered was not the rabbit woman but the Mop Bot. Both were blaring obnoxiously loud alarms as they stared each other down. The Security Bot shining his flashlight into the other's face, the other waving its hand as though to flag down help. "…Are you kidding me?" Natalie huffed. She walked over to them and pushed the Security Bot back to break their stare. "Whatever this is, you two stop it." They had the presumed gall to then silently stare at her like she was the one who was out of line. She turned to the Security Bot. "He's not what you're supposed to be on the lookout for. He's supposed to be here," she said. He either nodded or proceeded to size her up, and she was almost positive in either regard that it was a reflex and not any real acknowledgement. She sighed and beckoned back towards the lobby. "Alright, let's go. You're hanging out in the lost and found with me." He must've gotten that as he started to roll past. Natalie looked back to the Mop Bot who watched him leave before looking back at her. "You're fine, buddy. Just keep doing what you're doing," she said in a gentler, assuring tone. It occurred to her that he probably didn't understand, but she felt somewhat protective of it regardless, since from the dent it was obviously the same bot who fell down the stairs. It looked for her a moment longer before beginning to mop again. "There you go. Good job," she encouraged before walking back towards the turnstile. As Natalie was crossing through, she looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of something on the second floor. It was sudden, a blur, just like what she saw on the stairs. "Who's there?!" she called out. She was answered by the clatter of the daycare hallway doors opening. She immediately broke into a sprint and hastily climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her hand already clutched around the taser hanging off her belt as she barged through into the daycare hallway. She couldn't see anything, but she heard a clicking and realized it was the door to the men's bathroom closing. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she began to slowly creep towards the door. She unhooked the taser from her belt and switched it with her flashlight, which she now poised high in her left hand. She was careful to be as quiet as possible as she slowly moved in on the door, sidling along the wall, her heart pounding as she braced herself for what she was about to do, a very foolish and risky maneuver. Mustering up all of her courage, Natalie steadied herself and then rammed through the bathroom door. She felt it collide with something on the other side before swinging open. "Freeze!" she yelled. She aimed both the flashlight and taser ahead and prepared for a fight. But instead of a fight she got yet another Staff Bot, one significantly different than the others she had seen. It was designed to be more feminine with molded blue hair, painted eyelashes, and a purple dress with painted on buttons and apron. It was rolling back away from her. Natalie's face dropped from both relief and exhaustion. "Oh… Sorry, I thought you were someone else. I didn't mean to knock you around," she apologized. Knowing that she probably set off an alarm slamming into it. The lady bot stopped rolling back and stiffly raised a hand as though in greeting. Natalie noticed how strange it looked in contrast to the other Staff Bots' behavior but found the suspicion dropping when its stiltedly dropped its arm and did a big, awkward circle around her to try and get to the bathroom door. She stepped out of the way so it could slip by. "I'm really sorry!" she called after the lady bot as it took a sharp right and started heading down to the daycare. She didn't even know why she tried, but it almost made her feel less embarrassed. She watched the bot roll to the end of the hallway and stop outside the security door for the daycare, scanning the rest of the hallway and only turning back to the lobby door when she was sure the area was clear. She didn't notice the bot turn around on the other side of the security door to watch her. Nor the yellowed arm that reached out pulled it away enough that the door could shut. Natalie pushed open the doors to the lobby and immediately gained a befuddled look upon seeing that the Security Bot wasn't alone. "Hello again! I heard a Staff Bot alert and came to check and see if everything was alright," Freddy said. His semi-excited tone betrayed that he probably expecting something else, likely Foxy. "It's fine, Freddy. This one here got in a dispute with the one that fell down the stairs, and then I, uh… Got a little too gung-ho and crashed into a lady bot in the bathroom… It's all good. She's alright and I'm heading back to my post." "I see! Then you do not need my assistance. Just know that I am not far away if you do," he offered warmly. "You said the Staff Bot who fell is here?" "Right over by the front door if you want to drop in and say hi," Natalie offered. She started back to the stairs while beckoning the Security Bot with her hand. It followed obediently, as did Freddy. "Sorry, I'm just a little on edge." "Because of Foxy? Do not worry about him! He is very friendly," Freddy insisted. She shook her head. "Not him… Don't worry about it, I've got it under control." She was hesitant to mention the rabbit to him. Not because she thought he would have some kind of intense reaction, but because he was very open with his thoughts and feelings. If she told him something, there was too high of a chance that it would come out to someone else, and she needed as much control as she could have on the situation. Even when it felt like she had very little. Thankfully, Freddy didn't press and while she and her Security Bot headed into the lost and found, he headed over to check on the Mop Bot. She didn't blame him; the poor thing needed a close eye on it. Natalie was starting to feel a little winded and was ready to settle into her chair for at least an hour or so. She let the bot in before dropping into the chair and pulling up her bag into her lap, fishing through for a protein bar to chew at while watching the cameras, then scooted up to the desk. Only to notice there was a folded piece of paper tented on the keyboard. She froze up as she saw it, pausing in tearing open the plastic to stare at it, then picking it up and opening it to see what was written inside: Are you having fun yet? Natalie's stomach twisted up as she read it. She put the paper and bar down and was on the cameras in a heartbeat, flipping wildly through. Or she would've been if the cameras weren't tellingly slow, and just like before she couldn't find anything on them. But she didn't have to see the rabbit to know it was there. Suddenly all that confidence Natalie had earlier was gone in an instant. The taser didn't help, the bot circling behind her didn't make her feel any safer, and she still had no idea where it was other than knowing it was close by. After clicking through the lobby cameras, she made a very sudden decision. One that could possibly be a mistake, but one that she needed to make regardless. Standing from her chair, she hastily, but cautiously, made her way back out into the lobby. Her security bot following closely behind. It didn't take her long to spot Freddy past the turnstiles. "Hey, Freddy!" she called over. He looked back at her. "What do you think about hanging out for a while?" "I would love to!" So, he did. Freddy seemed more than eager for any type of socialization- which was odd since his entire band seemed to be as aware as he was- so he hung around in the lost and found with no complaint. It didn't make things any less uncomfortable really. She could tell when the cameras suddenly bogged down, and she caught the faintest sounds of movement in between their talking, but she never saw it. She never saw the rabbit, but she knew she was there. Waiting, watching. After a night like that, waking up after only five hours of sleep was the last thing Natalie wanted, but there was her cellphone ringing. She peeled up her sleep mask with her thumb as she reached for the phone with her other hand. "Hello?" she answered groggily. "Hello." That was the last voice Natalie ever expected to be calling her. She recognized it right away as the hushed voice of Baby. Her silence must've come off as questioning as Baby continued into an explanation. "I know you must be surprised to hear my voice, but it is urgent that I speak to you. I know you have been spending your nights in that new Freddy's." There was a bitter tinge to the name, but the rest was rather mild, and it was hard to guess what she wanted. Though Natalie knew she wanted something if she was calling. They never had the best relationship. Baby had apologized and Natalie had gotten over the 'scissor incident', as she called it, but they didn't spend enough time communicating to have much beyond an acquaintanceship. "That's right," Natalie replied. Her grogginess came through on her voice. "Why, what's up?" she asked. Hoping this wasn't going to lead to a request to be let inside. "I have some questions about the location. About the animatronics inside…" Baby said. Her voice quieter, as though to hide what she was saying. "…Did you see anyone… familiar while you were in there?" "What?" Natalie's brain wasn't awake enough to sort out that vagueness. "Is there a new Circus Baby?" she asked much more bluntly. "Uh, no? Not that I've seen, and there's no Baby themed restaurants or anything." "Oh…" Baby said. She waited a long second and then, before Natalie could speak, swiftly asked, "You wouldn't hide it from me if there was, would you? I can handle it; I just want to know." "Baby, no. I don't have any reason to hide that from you," Natalie said, managing a gentle tone even though exhausted, trying to talk the clown down. "I'll admit that I haven't seen all of the animatronics, but I haven't seen any posters, any signs, anything for you or anything that even looks like you." "But there could be?" "Maybe, but I think I would've seen something." Natalie stifled a yawn. "Tell you what, I'll ask around tonight. Okay?" "Yes. Thank you… Forgive me for being blunt, but you sound awful." The blond smiled a little. "I rolled into bed at seven." "Then I will leave you be. Thank you for your time, and for being honest." From how quickly she was trying to get off the phone, she was probably uncomfortable. Natalie was fine with that so she could get back to sleep. "No problem. Talk to you later, Baby." Baby gave a hum as a goodbye and let the call end there. Though she wasn't fully satisfied in what she had received. Natalie had sounded sincere enough. She wasn't invested enough in Baby to lie on her behalf either, unlike some other parties. This was why she dared to ask her instead of someone who may feel reluctance… like Charlie. That was the problem, in fact. She had been updated daily at the pizzeria when Natalie came in and recounted what she had seen. Whether it be about the animatronics or the Staff Bots, who Charlie would go into deep, speculation-filled conversations about- which Baby barely understood but enjoyed listening to her passionate explanations- she was always upfront about what she knew or heard about the Pizzaplex. Until she wasn't. It was exactly when Charlie had told her about Foxy sneaking into the Pizzaplex that she began hiding something. Baby couldn't say she was shocked by the reveal and was sure enough that Foxy could handle himself if he had managed to get inside on his own, but she did notice that there was something being left out. Something that Charlie was tiptoeing around. Now, Baby trusted Charlie and knew that she would do whatever she could in her best interest, but that was exactly the problem. She could be shielding her from something, and if she was doing it now then it must've been serious. The only thing that she could imagine that would be horrible enough that Charlie would have to protect her from it would be that there was a new Circus Baby, or a new animatronic resembling her, or a rebrand, or something like that. Baby had made it very clear that she was worried about the prospect of being replaced and forgotten by an upgraded animatronic made to sap away her remaining identity, so Charlie could've been hiding it. Even Ennard hadn't had a great reaction when he found out about the weird sun animatronic with his voice. At the time he played off being curious and finding it 'neat', but Baby could see that competitive edge in his eye. That feverish questioning of what could possibly be encroaching on his identity, even though his voice was already just Funtime Freddy's with a tinge of a lower pitch. He might've smiled, but she knew it was driving him insane. The only thing worse would be not knowing, and Baby felt like she was in that boat. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing she didn't know about. Scott had done something rather odd today, which inadvertently set off Baby's quest for knowledge. This morning he had tried to slip in a large package while Ennard was still asleep and she was in her room, but she had caught him after hearing him coming in with it. He slipped it into his office and hadn't mentioned it to either of them for hours, and after this long she was suspecting he wasn't going to. There were no gift-giving holidays coming up and neither of their would-be birthdays either, so she doubted they were gifts. She wasn't naïve enough to see a box being brought in and assume it was gifts. It was just something that Scott was hiding and that was weird. She hadn't mentioned it to Ennard yet- distracted with this whole Pizzaplex replacement Baby thing- but she was sure to mention it to him later. Of course, she could've always asked Scott, but she found that Ennard was better at getting answers out of him. Though that could wait. Scott hiding things wasn't the problem, it was just peculiar timing. After hanging up the phone, she rolled out of the office to check if Scott and Ennard had overheard her. They hadn't, still sitting where she had left them; Scott sitting in his armchair reading and Ennard stretched out on the couch and watching television, both sharing the same bowl of popcorn. Both looked properly distracted and she decided to leave them as such, save one interruption. "I'm going to use the computer," Baby announced. "Go right ahead," Scott answered. He didn't react in any way out of the ordinary, so she rolled back into the office and shut the door halfway. She rolled over to the computer and turned it on, and after a few minutes of booting she found herself online. Her fingers danced across the keys as she eagerly typed 'Freddy Fazbear Megaplex Circus Baby' into the search engine. The results weren't exactly what she was looking for. She found the website for the "Pizzaplex" and scrolled down it, through paragraphs building up about all these attractions and their grand opening ceremony coming soon. Yet she found nothing relating to herself, or Circus Baby. She went through a few more results and the closest she could find was an article about "What happened to Circus Baby's Pizza World?" Which had very little information other than some speculation about the restaurant being built shoddy and a rather offensive suggestion that it was not a spinoff but a knock-off. She wasn't even sure why it irritated her. Next she looked up "Freddy Fazbear Mega Pizzaplex Animatronics" and found a page connected to the official website talking about the band itself. It was a dead end, just talking about the four faces of the franchise when she knew there was at least one other animatronic in that building. Nothing on Circus Baby's, though Roxanne Wolf's outfit almost looked like her original molded clothing design if she squinted and pretended really hard. After a while, the search boiled down to "Circus Baby Animatronics Still Functional" and she tried to hunt down any remaining animatronics like her. She had done this before but had given up when she couldn't find anything. This time she was more than determined, searching through what she could find: an online auction of some props, footage of a birthday party featuring a Ballora that might've been hers. Then, finally, there was a result that caught her eye. It was a webpage for an amusement park called Fairyland Park, which wouldn't have been interesting if not for the "original Circus Baby's animatronics" highlighted in the description. She hastily clicked to pull it up. The park itself looked rather unimpressive from the pictures and she couldn't see any of the animatronics themselves. Baby almost thought she had been misled when she spotted the highlighted line in the entertainment paragraph. It listed off live music and performances by various local singers, whom Baby couldn't care less about, and original Circus Baby's animatronics. No pictures, no other descriptions, she couldn't even tell if it was a full band. "One of them must be a Baby," she thought. "Otherwise they would've said they were from Freddy's. Both Freddy and Foxy were recognizably Freddy's own. So, unless it is Ballora, Freddy, and Foxy all together, there must be a Baby." That brought up an uneasy idea, "Unless it is my band… No. Don't be stupid. There's no way they could've been repaired. They were barely keeping it together even before they met the furnace." That was an uncomfortable thought to think of. An equal mix of guilt at her actions and anger at there's. "May they rest in peace… and stay there." Which finally led her back to the issue at hand. There was very likely a working Circus Baby animatronic in that park right then and there. …And she decided she wanted to see it. She didn't care how dinky and unthreatening the park itself looked. She wanted to see if they had a real Baby and how it looked and functioned in comparison to her. Now there were two ways she could go about this. The one would be to wait until nighttime and sneak out. Get someone who can drive on board, like Charlie or that redhead who was so wowed by Ennard- maybe even get Ennard on it if she was sure he wouldn't tell on her- drive the- she quickly looked up the city online- two-to-three-hour drive there, sneak in, see the other Baby, slip out and home, get in without alerting Scott, and tell him later on. Or she could just ask Scott to take her. Without another moment wasted, she rolled out into the living room. She didn't have much confidence in this plan even though it was arguably the right thing to do. It must've showed on her face when she rolled up beside him, because he got a look of concern when he saw her. "What's wrong, Baby?" Scott asked gently. So warm and friendly, unaware of what she was about to ask. "Scott, can I ask you something?" she began. "Sure. What's on your mind?" he asked, pulling off his glasses. "It's such a silly thing… I know you are going to be against it. I just know what the reaction's going to be," she said. "Maybe not. Ask away." "But I suppose it is better to ask you than to slip out and do something rash without trying. That has never truly worked in the past, has it? I should be upfront and honest." "…I'm not sure if I like the way this is going, but okay?" Scott said, now starting to get a feel of what was coming. Baby noticed that look of hesitation but decided to go ahead and continue with it. "There is a still working Circus Baby animatronic at an amusement park called Fairyland and I want to go see it. Will you take me?" she asked. She tried to soften her voice in the hope that would soften him up. Much to her dismay, she sounded more pitiful and childish than she intended to. The reaction was immediate, with Scott fully embracing the startled look and even Ennard's head snapping up to look at her. "There is?! How'd you find that one out?" the other clown asked. Baby slouched a little and confessed, "I was looking to see if there was a Circus Baby at the Pizzaplex. I spoke to Natalie on the phone and she said she didn't think there was, but she wasn't certain. However, I have doubts, and their website is not to be trusted. That's when I found this place, Fairyland Park, and they were saying that the have a Circus Baby band of some capacity, which likely means they have a Baby." "Quick question: what's this got to do with the maybe Baby at Freddy's?" Ennard asked. Baby stared blankly for a moment, having mostly forgot the immediate connection. "…It doesn't. I just want to see this other Circus Baby too. That will soften the blow when I find out about the one at Freddy's," she suggested. "Who said there was a Circus Baby's at the Pizzaplex?" Scott asked. As bizarre as this all was, he couldn't help but notice that her tone was out of sorts and her logic was jumping in a way it didn't typically. She was beginning to sound genuinely upset; he had no idea she was frantically searching for answers like this. Just the unsureness as he eyes darted away and back felt telling. "Nobody said it. It was more what they didn't say," she said. She looked away again, her eyes crawling along the floor. "I just have this… feeling that everyone knows something, and they aren't telling me. Trying to shield me or protect me, and that is the only thing I could think of them hiding." Her eyes finally locked on the TV screen before she turned her head away with a disgruntled sound. "I hate this commercial." "Yeah, me too. Baby, you know we wouldn't do that. It's alright to be scared about Freddy's, I am, but you know that nobody's going to hide anything like that from you," Scott gently assured. "I don't know what to think. The last time I spoke to Charlie about the Pizzaplex she did that halting talking she does when she's anxious, when she's trying to avoid something but fumbles in doing so with halts big enough to see through. Between her speech impediment and your enormous box, and now this other Baby, I feel like-." "Hold up. What box?" Ennard asked. Turning himself enough to prop his head on his elbow. "-I don't have a grasp of much that's going on," Baby finished. She huffed a little, flashing a scolding sort of look at the other clown's interruption, and then recalled what she said. "It's nothing. It's just this large box that came in the mail. The least of our problems considering I'm having a crisis." Ennard looked to Scott with a smiling tilt."Scottie, did you buy us a puppet?~" he playfully asked. "N-No, no. It's not that. It's just…" Scott hadn't expected either to find out about it this early but wasn't too surprised. After all, it was sitting in the office. There was a good chance someone was going to take notice. He had planned on bringing it out sometime tonight, having stalled because of his own nerves about the reaction. He guessed this was as good a time as ever to get it out. "You know what? I'll show you. Wait here." Scott set his book on the armchair's armrest and got up to head into the office, which surprised Baby. She hadn't expected him to be so willing to show her what he was hiding. "I sleep in one day and you go out and make a kid without me!" Ennard called after him. He then looked back to Baby, head propped, and eyes lidded. "So, what's the place like?" "Wouldn't you rather come with me and find out…?" Baby coyly offered. Ennard's eyes widened. "Wha- me? No, no, no, no, no. Not without the van, not without Scott, nope. No more dying on the side of the road," he quickly denied. His eyes darted between her and the office door, making sure he hadn't been heard. Baby hummed. "I suppose I should be happy to hear that… In this case, perhaps not." She didn't say anything further as Scott returned with the large box. He rested it on the back of the pouch. "Alright, here we go! Ennard, come on up. It's for you," Scott said. Ennard shot upright and was over the opposite armrest and swooped around the back of the couch in an instant. "For me?! Aww, you shouldn't have! You didn't have to!" the clown said. Though it was clear that he was barely holding himself back from tearing apart the box. Scott slid it to him and watched as he eagerly pulled open the flaps, which were already cut open, and pulled off some packing plastic. He was met by the sight of green fabric and the edge of a white frill. "Wait, what…" Ennard's volume dropped dramatically. Not in disappointment but in shock. He peeled more plastic back. "Is this- is this a…?" He got his fingers around the fabric and drew it out. It looked like the coat a ringleader would wear, though green in color and without coattails. Golden colored buttons lined two rows in the front, with a zipper hidden under an edge of fabric between them. The collar was a deeper, emerald color and edged with sequins that matched the buttons. The sleeve's cuffs matches the collar, but with an edge of a white frill lining it. Ennard's reaction hadn't kicked in yet. He was still staring at it in his hands, so Scott took the moment to chime up. "I know what this looks like, and it's not. I mean, it's not a costume. It looks like a costume, but if you feel the inside, you'll see it's not built like one," he quickly explained. He opened the jacket in Ennard's hands and felt along the inside. The inner lining having a much studier texture, fireproof and partially insulated, but dolled up on the outside. "Not like that flimsy stuff you get from the Halloween store and tears open when you move the wrong way." "Scott, did you…?" Ennard's voice sputtered, pitch wavering. "D-Did you- Is this a-…?" Suddenly it all caught up to him and his pupils widened in excitement as he clutched the jacket tightly. "Did you MAKE ME A SUIT?!" The change of volume was almost startling, but it brought an eager smile to Scott's lips as he watched the reaction play out before him. "Well, not really a suit. Just a… Uh, well, actually, I guess it would be a suit," he said. Ennard made a choke and a metallic wheeze as though buckling under his own emotions before holding out the jacket before him. "Th-This is AMA-Ammmaazing! It's like the real deal, really made for me, could've been the- wait! Wait, wait. You said suit, so you're saying there's…?!" Ennard held his tongue as he reached in and pulled aside more plastic. He spotted green and yellow fabric underneath. "THERE'S A WHOLE SUIT!" Scott chuckled a little. He had started to second-guess himself the moment the box got here, thinking Ennard might take some offense to the fact that he got him something more clown themed than traditional technician's coveralls. They definitely would've been cheaper, and probably would've lasted longer than these were going to, but he was just so thrilled as he hungrily dug through the box. The pants had one leg green and the other yellow and were made out of a slightly stretcher material, but otherwise looked like normal pants. There was a pair of new work gloves and boots in the bottom. These were relatively simple compared to everything else, just forest green to somewhat match the theme of the rest. There was a velveteen red ribbon in the bottom, likely to be tied in a box, and something else tightly wrapped in bubble wrap. Scott was practically relishing the other's reaction. "I take it you like it?" he jokingly asked. "Like it?! I LOVE it! Them! I LOVE ALL OF IT!" Ennard exclaimed. He swooped in and caught Scott in a tight hug between the jacket and pants. He giggled with glee before pressing the mouth of his mask to his forehead, mimicking a kiss noise, and noise squeaking as it bopped the top of his head. He quickly pulled him back to arm's length with an eager smile. "Where'd it even come from?!" "I knew a guy who used to make costumes for Freddy's. I had to pull a few favors with him, had to tell him I was working on a new project, but I got him on board! He made everything himself- except the shoes and gloves." "But this must've cost a fortune! Scott, you didn't have to do that for me. You know I would've been happy with anything," Ennard reassured. Though then proceeded to clutch the suit to his chest, excitement crackling in his voice. "…But not THIS happy, ha ha! It's my own suit! My own skin! Not some kinda hand me down refurbished Freddy's clown suit- it's mine! It was made for me!" He was nearly trembling. "I'm putting it on right now!" He eagerly spun the jacket around to his back and slid it on easily, it being just big enough to fit comfortably. Which was a big surprise considering that Scott had taken measurements some time ago to look for a jumpsuit. Turned out that the jumpsuit was just a delightful ruse to get his size. He restrained himself enough to carefully draw up the zipper, babying it in case it could break. While doing so, Ennard spotted the still wrapped object in the box and started to pull it out. "And what's this?" he coyly asked. Scott was quick to reach out and push it back down into the box. He made a head motion over towards. Ennard got the picture, a playful look budding across the joy. "Oooh," he said. The punctuated it with a click of his teeth and a wink. Up until this point Baby had just been staring at the scene in surprise. Not in the suit itself- though she had to admit that Scott managed to get something remarkably tasteful considering that it was such sharp colors- but the fact that the box had actually been gifts. She had gotten so into her own head that she just assumed it was something else. Maybe something from Freddy's, maybe parts, maybe inherited items from a deceased relatives, but nothing so innocuous. It sparked a memory in the back recesses of her mind. Vaguely she remembered sneaking into her father's bedroom and searching for early Christmas gift. She couldn't remember much except that she was sorely disappointed. That she had tried to climb onto something to reach the top shelf and then… And then she noticed the motion Scott had made towards her and took attention to it. "What?" she asked. "Oh well, since the jig is up…" he said, eagerly pulling the wrapped object out of the box. Ennard's reaction had given him a little more confidence and he handed the gift to Baby. "I didn't think it was fair to get Ennard something and not you." It was clearly a smaller gift in comparison to the suit, but Baby didn't feel any jealousy. Instead, her eyes lit up at the prospect of getting something for herself and she carefully peeled away the layers of bubble wrap, slowly revealing what was underneath. It didn't take her long to realize it was the shape of a top hat. It confused her until she finally pulled the plastic off the rest of the way and saw it. It looked like it might've been a refurbished Freddy's hat, though which model she couldn't identify. The black fabric had been replaced with a crushed red velveteen and was wrapped with an orange band. A small, fluffy, cream-colored faux feather stuck out from under said band. It was simple, but elegant. Almost like the hats Baby had seen in magazines, save the top hat design of it. "It's beautiful…!" Baby said quietly. She held it on her claw so she could trace it over with her fingers. "…It's well made. Nothing like a costume, so subdued, even the feather… It's not a hat a clown would wear, even with my coloring." Baby's quieter reaction was expected, and Scott could read in-between her words. Ennard was the one who wanted exaggerated costuming, Baby just wanted something simple and sublime. "You didn't have to. I would not have been jealous," she said. It wasn't the first gift she had received, but it felt so odd getting something for no specific reason. Not to mention that she wasn't feeling great about suspecting him now that she knew it was just her own paranoia. "No, no! I wanted to," Scott assured. "And don't feel pressured to wear it either." "I will… Wear it, I mean." Baby considered putting it on now and while she would've had to figure out how to fit it on over her crown shaped headpiece- or just removed and replaced it- she found herself surprisingly hesitant to do so. It was such a beautiful little hat, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to put it on. "…Thank you, Scott." He could hear the smile on her voice and smiled himself. He always had a way of making her feel like a child, though not necessarily in a bad way. It was soft and warm, even if only on the inside. Then the mood was ruined by Ennard thumping into the back of the couch while fumbling to get the pants on. He was then back in the box, plucking out the work gloves and pulling them on. "Oh, these are good. These are really good," he praised as he flexed his fingers in them. "And they've got that sort of grip on them! You can't believe how slippery stuff gets when you're nothing but wires." "Oh no, I believe you're slippery," Baby flatly said. This caught a giggle out of Ennard but, more importantly, a laugh out of Scott. She liked being the one to make him laugh. It made her hate what she was going to do next. "Scott?" "Yes, Baby?" "Now can we talk about Fairyland?" "…Oh, right!" Scott got a tight grin that didn't cover the anxious dread at all. He was probably hoping she had forgot. "Well, I just- let me just say that I'm so proud you came to me instead of just sneaking out and doing it on your own." That was not a good start. "But I don't know, it seems like it's a little risky?" he tentatively offered. "An amusement park- an open amusement park- is a way bigger deal than getting you guys into a closed down pizzeria where the doors are unlocked and there's no security. Plus, it's not… I don't think it would be… great to go find another Circus Baby. All it's going to do is upset you." "He's afraid you're gonna pull a Funtime Chica on her," Ennard translated. Slinging the ribbon around his neck and beginning to tie it in a large, neat bow. "That was different. I was unstable… and low on wiring," Baby defended, her voice tailing off at the end. She found it again though. "But this is different. I just want to see the other Baby; I don't want to destroy it. I didn't want to destroy Chica either, but my options were between her and him," she said, pointing past at Ennard. "In that case you made a good choice then, but still, I don't know…" Scott was very concerned and unsure about this whole thing. "…I think I need a little time to think about it. That's not a no, but just a… a maybe for now." "Of course. Take your time," Baby agreed, rather certain it was a no. For a moment she considered going back to Plan B and seeing if someone else could take her, but then her eyes dropped back down to that hat she was still holding. It was enough to fizzle out any defiance. Maybe that was his plan all along. She sighed and added, "I'm not going to be upset if you say no. Just consider it." "I will, I promise." "But first, consider this," Ennard chimed in. Now fully in his new suit he stuck a partial pose while tightening his bow. "Do I look great or what?" "Or what. You look fantastic," Scott said. The clown snickered. "Ha ha, great! Then I guess it's time to break it in," he said. That was his only warning before catching him in another tight hug. Nearly pulling him off his feet in the process. Baby scoffed a little at the scene, though more in an amused way than in distaste. Just dealing with these two was a little too much. Though it wasn't without its perks. One of which being the hat she still held. Scott did care and she would give him the benefit of being patient, assuaging her disappointment with her interest in the lovely, little hat. She couldn't wait to wear it. … Someday.

Jinx   When Vi learned I liked girls and not boys, she was excited to find out we had one more thing in common. Yet, the situation where that conversation came up was one of the most uncomfortable things to ever happen to me. Imagine being thirteen, one day you’re visiting your sister’s girlfriend when you meet one of her neighbors. It’s a girl your age, and she has the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard and a face comparable to an angel’s. Weeks pass by until she finally notices you and the two of you start to hang out almost on a daily basis. Everything is beautiful until one of your friends, who happens to be a boy, confesses to you in front of your crush and your sister.  And out of pure nervousness you use the opportunity to confess to your crush. Really mature, I know. On the bright side, I got my first girlfriend soon after. When I told Vi, she sat me down to explain that if I ever felt like my girlfriend was touching me inappropriately or forcing me to do things I didn’t like, then I should tell her and she would kick her ass for me. It was ironic because I was always the one who initiated things, and Vi to this day still believes I’m a virgin. It made me wonder if Vi cockblocked me on purpose.  When I started dating Zeri, the first thing Vi told me was that she liked Zeri much more than my ex. Caitlyn on the other hand, was heartbroken to hear I had gotten a new girlfriend, she thought breaking off my previous relationship was a mistake. We lasted for three whole years, my whole family loved her and she practically lived with us during that time, there wasn’t a day in which Zeri wasn’t over at my house. She was also the only one of my friends that knew every little detail about my life until the breakup. Maybe that’s why Vi had such a strong reaction to seeing me in bed with my ex and the girl I was trying to fuck. I didn’t tell her anything about Lux, but it wasn’t too hard to decipher what was going on.  “This isn’t a healthy coping mechanism,” she began. “You’ve been single for two months after a three year relationship, you’re clearly not taking it well. I don’t think it was the right choice to sleep in the same bed with your ex and… new friend. Those two were obviously uncomfortable with it.” I groaned, it wasn’t like I forced them to do anything. “I have eyes, I can tell they were uncomfortable but what the hell was I supposed to do about it?” “Jinx.” Vi took a very deep breath, that was a sign that she was going to choose her next words very carefully. We’ve been doing this for so long that I learned the patterns. “Making Zeri sleep on the same bed with not only you but also a girl you’re clearly attracted to was cruel. You don’t do that shit to people, to me it looks like you’re trying to make her mad on purpose, and I don’t like it when you get self destructive because innocent people get caught in the crossfire.” I wanted to laugh, the one time I wanted to do something nice, Vi thought I was being cruel. It’s not like I did it on purpose, and I was sure Zeri wasn’t going to take it personally.  “Do you need to say anything else? Can I go back inside now or are you going to force me to go help Vander again?” I asked. Words couldn’t describe the desperation I had over wanting to talk to Lux again. We needed to finish our game of 21 one questions, and I wasn’t going to let a perfectly good chance to finish it get away. I wanted to speed up the process to get her to be comfortable around me. “I want to have one serious conversation with you about your relationships without you running away from it. You don’t get to pick and choose when you want to talk to me, relationships are a two way street, people need to make an effort on both sides.” I was getting tired of her treating me like a fucking kid. “Well, you aren’t respecting my boundaries so I think I have the right to leave.” If Vi took a millisecond to read the room she would know I was in a bit of a rush to talk to someone that wasn’t her. Vi’s sudden interest in my life was all kinds of annoying, it’s not like she cared until one day she started to fight for my custody right after graduating from college. She disrupted the course of my life and expected me to be fine with it, I had to move away from the house I lived in since I was five and attend a brand new school in the span of two months, while also breaking up with my girlfriend. Of course I didn’t want to talk about it with her.  “I want you to listen to me. I know these past few years have been hard on you, Jinx, that’s why I’m trying to give you some advice that can be helpful in the future. I promise that everything is going to get better if you listen to me.” Typical of Vi to try to police me on what I should do, acting as if she were my mother. “What do you want? Spit it out already, I know there’s an ultimatum somewhere in there.” Vi took a deep breath. “Caitlyn and I thought getting you a pet might help. Do you remember back when we were kids and we had that big fluffy dog we named after Vander—” “Warwick, I remember him.” We named our old dog after Vander, it was technically also our surname but we called him that because Vi thought he kinda looked like him. Silco found it quite funny, and Vander didn’t mind since he loved the dog. He was a nice dog, albeit a little aggressive when it came to strangers, still he was beloved by the whole family.  The day Warwick got run over, I learned the world doesn’t owe you a cent. I was only eleven years old when I found him splattered on the pavement while I was walking home from school. I saw my dog dead on the street and nobody gave a shit about it. Vi used it as a ‘learning’ moment to teach me about loss, as if I didn’t know people died, rich coming from her when our parents died in a car crash.  I wasn’t interested in getting another pet, but if it meant Vi would get off my ass I would go with her to a shelter to see what animal they picked. I knew Vi and Caitlyn were going to take care of whatever they chose in the end, they were the type to get a hundred pets before thinking about having a child. I found it stupid that instead of therapy Vi and Caitlyn were taking me to adopt a pet. If it worked for Orianna, it would work for me too, right?  “If this gets you off my back I’ll do it.” Vi’s face lit up, by now I knew she was doing this more for herself than for me. She wanted another dog since freshman year of high school, after Silco and Vander got their divorce she was too busy to take care of a pet, then she went off to college and pets weren’t allowed in her dorm.  “Great, we can go tell Cait to drive us to the shelter after breakfast. You know I think choosing to own a pet…” I wasn’t listening to anything she was saying. I was too busy planning my way into Lux’s pants, she was the kind of girl that wouldn’t let me get a taste unless I took her out for dinner first. That didn’t mean she was the type to wait until marriage to fuck, if the party was any indication she would throw herself at me under the right circumstances. I had to take her somewhere special, make sure she felt like I was the girl of her dreams, and then reap the rewards without getting attached.  It was almost too easy in theory, sheltered girls were usually sexually frustrated and they easily fell in love with the first idiot that treated them nicely. Lux was obviously not the exception, I had done this once before, I knew what rich pretty girls wanted when they looked at me. I gave Lux two months until she started to hump my leg, a generous three if she played hard to get at first.  That whole innocent act of hers wasn’t going to hold on for much longer, the cracks were already there, I had seen them at the party where she got drunk and jealous after seeing me with Zeri. Lux needed a little push to be more confident, more straightforward with what she wanted, after all I wasn’t going to do all of the work here. I couldn’t lie, I enjoyed the thrill of the chase and seeing how hard Lux tried to get close to me was cute. My plans were interrupted by the clear lack of Lux around the house, that girl was a living flashlight and her presence was not easy to miss. Had she freaked out and left? I knew bringing her here wasn’t a good idea, Caitlyn probably said some dumb shit about me and scared her off. Back when I started dating Zeri, Vi and Caitlyn would tell her embarrassing stories that I tried hard to keep from her, we were friends for a long time, however, she only got to know the real me after we started dating. Caitlyn put a hand on my shoulder upon seeing me obviously in distress. “If you’re looking for Lux, she had to leave early. You should give her a call later, she’s a nice girl.” Thank you for pointing it out, Caitlyn, I truly wouldn’t have been able to tell without you. “Whatever, I’m going out to the skate park.” I looked at the girls, they had fallen into Caitlyn’s charm and were eating her food. “Are you losers coming?” “We promised Zeri and Neon that we were going to help them out with something,” Janna said.  Janna had be lying, they never helped Zeri with anything unless it was school related. “What could be more important than skating? No offense, Zeri.” “We’re going to plan a protest against Glasc Industries’s use of animal testing for their products. It’s a peaceful protest and Caitlyn said she had our back on this one.” Zeri explained. “Neon’s coming to pick us up, if you’re free later today I’d like for you to come.” I’d like for you to come. I heard those same words a lot when we were together. The only time I had accepted to go with her to a protest we ended up at the police station, I was basically her bad luck charm and I couldn’t understand why she wanted me to go with her. Plus Caitlyn having their back? Totally not suspicious, that woman got her fancy new sheriff position less than a year ago, I bet on Caitlyn fucking up the protest one way or another. “When’s the protest gonna happen? I’m not free today, so I might come to the protest if I’m not busy that day.” I tried to be nonchalant about the situation, if Zeri was asking me to be here and didn’t tell me beforehand like she did to Orianna and Janna that meant she wasn’t planning on telling me at all until Janna said it. Not that I blamed her, after what happened last time I wouldn’t invite myself either, she was just too nice to say it to my face. “Hey, I know what you’re thinking and I totally want you to be there. I knew you were going through some serious shit and I didn’t want you to have more stuff to worry about.” I hated the way her words sounded sincere, deep down I knew she still worried about me even after the breakup and I wished she would act like used to before we got together. “There’s no need to play Miss ‘cool girl’ with me, just think about it, okay?” Fuck me ,  Zeri had me smiling and blushing over some dumb meaningless words. No, absolutely not, I wasn’t going to let this happen ever again. I had a new fixation named Lux, not Zeri. The whole reason I was going after Lux was to get a distraction from the shit that happened during the summer. I was the one who broke up with her, I had to be imagining things because Zeri wouldn’t flirt with me after the breakup. “Jinx, you can’t go skating today. We need to go to the shelter.” I needed to thank Vi later for interrupting this potential romantic situation. I was never getting back together with Zeri and I wasn’t about to get caught up in her beautiful eyes.  “You’re adopting a pet?” Orianna asked. “If you adopt an axolotl, Rio can have a friend.”  “I was thinking something more along the lines of a dog,” Vi replied as she ruffled Orianna’s hair. “We would’ve gotten you one if your dad wasn’t allergic.” Back when we were twelve Orianna landed herself a prolonged stay at the hospital, since I was a stupid kid, I asked Vi if we could get her a pet so that she would feel less lonely. We asked Mr. Reveck and he told us we could get her an animal without any fur, for some reason I picked out an axolotl instead of something like a goldfish. Turns out those things live for as long as fifteen years, the next time we saw each other for visits she made a joke about the things having a longer lifespan than her. After that I fucking cried on the car ride home.  I learned to never gift people pets after that, a bit dramatic but if I ever hear her making another one of those jokes I might kill that axolotl myself.  “I hope you find a good fit for your personality,” Janna said, as she was scrolling through her phone and smiling, weird. “People always say pets resemble their owners, if you look at Zephyr and I you’d see we’re a perfect match.” Janna must’ve been trying to tell me something because her cat almost took one of my eyes out. “I don’t think that’s accurate, anyways, I’m going to get ready I’ve got a shelter to visit.” Not only a shelter, I was planning to visit a blonde goddess after ditching Vi and Caitlyn. The real reason I wanted to get ready and go was to avoid the inevitable confrontation I would’ve had with Zeri’s older sister. That woman hated me, I was sure it had to do with me breaking up with Zeri in front of their house when it was raining and later having the audacity to come back because I forgot my favorite sweatshirt at their house. What I’m getting to here is that I didn’t want to get my ass kicked, not in front of Vi at least cause that would make things worse.  I heard Zeri yell at me from downstairs just as I reached my room. “Neon’s almost here, so if you want to hang out later just text!” It took me an hour to get ready, I chose the perfect clothes to highlight certain parts of my body so that Lux wouldn’t be able to get her eyes off me. Since my thirteen birthday I knew that my good looks could help me get girls. Sure my friends often joked that I was as flat as a table, however, I had other things to take advantage of, such as my puppy eyes and being short. People wouldn’t believe how far those two things could take you in life.  When I jumped into the car, Vi gave me a look. When I started dressing less than modestly, Vi threw a fit about me being too young to be wearing crop tops and makeup, thankfully Vander told her to let me be a damn teenager.  After a grueling car ride we arrived at the shelter, Vi greeted the people there as she knew them from some volunteering she did in her free time. One of the workers guided us to the animals, the cats were on the left and the dogs on the right. I wasn’t too thrilled with any of the ones Vi and Caitlyn were gushing over, I didn’t want a pitbull or a fancy looking cat.  They were all too energetic, I wanted one that was easy to take care of and slept all day so that I could go out without it making a mess. If I had been younger I would’ve been ecstatic to be able to pick my own ‘best friend’,  I wanted to get this over with quickly. If Caitlyn and Vi wanted me to get a pet, I would get the one with the lowest maintenance.  There was this little crusty white dog that caught my eye. I read the little ‘about me’ tag attached to his crate. Shiro, miniature poodle, age 4. That crusty fucker was adorable, not only that but he was peacefully sleeping while all of the other animals went wild at the sight of people. Something was telling me this dog was meant for me, call it intuition or whatever.  “I want this one,” I said loudly, snapping Vi and Caitlyn out their cuteness induced trance. “Oh, Shiro’s a special case, he’s what we call a double package,” the worker said, “That means he can’t be adopted without his brother.” I looked at Vi with my famous puppy eyes, waiting for her to tell me that she was ok with it. “We can adopt two, we live in a big house after all.” The guy— Chuck, guided us to a crate with a small black cat. He was named Kuro and was five years old. According to his information tag, he was good with kids and quite active. Not exactly what I was looking for, however, I could handle it. How could having pets be? I only had to feed them and clean up their messes.  “Jinx, you’re sure you want to adopt two pets?” Caitlyn asked. “It’s a big responsibility.” Did Caitlyn think I wasn’t responsible enough to take care of a cat and a dog? Alright, that sealed the deal, I was getting those two. “Absolutely, can’t you tell it was love at first sight? Just look at them, they're both adorable.” “I can’t say no to that,” Vi said as she played with Kuro through the crate. Caitlyn handled the whole process behind the adoption while Vi played with Kuro and I pet Shiro. We got a bunch of information about how to get them to adapt to their new environment and blah blah blah, I was only thinking about how to spin this into the best outcome possible for me. Chicks liked girls with pets, that was a fact, and I had just gotten two of them. All was according to the plan I just made up.  Before we left, I had to make a double take because I saw Heimerdinger walking into the shelter with a brat. Heimerdinger had a kid? He was younger than me by a few years, if I had to guess probably three or four. He had this big smile on his face that showed his full teeth, it was creepy as fuck.  “Professor Heimerdinger, it’s a pleasure to see you here,” Caitlyn said when he spotted the short man. “Are you perhaps interested in adopting a pet? As you can see we got our hands a little full at the moment, but we couldn’t be happier.” “Caitlyn, Violet and young Powder! It’s a pleasure to see you. I was planning to take my son to adopt a pet of his own—” “Hi, I’m Ziggs!” The kid jumped at the opportunity to greet me, he was too close for my liking and I was weirded out by him being a little gremlin. At least this one wasn’t gross, the preteens from my old school were disgusting.  “Uh, I’m Jinx. Nice to meet you little dude.” The kid started to ramble about a bunch of video games and tv shows. I quickly realized it was due to one of the pins in my jacket referencing Odyssey, an old sci-fi movie that had gotten big in recent years after a remake was made. I guessed the kid must’ve really liked it if he jumped me after seeing the pin.  “Oh my! It looks like Ziggs has taken a liking to Powder, he’s usually not this talkative with teenagers.”  “I’m sure Jinx would love to babysit Ziggs in the future, maybe they could become friends. I still have a good relationship with the girl I used to babysit, Jinx could be like a mentor to him.” Fucking Vi, she really didn’t know when to shut her goddamn mouth. I wouldn’t be a good mentor to anyone, where did she get that idea from? I was horrible with kids, none of those little demons ever liked me.  They all looked at me, waiting for an answer. Fuck it, if this helped me get Vi off my back I would do it. “I’d love to babysit Ziggs, I’m sure we have a lot in common.” The little rat screeched upon hearing me, he continued to tell me about a lot of nerd shit that I had to admit wasn’t too boring. The kid was cultured, he knew about the good old classics as well as new gems. He would be less annoying if he didn’t talk that loudly, but he wasn’t as bad as my first impression of him made him out to be. If I was going to babysit this kid that meant I was gonna get paid, I could play video games with him for hours and earn the easiest money of my life. This whole day was going better than expected. “My dad is going to attend Progress Day next month, we could hang out all day and wait for the new Battle Academia season to drop!” I looked at Heimerdinger and Vi, they both nodded in approval. Vi looked particularly happy. “Sure, it’s not like I have anything better to do during Progress Day.” With those words I got rid of the overly excited child, Heimerdinger had to drag him away from me so that I could go home. It was only one in the afternoon when we finally arrived home, I helped Vi set up everything for my new pets. As expected Vi was more interested in those two than I was, she seemed genuinely happy to get to have pets around the house again. This whole pet thing was probably going to be better for her mental health than mine, not that I cared or anything.  Caitlyn was ordering something for lunch, neither of them cooked during the weekends. Vi was trying to convince her to order pizza instead of traditional Ionian food, Caitlyn always won, and it was funny to see Vi trying to fight an inevitable outcome.  I decided to text Lux. I purposefully used the word ‘need’ so that she would reply to my text faster, which she did. Lux I’m on my way. It took her exactly fourteen minutes and thirty seconds to arrive and knock on my door. I opened the door expecting her to ogle me and make a comment complimenting my clothes, instead I got an agitated beanpole trying to knock down my door. Lux was speaking so quickly I barely understood what she was saying. I put my hands around her shoulders to try to calm her down. “Lux, I can’t understand a single word you’re saying. Take a deep breath, ok?” I took Lux by the hand and guided her all the way to my room. She was still mumbling what I assumed to be an apology, it was quite cute to me. I had to sit her down so that she would calm down.  “Talk to me slowly,” I said gently.  “I swear I didn’t mean to do that, I was drunk and I would never touch you without your consent. If those pictures make you feel uncomfortable and make you never want to speak to me again I totally understand.” That was confusing, I didn’t have the slightest clue of what she was talking about. “Blondie, what pictures are you talking about?” “You haven’t seen them yet?!” Lux squealed in surprise, her whole face was red and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You didn’t want to talk to me because of the pictures?” “I wanted to talk to you because you left without telling me this morning. But now I’m interested in seeing what is making you react this way.” With shaky hands Lux handed me her phone. She was looking at the latest pictures from an account that posted pics from last night’s party. One of the pictures  showed Lux shoving a whole lot of beer into my mouth while everyone was cheering us on. This was what she was freaking out about? The ‘worst’ thing in the picture was that she was grabbing my ass, not that I would ever mind.  I kept scrolling and saw a few more pictures, there was one of wasted Lux smiling while she was laying on the dance floor. There was another one of Zeri and I looking like we were in the middle of a second breakup… I definitely didn’t remember that. Now I wouldn’t have been pissed had I not noticed to whom the account that posted the pics belong to. It was one of Orianna’s anonymous accounts she used to post photos of the parties we attended. That fucker had me worried all night long, when she was not only selling fake drugs but also posting pictures of me without me knowing.  I wanted to be more pissed at her but those damn photos were actually beautifully taken. I couldn’t be mad at Orianna for more than two seconds at most, but I was going to text her to delete the pictures after seeing how distraught it made Lux feel. I cupped Lux’s cheeks in an attempt to comfort her. My previous relationships taught me a few things, I had to put them to good use. “There’s nothing wrong with what you did, Lux. It’s typical drunk teenage stuff, if you had gone over the edge I would’ve firmly said no and trust me you wouldn’t be here.” “Does that mean you’re not mad at me?” Lux asked, her voice small. If I wanted her to stop worrying, I needed to say something to make her laugh. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you, Rainbow.” Lux snorted with laughter, nobody could resist the charm of my stupid nicknames. Her laugh didn’t sound as ear grating as it did the first time I heard it, I found it kinda nice this time. “Rainbow? That one is new.” “You’re the one who has an obsession with double rainbows, I thought it was quite fitting.” By now I had her whole speech about double rainbows memorized.  “I can call you by a dumb nickname too, like Bluey or Shortcake.”  I quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Shortcake? That’s the best you can come up with?” “You’re a Shortcake because you’re short and sweet. That’s the best combination possible, you know? Actually, I might have to start calling you teddy bear if you don’t stop comforting me when I need it.” I thought you were calling shortcake because you wanted to eat me— oops, intrusive thoughts coming in. “I think I have a special talent for helping you out when you need it most, it’s like I’m the right person at the right time. Come on, tell me why you were so anxious over some dumb pictures.” “My aunt saw them and sent them to me.” Lux took a deep breath before continuing. “She’s been sending me messages telling me how disappointed my parents would be if they saw those pictures. She proceeded to text me about how I broke her trust and didn’t deserve to be left home alone ever again. Then I saw what you texted me and I was worried that you saw those pictures and were mad at me too.” Her aunt sounded like a piece of work, no wonder this poor girl was ridden with anxiety. I wasn’t the best with words, but for Lux I would try to be. “I don’t think I could ever get mad at you over something that dumb. As for the whole thing with your aunt, she’s overreacting, this is normal teenager stuff. She’s gotta learn to let you go and have some fun.” I offered her a hug and she reciprocated. I couldn’t believe how soft her skin felt against mine or how good her hair smelled, it was so different from yesterday. Gods, this felt unbelievably nice. I needed this hug just as much as she did, didn’t I? “You’re better now?” Lux’s head was buried in my chest, but I could understand her muffled ‘yes’.  “Now that you’re here, would you like to meet my new pets? They’re named Shiro and Kuro. I got them today and I think they would enjoy some company.” Lux’s eyes were shining, it was like I could see stars in her eyes. “I would be honored.” Chicks really dig pets.  Vi gave me a weird look when she noticed Lux was in the house. As if she didn’t sneak girls into her room when she was a teenager, at least the ones I sneaked in were decently dressed. Vi’s first girlfriend was this fancy rich girl with a weird accent, one time I caught her sneaking out of Vi’s room and my poor eyes saw her half-naked. Vi was lucky enough to never see any of my exes in that position.  Shiro was sleeping in the backyard while Kuro was playing with his tail. Lux approached them carefully, she crouched down and reached out to Kuro with her hand. Kuro walked to her slowly, smelled her hand and licked it before cuddling next to her. The sight in front of me gave me an idea. I grabbed one of the sketchbooks I left around the kitchen and started to draw Lux. It was good practice, after breaking up with my last muse I had stopped drawing for a while, mostly because she used to be my main point of reference when I wanted to draw human beings. I learned a lot of anatomy with her, back when I was younger and shy, Zeri was the only person I could draw without getting nervous. Mostly because we had seen each other naked so much that at that point it didn’t have a negative effect on me.  It didn’t take long for Lux to realize what I was doing, she carried Kuro in her arms, who was now playing with her hair, and walked up to me. “You’re an artist?” I smiled. “Since the day I was born.” I took Kuro from her, placing him on the floor. Then I gave Lux the sketchbook. “You can take a look if you want.” Lux flipped through the pages, she was smiling up until one point where she started to look confused, taking several double takes of pages she had already passed. “You draw yourself a lot with Zeri.” My mind went blank, hadn’t I stuffed those specific sketchbooks in a corner inside my closet? I— oh , that was my shared sketchbook with Zeri, she must’ve left it here the last time she came. We used to draw a lot together, I told her to keep the sketchbook after we broke up, she tried to give it back a few times but I always returned it. I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Would you like to draw each other?”  Lux’s face went tomato red, she gave me the sketchbook back. “I don’t know how to draw.” “I don’t care, I’d love to see what you come up with.” I opened up the sketchbook and showed her my drawing of her, I tapped the page next to it so that she knew where to draw. I went upstairs to get oil crayons in case she wanted to color it. Lux nervously began to draw. She would occasionally take a look at me, so I stayed as still as I could in order to give her a consistent reference. Lux was constantly erasing and redrawing things, she was taking drawing seriously like many beginners do. It took her around half an hour to finish, not that I minded when watching her draw was surprisingly entertaining to me. Every little thing she did was amazing in my eyes. Her drawing was crude, but far above what I expected a beginner to draw. With enough practice she could be a wonderful artist, maybe I could have another art partner on my hands. I couldn’t help but to smile at the thought of having another person to share my passion with.  The thing I liked the most about it wasn’t the drawing itself, it was that Lux drew yellow hearts around my name, just like Zeri used to.  

_____________ "Have you heard of the Hallows?" Grindelwald asks, like he knows Sirius is listening, like he  knows.  Sirius whines low in his throat. "The story of the three brothers," he continues, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. "Everyone knows of them, of the first brother dying, of the second brother dying. Of the third and the smartest, the one who cheated death." Cheated death,  Sirius thinks. "What they don't know," Grindelwald says, "is that the first and the second brother cheated death, too. Death isn't a state of being, in the story. It is abstract, a concept linked to a memory, to a reflection, to a bridge. A bridge across water, a river of the dead in the land of the living." Sirius shivers, slightly. "The dead cross on a boat, and the dead are forgotten.  So tell me," Grindelwald smiles at him, a glint in his eye, "does that mean that those who are forgotten are all dead?" _______________ Regulus is late. So  very  late. Sirius is almost starting to worry. Did they get discovered somehow? Did Regulus- There's a muffled  crack  from just behind him, and Sirius exhales, relieved. Thank Merlin.  "Reg, I'd been waiting for so long- " he huffs, turning around, eyes widening as he sees the wand pointed straight at him, too close,  why had he been so fucking careless oh god- It's not Regulus.  It's Rabastan Lestrange, a sneer on his face, stubble on his chin, eyes the same grey as Sirius's, hatred etched into every single line of his expression. "Reg , did you say?" Rabastan Lestrange asks, mockingly, jaw clenching. "I'm sure they'll be plenty of people who would love to hear that. As is, lovely meeting again, Sirius." Oh god he's fucked up. Sirius's wand isn't as close as he would like it to be, kept away in his pocket. It would take him atleast five seconds to grab it and shoot, and Rabastan is right here, the centre of his focus. He's not prepared, hadn't anticipated this. Rabastan swishes his wand, and Sirius ducks, but only just. The cutting spell grazes by his ear, and he thinks  fuck all, just get your wand-  "If you move your hand, I'll cut it off," Rabastan hisses, "finger by finger." Fucking creep,  Sirius thinks, bracing himself for a stream of spells, because it's necessary to get his wand, it's- "Glacius!"  Rabastan says, stalking towards him and Sirius's hand freezes, both literally and figuratively. He curses both himself and Regulus in his head,  who might come if Sirius just buys himself some time... but.  To do that, Sirius needs a surprise, needs some advantage and right now Rabastan is calling all the shots- Advantage. Oh. Sirius doesn't think anymore, because while it's a bad idea, it's also the only one he's got. Rabastan's wand digs into his throat, and Sirius transforms. Rabastan stumbles back, gasping as Sirius jumps on him, sharp teeth  instinctively  going for his throat,  prey prey prey,  paws pushing his body down. Rabastan is taller than Sirius, but Padfoot is heavier, taller on its hindlegs.  Predatory. (Padfoot can smell Rabastan's fear.) There are teeth marks on his neck when Padfoot lets go, red and light. A warning. He picks up Rabastan's wand in his mouth, and transforms back, his knee holding the man in place, firm and rough.  Sirius steps on Rabastan's wand hand with a hard-soled shoe, hears his bones break, and feels a sick sort of satisfaction. Rabastan doesn't make a sound, but Sirius can feel his heartbeat quickening, see sweat on his forehead. "You'll cut my fingers off?" Sirius whispers in his ear, breathing heavily,  "I'll chew yours and spit them out first." Rabastan is shaking, his fingers trampled under Sirius's boot. But he looks into his eyes. "Kill me, then," he says, and Sirius realises, with a tugging in his stomach that he  means  it. "Kill me like you killed my brother." What- "I didn't kill your brother," Sirius says, face twisting bitterly. Rabastan jolts under him, and Sirius longs to stun him but he needs to hear him, hear this before he's dead, because once Regulus gets to know that Rabastan knows he's a spy, he won't hesitate.  (Regulus isn't Sirius, for a variety of reasons.) "He's alive, then?" Rabastan pants out, his face the very picture of hope. "Is Rodolphus alive?" Sirius pauses for a moment before shaking his head, but Rabastan sees the truth in them, sees that he's alive he's alive  he's alive. "Where is he?" Rabastan's voice rises, and Sirius glances around once, pressing his wand to his throat until he quiets down. "Where is my brother? Where have you kept him?  He's in the ministry, isn't he?" Sirius can only shake his head, slow, regretful, in a way. He's known Rodolphus and Rabastan since he was born. He's laughed with these people, eaten with them, run around in the rain, played hide-and-seek with them.  Things change in twenty years. Rabastan is silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice has promise in it. "I'll find him," he vows. "I will find Rodolphus." Sirius doesn't see the point in this anymore. He's moving his wand to his head, spell on his tongue. "But if I don't," Rabastan continues, and Sirius realises that this is the promise, the promise is this.  "If I don't and you end up killing him, then come find me. And kill me." He grabs  Sirius's wrist, fingers grimy. " Because believe me, Black, if my brother dies in this war, and I don't, I'll  burn  the Order to the ground." There's a conviction in his voice, a violent sort of love. The kind of love that always wins. "Stupefy,"  Sirius says, head reeling. (When Regulus finally comes, his apparition is a sharp  crack.  His eye is swollen up, the diary is in his hands. He eyes Rabastan's unmoving body dispassionately. Sirius tells Regulus about Rabastan knowing that he's a spy.  "Kill him then," Regulus says, blankly. "Should I?" Sirius shrugs. "It'll be simple enough," Regulus pokes Rabastan in the side with the toe of his shoe. "Idiot went looking for his brother, got captured himself." Sirius doesn't say anything. Regulus pulls out hi wand. He just wanted his brother back,  Sirius says, then, a slight frown on his face, and Regulus raises an eyebrow, tucking his wand back.  Are you actually feeling sorry for him? His brother,  Sirius repeats, slowly. He knows about me,  Regulus says, just as slowly. We can use him,  Sirius says, and Regulus may be smarter and more powerful and more dangerous, in a lot of ways, but Sirius is Sirius and so, that's that.) They can use Rabastan Lestrange. ________________ Barty feels numb. Just as well, really, since there's not a drop left in the fucking glass bottle. It's empty, label old and scraped. Fucking Regulus,  he thinks.  You wish you were,  a snide voice in his head says. Shut up,  Barty thinks, growls.  Shut up.  He feels too warm, feels like taking off his clothes, feels like screaming and drowning, all at once.  Most people scream when they're drowning, he reasons. What would he have done if Regulus had died? He would have...he wouldn't have done anything. He would have cried, would have fucked more muggle boys. Would have drunk a lot.  Wouldn't have done anything. The thought is familiar, and terrifying. He sleeps on it. (The very next morning, he leaves for Hogwarts.) ________________ It's midnight. There's a corridor that Barty walks by, to and fro, once, twice, thrice. The wall parts, and there's a room.  (There's a room, and there's a choice.) There's a narrow path inside, clutter all around, a nest of treasures and useless trinkets alike. Barty's heart is beating too fast, his wand not lighting up enough. He walks across and ahead, and then turns right. Turns right again, right again. Doesn't find it then. He walks right to right to left. Then, right to left to left. Left to left to left.  A week. Find the Diadem. _______________ Once something has been defiled by dark magic, it is never the same,  Grindelwald says.  It must not be trusted. Sirius listens, Padfoot's head resting on his paws, wary, attentive. "Voldemort ruined the ring," Grindelwald laughs, and Sirius perks up.  The ring?  "And he thinks nobody would know. The ring, the stone, the stone of the second brother. My ring, my stone.  My  Peverell brother." ______________ James sneaks into Grimmauld Place at night, climbs through the window, his invisibility cloak on. He's sixteen, he misses his brother with a force he didn't think was possible. He's sixteen and he doesn't think much of consequences. Sirius's room is empty, dusty, he hasn't been here. Stubborn prints and pictures are still up on his walls, gold and red and proud. James wonders if he should check the dungeons. He should. His feet are noiseless on the floor and the stairs, and when he hears the creaks and clangs in the kitchen, he doesn't wait to get discovered. The cellars are locked and empty, he realises, with a great amount of relief.  He peaks in through the tiny crack in the cellar wall, sees nothing but wine bottles and damp floor. He is glad. He rushes to get out through Sirius's room again, and that's what he does.  But I should take the mirror along. I could try talking to him through them,  he thinks.  I could try that,  James thinks. He carefully opens Sirius's old trunk, the one he had left behind when he ran away from Grimmauld, and looks for the mirror. It's right at the bottom, rectangular and thin and unharmed. James smiles, swallows slightly. Sirius might pick up if he called on this. There's hope bubbling up in his chest. He glances down at the mirror, and he's about to call in it, when he sees half a grey eye, dark hair- Sirius sirius sirius- Oh, wait,  James thinks.  Fuck. This is the reflection from his own side of the mirror. He turns around, slowly, and comes face to face with Orion Black. "Leave the mirror," Orion Black instructs.  James's heart beats wildly, his wand is clenched too tight in his hand. Because he is a just a boy, and Orion Black is the man who taught Sirius duelling. He is just a boy, and he's broken into the house of a man who he can't possibly protect himself from. "Leave it, and go," he repeats. James takes a backwards step towards the window, eyes still on Orion, who's face is blank, devoid of anger. "You think I wouldn't know someone was walking around in my own house?" Orion asks, eyes like steel.  "Me , just about the only wizard in the world who can set wards for anything, for anyone? I knew the second you entered and just where you went, exactly what you did." "I- " James inches closer to the window. "I don't want to hear it," Orion says, punctuating every word. "Drop the mirror and  get out of my house." James flees. He drops the mirror and he's out in seconds, knowing that he's very closely escaped punishment. (Orion Black picks up the mirror,  his mirror,  it is his mirror, a half of the set that he gifted Sirius before he went to Hogwarts. Orion can vividly remember Abraxas Malfoy running upto him and Tom in third year, grinning wildly as he gave them both a mirror each,  "they're enchanted three-way. We can all talk during vacations!" Abraxas had then shown them the charms on the mirrors, a web of highly illegal and highly complex spells, perfected in that nit-picky way typical only to Malfoys. Orion, now, takes out his wand and goes to his study, sighing as he sits down and cancels a section of the charms on the mirror. Now only he can see the person on the other end, they can't see him back.  He sets it down on his table, and thinks to it, quietly, tiredly,  Sirius.  "Sirius Black," he says, "Show me Sirius." And it does. Orion can't possibly recognize the place just by the ceiling alone, but it's unmistakably a dorm room, and the mirror must be placed flat on a table. Or a bed. Sirius seems to be safe, he thinks, relief settling over him. He keeps it away, and places charms on it that he knows Walburga cannot break through. ______________ Barty tries location and detection charms, obscure summoning spells. He stops at the bend in the middle. It's been two hours since his search. He climbs his way through, checks the hordes in the middle. No diadem. He stops again, catches his breath. Thinks of the Dark Lord, thinks of Regulus. His thoughts are selfish and selfless-  traitor loyal worthless unlovable, not your son-  The Lost Diadem is close, he realises. These thoughts aren't his, are they? There's roaring in his ears, bright, loud, scary. His fingers tremble when he turns towards the roaring, which is coming from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. Sitting on the mantel, is a thin glass crown, shiny and clear, teardrop-shaped crystals on it's edges. It is beautiful.  Looking at it, Barty can tell it's immortal. It is timeless. It wouldn't age, wouldn't ache.  He picks it up, and puts it on. There's a mirror in front of him, on the cabinet, and he looks into it- The roaring in his head increases,  screaming shrieking screaming- Until it all quietens down, suddenly. He's grateful. His thoughts feel distant, distorted. (Hello,  Barty hears, in his head, clear as day.  My name is Tom Riddle.) He blinks. (I'm Barty,  he replies, and feels a returning smile.) Having the diadem on his head is calming, like nothing's been calming this week, this month. He should keep it on for a little while, clear his head a bit. Its probably the side effects of it being Ravenclaw's. There are legends about the thing, about it making its wearer the wisest man in the world.  (In the mirror, Barty's eyes flash red, just once. He doesn't notice, it's too dark, a trick of light.) _______________ Once something has been defiled by dark magic, it is never the same .  It must not be trusted. ________________

(i) She wasn't even gone an entire week. When Draco came back home from work on Friday, she was there, dressed in one of her unsexy pyjama sets and curled up in one of the plush morning room sofas with a book in her lap. She saw him immediately and sat up. “Hi,” she said, looking straight at him. His resolution to make her fall in love with him was the last thing on his mind as he gazed at her. His blood sang with her presence, but his foremost priority was to let her know that he was pissed. “What? Brunei wasn’t fun?” he sneered. Her face fell. The hopeful twinkle she’d had in her eyes vanished in the same instance. “Let’s talk like two adults, please,” she pleaded, putting her book aside. Draco laughed humourlessly. “You have some nerve asking me to act like an adult when you’re nothing but a fucking child,” he retorted. “You act all high and mighty, but you don’t even have the decency to at least inform me, your fucking husband, about your expeditions and shit. Is this how it’s going to be? Are you going to be swinging in your hammock one second and then announce that you’re going off to fuck knows where the next?” She winced. “I still don’t understand why you’re so angry,” she said without even slightly raising her voice. He could’ve been fighting with a wall for all the reaction she showed him. “I’m not going to spell it out for you, Lovegood,” he told her, voice cold and firm. “Because I didn’t tell you that I was leaving?” His nostrils flared. “Because you act like I don’t deserve to be in the loop with whatever is going on with you,” he contradicted. “Because you act like you can just up and leave whenever you want without it having the slightest effect on me. Because you act like I’m your friend and then you don’t even bother telling me that you’ll be leaving for three fucking months while I’m left behind in this fucking manor staring at fucking walls trying not to be too distracted by my fucking dogs when they prowl the entire house searching for you! Who, I might add, were perfectly behaved dogs who adored me before you stole them from me.” She just looked at him. “You’re blaming me for spoiling the dogs?” But he didn’t listen to her. He was on a roll now. It felt good to lay the blame of everything going wrong in his life at her feet because he was perfectly sure she was responsible. “Don’t even getting me started on the house-elves. They used to be so competent but since you’ve shown up, they do nothing but slack-off and – and daydream!” She raised a perfect eyebrow. “You’re telling me Mr Roy daydreams?” Draco felt like shaking her – shaking her so hard that every bone in her body rattled so that she wouldn’t look at him so calm and composed. “Can we stay on point?” “Which is what again?” “The point,” he said through gritted teeth, “is that you can’t just keep going on expeditions like that. Without any warning or reason. I'm not stupid. I read the papers. They said you weren’t even required to go!” She stood up from the sofa then and, for the first time, Draco could see fire in her eyes. They burned him with their intensity on a regular basis, but it wasn’t intensity he was looking at now. He was looking at rage. Rage, he didn’t even know she was capable of. When she spoke, though, her voice trembled only a little. “I thought you needed some privacy.” He let out a mocking chuckle. “Don’t pin this on me, Lovegood. If you want to get the fuck out of here that’s fine, but don’t you fucking dare pin this on me.” “It’s true.” “No, it’s not,” he snapped back immediately, taking a step closer to her. She didn’t so much as flinch. “You’ve been living with me for more than a year and we’ve been married for more. An entire year, Lovegood, and you only care now about my privacy?” If her eyes could have shot the fire she was clearly burning with, he would have been on the floor in ashes right then. “You were mooning,” she accused, voice still low and calm. Draco felt his jaw drop. Of all the bullshit… “I was mooning?!” he repeated incredulously. “Over what, might I ask?” She pressed her lips together. Draco could see from her face that she had an answer ready but that she wouldn’t give it to him. So, he decided to prod her some more. “While we’re at it, why don’t you tell me the rest of your insane story? When do you think I even had the time to moon? While you were crushing me at Monopoly? Or when we were banging on the piano? Maybe it was while we were cooking?” The girl had the discipline of a monk. Her eyes burned with fury, but her lips didn’t so much as twitch. “Why don’t you just admit that you were getting bored?” he continued cruelly. “Bored of me and my house and my dogs and my elves and my…” But he couldn’t think of anything else. She tore her eyes away from him and then very calmly went to the door. “I think I’m going to go back to Brunei if you’re going to act like this.” His heart pinched at the proclamation. He would be the first to admit that he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to push her against a wall and shake her until she was crying or kiss her until she was breathless. Whichever came first, but he didn’t want her to leave. Of course, he couldn’t let her know that. “Why did you come back if you were just going to leave again?” he jeered. She turned, just shy of the doorway. “Because I knew you were angry at me, and I wanted to make up.” “Why do you care?” he prodded. “Why do you care if I’m angry? If you care so much, don’t you think you never should have left?” The fire in her eyes died and it was immediately replaced by a repulsive moisture. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked, voice so low that for a few moments he thought he’d imagined it. The tug-of-war inside his heart became so intense that Draco was sure one of his heart strings would snap. He averted his eyes from hers. If he continued to look her way, he would never be able to lie. Finally, he mumbled, “For dinner, at least. Binky is making beef bourguignon.” When he looked up at her, a safe minute later, she was smiling even as her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Okay,” she said simply and then turned to lead him to the drawing room. **** They ate their dinner in complete silence. The house-elves hovering near them seemed to be aware of the tension between the young couple. Even though Binky had outdone herself with the cooking, Draco’s tastebuds didn’t register anything. Lovegood, though, seemed to be enjoying her meal because she’d made it a point to compliment Binky. That was nothing new, of course. Lovegood was forever trying to get into Binky’s good books. He had no idea why she did that. Binky had been with the family since Draco’s father had been a child. As in love with Lovegood every other elf seemed to be, Binky had always been wary of the sprite-like new mistress whose opinions on blood status were not too acceptable. Lately, though, even Binky seemed to be thawing. She’d even blushed through her waxy, greyish skin at Lovegood’s compliments. Draco had almost groaned aloud. There were very few living beings left in his house that liked him more than they liked Lovegood. He did not need Binky to abandon him too and race into Camp Lovegood. But it was happening right in front of his eyes, and he was helpless to stop it. Well, fuck Lovegood for stealing everyone away from him. No, fuck her for having eyes the colour of the sky and oceans combined that put a stop to his entire thought process in one glance. Fuck her anyway, because who could resist those golden, sun-kissed tendrils and the ugly yellow of her ugly pyjamas that made her skin look especially appetizing. Certainly not Draco. He buried his face in his food when his thoughts got too out of hand with the result that he finished his serving before Lovegood was even hallway through with hers. She leapt forward to serve him another serving, and Draco let her because it made his insides feel warm. He cleared his throat when she sat back down. “Are you going back on Monday?” he asked, voice tensed. Her lashes fluttered as she lifted them to look at his face. She scrutinized him for a long minute and Draco squirmed under the influence of her eyes. Finally, she replied. “No. I think Rolf’s got everything covered.” He nodded slowly and tried to hide the fact that every cell in his body was dancing with joy. She swallowed the bite she’d taken and then added, “I might have to go down to the sanctuary, though. In a month or so.” Draco hummed. “Is it not done yet?” She looked at him in surprise. “Oh, no. It still has a long way to go.” He picked up a clean handkerchief from the small tray on the table and dabbed at his mouth. “Do you need money?” Her face flushed crimson. “No,” she replied immediately, eyes averted. Draco looked at her again, pushing his empty plate away from him. “You know I can give you the money if you need it.” She kept her face turned away. “It can wait until October.” He raised an eyebrow as his lips curled in a small smile. He found it vastly amusing that she shied away from discussions of money when that was why she’d married him. “Are you sure?” he prodded, enjoying himself entirely too much. “You can take an early payout. You don’t have to wait for our second anniversary. I mean, I know you’re not going to con me.” She threw him a dirty look and then pushed herself back from the table. “I’m a little tired,” she announced. “I think I’ll retire to bed now.” She was just out the door when Draco spoke up. “Can I come?” Lovegood turned so that she faced him again. There was confusion evident on her face. “Come where?” He pushed down the lump in his throat so that he could speak. “To your sanctuary? With you when you go?” Her forehead cleared and those dazzling eyes softened. “Yes,” she murmured, extremely low. “Yes, I’d like that.” And then, “Good night”, before she almost raced out of the room. (ii) Lovegood was still going in and out of Brunei at least once a week. But she was never there for more than twelve hours at a time, and she always came home for the night. All that time, Draco tried to stay mad that she’d left him for that first week when she didn’t even need to go. That she hadn’t even mentioned Brunei. But it was fucking hard. It was hard to stay mad at her when she waited for him to come home so that they could have dinner together. Or when she went to the market to buy things for herself and then came home with bags upon bags of things for Draco. One time she brought back an enormous packet of sweets for him. Draco had to send most of the stuff to his exclusive section of the pantry because he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth. Yet, the notion of sharing it with someone was so distasteful that Draco didn’t give it more than passing consideration. He would work his way through all those sweets even if it took him an entire life-time to do so. At another time, she bought him fluffy, new pillows that he didn’t need. But he made room for them on his bed, nonetheless. When she bought him several tennis ball to play with his dogs, Draco was tempted to put a stop to her weird gifts. Before he could say anything, though, Lovegood threw one of the balls herself and cheered loudly as both Ares and Apollo tore after it. Her joy at their returning with the ball was so infectious that Draco didn’t even try to do what he’d intended to. Coming home early one evening, Draco found Lovegood neither in the breakfast room nor in the kitchen where she usually was. However, he did find his little army of house-elves grouped together in the kitchen. Roy was round-eyed, with something that seemed like sweat on his temples just under his floppy, bat-like ears. Draco felt his stomach drop. Never since he’d been a child had Draco seen Roy worried. Even with the threats of punishments hanging perpetually over his head, Roy always carried out his duties with the utmost composure. “What’s wrong?” Draco asked even though he was afraid of hearing the answer. He found his eyes wandering around the room quickly, looking for the golden hair that came with the face he most longed to see. “Where’s Lovegood?” Roy stepped forward. “The mistress is here,” he announced in such a funereal tone that Draco felt his pulse pounding in his ears. “Lovegood?” he asked with a frown. “She’s been here for almost two years.” “No,” Roy croaked grimly. “Not Miz Luna.” “Who then?” Draco demanded impatiently. Roy looked up at him with glassy eyes for effect and then, finally, muttered. “Mistress Narcissa.” Draco’s eyes shot wide. “Mother?” he inquired with raised eyebrows. “She’s in France.” Binky stepped forward then and twirled her apron with her spindly thin fingers. “She’s here, young master.” His forehead cleared. The only thing that he could say was “Shit!”. He thought the situation over, but it didn’t make any sense. He exhaled and asked, “Lovegood?” Roy’s eyes were tense. “With the Mistress in the morning room.” “Shit!” he repeated and then ran his hand through his hair nervously. “Okay, so how long have they been in there?” “Since the Mistress came inside with Miz Luna.” “Was Lovegood out? Why did she come in with mother?” “Miz Luna was in the garden with Apollo.” “What happened then?” “Then Miz Luna asked Binky to prepare some tea because Mistress said she didn’t want to have lunch. Then Binky served tea.” Draco sighed. “Alright. Morning room, right?” Roy nodded. “Yes, young master.” With a deep breath to brace himself, Draco started walking. Every step of the way made his feet feel leaden, heavy with premonition. Somehow, his mother had been allowed to come to England even though she was in exile. For whatever reason, she’d chosen not to share the details of the visit with her son even though they’d talked through Floo just two nights before. And now she was in a room with Lovegood. How had Lovegood reacted to seeing his mother walk into the manor all by herself? Because Draco knew she could do that with her own wedding band. Had that freaked Lovegood out? He’d promised her total control over who got to enter the manor. He’d promised her that nobody who’d been in the manor and had hurt her while she’d been imprisoned there could ever come inside. And yet his mother had waltzed in. Even though Narcissa had never hurt Lovegood, had never been inside a room while she was being tortured, there was a possibility that Lovegood associated her with her trauma. The thought made Draco’s feet speed up. He needed to find his wife and make sure she wasn’t having a melt-down that very instant. The door of the morning room swung open under Draco’s wand even before he was exactly in front of it. When he walked through the door, both his wife and his mother looked up at him from their seats across from each other on the comfy armchairs. His mother jumped to her feet as soon as she set eyes on him. Draco’s heart picked up. He was seeing his mother for the first time in five years. Suddenly, he was a child again. The best memories of his childhood were with this woman who’d adored him and pampered him and listened to every single word he’d had to say even if it made no sense. When Narcissa stepped towards him, Draco noticed the lines on her forehead that had never been there. Despite that, the proud beauty of Narcissa Black Malfoy persisted. “Draco,” she exclaimed and the next second, he was being hugged so tight that he thought he would never be able to breathe again. The joy in his heart at seeing his mother again manifested itself in a choked laugh that escaped him. “Nice to see you too, mother,” he said, tightening his arms around her slender figure. She drew back and then cupped his face with both of her hands like she used to do every single time he’d return from school. “You look so grown-up,” she said, grey eyes moving between joy and misery. He kept his arms around her. “And you look as beautiful as ever.” She hugged him again and it was only then, as he gazed over her shoulder, that Draco realized that his wife was an audience to the reunion. That made him stand straighter when Narcissa released him. He took one step towards Lovegood. She took that as encouragement and crossed the rest of the distance between them herself. He saw the nervousness in her eyes just before he placed a hand low on her back and brushed his lips over her cheek. The small hand Lovegood pressed against his chest trembled a little and the protectiveness he felt over her peaked once more. His hand on her back moved to her waist so that she was safely nestled against his side when he turned them both to face his mother. “So,” he started, with a smile on his face. “I see that you’ve met my wife.” The absolute jubilation that had marked his mother’s face dimmed considerably. “Yes,” she said coolly. Draco felt Lovegood shrink into his side. That annoyed him. Not that she would cling to him like that (he absolutely loved feeling her body against his own!), but that his mother would cause some of Lovegood’s shine to go into hiding. He leaned down until his lips brushed Lovegood’s ear. He felt her body shiver and then melt into him further. He bit his lip to control the smile that was threatening to burst across his face. When he spoke, though, his voice was loud enough to carry to his mother who was standing very close. “Why don’t you go and talk to Binky about dinner?” he said. Lovegood nodded instantly and the next second, she was out from under his arm and moving towards the door. With her safely gone, Draco turned to his mother with the warmest smile he could muster as he gestured for her to take her seat again. Narcissa slipped her hand into Draco’s as she pulled him with her. Draco noted that she couldn’t stop looking at him, that her eyes kept wandering from his face to his shoulders then to his feet and back again. As though she was drinking in the sight of him. He squeezed her hand warmly, letting her know that he was right there. “How’ve you been?” he asked when she took her seat across from him, keeping his hand. “I had no idea you were coming.” Narcissa beamed. “My lawyer worked a miracle.” “How long will you be able to stay?” His mother’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You don’t want me to go away, do you?” she asked. “I do hope I’m not invading your privacy.” “Of course not,” Draco said immediately. “We’ll be happy to have you for as long as you want to stay.” She gave him a hard look that Draco did not shy away from. Even with the obviously expensive dress robes she was wearing, there was a look of hollowness inside her eyes that looked so like his own. Narcissa had had no money troubles. She’d had full access to the Malfoy vaults in French wizarding banks. But looking at her, Draco could clearly see that she hadn’t needed that money. What she’d needed was her family, her husband and her son who were far away from her. It was heart-breaking to see her like that. She hummed in response to his statement. Draco noted that her eyes zeroed in on the wedding band around his ring finger. Most pureblood wizards didn’t take up wedding bands. It was more of something the brides did. Malfoy brides needed theirs as keys to the manor, but their husbands were not thus encumbered. So, he could see that his deciding to wear a wedding band must be something of a statement to his mother. He decided to distract her. “How’s everything in France?” “It’s fine,” she said dismissively. “That’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about you and this place.” Draco shrugged. “What’s there to talk about? I’m the same. The place is the same.” Narcissa’s eyes hardened. “It’s not the same, Draco.” Her tone was heavy with meaningful. He didn’t want to fight, he really didn’t. “Mother,” he said with some level of exasperation. She wasn’t deterred. “You married her, Draco,” she accused. “You actually married her and now she’s living in my house.” His tone sharpened. “She is my wife, and this is her house as well.” “I don’t understand.” She shook her head to accentuate her point. “I still don’t understand why you suddenly decided to marry her. I don’t understand why you never mentioned anything about her before.” He took a deep breath. “I informed you about the wedding, Mother,” he reminded her with more patience than he thought himself capable of. She rolled her eyes. “‘I’m marrying Luna Lovegood in three days’ is not the best way to let your mother know about your plans for your future,” she scolded. “I don’t care. It’s done. We’ve been married for almost two years now.” “And she’s no worthier of you than she was two years ago!” Draco’s hand stiffened within hers. “You know nothing about my marriage or my wife,” he snapped. “You have no idea what she’s like.” Narcissa let out a humourless chuckle even as her eyes flashed dangerously. “I found your wife on top of a tree when I came,” she said with evident loathing in her voice. “She likes to paint!” Draco defended. “And the only way she can paint is by scaling a tree?! We have an entire art-room for goodness’ sake.” Draco scoffed. “She doesn’t like the view from the art-room. She says the light’s much better in the garden.” “It’s a room made entirely of glass, Draco.” Her tone made Draco feel stupid which only served to incense him further. “Love – Luna has her own way of doing things, mother. You can’t dislike her because she doesn’t like to do things your way.” She rolled her eyes. “No normal person would do things her way.” Draco snatched his hand out from hers, but she continued, “What were you even thinking? She can’t be a Malfoy. She’s the furthest thing from a Malfoy I have ever seen. She can never fit in our world.” “Well, guess what, Mother?” he hissed, blood boiling. “It’s not our world anymore. It’s her world and she fits in perfectly!” Anguish replaced the anger in her face. “Does that make any sense?” she asked with frustration visible on her face. He jumped to his feet. “My world makes sense with her in it. This is my life. I am happy. And since you’re here and would be staying with us, I request that you respect that.” **** Dinner was excruciating to say the very least. Both Draco and Narcissa were obviously sullen, and it fell to Lovegood to make whatever small talk she could so that the dining room was not funereally silent. Draco appreciated her efforts but didn’t really have the strength to help her out. After dinner, Draco stood with Lovegood on one side of the table, his arm around her shoulders, as Mimsy bowed and told Mistress Narcissa that her old room had been prepared for her. Draco had never stepped foot inside the master bedroom since his parents had left the manor. He had stayed inside his own bedroom and had made Lovegood settle into a separate wing of the house. Now, he watched as Lovegood wished his mother a good night, only to be acknowledged with a stiff nod. As soon as the door closed behind Narcissa and Mimsy, Lovegood sagged against him. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “I thought the wrackspurts would kill me today. They kept buzzing in my ears and made it impossible for me to think.”   Despite himself, he let out a chuckle. “You were that scared of mother?” She shook her head half-heartedly but then turned it into a nod mid-shake. He laughed again. She glared at him. “You don’t know what it was like.” The shudder running through her body vibrated through him as well. His brows furrowed and he rubbed his hand down her arm in a soothing gesture. “Was she rude to you?” “No,” she disputed immediately. “She just asked a lot of questions.” “Questions about what?” When he inhaled, his nose detected the vanilla-ish scent that always hung around her. Almost instinctually, he held her closer to him. “About us. And I didn’t know how much she knew. I didn’t even know if you’d told her about the contract or not.” “I didn’t,” he confirmed. “Yes, I found that out,” she said. “It was weird when she came in at first because I was up in the tree. She looked familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. But then she came very close to the trunk and said she was your mum, so I came down.” “What then?”        She sighed. “We came in for tea and I talked to her to find out if I should just pretend or if she knew about the contract. But it was difficult because she kept asking questions that made it seem like she knew but then she’d say something that told me she didn’t. So, I just pretended.” “Pretended?” She turned her head sideways and tipped her chin up to look him securely in the eye. “That we are in love. That we are like all married people.” He smiled even though her words caused a twinge in his gut. “Good job, Lovegood,” he said, squeezing her should gently She looked down then and Draco’s eyes followed. He only noticed then that Lovegood had her hands on his shirt and was twisting the fabric between her fingers nervously. “I, um,” she said, gazed trained on his shirt in her hands. “I told Phillis to move some of my stuff into your room.” His eyes widened but she didn’t see, of course. “Like some clothes and toiletries. To make it look like we were sharing. I’ve charmed my room to make it look like it isn’t being used but your mum would probably be able to undo my charm. Mr Roy says she’s an excellent witch.” He nodded, throat too dry to speak. But when she still didn’t look up, he just said lamely, “I’ll go to your room and make another spell web. It’ll be tough for mother to unravel two, so the room should be safe.” She nodded. After a moment, her eyes snapped up to his face. Up close, they were weapons of devastation. They annihilated every single thought in Draco’s head in the space of a few seconds. The scent of vanilla rolling off her skin and hair didn’t help. He had no answer whatsoever when she asked, “You don’t mind, do you?” His body was reacting to her, there was no way to deny it. Desire for her was always there when the two of them were together, but sometimes it just hit him like a boulder rolling downhill. Today was one of those days. Because his brain had not been able to comprehend her question, all he could manage was a stupid “Huh?” Her eyes continued to wreak havoc on his self-control. In that moment, Draco could imagine at least a million different scenarios with her and her eyes that were too lascivious even for him to think about. “You don’t mind sharing your room for a few days?” “No problem,” he said, his voice a weak bleat. Inside his heart, he knew that it was going to be a problem. They had shared a room, even a bed before and he’d spent many a sleepless nights after that. Something told Draco even now it would not be any easier to share a bed with her than it had been before. (iii) A few days of sharing a room with Lovegood and Draco was ready to fly off into the air. Maybe that would let out some of the steam his body was absolutely frothing with because he was no closer to getting any other type of action. More than that, the fact that he had to be in the same bed as her, every single night, only added to his difficulty. Even though they were on separate sides of the bed, with no contact whatsoever, Draco found that his body wanted hers. She, of course, didn’t wear her sexy lingerie to his bed. But he found that even her ugly, plain pyjama sets made him dream about her. So, Draco was working long, tiring shifts at the hospital with no respite at home. His days were divided between maladies, and the constant scrutiny his mother kept up of his wife, and his nights were sleepless. It was a hard, hard situation. Draco came home three hours after his shift had ended simply because he’d decided to catch up on some hours of sleep in the healers’ bunk room. Lovegood was sitting for tea in the tulip garden with his mother, Anastasia Zabini and a number of other women he recognized as his mother’s acquaintances. When he first entered the garden, he could only see Lovegood’s back because of the way the women were seated around the table. Still, even from the distance he could tell that something was wrong. Lovegood sat with her back incredibly stiff which was so unlike her usually easy-going posture that Draco found his feet taking him towards the tea party. Narcissa looked up when she saw Draco moving towards them and her face broke into the biggest smile. She called his name and waved. The fact that Lovegood didn’t so much as turn to look his way made his stomach churn. By the time, he reached the gazebo where the tea party was laid out, Draco had the attention of every single woman there – except for Lovegood. He recognized Mrs Parkinson, Mrs Greengrass and Theo Nott’s oldest sister. “Ladies,” he greeted with a big smile, stopping to stand behind Lovegood’s chair and laying his hand over the back. She shot up instantly, as though someone had electrocuted her. He followed his instinct in that he wrapped his free arm around Lovegood’s waist and leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on her sweet mouth right in front of dragons gathered. She reciprocated more enthusiastically than she’d ever done to any kiss they’d shared in public before, leaving him warped in the head. His first instinct was pull her up onto the table behind her and fuck her brains out, the audience be damned. The ladies were giggling like stupid teenage girls when Draco separated from his wife. Despite the humming in his ears, courtesy probably of Lovegood’s wrackspurts, Draco was able to charm these women that he’d known forever, all the while keeping his hands on his wife. He asked about their children, complimented them on their looks and just generally flattered them all around. By the time he was done, the women had become so mellowed with his charm that no objection was presented when he requested to “borrow” his wife from the party. Even though everyone was gratifying towards Lovegood, her eagerness to go with him eloquently expressed that she felt far from welcome. As soon as they were inside the house, Draco turned towards Lovegood and asked without any sort of a preamble, “What did they say to you?” Her eyes were glassy even if they were completely dry. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Tell me.” Her lower lip trembled, but he had to commend her inner strength because she stood her ground. “It was honestly nothing. They were just curious.” “About what?” “About… everything.” “Everything?” She shrugged, drawing his vision to her bare shoulders, but didn’t answer. His eyes scanned her body now. Her hair was pulled up in a neat bun at the back of her head. The dress she wore must have come right out of his mother’s wardrobe because it certainly wasn’t his wife’s. It was an emerald-green form-fitting dress that clung to Lovegood’s frame. Lovegood owned a lot of dresses but not one of them would have been this expensive or this… refined. It was a dress Astoria would wear, he realized with a jolt. In fact, she did wear a lot of dresses like this one. Despite that fact that the green contrasted mouth-wateringly with Lovegood’s creamy skin and it fit perfectly to her curves and accentuated her otherwise petite figure, Draco felt no reaction to her. It was because she didn’t look very Lovegood-like in that moment. She kept her arms straight against her sides, as though worried about moving them. She looked like she wanted to jump from one foot to the other like she did when she was nervous, but the ridiculously high heels she wore made that impossible. Overall, she looked damned uncomfortable.    He huffed through his nose. “Why did you go to the tea party?” he asked, just the hint of his impatience creeping into his voice. “Your mom invited me.” “I told you that you don’t have to hang out with my mother.” Her eyes flashed with a strange emotion. “She asked me. It would’ve been rude to refuse.” He shook his head. “She didn’t want you to go,” he told her, running his hand through his hair in an irritated gesture. “She was only being polite. You should have declined. You were expected to decline.” Lovegood pretty mouth was set in a stubborn line. “You can’t know that. She asked me to go. Why would she ask me if she didn’t want me to come?” Draco knew that he wouldn’t be able to explain everything to Lovegood’s satisfaction even if he spent the rest of the day trying. There were nuances to his world that someone as sincere as Lovegood would never be able to grasp. So, for the time being, he chose to not answer. “Why’re you wearing that?” he asked instead. She looked down at the dress. “Your mom told me to wear it.” “You should’ve worn one of your own dresses.” “Why?” The absolute bewilderment on her face broke his heart. “Because this dress doesn’t suit you.” The hurt that spread across her face would’ve been visible from space. Her face was an open book for everyone to read and Draco had never lamented the fact more than he did now. “Because it’s really expensive?” “No,” he countered immediately, annoyed by her suggestion. “Because you’ve got better dresses than that one.” She didn’t believe him. Her blue eyes that had been fixed on him withdrew now. When she spoke again, it was low, almost like he’d imagined her words. “No, I don’t.” He wasn’t mad at her, of course he wasn’t. He was annoyed with his mother but every single sentence that he said made Lovegood shrink further into herself. “I can’t think what could have possessed you to wear that dress and go to my mother’s tea party.” She raised her head up and burned him with her eyes. “I told you that she invited me!” He rolled his eyes. “And I explained to you that she didn’t want you to go!” “How would I know that?” “You wouldn’t. That’s why I’m telling you.” “But you didn’t say it before.” “I didn’t think you’d actually be stupid enough to accept her invitation.” Her face twisted in pain and now moisture began to fill her eyes. “Don’t call me stupid, Draco.” His impatience fled within the next microsecond. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” Her tear-filled eyes gutted him. “I just don’t understand,” she breathed, voice breaking multiple times within the small sentence. Without thinking about it, he opened his arms to her. He didn’t know why he was surprised when she chose to walk into them. She pressed her face against his neck, and he encircled her in his arms. “I know,” he said, one hand on the back of her head and the other rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It’s not your fault.” She sniffled against him. “I just want your mom to like me.” He winced. “I know,” he repeated despite knowing how slim the chances of that were. Narcissa had a lot of prejudice to process before that happened. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to get her to like you. Why are you even worrying about that?” “Daddy likes you.” He had no answer to that. So, he just held her close to him and tried (and failed spectacularly!) at not letting her affect him even though she’d already crawled under his skin. (iv) “I told your wife she didn’t need to return the dress to me,” Narcissa said half-way through breakfast. It was the day after the tea party. Draco and Narcissa were having breakfast alone for once because Lovegood had left for Brunei. Draco suspected she’d done it more to escape the house that out of an actual sense of duty. He served himself some more pancakes. “I told her that she should.” Narcissa’s fork stopped in mid-air. “Why would you do that?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It just didn’t suit her.” She raised a finely-made brow. “It cost twelve hundred gold-pieces,” she told him stiffly. “That doesn’t change the fact that it didn’t suit her,” he countered. “Luna has dresses of her own that suit her, mother. You don’t need to lend her yours.” Her eyes narrowed. “Her own dresses?” she scoffed in reply. “You expect me to introduce your wife to my friends when she’s dressed like a hoyden.” Draco let out an impatient sound. “She does not dress like a hoyden. What does that even mean?” “It means wild! Because your insane wife is wild and unruly!” He dropped his cutlery onto his plate. For a good minute, there was absolute silence in the room until Draco pushed himself to his feet. “I don’t agree with you,” he said, very carefully. The colour in his cheeks and the tension in his jaw told Narcissa just how angry he was. “I don’t care if you think that she’s wild or unruly or anything else. I love her just the way she is. So,” he gritted his teeth, “I would appreciate it if you refrained from saying anything, or having your friends say anything, that would hurt my wife. Because I’m not going to tolerate it anymore.” With that, he stalked out of the room, leaving Narcissa to stare flabbergasted at his retreating back.   

Ian laid awake as he watched Lip’s chest slowly rise and fall with each deep breath. He had so generously let Ian use his bed, while he crashed on the floor. He repaid this act of kindness by smacking Lip’s sleeping self with a pillow straight to the face. “What the fuck?” He kind of deserved it, after their fight a few days ago. Ian leaned back into the bed. “Hey.” Lip rose up on his elbows, before looking groggily around. “What time is it?” “Like ten o’ clock. So get up.” He’d always been an earlier riser. His mania used to have him up before the sunrise before, but now with it under control, he still liked to be up by nine at the latest. He had tried sleeping in, but just ended up laying there waiting for Lip. That and his phone could only occupy him for so long. The older Gallagher slowly rose off the floor, reaching for his cigarettes on the desk. Ian watched, waiting for Lip to get situated before he blurted out the real reason for waking Lip up. “I need to ask you for advice. I’m going on a date,” Lip lit his cigarette. “With the fireman?” “You know, Mickey and I never went out on dates.” Lip blew out his smoke. “You’re thinking an awful lot about Mickey for a guy with a date.” “I don’t know what to do. I gotta go on this date, I gotta move on. I know it seems stupid, but I can’t keep bringing him down. I think Carl may be crashing at his place though, it’s tearing me apart wondering about it.” Lip leaned against the desk, inhaling. “Carl? When did Carl become BFFs with Mickey? “Sandy just got out of juvie, apparently she was in with Carl. He says that’s who he’s living with, but because Sandy doesn’t really have a solid place she lives at, she sometimes crashes at Mickey’s place.” “Sandy, who the hell is Sandy anyway? I remember seeing her around sometimes.” “She’s Mickey’s-“ A knock on the door cut Ian off. Lip hastily stubbed out his cigarette before replying. “One sec!” He jogged over to the door, revealing one of his college friends behind it. “Yo.” The guy had a laptop and a look that screamed he had exciting news to share, “Holy shit, dude. Been online yet?” “No, I just woke up.” His friend replied, clicking away on the keyboard to pull up some link. “That picture of your lady professor showed up on Gawker this morning.” Ian didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded bad. “What?” The kid turned his laptop around to show Lip. “It’s labeled ‘not safe for work’.” Lip looked at the screen before sprinting back to his own computer, shaking the mouse to see the same image on his laptop. His eyes scanned across the screen rapidly. Ian could only imagine the panic he must be feeling, some of which showed on his face. He clicked a link, before breaking the silence. “I’ve got a hundred and six new emails.” Ian threw on his shoes, walking over to peer over Lip’s shoulder at the computer as Lip spoke. “The Provost wrote me?” “What’s a provost?” “I’m being asked to appear before a faculty disciplinary committee.” Ian glanced down at the ashtray, noticing Lip’s cigarette was still lite. He picked it up, inhaling before saying, “Damn.” ~~ Mickey has been sitting at the bar, ignoring Frank’s current rant, for the last twenty minutes or so. Everytime he said something particularly stupid, Mickey motioned for Svetlana to give him a shot. He was about five in, one extra stupid comment coming at the rate of every five minutes. Finally Frank at least decided to sit down, signaling Svetlana. “Beerkeep, my daily.” Mickey relaxed in his chair, hoping to get some peace and fucking quite from Frank’s loud mouth for a minute. His booze had done a lot to distract him but he was getting pretty fed up. He’d promise V to stop picking bar fights, so he made extra effort not to strangle the damn man. The front door was pushed up, launching Frank out of his seat. “Hey! Everyone, an announcement! My winsome young progeny here is with sperm!” Mickey turned to see Debbie, with two kids who he assumed she nannied for in tow, for the first time since learning she was pregnant. She was showing but just slightly. Frank chuckled happily. “Gonna be a grandfather, for the first time.” Mickey paused, was Chuckie not actually Sammi’s? He couldn’t imagine her opening up her arms to the young dumbass out of the kindness of her heart. He couldn’t imagine her doing anything out of the kindness of her shrunken blackened heart. He thought back to her snarling face as she got shoved into a different cop car. Served her right, what kind of dumbass comes with no proof like that and a gun? He was surprised his last name hadn’t gotten him locked up with her long term, but maybe that one cop from before pulled some strings again. Mickey slightly thanked him. Yeah, life could suck, but it sucked a lot less on the outside than on the inside. Svetlana interrupted his thoughts by barking orders at the two small kids following behind Debbie. “You, wipe tables. You, feed baby.” Kevin looked as lost as Mickey about Frank’s comment. “I thought Chuckie was your first grandkid?” Frank stared down at his beer. “There is no way that retarded donut is a Gallagher. Probably found him in the discard bin at the Goodwill.” Debbie obviously on a mission- why else would anyone willing hunt down Frank- cut in. “Frank, I think you were right about Erica. Things are getting weird. She was holding my hand for like a really long time and staring at me like this.” Kevin, still as confused as earlier, asked, “Who’s Erica?” Frank shot back. “Her ticket to a new good life, the mother from her nanny job who has lesbian tendencies and a young irresistible female Gallagher living with her,” he turned to Debbie. “Debs, it’s time to face the fact that you are a sweet earthy hunk of Irish sod, meant to be shared by flesh farmers of all persuasions.” Debbie’s look mirrored Kev’s permanent one. “What are you talking about?” Frank leaned closer. “Erica is in remission.” “What? She was dying!” Mickey was lost, remission was usually a good thing? The only time he could see it differently would if Terry was the one on his deathbed. He wasn’t sure how someone hadn’t offed the shithead by now. Frank nodded. “Well, now she’s not,” he paused to throw back the rest of his drink before continuing. “I’m withholding the news so that you can step up your game-” Mickey sighed. “Frank, how ‘bout you step up your game and parent your children?” Frank turned towards Mickey. “The young gay taut Milkovich, how’s your own pops?” he turned back to Debbie, leaving Mickey speechless, “but you better do it quick because she’s gonna find out soon-” Mickey saw red, he started to stand up to give a beatdown to Frank when Svetlana passed a beer to him and whispered low to him, “You promise V.” He sat back down, grumbling, “Fine, but one more dumbass thing outta his mouth and he fucking goes.” Debbie continued without turning to the scene that had started to happen. “Step up what game?” “There’s no way they’re going to keep a nanny if Erica is healthy. You gotta find another way in. She already thinks you’re a babe,” Frank made a motion as if to grab boobs. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” “But I like boys!” Kev stopped writing to give his input. “How do you know?” Debbie paused, then gestured to her stomach. “Hello, a girl didn’t do this!” Kev pointed to Mickey. “That one has a kid, and he still used to regularly bang your brother.” Svetlana smirked. “Other way, boss.” Kev gasped while Mickey barked out. “You say another fucking word and I’m going to shove your head up your own ass.” Frank was clearly still on a mission. “Mickey! Young Debs here is too young to know what she likes. When did you realize you preferred the company of young strapping men?” Mickey took a sip of his beer before glaring at Frank. “Not your fucking business Frank.” The man was not deteriorated by that comment. “I’m sure Mickey didn’t know he favored tall ginger gentlemen from the get go? You may realize down the line when you have a tiny redheaded goblin on your hip that your old man was right. As for now, all you gotta do is a little finger-bang here, nipple-tweak there.” Her face was horrified. “I don’t know how!” Frank scoffed, in an unserious manner. The deadbeat didn’t take anything but money seriously, “You don’t have to go downtown right away. You can work up to it. Otherwise come winter, you’re going to find yourself begging for pocket change from a roadside snow bank with an infant in your lap. You could ask for lessons from Svetlana, it’s not as if she gets any action from her husband.” Mickey stood up.“Okay, fuck the rules,” He grabbed Frank by the collar, dragging him towards the door. “You’re either getting the fuck out, Frank, or I’m going to kick your ass in front of your ‘winsome young progeny’.’’ Frank squirmed until he weased out of Mickey’s grip. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving! As it is, it seems no Gallagher men enjoy your company.” Mickey raised his fist and watched Frank scurry away. If that fucker rubbed the breakup in his face one more time. Tommy raised his glass and sarcastically cheered, “A lesson in parenting, gentlemen.” ~~ He gazed down at the menu, unsure of what to order. He wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been on a date before. It wasn’t Mickey’s fault though, their one real solid attempt had been ruined thanks to Sammi. Caleb interjected, momentarily distracting Ian. “I usually get a bunch of apps to share. You good with it?” He kind of hated how Caleb said apps, Mickey would have made fun of him for it, it just sounded pretentious. “Mmm,” He looked up at Caleb before looking down at the menu. “Appetizers. Sure, yeah, yeah, big fan of apps.” “Uh, hi, we’ll take a bottle of 2005 Boulay Sancerre, some crab cakes, the roasted brussels, the spiced almonds,” he paused, before pointing at one last thing on the menu. “the proslutto plate.” Ian didn’t even know what half of what Caleb ordered was. Spiced almonds? That didn’t even sound good. He closed his menu and handed it to the waiter. If Mickey and him had gotten to go on their date, he knew Mickey would have ordered a steak and he would have gotten the biggest hamburger Sizzlers had to offer. They would have both gotten beers, instead of splitting a eighty dollar bottle of wine. He wasn’t one to turn down free alcohol though and hadn’t told Caleb he couldn’t drink a whole lot yet, but he also was not a wine drinker. He felt guilty for thinking so much about his ex while he was on a date, a date where the guy was clearly trying. “You seem like a very pensive type of guy. You an only child?” He felt even more remorseful. He wasn’t lost in thought but instead daydreaming about a date with another man. “Uh, no.” Caleb sipped his wine. “Brothers or sisters?” “A bunch, yeah.” “Older or younger?” Caleb pushed for more, but Ian just didn’t know what to say. Nothing was coming naturally. “Both,” he replied. There, good enough. He hadn’t meant to give such short replies, he just wasn’t actually all that interested in Caleb. “What about your parents? Both still alive?” “Yeah.” He felt like saying that they were barely parents, but yeah. Still alive at least. The two had a stare off, Ian felt awkward and unsure what to do. He was clueless in general but had zero motivation to try. Caleb rolled his eyes and grabbed his drink. He sarcastically retorted, “Fantastic. I’m learning so much.” Ian stuttered out, “Okay. Look, I... I have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t really done this, especially so high class. Where I’m from, people just don’t spend this kind of money.” “And where is that?” “Southside.” Caleb nodded, understanding. “Mmhm, hands of steel. Okay, so you’re a street rat. A brawler.” Ian pushed on, almost hoping Caleb would say yes. “Is that a problem?” “Only if you make it.” He didn’t know if he felt relieved or not. Thankfully, Caleb’s phone went off, cutting their date short when it turned out to be from the firehouse. An emergency happened, and he had to go in. Though Ian didn’t really care as much as he wanted to, he still asked, “Thought you were off duty?” He kinda felt insulted in a way, and then a bit ashamed he was more insulted by Caleb trying to leave than upset by it. “I know this sounds like an excuse, considering how well this is going, but Hank’s kid is sick, he needs me to cover.” Ian stood up suddenly. “Let me come with you.” He didn’t want the date to last, if he was being honest, but he had an ache and knew if he let Caleb leave and he had to go home alone he’d end up in front of the Milkovich house. Which would defeat the whole purpose. “To the firehouse?” Caleb sounded suspicious at Ian’s sudden change, which Ian couldn’t fault him for. The feel was obviously mutual for how poorly things had been going so far. “Yeah, I want to go for a run.” ~~ The bar was a bust. After Sandy had hinted, and Svetlana basically confirmed, that Ian might be dating around, Mickey decided the bar was his best shot. Not his normal, not the Alibi. He didn’t know any queers that hung around there. No one besides him and a handful of butch lesbians. He had gone to some skeezy place similar to where Ian had worked, hoping to find a lay. He just needed a good fuck to get his mind off of Ian. Once he was in the club though, he had compared everyone to Ian. One guy had red hair but it wasn’t ‘fresh off the boat from Ireland’ red enough, another’s voice was too high pitched while another just had a fucking annoying laugh. He had managed to get jerked off in the bathroom, but shoved the guy off him and left after that. He heard protests from behind him but didn’t really care. Nothing felt the same, he just wasn’t into it. He walked outside, cold air hitting him in the face. He lit up a smoke when he noticed a man walking up to him from the side. He darted his eyes at the figure, and reached for his knife in his pocket when the man stepped directly under the street light, revealing Ned. Nasty kid fucker Ned. “Hey, Ian’s little boyfriend, or are you still opposed to that name standing outside a gay club?” Mickey pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and blew the smoke towards Ned. “What do you want, you geriatricate fuck? Looking for some underage kid to touch?” Mickey didn’t release the knife, but he didn’t pull it out. “No, just looking for some fun. Ian with you? Just wanted to say hi,” he threw his hands up. ”Purely platonic though. Don’t need another bashing on the sidewalk from my favorite thug.” Mickey breathed deep, before admitting. “Broke up. Don’t know where he is. Don’t care.” He couldn’t help it, denying anything was his go to defense but it didn’t stop his brain from screaming at him for lying. “So you wouldn’t mind if I visited him?” Mickey turned around, knife to Ned’s throat within three seconds before even realizing it. Ned threw his hands up, surrendering. What a pussy. “I was just kidding with you there. Fresh breakup I guess?” Mickey pulled back the knife, letting go of Ned. He sighed. “No. It’s been a while. Feels like years though.” Ned looked awkward, before offering, “Want to talk about it? I’ll buy you a drink. Again, purely platonic. You look like you need someone to talk to,” Mickey started to tell him to fuck off until Ned pushed on. “Let me guess, came here for a quick fuck and couldn’t get your mind off Ian?” Mickey looked at him, he was half impressed and half extra pissed off. What else was he going to do though? Go home and sit around with Ian’s little ghetto brother? “Fine,” he followed Ned into the club, sitting down at the bar. He motioned at the bartender. “Ey, yo, I’ll take a shot of whiskey.” The bartender leaned forward, “What kind?” Mickey shrugged, alcohol was alcohol. It all tasted like he was going to get fucking drunk from it. Ned leaned forward with his card. Mickey could tell it was heavy just from looking at it. “Two shots of Bulleit Bourbon for both of us each. Put it on my tab.” Mickey was a little impressed, but shrugged. He also thought Ned had to be stupid waving around that kind of money around a southsider like Mickey. He was asking to be robbed. Deserved it too. Ned leaned on the bar before saying, “So wanna talk about it?” Mickey shrugged, he didn’t really. The bartender walked up with all four shots. Mickey immediately threw one back. Ned tried again. “Been a while, eh?” He wasn’t sure why he agreed to this, he hated Ned, but he figured he had to give him something since he agreed, and was getting drunk on his dime. “Yeah, a fucking while. We’d been on and off since he was fifteen,” he glanced at Ned. “We split a lot before, never since we were official though. They also didn’t feel all this fucking final or last this damn long.” Ned took his first shot finally so Mickey threw back his second. Ned leaned forward before asking, “So what happened?” He was going to blame the alcohol, he had already been drinking beforehand too because Mickey then did something he didn’t expect. He basically word vomited the whole fucking thing out, “He got diagnosed with bipolar disorder, thought he was a burden on me, I guess. That or he was tired of me. Laughed off everything I had to say, dumped me on his porch. Didn’t even check on me when his crazy half sister came at me with a gun.” Eh, sorta half. Not really though. Ned looked surprised, probably not used to Mickey not threatening or yelling, “Whoa, that is a lot of heavy stuff. If he’s come around in the past, what makes this time any different? The disorder?” Mickey motioned for another drink, not even carrying that he was probably adding this to Ned’s bill without asking, “Yeah, but he might be seeing someone, so I don’t know. Guess he got tired of dealing with me, living with my wife and kid.” Ned shook his head, surprised but clearly he understood that. It’s why he came out in a way, he didn’t want to be an old miserable closeted fuck. Suddenly, Mickey didn’t want to talk anymore. He had always tackled his problems with his fists and had only slightly even been able to talk about his fucking feelings. Fat lot of good that did for him. He didn’t want to explain to Ned why he had a kid, or a wife. He stood up, knocking his shotglass over. “I gotta fucking go.” Ned looked even more surprised, but also understanding. Mickey fucking hated it, wanted to punch that look off his face. He shoved through the crowd, regretting coming out. He always assumed he would beat the shit out of Ned the next time he saw him, not end up practically crying him a goddamn river. He was almost at the door before a hand clapped down on his shoulder. He whipped around, finally expecting to throw a punch before being pulled into a hug by Tony the cop. What the fuck? He didn’t keep that thought in his head either. “Tony? What the fuck?” Tony was too smiley, clearly happy drunk. “Mikhailo Milkovich! Didn’t think I knew your real name, did ya? Your file’s a hot topic, you being a Milkovich and all. It’s already as thick as a binder and yet you somehow don’t have any serious adult records. I’m both proud and impressed,” he grinned wider. “Iggy and Colin were already in jail by your age!” Mickey scowled. “Yeah, well I’m only twenty-one. Got plenty of time to play catch up with my brothers. What the fuck are you doing here? You batting for the gay team now?” Tony laughed, leaning into Mickey, who stiffed visibly. “Yeah, well, always,” he slurred as he spoke. “Thought I wasn’t, but was just in denial. Didn’t realize I liked guys.” Mickey attempted to lean away, but Tony was just drunk enough to continue stumbling into him. “Hey man, congrats. Takes a lot of guts to come out on the southside,” Tony was practically shooting him puppy dog eyes. Great, first a run in with Ned that didn’t go the way he had practically dreamed about, and now Tony was practically drooling on him. He was also supporting himself against Mickey. “You helped that! Came out right in the Alibi. Heard all about it. Realized I really did know tough guys from the southside who struggled with their sexuality too, never expecting you to be one.” Mickey softened a tad, but still really wanted out of the situation. He was pretty sure Tony might be projecting a bit. “Yeah, surprised me too. Pretty heavily in denial before Gallagher,” he ducked from under Tony’s arm. He started to walk away before he heard Tony shout, “Hey! I gotcha back Milkovich!” Mickey smirked, yeah. Tony the cop had a thing for him, as if that was what he needed now. At least this night gave him a good laugh in the end. He could feel the gut wrenching pit in his stomach slowly melt away as he chuckled. ~~ After Ian had gone on the run with Caleb, he ended up at Lip's dorm. He walked through his door and immediately crashed on the bed. Lip was out, dealing with the fall out from him fucking his professor. The run had been eventful, he was supposed to not get involved since he wasn’t even supposed to be allowed on a run technically but couldn’t resist when he noticed a woman’s arm was broken. A medic bag was lying nearby, abandoned, so Ian rummaged through it until he grabbed the right supplies to bandage her arm up. Caleb had seemed impressed, which did make Ian feel like he achieved something. He may not have made it in the army, but he at least learned some basic skills from his short lived career. They had ended up at Caleb’s where he had played up the ‘southside street rat’ view Caleb clearly held of him. They had kissed, and Ian felt nothing. Not a single damn thing. He hated how much he hadn’t felt, clearly hoping he could force sparks to fly. Caleb really hadn’t seemed into him either, at least until he wrapped someone’s arm up. He guessed a streetrat with a heart of gold might have done something for him. He wondered how much the man really felt or if he was just lonely too. He was nearly asleep when he heard Lip open the door. “Ian?” He raised up slightly out of bed. “You okay?” Lip shrugged. “I just sat in while a bunch of old white guys decided I couldn’t see Helene anymore. She also refused to even look at me.” He sat, putting his face in his hands, sighing frustratedly. Ian sat completely up before grabbing Lip’s shoulder to squeeze understandably. “That’s rough man.” Lip had a six pack in his hands that he tossed on the desk, ripped the cardboard open, and pulled one out. He popped the tag before guzzling what seemed like the majority of the can. Ian was both impressed and disgusted, the scene reminded him of Frank. He pulled another one out and tossed it on the bed to Ian before snipping, “Guess you don’t gotta worry about me bringing the old lady back here anymore.” Normally a joke like that for Lip would mean he was going to be fine, but this time felt different. Ian wasn’t sure why exactly, but Lip almost sounded defeated when he spoke. Ian raised up to a sitting position before opening his own can. He replied, “Hey, maybe it’s for the best. You couldn’t exactly have settled down with her or anything, and you were getting attached.” “How did you know you were making the right choice, being apart from Mickey?” Ian froze. He didn’t, and each day just felt worse and more lonely. He scrambled to explain it, “I don’t, but what kind of life could we have had together? He would have been stuck as my babysitter, taking care of me forever when I go through my lows and dealing with the hurt when my highs influenced me to do stuff that I wouldn’t normally do. Stuff I didn’t have the willpower to stop before. Maybe you and Mickey are the same and not you and I. You both get to move on and find people that you can start a future with. Helene and I would just hold you both back.” Lip grabbed another beer, before clapping a hand on Ian’s knee. “You’re too hard on yourself, man. You’re stuck with you forever so you need to figure out what future you have with yourself and work towards it. Stop pushing away anything good just because you got a bad draw.” He didn’t reply, unsure what to say. Maybe Lip was right and even this outlook was being clouded by his disorder. Would he ever know if his thoughts were actually completely his own one day? He couldn’t even tell if he was being rational or not. Ian’s mind dwelled on that as Lip and him spent the whole night drinking away their pain. ~~   Mickey pulled his jacket hoodie over his head, wondering when it got so fucking cold out. He warmed his hand up by rubbing them together, cursing at himself for wearing fingerless gloves. They worked well with his cigarette addict tendencies, but not in today’s unusually cold weather. He suddenly heard heavy footsteps hitting the concrete, as he looked up to see Carl sprinting towards him. Mickey grabbed his knife in his pocket, wondering who he’d have to fuck up. He became even more concerned as Carl got closer and he heard, “He fucking killed him!” Mickey stiffened, he could hear the real terror in Carl’s voice, the very Carl who had been pretending to be some emotionless gangsta since he got out of juvie. This wasn’t like Kev and Yanis, this was something real. He grabbed onto Carl’s shoulder when he reached him, and held him in front of his body as he yelled, “Keep your voice down! Who did what now? Are you fucking okay?” Carl tried but failed to keep his voice down as he nearly cried. “Nick killed a kid. A fucking kid. He called the cops on himself and told me to leave but a kid’s dead, Mick!” He’d warned Carl, he knew how gangs were, but he hadn’t wanted Carl to see death like that in action to prove his point. The Gallaghers weren’t raised surrounded by that, not like the Milkoviches were. Mickey had never killed anyone but he’d been on enough runs to have seen it happen. He hoped Carl wasn’t in so deep he couldn’t get out, he hoped this would shake him enough to make him even want to. He finally responded, shakily himself, “Shit. Fuck. Are you okay? Did the cops see you?” Carl pulled out of Mickey’s grasp before he leaned down to breath, clearly both out of breath from running and also panicking so hard he couldn’t breathe. Mickey cursed. “Hey, fuck. Calm down. Deep breaths.” Carl leaned up and put his hands over his head before answering, “Got out before they did. Kid took Nick’s bike. That’s it. Homie fucking took him out over a damn bike.” “That’s what fucking gang life will do to you. Come on, you need to sit down and calm the fuck down. Shit like that’s even harder the first time you see it. Let’s head home and get a drink in you,” Mickey rubbed at his eyes, frustrated that someone like Carl could be wrapped up in this all because they grew up in the southside. It wasn’t fucking fair. Carl pulled back when Mickey put his hands on his back to lead him towards the Milkovich house. “No. Fuck. I need to go fix shit. I need to get the house back, figure out some stuff.” He could see the conflicted thoughts on Carl’s face. He knew he was currently dedicated to G-Dogg and whatever the fuck they called themselves but knew the whole incident had put cracks in that foundation. He hoped that was enough to get the kid to want to get out. He gave it a second before trying again, “Look, you need to sit down and calm down for a fucking minute before you run all over town fixing everyone’s problems. Your adrenaline is through the damn roof. We’re heading home and then afterwards you can play Superman for the day, got it?” Carl’s shoulders slumped, all fight going out of him. He let Mickey lead him towards his home. He ached to text Ian, needing help from a Gallagher. He settled on sending Lip a text instead.

Huuooo-huuuooo. Izuku twitched as he felt a gentle stream of air against his face.  "Izuu. Wake up kiddo." A gruff yet gentle voice came. Izuku fluttered open his eyes to see his father's slim, tall face and curly black hair. Izuku's tired face lit up at the sight of Hisashi Midoriya. The older man gave his own soft smile and ruffled his son's hair. "What are you doing in my office Izu?" He chuckled to his son who had been sleeping against the wall next to the door of the room. "I wanted to surprise you!" Izuku chirped, jumping up to be at eye level of his kneeling father. "Well looks like you decided to take a nap instead." Izuku pouted and looked at his shoes. "I didn't mean to." He groaned. Hisashi responded by softly running his nails across his son's ears, to the chilled delight. "Are you ready to go kiddo?"  "Yesss!" Izuku jumped, putting his hand in the air.  "Have you eaten dinner?" Izuku nodded. "You got your note book to draw in on the train ride?" Another nod. "Are your shoes on?" A third and final nod. "A positive attitude?" Izuku responded with a huge smile that would rival All Might. His father placed his hand over his mouth to cover the grin that only a father in his situation to give. "How about a bath?" To this Izuku froze with a small whisper of shock. "....no....I forgot." He mumbled, looking back to his father's shoes. Hisashi lifted up his son and gave him a little jostle.  "Don't worry. Me and Mom aren't ready either." He hummed. Izuku quickly perked back up. "Come on, let's get you in the bath." Izuku definitely not oppose to this as he squirmed out of his father's arms and made a beeline to the bathroom. His mind was flooded with thoughts of what tonight was going to bring. Him and his parents were going to go to a family business event for the people working for his father's company. And after they were going to go to an event in the same building where the number one hero, All Might, was going to make and appearance to talk about being a hero in more than one way. All in a city only an hour train ride away.  Izuku ran into the bathroom and started trying to tear off his t-shirt as his father caught up to him. "Tonight is gonna be the best night of my life!" He thought as his father helped him get the green shirt over his head._____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Izuku's first thought was the feeling of being carried. He then focused on the green hair hanging on the shoulder that his chin was resting on. His mom's hair color... His sleepy eyes drifted to the side, expecting to see Inko Midoriya's round face. But instead there was the face of Tomoko Shiretoko, Ragdoll. "Hey Kitten. I was wondering when you would wake up." Ragdoll whispered as she carried him into a a bathroom. Izuku's mind cleared slightly as she placed him down with a "Down you go!". His memories dripped back to him. They came in reverse order, ending with when he hid under the cardboard box.  He was just so tired. His legs burned, his head hurt, his knees stung. He just wanted to lie down in a bed and have his father ruffle his hair then give him a kiss on the forehead. He wanted this to turn out to be a bad dream. He wanted to wake up and tell his personal hero about how he had met pro heroes in his dream and have it turn out he was never hiding, scared of a man outside that had done something to scare him to his core. "We should get you cleaned up while we wait to see the doctor." Ragdoll thought aloud as she ran a paper towel under the faucet and shook off the excess water. She knelt down and started wiping down Izuku's face of the red that she didn't want to think out too much.  "Please close your eyes for a quick sec." She asked, trying her best to look at least somewhat positive. She quickly rubbed off most of it and took a dry paper towel to wipe the dirt and grime off. Taking a second wet towel to run over the boy's face a second time. After drying him off a second time, a dinging noise came from her pocket. She reached in and clicked the button on a device, stopping the noise as she tossed out the rags.  "Ok, their calling us." She chirped as she turned to the door, gesturing for Izuku to follow. Without being prompted Izuku was quickly by her side with his hands clasped around her's. Ragdoll would have maybe seen at weird for a child to be so quick to her side, and maybe as a sign of them getting too attached. But for now she was too worried about him to think about that as they both left the bath room and came to the front desk. Ragdoll placed the device that had been dinging on the desk. The receptionist took it into the void that was behind the desk and gestured to a pair of doors.  "Doctor Suzuki will be with you in a moment. Third door to your right." Ragdoll nodded as she lead the still sleepy Izuku through the doors and down the halls. The halls were almost as quiet as the waiting area. Only the occasional tapping of distant feet breaking through the silence.  They turned into the room the receptionist had said and where greeted by a chair with a pile of magazines on a shelf above it agains the wall. Standing perpendicular was a cushioned table with paper stretched across it. By the door was a sink and overhead cabinet.  With Tomoko's help, Izuku hopped up onto the table with Tomoko sitting in the chair beside the table.  Izuku tried to sit upright  but did sway a little, his eyes slowly falling closed before jolting back open. He looked so tired and Tomoko couldn't help but feel bad for him. It was at least twelve am, if not later. A kid like Izuku  should have been in bed a few hours earlier. But now Izuku was being forced to stay awake past midnight. After a ridiculous amount of time for the place being near empty, a doctor strolled into the room.  "So what seems to be the problem here?" The doctor yawned, seeming to only be slightly more awake then Izuku.  "Just a quick check up. Izuku here was unfortunately involved with an event with a villain. We just want to be safe and make sure he isn't hurt." Ragdoll explained, occasionally standing up to lend a hand to keep Izuku from falling over.  "All right." He muttered through a yawn and groan. He walked over to Izuku. "Any pain or problems? Anywhere that hurts kid?" Izuku groaned himself gesturing to his legs, unable to properly string words together in his state.  The doctor rolled up Izuku's pants legs, which carried a few scrapes and bruises, some were heal up, assumably not from that night. He pressed on several points on Izuku's legs before muttering that it was just some muscle soreness.  Next he had Izuku remove his shirt, inspecting the boy's thin chest and abdomen. Next he held a stethoscope to the small Midoriya's back. Izuku flinching from the cold metal as he instructed him to breath in and hold to the rhythm of the doctor taping on Izuku's shoulder while counting to three.  "Does he have any injuries around his head?" Ragdoll worried. The doctor grunted at her in confusion, asking for elaboration. "He just had blood around his face, I clean it up. It looked like splatter but I just want to know if it's from an injury."  The doctor nodded, looking around Izuku's hair line for cuts. His eyes then went wide as he stared at Izuku's head. This was when Tomoko noticed the doctor's plus shaped pupils. He then mumbled that he had no concussion.  "I forgot to ask. Does he have any quirk related biological differences?" The doctor asked. It took a moment for Ragdoll to understand what he was talking about. It then took another moment for her to figure out how to say it.  "I don't know..." She admitted. The doctor looked at her like she gave the oddest response. "Hasn't he been to a quirk specialist?"  "Well, I don't know. He's only recently came into my care. I'll explain later." She spluttered out, not even really planning much farther then two words ahead. The doctor raised an eyebrow before finishing the examination of Izuku. "He seemed to just have some mild exhaustion, along with muscle sourness. A few cuts and scrapes on his joins which I cleaned out. I say just let him get some sleep and he should be fine." He groaned. Ragdoll quickly went to thanking him with her trademark smile; now carrying a bit of tired anxiety in it. She went to tell Izuku it they were done and they could leave. That was until the doctor reattained Tomoko's attention, gesturing for her to elaborate as she promised. She nodded but quickly then gave Izuku the OK to lie down to get some sleep. She then took off her sweater, revealing a loose long sleeve shirt underneath, then placing the sweater over Izuku as a makeshift blanket. Ragdoll followed the doctor into the hall of the hospital, where he prompted her to begin on where they left off. "Ok so earlier Izuku was attacked by some villain and he ended up hiding in me and my friend's garage while we took down the villain. I ended up drawing him and out the I was in charge of bringing him here." She explained, trying to condense a long night into a few sentences. The doctor seemed to follow so far. "But the thing is his quirk confuses me. See my quirk allows me to get information on people. Including quirks. And it told me he had an unmanifested quirk, but he has ears and a tail like he has some mutation quirk." She explained. The doctor nodded, sipping a coffee he was handed by a passing nurse. He took a long drink from it.  "Well I'm not a quirk specialist, but I do have a close colleague who is so I can give you an unprofessionally professional opinion." He replied with a groggy tone. "To me it sounds like a a secondary mutation. It's when a child inherits trait from a parent that is related to the parent's quirk, but doesn't have any relation to the child's quirk. Like a parent having black sclera since they have night vision, and the child gets the black sclera even though they have strength based quirk. Or possibly it's a premeditation to a quirk. Let's say a kid can shoot sharpened teeth out of their mouth, that's emitter, so probably won't manifest till later. But they still have the sharpened teeth when their first set of teeth come in." He gave the best explanation he could. "So just take your pick." He finished with as he turned on his heel and left.  Tomoko thought for a moment before going to collect Izuku. She decided to leave her sweater on him as she carried him princess style. One arm under his legs, while the other was against his upper back and neck.  She sat down in the waiting room as she took out her phone to call Mandalay. It rung a few times before she picked up. "Sosaki speaking." "Hey it's Tomoko. So they said Izuku is fine, just needs some rest. What's going on on your end?"  "They took the guy into custody. They said they'll get back to us if anything interesting happens." "Did they say anything about Izuku?" Ragdoll asked. "Uhg. They asked if we could house him for like a day while they figure it out. It's just late and I don't think they know what to do with him." Mandalay groaned. "What does Yawara say about him staying with us?"  "He doesn't seem to have any problems with it."  "Hm. Ok. By the way is there any chance you could come pick us up?" Ragdoll hadn't really thought about how to get back when she caught a police car to the hospital. "Yeah give me a sec...ok yeah I'm pretty close by with the car. I'll be there in like fifteen minutes."  "K thanks. See you then." And the call ended. Tomoko took a moment to check the time on her phone. She was surprised to find it was only a little after twelve.  "Guess tonight must makeing time go by faster." She thought to herself. The time flowed by as they waited till Tomoko's phone dinged with the "here" text from Shino. 

'That little psychic is turning out to be more of a threat then I realised, he will be mine. I will make sure of it, I can't fail with two hunters on my side,' thought Circe as she stormed towards her compound. "My Queen, what happened?" asked Steven as she approached the entrance. "The little psychic and her hunter stopped me from taking him now but I have his mind I just have to wait for the poison to settle he'll be one of us tomorrow night, I trust that everything is all in order?" asked Circe. "Yes everything is in order, Joseph brought some food back for Cole," said Steven. "Good we have more to discuss, this can't wait either. The psychic and her pet hunter need to be taken care of before we move onto our takeover plan," said Circe. -- "I have some live bait for our hunter, the man I was after is being protected by him so he got away but not before I put in his blood my mark. When the sun falls tomorrow he will be under my control and I will be able to bring him over," said Circe. "Now his psychic will see what I'm planning, I've removed enough of the shielding for her to see only what I want her to see," continued Circe. "Sounds good with another hunter we'll be able to kill this Victor no problems," said Marcus. Circe smiled to herself after reading his mind knowing that he was fully under her control. "What is going to happen?" asked Joseph. "I'm going to take our business man tomorrow and most likely tonight his psychic is going to see what happens to him, the hunter will go there and we can take him as well. Two for the price of one," smirked Circe maliciously. *** "Did you have any luck finding him?" asked Julius as he Karen let him inside. "No unfortunately I'm not getting anything," said Karen. "Maybe nothing is going to happen, I can't find anything on where he lives either," said Julius. Karen gasped as a vision rocked into her. She walked up to the gates of a luxurious mansion and found the business man opening the gates then the doors of his house to let Circe in. He followed her in a trance like state as she pushed him down and began undressing him. "Karen? What did you see?" asked Julius. "A large mansion with the Venus vamp feeding of the man we were following today," said Karen. "Do you know where he is?" asked Julius. "Yes he's in the most expensive street in the city, 27 Wildflower St" said Karen. "Stay here Karen, keep yourself safe I'll make sure she won't take his life from him," said Julius. *** Joseph looked around the entrance to their compound hearing the sound of rustling leaves. He turned around to go back inside when a silver tip arrow burned a streak across the air smacking into the stone. He snarled his fangs lengthening as he leapt out into the dark. More rustling and a broken twig alerted Joseph to the presence of the sniper. Before the would be assassin could react Joseph turned and swiped at the vampire slashing his face with a silver dagger he had drawn. Joseph hissed in pain as the assassin had managed to slash his shoulder with a similar silver plated dagger. As the assassin recovered himself Steven and Marcus burst out and tackled him to the ground. "Are you alright Joseph?" asked Steven. Joseph winced and said "I'll be fine, lets just see what this bastard knows, Circe would be pleased with this development we'll know how much they know," *** Tied up to a chair with blood seeping down from the slash across his face the assassin struggled against his bonds as Marcus laid his weapons down on the table. "Interrogating vampires is my specialty, my only regret of becoming a vampire is not being able to use the heavy stuff," smirked Marcus "Try all you want, I won't be telling you anything," said the assassin. "I thought your people were too honourable to use silver in their weapons, but seeing as you're quite bad and got picked up by a police officer it wouldn't surprise me," taunted Marcus. The assassin snarled at him as he rocked in the chair trying to get out of the tight bonds. "Now tell me what I want to know, what does your Family know about our plans?" asked Marcus approaching him with a dripping dagger. -- "Well Marcus seems to be in his element," chuckled Cole as he came out of the bedroom. The screams of pain from the assassin echoing around the halls. "He certainly does," said Steven, "How are you feeling?" "Still stiff but a lot better," said Cole. "Are you hungry? Joseph and I we were about to go out to feed," said Steven. "Sure," said Cole. -- "Are you sure you can go out like that baby? I don't want you hurting yourself more I can bring food back for you," said Amy. "It's ok, its just a scratch, I'll be fine. Once I feed it will heal faster," said Joseph. "Ok, I'll be here waiting for you," said Amy. *** The prisoner moaned in pain as the silver and holy water burned his skin. His energy was drained, not even having the energy to scream. The pain was also starting to drop off as his body became too exhausted to even send and receive the pain messages. "Are you ready to confess what you know? I can keep going and going, it's not going to stop until you confess," said Marcus. He moaned against and croaked "He doesn't know much he's trying to figure out how many people Circe has here," "What are his internal defences?" asked Marcus. "Minimal," croaked the prisoner. "That is certainly not true, I know that a master as powerful as Victor would have a high level of hidden defences, It looks like you were just cheap bait," said Marcus. "Looks as though I don't have anymore use for you," Marcus picked up the dagger dripping with blood and slashed the assassin's throat, his cries came out as gurgles as the flames of death exploded from his body consuming him. *** Jeremy sighed as he activated the gates to his mansion, another hard day. His business plans were just not working out lately, it was making him very tired and stressed. He unlocked the door and pushed it open stepping inside he keyed in the security alarm code and put his suit jacket over a chair in his lounge, moving into the kitchen he dug around in his freezer until he heard an enchanting sound in his head. 'Come to me,' whispered the voice in his head. In a trace he closed the freezer and walked towards the front door. Opening it up Circe stood outside, she smiled at him and asked "Aren't you going to let me in?" "Of course, come in," said Jeremy entranced. Julius cursed as he watched Circe move inside the house, he had to move quickly. He quickly scaled the fence and landed in the garden with a thud. Quietly Julius cracked the door open and stealthily walked inside. Shutting it he made his way up the stairs to the bedroom with Jeremy on the bed with his shirt open. Circe was taking her time biting his chest sinking her fangs into his hard muscle. Jeremy groaned as the pleasure washed over him. Circe stood up and turned around and snarled "I was expecting you," as she lunged for him. Julius just barely managed to evade her as she launched her vicious assault against him. Julius pulled out his dagger as she charged him again while Jeremy laid almost immobile on the bed. Circe snarled in fury as Julius slashed her arm, bright scarlet blood pooled and streamed out. "You haven't won hunter, I will get you," snarled Circe as she looked for a quick exit. As she exited Julius tended to Jeremy. "Drink this and you'll feel a lot better," said Julius handing him a small glass vial. Jeremy looked cautiously at the vial and then drank it. He groaned as a sharp stab of pain coursed through him. "What the hell is going on?" asked Jeremy. Julius observed the multiple bleeding bite marks over his chest and knew that Jeremy was now involved as being bitten by a Venus like that was just as good as a death sentence. "I can't stay and explain things, use this number he'll tell you everything you need to know, I think it would also be best if you left the city for awhile," said Julius.

To say that he was annoyed was probably an understatement. Kaoru Sakurayashiki had been out for the day with his oldest friend - he used the term lightly- Kojiro Nanjo. Both had the day off from their businesses since they were closed on Sundays, and had decided that they would spend the time outside in the sunshine together. Kaoru wasn’t sure what possessed him to agree to it, but he figured it was a lapse in judgement he would probably come to regret later on.  So far, they had spent the morning and part of the afternoon at the zoo and now they were at the castle closest to the zoo roaming around the ruins. It was fun, he had to begrudgingly admit to himself. But now all he could say was that he was deeply annoyed.  The weather forecast had not mentioned that rain was meant to make an appearance that day at all. So here they were, at the entrance to the castle ruins already soaked to the bone and debating what they should do.  “I have the better shower!” Kaoru was arguing adamantly, hands firmly placed on his slender hips.  “Yeah but you live like fifteen minutes further than I do and we came here on my motorcycle.” Kojiro was countering as Kaoru made an annoyed sound as he took his glasses off to wipe clean of rain drops. “Do you want to spend longer in the rain and risk catching a cold? Or would you rather get warmer quicker and run less of a risk?”  “Fine!” he shouted and stomped his way to where they had parked earlier that afternoon. “Hurry up then.”  Kojiro chuckled to himself and started after his bristly friend. They had known each other since they were little kids and Kaoru had been prickly since puberty hit. He had grown his hair out in a fit of rebellion against his parents and then when things got really tough for him, his coping mechanism had been to get something pierced. The quick sting of the needle poking through his skin had made things easier to handle for him. His new coping mechanism since they graduated from high school had been to whack Kojiro with a fan when he was annoyed or go skateboarding to clear his head. They were a lot cheaper than a new piercing each time something overwhelmed him.  Most of the piercings he had in high school were gone now, claiming to have outgrown them, but his pink hair remained long, even longer than it had been when they were teenagers. Kojiro watched him, amused at how easily irked the man was, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander down his body to rest on his ass. It was rare that he wore a more modern style of clothing, having developed a preference for the more traditional japanese style as he got older. So now that he was in a pair of leggings, a somewhat loose plain black t-shirt and… were those his combat boots from high school?  “Hey Cherry!” he called out using the nickname he’d given the other when they were little. He was the only person allowed to call him Cherry whenever he felt like it and get minimal consequences for it. He grinned as Kaoru turned an angry glare his way as he opened the compartment that held his helmet. “What?” he demanded as Kojiro finally came up beside him and reached in for his own helmet.  “You should wear those leggings more often.”  “And pray tell, why is that?”  “Because they show off just how nice of an ass you have.”  Pulling the helmet on, Kojiro missed just how red his comment made Kaoru’s cheeks go. He could hear sputtering coming from the pink haired man and couldn’t help but chuckle. It was easy to get a rise out of him and he did it as often as he could.  Once he was on his motorcycle he turned it on and looked back at Kaoru, “come on. I don’t want to be out in this rain any longer than I need to be. Get on!”  It was almost as if he had punched him in the gut, his face looked so surprised when he spoke. He cleared his throat and moved closer in order to swing his leg over and situate himself behind Kojiro. Once the other was sitting behind him and had put his arms around his middle Kojiro grinned and sped off out of the parking lot. He always got a thrill whenever he was riding his bike. He loved the adrenaline rush it gave him, it was extremely addictive. He knew that Kaoru loved the rush he got from being on a motorcycle as well, since he had one of his own.  Even with the rain pelting down on them, the rush was still there and they both hoped that it never went away.  Kaoru couldn’t help but marvel to himself quietly over just how… right it felt to have his arms around Kojiro. When they were younger, he had been cute in an adorable take home to your mother sort of way. Then high school hit and he started to focus on working out and, in Kaoru’s opinion, looking like a gorilla.  Sure he teased him mercilessly about his need to have bigger muscles than most everyone he encountered, but Kaoru had to admit, even if it was just to himself, the man looked fine. And being pressed as close against him as he currently was, he had to admit that he loved the feel of the muscles under his hands.  He was about to let his hands get a good feel of just how hard the others' abs really were when he pulled into the small parking lot where he lived. Once he parked Kaoru was quick to get off the back of the motorcycle and remove his helmet. He cleared his throat and took a couple of steps back, he needed to clear his mind of thoughts about running his hands along that chest and down to those abs and letting his teeth sink into the flesh, marking him for all to see.  “Cherry, you okay?” Kojiro asked as he turned around and saw the light blush on the others cheeks.  “Yes!” he startled a bit. “It’s warm under that helmet. Lets get inside so that we can dry off and get out of this stupid rain already.”  Kojiro nodded and led the way to the stairs that would lead up to the floor he lived on. If he thought the blushing was weird, he never said anything about it to Kaoru. “Stay there, I’ll get you a towel.”  Kojiro toed off his shoes and started to undress as he headed down the hall to the linen closet where he kept all of his extra bedsheets, towels and the like. He made sure to grab one of his larger, fluffier towels, knowing that Kaoru favoured them. He always made sure to have a couple of them on hand for times like these when the other would need to stay overnight or something.  “Here, use this to dry off some. I’ll get the shower started for you.” he said and had to clear his throat or risk his voice cracking over the sight of soaking wet Kaoru in his apartment with his clothes clinging to his gorgeous body even more than they had been when they were dry.  “Thank you,” Kaoru said, reaching for the towel, feeling a jolt when their fingers touched. This wasn’t the first time that he had felt this. Ever since he had realized that he had genuine feelings for the gigolo gorilla, as he sometimes liked to call him, he had noticed more and more often that a small spark would run through his body from where they had touched.  It didn’t happen every time, only in moments like these, when they were entirely alone and his thoughts running rampant.  Kaoru cleared his throat and using the towel, started to ring his hair out a little bit. Despite knowing he would be going in the shower in a few minutes, he didn’t want the long tresses dripping all over the floors and potentially ruining them. He watched silently as Kojiro walked back down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom.  He had taken his shirt off almost as soon as his front door had closed and Kaoru couldn’t help but stare at his back. The muscles were so defined all over the man’s body that no matter how much or how little he moved. All Kaoru seemed to want to do was mark it with his nails and teeth.  So caught up in his thoughts about wanting to leave bite marks and scratches all over Kojiro’s back, Kaoru didn’t even realize the man had come back out from the bathroom. He only came back to reality when Kojiro waved his hand in front of his face, calling his name.  “Showers going,” he gave a chuckle when he saw Kaoru’s eyes focus on him properly. “You can have the first shower. I know you catch colds easier than I do.”  “Right. Yes.” He said and really hoped his friend didn’t catch how dazed he still sounded. “Thank you.”  “No problem,” Kojiro replied and watched his pink haired friend head down the hall to where his bathroom was located.  Once he was in the safety of the bathroom with the door closed, Kaoru leaned back against the cool wood and tried to get his heartbeat back to normal. Ever since Kojiro had taken his shirt off, Kaoru was positive that the gorilla of a man was able to hear it loud and clear. Even now, as he pushed off the door to set the towel in his hands on the toilet seat, was think about what the running water would look like cascading down from his hair to his neck and shoulders and down that wonderfully defined chest and abdomen.  “Get a grip Sakurayashiki,” he scolded himself as he pulled his soaking wet clothes off. “It’s not like you haven’t seen him all wet before.”  He kept berating himself for how easily he was getting worked up over Kojiro as he stepped into the shower and under the perfectly warm spray. Jesus, he even knew how he liked his showers. It was enough to have his heart beating a little faster all over again.  “So what if he knows you better than anyone?” he muttered to himself. “Doesn’t mean you have to get all weak in the knees over it, like some silly school girl.”  I wonder if he likes school girl uniforms, he thought to himself, almost too scared to say it out loud as it would be him admitting to himself that he wanted to try it out and see what kind of reaction he would get.  Finally warmed up, Kaoru turned so that he could grab hold of the shampoo bottle and frowned slightly. They clearly didn’t use the same brand of shampoo, nor the same scent. He gave a small sigh and resigned himself to smelling like pine trees. It wasn’t a bad smell, not by any means, he just really preferred his own coconut scented shampoo. It complimented his natural scent really well in his opinion.  He let his eyes close as he shampooed his hair, a satisfied sigh escaping his mouth. The hot water beating down on his cold body felt like heaven and he couldn’t help smiling as the sensation helped his mind wander away from a certain green haired man.  His distraction didn’t seem to last very long however, as the moment he started to wash his body, his mind wandered to dangerous thoughts. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to shower with Kojiro.  He wanted to know what it would feel like to have his large, wet, naked body pressed up behind his own. To feel how his hands would run up his sides to his chest to play with his nipples for a moment or two before making their way back down to his hips. How he would grab hold of them tightly and pull him back so that they were flush against one another. And how he could feel just how hard Kojiro’s cock was. The possessive sounds that would escape the larger man would send tingles up and down his spine and go right to his cock.  “Kojiro,” he moaned softly as he leaned against the side of the shower, letting his fantasy run wild in his mind.  His hand wrapped around his length and his breath caught in his throat. He was definitely harder than he had been in a while and he was chalking it up to the fact that he was surrounded by nothing but scents he associated with the man he had been secretly in love with for years.  He let his eyes fall shut as he tightened his grip slightly and started moving his hand up and down the length of it. With his eyes closed, he was able to imagine that it wasn’t his own hand bringing him to the heights of pleasure. He was easily able to imagine that it was Kojiro’s large hand wrapped around his cock and that it wasn’t the wall pressed against his back. His mind easily supplied thoughts of it being Kojiro’s body.  His breath caught in his throat as his hand came up to the head and squeezed a little tighter before stroking back down. He lifted his leg slightly in order to snake his free hand down between his ass cheeks and rub at his hole.  God it had been far too long since he’d been fucked really well. The feel of his finger slowly easing into him had his cock jerking slightly in his hold. He really enjoyed having his ass played with and he somehow just knew that Kojiro would be a considerate lover. So should they ever actually hook up, he knew he wouldn’t shy away from pleasing him in all the right ways.  His mind supplied images of Kojiro turning him so that he faced the wall and bent down behind him, spreading his cheeks as he did.  “Fuck,” he moaned out, back arching off the gray and white tiles. “Yes, just like that. Oh god, I’m getting so close.”  It wasn’t long after he imagined the brute pushing his tongue into his hole that Kaoru was clamping his free hand over his mouth to try and stifle the loud euphoric cry that escaped as he released all over the shower and his hand.  He was grateful that he had been leaning against the wall of the shower because his whole body was trembling from the force of his orgasm. He slowly opened his eyes as he came down from his release. His legs were trembling and barely holding him upright at this point. He had gotten off to thoughts of Kojiro before, but nothing quite like this. He figured it had something to do with the fact that all he could smell was the other man. Not to mention the spending the entire day with him on what most would likely consider a date.  He shook his head to clear his mind of any more dangerous thoughts and shut the water off. He opened the shower door and stepped out onto the mat Kojiro kept in front of it. Grabbing his towel from the toilet seat, he brought it up to his face to dry off first, and to cover his blushing face from the view of the mirror.  His face was hot from both the hot water from his shower and what he had done just moments before. He needed to calm down if he was going to manage to face Kojiro with a straight face. He had managed to mostly calm down and was bent over drying his legs off when the door opened suddenly.  “I got you some clo-” Kojiro’s voice cut through Kaoru’s thoughts, making him jump slightly.  Stopped in the doorway to his bathroom, Kojiro couldn’t help but let his eyes wander from where Kaoru’s head was, to his ass. His naked ass. His ass that was not covered by anything since his towel was at an odd angle while he dried his legs off. His ass that was pointed directly toward him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.  All he wanted to do right then was drop down to his knees behind Kaoru and spread his ass cheeks apart and bury his face between them. In pretty much all of his fantasies, he would spend ages using his mouth on the other. Be it eating him out, swallowing him whole and gagging on his cock or just kissing and licking along every inch of his body.  “Get out!” The sudden loud shout from the pink haired man tore him from his fantasy. “Shit!” he cried out. “Here’s some clothes for you to borrow!”  “Knock first! Don’t just go barging in you idiot buffoon!”  Kojiro slammed the door behind him as he made a run for it. He hadn’t even thought before just walking in. His heart was pounding in his chest and his cock was stirring in his pants. He slammed the door to his bedroom behind and leaned against it.  “Holy shit,” he said, chest heaving and eyes wide from his surprise still.  Kojiro did his best to calm himself down, sure he had seen Kaoru without a shirt or pants on before, but he had at least had his underwear on to cover his modesty. Seeing him this naked was definitely a first for him.  “The shower is yours!” Came an irritated shout a few minutes later, followed quickly by stomping feet that were headed down the hall toward the living room.  By the time that Kojiro had finished in the bathroom twenty minutes later, Kaoru had perched himself in the middle of the couch, arms and legs both crossed and a severe looking pout was in his face.  “Hey Kaoru,” he started and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for just barging in on you in the bathroom earlier. I didn’t even think.”  “Learn to knock and wait for the okay to come in next time, you brute.”  “I’ll do my best to remember that.”  “What do you mean you’ll do your best to remember?” Kaoru asked and narrowed his eyes at his friend. “It’s not that hard of a thing to remember.”  “How else am I gonna get a peek of that ass of yours all bent over and naked, leaving nothing to my imagination?”  “Wh-what?” Kaoru stammered, a deep blush staining his cheeks and making its way down his neck.  Kojiro smirked down at his friend before turning to head into the kitchen. If he knew anything about Kaoru it was that his smirk would get a rise out of him and he’d follow him into the kitchen, determined to tell him off.  “3… 2… 1…” he muttered to himself and chuckled when he heard the tell tale stomping of his best friend's feet as he followed behind him.  “Where do you get off telling me I have a nice ass?!” Kaoru demanded as he walked into the kitchen a few moments behind him.  “Quite easily,” he said, turning his head to look at him. “I've always known you had a nice ass. Just felt like telling you this time. Now. What do you want to drink?”  “Whatever you have that’s strongest.”  “So that would be a no for wine then.” Kojiro hummed a little as he opened the cupboard door to where he kept his hard liquors. “I’ve got a bottle of whiskey, Jägermeister or a bottle of Mexican tequila my parents brought back for me when they went on vacation a few years ago.”  “Gimme the tequila bottle.” Kaoru said and held his hand out. “I’ll grab shot glasses, you get the limes and salt.”  “Tequila it is.” Kojiro said and did as was asked of him and handed the bottle over before moving to the fridge to grab a couple of limes to cut into wedges.  A few minutes later they were situated in the living room on the floor on either side of the coffee table Kojiro had in between his couch and television set. He set the little bowl down with the lime pieces in the middle of the table along with the salt shaker and watched as Kaoru opened the bottle and poured them both a shot.  “Don’t hate me in the morning when you forget what happens tonight.” Kojiro laughed, remembering the last time they got drunk together which resulted in Kaoru stripping off his clothes as they walked back to the apartment he lived in.  “That happened one time you gorilla.” he pouted and reached for the salt to shake some out onto his hand like he’d been taught back in America where he had first tried tequila. “Now hurry up.”  “Alright, alright” he laughed and copied Kaoru before reaching for one of the shot glasses. “3...2...1!”  In unison they licked their hands free of salt and within seconds had down the shot. Kaoru hissed as the alcohol went down, not used to such strong alcohol, always having preferred to drink wine, and snatched up a slice of lime and sucked on it.  Kaoru hummed as the tequila settled in his stomach, he may be a wine drinker more than anything, but he wanted to get really drunk really fast and hopefully forget the images his mind had conjured up of Kojiro while he had been in the shower earlier.  “Another shot?” Kojiro asked in a way that had Kaoru tilting his head a little bit in confusion.  Now that he looked at him properly, he seemed like he was almost nervous about something. Instead of asking him what was wrong, he simply nodded his head. He definitely wanted another shot in him; his mind kept supplying images of the green haired man on his knees in front of him while licking his way into his ass and stroking his cock.  He didn’t even wait for the man to finish pouring his own shot before he was snatching up his glass and downing the alcohol as is. If he let his mind continue to do as it pleased, he was gonna be hard again in a matter of minutes. He didn’t want that. He was here to spend the night only because it was raining heavily and he didn’t want to risk catching a cold because of it. That was all. No other ulterior motives.  So what if he enjoyed seeing how grumpy Kojiro was in the mornings? So what if he enjoyed being graced with the image of a sleep rumpled Kojiro, sleep pants riding low on his hips, hair a messy mop on his head and the still sleepy look on his face when he stumbled into the kitchen after smelling the coffee Kaoru had been making? “Should totally play a game!” Kojiro’s voice broke Kaoru from his thoughts.  “What?” he asked as he reached for the salt, having poured another shot for each of them.  “A game!” Kojiro said as he took the salt shaker from him.  “Why?”  “It’ll make the drinking more fun!”  Kojiro looked like an excited puppy as he suggested it. It had to be the alcohol in his system already working its magic, because Kaoru agreed to play a game. He never played games really. It wasn’t his thing.  “I’ve got an idea!” Kojiro said but soon smirked as he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Nah, nevermind. I doubt you’d be willing to play the game I’m thinking of. You’d be too shy.”  “Bullshit! Name the game you gorilla and I can bet you I’ll play!”  “Oh so you’d be willing to admit your deepest and darkest secrets then?” Kojiro needled him, his smirk staying firmly in place.  “Name the game you oaf.” Kaoru demanded.  “Never Have I Ever.”  “I suppose.” Kaoru said, now a little apprehensive despite the booze in his system lowering his inhibitions. When Kojiro got excited like this, it didn’t always end well for them both. “You go first then since it’s your idea.”  “Alright, hmmm.” Kojiro said and took a moment to think of something. “Oh! Never have I ever had a first kiss with someone behind the school gym.”  Kaoru narrowed his eyes at the other while Kojiro just smirked knowing that Kaoru’s first kiss with a girl he had dated in high school had been behind the school gym in their second year. He grabbed the salt and quickly shook some out onto his hand and grabbed the now filled shot glass.  “That was on purpose,” he said before he licked his hand and downed the shot.  “Of course it was.” Kojiro laughed. “Just like I know you’re gonna get me back for that.”  The moment something came to mind, a wide smirk spread across Kaoru’s. Kojiro knew he was in for it now.  “Of course I am.” Kaoru said, smirk never leaving his face. “Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher.”  A long groan escaped Kojiro when he heard that. He just had to bring up that time he had a crush on their science teacher, Mr. Takahashi. Was it really his fault that the man had been gorgeous with a sexy deep voice and the best ass he had ever seen on a man?  “You found Mr. Takahashi just as good looking as me and all the other girls in our class.” Kojiro said, hoping that it would get him out of having to take another shot. He was already starting to feel the effects.  “Finding someone good looking and actually crushing on them are very different things and you know it.” Kaoru chuckled as he watched his friend take the shot. “Did you ever do anything about your crush on him?”  “I may have...”  Kaoru’s eyes went wide at that. “Tell me!” he demanded and leaned in closer to him.  “Was during our summer break in third year. I had run into him a couple of times to and from my house and he actually came onto me. Said he’d seen how I looked at him and couldn’t help himself anymore. Asked if I wanted to have some fun. “Obviously I said yes, how could I have said no to the hottest thing I’d seen on two legs? I didn’t care about the trouble I could have gotten into should anyone find out. It was the first time I had sex with a man. Blew my mind the things he was able to do with his dick at the time. Had me begging for more every time.”   “Now that you’ve had more experience, would you say he’s the best lay you’ve ever had?”  “Not the best no, I had no experience so I thought he was a god back then. I’d have to say to date, Sousuke is the best fuck I’ve ever had when it comes to men.”  “And what about women?”  “No more distractions. Time to play some more.” Kojiro said, knowing that Kaoru wanted to do anything but keep playing, knowing how things were gonna go from now on now that he opened the can of worms so to speak.  “Ugh fine.” he groaned. “Go on then.”  “Never have I ever…” he started. “Lost my underwear in a club before.”  “That was ONE time Kojiro. One time.”  Things progressed quickly from that point on. They were about six shots in each for the game when Kaoru decided, drunkenly, that they needed to up the ante. He knew he was gonna get Kojiro with what he had just thought up.  “Never have I ever had sex in a church parking lot.”  “You just had to bring that up.” Kojiro pouted, but did the shot anyway. “It was one time and that was Sousuke’s idea in the first place. Not mine.”  “You still had sex in a church parking lot.” Kaoru laughed at him and filled both shot glasses up again.  “Fine then,” Kojiro’s speech was slurring pretty bad by this point, never having been able to handle hard liquor easily. “You wanna play it that way? Never have I ever had sex in the balcony of a club where everyone could see me.”  Instead of being upset about that time being brought up, Kaoru smiled as if reminiscing about the experience. The man he had hooked up with at that club had had a really big dick, left him limping his way out the club with his cum leaking from his hole and down his thighs, ruining the pants he had worn out that night.  “He was a great fuck that guy. Probably one of the best I’ve had.”  Kaoru drank his shot and almost missed the way that his friend’s eyes trailed down his throat. Little things like that had been happening all night. The way he would look at Kaoru from time to time would send shivers up and down his spine. The way his eyes would focus on Kaoru’s lips whenever he would lick them, or draw any sort of attention to them.  They were both fairly drunk by this point, so Kaoru felt that it was okay to act on some of the things that he desperately wanted, like running his hands along those very well defined arms, sneaking his foot between Kojiro’s legs in order to rub and press against his bulge, bite along his neck and along his clavicle, leaving marks for everyone to see.  He cleared his throat a little and tapped his index finger against his lips as he thought of something for his turn in their game.  “Oh! I got it!” he said triumphantly. “Never have I ever eaten a guy out.”  Kojiro paused and looked at Kaoru in shock for a minute, needing to process this new information. “Never?!”  “Nope!” he said, popping the p and pouted a little. “Every man I’ve been with has said that they don’t like the feeling of it. So I’ve never had the chance.”  After downing his shot, Kojiro reached a hand across the table and patted the other’s hand with a solemn look on his face as if to say, there there. “I love eating my partners out! It’s fun for both of us. Especially when I can get them off just from oral alone. They’re so much more sensitive afterwards when I fuck them. It’s great.”  “Believe me, I’ve wanted to, but any time I try, they always tell me to stop or something.” he heaved a sigh and pouted. “Would you let me eat you out if I asked?”  “Definitely.”  They both paused for a moment as realization hit them both on what was just asked and said. No matter what happened from here on out, they both knew that they would remember this. No amount of alcohol could make them forget.  “Right.” Kojiro said as the air between them got more and more charged, needing to change the subject as quickly as possible. “Never have I ever worn women’s lingerie.”  “You what?!” Kaoru demanded, slapping his hands on the table and leaning across to get closer to him. “You’ve never worn women’s lingerie? Like at all?”  “Nope. Not even once.”  “I have so much of it at home. I love the feel of it against my skin.”  Hearing that had Kojiro’s mind screeching to a halt. All he could imagine and think about was Kaoru walking around his house in skimpy, lacey underwear and thigh high tights being topped off by heels. Maybe even a bra or corset or something too.  A slow smirk spread across Kaoru’s face as he watched his friend get lost in thought. He was definitely picturing him in some kind of lingerie. It was obvious by the look on his face and the blush spreading across his cheeks.  “Do you want to see me in some, Kojiro?” He asked and moved to go around the table to where the man was seated.  He kneeled beside him close enough so that he just had to lean in a tiny bit to press against him. He took Kojiro’s earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently.  “Well?” He asked, waiting for an answer. “Do you want to see me in sexy women’s lingerie? I’d do it for you you know. I’d put some on right now if you had any.”  He felt it as much as saw it when Kojiro gave a full body shudder. He chuckled and nibbled on his ear a little as he placed one of his hands on his chest.  “I’d love to see you in lingerie.” His voice came out hoarse, almost as if he’d spent ten minutes straight screaming at the top of his lungs. “See you in lingerie, heels too maybe.”  “Mmm heels too?” He questioned and pressed a soft kiss to the spot just behind his ear while running his hand down Kojiro’s chest. “I can do that. I have a couple of pairs. I can do it at home alone and take pictures to send you or I can do it when you’re with me.”  A sudden gasp from Kojiro had Kaoru pulling away slightly to ask what was wrong.  “I have something that you can wear right now!” He got up then, leaving Kaoru on his hands and knees looking rather stunned. He watched him go down the hall to where his bedroom was, a look of utter confusion etched deep into his face.  “Kojiro?” He called down the hall. “What’re you doing you oaf?”  “Found it!” Came an excited shout followed by quick steps pounding back down the hall to the living room. “Can you try this on now?!”  Kaoru looked up at what he had in his hands from his spot on the floor in confusion. The brute had a silky looking piece of material in his hands and a rather excited look on his face. It was a nice shade of green with yellow and red flowers all over and a thick black trim along the top and bottom hems. If Kaoru was being honest it was probably the most beautiful piece of clothing he’d ever seen. But why would Kojiro of all people have something like that? He wasn’t dating anyone and it was clearly too small to fit his rather large frame.  “You want me to wear that for you now?” He asked standing up as best as he could on shaky legs. “Why do… why do you even have it?”  He swayed on his feet a little and reached out to brace himself with a hand on Kojiro’s shoulder. The alcohol made him a little dizzy with how fast he got up.  “I was out shopping with my mom a while ago. She was in the washroom and while I waited for her saw this on display.” He said and hiccuped before continuing. “Thought it would look great on you so I bought it.”  Kaoru grinned at him and headed out of the living room, grabbing the kimono on his way out. He held it up in front of him as he swayed his way down the hall to the bedroom and had to admit that the man had decent taste. It was made really well, and knowing he’d been out with his mother, knew it wasn’t a cheap store find either. It had to have cost quite a bit of money.  Stripping out of the T-shirt and sweatpants he’d borrowed proved to be a little more difficult than he had anticipated. They had gone through more than half the bottle of tequila, so staying upright on one foot long enough to step out of the pants was nearly impossible. Taking the shirt off was fairly easy until his head got stuck in the hole as he was trying to pull it off. He lost his balance and fell to the floor with a shout.  “You okay?” Kojiro’s voice called down from the living room as he heard the crash in his bedroom.  Kaoru ignored his friend and pulled himself up off the floor. He waited until he was steady on his feet and reached for the kimono. He held it out in front of himself for a moment or two simply admiring the colours and pattern on the material. He really liked it. He’d have to bring Kojiro with him the next time he wanted to buy more lingerie or things like this.  He tied the kimono closed and went over to the closet door where Kojiro kept a full length mirror. He admired himself in it for a few moments, looking at himself from all different angles. It was a short piece of clothing and just barely hid most of his ass. The bottoms of his cheeks peeled out from under the hem of it and it was an amazing contrast to the full body coverage he got from his regular everyday clothes. He also loved how the bottom hem stopped about an inch above his thigh tattoos.  The beautiful koi fish with lotus flowers wrapped from the front of his thighs and curled around the insides of them to stop on the backs of his thighs. The colours of the tattoos blended extremely well with the kimono. He pulled his hair from the elastic he’d put it in and smirked at himself. He was gonna blow Kojiro’s mind.  “You’d better be sitting down you gorilla!” He called out as he left the bedroom. “I’m about to knock your fucking socks off!”  Kojiro turned around in his spot on the couch to be able to watch the pink haired man come back. The second he came into view, Kojiro’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide as saucers. Was that really Kaoru? His Cherry?  He had always known the other man was beautiful, unfairly so, but dressed up like this made him impossibly beautiful. His gaze racked down the others form, slowly taking in every single inch of his body and committing it to memory.  “Holy shit Cherry,” he breathed out. “You look...amazing.”  Kaoru came to a stop in front of Kojiro and it took everything in him to not reach out for his friend and pull him into his lap. It was as he took in how incredibly long his legs looked in the kimono that he realized his thighs were tattooed. They didn’t look brand new either, how long had he been keeping these from him? “Fuck me,” he said and felt his cock stirring in his pants. “You look appetizing. Just want to kiss, lick and bite all over your body Cherry.”  “You have excellent taste in sexy kimonos, Kojiro.” He said moving closer to the couch. “If I do say so myself.”  Kojiro reached out as if to touch, but brought his hand back unsure of whether he was allowed to or not. He was desperate to get his hands on Kaoru. He had spent years pinning after the man and he felt that right now, they were on the precipice of something great happening.  Looking up at Kaoru, Kojiro’s breath caught in his throat. Between the way he was dressed, the tattoos he’d had no idea existed and the way his long hair fell around his face and shoulders, his need to feel the other with his hands grew even more. He decided then that he wasn’t going to hold back anymore, he could blame it on the alcohol in the morning if Kaoru said anything.  He reached over, closing the distance between them and grabbed hold of the others wrist, tugging him forward and into his lap. A surprised gasp escaped Kaoru as he fell into Kojiro’s lap. His legs were on either side of the brute’s and from his slightly higher vantage point, could see just how deeply red his eyes looked in the lighting of the living room.  He brought a hand up and touched the tips of his fingers to the skin just below Kojiro’s eyes. A look of wonder no doubt on his face as he did.  “Cherry?” Kojiro asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “You alright?”  “Yeah,” he said and the wonder that was on his face, was echoed in his voice. “Never noticed just how red your eyes are before now.”  A light blush stained his cheeks at the compliment. He had to admit that he liked this version of Kaoru, he was free with his thoughts and didn’t let propriety or nerves get in the way of expressing them. He settled his hands on slender hips and gave them a gentle squeeze.  “When did you get these done?” He said a moment later, unable to keep his curiosity at bay any longer as his eyes locked back into the koi fish and lotus flowers inked into his thighs. “Couple years ago when I went on that business trip to America.”  “They look great, make you even sexier than you already were.” Kojiro tilted his head in order to look into his friend’s eyes and knew that Kaoru would see the lust burning deep in his own. A smirk played at Kaoru’s lips hearing that. “You think I’m sexy Kojiro?”  “Extremely,” he said. “I’m sure you know exactly what’s been pressing against you the entire time. You’re not that stupid.”  “No,” he said with a smile and rolled his hips in order to press their lengths together. “I’m not.”  A gasp escaped Kojiro and his hands flew to Kaoru’s hips, squeezing tightly. He hadn’t expected him gripping onto him to cause a rather unexpectedly loud moan to fall from the pink haired man. It was probably one of the hottest sounds he’d heard if he was being honest with himself.  Hearing that one moan sparked something in Kojiro and made him want to hear that moan again and again. He could listen to it for the rest of his life and it would never be enough. He reached up to put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down towards him.  The moment their lips met, it was like a switch in both of  them was flipped. They pulled apart for a couple of moments and looked into each other's eyes with shock before the need to feel the other like that again hit and they were kissing. Kojiro’s hands pushed into long pink locks, tugging every now and then while Kaoru’s hands desperately gripped at Kojiro’s.  “Kojiro,” Kaoru moaned when they pulled apart for air. “Touch me. Please.”  They had barely kissed for more than a few moments, and already he sounded out of breath and needier than anyone Kojiro had ever heard someone sound in as fast a time. Hearing him beg to be touched had his cock jerking his pants. He wanted to give Kaoru anything he wanted, so he brought his hands down to his neck and slowly dragged them along his neck and down his shoulders. He brought the material of the kimono with him, causing it to fall from his shoulders and expose his collarbones.  Always enjoying using his mouth to pleasure his partners, Kojiro leaned in and followed the path his hands had taken with his mouth. He kissed along his jaw and down his neck, sucking at the beautifully pale skin just enough to leave a mark. His fingers grazed over his nipples and the keen that escaped Kaoru as he did was like music to his ears.  “Sensitive there I see,” he said and almost didn’t recognize his own voice, it had dropped so low from his lust and need for the other.  Kaoru looked down at him and a blush had crept along his cheeks and was steadily making its way down his neck to his chest. He looked so debauched already, it stirred a need in Kojiro that had him grabbing a tighter hold of the smaller male and standing up. He needed to get this man on his back so that he could show Kaoru just how much he wanted and needed him.  Kaoru had been manhandled before by his previous partners, but none of them had ever made him feel so weak in the knees as Kojiro was making him feel right then. He brought their lips back together in a hard kiss as he let his hands find the hem of his shirt and started pulling it up, wanting it gone. He needed to get this man naked as fast as he possibly could so that he could show him just how much he wanted and needed him as well.  He moaned as he was all but slammed into the wall beside Kojiro’s bedroom. God he hoped that Kojiro would be rough with him. He arched his back, pressing as close as he possibly could to what was essentially a wall of muscle.  “Fuck, I need you to hurry up and fuck me.” Kaoru moaned and squeezed his thighs around Kojiro as his large hand wrapped around his weeping cock.  “All in due time Cherry.” came the smug response which was quickly followed up with his thumb grazing over the tip of his dick while teeth sunk into his neck rather hard. He knew there was going to be a huge bruise there come morning and it only made him leak more precum at the thought.  “ Please, ” he begged.  It was as if that was all that was needed. Kojiro let out what could only be described as a growl as he pulled them away from the wall and made his way over to his bed as quickly as he was able to while carrying Kaoru.  He laid him down on the bed and looked down at him for a moment, simply taking in the sight of a needy and hard Kaoru in his bed. The material of the kimono had ridden up and come apart just enough to expose him from the waist down. It was then that he caught sight of the silver bar through his belly button.  “So full of surprises tonight aren’t you, my Cherry?” Kojiro commented as he thumbed at the skin just beside it.  “Have to keep you on your toes, don’t I?”  Kojiro hummed as he crawled over to him and smirked down at him. “I like this side of you.” he said to him and tossed his shirt off to the side that Kaoru had failed to pull off of him earlier.  The blush on Kaoru’s face deepend a bit at that comment but he didn’t have time to dwell on it for long since Kojiro shifted down until his mouth was even with his groin and leaned down just enough to be able to lick along his shaft.  Kaoru’s whole body jerked at the touch and he gave a guttural moan as Kojiro took him into hand and swirled his tongue around the head, licking up any and all pre that had built up. He was panting within a matter of moments as Kojiro’s warm mouth was wrapping around him and slowly taking him in, not stopping until his entire length was engulfed.  “Kojiro!” he gasped as the other worked him slowly and deliberately with his mouth.  He was quickly learning that the green haired brute was rather talented with his mouth. He shoved his hands into his hair and gripped, wanting to guide him into going a little faster. He had been so focused on his work lately, that he had barely even felt the need to jerk himself off for weeks. He knew that he wasn’t going to last very long if Kojiro kept sucking him down into his throat so well. His lack of a gag reflex was hotter to Kaoru than it had any right to be.  “I’m close Kojiro,” he moaned and gripped even tighter on the hair he had been gripping onto. “Please! I want to cum.”  Kojiro couldn’t stop from moaning hard as he listened to his best friend beg for him to let him cum. He pulled his mouth off his cock for a moment in order to properly catch his breath and looked up at Kaoru, both of their eyes lust filled and chests heaving.  Once he had caught his breath, he took Kaoru’s cock back into his mouth and doubled his efforts in order to have him coming down his throat. He could hear the hitching in Kaoru’s breath the closer he got, he took him all the way into his mouth one last time and gently squeezed a hand around his balls.  “FUCK!” Kaoru cried out, his hand pushing Kojiro down as far as he could as a heel dug into the small of his back as cum shot from his dick and down his throat. “Oh shit. Fuck fuck fuck!”  Once he had stopped releasing in his mouth, Kojiro pulled off and crawled his way up Kaoru’s body, enjoying the fact that Kaoru’s body was still trembling from the force of his orgasm. He knelt over his body and leaned down, gently kissing along the expanse of his neck.  “Don’t think for a second that I’m finished with you yet.”  “If you make me cum half as hard as you just did with your dick, you can fuck me as many times as you want to tonight.”  A slow smirk spread across Kojiro’s face and he took the other’s mouth with his own. Now that he had kissed him once, he couldn’t get enough of it. He licked along the seam of his lips and nipped at the bottom lip, wanting access to his mouth once more. His bedside table was close enough from where they were on the bed, that he could keep kissing Kaoru and reach into the top drawer and pull out the lube he kept in there.  Kaoru’s hands drifted along his neck and down his sides until they came in contact with the pants that Kojro had put on after his own shower earlier. He needed the other to be naked, he wanted to see him in all his glory. He managed to push them down past his hips and pulled away from the kiss.  “Enough kissing me Kojiro, I need you to fuck me.” he panted and brought his gaze up to meet Kojiro’s. “I’ve been wanting this for far too long to wait any longer than I already have.”  “Your wish is my command.”  Kojiro moved so that he could finish the job of taking his pants off and smirked knowingly as he saw honey coloured eyes zero in on his cock. He wasn’t small, in length nor was he small in girth, but he had spent their entire three years in high school telling the other that he didn’t like piercings, that he didn’t see himself ever getting one. And yet here he was, with a prince albert piercing in the head of his dick.  He chuckled as he watched Kaoru’s own dick jerk at the sight he so obviously approved of and opened the bottle of lube. He would give the other exactly what he wanted. He himself didn’t think he could wait any longer either, so as much as he wanted to spend his time slowly opening Kaoru up with both his mouth and his fingers, he didn’t think Kaoru had the patience for that right now.  He squirted some of the lube onto his fingers and using the hand that wasn’t covered in it, spread Kaoru’s thighs wider. He circled his index finger around his hole and looked up at Kaoru, waiting for him to give him the go ahead.  The moment he had nodded his head, Kojiro pressed his finger in slowly so that he could get used to the feeling. He watched him for any sign of discomfort and enjoyed the sight of him turning his head and biting at the pillow his head was on. He rolled his hips trying to get more inside of him and whined. He needed to just be fucked already.  “Please Kojiro.” He begged arching and rolling his hips more and more. “I want your cock. Please.”  “Don’t want to hurt you.” Kojiro breathed out, he was having trouble controlling himself as Kaoru became needier and needier as the minutes ticked by.  By this point he had worked two fingers into him and wasn’t positive that it was enough prep, but he knew if he waited much longer to give Kaoru what he so desperately wanted and needed, that he would just take what he wanted for himself.  “Okay, okay.” he panted and pulled his fingers free. “Give me a sec to put lu-”  Kojiro’s voice cut off halfway through what he was saying as Kaoru’s hand wrapped around his dick and stroked a few times. How had he missed him grabbing the lube and pouring some out into his hand? He gave a deep moan as Kaoru worked the lube onto his length, his head tilting back as he enjoyed the feeling.  “Now please get that cock inside of me.” Kaoru demanded.  Kojiro’s breath hitched as the authority in the other’s voice shot straight down his spine and into his dick. He spread Kaoru’s legs wider and settled between them while lining up with his entrance and pressing in. The moment the head popped in past the first ring of muscles they both reached out and grabbed onto one another.  It wasn’t long before Kojiro was in to the hilt. He pressed his forehead to Kaoru’s shoulder and panted, trying to gain some of his control back so that he didn’t cum in a matter of seconds. Kaoru seemed to be having just as much trouble with controlling himself it seemed. His walls were contracting around him in the most delicious way possible. The feel of Kaoru’s fingers twinning between his own was enough to have him reign in his control finally.  He had no desire to ruin their first time together by acting like an inconsiderate animal. They both needed a few moments to adjust and he wanted to relish in the feeling of finally having the one man he had pined after for well over a decade at this point. Kaoru pressed his lips against his neck in a soft kiss and told him that he could move, that he needed him to.  He kept their finger twined together as he pulled out to the head and slowly pushed back in, pulling moans from them both. A few thrusts like that and a bite to the shoulder from Kaoru had his iron grip on his control snapping. His hips picked up speed and so did the frequency of his moaning out Kaoru’s name. It was like he was under a spell and that was the only thing it allowed him to say.  He grabbed hold of one of his legs and brought it up and over his shoulder, absolutely needing to get closer, to thrust deeper, to be surrounded entirely by Kaoru.  “Oh fuck, yes!” the other cried out as his prostate was thrust into over and over again.  That piercing of Kojiro’s making things feel better than he had dared to dream was possible. He let go of Kojiro’s hand to feel those thick muscles under his hands as they worked to bring them both to pleasures they hadn’t felt before. His short nails dug into his flesh as he was quickly brought closer and closer to orgasm. He knew that come morning, Kojiro would have a few words to say to him about the deep scratches he was in the process of littering his back and sides with, but Kaoru’s desire to mark and lay claim to the man who was so expertly fucking him into oblivion ran so deep it surprised even him.  “I’m so close, Cherry.” Kojiro moaned hard as his hips worked faster and harder.  The sound of their skin slapping was like music to both of their ears and only brought them that much closer. “Oh fuck, Kojiro please. I’m gonna cum!”  A harsh growl escaped the green haired man at that and without warning, his teeth sunk into Kaoru’s neck as he pounded into him chasing their orgasms as hard and fast as he possibly could at this point.  It wasn’t long before they were both shouting the other’s name as they reached the peak of their pleasure. They would later swear on anything that was holy that they had never had sex nearly as good as this. The feeling of Kaoru’s release hitting his stomach caused a deep moan to escape Kojiro as he spilled everything he had into Kaoru.  Their bodies trembled as they struggled to process just how good that had felt. Kaoru’s leg fell from Kojiro’s shoulder back onto the bed and they looked at one another in sheer wonder.  “There’s no way we’re getting any sleep tonight.” They grinned at one another before closing the short distance and stealing a sloppy kiss.  By the time they had exhausted all of their energy, sunlight was starting to filter in through the windows in Kojiro’s bedroom. They knew they had work later on that day, but with how tired they felt, they couldn’t be bothered to actually go in. Kojiro reached for his cell phone and opened the text conversation between him and his assistant manager, telling her that he wouldn’t be there that day. As he set his phone down, he saw Kaoru setting his own down. He was probably doing the same thing he had just done.  “Are my eyes blurry cause I don’t have my glasses on or does that say 3pm?” Kaoru asked, showing his phone to Kojiro later on that day after they had finally woken up.  “No, it says 3 in the afternoon.” Kojiro said and grabbed the phone, setting it on the bedside table so that he could pull Kaoru back into his arms. “We're not working today so it’s fine. Ten more minutes then we can go shower and eat. Cause I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”  “Set a timer or you’ll never actually get up.”  With a groan, Kojiro relented and turned over to do as he was asked. He set the timer and was about to roll back over when the other stopped him from doing it. He set a hand almost gingerly on his back and gasped as he pulled the covers down further.  “Holy shit,” he breathed out.  “What?”  “Your back and neck look like you’ve been mauled! I knew I’d scratched you up some, but I didn’t think it had been quite as bad as it actually is. There’s scratches and bite marks all over you!”  “Staking your claim?” Kojiro laughed and looked back at him with a smirk. “You should see yourself Cherry.”

SHOUT OUT TO MY BETA READER: WarriorNun SHE'S THE BOMB AND SHES HELPED ME SO MUCH AND I LOVE HER CAUSE SHES THE BEST!    Show me all the parts of you that you do not love so I know where to begin- AVA "What the- what on earth are you doing?" "I'm eating cheese." "Phichit, it's 2 a.m." Otabek facepalmed in the the middle of the doorway. Apparently, Phichit had no clock to tell him when he should sleep and when he shouldn't, because Phichit was always awake at the oddest of hours. The only reason why Otabek had awaken was due to the fact Phichit had dropped his sewing machine and gave a loud screech at the impact. Turning back to the matter at hand, Phichit paused, nodding in response to the man who remained lined at the entryway into the kitchen. "Yeah I know, I had the munchies." He smacked his lips and gave a pointed glance towards the table. "Your outfits are there. I just finished them a few seconds ago." "Wow...you worked fast this time." "Yeah, I had some motivation. I've been wanting to sew for awhile now and this was a good excuse to do it." He smiled and looked over to Otabek. "Where's Yuuri at? I know he's not sleeping." With Phichit's gesture toward the stand, Otabek turned, hands on his sides as he called out to Yuuri. The two boys couldn't help the smile that invaded their faces when Yuuri's head peeked out of the kitchen innocently, his hands tucked behind him as he stepped to Otabek and Phichit like a child being scolded. "Yes?" He asked innocently. Phichit smirked. "How long were you spying?" Yuuri shrugged. "For about an hour. I woke up when you came to put your hamsters back in the cage." "Katsudon and Tiger were getting hungry, ok? Oh! I also need to show you something." Otabek's thick brows narrowed at Phichit's giddy laughter, "C'mon! You both have to see your outfits!" Phichit skipped to the table and picked up his hamster hat he had created some time ago along with a clump of blue material and something red. Otabek grabbed it and felt his eyes bulge at the sight. Not only had Phichit captured what he liked, he exploited it into something completely different, yet the same. It was a dark blue suit, something that would contrast sharply to the crisp white dress shirt he would wear with the outfit and a red tie with a hint of leopard print embedded on the cloth. Otabek's eyes trained on Phichit with a grin. "This is incredible." "Thank you!" The Thai fashionista turned to see Yuuri with a scandalized expression. "Phic-" A finger stopped Yuuri's words and Phichit stared him down with an intense glare that challenged him to say something. "Yuuri Katsuki, I slaved for hours on that outfit, and by g=God you're gonna wear it. I know you're going to say how bright it is and how it's not your style, but I will get you to that stupid gala with your makeup done to perfection and those legs of yours slaying the heels I got you if it's the last damn thing I do, ok?" "O-ok." "Good!" Phichit smiled at the two and motioned to Yuuri's outfit, grabbing it and pointing to the attire. "I based this thing off the Eros design. It's similar, but more feminine if you will. But while you two were asleep, I investigated the blueprints on the ballroom and all the exits. Since there's a ton of millionaires planning to go and probably get drunk, I figured maybe that..." "Eros should visit?" Otabek supplied. "Bingo!" Yuuri bit his bottom lip, chewing it slightly. "Are you sure everything's fine? It's a good idea, but do we have a solidified plan?" Phichit laughed happily. "Of course! Now here's what we're gonna do..." ~ Viktor was awoken by a knocking on his hotel door. He heard it open and a few footsteps head his way before a familiar voice rang out. "I know you're old, but you need to get up!" Yuri pulled the covers back. "What time is it?" "Seven. I called Christophe and Yakov when you napped. Yakov agreed it's a good idea to scope out the party and for me to join you so you won't get distracted." Yuri rolled his eyes and pushed the cover off of the bed so Viktor wouldn't be tempted to go back to sleep. Begrudgingly, Viktor got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to suit up. Fifteen minutes later, Viktor sauntered out the door, his hair hair brushed and a black suit adorning his figure gorgeously. Entering the room, he found Yuri and Chris in a conversation about the mission. They stopped when Viktor came into view and Chris blinked for a second before regaining his composure. 'Agent 24! How lovely it is for you to be joining us on the briefing.' A fully fancified Yuri scoffed when Viktor shoved him slightly to make room on the bed and promptly sat down beside him. "Chris, enough with the formalities." 'Fine fine. Yura and I were just discussing the new toys I got you.' "New toys?" 'Yes, Vitya.' Christophe pointed to Yuri and grinned. 'I slipped you guys some microchips that double as a camera. It won't take videos, but it sure as hell will get you an HD scan. Plus, I left you some wiring-real thin and it won't aggravate your skin- to tape on you under your sleeves. That way, we'll get a clear run down at what's happening back at the station, via link.' Viktor beamed at him and snatched a chip from Yuri's clutch. "Wow! Amazing!" 'I know I am.' If Chris was a bird, he'd be a peacock at how much he flashed his brilliant mind and beautiful face. Speaking of brilliant, the peacock turned to the camera with a cheesy grin. 'I heard from Yuri that the gala is at 8. You might wanna get going so you don't have traffic. A lot of major figures are going to be there too, so look sharp.' "Don't I always?" Yuri and Chris spoke in unison. "No." ~ The night of the gala was a booming one. Everywhere, high tech cars pulled into valet parking spots, the rich and pampered made their way to the mansion, and loud music poured throughout the yard. Somewhere among the wealthy, three men nodded to each other and murmured words of assurance. One in particular gave a small grin and stepped away from the two, leaving them and entering the grand hall. The one in the hamster hat followed shortly behind while the last of the trio slipped a bag beneath a shrub and joined his companions. Everything was set now. ~ Viktor loved a good party. Ground shaking music flowing from oversized speakers, liquor flowing, people in well, barely anything oh, and the occasional good sex, God damn, the excitement was one of the many reasons he attended social gatherings. But due to his career, the social butterfly in him never really occurred. Sure, he was able to charm his way through a crowd, but have fun? No, that's not something he's had for a long time. Now this, this was most definitely not the type of party Viktor ever wanted to hang around in. No, this wasn't exactly his cup of tea. He liked his tea strong and hot whereas this was weak and already starting to get cold. These types of parties were for the older generation, black tie events? He had absolutely no idea, a gala maybe? Yeah, that's the one. Old, wrinkled men with their equally wrinkled white-haired wives waltzed around the ballroom bragging about a new project or a new car or maybe a new overseas company they were planning on buying. This was definitely Georgi's scene, seeing as his current "boss" had ventured off recently and ordered himself to acquaint with the potential business prospects. Yes, there were plentiful people his age too, but nothing exciting. Sometimes you'd get the occasional sugar daddy with his hot, young and usually blonde wife practically wearing a neon flashing sign reading 'gold digger'. He never said anything. More often than not he found it amusing, watching said wife ogle him while her husband was busy chatting up a waitress or two. Unfortunately for Viktor, Yuri had left to go observe the room and find Nikolay somewhere amongst the crowd. Being the secret agent he was, Viktor attempted to watch the fancy rich men and women take to the dance floor. If you asked him, the band was producing something along the lines of a lullaby rather than a waltz, because he's pretty sure he spotted some old guy sleeping at a table near the corner. "Oi! Old man!" Viktor tried not to roll his eyes and glanced at his younger partner in annoyance. Honestly, Yuri actually looked very nice. He too, had been approached by a handful of men and women, then left them whimpering as they retreated due to his brash comments and blunt honesty. Agent 47 currently wore a black suit, sleek against his frame with a black bow tie making Viktor laugh and tell him he fit the James Bond classic look. Yuri simply rolled his eyes and prepared his hair in an intricate ponytail at the time. "Ah, Yuri!~" At the call, Yuri paused in his walk and frowned. Viktor actually didn't care at this point, someone he actually wanted to be around was going to distract him from this disastrous night. "Can you keep it down? Geez, you're like an overgrown child." At that, Viktor pouted. Yuri sighed and rolled his eyes, scanning the room and grumbled. "I'm sorry. Whatever just, " He hesitated and briefly pointed to the buffet in the back. "Alright, do you see the guy with the dark blue suit and blonde hair? The one with the scar on his cheek?" Viktor was trying not to coo at the fact his companion apologized, but he noted the instruction and spotted him. Turns out Agent 47 was a great scout. "So Nikolay did show up. I suppose we should notify Chris before he takes his leave." "He owns a big ass company so no shit he's hanging around with these geezers." Yuri scoffed and crossed his arms, grimacing. "But it's not enough evidence that Georgi is connected to him though. I couldn't grab the files from yesterday because he'd get suspicious." "Well maybe we can strike a conversation with him. Do you have your recorder set?" "Yea. The bow tie camera is working too." Yuri glanced back at the man, blinking in surprise when he noticed Georgi approaching. "Your boss is coming, 12 o'clock." Viktor let out a long, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He then proceeded to mutter a curse under his breath when he noticed Yuri was right and Georgi currently headed towards them, the fluffy trim of his peach suit sparkling slightly. Oh Lord what did he want? "Ah! Alexei!" "Mr. Popovich, how are you?" Viktor smiled politely at him and spared a quick glance to the woman clutching to the man's arm, who's smiling and twirling a black lock around her fingers. "Wonderful! I'm certain this gala is a huge success!" He paused and turned to the woman, "I don't think you've met my wife?" Georgi slipped an arm around the brunette's waist and gestured over to her, "This is Anya. Anya, this is Alexei! He's our advisor for the art project we were discussing with Nikolay earlier." The brunette's eyes widened and she seemed to suddenly recognize who he was. She threw a smile at him and shook Viktor's open hand, "As my husband previously introduced me, I'm Anya. Anya Popovich. It's nice to meet you Mr. Ivanov. We've been so busy with the preparations on the gala and gallery I haven't had the chance to see you." "It's quite alright Mrs. Popovich. There's never any pause when business is involved. No rest for the wicked, hm?" Anya laughed. "Ah, indeed. How are you this evening?" A waitress skimmed by with a tray of champagne flutes balanced carefully atop. Viktor hummed and grabbed a glass, staring at it briefly before flashing her an award winning smirk. "Charmed." At that moment, it seemed the hosts of the party became aware of their advisor's guest. It was only after Yuri nudged Viktor in the gut and Anya silently swooned. "Oh! I didn't notice you there! What's your name?" Yuri glanced up from the ground and noticed that Georgi had addressed him. Giving a tight smile, he said, "I'm Yuri-" Viktor stepped on his foot and Yuri immediately turned to scream at the taller man before realizing what he had done. He whipped back to Georgi and gave a queasy look, "o. Yurio is my name. I'm uh, Alexei's cousin." "Hmm. I believe I can see some similarities between the two of you..." Georgi smiled and clasped Viktor's shoulder heavily. "Yurio must've been your plus one! Wonderful for you to take family out once in a awhile, da?" "Of course." "Yeah, yeah, what a good cousin he is." Yuri shot Viktor a look and glanced back at the couple before them. "I'm going to check out the buffet table. I'll meet with you later Alexei when I find something I like." Yuri walked away, taking quick strides before running as Anya laughed and whispered something into Georgi's ear, in which he responded to by scanning the ballroom and shrugging. Viktor furrowed his eyebrows and followed their gaze to the tables set out on the west side. Suddenly, Anya leaves and goes weaving through the mass of people and tables. "She's looking for Yuuri." Georgi chuckled. "Yuuri?" "The artist." Georgi corrected, "He's here with two friends I believe. One with a hamster hat and the other in a ravishing suit. I must say, Mr. Katsuki is quite the figure this evenin-" Georgi stopped talking when he noticed a colleague wave him over to their table enthusiastically. Viktor frowned slightly and Georgi excused himself before grinning and pointing out something towards the west side of the ballroom and slipping off. Viktor turned and spotted him across the dance floor then swore time froze. It was hardly late into the night, yet most of the guests are already thoroughly sloshed, having enthusiastically imbibed enough alcohol to tank a small elephant. They swirled about the room, swaths of gaudy color against the white walls and black parquet flooring, reflected back to themselves in hectic splendor from the polished silver ceiling. Golden streamers spiraling out from the sparkling chandelier cast shards of yellow glow onto faces and gowns, into glasses, jewels, and wine, obscuring identity, hiding intent. A parody of a music box. No way that's Yuuri. Viktor nearly dropped his flute of champagne when he noticed his form flashing in and out of sight within the crowd. Yuuri was an anomaly, standing perfectly still in the middle of anarchy, unchanging as hundreds of people boil and shift around him like an island in a roiling, greedy ocean. Like the eye of the storm. How in the fucking hell had he not seen him? Viktor blamed the mass crowd and hazy music because now when he stares at him, he's beginning to notice a couple things. A lot of things. People wore multicolored outfits, some adorning masks as if this was a masquerade. The music even changed into something exotic, as if accompanying Yuuri's unique look. And damn, what a look it was. His dark hair was slicked back with several tendrils complimenting perfectly to his face, a far cry from his earlier appearance in the rain. Viktor's gaze travelled from the elegant features of his beautifully sculpted face, down his neck to dainty collar bones, beautiful shoulders... His figure was svelte, but he bore the subtle lines of whipcord muscle in his arms and those legs belie a hidden physical prowess. His outfit was extraordinary, yet it looked so natural on him. Matte red satin hugged every generous curve, the hem falling to his hips before flaring out in a slight, stylish one sided skirt that faded to black and crimson underneath the folds. Intricate black lines traced his figure, with small crystal pieces embedded on his right breast. He wore no gold, offering only his astounding natural beauty to any onlooker. Without that distraction of glitz or shine, the ensemble's bold statement read loud and clear: Yuuri didn't need it. He was, quite simply, the most stunning person Viktor had ever seen. And that was saying a lot. Viktor's eyes roamed over Yuuri's hips, leading to his legs and seeing the tight fabric clinging to his every curve that lead to a pair of black stiletto heels... Suddenly, Viktor was imagining Yuuri, how he would feel in his hands…his hips grinding against his own… those perfect legs wrapping themselves around him in the dark… Viktor could feel his body flush. Seriously? He was better than this. He was a secret agent for crying out loud! He was acting like some horny teenage virgin and that didn't sit well. Yuuri was just a hot fucking piece of ass. That's all it would ever be. Plus, he had a mission to complete and Yuuri wasn't interested. But...damn, if the flute of champagne in his hand wasn't the first alcoholic drink he had taken all night, he'd be certain he was drunk. Maybe he was. Musing, Viktor returned his gaze to Yuuri's face, and nearly choked in shock. He was watching him sideways, through eyes heavy-lidded and impossibly brown. An attractive smirk hovered around Yuuri's perfect red mouth. Viktor tried not to hyperventilate. What all did he see, how much was he able to glean from his expression? Obviously enough to read his last few thoughts. Yuuri turned to him fully, raising an eyebrow before someone in a hamster hat grabbed him. Viktor moved to take a step. Suddenly, four pairs of hands grabbed Viktor's arm and wrenched him backward. It took a split second and all of his suddenly chaotic control to realize that the fingers holding him were feminine, well-manicured, and statistically unlikely to be concealing deadly weapons. Probably not the talons of Hell dragging him to his doom, all things considered. Therefore, it stands to reason that he should refrain from flipping his assailants over his head and into the wall. Curse that training. Viktor really needed to settle his frazzled mind before he accidentally blew his cover. He forced his breath steady, his expression clean, slowly relaxing out of a vicious, nearly imperceptible attack stance and turned around. His captors, harmless young heiresses all, snickered to each other, completely unaware of their very real brush with disaster. No, they just knew him as Alexei. The charming advisor for Georgi's art project. They wouldn't be laughing though if they had seen that flat, violent instinct flash across Viktor's face. Had Yuuri seen? Viktor looked over his shoulder, searching for him, but found no one. Yuuri vanished. ~ "Just let him go." Phichit groaned. He stood beside Otabek near the buffet, waiting for Yuuri to scout through the room. The entire ride here and even now, Otabek continued to complain about some blonde he might bump into due to his relations with a certain silver haired man. "Even if you see the guy, it's not like he's gonna talk to you. He probably thinks you're just some asshole." Otabek rolled his eyes, "Shut up." "I didn't mean it in a bad way! Yuuri and I love you, even if you're an asshole! A lovely lovable asshole." "You're the worst you know that? Aren't friends supposed to help you with situations like this?" Phichit laughed. "First off, rude. Secondly, it's just some random guy you met. Not like you-" he paused, eyes narrowed over one another, glaring at Otabek. "You sly dog." "What?" "What do you mean 'what'?" Phichit laughed and grabbed a flute of strawberry champagne from the table behind him. "You have a crush on him!" Otabek gaped at him, mortified."No I don't! Geez, what are you, in fourth grade?" "Hey, I'm just saying." Phichit shrugged and took a sip. "Maybe you need to be the one that shuts up since you can't stop talking about him." "Y'know what, I'm just gonna go feed your hamsters cake and leave you behind when I come back to pick Yuuri up." Phichit scoffed, "No you won't! And don't you dare feed my babies cake, lover boy, you'll ruin their tummies!" Otabek took a few steps backwards, glaring at Phichit the entire time while he stuck his tongue out, "Watch me!" Phichit was about to yell something back when someone collided into Otabek's right shoulder with miraculous speed and made the two of them stumble slightly, finding the ground wobbly from the crash. Otabek and the man both looked up and hissed. "You." They spoke in unison, Phichit's eyes widening over their presence in the back. Oh my god. Yuri stepped forward, shoving at Otabek's shoulder. "What the hell, asshole?! Why don't you watch where you're going!" Otabek growled, "Why don't you run in some place that isn't a ballroom!" "Woah, woah, woah. Relax, you two." Phichit interrupted, hoping to diminish any argument that could arise between the two strong-willed men. Wow, just imagine a brawl break out in the middle of the gala? Well I mean, something else would happen that's crazier, but...Clearing his throat and smiling, Phichit gave Otabek a nod. "This here is my friend, Otabek. He and I were just teasing about something when he backed into you. I'm sure he's very sorry about it, right?" "Oh I'm sorry about something." "Funny." Yuri said in a gaveling tone of sorts. His arms had crossed over his chest, thoughts swaying towards irritation at the sight of Phichit grinning, almost uncaring of the tense atmosphere. Which, by the goofy looks of this kid and the immature vibe Yuri received from him it made him realize that it wasn't such a far fetched idea when the guy was parading around in a hamster hat. Upon noticing the awkward tension coming from lack of response in either party, Phichit cleared his throat, returning to the subject at hand. "Well uh- what's your name?" "Yuri...o. It's Yurio." "Well, Yurio, we're sorry for causing you any trouble. Please excuse my dear ungraceful friend." "Ungraceful? This is coming from the guy who can't even walk straight while carrying a puppy." Otabek responded rather dryly. "Vicchan is getting heavy! I told Yuuri he's gonna make his dog fat if he keeps spoiling him with treats!" Yuri frowned, "Yuuri?" "We have a roommate named Yuuri." Otabek paused, finally acknowledging Yuri in a somewhat friendly manner. Extending a hand out toward him, he huffed. "Sorry for backing into you and calling you short that one time." Yuri seemed to be surprised by the sudden apology, but slowly took Otabek's hand and shook it. "I guess it's whatever. Sorry for running into you." He offered a small quirk of his lip and noticed the leopard print on the tie and hummed, "I like the tie you have on." Otabek glanced down and gave a small grin, looking up at Yuri slightly. "Thank you. I like the bow tie you have on." Yuri smiled fully this time and somewhere, Phichit took a picture and scurried off to grab Yuuri. ~  The moon was hanging low in the sky, drunken revelers just beginning to trickle out of the mansion's enormous double doors and into the night, when Viktor saw Yuuri again. It had been hours, and not once in all this time had he seen him, though, for security purposes, he had most certainly been looking. That's why it was a shock when Yuuri suddenly appeared out of nowhere, leaving a dance with some old gentlemen with a grin. "Ah, Yuuri." "Alexei, nice to see you here." Yuuri remarked sarcastically from behind him. "I believe I noticed you taking interest in something particular earlier." Viktor flushed, whirling around on him wondering for a split second how he managed to get the drop on him - in heels - before adjusting his expression to that of Vapid Playboy. "Of course I was." Viktor responded, trying to keep the interest out of his voice. "I was simply admiring an art piece at work." "The art, hm?" Yuuri returned, smiling slightly. His voice was lower than he would have expected, a rich alto purr that seemed to flow from his lips, so unlike the sweet and nervous tone Yuuri spoke with when they met the first time. "I hope you know not to touch the art then." Viktor winced. "Well..." Yes. Yuuri was quick, but he could be quicker. "It's not often that one meets a piece as lovely as this one," he purred, feeling the words ring truer than expected. "Plus, someone needs to pin the art to the wall, yes?" "That depends," Yuuri hummed, his smile now a downright grin. "How long were you intending to look? Because it's all well and good to enjoy the view. But personally, I've always preferred a man of... action." Viktor felt his heart rate quicken fractionally, his muscles flexed. How was Yuuri doing this? "I think I can manage that," Viktor spoke, his voice rougher, deepening of its own accord. Yuuri leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing his own. "Prove it." Yuuri whispered. Not a request. A challenge. Viktor does love to play these games. He wrapped his hands around Yuuri's waist, bringing him closer. A sharp song began to ring out, a tango like beat. Yuuri winded his slender arms around his neck and Viktor pulled him into the fray of lingering dancers. As they moved to the music, Yuuri's hips swaying hypnotically against his own, Viktor hummed. "I need to ask...why such a suave personality tonight?" "You could say I'm a bit bold at the moment. I'm not saying your first attempt to sway me worked, but this time..." Yuuri hummed against his throat, making Viktor shiver. "Let's just say I love to see a playboy squirm under a tease." His lips brushed his jugular and Viktor swallowed, fighting the sudden urge to bury his face in his neck. They moved in sync. The music picked up and Viktor spun Yuuri around before dipping the younger man and clutching his upper thigh as he smirked. Pulling back up, Yuuri spun around and swayed against Viktor, back to chest while one of the Russian's hand curled around Yuuri's waist before the latter spun out with a seductive sway of his skirt flashing and a teasing bite to the lips. "Don't take your eyes off me." Yuuri ordered, reclaiming Viktor's attention instantly. "I'm not very good at dancing. I think I'll need your help." Yuuri's lying. Viktor can tell by the movement of his hips alone that he knows perfectly well what he's doing. Still, Yuuri needed to play his part in the plan. Even if it's becoming increasingly fun to flirt with Alexei... "I think you're holding back." Viktor suddenly whispered into his ear. Yuuri's eyes darkened, some new emotion evident in his face, although he's visibly attempting to hide it. "I might be." He returned, the sound going through Viktor like lightning. For some agonizing reason, Viktor knows Yuuri doesn't like him. As much as they flirt, it's clear Yuuri's enjoying his silent suffering– but this is normal. Viktor's met a tease before, but Yuuri's different. For one thing, he's surprisingly analytical. Open curiosity is written on his features, as though he sees right through Viktor's carefully-constructed ruse. Plus, there's some churning at the bottom of his gut, a bell ringing that danger lurked beneath that pretty face of his. Yuuri was...a mystery. Unknowing to him, the feeling's mutual. Viktor twirled him slowly, contemplating the situation. He's losing. Viktor should stop, just pull away and stop this game they constructed. There's that strange sensation of déjà vu again when Viktor looks to Yuuri and sees those swaying hips. He's on a fucking mission as well. He really needs to go now before he misses Nikolay...But Yuuri's brown eyes are watching him, staring boldly into his own without a trace of modesty or fear. As though he had every right to stand in his arms and size him up as though he were any ordinary man. It is… rather refreshing, actually. Oddly attractive. He really should pull away. He should, but he doesn't. Instead, he leaned in, his lips close to Yuuri's ear. His fingers drift along Yuuri's spine, lower… lower. The minutes pass. They circle the dance floor with graceful steps, somehow finding a tango within the blaring beat of the music throbbing against them. In the hot center of the crowd, where the light is dim, it is as though the very air is pushing them together. The clock chimes midnight, and a man approaches, shattering the moment, and they fly apart. Viktor stared in silent horror when he noticed the man who stole his dancing partner was none other than Nikolay. That's when it hit. This was a dangerous game they were playing and there were more players involved. Viktor scanned the room to look for his Yuri when he turned back and gaped at the disappearance of his midnight beauty. Once again, Yuuri had vanished. He looked around the room again, this time more desperately, but was only rewarded with the sight of Yuri joining him with a frazzled appearance. "What happened to you? You look like you're about to cry." Viktor seemed to be groping for a word. "S-Semenov. Did you see him?" Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Yeah...I saw him earlier. Georgi and him snuck by, but I managed to get a microchip slipped into Georgi's pocket so we could check the conversations feedback in our hotel room." "That's not why I'm asking." "Then why are you-" The lights in the building flashed with such a flourish, guests began to scream. It was brief, about 30 seconds, but cries rang out at a figure dashing around the room. Someone yelled and then a loud bang clattered, the lights traveling, a security guard flipped over on the smashed buffet table and a man standing beside it, his hips cocked and a smirk fitting his face. Eros. The moment Viktor's eyes met his masked one, the two of them locked in a somewhat staring contest. Now neither of the two could tell what the other was thinking, but they shared reasonable thoughts of not trusting one another from the start. Viktor's face gave no sign of being aware of his missing wallet, which shouldn’t unsettle Yuuri, but it did for some reason. He forced himself to match Viktor's cool, but he felt as if every move provoked suspicion. “Eros." “Alexei." Yuuri closed the distance between the two of them, his hand grazed his shoulder down to his stomach “I know we just met again, but I'm afraid I have to go now.” Eros already had his back towards Viktor when he felt himself forcefully whipped back to face him. Yuuri looked down at his elbow to see his fingers gripping him. His eyes darted to his and lingered longer than it should've. Both tried to read each other, but concluded nothing. With that, Eros smirked and dashed to the window, leaping out with a flourish. Yuri angrily swore up and down at the fact he was too far away to try anything because "rich morons" wouldn't get out the way despite his screaming. After a stunned silent that lasted 30 more seconds, yelling emitted around the room. "My Rolex is gone!" "My keys!" "My money!" Throughout all the mayhem, Viktor could only think three things. 1. Where had Yuuri gone? 2.Eros had slipped his wallet back into his pocket. 3. He swore the thief had a smudge of red lipstick on.    Hola! If you wanna know what Yuuri's tango outfit looked like and see some of my lame doodles or go to my tumblr, the links down below! MY TUMBLR/art

The sunlight spilled dimly through the windows lining the wall of Magnus's loft. It was a single golden beam reflected off one of the windows from across the alleyway directly onto her face that woke Clary up. She blinked open her eyes, only to squeeze them shut as soon as the bright light blinded her. Groaning, she shifted to her left so the light no longer shown on her face only to feel the dull edge of her sketchbook dig into her side. Confused, she opened her eyes again and looked down at her lap. Her sketchbook was open to a page with a half drawn image of a little girl on it that she barely remembered drawing. Then again, she didn't remember falling asleep either. Sitting up, she freed her legs from their bent position, stretching out pleasurably. A soft hum from next to her drew her attention and Clary glanced over to see little Zoe curled in a ball against the arm of the couch just a foot or so away from her. She smiled and tugged the blanket higher up the young warlock's body before setting her sketchbook aside and standing. The other warlocks, Elias and Zoe's father Adham, were sitting in the two armchairs across the coffee table from the couch. They both looked like they had fallen asleep while talking. Elias had his cellphone clutched loosely in his hand like a charm. The sight of it reminded Clary of her own phone. She should probably check to see if Simon and Maureen got home okay last night. Clary had run out on them after all. Yawning, Clary looked around the loft for her messenger bag, pausing when she heard shuffling coming from Magnus's bedroom. Sure enough, Magnus came out dressed in a fresh set of clothes. He wore a deep garnet silk shirt with subtle designs covering the material to give it the faintest texture. The front of the shirt was almost entirely unbuttoned revealing his toned chest and numerous necklaces, the charms clinking against each other rhythmically. Over his shirt, Magnus wore a black jacket with black pants, again with subtle designs decorating the fabric, that hugged his legs flatteringly. His shoes were silvery and reflected the early morning sunlight dully. It was a testament to his distracted thoughts that Magnus didn't notice Clary's presence immediately. As it was, he only noticed her when she moved, flinching in surprise before relaxing. The move unnerved Clary. "Hey," she said softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping warlocks. Magnus nodded absently before moving to the kitchen to go through the motions of brewing tea. "Are you alright?" Clary asked, following her uncle. Magnus sighed and shook his head, setting a mug for himself and one for Clary on the island countertop. "Not particularly, no," he said, his voice soft and morose. "I've sent fire messages to all the warlocks I know of in my domain. I'm not sure if all of them got them, but I tried." He snapped his fingers and the mugs were suddenly filled with steaming water, a tea bag tag hanging over the rims. Clary jolted at the change, eyes wide. -smoky blue...pulling- Clary shook the weird, intrusive thought away in favor of humming happily and reaching for her own mug. She took a sip and looked back at her uncle, concerned when he made no move for his own mug. "Were you able to send a message to Dot?" Clary asked when the silence seemed to drag. Magnus shook his head. "I don't know where she is, so no," he said, finally looping his ringed fingers around the mug's handle. "I can only send fire messages to someone if I know where they are. Alternatively, I could send one to a person's home but seeing as Dot's home isn't somewhere she'll go back to anytime soon..." He shrugged. "I told my people to spread the word that I'll be at my club this afternoon for an hour if any of them wanted to take me up on my offer of sanctuary in my Lair," he continued after taking a careful sip. "They won't stay here forever, naturally, but they're welcome here until I can send them somewhere safer." "I'm going with you," Clary said, her tone serious. Magnus stared at her in mild surprise before smiling and shaking his head. "No," he said. "Yes I am," Clary said. "No, you aren't Clarissa," Magnus said, staring at his troublesome niece. "Yes I am, Magnus Bane," she countered sharply. "You really think I'm going to let the one person who stayed with me through this out of my sight after everything that's happened?" Magnus opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Instead he bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, his eyebrows lifting in surrender. "Fine," he said, waving the hand holding his mug. "But you aren't leaving my side and if I tell you to run, you'll do exactly as I say without question." His golden gaze was sharp and would not tolerate Clary attempting to wheedle her way out of this. Clary pursed her lips in frustration but nodded. She'd gotten her way and Magnus' requirements weren't too ridiculous. Although, if he seriously thought she'd leave him behind for any reason, he was gravely mistaken. She'd let that happen once, she wasn't going to do that again. Ever. But she'd cross that bridge when and if she had to. "Have you seen my phone?" she asked, changing the subject. Magnus hummed. "No, but then again I don't usually make a habit of searching through someone else's personal affects," he said. "Even if said person is my niece," he added with a sly wink. Clary rolled her eyes and walked away from her uncle towards the dark wood and red stained glass doors separating the master suite from the common area of the loft. Her bag still sat where she'd left it on Magnus's bed. Come to think of it, Magnus's bed was exactly as she'd left it. Did Magnus not sleep at all last night? She glanced over her shoulder back at Magnus, blushing when she realized he'd been watching her. He lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her and she gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. He had the grace to shrug but otherwise appeared unrepentant. Shaking her head, Clary walked into Magnus's bedroom and pulled her bag towards her. She flipped the flap over so it lay on the comforter and began digging through her bag for her phone. Something crinkled and she paused, forehead creased in confusion. She pulled out the wrapped package and stared at it thoughtfully. She didn't recognize it and had no recollection of putting it in her bag in the first place. Curious, she carefully ripped the paper off and almost cried again. In her hands was her mother's hand painted deck of Tarot cards. She shuffled through the cards, rubbing her thumb across the textured surfaces. She would find her mother and get to the bottom of what exactly was going on. Like hell she was just going to stand passively and react to everything. She was going to start acting on her own. Taking a deep breath through her nose to center herself, she tenderly placed the Tarot deck on the bed beside her messenger bag and went back to feeling for her phone. She finally found it and pulled it out, turning it on. Or she tried to turn it on. After several tries, she groaned in frustration. The battery must have died. She reached back into her bag and pulled out the charger and looked around for a plug. She'd let her phone charge then let Simon know she was alright. Unless Simon called Luke. She froze. What if Simon had contacted Luke? Dear lord above she hoped he hadn't. She tried turning her phone on after a couple minutes of charging and was relieved when the familiar lock screen appeared. However, her relief became shock when her lock screen was subsequently filled with missed call notifications, voicemail notifications, and a seemingly endless list of text notifications. All from Simon. She quickly silenced her phone when the almost constant dings began to grate on her nerves. She unlocked her phone and read through Simon's texts, her heart simultaneously plummeting with guilt and fluttering fondness as the texts became steadily more frantic. The voicemails had the same progression from worry to panic. The last text message informed her he would try again to contact her come morning. It also threatened to contact Luke if she didn't respond. Looking up to be sure she was still alone in Magnus's room, she shot a brief text to Simon. /Time: 8:32 AM To: Simon From: ClaryI'm ok. Don't tell Luke. Try to call later. Don't worry./ She set her phone down only for it to ding with an incoming text. /Time: 8:32 AM To: Clary From: SimonOmg r u ok! Where r u? Why'd u leave last night? I called n txted and everything./ Clary huffed. /Time: 8:33 AM To: Simon From: ClaryI'm fine. I'll tell you later. Can't talk now. I'll call later./ "It'd be best if he didn't know where you are." Clary all but jumped out of her skin, whirling around to see Magnus standing behind her. His neatly styled stubble facial hair standing out against his skin in the dimly lit room. His golden eyes glittered eerily. -golden eyes staring into her soul. Blue phantasmic fire swirling around her, in her head, pulling...something- Clary blinked. The image fading as quickly as it surfaced. Dismissing it for now, she asked, "Why not?" "Well for starters, he can't get here," Magnus said, waving his hands in a half shrug. "Only someone with the Sight can see the door to my Lair and my shields will keep most of them out anyway." "But Simon-" "Is better off not knowing where you are," Magnus finished, cutting Clary off. "As long as he's not involved, he's safe. Or as safe as he can be." Magnus rolled his eyes. "You just think he's annoying," Clary said, leveling her uncle with a disappointment stare. "Obnoxious," Magnus corrected, holding up a finger. "Which I suppose is the same thing so yes. He's annoying." Smiling without any signs of guilt, Magnus turned back to leave his bedroom. He paused at the door and looked at Clary. "He is safer not knowing where you are. I wasn't lying about that." Reluctantly, Clary nodded. As much as it hurt her, Simon was her best friend. She had to keep him safe. The last thing she wanted was him tangled up in all this insanity like she was.   "Nothing." Amber eyes stared at the speaker in disbelief. "Nothing?" Jace repeated dully. Hodge shook his head. "Nothing." He turned back to the screen in defeat. "I can't find any attacks like that as far back as I looked," he said. Jace gripped the back of Isabelle's chair and leaned against it as he tried to make sense of this. "And no records of any missing Shadowhunters?" he asked. "Nope," Hodge replied. "None." He gestured helplessly. "Look, I'll leave you to it." He patted Jace's shoulder as he passed. "Sorry I couldn't be more help." Jace nodded to Hodge, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. Nothing. They'd been working on this all night and most of the day and they still had nothing to go on. "This sucks," he grumbled under his breath. "You're telling me," Isabelle said, settling in her chair. "We can't dwell on it," Alec said, leaning forward in his seat. "We'll just keep looking. Things have been quiet until now." He spread his hands. "Izzy," he said, drawing his sister's attention, "did Meliorn tell you anything?" Isabelle Lightwood grinned and Alec fought the urge to roll his eyes. "He told me a lot of things," she teased, rolling her shoulder coyly. "Stick to the important stuff, Izzy," Jace said, smirking at his parabatai who looked ready to thunk his head on the table. Isabelle chuckled. "Alright." Her smile drooped. "Something's happening. Meliorn didn't know too much because he doesn't usually rub shoulders with them but," she paused to meet her brother's bright blue eyes seriously, "something's got the warlocks scared. He said he heard through the grapevine that they were getting out of New York as fast as they could." Jace's eyebrows furrowed. "Why would the warlocks be on the run?" he asked no one in particular. Isabelle shrugged. "Meliorn didn't know," she admitted. "But he suspects they're being hunted." "Hunted?" Alec said, sitting up in interest. Isabelle nodded. "That's all he knows. He only knew that much because whatever happened has the Seelies unnerved." Alec looked up at Jace who sighed noisily. "The Seelies aren't easily unnerved," the blonde Shadowhunter said, standing up straight. "If something's going on with the warlocks, then the High Warlock should be aware of it. He owns that Pandemonium place, right?" Isabelle nodded. "We can start looking there. We got lucky last time. No sense not trying again. I'd say it's worth looking into at least. Maybe it'll give us a break with this," he waved vaguely at the screen with their blank slate case. Isabelle nodded thoughtfully. "It might." She smirked. "It would hold off my boredom and who knows. Maybe we'll find your mystery girl." Jace grinned and flicked his jacket collar flirtatiously. This time, Alec didn't bother hiding his disdain. He rolled his eyes and stood. "I'll be right back," he called, ignoring his siblings' snickers as he went.   The moment Clary stepped through the Portal with Magnus, she froze. She recognized this place. This was where this whole madness began. Right in this VIP room, as a matter of fact. Right by that couch under that screen on that wall. "Clary!" Clary blinked when her vision was suddenly filled with Magnus's face. He must have been calling her. "Clary, are you alright?" he asked. His eyes studied her intently, flicking across her face with open concern. "You own this place?" she demanded, pointing to the screen on the wall. Magnus leaned back in bewilderment. "Yes, why?" "This," Clary pointed to the floor by the couch, right where they were standing, "this is where they... those people killed those things. They turned to ash right here! I killed that guy right...." Magnus's eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked around him. "I didn't see you," he muttered to himself, ignoring the look she shot him. "There were Circle members here." He met Clary’s cautious gaze with his own. "I kicked them out. Circle members are never welcome here. They kill my guests." "You mean like those people from before?" Clary demanded, her face pale in the odd lighting. Magnus tilted his head to the side. "Possibly," he said. "Vampires turn to ash when they're killed, but then again so do demons." He moved to pulled the curtains separating the main dance floor from the VIP section aside. "If it was vampires, then the Circle was probably behind it. But if it was demons, then those Shadowhunters were probably from the Institute." "The Institute?" Clary asked, stepping up to pull the other curtain back. "The Shadowhunters' base," Magnus clarified. "There's one here in New York. I try to stay out of their business. Most Shadowhunters don't like Downworlders. We're," his lips twitched in a dark smile as a group of warlocks walked into his club, "beneath them." His voice dripped with disdain and his glittering eyes were narrowed with dislike. "Beneath them?" Clary asked as the group of warlocks walked across the club floor towards Magnus. "Let's just say racism is alive and well in the Shadow World," the High Warlock said in a low voice. "This way," he called loudly. "My Lair's on the other side of the Portal. Once you're there, add your shields to mine. It'll help bolster its defenses." The female warlock leading the group nodded and shed her glamour. The sight was unexpected and Clary fought hard not to stare. The woman had skin that was bright, fire engine red. She led the way through the Portal followed by her posse of four warlocks. Clary leaned close to Magnus to whisper, "Is that her warlock mark?" Magnus nodded. "We'll wait here for an hour then leave. I don't like staying here any longer than that." "What about Dot?" Clary asked. Magnus glanced at her, quickly looking away. Clary swallowed. Magnus would wait for an hour but no longer. If Dot didn't come, she was on her own. Clary sent up a quick prayer that her friend made it in time.   Dot leaned against a dumpster, struggling to breathe around the stitch in her side. Every breath hurt. She barely had enough magic to do anything besides maybe send a couple fire messages. Thankfully, she wasn't too far from Pandemonium. It was only 1:48 in the afternoon so Pandemonium wouldn't open for long while yet. But hopefully Dot could hide out there until it did in the evening. She needed to talk to Magnus. She had to trust someone. If not Luke, then Magnus was her only other option. She prayed she could get to him before she was caught. The last thing she needed was another turn of bad luck.   Simon checked his phone again then looked up at the building in front of him incredulously. "Really?" he muttered in mild disbelief. Honestly, this was all too weird. She was still here? Why would Clary leave this place like a bat out of hell only to come back when the place was closed? He scratched his head and checked his phone yet again. Sure enough, Clary's symbol in the Find Friends app stood big and bold practically next to his own right here. He looked back up at the unlit sign above the entrance of the building. "It's okay Simon," he muttered. "She's probably fine. Just, you know, creeping. Yeah, definitely just creeping. She's an artist. I mean, artists get inspired by all sorts of stuff, right? Creeping isn't all that unusual." He gulped. "I am definitely going to regret this." Tucking his phone in his pocket, he forced himself to walk towards the closed club Pandemonium, unaware of the three people in black who had walked briskly past him.   Magnus pulled out a small but ornate pocket watch, tapping his foot as the minute hand inched its way closer to two o'clock. He and Clary had been here much too long. He was the High Warlock of Brooklyn and thus it was his duty to protect his people. But he wasn't stupid. He knew the unusual influx of warlocks in one place would attract the Institute's attention. He estimated it would take the Shadowhunters an hour before anything was done to investigate. That deadline was fast approaching. It just wasn't fast enough to suit him. Clary was helping as best she could, hustling the arriving warlocks through the Portal. He had counted about a dozen total so far. He hoped any other warlock had been able to get out on his or her own. Clary must have felt his gaze because she looked up and unerringly caught it with her own. He could read the question in her eyes and felt horrible when he shook his head and watched the despair and worry fill her eyes. The hour was almost up and there was still no sign of Dorothea. The doors to the club banged open and Magnus looked up expecting another group of stragglers, or Dorothea. Instead, he saw a male warlock racing across the empty floor of his club. The warlock cast a terrified glance over his shoulder and Magnus tensed, his senses heightening. He focused on the shadows behind the straggler and saw the unmistakable black clothes and tattooed bodies of Shadowhunters. He did not stop to question whether they were from the Institute or the Circle. He snapped his watch shut and made his way hurriedly to Clary. "Time to go!" he cried. Clary's eyes bulged in shock when she saw her uncle racing towards her as fast as he could. He cast a look over his shoulder and she followed his gaze only to stiffen. "It's them," she breathed. "Go through the Portal!" Magnus ordered, stepping between his niece and the Shadowhunters. The command jolted Clary from her shock. She shook her head, eyes narrowed in determination. "Like hell," she snapped. "We have to wait for Dot." "Dot's not coming Clary. Go," Magnus said, activating his magic, ready to defend himself and his people should the Shadowhunters attack. "I'll be right behind you." Clary's cheeked flushed with fury. She snagged her uncle's coat sleeve and yanked him back to her startling him. "The last time someone told me that, I never saw her again," she snarled. "I am not. Leaving. You." Magnus swallowed, feeling a mixture of affection and frustration for his stubborn niece. "Magnus!" one of the Shadowhunters shouted. Magnus took up a position between Clary and the Shadowhunters. They were running towards them now. With their enhanced speed, they would clear the open floor in seconds. Luckily, the terrified warlock bolted past Magnus and through the Portal just in time. Magnus spun and pushed himself and Clary through the purple veil right behind the straggler. The instant he felt fresh air on his face, he banished the Portal. The next thing he felt was the cold, hard wood as he thudded to the floor. He scrambled up, pulling a breathless Clary up after him, straightening his coat self-consciously. He felt the eyes of the many warlock refugees in his Lair staring at them. There was no way he was going to allow himself to appear anything less than magnificent in front of them. He nodded the Elias who was helping ease the gasping warlock who had arrived tailed by the Shadowhunters down onto the couch. Then he placed a hand on his niece's shoulder, only to find himself yanked into a hug. He stiffened, caught by surprise. "Don't ever try to send me away without you, Magnus," she commanded. Her voice held the edge of anger but her fingers gripped the back of his coat with the desperation brought on by fear and love. Magnus sighed and hugged her gently. He didn't answer aloud, but he didn't have to. "Those people," Clary whispered, just soft enough for him to hear, "they were the ones who killed those things in your club. It was them." Magnus narrowed his eyes. The Shadowhunters had been too far away to see if there was a Circle rune on their necks or not. If so, then he was screwed. If not, then he was screwed with a chance of not being screwed. He gave it a 70/30 chance at best, 90/10 chance at worst. Either way he was screwed. It was really just a matter of how badly.   Dot hunched down behind the dumpster. The Mundane Simon may have missed the Shadowhunters walking past him, but she hadn't. She briefly debated calling for Simon but that would have caught the Shadowhunters' attention. So instead, she limped down to the sidewalk away from Pandemonium. She would come back later when the Shadowhunters were gone and Magnus opened up for business. Then she'd catch him and beg him for sanctuary and help finding Clary. She was too tired to hear them coming. Too drained to fight back when they grabbed her from behind and dragged her into a dark corner of the sidewalk. Too weak to scream for help. The last thing she saw was the sun. It would be the last time she ever saw it again.

By the time the Gallagher family had been back in Illinois for two weeks, Mickey realized something just... Wasn't right with his husband; Ian was quiet, always tired, and didn't interact with their three children in the same animated fashion he normally did. "Is Papa okay?" Max asked one night after-for the third time that week-Ian had went straight to bed after returning home from work. "Yeah, he's fine, Max." Mickey assured their eldest child, though he wasn't so sure; Ian's behavior seemed like he was approaching a Depressive episode, and the idea of their children seeing Ian more dead than alive scared Mickey shitless. "Hey, you wanna go spend the night with Aunt Debbie?" Mickey asked, already reaching for his phone before Max had even smiled and nodded in response. "Hey, Mick! What's up?" Debbie asked as soon as she answered the phone, her voice as sweet and carefree as ever. "Hey... Ian's pretty warn out. You care if Max and Harlow stay with you, tonight?" Mickey asked, knowing Debbie-or any of the other Gallagher siblings-would understand what he meant. "I'll come get them as soon as Franny's done takin' her bath. I can call Fiona or Lip to help out with Cian, if you want." Debbie offered, knowing Mickey wouldn't want to leave Ian alone for too long if this really was Depression. "Yeah, call Fi. Thanks, Little Red; I owe you." Mickey said, thankful his sister-in-law was always there to help him with his two eldest children. "Screw that shit; you're family, Mickey. And Franny's missed Max, anyway." Debbie laughed, clearly trying to lighten the mood just a bit. "Call me when you're on your way and I'll make sure they're ready to go." Mickey said, wishing he could laugh with Debbie, but he knew she'd understand; when Ian was depressed, Mickey worried far too much to joke and laugh.   "Be good for Aunt Debbie, okay? Harlow, that means no bitin' Franny or Max." Mickey instructed his two eldest children, checking their backpacks to ensure they had everything they needed for the night. "No biting. Got it!" Harlow chirped, kissing Mickey's nose as he put the sequenced pink and purple bag back on her shoulders. "Love you, Daddy." "Love you, too, Ladybug." Mickey whispered, kissing the crown of fiery red curls secured in a messy bun on his daughter's head. "Make sure you take your medicine, okay, Chipmunk?" Mickey reminded his son, slinging the boy's Batman backpack-that he always took for his "sleepovers" with his aunt-onto his back with an exaggerated grunt of effort. "I will. Love you, Dad." Max said, wrapping his still small arms around his father's neck. "I love you, too." Mickey whispered into Max's ear as he hugged his little boy. Once Mickey released Max and Debbie took his and Ian's first two children-as well as her own daughter-out or the house, the weight of a possibly depressed Ian seemed to crash onto Mickey's shoulders. "You go be with Ian; I got this little rascal." Fiona said, lifting a giggling Cian over her head. Cian was such a happy baby, it sometimes shocked Mickey that this little boy was his; sure, Max was content and Harlow laughed a lot, but Cian never cried, and-once he'd learned how to do it-that little smile never left his face. "Yeah, okay. If you need any help with him-" Fiona cut Mickey off with a snort of laughter. "Only time he ever even sounds unhappy is when he's laughin' too hard and screams." Fiona pointed out, dodging the spit-covered hand headed for her mouth. "Chunky Monkey eats a lot, likes cuddles, yells "Dada!" when he needs his diaper changed, doesn't let go of his Mickey Mouse, and likes that one Kansas song when he's bein' rocked to sleep." "Carry On My Wayward Son." Mickey said, though he knew Fiona was right; Cian was just a genuinely happy baby, and taking care of him wasn't much of a challenge compared to his older sister. "He's been tryin' to crawl, but when he tries to get up Jake gets a little antsy and don't want anyone too close to him." "So, the biggest issue I'll have is the huge ass Nanny dog." Fiona said, actually making Mickey laugh at the accuracy of the statement; Though Jake stood over two feet tall on all four legs-making it to Ian's shoulders when on his back legs, alone-and weighed eighty-eight pounds, the dog was more devoted to the three Gallagher children than any other animal ever could be. Ian had often said the reason Jake was a good Guard Dog was that he wanted no one he didn't trust near "his babies" and Mickey had to agree; no one Jake didn't know could get close to their kids-particularly Harlow and Cian, since Max had his own Guardian in the form of Hyde-without Ian and Mickey assuring the giant teddy bear of a dog they were safe. "Okay, that's cute as fuck." Fiona mused as she laid Cian on his mat on the floor, only for Jake to lay down so the baby could scratch his ears. "Hyde like that with him?" "You kidding? That dog is Max's dog, and he don't fuckin' forget it." Mickey said, patting Jake's head before walking back to his and Ian's bedroom. "Hey, baby." Mickey said softly, seeing that Ian was curled around himself with Hyde-who Max had instructed to stay with Ian-laying behind him with his scruffy blonde head on Ian's side. "Guess Hyde really does listen to Max." "He's a good dog." Ian said, which made Mickey relax a bit; at least Ian was still talking, if only to praise their son's ten-inch-tall, twelve pound protector. "He is." Mickey agreed, sitting next to Ian's legs and reaching back to give Hyde a scratch on his neck as a "thank you" for keeping Ian company. "How're you feelin'?" "Not depressed, just... Tired." Ian said, seemingly hoping to reassure his husband that his medication wasn't failing him. "Just feel like I need to sleep for a damn week." "But not like when you're depressed?" Mickey asked, just to make sure. "No; I don't feel sad, or worthless, or like I have a million people talkin' in my head, tellin' me all the shit I've ever done wrong. I just feel really tired." Ian said, reaching out and taking Mickey's hand. "Kids aren't scared or anything, right?" "Max was worried about you, but he worries about everyone." Mickey said, knowing it was true; Max was their worrier, Harlow was their little attention seeker, and Cian just wanted to laugh and enjoy life. They had three kids with very different personalities, and that made trying to use the same tactics they'd picked up with all three a but difficult, but they made it work. "He does... Man, how the hell is he so awesome?" Ian asked with a tiny smirk. "Ask myself that a lot. He's such a great kid." Mickey replied. "Get some sleep, okay? Hyde's takin' my spot, anyway." Mickey said, standing up and making his way back to the living room with Fiona and Cian. At least he knew his husband wasn't depressed... At least not yet.

It is already dark by the time the trio emerge from the video store, the sky beginning to turn a bruise-like shade of purple, stars shielded by the clouds. There is an echo of rain in the air, a distant rumble of thunder teasing an approaching storm. Eddie coughs deeply with the exertion of standing up and it takes a little too much effort for him to put one foot in front of the other. He comes close to tripping over as he crosses the threshold of the door, but Steve manages to catch him just in time, shoving his arm around his middle to help him out to the parking lot. Eddie collapses into the back of Steve’s car, shrugging as Robin and Steve try to decide where they should eat.                                                                                                 “Steve’s buying,” Robin smirks back at Eddie as she climbs into the passenger seat and waves Steve’s wallet, a grin on her face. “Hey!” Steve goes to wrestle the wallet from her, but before he can even try, Robin has shoved it down her bra. “Now that’s just immature.” “Suck it, Harrington.” The car begins to ease out of the parking space, and there’s a moment where everything is quiet. Eddie watches Steve holding back laughter in the rear-view mirror, watching as the pair of them break, hearty giggles rippling through the car. “Let me guess,” Robin finally frees Steve’s wallet from her bra, but continues to keep it out of his reach. “Cheeseburger, no onion, no lettuce, nothing resembling a vegetable except a shit-ton of ketchup.” “And hold the pickles!” They both chime together. Eddie can’t help but smile as he watches them, any air of jealousy overtaken by the fact it just looks so goddamn easy between the pair. He has never asked what exactly is going on between them. He had questioned Dustin about it once, but the kid’s explanation of ‘Steve is a dumbass’ hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. All he has managed to figure out is that there is something there. Something unbreakable and hard to explain. “Hey at least I’m not getting a veggie burger of all things,” Steve playfully pokes her arm. “You’re not even vegetarian!” She flips him the bird, a sly little grin forming across her face before she turns back to Eddie. “And for Eddie the banished?” she says in a sing-song voice. He forces himself to sit up a little in his seat as Steve approaches the intersection, looking to see where they’re getting food from. It’s the slightly fancier diner in town, and by ‘fancy’ he really just means you’re not playing Russian Roulette with your insides by eating there. All he really remembers is that it’s kind of expensive. A pang of guilt tightens in his throat. “Uh, fries?” he shrugs, ignoring the growling in his stomach at the thought of a burger covered in bacon and cheese. Steve pulls up in front of the diner and Robin disappears inside for a few minutes, returning a short while later, her arms laden with greasy paper bags and a tray of sodas. Steve almost burns himself on his burger, and the car is filled with laughter again. It feels strange. Strange for them to be doing something so normal. Everything has still felt a little off since last week, like it still doesn’t feel quite real. Robin picks at her burger, pushing a piece of bread between her fingers. It sinks in just how close they were to things being different. She can still see Vecna (slash Henry, slash One) engulfed in flames. Still sees the tarred mark left where his body should have been. She knows somehow that he isn’t dead, but instead just dormant somewhere, waiting to build up his strength and finally tear through Hawkins once and for all.  Steve is pointing to his burger and exclaiming that it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten in his life, which he says every time they come here. Many a late night after busy shifts at Family video, they have shared a meal here, covered in grease beneath the stars. They continue eating mostly in silence, the car filled with the sounds of slurping and small talk and the slow quiet drawl of the radio presenter coming through the speakers. “Hey,” Steve taps Robin on the shoulder as he quickly turns the radio down and gestures to the back seat. Robin shifts to look. Eddie’s half-empty box of fries has been discarded on the seat beside him, and now that the radio has been muted, she can hear the soft whistle of each of his exhales. He has somehow managed to contort his limbs into a position that seems both awkward and oddly comfortable, his clammy forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window. “Shit, he’s really out for the count,” Robin watches as Eddie reshuffles himself to sink deeper into the plush seats of Steve’s car. “Probably the first he’s slept in days,” Steve whispers, not meeting Robin’s eyes as she turns back to him. “I’m actually kind of jealous.” “Have you had any sleep since… since everything?” Steve lets out a weary sigh and nods, still not making eye contact with Robin. He’s been running mostly on empty for days, only managing a couple of hours if he can sleep at all. Adrenaline and the sick desire for even an ounce of normality has kept him going, but he knows the crash is overdue. “It’s so fucking weird,” Robin fidgets with a piece of the paper bag before she even realises it, ripping it up into tiny pieces. “I feel like I’m dealing with it okay this time around. Like maybe so much crazy shit has happened that now I’m just… numb.” Steve remembers how hard she took it after the mall. Late night over-time at the video store sorting VHS tapes into organised piles, not being able to leave until they were perfect. Anxious wordless days but also days filled with words, desperate for reassurance. Talking into the early hours of morning sprawled out on her bedroom floor, rambling about nothing and everything all at once. “You sure?” Steve’s expression softens. She’s not quite sure how to answer. Is she okay? She’s never been great at reading her feelings, not until they are staring her straight in the face, not until she feels like her heart is about to explode in her chest. Not until fear spreads through her body like the explosion is sending shrapnel through every artery, every vein, every nerve. After the mall, it had taken months for the roiling nausea to wane, or at least to calm itself to a level she could tolerate and she still sometimes catches herself looking up to the ceiling, compulsively making sure that the world isn’t spinning. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Right now, she sort of just feels nothing. Steve keeps staring straight ahead, listening to the buzzing white noise of Eddie’s heavy breathing. He still hasn’t met Robin’s eyes. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant or if I’ve not been there for you enough or that I’ve not done enough,” he furrows his brow. “I guess it’s just hit me harder this time around.” “Hey, none of that Steve,” she reaches her hand out to him, and he squeezes her hand back. “You’ve done more than enough. For all of us.” “I’m so glad that everyone is safe,” Steve lets out a whisper, his voice quivering. “It’s just I’m so scared that something real bad is about to happen, and I don’t know how… I just can’t imagine it if we were to have lost someone. And we came so fucking close.” “Yeah, we did.” “And fuck, I feel guilty for not keeping an eye on Eddie,” he looks at the sleeping man in the reflection of the rear-view mirror. “All that shit he went through and we just left him to fend for himself.” “We didn’t know his uncle wasn’t in town,” Robin looks down at her lap, wringing her hands together. “And I mean… I assumed he just wanted space. People deal with shit in different ways, and I guess I got the vibe that he just needed to take some time by himself to process that.” Steve stares out of the window ahead of him, fixating on the blur of trees rustling in the wind. Eddie shuffles behind them, his legs stretching out and his feet brushing the back of Robin’s seat. He coughs in his sleep and Steve winces. The sound seems like it is coming from deep inside his lungs, a thick broken rattle that fuses into a choking snore. “If he didn’t get the shit beat out of him, he wouldn’t be here now,” Steve sighs. “And just thinking about him, sick as shit and alone in that trailer.” “Steve,” Robin whispers, but all the words she can think of come up short. Steve finally turns to look at her, his eyes wide and glassy. Robin smiles gently, reaching out to take his hand. “And I’m guilty I’ve not kept an eye on you,” he matches her smile, squeezing her hand. “Steve,” she says again. “The only person you need to keep an eye on right now is you.” “I know, I know.” “You have a real Babysitter’s complex, Harrington,” she smiles back at him.  “But Steve, you’ve… done more than enough for me. And more than enough for everyone.” He just nods, clutching Robin’s hand closer. She raises their joined hands up to her chest, gently pressing her lips against Steve’s knuckles. “Thank you,” she says simply.  “Fuck, I hate to be cheesy but I really love you Harrington. You’re like, the most important person in my life right now, and I’m so happy that you’re safe and you didn’t die of rabies and you’re here to annoy the fuck out of me for another day.” Steve rubs his thumb against the back of Robin’s hand. “I just want to make sure you know that it meant a lot to me that you didn’t turn and run,” her voice catches in her throat. “I know I’m kind of a lot to deal with and I talk too much and I tease the shit out of you, and I’m the goddamn town lesbian for goodness sake. I still sort of can’t believe you didn’t beat the shit out of me when I told you.” “Robin,” he looks at her again, looking directly in her eyes. “You’re safe with me, okay? And if anyone ever says shit or tries to do anything, they’ll have me to deal with.” The grip on each other’s hands grows tighter, and they sit in the safety for a moment, not saying anything. It takes them a couple of seconds to register a third hand covered in rings joining the mix. “You’re safe with me too.” Robin turns to see Eddie’s wide eyes, still groggy from sleep. He’s now slumped forward, his head pressed into the back of her seat, hair falling to one side. He has a half-smile on his face as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “Being gay in a small-town fucking sucks, man,” he says through a long-drawn-out yawn, scrunching up his face and stretching out his arms. “I guess it sucks extra bad when the town already hates your guts and thinks you’re the spawn of Satan.” He only half realises what he is saying once the words are finally out of his mouth. He can’t see Steve’s response to this admission, but regret sinks down into the pit of his stomach the minute they leave his tongue. He has vague memories of Steve with the old friends he used to hang around with, the words they used to spit. Tommy H had been one of the worst culprits, especially back in middle school, somehow knowing that Eddie was different before he even knew himself. The torment had only stopped after Tommy H had learnt the truth behind the Munson name; that Eddie’s old man was serving life in prison for charges related to murder and violent assault. As much as Eddie likes the guy, he can’t shake the feeling that he won’t be allowed to stay in the car much longer, sent straight back to his trailer, back to where he belongs. “You’re safe with me too buddy,” after what seems like hours, Steve turns to look directly at him, grimacing at the sight of the bruise spread across the other man’s face; his grip on the pair’s hand tightens a little. “I’m sorry.” “Shut up Harrington,” Eddie laughs, rubbing at his eyes. “Shit, I’m still half asleep.” “Yeah, you doing alright back there, sleeping beauty?” Robin raises an eyebrow. “Sorry,” he mumbles, forcing himself to sit up, his limbs feeling tight and heavy. “You seemed like you needed it,” Steve lets himself relax into his own seat. “Feeling any better?” He stops for a minute, as if taking time to fully digest the sensations in his body. The bruise over his nose blends into the pressure from his sinuses, his entire head feeling like it’s wrapped in saran wrap. There’s a bitterness in the back of his mouth, the metallic taste of infection, and clearing his throat doesn’t seem to do anything except shift something from inside his lungs even deeper. Except there’s a weightlessness he can feel, a reprieve to the tension that has been plaguing his bones for the past few days. He curls into himself again, running his fingers through the fraying denim covering his arms, and realises it’s the first time his skin hasn’t felt like ice in days. The first time he’s felt warmth. Warmth like the hot cocoa his uncle would make him if he was home right now. The same hot cocoa he had made whenever Eddie was sad or sick. The same hot cocoa he had made for him when he was taken to the sanctuary of his trailer after several long months in that fucking house, the one that smelled like rancid beer and burning plastic, where he had spent most of his time hidden in a book, desperately trying to block out the sound of his parents getting high downstairs. He nods, knowing he’s not doing much to convince them after it’s followed by a coughing fit that almost knocks the wind out of him, but the pair smile back at him nonetheless. Robin reaches a tentative hand out to push his hair out of his eyes and press her hand to his forehead. She says something about him having a fever, but he just sinks forward into her palm, smiling softly as she ruffles his hair for good measure. They set off on the road home not long after. They stop to drop off Robin on the way, and Eddie can’t help but feel the shift in things as he watches her disappear into her house. Eddie stays in the back seat for the ride back to Steve’s, mostly keeping quiet as he takes quick glances at him. Steve doesn’t say much, focusing on the road and once or twice asking Eddie if he’s okay after a few particularly rough bouts of coughing. It isn’t until they’re outside of Steve’s house, parked up on the pristine stone driveway that Steve says anything else. For a moment, he wonders if Steve is going to tell him to fuck off and walk back home, and he barely even breathes until he sees Steve’s face relax. “I mean it, dude,” he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns his whole body in Eddie’s direction. “Huh?” Eddie looks up, his heart thudding in his chest.   “You’re safe with me,” he says again, this time with a conviction that Eddie can’t help but believe. “It’s pretty fucking cool that you trusted me enough to tell me.” “Pretty metal huh?” “Yeah, metal as fuck.” “I think I’m just high as balls on cough medicine.” “Yeah,” Steve puffs out a sigh. “But like I told Robin, if anyone tries to start anything, I’ll beat the fucking shit out of them."  And Eddie can tell by the look on Steve’s face that he is telling the truth.

George takes a big inhale, pulling on his headphones before exhaling. He prepares himself to put on the sweetest, most honey-suckle voice he can manage, and deal with teenagers who had probably stolen their mom’s card to give the contents to some rando on a CS:GO lobby.   Scrolling through the public lobbies, he clicks on a random one praying that some unlucky kid will help him pay rent unknowingly. George lets the map load, and his fingers fly across his keyboard as he fucks around while the warmup timer ticks down. He prays his team is at least mildly competent and can hold their own as he skims over the words, ‘You are a Counter-Terrorist’ when they pop up on his screen.   Before George starts speaking, he glances to the bottom left of the screen to scan the usernames. The voices of pre-pubescent boys filter through his headphones, and he scrunches his face up.   He looks at the side bar and sees the only person who hadn’t been screaming into their shitty mic. dreamwastaken , George reads, and clicks on their steam profile to send them a direct message. He hopes this is just a guy who’s too mature to try and pick a fight with the teenagers in the chat and not an eleven-year-old who doesn’t have a mic.   Who knows, maybe it’s a woman? George may be gay, but since he doesn’t plan to have any actual relations with these people, he keeps his options open.   The steam message history opens on a new tab, and he sends a dm.   georgenotfound: hey ! would you want to move to discord?? i dont feel like listening to these boys screaming tonight :///   George waits patiently when he spots the three dots in a bubble and sits back in his chair.   dreamwastaken: sure, theyre giving me a headache anyways :p whats ur discord?    George pumps his fist in victory, whispering a hushed “yes!” before going back to responding to Dream.   georgenotfound: just before i give you it, are you over seventeen? im kinda uncomfy with people under    It wasn’t quite a lie. He just didn’t want to hear a squeaky preteen voice this late at night.   dreamwastaken is typing…   dreamwastaken: im over 17 dw :))))    georgenotfound: okkok :]   He sends his discord code and username, and he gets a ping signaling that ‘ dreamwastaken sent you a friend request .’   Thrumming with giddy energy at the prospect of making money, he accepts the request and shoots a DM almost immediately thereafter.   georgenotfound: hey :]    dreamwastaken: hi :p   dreamwastaken is typing…    George drums the desk with his forefinger and middle finger while waiting for Dream to type.   dreamwastaken: i hope we’re calling with no camera lol   George stares at the message, head turning in confusion and apprehension. He doesn’t want to talk to a 40 year old dad, even if they give good money. He isn't in the mood for angry wives yelling down the mic today.   georgenotfound: yeah ofc :]   Idiot.   dreamwastaken: alr rad    Rad? What did he get himself into?   The annoying, incessant tune of the discord ringtone practically eviscerates his eardrums in record time. Groaning, he turns the volume way the fuck down before picking up.   “Hey,” He says, sultry tone definitely catching the surprise of ‘dreamwastaken’, if the audible gulp is anything to go by.   “ Holy fuck ,” George hears the American whisper, which makes him roll his eyes. “Didn’t know you were british.”   “Why? Does that… affect you at all?” George can’t help the slight smirk that pulls at his lips, tongue darting out to wet them slowly.   “Uh— no, not necessarily,” ‘Dreamwastaken’ clears his throat, and George startles at how low the others' voices sounds. He’s definitely a man, and by the sound of it, not forty. George silently cheers in his head.    “Well. What do you think I can call you, then?” George asks, watching the timer on the screen and messing around with the guns he purchased in his inventory. “‘Dream was taken’ is kind of long.”   The man hums, the clacking of his keyboard telling George that he probably has a good setup. Expensive , probably. “It’s Dream.”   George raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a real name?"   ‘Dream’ exhales a laugh. “Why, do you want something to scream tonight?”   “ What— what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re so annoying,” George splutters, breaking his character. Dream laughs loudly, smugness seeping through his voice. George can practically envision the cocky grin.    “I fucking knew that was a bit,” Dream brags, and George scoffs, rolling his eyes.    “I can’t believe you,” He states. “I’m leaving this call.”   “No, no no!” Dream gets out between his laughs. “Come on, George, don’t be like that.”   George mouse hovers over the red ‘leave call’ button. Something pulls him back, and he moves his cursor away. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? You ruined my entire setup, Dream.”   “Just talk like how you would when you’re not trying to sell yourself for a quick buck,” Dream suggests impractically, running his character over to George’s and crouching multiple times. “My real name’s Clay, by the way. Just call me Dream though.”   George scowls and pulls his knees up on his chair. The audacity.   He watches the timer tick down, and readies himself for tiring rounds of getting used to talking normally in a voice chat where he would usually doll himself up for others pleasure.    5.   4.   3.   2.   1.   George takes a breath, and the round begins.   This map is far from George’s favourite, but at least it’s not one he’s ‘dogwater’ at. Switching to the SMG he purchased, he hedges the corner to see if he can spot anyone on the opposing team. George sees none and turns left, making his way to a more open area that he might be able to snipe some 12 year olds from. Potentially making them cry, who knows.   “So, I’m assuming you play often?” Dream speaks up with a horrible attempt at small talk.   George moves the mic away from his face and groans quietly, annoyance and regret quickly becoming normal for the night.   “Yes.” He answers shortly, trying to focus more on gameplay than ‘stranger on the internet who may or may not be giving him money later tonight’.   “Y’know,” Dream starts, “You’re kinda rude when you’re not trying to trick people.”   If George had a rage meter, it’d be bursting at the top and spilling viscous red liquid. It’s been about 10 minutes and he’s about ready to start pulling his hair from the roots. He didn’t think rage-quit was on the menu tonight, but it seems to be the main course he’s heading for.   Making the executive decision to tune Dream out before he gets killed, he hones all the focus he can muster back into the screen in front of him. Reaching the area, he camps behind a car that has good enough vision of the layout in front of him. He supposes it could be better, but it’ll make do. Lots of compromises tonight .   "Oh, fuck— watch out, behind!" Dream yells into his mic, somehow only getting heard by George’s left ear.   Taking the risk, George swivels his player around and sees someone trying to creep up on him. They duck behind one of the archways, obscuring any clear shot that he could've had.   "Thanks, Dream." George sighs and runs a hand down his face, voice remaining monotone.   "Hey, I just saved your ass," Dream cackles, genuinely amused at the situation, "Be nicer to me."   It's all said in jest, but George has had too much stupidity for this round. He knows he's throwing, getting stuck in his head isn't the way to win. He takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his simmering anger.   They end up losing that match, and George has to refrain from slamming his hands onto his desk when he hears Dream laughing.   “Oh, you are such a sore loser,” Dream notes when a new round starts up. George watches in irritation as Dream idles in front of him, the ugly 3-D face making George’s nose scrunch up distastefully.    Suddenly, Dream’s avatar is lying on the ground and their teammate is pointing a deagel to where he last stood. George snorts at Dream’s loud ‘ what the fuck?! ’ as he respawns, running over to where he died and trying to find the person that shot him.   “Oh my God , you’re such a cock sucker! What the fuck was that, that’s so unfair?!” Dream yells, and if that wasn’t so funny, George would’ve been annoyed at the loud feedback he gets. Instead, George just bursts out laughing at Dream’s indignant hollering.   “Is friendly fire fucking on?! Oh my God, it is! What the hell?” George hears Dream’s complaints under his loud laughter, and he doesn’t realize the round starts until someone on the opposite team moves over to his field of vision and kills him.   “ No !” He screams, even though a big grin spreads across his face when Dream starts laughing along with him.   George starts playing again after his laughter subsides, and, surprisingly, starts easily bantering with Dream through the matches. Minutes, maybe hours, pass by, and George hasn’t thought about making an excuse to leave yet. George, begrudgingly, admits he’s sort of having fun. (He’d never actually say that out loud, though.)   Another round begins, the timer starts ticking down, and George starts to wonder how he’d pay rent this month before Dream speaks up.   “How much would I have to pay you to get your number?” Dream asks, and George blinks before walking his character in front of Dream’s.   “You can’t afford me.” He deadpans, pulling up his gun and shooting Dream. He can hear a loud scoff coming from the other end, and laughs.   “Try me.” Dream says, and it feels like a challenge. George wants to try him, he wants to see how riled up Dream can get.   “Okay, five hundred dollars.” George rolls his eyes, knowing the amount was improbable. While moving around the map nonchalantly, he can hear Dream ask what his PayPal is. He rattles it off automatically, already having memorized it for nights like these.   A ping from his phone interrupts George scanning his inventory, and he picks it up. What he sees almost makes him drop it from surprise.    Dream:) has sent $500 via PayPal.   What. The. Fuck.   “Can I get your number now?”   Double what the fuck.   George stares, dumbfounded, at the sudden influx of money in his college-debt-ridden bank account. Holy fuck .   “What the fuck. Um.” George says smartly.   “You gotta give me an answer here, Georgie,” Dream teases. George wants to claw that stupid grin that he can imagine Dream has on right now off his smug face.   “Jesus Christ, no, you can’t get my number, what?” George stammers, trying to regain his composure even just a little bit.   “Well, how much more would I need to pay?”   There's a delay in George’s answer as he considers his options.   “You’re insane.” is what he eventually settles on.   “Oh, come on! That’s so mean,” Dream whines.   “There’s no way you’d pay me another five hundred dollars, what kind of psychopath would do that?”   “I just want your number, George.”   Georg inhales.   Well, if he really wants to push his luck.   “Fuck, fine. Uh. Three thousand dollars.” George’s only partially kidding.   "Oh," Dream pauses, voice dropping dangerously low, "So you're promiscuous?" His tone becomes teasing, almost testing; as if poking a bear with a stick. "I could deal with that."   There's a pause where George stares slack-jawed at the open CS:GO lobby, eyes widened like dinner plates at the sudden, flirtatious words. He doesn’t like how easily they made warmth spread across his entire body.   “If you promise to be good, that is.”   Before he can answer, he gets another ping from his phone.   Dream:) has sent $3,000 via PayPal.   “Holy fuck!” George exclaims, and Dream wheezes. “Fuck, fuck, fine, oh my God, take it, you’re so fucking weird, holy shit- you just payed off my entire rent for three months, you know that? You’re fucking insane.”   George clambers over his knees to hastily send Dream his phone number through Discord, and finally (somewhat) relaxes when the message is read.   “Thank you,” Dream says happily, like he just won the lottery.    The jingle of someone leaving the discord call sounds.   George promptly shuts down.    Confused on how to proceed, he decides to push his luck and lure in at least one more victim into his ruse. No harm, no foul, just some extra cash to spend around. Maybe he could buy a new set-up if he manages to keep Dream around for long enough.   (George hates the guilty feeling that rises up in his chest, reminding himself that this was all just to pay the bills.    He would never be the one who falls instead.   No matter how charming the other is.)   George shakes his head violently, damning those thoughts to the back of his mind. They’re for future George to worry about, right now he just has to focus on the two games he’ll be playing tonight.   Repeating his process from the beginning of the night, he joins lobby number two. He really isn’t in any mood to continue with the act, but it’s not like he’s ever given himself much of a choice. There are a million more conventional jobs that he could work, plenty more stable with opportunities for befriending co-workers— laughing at inside jokes from a day in the office. But this is the garden George sowed, so he must reap it.    Before he could existentialize any further, another ping on his phone forces him to snap his head down. New Message From: Unknown Number hi is this george   George opens the chat message faster than he’d like to admit, making a contact for the number.    Dream.   Another message comes in before he can start typing a reply.   dream: hi is this george    dream: BTW I NEVER ASKED YOUR AGE CAN I CONFIRM UR OVER 20 SO I DONT CATCH A CASE…   George scoffs lightheartedly.   georgie<3: no, fuck you.   georgie<3: but yeah it is, why r u so rich?   georgie<3: and yes i am over 20.   [insert a blurry photo of george’s driver’s license showing his birth year]   dream: okay first of all fuck you too   dream: second, phewwwwwww holy fuck i was about to have a heart attack   dream: thank g o d    georgie<3: u never answered my question????? why r u so rich??   dream: ,,,, well   dream: i sort of   dream: make   dream: minecraft videos for a living   georgie<3: can i-   georgie<3: can i laugh?   dream: no   georgie<3: damn that sucks, ur too late.   dream: im taking back my money   dream: im joking i wont i promise   georgie<3: ur kinda weird.   dream: n ur british   georgie<3: damn, your dad didn’t love u, huh?   dream: hey im not the one who asked for a real name to scream when i fuck you lmao   georgie<3: and i’m not the one who brought up sex, that was all you.   dream: chivalry is dead i cant believe this   georgie<3: shit, never knew it was alive   dream: bruhhhhhhh u suck ass bro   georgie<3: based on every interaction we’ve had thus far, i can come to the conclusion that you suck ass   georgie<3: not me   georgie<3: <3   dream: yo honestly   dream: id suck ur ass if u rlly want me to   georgie<3: i will block you and keep your money.   dream: nooooo pls george dont block me ur so sexy   dream: ,,,,,   dream: ive decided that i wont letchivalry Die   dream: so,,,,,   georgie<3: so what   dream: let me take you out on a date?   George sucks in a sharp breath. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowing at the proposition.    He weighs his options, realizing that the situation is able to go horrible in a multitude of ways. Not letting any nerves get the best of him, he quickly types out a message before throwing his phone across the room and screaming into his pillow like a pre-teen who just confessed to their crush.   georgie<3: sure. send me the details.

“Alright. Thank you for telling me! we’ll be over there in less than thirty minutes.” Chan answers after Min-ho gave him the address. “You’re welcome. Make sure you take suppressants before you get here. We don’t want any unnecessary problems.” He warned before hanging up. “They said they’ll pick him up in less than thirty minutes.” Min-ho informed Hyun-jin, and the news caused the alpha frown. “What ? Are you sad because he’s leaving?” Min-ho questioned with an amusing tone. "No. Of course not! It's just.." Hyunjin trails off, unsure how to say his thoughts.  It’s not like it matters though since Min-ho already made him explain himself yesterday- telling every single detail and emotion. “..Yeah.” He admits, glancing at the sleeping omega laying on him, his chest rising and falling slowly. Min-ho smirks, “Well, why don’t you give him your number? Regardless if you don’t or not, you two will see eachother again since he works at your sister's building.” Min-ho assures him, and Hyun-Jin nods at this, deciding that’s not a bad idea. “Okay, I will.” He responds and Min-ho claps his hands happily. “Great. Now.. the Japchae…” Min-ho reminds. “It should be done by now, but I don’t know if he can eat it. I think we should let him sleep for a bit longer and he can take it with him- or eat it when he wakes up.” He suggests and Hyun-Jin hums in response. They both sit in silence for some more minutes, waiting. Hyun-Jin passes the time by staring at Felix- as weird and creepy as it may seem, he can't tear his gaze away from him. His eyes are trained on the omega’s freckles, which are scattered across his nose bridge and cheeks, looking like stars in the galaxy- As well as his heart-snapped lips, which are slightly parted from his light breathing. He wonders what it will be like to kiss him. The sudden thought makes his face heat up, and he shakes his head to get rid of it. Not yet. He has to wait- he needs to wait until Felix is fully comfortable around him- when they’re not strangers, and when he tells him they’re soulmates. All within time, he just has to-   The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts Hyun-Jin from his thoughts. “You must really like him, hmm?” He hears Min-ho speak up, who's looking at him with his lips pressed together, twitching at the corners. In response he just nods shyly, not trusting his words at this point. His reaction has Min-ho bursting out laughing, making him narrow his eyes at him, wondering what’s so funny. “Why’re you laughing?” Hyun-Jin asks with a scowl on his face. “Ah... nothing ~” Min-ho brushes it off, waving a dismissive hand at him. Before Hyun-Jin could say another thing, Felix stirs in his lap, blinking tiredly. Min-ho’s laugh must’ve woke him up.  "Hello," Hyun-Jin’s attention immediately goes to Felix, smiling at the omega. "Hi." Felix mumbles and shifts around slightly on Hyun-Jin’s lap to sit up. His head still feels groggy but at least he can form coherent sentences. “Are you feeling better?” Hyun-Jin’s voice cuts through Felix’s haze of thoughts, and the omega thinks it over for a moment before answering. “Yeah, thank you both for everything.." He starts quietly, still feeling drained. “You’re welcome,” Min-ho speaks for them both and stands up. “We still have japchae, do you think you can eat it? or would you like to take it home?” He asks and Felix thinks for a moment. “I think I can eat some of it.” Felix decides, and Min-ho smiles at him softly. “Okay, I’ll go and get it right away,” He informs them and walks past Hyun-Jin, giving him a wink before leaving to the kitchen.   Hyun-Jin watches him go before he faces Felix again, “I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better. Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Hyun-Jin speaks up, his hands resting in Felix’s hair, gently brushing back the prices that had fallen in front of his eyes during his nap. In response Felix nods, wondering what it could be. “Can I give you my number?” Hyun-Jin continues to ask, causing Felix to blink in surprise as that was the furthest thing he imagined Hyun-Jin would ask. He stares blankly at Hyun-Jin for several seconds before responding, “Are you sure?..” He hesitantly asks, picking at his finger nails nervously. That question makes Hyun-Jin frown.      “Yes, only if you’d like it though. Do you not want it?..” He questions, watching with an anxious expression as Felix shakes his head, “I do want it..” He replies, and Hyun-Jin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Alright.” He bites his lip to hold back a smile- so happy and so relieved that Felix didn’t say no. He reaches in his pocket for his phone. “Here.” He gets his phone and unlocks it, opening his contacts, handing it to Felix. Felix then types in his name and puts in his contact details, sending a message before handing it back.  About that time, Min-ho is coming back with a bowl of japchae, setting it on the table in front of them. He hands Felix chopsticks and sits down beside him. “I hope you like it.“ Min-ho says as Felix takes a bite. A pleased look appears on his face as he chews on it, swallowing carefully after each mouthful. He takes a second bite and repeats the process. “This is delicious..” He compliments, and Hyunjin and Minho both smile brightly in response. . . . As if on cue when Felix finishes the last bite of japchae, the doorbell rings. “Seems like they’re here,” Minho mutters under his breath and takes off to answer the door. Felix gets off of Hyun-Jin’s lap and follows after Min-ho, with Hyun-Jin following in suit. When they get to the door, he sees Ji-sung and Chan, and right when Ji-sung catches sight of Felix, he runs towards him, pushing Min-ho and Hyun-Jin out the way, wrapping his arms tightly around the omega, squeezing him to death. Hyun-Jin’s itching to pull him away, feeling bitter, but instead, he just watches, suppressing the pang of irritation that ripples through him. “I’m so sorry about him.” Chan apologizes on behalf of Ji-sung’s behavior, rubbing his temples. Min-ho shrugs, “It’s okay.” He can understand Ji-sung. About twelve seconds later Ji-sung pulls Felix back from the hug, making him stand up straight and still. (Felix feels like a ragdoll getting tossed around.)  “I was so worried and-“ Ji-sung pauses, suddenly moving to sniff near Felix’s neck. His eyebrows furrow when he smells a different scent- not Felix’s vanilla scent- it’s still there but there’s something different. He smells like Lavender. The same scent he smelt from Hwang Hyun-Jin. His nose crinkles into disgust, along with his facial expression. He looks at Hyun-Jin, who raises an eyebrow, giving him a confused look. Hyun-Jin feels uneasy the way Ji-sung’s staring at him as if he could pounce anytime. His scent is sour and spiteful. What Ji-sung’s trying to figure out is why Felix smells like Hyunjin. Almost like he scented him. From the thought a growl rips from his throat, startling everybody. Felix flinches at the noise, looking at Ji-sung. Chan is the first to speak up about it, “What is wrong with you?” He questions, but that doesn’t get to Ji-sung. His attention is on Hyun-Jin.  “You didn’t touch him, right?” Ji-sung asks, his voice dripping with poison and venom as he stares Hyunjin down. “ Tell me you didn’t. ” He demands, his eyes narrow. Ji-sung didn’t have the patience for this- he didn’t have the time for another unknown alpha near Felix- not after Jae.  “No, I didn’t..” Hyun-Jin answered truthfully, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He would’ve just ended it there but he didn’t- he just had to say something else. The way that Ji-sung was glaring bothered him.  “ It depends on which way you’re inferring, ” Hyun-Jin added, and that one extra statement had Ji-sung lunging at him, moving Felix out the way in the process. But before Ji-sung could do anything, Chan was quick to grab him, yanking him back immediately. Ji-sung was thrashing around, struggling in Chan’s grip, the betas arm locking around his torso, preventing him from running anywhere or hitting anything. “ Let go —“ Ji-sung’s voice is cut off in a surprised scream when Chan pulls him up, lifting him off his feet and throwing him over his shoulder. Felix is left shocked- retreating to Min-ho’s side. It’s better if he doesn’t interfere In this.  “Listen, If you don’t calm down right now, I won’t hesitate to lower your pay. Do you wanna see what happens when I do that? Do you wanna get fired for threatening the son of the Hwang family?” Chan rebuked, tightening his hold on Ji-sung’s small waist, and the moment Ji-sung hears those words he shuts up. “I’m sorry.” He immediately says, his eyes trained on the ground below him. He wants anything but that. Hyun-Jin lets out a snort at Ji-sung’s apology, his eyes watering as he tries to keep it together. Min-ho gives him a warning look. He finds it funny how fast Ji-sung switched up. A second ago he was threatening a fight, and now he’s apologizing and cowering.  “Don’t say that to me, apologize to Hyun-Jin and Min-ho.” Chan continues and sets Ji-sung down. The alpha turns to Min-ho first, “I’m so sorry.” He apologizes- and it’s sincere and nice. Minho looks at him with an unreadable expression and nods in acknowledgment. “It’s alright.” Min-ho accepts his apology, and Ji-sung can’t explain why he feels so relieved that Minho accepted it. He smiles before turning to Hyun-Jin, and immediately it drops. “I’m sorry.” He says, and it feels so wrong coming out his mouth- a straight-up lie. He’s not sorry and Hyun-Jin knows that.  “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again .” Hyun-Jin answered, “Now I want you to take Felix home and make sure that he’s safe.” He added, and Ji-sung nodded slowly, suspicious but he didn’t question it. "Thank you for helping him.” Chan thanks them once more before waving bye, Felix too. “Thank you for everything.” He thanks, and Hyun-Jin smiles, coming closer and ruffling his hair. "I'll text you soon." He whispers and Felix nods. And with that said, they all walk toward the car.  When they're inside, Chan starts the engine and looks back at Felix, “You need to explain everything to us,” He says and Felix does- He tells everything Hyun-Jin told him except the parts where he went into subspace and scented Hyun-Jin. "See I knew something was wrong..." Ji-sung sighed, laying against the back of the seat. "Seung-min should've dragged you home-" He tried to say but Chan cut him off, "Don't finish that sentence." He snapped, not liking where the conversation was going. "Fine. But anyways-" Ji-sung looks back at Felix, "Why do you smell like Hyun-Jin?.." It wasn't a question, it was more of a demand. That catches Felix off guard. "And- did he take suppressants before he helped you?- Did he at-"  "Ji-sung." Chan reprimanded. "Leave him alone. Give him a break ok? I know you're worried but still." From that, Ji-sung finally shuts up, giving Felix an apologetic look. Chan was right.   -.-.-.-.-   Once they’re nearing the house, the main thing on Felix’s mind is Chae. He needs to see her and make sure she’s okay. He hopes she doesn’t hate him for being gone so long. Just the thought makes him anxious, his leg bouncing up and down repeatedly on the car flooring, making a loud sound now and then. Ji-sung gives him a worried glance, setting his hand over his leg to stop the movement. “Relax, okay?” He says softly and Felix nods.   Seconds later they arrived- getting out of the car and walking towards the front door. Before he could even knock its opening, revealing a tired-looking Seung-min, and Chae- right beside him. She gasps when she sees him, pulling him inside without a word. Felix lets her drag him into their living room, making him sit down on one of the couches. “Mommy! Yunnie missed you!” Chae-yun exclaims as she wraps both her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Felix smiles and lifts her into his lap, giving her a kiss on her forehead. “I missed you too Chae,” Felix responds, hugging her back. She giggles and buries her head into his neck, sinking more into the hug.  “Mommy smells really good- like lavender and flowers! Chae points out before pulling away, and he laughs awkwardly, glancing at the others who stood watching. Seung-min clears his throat, “We’ll be leaving now. Please make sure you get some sleep- take care of yourself for us while we’re gone, okay? If you need anything call us and we’ll go get it for you.” He says, and Felix nods. He’ll take his advice on sleeping, but he won’t call them. “Okay, and thank you for watching her, Minnie.” He says to him, smiling a little bit more. “No problem.” Seung-min smiles back, and walks out, along with Chan and Ji-sung waving bye.  “Mommy’s sick?” Chae asks him when the door shuts, sitting up to touch his forehead. She frowns when she feels how hot it is. “Is it bad?” She tilts her head in confusion, her lower lip starting to wobble. “Something like that baby. It’s nothing serious though. Did you eat?” He lies, trying to change the topic- but it doesn’t work. “Then you sleep now!” She pouts, and he can already tell he isn’t gonna win this battle. He sighs and gets up to his room, but not without Chae watching closely. She waits till he goes under the covers before leaving him- probably going to watch something on the Tv.    A small nap won’t hurt? Felix  slept earlier with Hyun-Jin..so he won’t sleep for long. Just an hour . An hour of resting. Nothing else. He falls asleep easily after that idea enters his head.   An hour...   It wasn’t an hour.   Because when he woke up and opened his eyes, he saw a pixelated, blinking, red ‘8:20 am’. He was supposed to be up and ready, helping his daughter get ready for school. At that he scrambled out the bed, immediately regretting it when he felt his head throb. He ignored it and quickly made his way to her bedroom, seeing Seung-min. “No, not what you put in first! Mommy always puts my books first, no lunch box.” Chae-yun was pouting, watching Seung-min put things inside her totoro backpack. Seung-min chuckled in response, taking out the lunch box and putting her books in, orderly. “Chae? Seung-min?” Felix questioned, his voice horse and tired. It seemed to surprise them both, as they flinched but they recovered from the shock quickly upon seeing him. Chae-yun immediately came running over to him, hugging his waist. Felix smiled down at her.   “Mommy! Good morning!” She greets, and he brings up a hand to pat her head. “Good morning Chae.” He greets back. Seung-min gives him a light smile before walking over. “How do you feel?” The beta asks and he shrugs. “Fine for now.” He answers. “Okay, Do you have medicine just in case?” Another question. “Yeah.” Felix lies this time. If he said “no” Seung-min would’ve gone out to get some for him. He doesn’t need him to do that. He doesn’t need help. “What are you doing here?” He asked and Seung-min gave him a look. He knows Felix knows why he’s here, it’s obviously to check on him- and to do the things Felix can’t (shouldn’t) be doing during his heat. He shouldn’t have to explain it.  “You know why,” Seung-min responds, and Felix frowns. He’s starting to regret giving Seung-min a spare key. “I’m gonna drop her off at school for you..” Seung-min trailed off, watching Felix’s frown deepen. Felix didn’t like that idea. And the way Seung-min said it left no room for argument, but he could care less. “You really don’t have to. I can take her.” He said and Seung-min's brows furrowed. “No. You need to rest Lix- please. You’re in heat..just take it easy for once.” Seung-min tried to reason with him but Felix shook his head. He hates this- he hates when other people do stuff for him- it’s bothersome and he feels like it annoys them. “I’m fine though, I can do it.” He explains- and it’s another lie. He’s not fine. His heat is slowly getting worse, working its way through his body. His fingers come to tug at the hem of Min-ho’s hoodie anxiously.    “You’re not fine.”   “I am. I can do it.”    “Felix-“   “I can-“    “Felix.” Seung-min cuts him off sternly, making him shut his mouth. “You will stay home and get some rest. You don’t need to overwork yourself. Me and Chae will be fine.” Seung-min scolds him before looking down at Chae-yun. “What do you think? Should Mommy stay home to get better?” He asks her and she nods frantically. “Yea! Mommy take breaks!” The five-year-old agrees and Seung-min smirks, looking back at Felix. “See? She doesn’t want you to drop her off. She wants you to stay home also.” Seung-min’s voice is cocky and proud. “Wanna wait in the living room for me, Chae? then we can go to your school.” Seung-min says and she nods again, grabbing her backpack and leaving. When she’s gone Seung-min pulls Felix into a hug, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “Please know that I just want to help you- Ji-sung and Chan too. We just want to make sure you’re okay during your heat- alright? It’s okay to have help.” Seung-min whispers into his hair, and Felix lets out a shaky breath. He wants to say something else about how unnecessary it is to make such an effort- but he doesn’t. Seung-min is right…and he’ll try to accept that.

Harry was lying on the cold, dirty cement floor of the shack that his Uncle Vernon had relocated them to. He was silently crying, his tears running down his cheeks and onto the dirt that was underneath him, making small spots of mud on the ground. Harry was tired, sore, bruised, and he was fairly sure that some of his ribs were at least fractured, if not broken. He turned his head slightly to the right, ignoring the pain that came from his bruised neck, to his cousin Dudley, who sounded like a tank because of his snores, to check the time. His cousin’s watch read 11:55 pm; that meant it was almost his eleventh birthday. Wanting to do something to distract himself from the pain he was in, he quietly started drawing a birthday cake in some of the dirt in front of him. He had just finished drawing the last candle when his Dudley’s watch beeped, signaling that it was officially July 31st. Taking a small breath in, he blew on the makeshift candles on his cake drawing, making a wish. One that he knew would never come true. Or so he thought. Harry laid his head back down on the blanket underneath him, sighing gently as he did so. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a small mirror that was laying against the wall, staring at it intensely. His eyes immediately went to the scar that covered the majority of his face. It looked as if someone carved an image of a lightning strike on him. It started on the right side of his forehead, and went across both of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, both of his cheeks, and stopped right by the corner of his lips. It made him feel ugly. He knew what other people thought of it, they made their opinions of it known when they called him scarface. The scar itself had always been weird, at least in Harry’s opinion. It would sometimes burn, or cause him to have a headache, and it never looked healed. That last bit was something that Harry definitely didn’t understand. The scar had been on his face since he was a year old, (He received it from the car crash that killed his parents, leaving him an orphan) yet it looked as if it was only starting to heal, holding a slight reddish pink color that made it look slightly irritated. The boy was sprung out of his thoughts by a banging sound coming from the door of the shack. The noise was heard a few more times, effectively waking up the rest of the people in the shack, before the door was busted off of its hinges, revealing a tall being standing in the doorway. Harry ignored the pain he felt while moving and quickly hid in the shadows next to the fireplace. His breathing became ragged, his heart practically beating out of his chest. He watched as his uncle held a rifle and aimed it toward the door. The figure then walked slowly into the shack and stopped when their face was visible in the moonlight. The figure turned out to be a man with a long beard. His face didn’t make him look as scary as he did when he was standing in the shadows, but he was still intimidating. “Sorry about that.” The man finally spoke, while putting the door back up in the doorway. Vernon Dursley was the next to speak. “I demand that you leave at once! You are breaking and entering.” Harry watched in shock as the man grabbed the barrel of the rifle his uncle was aiming at him, and bent it upward as if it were made of plastic. “Dry up Dursley you great prune.” As the man let go of the barrel, the rifle went off, leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling above them. The man then turned towards where Dudley was standing, mistaking him for the boy he was actually sent for. “Boy, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby Harry, but you’re a little more along than I would’ve expected. Particularly ‘round the middle.” Harry held in a small giggle at the man’s words, and the terrified look on his cousin’s face. ‘I-I-I-I’m not H-Harry.” Dudley was stuttering pathetically, trying to get the man’s attention off of him. Harry decided that this was the time to reveal himself, forgetting about the bruises that covered his face, arms, and neck. “I am.” Those simple words drew the giant’s gaze to him. Before the giant could speak, Harry was already talking again. “I’m sorry, but who are you and why are you here?” The giant chuckled slightly before answering the young boy’s question. “My name’s Rubeus Hagrid, I'm the keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts. I’m sure you know all ‘bout that.” Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. He didn’t know what Hogwarts was, and quite frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. It sounded sort of like a disease. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr.Hagrid. I’ve never heard of Hogwarts before.” Hagrid’s smile dropped slightly at Harry’s confession. “Don’t know it? Where d’ya think your parents learned it all?” Harry just blankly stared at the man in front of him. Did his parents go to school there or something? If they did, it obviously wasn’t a very good one. HIs parents ended up being drunks, or so his aunt said. “I’m sorry Mr. Hagrid, I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hagrid looked at Harry, and smiled widely at him. “You’re a wizard Harry! A great one I reckon, as soon as you train up a bit of course.” The boy started laughing at the man in front of him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was absolutely no way that he could be a wizard. Hagrid frowned at Harry’s laughter. “You’re tellin’ me that you know nothin’ ‘bout Hogwarts?” As Hagrid said that, he looked towards Petunia and Vernon, who had panicked looks on their faces. Seeing the look on their faces, how they were looking everywhere but at him, made the man even more furious than he already was. Harry, who noticed the looks on their faces, put the pieces together. “You knew?” He didn’t yell and his voice didn’t hold an ounce of anger but as he spoke, his voice broke. If his aunt and uncle had been anyone else, hearing the hurt in Harry’s voice would have made them feel immense guilt, but they weren’t and they didn’t. Petunia looked at the boy in disgust. “Knew? Of course we knew! My sister got the same letter you have been getting when she was eleven. Our parents were so proud to have a witch in the family, but not me. I was the only one who saw her for what she truly was, a freak.” Harry tensed at hearing that word. “ Then she went off to that school and met that Potter boy and had you. Then she had to go and get herself blown up and it landed us with you!” Harry was crying again by the time she had finished her rant. Instead of responding to his aunt, the boy turned to Hagrid. “Can I please have my letter?” Hagrid gave the boy a soft smile and handed over the letter. Harry gently broke the wax seal on the back of the envelope and took out the papers and read the first one.       Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and WizardryHeadmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)   Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st. Yours sincerely,Minerva McGonagall- Deputy Headmistress   Harry’s eyes watered as he read the letter. He really was a wizard. The young boy was quickly brought out of his moment by his uncle’s loud yelling. “HE WILL NOT BE GOING! WE SWORE THAT WE WOULD STAMP IT OUT OF HIM WHEN WE GOT HIM!” Hagrid wasn’t phased at all by Vernon’s yelling. “He will be going. He is going to be taught under the greatest wizard of all, Albus Dumbledore.” “I WILL NOT PAY FOR SOME OLD CRACKPOT FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!” Hagrid’s eyes darkened at the man’s comment and he automatically raised the pink umbrella that Harry hadn't noticed until this moment. “Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me.” With that said, he pointed the umbrella toward Dudley, and with a little pop, the boy in question was sporting a pig tail. This caused Harry’s eyes to widen in horror. He knew that he was going to be punished for this, even if it wasn’t his own doing. His thoughts were interrupted by someone grabbing his arm and tugging him toward the door of the shack. He tried to dig his heels into the ground, but it was no use. He didn’t realize that the person dragging him was Hagrid until the cold air from outside hit his face. The young boy was still reluctant to go with the giant man, but he knew that it would be better than staying with the Dursleys. Harry followed Hagrid silently down to a boat where they both got in. “Hagrid, when am I going to respond to Hogwarts saying that I would like to go? The letter said that it couldn’t be later than the 31st, which is today.” Hagrid’s eyes went wide for a second,himself realizing that he forgot to send a letter to Professor Dumbledore. “Blimey! Thank you for reminding me Harry. I’ll take care of it for you.” He then proceeded to pull a small owl, a piece of parchment, and what seemed to be an old fashioned quill, out of his coat pocket. After writing a short message on the paper, he rolled it up and gave it to the owl, who then looked at Hagrid expectantly. “Take that straight to Professor Dumbledore.” The owl seemingly nodded before taking off into the night. Harry grew slightly worried for the owl because of how stormy it was outside. “Hagrid, will the owl be alright in this storm?” Harry’s worry got the best of him and the question escaped him before he could stop himself. “Of course he will be Harry. Don’t you worry ‘bout him.” Harry just nodded, not entirely convinced. Hagrid looked down at the boy and noticed that he was starting to get wet from the rain and handed him an extra umbrella that he had with him.”Don’t want you getting too wet on this journey Harry. Go ‘head and open the umbrella.” Harry did as he was told and watched the scenery pass by as Hagrid used magic to get them to shore faster. “Where are we going to go to get all of my things for school, Hagrid? The list had some very odd things on it.” Hagrid laughed at Harry’s question, which in turn made the latter feel very stupid. He silently kicked himself for asking a question like that. “We’re going to Diagon Alley of course. That’s where you’ll get all of your school supplies. But first, we’ll have to make a trip to Gringotts.” Harry didn’t know what this Gringotts place was, but he was not about to ask another question that Hagrid might laugh at, so he stayed quiet and waited for them to finally arrive at their destination.

  Raya Lucaria’s silhouette was an ornate and pretty thing, as ornate as a cathedral. It was no seat for a war, not as Stormveil was, Godrick grimly surmised. Dawn approached, and today marked the fourth day of cutting through bands of Tarnished or perfumers. Nepheli had felled an omenkiller not even a day prior with a well laced swing of her axe. She was familiar with the lumbering and fearsome opponents, merciless and keen to cut them down. Godfrey’s blood truly flowed through her veins when the monster’s head had tumbled to the dirt, mask and all. Godrick wrung his wrists, sore and weighed by his shackles as he was marched forward by the twins. Devin had been silent and at ease that morning, Darian meanwhile was as taut as a bowstring and clenching clammy palms into fists as sweat beaded down his brow. As a man with perhaps a waning few hours left to live, Godrick deadpanned, “You look ready to piss yourself. Are you truly cowed by the thought of one numen?” Darian swallowed thickly, “Had you any wisdom, demigod, you would be as nervous as I to face an Elden Lord or Boyana.” “Radagon had the temperament of a stiff academic and was a humorless sod always at odds with my grandmother.” Godrick muttered, “He man hardly cuts an imposing image beyond his statues.” “You licked his daughter’s boots.” Darian reminded. “Bugger off.” Godrick deflated with a grimace.  Nepheli headed their procession as they approached the gates, weary and her shoulders squared as she shouted on high to the guardsmen. “Nepheli of Stormveil approaches! I seek an audience with my companion and the steward of this holdfast!” Her voice was firm and carried well through the silence. The silence which lingered far too long for comfort as the hapless guardsmen exchanged looks of equal parts dread and apology. One of them coughed to break the silence, calling out to the lot of them, “...Boyana isn’t present…Lady Sellen would be the one to greet your host, Lady Nepheli.” Nepheli stared, throwing her arms up with a hiss, “What the hell is she up to with omen killers and vagrants on her borders?! Let us through at once.” Without delay, the gates were lifted and Godrick was pushed forward as Nepheli gripped him by the arm, “As well, I require a cell for this one.” Godrick was quick to step forward and gain some slack on his arm, glowering at Nepheli all the while, “Holding out on them, are you-” He tasted blood and his vision blackened before yet another crucial word could slip out of the demigod.  Godrick awoke with his cheek pressed to cold slate and chains weighing heavily around his wrists. Damp and cold defined the cells of Raya Lucaria, he realized as he cracked open an eye, muttering, “D-Damned hag of a woman.” Arms crossed and looming tall was a general Godrick never hoped to lay eyes on again. Radahn sighed, “....I was roused before dawn to watch the likes of you?”“I would have preferred your sister.” Godrick deadpannedRadahn barked a laugh, “Tell me, how long have you crawled amongst the living, boy?”“...A month, mayhaps two?” Godrick rubbed his bruised cheek with a sigh, “Why does it matter to you?”“...Hmn, a mere few weeks after I was resuscitated in Caelid.” Radahn held his chin in thought, plotting a timeline which made him pause.“Beg your pardon - the numen killed you?” Godrick wheezed.“Her and perhaps half a dozen combatants, yes. Nepheli - the angry woman with the axe - she was also an accomplice if I remember correctly. Godwyn rose first, Radagon found Malenia in her aeonia… Grace seemed to revive Morgott, Rykard, myself, and then you in a short time span.” Radahn closed his eyes with a tight exhale, “The Erdtree is as thorough as it is fickle in who it revives.”“The Erdtree seems rather dead to me. All of us, Demigods each and all, died to that woman??” Godrick stared, still in disbelief.“Yes. Which poses a problem when one of us is unaccounted for.” Radahn hissed, “Morgott is not alone as the one omen in our family tree, or were you so insulated in Stormveil that you were unaware of even his existence?”Godrick’s silence was damning.“The reason Miquella went missing - why Malenia tore her way across the continent to flush out any enemy - Morgott possessed a twin. What are the odds that grace did not fall upon him as well, much less the workings of his patron god?” Radahn ground out.“...As wonderful and insightful as these musings are, what good does it do to recount them to me?”“Very little.” Radahn deadpanned, “All the same, tis fruitful for my siblings to know. You merely function as a witness.”“Continue your musings in solitude then. Where is my grandsire, Godwyn?” Godrick replied flatly, “I wish to speak with him before I lose my head.”“So certain Boyana would kill you? I would, your actions to the tarnished were quite gruesome. It's a surprise to see you with only four limbs-”“You and every bastard from Limgrave to Liurnia has seen fit to remind me of my misdeeds or that I’m worth less than the dirt under their shoe - I know!” Godrick lunged finally, face red and ready to scream.“Godwyn isn’t present to speak with you.” Radahn sighed, stepping back from the bars and moving to the door, “However, you won’t die today, not until Boyana or my father decide. I would advise you to be ready for questioning, your existence offers few answers and raises a growing litany of concern as to who else was revived.” The door shut with a heavy thud, and Godrick pressed his brows to the cold bars with a tight exhale. Oh how he wished Nepheli had simply done the deed herself than to suffer this torment. Miquella gripped the bedding with white knuckles, his breaths short and staggered as he furrowed his brows. Mohg’s name should have incited fear. It did in some fashion. Yet his blood ran hot, boiling and focused with one emotion typically worn by his sister. Rage. Miquella was rarely a boy compelled to violence. Yet in those precious moments once Morgott and Malenia departed, the boy sat upright and pressed his hands to his face. In gruesome clarity he could imagine breaking the Omen’s twisting crown of horns, jabbing his small hands into the bastard’s eye and gouging it out. Elia’s swords would be good tools to render the omen into mincemeat, a task Malenia would perform to perfection with her own blade. Mohg would die, and Miquella had a hunger to see the deed done. Even more, he craved to have a hand in the act. Was it not justice, to flay his enemy alive when they had sundered his very flesh and soul? Miquella sucked in a rattling breath, still petrified at the thought of seeing Mohg’s face. One foot after the other, he trudged from Malenia’s bed, scurrying through the halls towards his own quarters. He needed a weapon, and many, many incantations. There was a commotion in the early hours of morning, aiding in Miquella’s flight to traverse unnoticed and unbothered. His chamber sat not far from Radagon and Elia’s, set aside and prepared shortly after his arrival to the academy. In truth, it was moreso a scattered study and lab than a room with the bed shunted near the hearth and layered under a chaotic assortment of throws and quilts. Against one wall was a collection of books which outpaced Elia’s, a litany of incantations spanning from the Golden Order, to Glintstone Sorcery, Astral Calculations, and Miquella’s own research pertaining to Unalloyed Gold. The supplies which Miquella pulled were many, potions, what few spirit ashes he had found in his visits to Leyndell, and finally, the sword Malenia had begun to train him with. It was a short, well balanced blade resembling those of his own knights, a homage to the Haligtree with its gilded hue, in truth it only lacked the amber sap of the tree to be authentic. Miquella held little in the way of armor beyond a red gambeson his father had tailored, now tight around the shoulders yet it would suffice. A pilfered chainmail shirt would do as secondary protection. With the shortsword belted at Miquella’s hip, three flasks tucked into his belt, and a recited string of destructive incantations freshly ensconced in his mind, Miquella was ready. Godfrey trudged after Mohg with growing unease, speaking up several minutes of tense silence, “...I owe thee an apology, for not reconciling with thee sooner.” Mohg grunted, “What delayed thee?” Godfrey exhaled sharply, “The confusion of an old man, to find even Morgott was happenstance once I gathered my bearings.” “...Thou came here in his stead, by his wishes, or against them?” Mohg slowed his stride, his one red eye boring into Godfrey then. “Against them… he was rattled, required time to think upon thine offer.” Godfrey mused, jerked forward by the collar as his son grimaced, “Mine brother is a fool, yet never one to be decisive. He chose to wear his chains, to wear his shame like a cloak. Do not lie to me.” Godfrey swallowed thickly, “I wished to see my son with my own eyes.” Mohg released Godfrey’s collar, nodding once, “Well? Thou hasn’t bolted, scorned me or called me a wretch. Tell me this, father, had thou always known we sat beneath Leyndell whilst thou conquered for our mother?” To his shame, Godfrey nodded, “...The fingers were swift to denounce thine births and standing within our family. Marika… she lacked the conviction to contest the Greater Will, bid me to cease whenever I hoped to release thine bindings.” Mohg stared, blinking soft and slow as their march came to a halt, “...Continue, thou pressed for our release.” “After each campaign, hoping each battle or war would be enough, until I too was stripped of grace. Marika…I’d hoped to find answers, contrition from her if I could claim my mantle once more. I’m sorry.” Godfrey hung his head, “I make for a poor father, and a poor king.” Mohg did not wish him false platitudes or absolve Godfrey, murmuring, “Thou did fail. My brother failed. I know not what can be salvaged from my kinsman, Father.” “...Is it not worth it to try?” Godfrey pleaded. “Come with me, see thine brother and make amends, please.” Mohg’s expression hardened, “He will meet us or squander the opportunity. My decision is final, father.” From her seat in Radagon’s psyche, the ritual was a strange thing to witness. A tear had been cumbersome to find, lurking deep in the caverns surrounding Nokron. Immobilizing liquid silver was akin to catching an eel with greased palms as the Mimic tear’s shape undulated from Godwyn’s nimble form, to Elia’s spry and quick pace, to the bruising strength of Radagon’s strikes. Ice did little to hold the creature in a vice. Fire merely stoked the heat of an inorganic vessel. Lightning sent it into disarray once Godwyn’s sword lanced through the tear as thunder resounded in the wake of his attack. Marika felt pride well in her chest then, hands tightly clasped as the Tear rippled and began to pool. Inert and shapeless like putty, it was ready for molding.  Radagon’s own birth had been a gruesome process, flesh excised and transplanted, Elia seemed to operate by more immaculate means of creation as she gripped Radagon and Godwyn’s hands. What better anchors than her own son and fellow half? Marika’s hands began to dissolve, skin and then bone dissipating into golden spores as fine as sand. She felt light, weightless, and then, nothing. Radagon’s temples throbbed, ichor thick on his tongue as the pitted scars of his once fractured form reopened. As if drawing out Marika from his body in the literal sense, ichor stained his clothes and pooled in metallic puddles, bleeding into the writhing mimic tear. It was Elia who supported his weight now, pale and keeping an arm firmly encircled around his waist as the Rune of the Unborn pulsed and glowed within her stomach. Slowly, silver took on a bronzed hue, not quite golden nor as lustrous as the blood it fed upon. In the mass of quicksilver, a more defined set of shapes began to arise in the primordial soup of the creature. Bones, a ribcage, portions of a jaw and skull could be seen as they were strung together. Bit by bit, the liquid silver began to thin, weaving musculature as Elia gripped her stomach where the Rune burned. Flesh shaped itself, she was merely the vessel now as power flowed freely through her like a sieve.  Godwyn watched in slack jawed horror, pondering if Miquella had adopted his body under similar circumstances from within his cocoon. This was rebirth, a strange metamorphosis as flesh took shape. Marika came into being in pieces, half of a face grew over her brassy skeleton, the swell of a breast or hip growing at incongruent paces to finally weave into one another like a tapestry. Piece by piece, muscle was threaded into place, bones woven into  cohesive structure by tendons and ligaments. Hair spilled from Marika’s skull like a flood of gold, limp and sprawled across the stone just as her body was. Radagon held his brow, shaking and leaned into Elia as he strained to keep conscious. Elia was equally spent, wary of how slow his wounds were to heal as Elia pulled him back to sit atop the rocks, “...J-Just rest a moment, Godwyn and I will handle this…” Radagon ducked his face into her shoulder, “...Thank you, grackle.” Elia blinked, “P-Pardon?” “Its quiet, having only one mind in my skull.” he whispered. Elia tightened her hold around him. A body as fresh as a newborn’s and no muscle memory made for a stumbling and sluggish form to inhabit, Marika realized as she felt a chill against her exposed flesh. Cracking open her eyes, an unfamiliar set of blues entered her vision, yet she recognized the warm and soft hands of her son. Godwyn. Golden eyes widened sharply as Marika’s breath hitched, the queen quickly throwing her arms around the prince’s shoulders, “My boy-” “M...Mother,” Godwyn exhaled sharply, cupping the back of Marika’s head as he held her tightly, as if she could slip through his hands as easily as water. Peering over Godwyn’s shoulder, Marika clung as tightly as she could with her waning strength, swallowing thickly as she took stock of Radagon and his bride. A concerning amount of ichor stained Radagon’s stripped coat, the man’s wounds only now beginning to congeal and close as the Knossian murmured one healing cantrip after the next, still oblivious to her miracle’s success. Was that love, to be so blindly focused on her lover’s wellbeing? Marika cocked her head, curious for a moment as the little goddess held her husband. Only Elia’s red haired shadow seemed to be vigilant, watching Marika like a hawk as she spoke, “Elia, it worked.” Radagon lifted his gaze, gold eyes boring into Marika with intense scrutiny, “...I know. My mind is much quieter now.” Elia whirled about, graceless eyes of green and blue wide in alarm as she took in Marika for the first time. “...She’s sharper than her statues.” Elia murmured. Marika could only snort, “The artists enjoyed their fanciful notions of beauty.” As the queen strained to stand and retreat from Godwyn’s embrace, Elia then realized how deeply the parallels ran between the Red King and Golden Queen. Firstly, Marika matched Radagon in height, sporting a similar degree of musculature about her abdomen, legs, and arms. They held a similar profile, the same proud nose, though Marika was paler than her counterpart and much more relaxed in her posture. Marika didn’t dare test her stride, already her legs shook at the strain and she wisely took Godwyn’s outstretched hand and cloak. Murmuring a word of thanks, Marika leveled a look towards Radagon, “...Is our score settled, Radagon?” He nodded once, “Tend to your family, and I will do the same with mine. We no longer bear the same mantle."

Coming to, Harry looked around a familiar drawing room before turning to face a shocked Elven face inches from his own. "Who are you to come through the wards erected by Mistress and the noble house of Black?" the elf whispered. Groaning, Harry sat up, then faced Kreacher with a calm expression. "Kreacher, my name is Harry Potter. I came through the wards because I am the named Heir of Sirius Black, your imprisoned Master. Is Mistress Black available to speak to guests?" The elf stood stock-still, stunned from the rapidity of events, and closed his eyes as he reached out to feel the magic of the house and how it twined around this small boy. "Mistress Black is no longer living…young Master. Kreacher is being by himself these last months." Harry nodded. "Can you feel me to be the Heir, Kreacher?" The elf nodded. "Good. Would you please bring me a light meal to this room, and prepare a guest bedroom of your choice? I will need to stay here for some days, at the very least." Suspicion sat clearly on the wrinkled face—this was no boy, regardless of his looks. But the wards had accepted him, and he did not seem to bear the house ill intent. "Yes, young Master. Kreacher will do this." Harry laid back against the couch and closed his eyes, struggling with a headache. "Thank you, Kreacher." The elf disappeared with a crack and Harry sighed, reaching up to massage his temples. A headache potion and a general restorative of older formulation popped up by his elbow and he smiled. "Thank you." Popping the cork on the headache potion with his thumb, Harry took a deep sniff and held it. Brewed some fifteen to twenty years ago and held under stasis. High-quality ingredients, reasonable power, strong brewing skill. Should still be something like 90% effective. Drinking it at a gulp, he left the restorative aside until food was provided and he could investigate his core. The potion might interact dangerously if any of the power of the tree lingered. Rising, Harry made his way on shaky feet to a washroom across a shadowed hall and splashed his face with cold water from the tap. Reaching for a towel, he ran it over his hair and patted his face before bracing himself and looking into an age-spotted silver mirror. A thin, pallid Harry Potter stared back at him, scar vivid on his forehead and hair running every which way, clothed in rags. He looked to be six or seven, though Harry had never spent any great time around children. He scowled at the reflection. "New priority number one—fixing this." He refused to stay in this stunted body a minute longer than he needed. Removing the taint of the Dark Lord's horcrux around his core before doing anything to alter his age would have been ideal, but without an adult wizard's help, Harry wouldn't be able to do so. But that was fine. He had lived until 17 with this thing once, he could do it again. Walking back to the drawing room, he found Kreacher setting out a light soup and sandwich and smiled in thanks. Sitting and picking up a spoon, Harry began to eat the soup and looked at the elf, who stood staring at him with intense scrutiny. "You can feel I'm not the age I look, can you not?" The elf started, then nodded and looked the floor. "You can relax, Kreacher. I will not punish you for asking questions, and you need not punish yourself. You are correct." Taking another bite of the soup and picking up the sandwich, which appeared to be cucumber, he looked at the elf. "I lived a life before this one, Kreacher. I was an experimental potions researcher, and yesterday, I died in a potions accident. I was 84. I woke up this morning in this body. What is the year?" The elf didn’t know what to make of this story. "It is 1988, young Master." Harry looked reflective. "Seven years old. Kreacher, I doubt you believe me, but will you allow me to prove it?" The elf said nothing, and Harry continued on. "Who brewed the potions you brought me?" The elf smiled. "Mistress brewed them. She was very skilled with potions. Many of the Black family are." Harry nodded. "Does she have a potions laboratory in this house? A store of ingredients?" The elf looked confused. "Of course." Harry pinned him with a gaze. "Bring me a basalt cauldron, a vial of Basilisk venom, and Master Regulus' locket." The venom was a reach, it was rare, and fabulously expensive, but if any family had it, the Blacks would. Kreacher hadn’t moved. "What does young Master wish with Master Regulus' locket?" Harry looked at the elf and slid back to his feet. "We're going to destroy it, right now, Kreacher. You and I, in this very room." The elf narrowed his eyes and disappeared without a word, and a cauldron flashed into being at Harry's feet, dark grey with the marks of hand construction on it. He nodded approvingly before the elf cracked back into the room, holding Slytherin's locket in one hand and a vial half-full of clear liquid very gingerly in the other. "This is one of Mistress' most expensive ingredients, young Master." Harry nodded. "I understand, Kreacher. I know where we can get more, if it becomes necessary." Reaching an imperious hand to the elf, Harry took the locket that was laid in his hand and waved at the cauldron, a ward sparking into existence around it. The same ward he had erected before his ill-fated potion from the day before, come to think of it. But basilisk venom wasn't anywhere near as potent as nuclear fusion. It should be fine. Laying the locket in the bottom of the cauldron, he turned and beckoned the elf forward. "You have earned the right to carry Master Regulus' order through, Kreacher. Reach through the ward and pour the whole vial into the cauldron, and get back quickly. Do you understand?" The elf nodded shakily and stepped forward, clearly reluctant but just as clearly ready to destroy this thing that had so vexed him. The locket trembled but no spirit forms burst from it, the horcrux perhaps confused by the magic of the elf in front of it, rather than that of a witch or wizard. Kreacher splashed the venom over the locket, gasping as it began to hiss and froth as it came in contact with the gold. A black substance, like heart's blood, began to seep out of the locket, and a thin scream issued forth. Harry pulled the elf back with cautious hands—if the ward was going to explode, this would be the time—but nothing further happened. The locket disintegrated, swimming in a pool of venom and going still. Kreacher fell to his knees and began to weep, staring at the cauldron. Harry conjured a silk handkerchief and handed it to him before banishing the cauldron, venom and locket with a wave of his hand. "Kreacher. You have done a great service to the house of Black by destroying that locket. Not only to Master Regulus, but to me, and your late Mistress. You have my sincere thanks. I will procure another cauldron of the same quality for you to replace in her stores." The elf gave no indication he heard, breathing in great sighs and blowing his nose into the handkerchief. Harry rose and walked to the door, heading for the library upstairs. In due time, he would have Kreacher show him the potions laboratory. He needed to refresh his memory of the Permanent Aging potion, and bring himself back into his adult power. This child's body had gone on long enough.

                    Letting out a sigh as he paced on the rocky lakeside, Jasper checked his phone yet again for any new messages from Leah. She hadn’t responded after that one text where she practically demanded he meet up with her, which was a bit unusual because she always replied to the few texts he sent her. But not this time.   Amidst his worrying for the wellbeing of his friend, Jasper couldn’t help but also feel a little irritated by her timing. He had just started working on incorporating gemstones and crystals in his current projects; Attempts seven and eight at crafting a special ring for his Starlight. It had been trickier than he’d expected and a lot harder than the little cinnamon roll pendant he had made prior to this.   But Jasper refused to call it quits, no matter how many attempts he’d have to make. He had a specific design in his mind and he would work on this project until he succeeded.   Even if it took forever.   That’s why he was a bit annoyed at the moment, having abandoned his crafting session to swiftly get to the familiar beach and wait for his friend to show up. Jasper still didn’t know the reason for her anger and why she was hurting so bad. When he casually mentioned it to Ciara one evening, she had let out a growl before taking a few calming breaths. Then she quietly said, “Let’s just say it has to do with love and betrayal, Sunshine. Our Leah is going through an unfair ordeal and I suspect we’re the only ones supporting her, aside from her little brother. Why else would she be so willing to let us in?” He had felt an instant smile grow on his face when she said ‘Our Leah’, but he didn’t question her more on the matter.   He trusted Ciara to handle being the listener to their friend on her own.       Shaking his head with fondness, Jasper immediately turned around the moment he heard rustling in the thicket of trees.   But what he was met with gave him an unexpected sense of dread.   Leah stumbled onto the beach, moving sluggishly as she made her way towards him. “Shit,” he heard her mutter as she hunched over, panting like she’d run all the way to the lake instead of taking her motorcycle.   Jasper appeared before her in less than a second, promptly ignoring her blinking confusedly up at him. Sweat dripped from her flush face onto the rocky ground and Jasper could feel the heat radiating from her body without having to touch her.   “You look like death, little wolf.”   “And you look like the very picture of life, you damn paleface!” she snarked as she attempted to stand up straight but that only made her stumble to the side, “Fuck off, Goldilocks, I’m fine.”   “I highly doubt that, you can barely stand.”   “I said I’m fine!”   Jasper frowned and pressed his palm to her forehead. She tried batting away his hand but stopped when she let out a relieved groan, murmuring, “Oh, that feels nice.” “You’re burning up, Leah,” he stated, “You shouldn’t be outside in this condition. You should be at home resting—” “Shut up,” she growled, stumbling away from him, “I’m not going home, not while Emily’s there and— shit!” Leah crouched on the spot and wiped her perspired forehead with her jacket sleeve, the leather being a poor absorbent to the sweat, as her breathing grew heavier and shudders started taking over her entire being. She groaned in frustration but continued, “I don’t want to see her, not when I’m feeling like this! I don’t want to let her see me this weak...!” Jasper got down on his knees in front of her, combing away the sweat-drenched hair from her face. “I understand that, little wolf,” he assured her, his anxiety spiking when she leaned heavily into his hand, seeking more of his cold touch, “but your well-being is more important than your unwillingness to face this Emily person, don’t you get that?”   Leah let out a weak snort, “Surely you know who that traitor is, didn’t your Starlight tell you?”   “No, she didn’t mention any names to me.”   “Huh... seems like I can trust that girl then.”   “Yes, you can,” he easily agreed, “but Leah, this fever isn’t normal so I’m gonna help you get back—”   “Shut. Up! I’m not going. Stop touching me, Jasper, and go away!”   Jasper immediately retracted his hand but didn’t move away from her and tried to catch her fever-dazed eyes. “No. I’m not leaving you like this. I’ll carry you home myself if I have to, damn the consequences!”   “You wouldn’t dare,” she growled, the shudders developing into full on shaking now, “You wouldn’t do that to me, Jasper.”   He let out a growl of his own, quickly losing patience, “Don’t presume to know what I would and wouldn’t do, Leah Clearwater. Now stop fighting me and let me help you!”   “I DON’T NEED YOUR FUCKING HELP—!!”   A roar ripped from Leah's throat at that moment and Jasper got a feeling that something bad was about to happen when she suddenly stiffened. He pushed off of the ground hard and sprung backwards just as his friend violently changed into something big and furry and gray.   But Jasper wasn’t quick enough.   Her flailing hand—rapidly transforming into a large paw with sharp claws—clipped him in the shoulder, leaving four deep slashes across his marble skin and almost tearing his shirt apart. The unexpected flare of pain had him crumble to the ground just as he landed several feet away, unable to hold back his shout from the absolute agony he was experiencing. Jasper growled through his teeth as he looked down to inspect the wounds, not quite daring to touch them.   Fuck—!   Would these ever heal?!   He didn’t have enough knowledge of inflicted injuries from Quileute Wolves—not having had an opportunity to fight one—to know if they would or not. Then a whine accompanied with a wave of distress and devastation made him snap his head up to see the wolf having backed up a step. At first glance she looked grossly overweight due to her massive body, but Jasper suspected it to be overgrown fur. She was still the size of a pony though.   Leah restlessly paced, her body still shaking and twitching.   Jasper caught her gaze—now with silvery gray eyes—as he gingerly climbed to his feet. “Leah...? Are you still there?”   The wolf whined again with something like a nod and started walking to him but abruptly stopped and lied down instead, her large head resting between her paws. The strength of the emotional chaos he could feel from Leah threatened to overwhelm him, but Jasper focused on sending out waves of calm as he slowly approached her. “It’s okay, Leah,” he cooed, trying to reassure her, “I will help you. It’s okay.”   For a moment, it seemed like she would allow him to come closer but Jasper was proven wrong when he moved his hand off of his injured shoulder. Leah’s big silver eyes zoomed in on the deep gouges caused by her newly acquired claws and she suddenly stood up with a loud whine.   Then she took off like a bullet in the opposite direction.   Jasper swore and sprinted after her, “LEAH—!”   Fucking hell, she was fast.   Faster than him, even.   He was running at vampire speed but didn’t seem to have a chance of catching up to her. She also didn’t seem to notice, or care, that he was sprinting only a short distance behind her. A feat no human could do in this case.   Her panic, her despair, her hurt made her unable to comprehend or even register Jasper’s calls for her.   Dammit.   He didn’t know if the wolf had taken over completely.   If only he could understand her constant whimpers and howls she was letting out as she kept running through the woods—   —wait!   Jasper took a gamble and ripped out his phone without slowing down. He quickly searched for her contact and pressed dial. “LEAH, STOP RUNNING DAMMIT!” he yelled as he waited to get through to the one person he hoped could talk to the panicked wolf.   “Hello Sunshine!”   He had never been so glad to hear her lovely voice. “Ciara, you have to help me!”   Her voice immediately turned serious, “What’s going on? Are you hurt, Jasper? Are you in danger?!”   “No, it’s—! It’s Leah! She transformed into a wolf all of a sudden!”   There was a shocked gasp on the other end. “Leah is a shapeshifter—? Since when?!”   “Since now, apparently. She’s panicking and just won’t stop running, I can’t catch up cause she’s too damn fast for me and my gift isn’t working—”   “Jasper!” Ciara interrupted his building rant with a sharp bark, “Calm down! Put me on loudspeaker, I will try to reach her and hopefully my gift will work better.”   He hurriedly pressed the button and held the phone in front of him while he kept running. Hoping he was close enough for Leah to hear, Jasper let Ciara know he’d done as she asked, “There.”   “LEAH! PLEASE STOP RUNNING, LEAH—!”   Jasper heard a growling response from the wolf. He thought it sounded like a question.   “Oh thank God I can understand you! Yes Leah, it’s me! Please stop running and let Jasper catch up to you!”   Finally, the gray wolf slowed down and stopped but kept her back to him. Jasper took in their surroundings, realising they were in the middle of a large meadow with a lot of wildflowers everywhere.   “She stopped, darlin’.”   “Good. Now—”   Suddenly Leah snarled and whined, making Ciara fall silent.   “What did she say?” he asked, worried.   “... did Leah hurt you, Jasper?”   He eyed the wolf, who had not yet turned around to face him, and then confirmed with a sigh. “Yes, but it was entirely unintentional. I was standing too close and she accidentally got me in the shoulder when she transformed. It’s not her fault, Ciara.” Jasper could swear he heard her grinding her teeth through the phone before she responded, “... alright, Sunshine, I’ll take your word for it,” then she raised her voice and asked loudly, “Now, why on earth did you turn into a freaking wolf, Leah?”   The gray wolf barked, growled and snarled before lying down on the grass with a whimper.   Jasper slowly got closer, stopping a few feet from her so as not to spook her again.   “No, stop it, Leah,” Ciara suddenly scolded, “you’re not a freak or abomination or whatever, and we are not going to abandon you. We’ll figure this out together, right Jasper?” “Of course,” he instantly said, watching the wolf rise to her feet—no, paws—and turn around to look at him with a lowered head, “You’re still our friend, despite you turning into a giant furball.”   Jasper grinned when Leah let out a growl at that. He could see that her body was still vibrating as she sat on her haunches.   “Well,” Ciara slowly said, “I guess the next step is to reverse the transformation and then go from there. You okay with that, Leah?”   The wolf snorted and whined in response.   “It’s okay, we’ll help you. Jasper, do you know how she can turn back into a human?”   He shook his head in the negative, but quickly realised that she couldn’t see him, “No, I don’t... but let’s try breathing exercises, yeah?”              Ciara stayed on the phone while Leah the wolf painstakingly copied Jasper’s exaggerated breaths.   Breathe in.   Hold for five seconds.   Breathe out.   Just like they usually did on the days where she was uncontrollably angry and needed to calm down. And after repeating the exercises four more times, Jasper could see the gray wolf visibly relaxing with a deep exhale.   Then in front of his eyes, the fur slowly disappeared, turning into thick black hair and copper skin. The wolf had turned back into a young woman sitting on the ground, to Jasper’s utter relief.   A stark naked young woman.   The only thing protecting her modesty was the messy hair tumbling down her front and back. Jasper cleared his throat and started removing his green flannel. “Good job, Leah. It seems like calming down was the key.”   Ciara’s relieved voice sounded from the phone then, “Did she turn back—?! Thank God!”   “Indeed,” he murmured as he kneeled in front of the girl, clothing her in the slightly torn fabric and buttoning up the shirt. “Pardon me, little wolf.”   Leah didn’t resist or even scream at him. She was blinking dazedly, her dark brown eyes not really focusing on anything. It was almost like she wasn’t taking note of his presence at all.   Jasper could still feel her burning fever, though. “Leah? Are you still with me?”   She slowly met his gaze, blinking several times. Then she wrinkled her nose and squinted at him. “Why are you smelling so cloyingly sweet all of a sudden, Goldilocks? It’s disgusting...!”   The squawk of outrage from the phone made Jasper let out a chuckle as he retorted, “Your enhanced sense of smell fits with your new scent, Leah. You smell unfortunately like a dog now.”   “My what—”   Leah didn’t have time to finish her sentence before pitching forward and collapsing against Jasper’s chest, making him rapidly catch her and make sure she didn’t hit her head too hard on his rock solid body. He didn’t know how sturdy she’d become with her newly gained ability to shapeshift and he didn’t want to cause her any damage if he could help it. And her fever was still so very high.   “Dammit, Leah passed out on me,” he hissed, cupping her hot cheek in a feeble attempt to cool her, “What the hell do we do? This fever is getting worse by the minute...!”   “She lives on the reservation, right? Can’t you take her there?”   Jasper let out a sardonic laugh, “If I take one step into their territory with an unconscious Quileute girl, the other wolves will tear me apart without blinking, I suspect.”   “Oh crap, I forgot about the treaty! I guess we have no other choice but to take her to papa then.”   Realising it was the only viable option, Jasper gingerly picked up Leah and maneuvered her onto his back with her arms hanging down his chest and her face squished against the side of his neck. He checked that the hem of his shirt covered her bare bottom as he secured his grip on her. With one arm under her butt and his other hand holding on to one of her wrists, Jasper took off towards the house, running at vampire speed. The others are not going to like this one bit, he knew, with him bringing trouble to their door in the form of an ill shapeshifter.   But this was his friend.   This was Ciara’s friend.   So Jasper frankly didn’t give a damn what his family was going to think. They would have to deal.             Of course they were waiting for him when he finally reached the house. Alice, Rosalie and Emmett stood on the lawn in front of the porch, all three of them staring at Jasper and his charge with growing alarm.   “What have you done, brother—?!”   He ignored Rosalie’s demanding question and turned to Alice, “Is Carlisle home?”   “Yes he is, but what is this, Jas? I saw you run through the woods, chasing nothing—”   He promptly cut her off with a curt, “Good,” and continued towards the porch but was immediately blocked by Rosalie and Emmett, both looking agitated.   “What’s going on, Jas?” his brother asked, his golden eyes fixated on the unconscious girl on his back, her dark hair obscuring her face and parts of the slashes on Jasper’s shoulder. “What have you gotten yourself into?”   “I will explain later, Emmett, just please let me into the house. I need Carlisle’s help.”   Before he could respond, Rosalie leaned closer to Jasper and took a breath. Her eyes widened in disbelief and growing rage as she exclaimed, “YOU BROUGHT A FUCKING QUILEUTE WOLF TO OUR HOME—?! HOW CAN YOU BE THIS STUPID?!”   “I didn’t have a choice, Rose! It was either this or bring her to the reservation!”   Emmett gave a low whistle. “Oh, that would not have ended well.”   “Exactly,” he said, appreciating his brother’s insight, “Hence why I decided to bring her here instead.”   “Why on God’s green earth did you bring that thing here in the first place?!” Rosalie yelled, glaring daggers at him, “I am not letting that beast get into our home and risk our safety!”   Jasper narrowed his eyes at his sister and told her, “She is currently unconscious and running a high fever, so she isn’t posing a threat to us. And she might die if we don’t get her to a doctor fast enough.”   “Then let her die,” the blonde snarled, baring her teeth in defiance, “That’s one wolf less to endanger our family so just go dump her in the woods somewhere!”   He sucked in a sharp breath, shocked to the core by such callous words he didn’t expect to hear from his sister. Then an icy calm came over him.   “Rosalie, move.”   She didn’t move a muscle as she growled at him, but Emmett was quick to pull her behind him as he stepped to the side, not taking his gaze off of Jasper. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, the warning in his eyes betraying his calm facade, “but if you ever threaten my Rose again, we’re gonna have a problem.”   Jasper inclined his head, understanding his brother perfectly. “Call Ciara. She will explain everything to you.” With that he turned away from his siblings and hurried through the door, immediately calling for the Cullen patriarch.   “Carlisle, I need you!”   Jasper then felt a presence behind him and when he threw a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Alice trotting after him. She caught his gaze and raised her chin in defiance, daring him to tell her to leave. But Jasper didn’t want to cause more animosity between himself and his siblings, so he simply gave her an accepting nod and continued on to Ciara’s room, heading straight for the large bed. He swiftly deposited Leah under the covers and gathered up all of her hair, attempting to braid it like he’d seen her wear it before, but it ended up looking a bit sloppy instead.   Oh well, at least he’d made sure she didn’t lie on her hair.   A sudden gasp made him look up to discover Alice standing beside him, staring wide-eyed at Leah’s serene face as she finally got a proper look at the girl. His little sister was exuding wonder and intrigue and admiration, making Jasper raise his eyebrows in growing disbelief.   “Oh, she’s gorgeous...!” Alice whispered softly, looking up at him with twinkling golden eyes, “Jas, this girl is so beautiful!”   “Yes, my friend is quite pretty,” he replied, trying not to let his sister know how amused he was, “but she’s also fierce and protective, similar to Rose.”   Alice frowned at him, “Your friend? This girl is your friend? A shapeshifter from the Quileute tribe?!”   “She wasn’t a shapeshifter until today, but yes.”   “What—? Nevermind! How long have you known her, Jas?”   “I met her a few months ago by the lake in the wilderness north of here.”   “By the lake—? On a rocky beach?!”   “Correct.”   “So that’s what my vision meant! It can’t be anything else!”   Frowning, Jasper was about to ask Alice to elaborate but Carlisle’s sudden appearance made him quickly forget about it. “Jasper,” he sounded so very tired as he gave Jasper a stern look, “I expect you to tell me how a young shapeshifter from the reservation has ended up in Ciara’s bed.”   “I promise I’ll explain everything,” he quickly assured the other blond, “Just please make sure my friend isn’t dying on me.”   Carlisle regarded him in silence for a few moments. Then he sighed and set his doctor’s bag on the bedside table, preparing to take a look at the unknown shapeshifter. “Very well, but I’m making no promises. Now give me some room and let me work in peace.”          

The Murdoc Ball was the last of the Season. Though not the most opulent, it was the last opportunity for hopefuls to secure a match. Accordingly, it was attended by a mish mash of ages and ranks of nobility and fortune, all making a last ditch effort before the gates truly closed. Penelope was apprehensive, terrified really. This was her first ball without Eloise or Colin to lean on, she was defenseless, but she had little choice. She just had to make it through tonight and she would be out. Easier said than done, come to find out. With the failure of Prudence’s engagement, Portia Featherington seemed to have redoubled her efforts to have her daughters seen by the eligible men of the Ton. In practical terms, this meant keeping Penelope within reach at all times unless she was engaged in a dance. And it seemed, once one gentleman requested a dance, she was to always be engaged in a dance. For as soon as one dance ended, her mother was shoving her into the arms of the next “gentleman.” Had she the time or breath to think about it, Penelope would have been mortified for some of these men were old enough to be her father, some of them wished to be her master, their grasping hands making that very clear. ---------------------- When the Bridgertons arrived, their number was larger than normal for it included the Duke and Duchess of Hastings, the Viscount’s fiancé, as well as the Lady Mary Sharma and Miss Edwina Sharma. Though the younger Miss Sharma was invited to dance almost immediately upon entering the ballroom and Colin schluffed off to the refreshment table. He wasn’t handling his separation from Penelope well. He hadn’t seen her in the market or in the park, and was socially forbidden from approaching her at any event. His questions went unanswered and  his family wouldn’t tell him why she had been visiting in the first place. He felt adrift without her. Eloise patently did not want to be here. She could already see her mother selecting gentlemen for her to dance with. Daphne patted her hand in a consolatory manner, though that did little to quell Eloise’s profound unease. Unease which was quickly thruppled by the shrill “laughter” that sounded next to the group. Turning in fright, expecting an emu or some such feathered creature but only finding a cackling Cressida Cowper, and a few of her enablers. Eloise could only roll her eyes. Cressida had turned to whisper something to her pack when she noticed the Bridgertons, and decided to slither over to greet them. “Miss Bridgerton, Your Grace, Your Grace, Mr. Bridgerton,” Cressida simpered, dropping a slimy looking curtsey, “So lovely to see you all.” Eloise just nodded, knowing better than to hazard trying to say something polite to this snake. Daphne was the only one to return the greeting and even then she didn’t look at Cressida, “Miss Cowper.” Eloise watched as the most vile smile twisted Cressida’s face, “It’s such a shame you didn’t see fit to join our circle of friends, Eloise, but I do have to commend you on your work. I have never been more entertained in my entire life.” Eloise only quirked her eyebrow in suspicion. Turning to look behind her, “Poor Penelope Featherington will surely never recover from this night.” At the mention of Penelope’s name they all followed Cressida’s gaze and couldn’t help catching what had her so tickled. Penelope was in the process of being whipped around by a burly gentleman, who then pulled her to him so hard the impact looked painful. Eloise seemed to freeze, utterly rigid. Cressida and her pack continued to titter annoyingly, rejoicing in Penelope’s predicament. That is, until Cressida was suddenly shrieking and whipping herself around to face Benedict. Her pack was suddenly fretting over the large wine stain spreading across the back of Cressida’s gown. A highly fake and transparent shadow of remorse painted Benedict’s face, “Oh goodness, Miss Cowper, I do apologize, your hair ribbon must have snagged on my wine glass. So sorry.” She made to say something but was stopped short at Anthony’s approach with Kate on his arm. “Ah, brother, what are you up to?” Cressida’s indignant posture forewarned the venom about to escape her maw, “Viscount Bridgerton, your brother -” Anthony swiftly cut her off though, “Oh dear, Miss Cowper, what have you done to your gown? I know how clumsy you tend to be with your drinks at these events but however did you get it on your back and not your front?” The glint in Anthony’s eye spelled Cressida’s social execution, for this event at least, though she was too jarred by his interruption to realize it. It was annoying enough having to listen to her simper and dance with her at all the previous balls but her rejoicing at Penelope’s suffering was the last straw. He let her gap in surprise for a moment before going in for the kill, “Beg your pardon, on the fronts of whatever innocent bystander had the misfortune of being in your proximity.” “Cressida, what have you done?” Lady Cowper exclaimed, sweeping in, alerted by one of Cressida’s followers. “Mama, I–” Cressida struggled to articulate her sentence as she met eyes with all the Bridgertons, their gazes daring her to tell the truth, pit her word against theirs. “My…hair ribbon snagged on Mr. Bridgerton’s wine glass.” “Oh you clumsy girl, come away, let’s get you changed,” Lady Cowper strode away towards the carriages. Cressida rounded on the Bridgertons then, “You will pay for this.” Anthony calmly produced a card, “Of course, here’s the name of my banker. And Miss Cowper, as I do believe this will be the last time anyone in my family will deign to acknowledge you, allow me to warn you. If you or any of your fellow cretons dare utter Penelope’s name, ever again, know that I will swiftly and unhesitatingly do whatever imbecile you trick into marrying you a favor and shut your mouth for you, permanently. I do so hate a bully, you see,” Cressida’s face paled then flushed in turns, as her fear and rage warred with each other. “Off you pop now, your mother is waiting.” When Cressida stormed away Anthony turned his harshest Viscount gaze on her pack, “If any of you get any bright ideas, know that my baby sister is quite imaginative and very vindictive. Not a single one of you would last a week before she breaks you. Best to behave.” Anthony then tilted his chin up in dismissal. Smiling as they all skittered to follow Cressida. When they had all gone Daphne pecked him hard on the cheek, “I have never been more proud to be your sister.” Turning to elbow Benedict in the side, “Or yours.” “Anthony,” Kate’s distressed tone pulled them all from their victorious haze.  They all looked over to realize a taller gentleman was now dancing with Penelope, his eyes leering disgustingly down at her cleavage, as Penelope looked the picture of discomfort. “Lordy. On it,” Benedict called before striding towards their sister. Arriving at the perfect moment, when the next song was starting, Penelope had just managed to extract herself from her last partner and the next one was approaching, when Benedict swept her deeper into the crowded dance floor. A jovial apology, thrown over his shoulder at the man who was supposed to dance with her next. Once they were out of sight Benedict slowed and surreptitiously braced Penelope with his arms. She looked exhausted already and they were only half way through the ball. "There's so many of them, Benedict." Penelope mumbled from where she was barely keeping herself from leaning against him. "I know. Remind me why you couldn't accept the land and dowry we arranged for you?"  Benedict chuckled lowly. Penelope gave him a chuckle-sob, still not meeting his eyes. Benedict couldn't keep a note of desperation from his voice, "Please, Penelope." "I can't." "Can't or won't?" "Can't." Benedict huffed in disbelief. "I will always do all in my power to protect you all. It's all I can do." "You can accept our offer and allow us to protect you like you know we're desperate to do." She could not respond for a moment. "That would put us at odds, for to link myself to your family would be to knowingly endanger you all. And I won't do that, Benedict. Not ever." "What danger, Penelope? What could you possibly be doing that could endanger us?" He didn't let her reply. "What is it? Gambling? Prostitution?" "NO!" She exclaimed, aghast at the suggestion, before remembering to modulate her volume. Meeting his eyes for the first time since they started to dance. "Then what is it? You have to know we can help you through anything. The Viscountancy isn't a power to sneeze at." They locked eyes for a long moment. A battle of wills. Him willing her to capitulate. Her willing him to understand that she couldn't and needed him to give up his cause. Eventually she couldn't hold his stare any longer, dropping her eyes to his chest. Her shame clear on her face. Although he seemed to win their impromptu staring competition he knew he had yet to win an answer from her. It seemed they had reached an impasse. He returned his gaze to the empty air over her head, eyes finding Anthony watching them from the side of the ballroom, concerned brow slightly furrowed. He almost missed when she whispered lowly. Had he been holding her a less familiar distance from himself, he would have missed it entirely.  "I'm Lady Whistledown." Luckily the song ended in that second, just as they made to bow and curtsey, practically off the dance floor. No one registered him going rigid in shock, except Anthony, who quickly made to move to his brother's side. Penelope looked hesitantly into his carefully neutral expression, gauging his reaction before giving a sad huff of a chuckle, all resignation and no humor.  "Thank you for the dance, Mr. Bridgerton. Your family's support and care over the years has been...I...I could not have survived these seasons or my family without you all." Penelope could feel her eyes clouding over as she stepped away from him. Anthony finally reaching them, bobbed a nod of acknowledgment to Penelope. His words jammed in his throat, at the look of despair on her face. Eventually she managed to swallow around the lump in her throat and say, "I love you, brothers." Each word sounding like a death knoll, like a painful goodbye. She seemed to gather the last of her reserves to will her tears not to fall. Meeting both of their gazes one last time before returning to her mother's side. Her mother's hand resuming its vice grip just below her elbow before practically shoving her into the arms of a gentleman surely old enough to be her father. Benedict's eyes had not left the spot where Penelope had been standing. Anthony gave his shoulder a slight shake before asking, "What is it, brother?" Seeming to snap out of his trance, Benedict was slow to meet his brother's concerned gaze, even then seeming to peer through him. "Not now. Not here." Anthony only nodded as they rejoined their family and the Sharmas. Benedict managed a one song respite before he was engaged to dance again and again, no matter how ill-disposed he felt to deal with simpering debutantes that weren’t even nearly as bad as Cressida Cowper. He was still out of breath, snagging a drink from a passing waiter before schlumping next to Eloise, where she sat on one of the settees lining the ballroom walls. His mother's exclamation, "Oh God," had them both at attention in a second. Following her gaze, he understood why. Oh God, indeed. Penelope was having a time of it with her inebriated dance partner, barely managing to avoid being stepped on. Only struggling further as her energy levels plummeted. She looked well and truly drained and her mother paid her no mind, visibly gushing about a "blushing" Prudence to some gentleman. Even Eloise could not keep the concern from her previously indifferent face. They weren't the only ones to notice apparently, as he watched Colin internally wrestling with himself to not intervene near the struggling girl and her "dance" partner. Benedict felt his anxiety spike, seeing he was too far to intercept his brother, and too far to rescue Penelope himself. There were more dancing couples between him and Penelope than there were before. A disastrous crisis was unfolding before him and even his stature couldn't cover the distance in time. He swallowed his dread as he watched his brother hesitantly inching toward the pair. He could empathize with his brother's plight. I'm Lady Whistledown. Benedict could only mutter under his breath, "No. Colin. You cannot. Don't you dare. You cannot do this to that girl. Please, no." Covering his anxiousness by crossing his arms, physically restraining himself. Eloise's confusion at his words was clear. "Mama, what is going on?" Their mother couldn't tear her eyes away but she answered still. Her words quiet, hollow, "Colin has already rejected her. In public for that matter. Deeming her as unworthy of his suit, unworthy of being claimed by any gentleman of his status. She is not good enough to wife. If he goes to her now, so obviously out of pity...Asking her to dance now would be claiming her as something lesser than the lady she is. If she is not good enough to claim as a wife..." "...it would be claiming her as his mistress," Benedict muttered, biting back the bitterness. I'm Lady Whistledown. "She can refuse him though, can't she?" The blood draining from her face as she watched her former friend being manhandled so carelessly. Benedict couldn't stop himself from giving his sister a sardonic look as he quickly went to attempt to intercept his brother, hoping Colin's hesitation would hold out until Benedict could get to him. Her eyes still trained on Penelope, Daphne layed it out for her sister. "If she couldn't refuse this dance to begin with, what makes you think she could refuse Colin's offer? Lady Featherington has been shoving the poor girl at any and every drunk, old, and leering sod that's requested to dance with her. The word has spread, you're no longer her friend. Everyone knows she has no one now." Eloise could no longer look her sister in the eye. "You truly have no concept of the latitude and protection being your friend granted her, of the freedom our family's name grants you. Can you imagine the things the Cowpers will say if she collapses? The venom and glee they will rejoice in while they tear that girl down, humiliate her, in front of everyone. How they will lord it over her." Violet's eyes took on a pained far off look. They spoke of experience. "Eloise?" When she tore her eyes from Penelope she was pinned by the assessing look on her sister's face. "If what she did was so horrible that you ended your friendship, tell us now, so that mama need not worry over someone not worthy of our concern." Eloise didn't know how to answer that question cloaked in a statement. Penelope had lied to her all this time. Exposed her to the worst the ton had to offer. Used them all, took advantage of their kindness. Lied. All this time. But this was degrading and horrifying, Eloise was having trouble justifying this end for her former friend to herself. Justifying that she had brought this upon Penelope just by ending their association. "I see." Daphne sighed, straightening from where she had leaned over to look into Eloise's downcast face and turned to their mama. "Mama? It's getting rather late, perhaps we should be going." Violet turned to answer her daughter, only to pause, having glimpsed the uncomfortable posture Eloise had adopted, over Daphne's shoulder. Managing to control her wince at hearing all the tittering and giggles coming from the assembly with every near misstep almost dealt to her daughter of her heart, she slowly nodded. With Anthony no where in sight, Violet slipped her arm around Simon’s for support, slowly making her way over to their host, to inform them of their departure. Penelope felt like her feet were bleeding, though she knew they couldn’t be, otherwise she would have slipped on the slicked ballroom floor long ago. Lord Newberry was holding her far too close and far too tight for her comfort or sense of propriety. Pinned as she was she couldn’t see her feet, so had to dodge his steps by feeling alone, a task made more difficult by her fading feeling in them. He reeked of alcohol and his movements seemed poised to dislocate her arm, though she supposed she should feel grateful that he wasn’t leering at her bosom as some of the “gentlemen” she’d danced with before, had. Midway through one particular turn she happened to glance up and her eyes caught Colin’s. He was a fair distance away but she could clearly read the conflict currently embroiling in his head, on his dear face. Her heart clenched when she realized what he was considering, as he took one innocuous step in her direction. No. He couldn’t be. Penelope desperately wanted to cry right then. She loved him so dearly. Wanted him so greatly. Despite her anger at him for his words that night at her mother’s ball, her heart throbbed with love that he wanted so desperately to help her, save her. She knew she was in pain now but how would it compare to the humiliation and indignity she’d suffer if she agreed to be his mistress, even if only on the surface, for the Ton. She had no illusions that he would actually touch her in that way. Could she survive having him so close to her person yet so far from her heart, whilst loving him as deeply as she had always done? Lord Newberry’s knee knocked into her left, causing it to buckle, only a quick hop saved her but pulled heavily on her waning stability. She had to ignore the audible gasp the “audience” emitted, she hadn’t the capacity to think beyond Colin and not collapsing.  The song was nearly over but Colin was now only paces off from her. Connecting their gazes again Penelope silently pleaded with him not to do this. Pain written all over his face, Colin neither advanced nor retreated. Gritting her teeth, Penelope reached within for any vestiges of determination she might have, to try to compensate for the physical weakness she could feel overtaking her body, there wasn’t nearly enough. Then a tremendous clatter and shrieking sounded from the far end of the ballroom. Everyone’s heads snapped to the source of the sound, seeing Lady Cowper and Miss Cressida Cowper lying amidst the debris of the collapsed refreshments table. Penelope glimpsed a decidedly not-guffawing Kate near them, facing her fiancé, who looked terribly tempted to devour her on the spot for some reason. Lord Newberry also turned at the commotion, releasing Penelope and having to stagger away a bit, to keep his drunken balance. Suddenly free Penelope realized her legs couldn’t hold her. Luckily, in the next moment two familiar jackets were in front of her face, both individuals facing the spectacle and not her. She latched on to their elbows in the shared space between them, both brothers pressing more firmly together to hide that she was holding onto them. Benedict was scratching the back of his head with his free hand, while Colin was gesticulating with his. As a unit they slowly backed up to ease Penelope to one of the sofas against the ballroom wall whilst all attention was on the Cowpers. As her bottom finally found the seat, she stifled her groan of pained relief. The tremor was back in her voice as she whispered for only the brothers to hear, “Thank you.” Benedict nodded his head covertly. In the split second before they moved away she felt the burning brand that was Colin’s fingers, caress her own as they sat nestled in the crook of his elbow. She snapped her hands back to herself, as though burned in truth. The soothing touch too good for the buckling restraints on her heart. Colin's expression, full of regret, saddened her greatly even out of the corner of her eye,  as he and his brother moved away. Benedict bumped his shoulder with his, to catch his attention and give him a sympathetic yet censuring look. Meeting up with Kate and Anthony, they joined the rest of their family at the carriages. Pausing at the threshold, Benedict turned, ostensibly to take one last sweep of the ballroom, but meeting Penelope’s sad glance, he gave a subtle nod before turning and leaving with his family. Whether it was the alcohol he’d consumed or the adrenaline draining from his body, Benedict was asleep before the carriage arrived home, Anthony and Colin obliged to carry him to bed. Anthony’s answers would have to wait until the morning. The following day, Anthony was lunching with the Sharmas at Lady Danbury’s, and therefore was gone by the time Benedict was able to drag himself out of bed that afternoon, he did not return by the time Benedict retired early. He knew he needed to tell his brother what he knew, he just didn’t have the capacity to have that conversation or help do something to fix it, if there even was anything to be done. The honorary sister of all their hearts was the infamous Scribbler. The Scribbler that had shunted Eloise into the glaring hellfire of the Ton’s judgment. He could hardly believe it. If he didn’t know her better he’d have thought they were lucky their less sterling decisions had escaped Whistledown’s quill. But he did know her better than that, she had seen them all at their worst and never reported a word, not ever. Until that article about Eloise. He’d have to question Eloise later, presumably this was one of the reasons why their friendship had fallen apart. He needed to know what she knew. He ended up not needing to ask, for the whole story unfolded in the Family Room the following afternoon. They were all lounging around for tea. Hyacinth and Gregory were out on playdates with their friends. Kate, her mother, and sister had come to call, and Simon and Daphne had brought Auggie for a visit. Benedict was snoozing when an agitated Portia Featherington barged in, followed by Prudence, seeming to have outrun a shocked Wickham to the Family Room. “Lady Featherington?” Lady Bridgerton exclaimed. “Is Penelope here?” They all shook their heads in confusion. Eloise and Penelope had fallen out weeks ago, thus she had not been to visit since her last visit before her family’s ball, aside from her short meeting in Anthony’s study.  “She’s always over here. You’re sure she’s not here?” Lady Featherington gasped, agitated and out of breath. Lady Bridgerton quickly approached Lady Featherington. “Portia, what has happened? Penelope is not here, she has not been here in weeks.” Lady Featherington blanched at that. It was then Wickham entered the room, clearing his throat to gain their attention, he then handed Lady Featherington a letter. “Lady Featherington, Miss Penelope left this with me some days ago. Instructing me to give it to you should you make an unexpected visit.” Portia snatched the letter from the butler and tore it open, reading quickly. Lady Bridgerton dismissed Wickham with an understanding nod. They all gathered closer trying to learn what had happened from her expression. Her breathing became labored the more she read, eventually catching, as she gasped then dropped in a faint, Prudence barely reacting fast enough to slow her descent. Colin and Benedict brought her to the closest sofa, propping her up with some pillows. Anthony had snatched up the letter, and was still reading when Colin and Benedict turned around. Benedict eyed his brother’s face, “Anthony?” Eyes glazed, hand over his mouth, Anthony barely reacted when Kate took the letter from him, reading aloud: Dear Mama, I am leaving this letter with the Bridgertons' Butler, Wickham, should you forget that Miss Bridgerton and I have not been friends for many weeks, and come here looking for me. I had a messenger watch the house and they will be alerting a “Mr. Balthazar Lott” once you discover I have gone. Mr. Lott will call on you and the Bridgertons presently, as executor of the estate of one Iola Collins. Purportedly a recently deceased Great Aunt of yours, she will be bequeathing you (1) an allowance, which should sustain your household, provided you can manage to live modestly, and (2) a modest dowry for Prudence, which you may supplement should you choose to remarry. Mr. Lott has been generously compensated for his discretion as to the information he will be imparting but has not been informed beyond the information I wish to be communicated. In sum, I've paid him well to tell you all what I want you to know and will not speak of it ever again once he leaves, but he cannot tell you where I am or have gone or plan to go, so please do not "kill the messenger," as they say. In parting, I must say, I cannot abide your actions surrounding "Cousin" Jack and his/your activities, mama. While I can appreciate you remembering that you do, in fact, have three daughters not just two, any tenderness it inspires is tainted by you saying it whilst stabbing your literal partner-in-crime in the back. Father’s gambling landed us in the precarious situation in which we first met Jack, and you wish to gamble with our freedom by heisting the Ton so soon after?? I am mortified just thinking of it. I have no great opinion of most of the people you have swindled but now I have no great opinion of you and your actions. I refuse to be here when whatever comeuppance you have earned is visited upon you. Congratulations on saving this family from the Streets or Poor House. I’m sure you don’t regret a thing you’ve done, given what our situation was before and what it is now. How lucky that you’ve won. On the bright side you won’t have to suffer my contempt and can focus your resources on yourself and Prudence. I feel safe in assuming the Bridgertons will be reading this letter as well, and I hope it’s sufficient to put them on their guard, that they may be able to keep out of reach of any future shady machinations you endeavor to take part in. Take care mama. Your Daughter, Lady Whistledown

Among his many, many other talents, Hannibal is actually a rather adept juggler. A neat little trick he'd learned as a child, something to amuse Mischa or earn lukewarm praises from his parents. It comes up quite rarely, these days, but he had been known to juggle the odd knife or ingredient, when he was cooking with an audience. Or killing with one. Most people laugh when they learn this little tidbit about Hannibal, before immediately saying that upon reviewal it isn't at all surprising. They cite his talent for multitasking, usually. Saying that of course, a man with so many balls in the air at any given time must be skilled at catching them. Indeed, Hannibal is accustomed to having many things in motion, all commanding his attention. Even so, he's beginning to think he's stretched himself a bit... thin, as of late. Alana Bloom is sleeping in his bedroom upstairs. She's sedated, for the moment, but he's still prepared for something to go wrong. Abigail is in his property near the shore, likely sleeping as well. Dead to the world, save for Hannibal. Jack Crawford appears to have finally opened his eyes, at least by a fraction, and has taken to sniffing through his affairs. Most pressing of all, Will has seen it fit to resume his therapy. It's wonderful, having Will in his life again, but Hannibal still hasn't managed to make heads or tails of the man's intentions. It all hangs quite heavily on his mind, bringing him as near to stress as he ever lets himself come, and he'd longed for some simple relief. Maybe that had been a poor decision. It's reckless, indulging in a kill with scrutiny coming from every direction, but he couldn't seem to resist. The call to slaughter is too sweet to ignore. In a time where so many external factors may decide Hannibal's fate, it feels so good to take someone's fate into his own hands. He opens his fresh prey's abdominal cavity, silently observing his options like a housewife at the market. The woman laid bare beneath him screams behind her gag, thrashing against the table's restraints. She won't bleed out for a while, he's sure of that. Long enough for him to take his time, to enjoy this. He expertly removes her liver, eyes slipping closed as he tests its weight in his hand. God, he needed this. His phone buzzes, then, trapped inside the pocket of his trousers. Ordinarily he would ignore it until everything was finished, but he isn't at liberty to do so tonight. It could be Abigail, after all, or God forbid Alana asking after his whereabouts. He sets the liver aside, plucking the glove from one hand and unzipping his Kill Suit to fish for the device. "Terribly sorry," he says to his pig, who appears to be slipping into shock. "I'm normally more professional than this, I assure you." He's surprised by what greets him when he checks the message. And Hannibal is never surprised. At least, not by anyone but Him. Will: [Come over.] Hannibal lifts a brow. Will scarcely texted him *before* his visit to the BSHCI. Lately, he'd been offering near total silence. It's well after two o'clock in the morning. He can think of no reason why Will would need to speak with him at this hour, and in person no less. A foolish part of him doesn't care. Trap or not, attempt on his life or not, he wants to say yes. Wants to drive down to Wolf Trap, if only to see what will happen next. Ah, but it wouldn't do to leave any sort of trail. He's meant to be asleep with Alana right now. What was the point of having an alibi, if it could be so easily refuted? Still, his hand seems unwilling to put the phone back into his pocket. To leave the message unanswered. Well, perhaps he simply... awoke, when Will texted. Still in bed with Alana, just awake, briefly. Hannibal: [It's late, Will.] He sighs, finally setting it aside and returning to his task. "Do you ever wish you could be in multiple places at once?" he asks of the near-catatonic body before him. A dark smile quirks at his lips as he moves to extract her kidney. "Well, I suppose you will be, quite soon." Not two minutes later, his phone buzzes again. Twice. Hannibal is always pleased to hear from Will, but he really isn't in the mood to argue tonight. He takes a deep breath, soothed somewhat by the scent of blood and despair on the air, and reaches for his phone. Two messages. A text, and a video attachment. Hannibal's mouth turns dry. His favorite scalpel falls to the floor with a clatter, sending spots of blood over the concrete. He doesn't pay it any mind. He can't, his eyes are fixed onto his phone screen. The thumbnail image of the video is enough to make his heart set to pounding. Will's face isn't in view, but he more than makes up for that. He's lying in bed. His pale grey T-Shirt is pushed up high, enough that Hannibal has a clear view of Will's perked nipples. Hannibal licks his lips, eyes trailing down Will's body and luxuriating in the pale, unmarked flesh of his torso. His boxers are still on, tugged down just enough to reveal his cut, flushed cock. There's a bead of precome at the head, begging to be licked away by Hannibal's tongue. He's hard, he's long, he's perfect. Trembling with blind need, Hannibal presses the play button. Will's low moan sends heat rushing to Hannibal's cock, pushes an answering growl from his throat. Will's strong hand strokes his own length— slow, tight, irresistible. He spreads the precome over the head of his cock, making it shine in the low light of Will's home. Will gasps, pumps his cock a bit faster. Hannibal has never wanted to be anywhere as badly as he wants to be between Will's spread thighs. Far too soon, Will lets go, his cock falling against his stomach with a quiet, wet slap. With a final soft groan, the video ends. Hannibal's pupils are blown, staring at his screen. His fingers itch to replay the video. Again, again, again. His cock strains against his trousers, aching for the man on his phone screen. Nearly panting with desire, his eyes dart to the message that had accompanied the video. Will: [Now.] Hannibal bites his lip. This is, almost undoubtedly, a trap. He is going to arrive at Will's home, and Will is going to strangle him before Hannibal can even take his coat off. After all Will has never expressed any sort of sexual interest in him, beyond the odd flirtatious remark. It seems far too good to be true— this sudden, enticing demand for Hannibal to— To... He restarts the video. Listens to Will's moans, palms at his own cock. God, but he'd give anything to fuck that boy senseless. He wants Will's ankles round his shoulders, Will's neck between his teeth, Will's moans in his ear. If it *isn't* a trap, then Hannibal would never forgive himself for letting the opportunity pass by. A soft gurgle catches Hannibal's attention before he can replay. His victim, her head lulled to the side as she stares helplessly up at him. Her eyes are glazed, pleading, reproachful. Hannibal tries, tries, to be rational. He can't leave, not now. He has organs to harvest, a body to dispose of, evidence to clean. He has meat to store away before it spoils and an unconscious woman in his bed. He might be weak for Will Graham, but he is *not* stupid. The reason Hannibal is able to multitask so well, the secret to his success, is that his priorities are unfailingly in order. His phone buzzes again. Will: [I'm not asking, Hannibal. Get your ass down here. Or else.] A shiver runs down his spine. He loves it when Will shows his crueler side. A wicked part of him wants to test what 'or else', might entail— if he'll be punished for leaving Will wanting, and how painful, how pleasurable that punishment might be— but the risk of such a thing outweighs the temptation. Hannibal may be a good juggler, but even the most skilled performers must fumble, from time to time. He sighs, casting a final dejected look toward his victim's unspoiled liver. Ah, so it goes. He responds to Will with one hand, the other tugging his way out of his Kill Suit. Hannibal: [Very well, I am on my way.] It will be a massive annoyance to clean out the basement later, but he finds himself unable to care about that when he settles into his car and receives another message from the man who's ensnared him. Will: [Good Boy <3 ]

“No!”   Ikjun stopped halfway when Songhwa suddenly exclaimed with palms outwards as she saw him approaching towards her direction on the couch.   “Wae?”   Her pouting was too cute that Ikjun couldn't help but taunt her by imitating her facial expression, much to the displeasure of the neurosurgeon. He raised his eyebrows in wonder when she scooted to the far right corner of the seat while placing a throw pillow in between as a barrier before gesturing for him to sit down on the empty space that’s opposite hers. He has an inkling on why she’s doing this though.   Ikjun slowly made his way to the couch under the scrutinizing gaze of the woman that’s in front of him. Suppressing a grin, he teasingly posed as if he’s gonna crawl to her side before erupting in laughter when Songhwa horrifyingly exclaimed a loud “Yah!” at him. He was still throwing his head to the back as he laughed when she threw one of the small pillows at his face.   Still catching his breath, he observed how the petite figure in front of him crossed her arms as she looked at him in annoyance. Feeling sorry for his earlier teasing, he reached out a hand to caress her milky white foot with his thumb.   “Mian.” But he still failed to hold back a snort  which prompted the woman to slap his hand away. “Yah, Chae Songhwa, you seem so violent today.”   “You were much more violent last night and earlier in the morning that I could barely walk now, thank you very much.” She said before huffing.   Resting his head on his palm as he leaned his elbow on the backrest of the couch, Ikjun stared at her amusedly. “As far as I remember, you were the one who asked me to go faster and har—“   “Okay, stop now. I don’t want to hear any of that.”   “—der. I could even recall your moans going a pitch higher whenever I hit that spot ins—“   His words and chuckles got muffled when Songhwa practically threw her body atop him just to cover his mouth with her both hands. It was already too late when she realized their current position.   Shit, wrong move! Songhwa panicked inside her mind. She hurriedly placed her hands on his chest as a leverage to pull herself back to her original position but it was already too late as Ikjun had already caged her inside his arms. She was just about to forcefully wriggle her way out when she felt his soft kiss on her forehead and his warm hands caressing the expanse of her back.   “Sorry.. Was I really too rough on you?” He mumbled against her temple as he tightened his arms around her. Aishhh, this is cheating. I was supposed to act mad today. She grumbled inside her mind as she can’t help it anymore but melt inside his embrace.   This will always be her weakness.   Songhwa nuzzled against his chest as she fisted on the sides of his black shirt. “Maybe?” She heard him click his tongue before she felt him rest his forehead on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Songhwa-yah.. I won’t do it again.”   She frowned at his answer before pinching his backside, earning a yelp from him. “Stop that. I never said that I don’t like it rough.”   It was an honest remark, but she suddenly felt embarrassed after saying it. Feeling her face heat up, she struggled to hide her face on the man’s chest when he started cupping her face to force her to look at him. Stuffing her cheeks with air when Ikjun successfully pulled her face from his chest, the man pushed the pinkish rounded skin with his thumbs to puff out the air inside her mouth before swooping down to give her a tender kiss.   “So my performance was okay?” What do you mean ‘okay’? It was perfect, mind-blowing and toe-curling! Feeling her face heat up again thanks to her thoughts, Songhwa could only nod her head in response.   The comfortable silence that engulfed them as they stared at each other’s eyes was perfect until she felt his hands gliding slowly from her cheeks to her neck. When it didn’t stop there, Songhwa immediately grabbed his wrists and bit his index finger because their real target is currently off-limits as of that moment.   “No, Lee Ikjun.” She sternly told the man as she placed his hands back to her cheeks, their original position.   “Wae~ I just wanna touch them, Songhwa-yah..” He whined like a petulant child while jiggling her soft cheeks with his thumbs but she only rolled her eyes at him.   “No hanky-pankys and most especially no sucking of titties today! Earlier and last night was enough!”   “What about groping titties?” She shook her head no.   “Wae~ Songhwa-yah wae~ I thought you already gave me permission to do that..” Ah jinjja, is he really going crazy over my breasts?! When he still kept on molding her cheeks with his fingers while whining, she snapped.   “Aishhh, it’s because it’s making me horny!!”   Ikjun blinked as he was taken aback at the sudden raise of her voice, then broke into a wide grin a second later when she finally admitted her reason. He already has an idea why she’s being like this though, he just wanted to tease her and make her admit that she’s feeling things every time he does something to her body.   Is he seriously enjoying this..? She scoffed inside her mind when she saw him grinning.   Songhwa squeaked when Ikjun pulled her folded legs to let them rest atop his thighs then pulled her closer to him by the waist.   “Aigoo, do I really have that effect on you, hmm? Chae Songhwa-ssaem?” He cooed as he tamed her short hair with his both hands. The woman grumbled at his teasing before grabbing his hands and letting it rest between them with her small hands holding it down.   “Eo, that’s why you should stop. Happy now?”   He flashed her a happy smile. “Ne, I’m happy.” Then laughed when Songhwa bumped her forehead against his chin out of annoyance and embarrassment.   “But seriously, we shouldn’t do it anymore this day, Lee Ikjun. My thighs are fatigued and my core is sore I can barely walk, and I have a scheduled surgery tomorrow, God. So be a good boy and behave, arrachi? Don’t make things harder for me, jebal.” She pleaded with her puppy eyes that she knows he can’t resist, her hands tightening around his.   “I’m always hard for yo—Ow!” He got interrupted when Songhwa kicked his rib with her heel.   “You’re doing it again!”   He’s chuckling while rubbing her arms. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.”   But she certainly was not expecting for him to suddenly push her to lie on the couch with his lips almost immediately on hers, tasting her. She was hypnotized by his kisses that she was not aware when he carried her in his arms until she felt him walking. Detaching her lips from his, she panted as she struggled to catch her breath.   “Y-yah..! I just told you—“ She got cut off when Ikjun kissed the corner of her mouth.   “I know, that’s why I’m tucking you to bed.”   Huh?   “Huh?” She absentmindedly parroted her thoughts. The man only chuckled at her as he opened the door of her bedroom before proceeding to her bed to lay her down gently on the mattress, tucking her in under the covers. Songhwa looked at him curiously.   “Sleep and get enough rest so you can heal more quickly.” She blushed, he grinned. “I’ll wake you up later for dinner.” Songhwa briefly closed her eyes when Ikjun swooped down to kiss her temple.   Watching his retreating back until he disappeared behind the door, Songhwa unconsciously reached her hand for him under the mattress before clenching it tight and hiding it under her side.   Stay..     Two weeks passed by like a blur, and guess what? They already blessed all three apartments and three offices with their shenanigans including her office in Sokcho. Amazing, right?   A week after their first official sex, Songhwa made sure to bring extra clothes with her so she won’t have to leave to get some in her apartment in Seoul as she’s planning to spend the whole weekend at Ikjun’s this time. As soon as they entered his home, it was a surprise for the both of them that they didn’t jump unto each other like the last time. It maybe because they were still laughing at each other while reminiscing all their blunders when they were still interns.   Also, they didn’t kiss when they were left alone inside Seok’s basement earlier as the three guys volunteered to get their food delivery upstairs. Instead, they did some catching up about how their days went—stories that they failed to tell each other during their daily calls. When they were about to get to bed, they only bid goodnight to each other without their usual burning kisses. The only physical touch that they had that night before they got separated to their rooms was Songhwa ruffling Ikjun’s hair when he playfully blew her a kiss.   It was not until at dawn when it happened.   It was a beautiful dream, perfect even. In her dream’s setting, she was lying on her bed while watching the television when Ikjun suddenly entered her room and jumped on her. With his hands on her waist, he lapped on her breasts alternately through her shirt, the clothing getting soaked with his saliva. Not long after, his hands traversed inside her top and drew patterns on her skin until they were groping her breasts. Songhwa remembered chuckling lightly when the man grumpily folded her shirt towards the area under her chin, already annoyed at the barrier before resuming his ministrations making her moan.   Were dreams always this vivid? She mused. She’s not gonna lie, she missed the sensation of Ikjun’s touches against her skin while she was in Sokcho. That’s why it felt heavenly feeling his mouth and hands on her again even in her dreams, lifting her up slightly so he could slip off her—Wait. Fuck.   It was not a dream. He’s really here inside his guest room where she’s currently staying, already on the verge of taking off her shorts and panties. Oh my god.   He probably sensed her gaze that he stopped peppering kisses on her right breast to look at her.   “Were you feeling good? I heard you moaning earlier.” He smiled before grazing her nipple with his teeth making her gasp. Instead of replying, Songhwa lightly pulled his head as if asking him to move towards her. Getting her message, Ikjun abruptly hovered over her before crashing their lips together. Songhwa licked and nibbled his lips, sucking his tongue inside her mouth when he slipped the pink muscle during their lip lock making him groan and her, smile.   Parting from each other, Songhwa held his face in place as they looked at each other before giggling. “I thought I was dreaming.” Her confession made him chuckle, swooping down to capture her lips then murmured against it. “I hope it was a good one.” She replied that it was, both smiling as they devoured each other’s mouth once again.   When his fingers slipped inside her moist center that night, they knew it was already game over for them.   They fucked until early morning. And when they woke up that Sunday, they also did in his kitchen and in his living room.   In Sokcho though, they almost got caught doing a miracle or rather, she almost got caught. In their third week, it was one of those rare days where Songhwa had to work on a weekend morning because of an emergency surgery. She was actually preparing her things to get ready for Seoul when she got a call from the ER department regarding a TA patient.   She and Ikjun planned to have a cup of coffee together that morning once she arrives in the city but had to pull a rain check because of an emergency call. The man said that it’s fine and she doesn’t have to worry about it, but she can’t help but feel disappointed inside. She’s not telling him that though.   Getting ready to go out from the operating room, she instructed her resident to call her once the patient is already stabilized in the ICU before making her way to the patient’s guardians to explain the situation of the surgery and the current condition of their loved one. Taking off her surgical cap, she dialed Ikjun’s number as she made her way to her office but he isn’t picking up.   This is odd, he usually answers after the first two rings when he’s out of work. And there’s no text indicating that he got called to the hospital either.   Already getting anxious if something bad had happened, she ran towards her office and burst the door open but paused by the doorway when she saw him casually sitting on her office chair with earphones on, his eyes closed as he jammed to the music while leaning his head on the backrest.   She was taken aback seeing him there because she wasn’t expecting him to drive to Sokcho after their last phone call. She thought that he would just wait for her arrival at Seoul like he usually does, but that day is clearly not the same as those usual days. Releasing a grateful sigh, Songhwa quietly locked her office door and draped a curtain over its small window.   He deserves a reward, this Lee Ikjun.   He was not aware of her presence until she turned her swivel chair sideways. She already anticipated the surprised yelp that he’s gonna make which was why she hurriedly sealed his lips with hers. She looked at him adoringly while removing his earphones. “It’s now your turn to keep quiet throughout the whole game, Ikjun-ah.” She chuckled when she visibly saw him gulp before kneeling down in front of him.   Pleasuring him for quite some time now, she could feel his cock twitching inside her mouth indicating that he is already nearing his release. As she concentrated on his frenulum while her hand continued stroking his length, she giggled at his expression when she saw him trying his very best to conceal his grunts as his grip on her hair tightened—not to the extent that it’s hurting her—but the vibration of her giggle on his member became the reason for his undoing. Her eyes crinkled in happiness when he held her face with both hands as she bobbed her head to milk him dry, swallowing all of his literally sweet release.   Letting go of him with a pop, she flashed Ikjun a cute smile as he stroked her cheeks with his thumb when suddenly, they heard three successive knocks on her door.   “Chae Songhwa gyusonim?”   Shit, shit, shit, I totally forgot about my patient! What the hell, Chae Songhwa?!   Panicking at their current situation, the neurosurgeon hurriedly stood up—almost losing balance if not for Ikjun’s hands stabilizing her as she rapidly smoothened her hair with her hands before making her way to the door.   “Eo, Yeobeen-ah, is Dongwook-ssi already in the ICU?” She gave the 3rd year resident the most normal smile that she could muster as of that moment as she narrowed the opening of her office door to hide Ikjun’s presence. But she got puzzled when her junior looked at her adoringly while looking at the corner of her lips.   Giggling, she pointed at her professor’s mouth. “I never thought that you’re a messy eater, gyusonim, it’s cute! There’s still a little cream on the corner of your mouth.”   Songhwa prayed for the ground to swallow her whole at that moment from the embarrassment that she’s feeling. It was a very innocent statement from her sweetest resident but what she did a few minutes ago was certainly far from innocent. Nodding her head while casually licking the remaining cream of little Ikjunie, she still managed to muster a smile at the resident even as she felt her face getting hotter and hotter by the second.   “Oh, m-mian, Yeobeen-ah. I was engrossed in eating my cake when you knocked. I’m really sorry I wasn’t able to open the door right away.”   Waving her hands in the air with a smile, the resident sweetly replied to her. “It’s okay, gyusonim, no worries at all! I just came by to tell you that the patient is already in the ICU. That’s all, gyusonim and have a good day. And thank you for saving the patient.” She said with a bow.   “Aigoo, it’s my job to save them. Now, go and have your lunch.”   When the resident had already disappeared to the corner, Songhwa closed and locked her office door before burying her face on her hands. She could hear the increasing volume of Ikjun’s amused chuckles before she felt him pull her to his chest, kissing the top of her head lovingly.   He whispered against her ear. “Was my cake sweet, gyusonim?” He yelped when she stomped on his foot.   She’s grumbling incoherent words on his chest as she tightened her arms around him that he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of their or her situation. Help, why is this woman so cute and adorable?! He mused as he squeezed his arms around her.   Later that evening, Songhwa went with Ikjun to his apartment to meet Uju as she greatly missed the presence of her little boy these past three weeks. When they went inside the living room, it’s hilarious how Uju practically ran to her instead of his Appa, making the older man sulk. Wang imo then said her goodbyes as soon as they stepped inside the house but not before telling Ikjun about the banchans that his Mom had sent him.   Uju didn’t want to let go of Songhwa that evening when she started saying her goodbyes. To be honest, if not for her parents’ wedding anniversary tomorrow, she would have spent the night with the Lee’s. Thankfully, she was able to bribe the boy to let her go when she promised him that she will take him to the mall next weekend. Of course, Ikjun wouldn’t pass up on this opportunity to whine to convince them to bring him along, making her roll her eyes at him.   Much to Uju’s happiness, the three of them went to the mall the next weekend. Halfway through their date, Ikjun didn’t stop grumbling beside her about Uju not wanting to hold his hand as he only wants his Imo’s. Already getting tired of his whining, Songhwa intertwined their hands together—successfully shutting him up. She’s not gonna deny the fact that butterflies swirled inside her stomach when Ikjun rubbed his thumb on her hand.   “There! Much better!” He grinned at her then swayed their intertwined hands together, making the little boy on her right giggle before copying his Appa.   Songhwa could only shake her head in amusement at her chaotic boys.   As Ikjun and Uju bickered on her either sides about who will hold her hand the longest without letting go, Songhwa looked up at the blue sky on the glass ceiling of the mall. She smiled as she closed her eyes while squeezing both Ikjun and Uju’s warm hands, letting them drag her along to their next destination.   She could feel it. Her heart is light and bursting with happiness, it’s making her teary-eyed.   I want more moments like this with them.  

Chapter 3: ~o~ Bye-bye love ~o~ Evenings were fun. The Gryffindor common room was crowded with friends and families and they played chess, Exploding Snap, or charades. Harry mostly enjoyed it after months and months of being cut off from everyone but Hermione and Ron. Sometimes, though, he missed the quiet. And sometimes, when he looked around, all he could see were the people who were missing. Through all the noise and the laughter, Molly Weasley sat in an armchair next to the fire and knitted colorful jumpers that Harry was sure would be seen again at Yuletide. The chair next to hers was always occupied: Percy would sit in it to read a book or Arthur would look through and comment on the Prophet. Neville’s gran might be there, and knit right along with Molly. Sometimes, Hermione and Ron would share it and she would seem cheered by the sight. Neville seemed to be her favorite companion, though. They would chat quietly, and sometimes he even made her laugh. Harry wished he knew how to do that, how to make her laugh. He saw how her gaze often followed George around the room, how she would reach for him whenever he was close. Once, as George was sitting on the arm of the chair next to her talking to Neville and Harry, she automatically reached for his arm to hold it possessively. Embarrassed, she caught herself and let him go. “I’m sorry, George,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I can’t seem to help myself.” George leaned toward her and took her into his arms. “It’s all right, Mum,” he answered, holding her tightly. “It’s more than all right.” He held her for a long time, and Harry realized George needed the reassurance of her touch as much as she did. Fred was mentioned often, by the Weasleys and by others around them. George seemed to prefer it that way. Usually, there was laughter involved. But although remembering Fred in happier times brought them all some measure of comfort, Molly’s grief remained palpable and Harry did not know how to help. By contrast, Ginny’s grief was erratic. She might spend a few evenings in high spirits, the life of the party, laughing just a little too loud, and the next few days sitting by her mother, staring into the fire, her face grim, her eyes lost. On one of those evenings, Harry came to join her. Molly smiled at him encouragingly and he was distraught to think she might still be viewing them as a couple. “Hey, Gin.” She turned her face to him and seemed to come back to herself from a faraway place. “Hey, Harry,” she said, smiling a little. “D’you want to go flying with me?” Harry asked impulsively. She looked startled and then gave him a real smile. “I would love to,” she said, getting up. “I’ll go get my broom.” “Me too. I’ll meet you at the portrait in five minutes.” As he climbed the stairs two by two to his dorm, Harry felt cheered. The noise, the crowd in the common room had been getting to him and he hadn't even realized it. A long flight alone with Ginny in the quiet evening sounded wonderful. He should have thought of it sooner. On a whim, they decided to try to climb to the top of the tower and fly off from there. Neither of them had ever gone to the tower’s attic, where a ghoul was rumored to reside. Ginny said the seventh year girls thought they could hear it sometimes, at night, from their dormitory. As they reached the trap door at the very top of the stairs, they could hear… something. It could as easily be the weather vane spinning as a ghoul grumbling. Still, Harry climbed up first, pushing the trap open. The sound of winged things taking flight told them that if nothing else, the attic housed some pigeons. The room they entered was empty except for a few small piles of droppings, with openings on all four sides to an encircling balcony outside. In one corner, a small spiral staircase went up to what must be the conical space right under the tower’s pointy top. A griping murmur and a slightly unpleasant smell came from there, pretty much confirming the presence of a ghoul. They smiled at each other, having confirmed the legend. They quietly closed the trap door behind them and in no time were diving off the tower’s balcony. The sun was low on the horizon, getting close to setting, and the sky was already a magnificent dark blue high above. Harry filled his lungs with the bracing evening air and felt as if a weight had dropped from his shoulders. It had been far too long. They flew east, side by side, their backs to the blinding sun, fast and smooth, grinning like fools at each other. They passed the empty pitch and headed for the high craggy hills above Hogwarts, racing, cutting each other off, enjoying the ascending air currents coming off the stony cliffs, still warm from the afternoon sun. There was a ledge near the top of the rugged face to the west. After a while, they alighted on it and sat, their feet dangling off the edge, to watch the changing colors in the sky as the sun sank behind the horizon. The slanted light was golden, intensifying the hues of the grass and the leaves, kissing everything with its warmth. Harry turned to Ginny, who seemed lost in thought, looking outward. Her bright hair was a halo of fire around her sun-kissed face. Her profile was perfect against the night sky, her ear a fragile swirl, her cheekbone and eyebrow delicate and elegant. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Harry admitted to himself, with a bittersweet pang in his heart, that he was no longer in love with her. Sensing his gaze, she turned to him and looked questioningly into his eyes. Then she smiled, a wistful little smile that was a perfect reflection of his own feelings. For a while, they stared at each other in perfect understanding. Once again, she looked out to the setting sun. He felt so attuned to her, he could read her every emotion in her face and posture. It was all there: her sorrow over Fred’s death, her grief at the loss of her carefree self in the harshness of the past year, her worries for her mother. But there was something else, he realized. Something else was weighing on her mind, darkening her face. He reached over and grabbed her hand. “What is it, Gin?” Harry asked gently. She took a deep breath, and sighed, shaking her head. She looked down, hiding her troubled face behind the cascade of her fiery hair. He scooted closer to her, and wrapped his arm around her. “What’s the matter, Gin? Why are you upset?” It was a testament to their friendship that she did not pretend to misunderstand him. She turned into his embrace, and rested her forehead on his shoulder and he enclosed her in his arms. “Fred is dead,” she said, “my mum is barely coping, George has lost his twin, and I… ” “What, Gin? What is it?” “I've fallen in love with someone, Harry, and that’s all I can think about.” Guilt. It was guilt that he had seen, marring her beautiful face. He should have recognized it right away. Guilt was his particular friend. How easy it was to see its pointlessness when it was someone else’s. Sitting there, with his grieving and guilt-ridden friend in his arms, he suddenly felt so young, so ill-equipped to help her, so overwhelmed by his own unresolved guilt. He sighed, and spoke softly, trying to say the right thing. “Maybe it’s good to think of that right now, Ginny. Maybe it helps. Because, you know, even if you only think of the bad stuff, it’s not going to make it go away. Your mum and George will still be sad, Fred will still be dead...” Sweet Merlin. That was tactful. Harry decided to stop talking. He was no good at this. He just gave Ginny a squeeze, hoping she understood he meant well. It was nice to hold her like this. Her hair still smelled just as good as it always had. He was so glad they could be friends. Still. She was in love with someone else? He knew it was ridiculous, but his pride was a little wounded. “Who is it, anyway?” he blurted out. She pulled out of his arms, a rueful smile on her face. “You’re not very good at this, you know… ” Harry smiled back, relieved that he did not seem to have made things worse. If she was teasing him, it might even mean that he had made them a little better. “Hermione says teenage boys have the emotional range of a teaspoon. I’m doing the best I can here… ” She chuckled. “So, who is it?” asked Harry again, completely unable to let it go. “It really doesn’t matter. Nothing will ever come of it,” she answered dismissively. “Why should nothing come of it?” He knew he should stop prying, but… She blushed. “He doesn’t even know how I feel, Harry.” “Well, don’t be silly, tell him. Any bloke would be thrilled to find out that you are in love with him!” Harry meant that with all his heart. She smiled fondly at him. “Thanks, Harry.” She looked away from him and added gently, “Let’s not talk about this anymore, OK?” Merlin, but she was pretty. The sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. They should get back before it got too dark. “Hey, Gin! Let’s dive down the cliff. First one to pull up is a rotten egg!” She looked at him, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t think so, you maniac. I’ll race you back, though!” And before he knew it, she had mounted her broom and was flying away, laughing at him over her shoulder. He got on his own and kicked off in hot pursuit. They got back to the common room disheveled and in high spirits, both insisting they had touched down on the front steps first. ~o~ That night, as he was getting ready for bed, Ron came into their dorm room. “Hey, mate!” He started to strip, to put on his pajamas, but Harry could tell he was itching to ask him something. Harry was already under his covers when Ron sat on the sat on the side of his bed and asked bluntly, “So, Harry, are you and Ginny back together?” He looked a little concerned. He had always been so protective of her. Harry put his hands behind his head. “No. And we’re not going to, either.” Ron looked both surprised and a little relieved. “Good, good,” he said. “Gee, thanks, Ron,” said Harry. He was teasing, but curious at Ron's reaction all the same. “Would it have been so terrible?” Ron had the grace to blush vividly, embarrassed. “No, you git, it’s not that. Just… Hermione thinks it would have been too soon. She said you might both feel pressured to go back to where things were, to make my mum happy and stuff. But also that people shouldn't make important decisions like this so soon after… you know… ” “Wise girl. Not taking her own advice though, is she?” asked Harry, teasingly. Ron blushed again. “It’s different for us,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, I’ve always known, you know? Well, not always, but for a long time… ” Harry chuckled. “Yes. I know!” he said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the best,” added Ron, with a grin, totally in love and loving it. “Don’t you go and get all mushy on me, mate,” Harry said, still teasing. “I’m happy for you, and all that, but puh-lease… ” Ron laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll just go to sleep and dream of my beloved, then,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Sleep? Dream? Like last night you mean?” Harry laughed at him. “Well at least tonight, do it quietly, or put up a silencing charm or something.” Harry got a pillow to the head for his trouble.

Officer Hasegawa Taro will be walking into this one alone. His partner has taken another ‘sick day’ and nobody wants to go out on a limb on the tip from a quirkless officer. But he’s certain, so he got authorization to patrol a little deserted side street near the Kamino Ward area from Chief Kento. She had laughed, “Dunno what you expect to find there ,” and Taro hadn’t told her because she still treated him alright—whether because of HR diversity-hire pressure or pity—and he didn’t want to mess that up by telling her he had a lead on the League of Villains. HR diversity-hire pressure or not, she’d laugh him out of her office. So he drives the squad car alone. Last week, at the start of this, he’d noticed something funny in a subreddit for quirkless people. Usually it’s just venting, you know? My boss has it in for me, my kids are OP and it’s driving me nuts, my classmates are bullying me, the usual. But way deep in, Taro saw u/socklesseraser put out a post that just said any quirkless police officers online? im to scared to go to OP police OP was slang for quirked people, and Taro felt his heart go out to the kid. Taro joined the force initially because he was the little bullied quirkless kid. Teachers never helped him, and he’d faced quirkless discrimination in almost every job he’d had. He had always wanted to be a hero, but in his bleeding heart sat the machinations of a realist, so he settled for police officer, and he helped out the little guy as much as his incredibly short leash would allow. He replied to the post. Whatcha need? I work in the Kamino area. In private message, the kid revealed their name was Kinato Kisaki, they were a girl, she attended online middle school after a bout of bullying, her parents worked a lot and “weren’t very responsive” to Kisaki, and she had seen the hero defector, Midoriya Izuku, run past her house the other day. u/socklesseraser: i know everyone says theyr the good guys now, but im scared >literal m*rder u/friendleeneighborhood: It’s good not to trust the media too much. Where did you see Midoriya? u/socklesseraser: i can send adress?? if thats easer? u/friendleeneighborhood: That would be super helpful! I can chase down the lead and get back to you about what I find, if you’d like. u/socklesseraser: yess pls!! [maps link] And then Taro told his partner, a man named Wanase Hanako with a short-distance teleportation quirk and silver-purple skin, about the tip. Wanase had scoffed. “I bet you wish a tip like that would come so easy,” he had said, and then added to count him out of whatever bullshit followed that tip. He kept taking sick days and everyone felt bad for Wanase, having to work with the worthless, quirkless partner, so there was never any repercussions. Hence the solo stakeout. Hence the patrol of a deserted street in Kamino. Taro hasn’t read their latest ultimatum, and he’s ignoring the countdown that is supposed to run out within the hour, but he saw some news coverage of it on Instagram from the single politics account he follows, @HeroCritic_Weekly. They gave a bullet list of the massive document. In Taro’s opinion, it’s way overkill. 50-some-odd pages of this? For what? It’s not like any real change has ever come out of lawmaking. Those same old dirty rats in legislature and the Hero Commission were going to do whatever they wanted, and that usually involved guys like Taro and u/socklesseraser getting the short end of the stick. So what if the League threatens some people? Taro wants to arrest the League of Villains more than anything, because then shit goes back to normal. No awkward, half-respectful nod from the receptionist at the station and nobody talking about how poorly the Hero Commission is handling this and no more calls from Taro’s cousin Gin about how the way things are going, even you could be a hero—if you still wanted. None of that. Back to monotony. Back to safety. Back to Taro by himself against the world. That world could kick him down a million times, but at least it would be a familiar boot and not the strange, unknown shoe of whatever the League is trying to build. The street is truly deserted. The apartments are empty, the restaurants cavernous and dark, the shops laced with cobwebs and desolate. No children walk to school and no cars bustle around town and nobody is headed to work or home or anything. It’s almost seven in the morning, and the place is a ghost town. Except one small bar, tucked below the street level in a stairway. The lights are on, and music Taro can’t make out is pouring from the poorly-caulked windows. There’s no way the League would be so indiscreet, would they? Well, Taro can at least knock on the door and ask if there’s been anything suspicious in the area lately. He parks on the street and leaves the squad car idling. He won’t be long. He steps down the stairs, surefooted even over the cracked concrete, knocks, and waits. The villain Dabi opens the door, yawning, in his full battle suit. He looks Taro up and down without much interest, then calls over his shoulder, “Izuku, door’s for you.” And then the brains of the operation, ex-hero-student, villain defector, Midoriya Izuku comes to the door. Taro’s seen the footage of the fights. He knows that underneath the suave suit is Kevlar. Midoriya Izuku is gonna kill him, or send Shigaraki Tomura at him, or something. Hasegawa Taro is gonna die. He’s gonna die. He’s gonna piss himself, and then he’s gonna die. But Taro suppresses his dumbstruck terror and looks down—because wow none of the Instagram posts prepared him for how small Midoriya Izuku is—to look Midoriya in the eye and he says, “You’re—uh, you’re under arrest.” And he expects a fight. He expects Toga Himiko and Yaoyorozu Momo to pop out with knives and stab him as he screams for backup into his radio—why has he not already screamed for backup into his radio!? He’s just grabbing it off his hip when Midoriya Izuku, mastermind and psychopath and villain , says, “Well, shit. I guess you got us” and then presents his wrists for cuffs. Which just fucking floors Taro, who was expecting his life to flash before his eyes. He almost lets his jaw drop, but you get a thick face working as a quirkless police officer, so he keeps that inside pretty well as he gets the cuffs around Midoriya Izuku’s wrists. And then, because he just realized he only keeps one set of cuffs on him and he’ll have to get the rest from the squad car, he grabs his baton and holds it across Midoriya Izuku’s neck and calls in to the rest of the League (who had been eating pancakes as if their leader wasn’t being arrested four feet away!?), “You’re all under arrest. Now, come with me or I’ll—um, come with me!” His voice cracks—and wouldn’t you think Taro was done with that at 27!? Toga Himiko asks, “Can I finish my pancakes?” And Shinsou Hitoshi sighs around a laugh, and Shigaraki Tomura puts his head in his palm and Magne says, “No, Toga dear, that would be resisting arrest.” And Toga Himiko, amidst protest from Twice and Kurogiri, shoves a whole, syrup-dripping pancake into her mouth (while Yaoyorozu Momo chases her with a napkin) and everyone makes their way to the door. And they just follow Taro to the car as if they don’t have a choice. And then the next problem. With four defectors, seven villains, and only three seats in the back of Taro’s squad car, he’s realizing he really didn’t think this through. The villain Compress sees this problem and says, “Oh! Allow me” and then turns everyone but himself, Midoriya Izuku, and Yaoyorozu Momo into marbles. Then he puts the marbles in his coat pocket, zips it, and presents his wrists for cuffs. Yaoyorozu has produced her own set of handcuffs from her wrist and has one bracelet of them secured already by the time Taro is done with Compress. “I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t do it too tight,” she says, “my skin is very sensitive.” “Um, sure,” Taro says. They’re practically arresting themselves. What the fuck is this!? Taro still isn’t sure that they won’t kill him the second they’re in the car, but as he drives, they chat amicably about the pancakes they had for breakfast. Compress asks Midoriya Izuku if he’s sure he got enough sleep, and Midoriya Izuku says he got a whole fifteen hours, that better be enough, and they all three laugh like they’re on their way to lunch with an old friend. Taro still feels like he might pee himself.   At the station, everyone gapes. Quirkless, worthless Hasegawa Taro brings in Midoriya Izuku, Yaoyorozu Momo, and Compress—and then Compress pulls some marbles out of his pocket and there’s the other two defectors and the rest of the League. The receptionist barely manages to get her foot out of her mouth as she starts pulling up intake paperwork for Taro to fill out. Chief Kento runs in, fully runs in, when she hears what happened and then tries to remember her position and gives some pretty words about how capable the people in her force are, quirked or not. They put the whole League in the drunk tank until they can call an armored car to pick them up and take them somewhere more secure. Then they all start asking about phone calls. “Phone calls?” the officer on watch, Matsumoto, scoffs. “We give college kids in here for petty theft phone calls.” And then Compress basically throws the lawbook at his head and Matsumoto says alright, fuck it, but I’m watching you. The receptionist pops her head in before anyone can dial a digit. “I just got a call from Fujimaki, over at the courthouse—trial’s in two days, Friday. Judge Inoue wants to finish it up before the weekend. ‘No protests at my courthouse, ’ she said.” The receptionist giggles, like she thinks it’s ridiculous that Judge Inoue thinks protests would line up around her courthouse the whole weekend, whether pro-villain or anti-villain. “Anyway,” she turns to the League, “you guys are being picked up in two hours by a quirk-resistant transport truck, and they’re taking you to holding cells that are better equipped to keep you contained.” Matsumoto scoffs at her just like he did at the League. Maybe it’s not disdain. Maybe he’s just got a bitchy personality. He lets them make their phone calls while they wait for the transport truck. Izuku calls his mom. Momo calls her parents specifically to tell them not to send the family lawyers, and to reassure them that she has not, as they had suspected these past two months, gone crazy or been brainwashed. Shouto calls Fuyumi, and Dabi asks him not to tell her about him, not over the phone like that. Hitoshi doesn’t have anyone to call, really. Neither does anyone in the League except Magne, who calls her friend Sunako just to say hi and to annoy Officer Matsumoto. The transport truck arrives. Himiko waves an excited goodbye like she has known the officers for years. Compress blows Officer Hasegawa Taro a kiss, and Jin tells him not to do that with a nervous little twitch in his neck. Magne and Dabi laugh and blow kisses too, and Kurogiri tells them not to do that, but he’s laughing and the laughter is clearly from part of Oboro that’s leaking out. Tomura walks right in Kurogiri’s shadow, like an anxious child walking into a doctor’s appointment with their parent. Momo says, “I’ve never been to prison before,” with an even tone that’s miles from how it might have sounded two months ago. Chief Kento, guiding them to the transport van parked in front of the station, doesn’t realize it’s a joke until everyone else in the League laughs so hard that Twice screams on a tic and Toga Himiko says she’s gonna pee herself.   In the transport van, someone in a cab up front drives while another person in a full-on riot suit equips them each with a quirk-inhibiting collar. Izuku goes first, accepting it with dignity and a smile, so everyone else tries not to chafe at the rude implications that they might try to escape or something. Himiko frowns once hers is on and says, “They’re not very cute.” The person in the riot suit says, through a speaker amplifying their voice outside their helmet, “They’re cute to me because they can do this,” and then they press a button on a tablet attached to the arm of their riot gear and a low whine directly precedes Izuku collapsing into a fit of coughing and gagging and tremors. He writhes for a minute on the floor of the van before the electrical signal stops, and Shouto is already pulling him back up onto the bench, into his arms. Everyone is demanding to know if he’s okay, and the person in riot gear barks an order for them to shut up and none of them listen until Momo gasps and her spine snaps to attention but Himiko’s got her on one side and Hitoshi’s got the other so she doesn’t collapse but everyone does shut up real quick. “Those collars are gonna keep you filthy psychopaths—” They don’t get to finish their sentence because Magne shoots out of her seat and slams her head against the helmet of their riot gear. The glass cracks and a small spot of blood appears on Magne’s forehead, she grabs the person’s arms before they can press any buttons and holds them there. “Listen here, you sick fuck,” she says quietly. “I am not going to hurt you even though I would really like to, and you are not going to shock those kids anymore. If you think I fear prison time, you are wrong, and I will sleep soundly at night with your blood on my hands. Do not. Hurt. My kids.” And then Magne releases the person and sits calmly back on the bench. Kurogiri does not point out that these anti-quirk collars don’t work on him—for reasons beyond his understanding—because he wants it to be his little secret that he could portal this person, or any other danger to the League, to their death in an instant. The person in riot gear does not touch the buttons to their collars the rest of the way to the facility.

Merlin and Arthur were in a steady standoff. It began when Merlin asked Arthur to take Aithusa with him to his council meeting, and Arthur declined in his prattish way. One thing led to another and now both of them were on opposite sides of the table, shooting daggers at each other through their eyes. If looks could kill, both would be dead, and we would be spared the sexual tension in the room. Unfortunately, or fortunately for us, looks can’t kill, and hence, the standoff. Arthur decided to break it by throwing something at Merlin. That something happened to be a goblet. Merlin quickly dodged it, as it banged against the wall with a loud clang, followed by further clanging from hitting the floor. They did not break eye contact during this activity, and we can see the tension rising. Arthur picked up another gold-plated goblet, and Merlin raised his eyebrow in exasperation. Surely the King was not that immature to repeat his previous action. He was wrong. Turns out, Arthur was immature in that context. “Why are you so difficult?” Merlin ducked under the table as another goblet sailed over his head. Arthur glared at him from across the table and threw the next thing he grabbed at Merlin’s face, which happened to be a grape. Merlin dodged the obstacle again before picking up the slightly squashed and gooey grape and throwing it right back at Arthur. It struck him square on the nose, splattering on impact, and he yelled, “Merlin!” “Stop behaving like a child!” The warlock yelled back. Arthur walked across the table, a spoon clutched in his hand. Merlin tripped over his feet as he moved the other way, trying to get away, but quickly recovered. He grabbed another spoon off the plate and held it up against Arthur. Arthur tried to attack him with his ‘weapon’, which Merlin countered skilfully. The metals clashed in harmony, screeching on contact. Arthur waved the spoon in his hand in Merlin’s face. “I will put you in the stocks, Merlin. So don’t test me.” Merlin smacked his spoon with his own. “You haven’t put me in the stocks in years, so I don’t think so.” “You’re insufferable,” Arthur said dryly, attempting to get a hit on Merlin, who danced out his way. Somehow, this ended up turning into a weird mating stylish dance across Arthur’s chambers, the scowls on either face being replaced by smirks and smiles. Arthur backed Merlin against the wardrobe, and the smirk was dropped from Merlin’s face, who seemed to remember that they were fighting. He pushed Arthur away with all his force, who tumbled back with his arms flailing. The spoon in his hand got caught in the bed hanging, causing him to stumble and trip and land on his backside. Merlin gasped, and his hand shot up to cover his mouth. He giggled into his palm as Arthur sat dazed on the floor for a solid minute before glaring at him and standing up. Merlin tried to run towards the door but was pushed down by Arthur. “Wha-Arthur!” Arthur towered over him, face pulled in a victory smirk. Seeing that the king was distracted, Merlin used it to his advantage and hooked his ankle around Arthur’s and pulling, bringing him down again. He fell with a thwap. They scrambled back to their feet, and before Merlin could run away, Arthur smacked the back of his head. What followed was Merlin hitting him back, and so the fight continued, with petty hand flapping and pulling and pushing. At one point, they were pulling at each other’s hairs. The guards stationed outside exchanged tired looks. They wondered how long they would have to endure the juvenile behavior of their king and his sorcerer. One of them shook his head wearily and motioned to the other one. They walked away, praying that the flirting would subside by the time they returned. Inside the king’s chambers, Merlin managed to push Arthur out of his way and run across the room, only to get tackled by him and thrown on the bed. His voice was muffled by the bed as he squawked indignantly, “Get off, you fat ass!” Arthur settled himself by sitting on Merlin’s back. “What did you say, Merlin? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my victory.” Merlin lifted his head from the bed, and muttered a spell, throwing Arthur off him. Arthur fell to the floor in an undignified heap again. He was falling a lot today, as we see. He does keep falling for Merlin. The warlock flipped over and sat upon the bed, smirking as he watched Arthur struggle to get up. “You cheated!” Arthur accused, pointing a finger in his face. Merlin slapped it away. “I did no such thing. You’re just too clumsy.” “I’m not the one tripping over the air, Merlin.” Merlin raised his eyebrow at that. “Are you sure? You pretty much flew away right now. Which should be impossible considering how… healthy you are.” Arthur glowered at him, red from the exertion. “I am not fat!” Merlin chuckled. “Of course not. You’re a knight.” Arthur’s puffed his chest up at the response. “And what is that supposed to mean?” “See?” Merlin waved his hand at him. “A knight! Too thick to know what I’m saying.” Arthur took a predatory step ahead, and Merlin leaned back in the bed. “Oh you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” “I don’t think I’m clever,” Merlin snapped. “I am clever.”  Arthur glared at him some more. “You know what, Merlin? Since we’re just getting everything out in the open, let me just ask one thing from you, yes?” Merlin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Go on.” “Marry me?” Arthur got down on one knee with his hand stretched towards him. “Yes-Wait, what?!” Merlin choked on his spit, turning red. “Did you just propose to me in the middle of a fight?!” “What about it?” It was Merlin’s turn to smack him on the head, before grabbing his hand. “You complete peanut!” He got to his feet, creeping closer to Arthur. Arthur grinned and pulled him. With a yelp, Merlin was jerked into Arthur’s arms, who wrapped his hand around Merlin’s waist tightly. “So that’s a yes then?” Merlin scowled at him and rolled his eyes, putting his arms around Arthur’s neck. “Of course it’s a yes. Now shut up and kiss me.” “Your wish is my command,” Arthur said as he leaned down and kissed the man he loved gently. The moment broke when Merlin pulled away with a manic grin. “My wish is your command, yes?” “Obviously, did you go deaf or something?” Merlin shook his head and untangled himself from Arthur’s arms. He stepped towards the door, and said with the same smile on his face, “Then I guess you’re taking Aithusa with you to your meeting today after all.” “Merlin!”    

Castiel had read that isolation was an effective punishment for humans but he hadn't thought it would be this effective. Dean had barely left his side since after his punishment. He had enjoyed it at first, having Dean eager to sit with him and cuddle up to him, but after a few days of Dean being constantly underfoot it was aggravating. Everywhere he went he was shadowed by Dean. When he tried to put Dean in another room all he heard over the intercom was Dean's lonely little cries. He had tried turning the audio off and leaving just the visual so he could still check on Dean but watching his pet sadly pace down corridors was even worse. He had finally resorted to putting Dean on his leash and tying him off a short distance away from wherever he worked. Dean hadn't liked it at first but Castiel had given him a few puzzle toys designed to keep humans occupied while he absently talked about his work. The combination of activity and his voice seemed to be enough to calm Dean down a little bit. Castiel added take Dean to a pet park to his ever increasing list of things to do when he made his next stop. Hopefully there would be other humans there that Dean could play with and get the excessive behaviour out of his system. A timer went off, interrupting his work. It was time to feed Dean. Castiel looked over at Dean sitting off to the side. He'd finished the puzzle toy and tossed it aside and was now staring dejectedly at Castiel. Castiel sighed at the pathetic look on his pet's face. He went over and scratched his claws through Dean's hair. Dean chattered weakly at him and leaned into it. Castiel untied the leash then bent down and picked Dean up. Dean curled into his chest and chattered softly. "If you were just a good pet about brushing your teeth..." Castiel said sadly. Dean hadn't acted up about bath time since he'd been punished but it was obvious to Castiel that bath time was taking its toll on his pet. Maybe there'd be a pet supply store at his next stop and he could ask about alternative bathing techniques for humans. He was sure he had read something about dental chews. He added that to his list as he carried Dean to the kitchen. He filled Dean's bowl as he usually did and was halfway to his chair with his pet in tow when he stopped. Dean was being excessively clingy. Would he only be encouraging Dean to continue the behaviour if he kept training him at meal times? Reluctantly, he put Dean's bowl down on the floor and tied Dean off to his pet bed. A well behaved pet was more important than satisfying an urge. He went to his chair and caught up on the local news. Dean whined and chattered at him for a short while but eventually he wrapped himself in his blanket and settled in to eat. It took Dean a few more days to return to almost normal. He could still be clingy sometimes but not to such an excess. Even so, Castiel kept take Dean to a pet park on his list. He had read that humans were more relaxed and better behaved if they got at least some time to play with other humans on occasion. Maybe it would help in the future. Castiel waited until Dean had gone an entire day without making a nuisance of himself before he thought about resuming training Dean at meal times. He had Dean in his lap and the bowl in his hand when he hesitated. Why was he still doing this? Dean was a pet. And he was training him to lick his mating tail. Revulsion rippled through him as he realized just how disgusting it really was. He was putting his mating tail in pet food and then letting his pet put its saliva all over him. When he put it that way he wasn't sure what he was more disgusted by. His pet's mouth? Or the pet food? And he doubted he was even succeeding in training Dean to lick his mating tail. His pet rarely showed much interest in it unless it was time for a meal. A little push against his mating tail proved his point. Dean pushed at his mating tail again and chattered. He looked pointedly at the bowl in Castiel's hand. He pushed Castiel's mating tail towards the bowl. Castiel shook Dean's hands off his mating tail. His pet whimpered at him. Castiel sighed and gave Dean the bowl. His pet stared at up at him in confusion. Dean glanced between the bowl and Castiel's mating tail. He gave Castiel a wary look. "Go on, Dean. Eat." Castiel nudged the bowl with a claw. Dean glanced at Castiel's mating tail again. Castiel snorted with gentle amusement. He was right. He'd succeeded in training Dean in associating his mating tail with being fed and not much else. He scratched Dean's head and wrapped his mating tail around his pet's chest. Dean smiled at him and started eating. Castiel spent the rest of the day in his office. Dean spent the day alternating between napping in his lap and wandering around his office while he chattered away at things— a trait Castiel had learned most humans carried. They didn't seem to be able to differentiate between something living and something inanimate. Castiel welcomed the distraction. There was something oddly endearing about watching his pet try to coax responses out of inanimate objects or worry over them when he bumped into one. At the end of the day he scooped Dean up and carried him to the kitchen for dinner. He watched in amusement as his pet yawned his way through dinner. And was more than thankful that Dean had tired himself out enough to barely complain about bath time. After Dean's bath he placed the pet at the foot of the bed. Dean rolled and flopped his way into the centre of the bed as he wiggled under his blanket. Castiel chuckled at his sleepy pet then stripped his work clothes off. He went to his dresser and took out the warming sheath. He had gotten used to the slow gentle orgasms that it drew out of him. It was still a poor substitute for mates but it made for a pleasant sleep aid. He sat down on the bed and started to roll the warming sheath on. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to find Dean watching him roll the sheath on. He froze with his hands on his mating tail. Dean was watching him getting ready to masturbate. A sharp thrill went through him. Was all the training finally working? Castiel snorted to himself. Dean watched him do everything. And as far as Castiel knew Dean didn't even how to mate like a human, let alone mate like a person. He doubted Dean recognized what the warming sheath was. He was just being a curious human watching his master. "You're just a curious little pet, aren't you?" He scratched Dean's head. "You'd probably just wondered why you'd been banished to the floor if I ever brought mates to bed." His pet yawned and sleepily chattered at him. He pulled his blanket tighter around himself and snuggled himself against Castiel's leg. Castiel snorted gently at the innocence of his pet then went back to the warming sheath. His bladed tail twitched when his pet's small hand reached over his leg and touched the warming sheath. Dean jerked back at the twitch of his bladed tail. He chattered worriedly at Castiel. Conflict tore at Castiel's mind. He had been training Dean to do this. This was what he had intended all along. But now that he was faced with the results of his training he wasn't sure he could do it. It was perverted and unsanitary. He needed to come to his senses. He should tell Dean no and put him on the floor if he persisted. He shouldn't try to use his pet like that. It wasn't fair to his pet. He had been a terrible pet owner for training Dean for it in the first place. Castiel was on the verge of telling Dean no when Dean cautiously reached out again. The scales on Castiel's back started lifting in arousal. Maybe it wasn't that unsanitary. He had just given Dean a bath and brushed his teeth. His pet's mouth would be as clean as it would ever be. And it wasn't as if his pet would think it was degrading, he was only a pet. He clicked his claws together as thoughts whirled through his head. It was the prickle through the scales of his back that won in the end. Very slowly he tugged his mating tail out of the warming sheath. Dean watched with narrowed eyes as he moved his mating tail closer to Dean's mouth. "Dean, lick," Castiel commanded. Dean's face rippled with confusion. He looked between Castiel and his mating tail. He chattered, clearly confused by the lack of food being presented. Castiel gently pressed the tip of his mating tail to Dean's mouth. "Lick." Dean's eyes flicked back and forth between Castiel and his mating tail. He chattered at Castiel again, this time sounding mildly upset. But his lips brushed against the tip of Castiel's mating tail making Castiel shiver as the scales on his back lifted higher with arousal. Castiel reached over and pulled Dean into his lap. Maybe Dean hadn't understood the command because he associated it with being in his lap. He stroked his pet's back first to ease the tension in him. He acted like this was just like any other time when Dean sat in his lap. When Dean was relaxed against him he brought his mating tail back to his pet's mouth just as he would when he fed him. "Lick." Dean craned his head back to look up at him. Castiel gently pushed Dean's head back down with a claw. He said the command again. He could feel his pet squirm with confusion. He pressed his mating tail to Dean's lips and told him to lick. Castiel was seconds from giving up ‒ apparently he was not only terrible for trying to train his pet to do this he was plainly terrible at training his pet ‒ when Dean's tongue darted out and licked delicately at his mating tail. "Good Dean. Good pet," Castiel cooed. He bumped his mating tail against Dean's lips again. "Lick." Dean gave his mating tail a few more licks before trying to squirm away. Castiel let him. He didn't want Dean to associate the command with anything bad and he wasn't about to let his mating tail unfurl because of a pet. He might be desperate for a bit of physical contact but he wasn't that desperate. A little external stimulation wasn't that disgusting really. It would really only be genuinely unsanitary if he let his mating tail unfurl while his pet had his mouth on it; all those human bacteria getting into his reproductive organs. Dean rolled out of the bed and went to the door. He looked at Castiel expectantly and fidgeted on the spot. Castiel hit the button to open the bedroom door. Instead of his pet racing for the bathroom to relieve himself Dean stood at the threshold and stared at him. Castiel stared back, confused by his pet's behaviour. Dean flailed his arms and chattered for a few moments before returning to the bed. He stopped in front of Castiel's knees. Castiel tensed as Dean reached out and touched his mating tail. He kept perfectly still, he didn't want to spook Dean from paying attention to him. Dean repeated the ritual twice more before Castiel realized Dean wanted to be fed again. Castiel sighed at his semi-successful attempt at training Dean then got up to catch Dean and bring him back to bed. Dean looked put-out from being placed on the bed again instead of fed. Castiel chuckled at his pet and tossed the blanket over him. His pet gave an indignant squawk. Castiel chuckled again then got up to grab a few sanitizing wipes from his dresser. He cleaned his mating tail off then rolled the warming sheath on. Dean poked his head out from under the blanket and watched him curiously through it all. Once Castiel had the warming sheath on he laid back in bed. He motioned for Dean to lay down beside him. Dean hesitated for a moment before slowly cuddling against his leg. Castiel reached down and scratched Dean's head. "Good Dean," Castiel said absently as he drifted at the edge of sleep. "Good pet." In the morning Castiel fed Dean with his mating tail again. This time he didn't let himself linger on his doubts. It was just a bit of external stimulation. He probably got more stimulation to his mating tail from his day to day work routine than he did from his pet. It wasn't as if he was going to have sex with his pet. He let Dean lick his mating tail and enjoyed the warm buzz of arousal but that was it. He always stopped before his mating tail unfurled. It wasn't sex. And it didn't harm Dean to do it. If anything he'd say Dean seemed to enjoy being fed with his mating tail. It was harmless really. Dean was fed and happy each time ‒ he was still confused about Castiel's mating tail outside of meal time ‒ and he got to enjoy some pleasant time with his pet. It was harmless but stupid. He was still twelve days out from his next stop and he was spending it torturing himself with pent up sexual frustration. His pet's delicate licks and a barely satisfying warming sheath were poor substitutes for partners. Four days out from his next stop Castiel knew he had a problem. He was holding the used warming sheath, filled with mating fluids and semen from a night's worth of use, and staring at a still sleeping Dean. One thought was rolling around in his head: if he offered his mating tail to Dean would he lick his mating tail clean. He watched Dean stretch out on the bed. His pet chattered warmly at him, still half asleep, then flopped over and curled back up in his blanket. It was adorable; his innocent speckled pet all sleepy and warm. And he wanted to trick that innocent little pet into licking up come and slick. Guilt settled into his stomach. It was one thing to get his pet to lick at his mating tail and get a little bit of an aroused buzz. But getting his pet to lick up his come and slick was just...wrong. Castiel marched himself to the bathroom to clean the warming sheath and wash up. He skipped filing the paperwork to dock at the next station in favour of searching personal ads. He needed to find at least one partner when he stopped. He almost sent his therapist a strongly worded letter for suggesting he get a pet in the first place and being the source of the entire ordeal but stopped when he realized he'd have to admit to having thoroughly thought out how to go about using his pet to masturbate. He might have some social issues from doing long deep space runs alone but he wasn't that far gone that he didn't recognize what people would think if he admitted to what he had been doing. As understanding as his therapist was he doubted he'd be sympathetic to zoophilia. He spent the next three days rushing through the paperwork, securing the cargo for a different gravity rating, and scouring the station's personal ads. There was only one ad from a fellow Helodem on the station. Another spur. A mated rasa-olio pair would be nice to spend a day or two with but at this point Castiel would be happy with anyone that wasn't his pet. Another spur wouldn't be much better than masturbating on his own but Castiel couldn't afford to be picky. He got a single curt message back from the other spur. It was enough that Castiel knew he wouldn't be amicable to sex. He cast a wider net, opening up the personal ads from any species he thought might be compatible. Between securing cargo he managed to send a few messages back and forth to a number of potential partners. Two of them were nowhere near sexually compatible with him and one, after he read up on the species and their sex acts, would probably result in his death even if he was careful. He read over one profile of a Narsiaan trio a few times, debating on whether he was desperate enough to have sex that he'd agree to being hit with half a dozen love darts from each of them. He quickly decided that while he was desperate he wasn't so desperate that he'd risk a hospital visit for sex. Negotiating sex outside of species was always an interesting task to say the least. He found a personal ad from a Hflip. They weren't particularly attractive by his own people's standards ‒ far too much fur to overlook and too many oddly shaped eyes ‒ but from what he read he was sure they could give each other what they wanted. He contacted the Hflip a day before he docked at the station. They messaged each other back and forth, messages coming faster the closer he got. The Hflip's given name was unpronounceable for him. They told him to call them Uth instead and explained Hflip sex in greater detail. Castiel squinted at the description. He had read up quickly on the more mainstream sex acts Hflips practiced. Most of it was simple enough; pressing genital patches against each other and secreting different mating fluids to prompt self-fertilization or impregnation. What Uth was asking for didn't seem too outlandish based on that, though Castiel didn't know why they were so focused on his arms. Hflips didn't have anything remotely similar to an arm so Castiel doubted Uth actually found his arms attractive. It was probably a weird fetish. He wrinkled his nose. Was he agreeing to something depraved by Hflip standards? He glanced over at Dean. Was he really in a position to judge? He told Uth he'd do it and sent them back a description of what he wanted; a place to pull eggs from and a place to deposit them, he wasn't picky if that was the same orifice. He'd provide the fake eggs and help insert them before and remove them after if Uth wanted him to. An hour before he docked at the station he got a message from Uth asking that if he hadn't already bought the fake eggs could he make sure they were edible for Hflips? Castiel stared at the message. The idea of eating eggs was unsettling. He knew the vast majority of species that ate animal based diets were usually ovivorous to some degree but still they were eggs. ...although he had planned on throwing out the used sex toys when they were done with them so what did it matter if Uth ate them instead? He shrugged it off and messaged Uth back. He'd buy edible-for-Hflips eggs. Cross-species sex always came with a surprise or two.

Tommy let out an obnoxious groan as he entered the small apartment complex. The elevator, which had been down for weeks at this point, was still, shockingly, out of order. The teen glared at the series of stairs he would have to take before shouldering his bag. He had ran nearly eight miles the whole way back to his neighborhood, not wanting to risk those psychopaths catching up with him via vehicle. Now, after tiredly scaling his complex's staircase, he knocked on the weathered yellow door, more of a muted mustard. A rusted iron plaque labeling the apartment number as 420, the joke lost on no one who's ever come to visit the teens residing there. "I'm home, pricks," Tommy announced as he swung open the door to his apartment. Plain grey carpet crunched under his shoes as he stepped inside, the door slamming shut behind him. The apartment wasn't much. Just enough for the three of them to live comfortably, at least. There was a small kitchen to the left hidden by a small divided wall, and to the right was what was labeled as a living room, but just had a couch and sad-looking coffee table. Besides the kitchen, there was a bathroom with what could be considered running water... water sure did come from there. And across was their tiny bedroom. They had two twin mattresses they'd pushed together so they could all sleep on them, though more often than not, someone passed out on the couch. "You were out late," Tubbo mentioned from his spot on the floor, laptop on the coffee table. Tommy waved Tubbo off as he threw his bag against the couch and then himself on top of it. "Rough day at work?" Their other roommate, Ranboo, spoke up from his place in the kitchen. Tommy let out a groan against the old cushion, "Karens, so many Karens." The shorter brunette let out a snort from the floor. Tubbo was currently writing on his laptop, something to do with coding for the internship he had going on at Awesome Corp Tech Shop. "Have you considered stabbing them?" "Don't do that, actually." Ranboo peeked his head out from around the kitchen cabinet, sending a warning look at the brunette. "What held you up? Everything alright at the diner?" Ranboo asked instead, walking into the living room with a bowl of cereal. "Oh yeah, everything's fine. I just, uh, had to fix the coffee machine," Tommy lied, eyes darting to the old wallpaper slowly peeling off the walls. No help to Tommy's constant picking at it whenever he was bored or zoning out.  While Tommy didn't like lying to his roommates, it was something he settled with when he first started his side hobby of stealing. He always made sure the risks were worth the rewards, not accidentally abandoning his friends by being caught and sent back into the system. Not to mention, a murder cult would definitely freak the fuck out of his friends. Tommy was a loose end now. A thing that needed to be taken care of because he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to. The chances of his roommates getting involved in this were already too big; if he could keep them in the dark, if he could protect them, it was worth it. "Actually," Tommy cleared his throat, sitting up from the couch, "I'm exhausted. I think I'm gonna turn in now." "Wait, are you serious?" Tubbo asked, standing up from the floor with his laptop, "You haven't eaten anything, bossman." Tommy nodded, "I'll eat breakfast tomorrow. I'm just really tired, big man." He ignored the worried looks his roommates shot him as he grabbed his bag and headed into their bedroom. He curled up tightly on their makeshift bed, trying as hard as he could to push away the thoughts of the wealthy couple he'd seen tied to chairs. He didn't know much about them, but he genuinely could not erase their tear-stained faces from his mind no matter how hard he tried. The night was spent restlessly tossing and turning. When Tommy initially landed this job, he was ready to worship the ground Karl Jacobs walked on. The man had zero reasons to hire him. Tommy had zero prior experience or education besides reading and basic math. The whole hiring interaction looked like someone trying to tame a feral raccoon. But Karl was either incredibly stupid or saw something in Tommy, or whatever dumb shit old friendly people said to make you feel better about being useless. The job paid decently, and he got to work whatever shifts he wanted that worked with his schedule. He may or may not have lied about his age and education to land him such a flexible schedule, but it doesn't matter. He had a stable money source and enough time on his hands to steal and pawn things as he pleased. So yeah, Tommy was very grateful for this job at the beginning. This is why he's quietly cursing out the shitty coffee machine after scalding his fingers for the fifth time this shift. He was giving it one final wipe down when he heard that annoying fucking door chime. He just barely held back, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for God to take him then and there. Instead, he called back over his shoulder, "We close in five; anything you order will have to be to go." Of course, he got no answer in response. He sighed before turning around to face the bitch who apparently is craving a shitty burger at nearly midnight. A man in a yellow sweater and red beanie was sitting in a far-right booth, staring out the window at the tiny drops of rain falling. "Sir?" The streets were empty; besides the rare glare of car lights passing by, the diner's neon lights reflected in the restaurant's windows. The red lights gave a warm look to the booth, but the sound of rain made the teen shiver. Goosebumps began breaking out across his arms but not from the cold. "I've never actually been to this diner before," A honeyed voice spoke up; the man wasn't facing Tommy. Still, the teen didn't need to see his face to recognize the shock of fear that traveled up his spine. The curly-haired brunette turned to look at Tommy, his head tilted slightly towards him with a vicious smile. Tommy stared down at the man who previously wore a black suit. Wilbur Soot smiled up at the teenager who was frozen in fear, "Could I get a menu, please?"

Even though it was harder to arrange on such a short notice than he originally thought, Chuuya got to secure an attendance with Dazai on a Wednesday two weeks after he got the letter. The inmate putting him on the visitation list wasn’t enough for him to be allowed to enter the facility, and Chuuya had to file for visitation through three different forms - one with the Criminal Justice department of the Government, and two with the Meursault directorate. Chuuya spent the two weeks he had to wait til the visitation obsessing over the case folder his friends put together, and going through Dazai’s letters to try to grasp what kind of person he would act as in person. He dug up his old lecture notes about the lasting mental effects of imprisonment, and compared them to all the small details where Dazai implied his current thought processes and mental state. Chuuya knew, even before his talk with Fukuzawa, that the inmate used a lot of jokes and jabs to cover up for his struggles, almost like he wanted to look fun and easygoing to Chuuya. He wanted to appear as a likable character, as if he believed that Chuuya wouldn’t like him if he knew that he was depressed, and struggled mentally. Dazai’s self-deprecation and desire to die were all clearly there, but presenting them as jokes must’ve felt easier to communicate for someone who didn’t have the opportunity to truly grow up in a secure environment.  Going through everything he wrote down during his Criminal Psychology class last semester, and recalling what Fukuzawa told him the other day, he started to mentally prepare himself that convincing Dazai to apply for the reopening of his case wouldn’t be easy at all. The hardest part seemed to be the fact that the person he had to convince about having the right to hope was someone who spent his teenage years growing up in an organization that used him until they could dispose of him, and the entirety of his adult life sitting on death row and waiting for his execution.   Is Mori Corporations hiding something? International deal revealed in the shadows of an orphanage fire   YOKOHAMA - An anonymous source came out to unveil a deal Mori Corporations made in the shadows of an orphanage fire that happened eight years ago. The fire is revealed to be not only connected to the Legal Business Permit the company acquired after the tragedy, but to a local murder as well. According to an anonymous source, Mori Corporations started to work on an international trading deal with Mimic, a European shipping company based out of Bordeaux, France, eight years ago. The deal allowed Mori Corps to acquire sole reign over all port operations going on in the city of Yokohama and reach their current place as one of Japan’s top 10 most influential corporations as of this year.  Mori Corporations has been allegedly operating under the Port Mafia’s authority for almost two decades, and only acquired a Legal Business Permit issued by the Government a little more than seven years ago. The permit was necessary for the company to enter the legally operating corporate ranking mentioned above, and also to reach an agreement with Mimic supported by the Government. “There was a lot going on at that time, but Mori really tried to reach an agreement with Mimic, which could only happen with the permit being in place. I wasn’t personally there during these meetings, but I got access to their files back then, and I remember a sealed Government document months before the company officially got the Legal Business Permit,” - elaborated our source on the issue. Eight years ago, civilians reported a building catching on fire in the outer part of the city, and the fire department rushed there immediately. They concentrated on fighting off the flames and rescuing residents at the same time. The firefighters rescued 13 people out of the rapidly collapsing building, but after they successfully put out the fire, five corpses were discovered under the ruins. The bodies were identified as one of the caretakers and four resident children - their names have not been disclosed to the public. There is only one element that wasn’t mentioned previously about the tragedy. The orphanage that burned down that day was under the protection of Mafia member Oda Sakunosuke (23), who was found dead just two days after the fire. There was no clear evidence of foul play, so the police never launched an investigation regarding the case.  “After the orphanage burned down, Oda felt terrible. He adored those children, and their death broke him. Oda was convinced that it wasn’t an accident and wanted to investigate on his own. Then two days later, he was dead. I just find it convenient that the only evidence of this is the voice recording skit that was revealed only at Dazai Osamu’s trial,” - voiced our anonymous source. They also highlighted that Dazai, who was found guilty in Court regarding Oda’s murder two weeks later, wasn’t the only one Oda shared his concerns with, but no other suspect has been investigated.  Dazai Osamu (26) has been on death row for the past eight years, and no execution date has been revealed yet. According to the official Death Penalty statistic, there are 103 inmates waiting for execution at the moment all across Japan. The statistics also show that an average of 5 executions are carried out each year, and not a single death row inmate lives more than 10 years in prison. As our anonymous source stated before, the circumstances around the case seem shady, at best, but only time will tell whether anything would come out of this new information being revealed eight years after the Dazai’s trial and sentencing.    Chuuya arrived at the Yokohama holding facility of Meursault State Prison around 10:00 on the day he got his visitation appointment with Dazai. He climbed out of his brother’s car with a nervous anticipation buzzing through his body. Verlaine leaned out of the car window on the driver’s side and looked at the redhead with a troubled expression. He wasn’t happy when Chuuya first brought up his idea of a prison visit, and he insisted that he’d drive him here so Chuuya wouldn’t get distracted by his nerves while driving.  “I’m going to wait at the café we passed ten minutes ago. Just call me when you are finished, and Chuuya…” Verlaine trailed off for a moment, then continued in a softer tone. “Please, be careful in there!” “I will, don’t worry, and thank you for driving me,” Chuuya answered with a small smile, then he turned around and started off towards the huge concrete building. He lit a cigarette, - a nervous habit he allowed himself only during exam season and the occasional parties he attended less and less frequently nowadays, - and stood at the entrance until he was finished. Getting into Meursault meant going through a pretty heavy security check. Chuuya spent almost twenty minutes with filling out all kinds of documents as part of the security screening, got patted down and monitored for any weapons or not allowed items, and had to leave his phone, keys and wallet in a secure box by the entrance, only allowed to keep the folder containing the investigation information on his person. He got assigned a guard who escorted him down to the lower level where the barely used visitation room for death row inmates was. He read a bit about how the prison operated beforehand, so he wasn’t surprised that even the elevator system required the guard’s  biometric verification to come to life, but he still felt a little intimidated by the heavily armored security personnel they passed on their way. Chuuya read somewhere that these guards had the permission to shoot without warning when they deemed necessary, so he made sure not to make any gestures that would come off as suspicious in from of them.  Chuuya was let into a room containing only a chair and a desk, divided in two by a thick glass wall; the fluorescent lights already gave him an uneasy feeling. The guard took his place by the door, and Chuuya decided to sit down on the chair while waiting for Dazai to be escorted in the other side of the glass.  He was nervous and excited at the same time. They’ve spent so much time exchanging letters, and he developed a weird type of longing for the other man, but with their meeting becoming reality, he didn’t know exactly how to proceed. He imagined this scenario more times than he was willing to admit, but as the door buzzed on the other side of the room, signaling that someone is about to enter, Chuuya wasn’t ready at all.  By now, Chuuya saw countless news clippings with photos and videos of Dazai, the lanky, almost fragile looking teenage boy, dressed in smart clothes and covered in bandages, sporting a hollow look on his young face, but the man that entered the room was something else. The shaggy brown hair was the same, and he could see the resemblance in the man’s features as well, but the Dazai that stood in front of him was different. He looked taller than the pictures showed, his lanky form filling out nicely, and his previously child-like features got replaced by sharp cheekbones and an intangible, manly charm.  As they locked eyes, Chuuya’s breath hitched and got stuck in his lungs. Instead of hollow darkness, Dazai’s deep caramel colored eyes stared back at him with such intense curiosity that for a moment, Chuuya was sure the glass barrier between them would melt under the other’s gaze. He could practically feel the way the other looked over his body, slow and thorough, only to settle on his face and get lost in each other’s eyes. The Dazai in front of him, despite being dressed in an unflattering gray prison jumpsuit, was one of the most beautiful men Chuuya has ever seen.  “You have twenty minutes,” came one of the guards’ cold voice from behind him, and Chuuya, broken out of his trance, hastily reached for the phone placed on the desk. Dazai did the same as he sat down, and the redhead realized only as the inmate reached for the phone himself, that his hands were handcuffed together quite tightly.  “Hi,” is all Chuuya could breathe into the phone in a slightly shaking tone, and Dazai’s face bloomed into a teasing smirk. “Hello Chuuya,” he said with a rough, clearly barely used voice, and Chuuya shivered. “When you sent me that plushy I was only teasing, but finally looking at you in person, I can see quite the resemblance.” It took Chuuya, lost in the sight of Dazai’s smirk and the drawl of his tone, a few heartbeats until he fully comprehended what the other man just said.  “Huh?! Are you seriously being an asshole right now?” Dazai only chuckled at Chuuya’s indignant tone. “I’m not an asshole, I’m just stating facts.” “I didn’t come here for your bullshit facts,” Chuuya huffed out, still outraged by Dazai’s tease, but rapidly calming down as he remembered why exactly he was there. Also, a cute little plushy of an orange cat wasn’t the worst thing to be compared to.  “Don’t fret Chuuya, I’m just as flabbergasted by our meeting as you are. I never thought that my little pen pal is not only smart, but has such a pretty face to go with that,” came Dazai’s next remark, and Chuuya, against his better judgement, started to blush as his brain caught up with what the other man was saying. Those were two, weirdly put but unmistakable compliments regarding his physical appearance. “I… don’t know what to say to that,” he replied finally, then continued without thinking in his slightly flustered state. Dazai was weird. “You don’t look like your pictures at all.” “Hm, did Chuuya spend a lot of time imagining what I would look like in person?” “Shut up, it was just an observation.” A small noise came behind him as the guard moved, and it helped the redhead to finally concentrate back on the task. Their banter felt different in person, and Chuuya found himself forgetting his purpose every time Dazai opened his mouth. Also, as flattering as the borderline flirty remarks were, there was something in the other man’s eyes that sobered up Chuuya to the painful reality. Dazai might seem confident, but all his teasing came from a place of isolation, with a clear sign that he didn’t have anyone to talk like this in a long time.  “An observation, huh?” Dazai chuckled again, with a thoughtful expression settling on his face. “Should we get to the purpose of your visit?”  “Yes, I’d like to go through everything before our time is up.” Chuuya put the folder he was carrying on the table, and turned it towards Dazai. The inmate slid a bit closer on his chair to see better through the thick glass separating them. The redhead opened the folder, the latest article about Mori Corps visible on the top, and ignoring the surprised gasp of his name and widening eyes, started to speak again. “Atsushi and I’ve been working on your case for a few months now.”  “Chuuya, no…” “Dazai, please, hear me out first.” “No…” “Please,” Chuuya pleaded, thinking about what Fukuzawa said about Dazai’s probable reluctance regarding the reopening of his case, and steeled himself to speak over the other’s rejection if needed.  They locked eyes through the glass, and after holding it for a few more seconds, Dazai finally let go of his white knuckled hold of the phone and deflated back to his chair. He muttered a shaky “Fine…” and Chuuya let out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “As I said, we’ve been looking through your case for a long time now. When you told me in your first letter that you were innocent, I believed you, and discussed that information with Atsushi a couple of times. Atsushi mentioned it at the Agency once, and his coworker, Edogawa Ranpo whom you might have heard of as being the greatest detective in Japan at this age and time,” Chuuya waited for Dazai’s acknowledgement before he continued, “confirmed our suspicions of your arrest being a frame job.” “Of course it was a frame job, I could have confirmed it before you involved the Detectives…” “I didn’t do it as an act against you, Dazai. I did it for you. You shouldn’t be sitting here, waiting for your execution, when you are innocent.” “I didn’t kill Odasaku, but I’m not as innocent as you apparently seem to think, chibi.” Even with the playful name-calling at the end of the sentence, Chuuya could clearly see that Dazai wasn’t teasing right now. The inmate’s face darkened, and his expression turned more and more serious as Chuuya continued, not even reacting to the jab at his height.  “Still, you shouldn’t be sentenced to death for a crime you didn’t commit.” Chuuya took a deep breath, a headache already forming in the back of his head. “What I’m trying to say is that we have solid evidence about your wrongful conviction.” “Evidence? Like that flimsy article you have there? You know it doesn’t work like that…” “No, the article is just a… reinforcing circumstance. We have the actual tape of the audio recording of you and Oda talking the day before the murder. The same tape the prosecution used as evidence of your intentions, but we have the uncut version. There’s a transcript of it in this folde-...” “I don’t need the transcript, I remember every word said that night,” Dazai cut him off with a bitter laugh, and Chuuya decided to go on without answering the remark. He was running out of time. “We also have security tapes with time stamps that never got to be shown at Court during your trial. We have half a dozen of them, clearly showing you on different locations at the time of the murder. You were still on your way when the gunshots were reported to the police.” “It’s not that easy to get off of death row, otherwise I’d already be out of here, you must know that, Chuuya. So where’s the catch?” The redhead could feel the tightness in his chest at Dazai’s words. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could articulate the next sentence, knowing well that everything stood or fall on this one tiny detail.  “It has to be you who files for the reopening of your case with the Yokohama Court of Criminal Appeals for evaluation. We cannot do this from the outside, not without you sending in the application first.” Dazai sat there in silence for a few minutes, clearly thinking through everything that Chuuya laid out in front of him, before he opened his mouth again, but his answer wasn’t the one Chuuya wanted to hear. “Chuuya, you shouldn’t meddle with Mori’s business, neither of them, because he could easily go after you and destroy everything that’s ever been important to you.” “He won’t. We have solid evidence and can get you out, I swear.” “You have no idea what the Mafia is capable of…” “I can take care of myself, and so do the others.” Dazai had the audacity to snort at that, and Chuuya felt weirdly ridiculed even without the other man verbally responding to his claims. “Please Dazai, you don’t have to die in vain…” “Tch, but that’s the thing, chibi. I’ve been ready to die all my life! I don’t want to see you, Atsushi, and I don’t even know who else go down with me. Death is the only thing left that’s mine.” With Dazai’s remark, it was Chuuya’s time to bite back at him bitterly, not even thinking about what he was saying anymore. “But is it truly yours when you are waiting for an execution ordered by someone who ruined your life already? Is it truly yours, Dazai? ”  Dazai looked back at him with a hard expression. The earlier warmth and kindness Chuuya didn’t even realize was there were gone now, replaced with a cold, distant darkness. “It was nice seeing you, Chuuya.” Chuuya watched in baffled silence as Dazai put down the phone he was holding, and without waiting for the redhead’s response, stood up and signaled for his guard that he was ready to leave, not even looking back for a second as he walked out the door.  Chuuya left the prison in a daze. He went through security one more time, and made sure that the folder reached Dazai on autopilot. He couldn’t believe the other man left him just like that. As he walked out of the building, he had to shield his eyes from the sudden light of the real world, and ha dialed his brother’s number immediately. He chain-smoked three cigarettes while he was waiting.  Verlaine got there a little over ten minutes, and as soon as he laid eyes on Chuuya his expression turned from tense to something even worse. He rushed out of the car and hugged the redhead to his chest, and Chuuya clung to his brother’s comforting warmth with such desperation he didn’t even realize at first that he was sobbing. Dazai leaving him like that felt like a stab in his heart.  Their drive back home was a silent affair. After Verlaine finally got Chuuya into the car, he started to drive without uttering a word, and the redhead was eternally thankful for that. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to go through what happened inside the prison yet. He checked his phone instead and saw a few messages from Atsushi, so he shot off his reply about the meeting going badly. Atsushi must felt the restraint in Chuuya’s answer, because he didn’t ask for elaboration. They set up a meeting for the next day by Chuuya’s university campus, though.  “He rejected me,” started Chuuya after he and Verlaine entered their shared apartment. His brother sighed and pulled the redhead into a tight hug.  “He might need some time to think it through.” “I know, but he looked so… I don’t even know. It started off good, then after I explained our investigation, he just closed off completely,” Chuuya whispered into his brother’s shoulder. He felt utterly exhausted. “Lay down a bit, you look like you’ve been through hell. I’m going to prepare some food for you before I have to go in for the evening shift.” Verlaine pressed a small kiss onto Chuuya’s head, then let go and started to push him towards his bedroom. The redhead complied without protest, and even let himself crack a small smile at his brother’s supporting words. “Give him time, he might change his mind in the end.” Chuuya slept the whole day away, only waking up to eat the dinner Verlaine left out for him. He sat at the table, nibbling on his food, when he received Fukuzawa’s message. It didn’t say much, only mentioning that his teacher heard about the visitation from Atsushi, and asking how Chuuya was doing. The redhead smiled at the sentiment of people checking on his wellbeing, so he sent back a text reassuring the older man that he was feeling fine, it was just a bit of a draining experience.   To Dazai Osamu, inmate number: A5158, Meursault State Prison, Yokohama holding facilities Dazai,  I’m sorry our meeting ended like that the other day, and I understand that you need time to think it through. I left the folder with all the evidences for you to see everything we found so far. Please, forget about us for a moment here, and think about reconsidering your choice. I’m not willing to give up on you yet.  I hope to see you again, Chuuya The next day, Chuuya woke up with a newfound determination. He sent off a letter for Dazai, short and vague, but necessary for the inmate to see how much he hoped he’d rethink his choices, and got ready for his meeting with Atsushi. They decided on a small café by the university campus, so to avoid being monitored by whomever set the listening devices in and around the Agency’s building.  When Chuuya got to the café, Atsushi was already waiting by the entrance, lost in his phone. Chuuya greeted him, and the younger boy, startled out of whatever he was doing, hastily tried to compose himself while putting his phone away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. The redhead raised an eyebrow at that reaction, but hugged Atsushi without commenting on his weird behavior. They ordered by the counter and settled onto a table near the back of the café, Atsushi’s blush slowly disappearing.  “So, how was your meeting yesterday? I know you said it didn’t go well, but what happened?” Chuuya took a deep breath before explaining. Even though he woke up in a positive mindset, Dazai’s abrupt departure the other day still hurt. “At first it was okay, Dazai’s… Dazai’s something else, you know? And meeting him was nice, he doesn’t really look like his pictures anymore,” by admitting that, it was Chuuya’s turn to blush a bit. Dazai grew up to be a truly handsome man. “Then after I mentioned our investigation, he got defensive and closed off completely.”  “Did he hurt you?” came Atsushi’s concerned question. “We can always stop…” “No, nothing like that,” Chuuya objected immediately. “At least, not in a way that matters. He warned me not to get onto Mori’s bad side, and I’m actually quite sure that he is only worried about us getting hurt in the process, but after I tried to plead with him for filing in the appeal for the reopening of the case, he just… left.” “Oh, do you think he’ll change his mind?” “I’m not sure, but I sent a letter this morning. I can just hope…” “So, what can we do now?” “Now, we wait. I want to meet Kunikida and Fukuzawa in a few days to go over the details about what legal steps we can take in case Dazai refuses to act.” “Even if he doesn’t agree, you won’t give up. Right, Chuuya?” Atsushi looked over at Chuuya after thinking through what was said, and the redhead smiled sadly at the question. Of course, he would never give up, he was in too deep by now. He just wished that he could go through with everything with Dazai by his side.  “No, even without Dazai, I want us to solve this case. I want to find the real murderer. Are you still in, Atsushi?” “Yes, yes I am,” the younger boy beamed at Chuuya and answered without missing a beat. Chuuya let out at relieved breath at the confirmation. “So you say he looks different? How so, is he as crush worthy as he seemed in his letters?” Chuuya was glad he wasn’t drinking from his coffee at the moment Atsushi started to talk again, because he would have definitely caused a scene by spitting out his drink. He could feel a deep blush crawling up his neck, and his face felt like it was on fire. He had to take a moment to calm himself down, but judging by Atsushi’s smile, his silence answered the question without uttering a word.  “He is,” he breathed out in the end, embarrassed by his own admission, so he decided to retaliate immediately. “And what about you, who were you talking to when I arrived? That was a pretty telling reaction you had there.” It was Atsushi’s turn to blush again, and finally, after the tension of the past 24 hours, Chuuya let out a wholehearted laugh. Every time he was with Atsushi, he felt like an older brother, and their friendship made his insides warm with affection.  “I… His name is Ryuu,” started Atsushi after Chuuya was finished laughing at him. “Remember how I got my hands on a few files sealed by the Port Mafia?” “Was he the one helping with them?” “Yes, he was… Ah, Chuuya please don’t judge me, but he works for Mori, as an executive. I started to get close to him because I needed some inside information. I knew him from before, because he was the one who tried to recruit me a few years ago, and I just thought…” The more he got into the story, the closer Atsushi got to being a blabbering mess. “We started to go on dates, and he actually liked Dazai, so I let it slip that I was… kinda looking into some investigation stuff about that, and he… He got me the audio files, Chuuya.” “I… Wow, I don’t even know how to react to that.” Chuuya was floored by Atsushi’s admission, but who was he to judge with his crush on an ex mafia member currently sitting on death row.  “I really like him, and he helped so much. I think he likes me too, we didn’t actually confess yet. He is kinda… shy?” They spent the next hour talking about guys, and just everyday things. With their case on a standstill until Dazai decided on how to proceed, it felt good to let go of the upcoming drama for a little bit, and just be two young guys chatting about normal topics for once. Chuuya stayed in the café a little longer after Atsushi left, and went over his e-mails, flagging the ones regarding university work. He was just about to leave, when he accidentally bumped into someone while standing up from his chair.  “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” said an unfamiliar voice as Chuuya tried to find his footing. How lucky was it that neither of them had any hot beverages in their hands while colliding into each other.  “No problem, I wasn’t looking either,“ Chuuya answered as he looked up at the redheaded stranger. “Oh, you are Nakahara Chuuya, right? We share the Criminal Profiling class, I saw you there before.” “Yes, that’s me. I… I don’t remember you, sorry.” Chuuya looked over the other man again, but his mind drew a blank regarding his identity.  “Don’t worry, I just transferred here not long ago. I had to change universities to be closer to my girlfriend,” the stranger explained, and held out his hand to properly introduce himself to Chuuya. “My name is Tachihara Michizou, it’s nice to meet you.” “It’s nice to meet you,” Chuuya shook the other man’s hand with a welcoming smile. He barely had any friends at university, so it wasn’t an entirely bad idea to start getting to know some of his classmates, anyway. “You already know my name, it seems.”  “Yeah, sorry about that, I just remember it from class, one of the teachers were doing attendance and with how unique you look, it just stuck.” If Tachihara didn’t mention his girlfriend earlier, Chuuya might have thought that the other was coming onto him, but with the knowledge that he had a significant other, the redhead actually felt nice to be called unique by the other. He thought back to the e-mails he just checked a few minutes ago, and looked back at the other man with a small, friendly smile. “I don’t know if you already have a partner for it or anything, but I just saw the e-mail about the group project for the profiling class. Do you, by any chance, want to work on it with me?” “Oh, I didn’t see the e-mail yet, but I’d like that, Chuuya.”   From Dazai Osamu, inmate number: A5158, Meursault State Prison, Yokohama holding facilities Hello Chuuya, I went through the folder you left me a million times, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I’m sorry I run out on you the way I did the other day you came visiting me, and I’m also sorry I didn’t reply to any of your letter since. It’s clear that you and Atsushi did a really thorough job on collecting the evidence, and you put a lot of effort into your investigation. I am truly thankful for that. Seeing you in person was an unexpectedly nice encounter, and I got to ruin it in the end. I hope I can make it up to you in the future. After thinking everything through, I finally decided to file in the documents for the reopening of my case with the evidence provided by you.  I hope I can see you again, but please, don’t get your hopes up, because the Court of Criminal Appeals can be a corrupt institution, and they can easily dismiss the evidence and deny my appeal due to not being presented with new scientific evidence establishing that I’m actually innocent of the murder of Odasaku.  Sincerely, Dazai

Eddie isn’t quite sure how exactly he imagined Steve Harrington’s house. He knew it would be big and spacious and all kinds of fancy, but somehow, he hadn’t imagined it being this big and spacious and fancy. Steve leads him through a gate into the backyard, illuminated by the neon blue glow of the pool lights. Eddie can only catch glimpses of the interior through the vertical blinds which panel the sliding glass doors but the room they’re about to enter seems to be almost the same size as the whole Munson trailer. He steps inside after Steve, pushing down the feeling that he’ll set on flames as soon as he crosses the threshold, or that the place will eject him somehow, sensing that he very much does not belong here. Except the Harrington house does not smite Eddie upon entering, at least not yet anyway. The house lets him enter but the welcome doesn’t feel warm. The cream carpets look pristine and unblemished, and he twists his feet inside his scruffy Reeboks, suddenly feeling a little ashamed. “Take a seat and I’ll find you some clean clothes,” Steve gestures to the plaid armchair by glass doors, it’s fabric untarnished and without so much as a wrinkle. Eddie tentatively perches on the edge of the footrest, suddenly far too aware of the blood drying into a crust on his t-shirt. He feels the urge to cough, like a turbulence in his lungs, but even making a sound feels like it would disturb the house somehow, making him feel even more unwelcome than he already does. He shivers, not sure if from the fever or because the room feels so empty now that Steve has left. He scans the place, taking stock of the room. There’s an untouched quality to the place, like a movie set. The lamps with the wide lampshades, the nondescript ornaments, pictures on the wall in modern looking frames all feel like props, carefully positioned to give the impression that a family lives here as opposed to being evidence that a family actually does. He can feel the heat from the radiator and the way the plush carpets insulate the room, but it’s almost like there is a draught coming through the big glass doors. He yearns for the sweaty warmth of the trailer, the way the place seems to wrap around the chill from outside and retain the little heat it can. The comforting clatter of the various mugs as wind creeps through the damaged windows. The mugs salvaged from thrift stores or given as thoughtful gifts to his uncle from friends and housed on shelves made of scavenged wood scraps from their neighbour who works in construction, among various other little trinkets and souvenirs. His uncle would be able to tell the story of each and every single one of them. Eddie stares up at the picture on the wall ahead of him and wonders if Steve’s parents have a story to tell about it, or if it was just purchased at some over-priced furniture store. Somehow, he knows for sure it is the latter. “Hey, I didn’t know what would be best, so I grabbed options,” Steve emerges from the hallway with a bundle of clothes in his hand. “Bathroom is to the left of the kitchen down the hall, if you want to get cleaned up.” “Do I smell that bad, Harrington?” he smirks, accepting the pile of clothes hesitantly and placing them beside him, his voice husky and deep with the pressure of holding back a cough. “No uh,” Steve blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re just kind of covered in blood, and I thought maybe the steam from the shower would you know, help clear your chest, I guess.” “Yeah, that actually sounds awesome.” Eddie silently sorts through the clothes Steve has brought him. There’s a couple of t-shirts, but he settles for a grey sweatshirt - liking how the fleecy fabric inside feels against the cool skin of his hands – and a pair of navy pyjama pants. “Thanks again for this,” he clears his throat, pushing himself to stand up. “I really appreciate it.” “It’s no sweat, man,” Steve paces the floor, a half-grin on his face. “The towels are all on a rack to the left, and the shampoo is in the big bottles on the shelf – just don’t go crazy with it, you have to like back-order that shit, and it’s expensive.” “I’ll ration your fancy shampoo very carefully Steve, don’t worry,” he begins to head towards the door down the hall. “And Eddie?” “Hm?” “Don’t pass out on me okay?” He disappears into the bathroom, overwhelmed by the thick floral soapy smell in the air, and the shininess of the ceramic tiles and chrome fixings. Before showering, he uses his finger to brush some toothpaste inside his mouth, letting the astringent taste cover the dry bitterness at the back of his throat as he takes in his reflection in the mirror. His right eye is beginning to swell at the edges, a purple mark creeping up to his eyebrow and spreading out across his cheek. He prods at it tentatively, feeling the skin push back in protest. Steve listens out from the lounge, taking a seat cross-legged in front of the sofa. He hears the distinct woosh of the water coming on, followed by violent coughing not quite covered by the sound of the shower. He wonders distantly if he should make some tea or try and find some medicine, but he knows for a fact that the milk in the fridge has long gone sour and it hasn’t been long since Eddie's last dose, not that he’d be able to find anything anyway. He knows Eddie feels uncomfortable here. Can practically sense it seeping through the walls. He had thought that the lonely empty feeling of the house had just been his own deep-seated sense of isolation in this place, but the hollowness has never felt so material before. He only registers Eddie emerging back through into the room after Eddie coughs loudly, his whole body seeming to shake with the force of the rasping sound. The sight of Eddie in his clothes makes Steve feel like something has shifted in his own chest. He’s only ever seen Eddie in denim and leather, in his Hellfire get-up or worn old band t-shirts, the apparel like battle gear. The sweatshirt fits awkwardly, and the seams refuse to sit at the right point on his shoulders, the neckline dipping a little to reveal a hint of Eddie’s bony collarbones and the margins of a tattoo that almost looks it was scrawled with biro pen. His hair is wet, leaving imprints of his curls on the fabric of the sweatshirt and his face is wet, the blood finally cleared but his skin left a little raw looking, the warm pink of the fever becoming apparent under his wide brown eyes. Yet he also seems more at peace than before. Like his mind is a little quieter. He smiles softly at Steve, curling his hands up into the sleeves of the sweatshirt, obviously very comfortable. “How are you feeling?” Steve gives him a tender look, shifting across to let Eddie sit in the space on the floor beside him. “Like shit,” he shrugs, rubbing at his eye with his palm. “Yeah, you look it.” “It’s these damn clothes of yours,” he feigns a squirm, pretending to pull the material away from his skin. “And if I could breathe through my nose, I bet I fucking stink. I probably smell like roses. Fucking roses, man!” Steve bites his lip, unwilling to admit he quite likes the smell. Not that Eddie usually smells bad of course, it’s just that he’s never really thought about it before. He watches Eddie contentedly, his head resting on his knee. Eddie stretches his neck back to rest his aching head against the sofa. “Can I get you anything?” Steve asks, although to Eddie it doesn’t look like he has any intention of getting up any time soon. “New lungs?” he laughs, careful not to laugh too hard and dislodge the mucus in his throat. “Nah I’m good.” “You sure? I can totally make you a sandwich or get you a soda or see if I can find any medicine or something.” “You wanna rub VapoRub on my chest while you’re at it, big boy?” Eddie sticks out his tongue, and Steve pushes him in the side playfully. “I told you I’m good. Jesus Christ, Robin wasn’t wrong about the whole babysitter’s complex, was she?” “I just…” Steve tries to hide the fact that he’s blushing. “I just want to make sure you feel welcome. You seemed a little deer-in-the-headlights before.” “Your house is just kind of… a lot.” “Not very homey, huh?” “Well yeah, that’s one way to put it. I just feel like one wrong move and I’m going to break something,” his eyes go wide. “And I might have already broken something.” “Oh the thing for the toilet roll? No, it just does that, it’s supposed to.” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, holding his hand up to his temples. Steve’s goofy smile beside him makes him laugh, warmth welling in his chest. He doesn’t feel quite at home yet, but he at least feels a little more at ease. “Sorry, it’s just taking me a while to get used to it,” Eddie shrugs, sitting forward and rubbing his hand across his sternum where an ache has decided to mature. “And I really don’t feel great, but I feel like I can’t fully relax. Although, I don’t really know how to relax, so maybe that’s part of it too.” “I think we might have some Nyquil somewhere. Probably expired though,” Steve looks over, taking in Eddie’s exhausted expression. “It’d knock you out at least.” “Nope,” he scrunches up his face and braces himself with his hand on the carpet, overcome by a coughing fit for a moment. “It just makes me really high. I’ll be okay though don’t fret. Colds just always go straight to my chest. I know it sounds bad, but I’ve had way worse.” “That sucks.” “I bet you’re a head cold kind of guy. Oh, or maybe even one of those awful people that never get sick, like ever.” “I’m just one of those unlucky people who gets the shit beat out of me on a pretty regular basis,” Steve moves his hand to his forehead, almost on instinct. “I have had a worrying number of concussions.” “That explains so much,” Eddie runs his hand through his damp hair. “You do have a very punch-able face though.” “Says the dude with black-eye covering half his face.” “Touché.” “You know, Nancy said the same thing,” a strange look that Eddie can’t quite read falls across Steve’s face. “The punch-able thing or the knock on the head thing?” Eddie teases, but as if as punishment, he doubles over with another wheezy crackling cough. “When we were going to kill Vecna, I told her about how when I was a baby I crawled backwards and fell down the stairs and took a right good thump to the back of my head.” “Crawled backwards?” Eddie squints in confusion. “Yeah like…” Steve mimes the action, earning a mocking laugh from Eddie. “It makes sense, you push to move, right? No? But anyway. So the stuff that happened when we broke up, it basically made me realise that sometimes a good thump to the back of your head is what you need. I think she agreed.” Eddie raises his hand and moves it in slow motion up to the back of Steve’s head, a wide grin spreading across his face, laughing so hard that he doubles over from coughing. Steve play-wrestles him in response, swiping his hand away with a few over-dramatic karate chops. “I’m with Wheeler, and I wouldn’t want to mess with her. She has a shotgun,” Eddie smirks tiredly, the exertion of making fun of Steve a little too much. “Fuck, I’d trade a concussion for this in a heartbeat.” “You probably have a concussion too, to be fair,” Steve gestures to the bruise on his face. “It’s the Munson special; you buy one, you get one free. Common cold with a side of head injury.” “Nothing about that ‘cold’ sounds common, man. I’m still not convinced that you don’t have a Demogorgon growing inside your lungs or some shit.” “Feels like it too,” he rests his chin on his hand. “I am really grateful for this you know. Letting me stay here. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.” “You’re always welcome,” Steve shifts so he’s looking at Eddie. “What would your parents have to say about that?” “They’re hardly ever home,” Steve shrugs, self-consciously rubbing his arm. “But seriously, don’t feel like you’re not welcome. Ever. Please make yourself at home and if there’s anything I can get you please don’t be all like oh you don’t need to get me anything, just let me okay. If I’m good at anything, I’m a goddamn good babysitter, and I’m pretty sure that gives me some transferrable skills for looking after a dumbass twenty-year-old metal head.” “I don’t need looking after,” Eddie says after a few seconds, pressing the sleeve of his sweatshirt against his lips to suppress a cough. “Mm-hmm. Sure you don’t. It’s not like you let yourself get sick as a dog without telling anyone or doing anything about it.” “It’s not like I had much of a choice,” he tries to breathe through his nose, but fails miserably, wincing as pain shoots across his sinuses. “And I was trying to do something about it until I ran into that dude’s fist.” “You’re not convincing me,” he raises both eyebrows, waiting for Eddie to catch his breath. “Okay, maybe I left it a bit too late. And surviving off nothing but Spaghetti-Ohs probably hasn’t helped.” “Yeah, no shit,” Steve puffs out as he pushes himself to stand up. “Anyway, I’m going to change into some comfier clothes so if you want anything, this is your last call because once I come back through, I am not moving for at least a few hours.” “A soda or a juice-box or something would be great. And tissues if you have any.” “So you don’t snot all over me, Munson? That’s very thoughtful of you. One sprite and the biggest box of Kleenex I can find, coming right up.” Steve kicks his shoes off into the corner of the room and pads away upstairs in his socks. Eddie can hear him humming out a tune, the sound disappearing once Steve is upstairs. Eddie pulls his knees up to his sore chest and watches the empty doorframe with a smile on his face. Steve returns a few minutes later, messy-haired and clothed in his own oversized sweatshirt. He throws the box of tissues and soda can in Eddie’s direction and disappears again, emerging a few minutes later with the largest blanket Eddie has ever seen in his life. “Am I getting the full Harrington house experience?” Eddie helps himself to a tissue before burrowing into the soft material of the blanket. “Thanks mom.” “Shut up or I’ll kick you out,” Steve slumps back onto the floor beside him, grinning. “And have my death on your conscience?” he pretends to choke for dramatic effect, a tissue held pathetically up to his nose. “I’ll kill you. Twice to make sure you stay dead.” Soft laughter passes between the pair. “You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like, Harrington,” he says after a moment. “What did you think I’d be like?” Steve raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I guess I thought when Henderson said you were cool he just idolised you or some shit for being popular and cool and all that shit, but you’re actually alright, you know.” “Gee, thanks.” “You know what I mean, man. You look out for people. You take responsibility for shit. And I fucking respect that. So much.” “To be honest, I have that damn kid to thank for that,” Steve smiles. “He sees right through your bullshit,” Eddie smirks. “Yeah,” he laughs in response. “Big time. Don’t tell the others, but he’s my favourite.” “I think he’s everyone’s favourite. He really has a heart of gold. And it’s awesome to see someone just be so themselves, without giving a fuck about what anyone else has to say.” “Yeah, him and Robin, they both really taught me that,” a sombre frown appears on Steve’s face. “I don’t think I really knew myself before I knew them. I was mostly just going through the motions, being who others told me to be, and I was a real asshole.” “Yeah you kind of were,” Eddie doesn’t make eye contact with him. “Or your friends back at school were, and you just sort of let them.” “Tommy H used to give you shit, didn’t he? It was you right, with the shaved head?” “Yup,” he chews on his top lip. “Pushed me around a lot. Called me every name under the sun. It’s like he knew I was different somehow. Like he had a sixth sense for freaks.” Steve sits forward, fidgeting with the corner of the blanket and bouncing his knee. Eddie still hasn’t looked at him. He feels something he can quite explain. All he knows is that he doesn’t like this feeling. He doesn’t like it one bit. “I think he just liked making other people feel small,” he runs his hands through his hair. “And he was good at it.” “Real good,” Eddie blinks, his eyes red-rimmed but whether from illness or emotion, Steve can’t tell. “I just… I’ve never really been able to pretend that I’m anyone else except who I am. I mean especially back in school, like I had no self-awareness. Zero, zilch. Even if I tried, people would see right through me. And people just… treat me like I’m wrong somehow, whether it’s because I’m gay or because I’m weird or because they think I’m a fucking Satanic cultist trying to destroy Hawkins. And people like that… People like Jason or Tommy H… And when you don’t have people in your life telling you otherwise… I don’t know man, it just gets under your skin. Makes you feel wrong for just existing.” “Shit I’m so sorry,” Steve sighs heavily. “And I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel that way.” “You didn’t. Never directly, I guess.” “Somehow, that still seems just as bad.” “Dude,” Eddie finally looks Steve in the eyes. “You’ve more than made up for it. Saving my life, helping clear my name…” “Playing nursemaid?” he smirks, earning a playful slap from Eddie. “And looking out for kids like Dustin,” he says plainly. “You know, the reason I keep an eye out for that kid? I just never ever want him to feel like I felt, man.” “Trust me, if anyone even tried to hurt him, I’d make them pay,” and Eddie can tell by the look on Steve’s face that he means it. “Those few thumps to your head really did wonders for you, Harrington. You’re one of the good guys. And shit, maybe you haven’t always been a good guy but it’s fucking metal that you realised your bullshit and changed.” “I’m still figuring shit out, but yeah. That means a lot.” Steve smiles back at him, feeling like a weight has been lifted from his chest, like a warmth has been set upon the pair of them. Eddie falls asleep not too long after, sprawled out on the carpet underneath the blanket. Steve sources out a pillow and sliding it carefully under Eddie’s head. He lets his fingertips brush under Eddie’s bangs, content that the man’s fever seems to have dropped a little, before relocating to the sofa to keep an eye on his guest.

   “I’m serious, V, you owe me extravagantly for that!” Deceit whined as they stepped out of the tattoo piercing parlor hand in hand. Virgil chuckled and pulled Deceit into a hug as they ducked down the alleyway near the shop. He felt bad for putting Deceit through something he hated so much, just because he wanted a change. It wasn’t fair to D. Maybe he had a plan to make it up to him, though.     “I know, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize being an original made a difference,” Virgil replied calmly, furrowing his eyebrows and looking at Deceit with concern. “My last piercer must have been one himself,” he commented in a conciliatory manner, trying to explain how he didn’t know.    “You heal faster and more aggressively, you idiot!” Deceit shot and smacked him in the arm. Virgil winced and frowned, chewing his lip indecisively for a moment. If it’ll help, it’ll help.     “I’m sorry, really. Listen, we’re two towns over and the tech said I needed to feed fast, otherwise the silver will scar and fuck up the holes. What do you say you and me go find some cocky idiot and have a snack? Together. Live,” Virgil whispered in as sultry a tone as he could muster. Maybe this was Deceit in him that thought this was a good idea to offer in the first place. Maybe he was desperate to make it up to him. Virgil couldn’t be exactly sure why. But it’d just be a little blood from drunk idiots, right? Virgil had done way worse. Deceit flushed and held Virgil’s hands tight.    “You never want to feed live, you’re always talking about how it’s too risky these days,” Deceit spoke quickly in a hushed tone. Virgil stroked Deceit’s knuckles with his thumb affectionately.     “It’s a special occasion. I saw a club a few blocks to the west. What do you say we go dancing?” Virgil offered temptingly and pressed Deceit up against the wall, nibbling his neck slightly.    “Let’s go,” Deceit accepted breathlessly. They both bound upward off to the direction of the bar and landed in the nearest alleyway. Virgil left his hoodie unzipped and fixed his hair quickly when he landed. “How are you getting in, love? I don’t have an ID for you,” Deceit asked quietly.    “I’ll use my gift,” Virgil answered softly. “You’re a devilishly stunning work of art and there’s no way they won’t let you in. I’ll just join you inside.” Virgil winked at him cheekily.    “Is that such a good idea?” Deceit asked warily. Virgil pulled two pairs of disposable earplugs out of his pocket and handed Deceit a pair. He slid his earplugs in, and Deceit followed suit. It was already too loud from the outside. Virgil couldn’t help but notice Deceit was already tainted a little with his fears, but that meant Virgil just had to be more Deceit for the both of them for now. They were better in a balance.    “You’re here with me, love. Once we drop the shield, it’ll be amplified further,” Virgil explained as he clasped his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Strut upfront and let that bouncer know you belong there. I’ll be in right after you. Drop your shield when it’s clear,” Virgil said and pushed Deceit forward and winked.    Virgil took a deep breath and dropped his shield, hating to do this outside. He doesn’t normally use his gift. It seems like one that comes with dire consequences if you abuse it. But this was a very small thing to do. It’d probably be okay? Or perhaps a combination of a new life and time with Deceit was making him act a little more rashly. But it was too late now. He felt the pull of his blood from inside and exhaled. Here we go.    “V!” Deceit cried in alarm as Virgil grabbed his arm. “Hecate, that feels weird,” Deceit mumbled and Virgil kissed him on the cheek, grabbing his hand again.    “Sure does,” Virgil agreed and dragged Deceit into the main part of the club through the rest of the dark hall.    They pushed past a curtain into a wide room with a lighted dance floor and a long bar. He wasn’t sure there were many people there who weren’t drunk. It would be easy pickings. All they had to do was attract some attention. Virgil hated this part, but Deceit was more himself again and confidently strode onto the dance floor, now with Virgil in tow, and started dancing with Virgil right away.    Virgil clammed up for a moment before just trying to let himself enjoy this moment with his lover. He could feel the beat in his chest, along with Deceit’s happiness and a little trepidation. Virgil pushed himself to enjoy it and feed off Deceit’s energy and hopefully get caught up in a loop so that Virgil wouldn’t care that people were looking at him.    The song’s pulse was driving and as he and Deceit danced closer than friends would, sometimes touching each other more provocatively, trying to set the bait. Virgil was already catching some eyes staring. He shook his head and closed his eyes again to just focus on the beat and the feeling of Deceit against him. Another hand found its way onto Virgil a few minutes later.    Virgil opened his eyes to see some cocky idiot join them in dancing a little more closely than appropriate. He smirked at the new guy and so did Deceit, and the mark looked extremely smug. Deceit’s gift would be useless here to suss out a good mark with all the people, but they could still smell an opportune time to set the trap. It was hard to judge whose pheromones were whose in a club like this, but he was nearly positive it was the idiot rubbing up against them that had hit a peak about halfway through the song. Virgil leaned close to his ear.    “How about you join us in the bathroom,” Virgil spoke just over the volume of the music and winked at the guy and strode over to the men’s room. Deceit followed him closely with a chuckle. They claimed a stall and held open the door for the unsuspecting bar patron, who followed suit with a dumb smile on his face. Virgil locked the door, pressing up against the new guy. Deceit leaned in close to the stranger’s ear.    “Now remember, be silent,” Deceit compelled the stranger, who nodded excitedly. “Arms out,” he hissed, and the stranger’s arms shot out in-between Virgil and Deceit. They both reached out and took an arm, extending a nail to pierce the skin, and started sucking. Virgil’s head swam with the powerful fresh blood intermingled with alcohol. He tasted more like a whiskey sour than his common-type blood. It was literally intoxicating. Virgil giggled when he stopped and licked the wound, causing the minor cut to heal.    “Thanks, babe,” Virgil tittered at the stranger. “You’re the best. Now, forget you ever even saw us and take a piss, order water, and go home safely to get some sleep,” Virgil compelled quietly and unlocked the door, leading Deceit out. They stumbled over each other for a second and giggled.    They held hands as they entered back on the dance floor. Now that Virgil was toasty from the surprisingly potent combination of fresh drunk and blood link, he felt like he could have fun. He and Deceit danced closely on the floor again, Virgil really getting into the beat. They both laughed when the song switched and both went for a quick kiss.    Another two strangers tried their luck. Another two strangers left the bathroom, ordered a water, and went home. Virgil was pretty fucking drunk at this point. After the third stranger left, Virgil took Deceit in the bathroom stall himself. They had gotten some applause from the people milling around the booths near the bathrooms after they came out that time, which Virgil had bowed to in amusement.    They both cackled as they left the bar and less-than-gracefully flitted back to Deceit’s crash pad. Virgil and Deceit threw their clothes unceremoniously in the direction of the washing machine and stumbled into the shower together, laughing in between the kisses and bites. —💀—    Virgil woke up to Deceit’s alarm with a hedgehog in his skull, prickling his brain. Holy crap, why did they drink that much? Deceit groaned as he turned it off.    “We’re fucking idiots,” Virgil groaned despondently. Deceit just chuckled sweetly and pressed a kiss against Virgil’s temple before he sat up. Virgil buried his head under a pillow from the bed and moaned.    “When was the last time you last drank that much, dear? I’m not normally that much of a lightweight.” Deceit spoke too calmly and evenly to still be linked to Virgil. Deceit must have gotten his shield up sometime last night.    “The last time I went to college,” Virgil grumbled and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I think that’s the last time I slept, too,” he ran his hand through his hair and exhaled hard.    “Good to hear you haven’t needed to recover in that long, I suppose,” Deceit said, and went into the one unlocked closet in his room. Virgil focused and put his shield back up for Deceit’s sake.    “Thanks, love, that’s a killer headache,” Deceit thanked him gently. “I’ll turn on your kettle in the kitchen,” he said as he pulled on a suit from his closet. “I barely got my shield up when you passed out and took me with you. I’m glad I had the foresight to set an alarm between the shower and the bed,” Deceit laughed airily. “Though, I thought we’d need it for a different reason.”    “It feels so damn nice to be with you,” Virgil grumbled and rubbed his face. “I got carried away,” he admitted quietly.    “I think we both did somewhat,” Deceit stated regrettably. “I blame you. Luckily, I’m certain we’ll only be remembered as bar sluts for a week until the next thing happens there. I didn’t feel anybody catch on,” Deceit said with an air of confidence. “Regardless of that, all the blood and then sleeping? You’re definitely healed, silver or no silver,” Deceit added optimistically. Virgil’s eyes widened with excitement, shot up, and sped to the bathroom to look in the mirror, headache or not. He inspected the holes under each collar bone and saw the perfectly smooth skin-tight around his piercing.    “They are!” Virgil exclaimed happily. Deceit came in from behind him and kissed behind his ear.    “And may I say, they look hot as hell,” Deceit purred into his ear, and Virgil spun around and kissed him. Deceit gently pulled on his spider bites with his teeth. “I think these are my favourite to look at. But the one on your tongue is my favourite to feel,” he breathed with his eyes shining. Before Virgil knew what he was doing, they were making out on the floor in front of the hall bathroom for a bit until Deceit pulled away reluctantly to leave for work.    Virgil waved Deceit off and returned to the bathroom to inspect the rest of his piercings, just in case. He honestly wasn’t sure what he and Deceit got up to last night after they got home. The eyebrow piercing on the left looked cool. He considered shaving a line into his eyebrow next to it as he saw online while looking for current clothes he’d like. His ears also appeared to have healed up nicely. He got seven different spots between his two ears. The rook in his right ear was a bitch for Deceit to hold open. Deceit also hated holding open the septum. Virgil liked the little accent there, though. It pulled the eyes down to his spider bites. Virgil had to have those on name alone.    Virgil smiled and went to the kitchen. He brewed a cup of tea from the boiling water bubbling in the kettle and looked out over the living room. It was a bit of a giant mess from last night. He went to pick up all the clothes strewn about the floor and retrieved Vladimir from his hoodie pocket when he shoved them all in the wash and started the load. Virgil hung the suit in the laundry closet, certain that it had to be dry cleaned, and sauntered into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He still tasted cocktails on his tongue from after all the blood drinking. After he was minty fresh, he pulled on a pair of jeans and flipped open the laptop to learn how to restring a guitar to the high-grade ones he acquired to make sure he didn’t accidentally slice one with a nail.    It looked easy, well, at least easier than tuning a piano. Tuning the guitar still took more time than he anticipated. The small device he purchased with the guitar to help him tune was kind of finicky. Virgil eventually just gave up on trying to use it and tuned it by ear. He’d been playing music for longer than he can remember. He has compositions floating around the market somewhere. Virgil knew what G sounded like in his soul. He shouldn’t have second-guessed himself at the store. He also changed his new ukulele strings while he was at it, before he focused on learning technique and cords from the internet.    The internet was a life-changer in that regard, too. It didn’t matter what you wanted to learn. It was there. No longer did you have to head out in daylight to pick up new skills. If Virgil had a secure internet connection, he could figure out anything in life, no matter the predicament he was in. Virgil was working on the chords diligently through the afternoon when he remembered he needed photos for his IDs.    He sighed and got up to put in his brown contacts. He was thankful he wouldn’t need to put up with them much today, he’d been spoiled by not wearing them lately, and they annoyed him more than usual. Luckily, Deceit’s walls were stark white and barren, so it was very easy to set up his photography camera from one of his boxes to take a photo. He tried to look as despondent as possible, as if he was actually at the DMV. Virgil put on his bust and a girl’s cut shirt for the second one. It took him a while to dig out his bust from the few boxes of things he never unpacked.    Virgil changed and then walked into the bathroom for the rest of the look. He stared himself in the eyes and watched his eyes light up from behind the contacts and rubbed his face. His features went slightly softer, and he applied some feminine looking makeup. He also styled his hair just a little differently with some little clips he had with his things to go take the second photo. Virgil attached them to a burner email and sent them off to Deceit’s side email that goes to a private server, and went back to learning the chords on the guitar. It was somewhat different holding the guitar with the additional chest, but the padding was a welcome addition. She didn’t feel like changing back anymore.    She was in the middle of learning a simple song when the connection reestablished. It was just as jarring as always, something she’d have to get used to. At least she didn’t end up on the ceiling this time. Virgil went back to learning the order of the chords and strumming. The finger positioning was awkward to wrap her brain around. She was wired for a violin, so they kept trying to slip back to a smaller scale and the wrong positions. She had to keep reminding herself there were more strings in a different order.    It was frustrating, but she knew once she could grasp the chords, she’d have a much easier time. Virgil probably would have already picked it up if she hadn’t been playing the violin and other orchestral strings for so long. Maybe she should have started with the ukulele, since it had fewer strings.    Deceit popped in the front door with a beaming smile and wind-blown hair. He winked at Virgil playing on the living room floor before pivoting to lock the door. Deceit had walked over to him, his pleased smile never wavering. Virgil smiled back and felt a little dazzled by his bright eyes and charming smile all over again.    “My, Virgil, you make a fetching lass with purple hair,” Deceit cooed coquettishly. She blushed and stopped strumming.    “Sorry, I just wasn’t thinking about it and this ended up being more comfortable,” Virgil murmured and looked down at the carpet. Deceit came up behind her. He knelt down on the floor and hugged her, wrapping his arms around her between hers that still held the guitar.    “You don’t have to apologize for who you are, dear. I made your documents for Sarah, too,” Deceit reassured and kissed her on the temple. Virgil looked away and flushed. “Making progress on the guitar today?” He asked and sat crossed legged behind her, pulling her between his legs and holding her close.    “Kind of. My fingers keep trying to play it like a violin,” Virgil mumbled and leaned back against him, putting the guitar down on the ground next to them. Deceit laughed airily and stroked her hair.    “I never realized there was a risk of that. I’m not musically inclined myself,” Deceit commented, and his hand slid to her cheek and pulled her in for another kiss.    “What are your current hobbies, then? I mean, what do you do all night when we’re not together?” Virgil asked curiously. “You still write, right?”    “Of course, I haven’t changed obsessions. At the moment, I also do archery and sketch wildlife at my estate,” Deceit replied smoothly, drawing Virgil into his charm with every word. “I’ve been switching around things every few months, it was fencing and drone photography before then,” he added evenly, running his fingers through her hair.     “That sounds cool,” Virgil cooed and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I have read nothing by you in decades. Have you been publishing?” She asked curiously, stroking his face.    “Oh, yes, not very many, but they were all under different names. It’s a shame to lose royalties on a book when you have to fake the death of the author. Sometimes I can make them go ‘to the estate of’ if I can set one up. But that’s very difficult to collect from,” Deceit explained, sounding annoyed. Virgil giggled and angled down to playfully nip at his jawline from his lap.    “You’re plenty wealthy in this lifetime,” Virgil said with a smirk. “Look at you supporting your side piece, right now,” she joked impishly.     “Virgil, you could never be my side-piece,” Deceit scoffed, acting affronted at the implication.    “It was a joke, D.” Virgil rolled her eyes in a slow arc as she spoke. Deceit pressed a soft kiss to her hair and scooped her up off the floor. He walked into the bedroom, dropped her on the bed, then crawled in next to her and laid an arm over her, propping up his head on his elbow, and smiled gently down at her.    “I’m so happy you’re here with me, love,” Deceit said and brushed the bangs out of her face. Virgil held the hand that came back down across her chest.    “I’m sorry I didn’t keep up with you more,” Virgil apologized quietly. Deceit just shook his head as if he didn’t care and didn’t want her to worry about it. It relieved a little guilt. “Do you have any copies of your books I could read? It’s lonely here all day. It would be nice to have a piece of you,” Virgil asked softly.    “Yes, I can bring them over from the estate for you, love. Or you can sneak into my study, either work,” Deceit pressed another kiss in her temple. “I suppose I didn’t try, either.” He exhaled dispassionately after a momentary pause. “It didn’t end so well last time,” Deceit stated in explanation, and Virgil didn’t miss the hint of bitterness in his voice.    “No, I guess not,” Virgil replied sadly. “We really have to be careful. But I think things being broken up by classes will help. Hell, maybe you’ll find somebody and won’t want to waste all your time with me,” she suggested with a little smile.    “I haven’t bothered looking,” Deceit responded dismissively, but looked down to see Virgil frowning at him. “It doesn’t mean I’m opposed to the idea. I know eventually, you must pull away again before I lose my independence. I don’t want to be lonely, either,” Deceit said with a heavy sigh. “Being together forever differs from the way I pictured it when I was a naïve idiot who found out the person I was courting was a vampire,” Deceit mused sullenly.    “You don’t regret it, do you?” Virgil asked hesitantly, carefully studying his face.    “Not a day, love,” Deceit purred and squeezed her to his chest. “Even when we originally agreed to be open, I didn’t think it would force me to spend time apart from you,” he continued, and Virgil sighed with relief. “You think I wouldn’t have told you before that I regretted it?” Deceit cackled at Virgil’s relieved expression.    “You know I worry!” Virgil shot back in frustration. Virgil knew she was being silly. Deceit was extremely upfront with his feelings. Probably a side effect of his gift.    “Yes, you worry all day long. It was fate’s curse to you, who was born immortal. Otherwise, you would be too powerful,” Deceit joked airily with a little laugh.    “There were plenty of stronger vampires than me.” Virgil pouted and threaded her fingers between his.    “Where are they now, then?” Deceit asked with a cackle and a very sardonic smirk. Virgil rolled to her side and snuggled her face into Deceit’s chest and sighed. She didn’t understand what he was getting on about, but she liked his confidence in her.

He looked over the villains that were there. There were four that were running off, spreading out. Three he recognized. Mr. Compress, Toga, and Spinner. The fourth had some sort of animalistic quirk that he didn’t recognize. Well he should take them out first. They were well within his range, after all. He felt out for knives or metal on their forms. Mr. Compress had metal on a prosthetic arm, and Toga, Spinner, and the unknown villain each had knives. He focused on the metal they had, growing it, shifting it, manipulating it while simultaneously growing more metal from rooftops or other surfaces nearby them. Within about thirty seconds, he had them captured. “Shit!” He heard someone yell out, he looked down to see that there was four more villains, which included Dabi, Twice, and two more villains he didn’t recognize. Dabi looked up to see him, and then reached out to speak into a radio. Like hell he’s going to allow that, he sent a spike of metal up from the ground, destroying the radio almost instantly. “Fucking hell.” He yelled out. “Kaito, send those knives his way.” He looked out to see that this “Kaito” person had knives floating around him. A telekinetic, huh? Too bad that his secondary quirk will overpower this telekinetic. Wrenching the knives from Kaito’s control was easy, extending them out and capturing him was almost too easy. Was this really all the League had to offer? Twice tried to create clones, but he had been told these clones were weak, so a spike from the ground was enough to destroy them. He encased Twice almost completely, leaving a few small breathing holes. Which left this other mysterious villain, and Dabi. He watched as this one villain charged forward, smashing through a 1-foot steel barrier he created, trying to free twice. He finally managed to capture this incredibly strong villain by encasing him in chains several inches in width, almost comically oversized. Meaning that it was only him and Dabi left. He sent a metal arrow at Dabi, who tried to melt the arrow, but he conducted heat away from the metal arrow. At the last second the arrow narrowly dodged it and he released his control. At that point he realized that Dabi was covered in metal staples. He reached out to all of these, and expanded them out, using them as a base to cover the villain in a cage of steel. It was thick enough that if Dabi tried to melt through it, it would burn his skin with molten steel even more than it already was. All eight villains captured in one minute, twelve seconds. He turned on the transmitter he had gotten. “This is Ferric Emperor, I have secured the villains.” “This is Eraserhead, what do you mean by that?” “I mean that I have trapped eight members of the League of Villains, in the location that was scouted out.” “Ok then, I’m currently evacuating the students, making sure all 40 of them have exited the training ground. Once that’s done I’ll make sure to bring over some quirk suppressant handcuffs for them.” “Thank you Eraserhead, it was an oversight of mine not to bring them for myself.” “Eh, it’s no problem.” He felt that Dabi was using his quirk to melt the steel surrounding him. “Damn, looks like Dabi’s not getting the point.” He focused on the metal surrounding the fire villain, and began to extract the heat away from it. He had discovered that quirks could evolve through putting the user in stressful situations. He had pretty much thrown himself into every combat he possibly could. He had finally gained the ability to control the temperature of metal when he was trapped by a user that could overpower his own control. So he was able to extract heat from the metal at the speed Dabi was heating it up. After about a dozen seconds or so, Dabi had given up. This felt anticlimactic, like this was just the beginning. Although they probably weren’t expecting him to be there. His arrival had been in the utmost secrecy, after all. But this event was private, known only to the participants and teachers. Which probably meant that the UA traitor was a genuine possibility, and it wasn’t Midoriya, Recovery Girl or Eraserhead, as they were the only three people that knew he was there. Black sludge appeared in the air, and out came Nomu. He recognized the design of the Nomu’s, exposed muscles, skin flaps, black coloration, and exposed brains. These aren't the types of Nomu that appeared in Hosu or Sapporo. These were the High-End. Endeavor and Hawks together had barely managed to defeat one. And as of right now, there were four appearing. No, wait there’s five . Five Nomu, each with six or seven quirks… Well that’s why he felt like taking down the villains was only the beginning. “This is Ferric Emperor, be altered that there are Five High-End Nomu.”  He looked over the gathered Nomu. One of them looked female-ish, one looked male-ish, one had four arms, another had two heads, and the final one had a tail. He didn’t waste a second, raising up a pillar of steel as tall and wide as an eighteen-wheeler, slamming it into the Nomu in front of him, the one with two heads. He then separated the steel column into one hundred separate sections, then shaving them down into rotating blades. He then set them to high speed rotation, and sent them all out at the Nomu. This was pretty much the limit of what he could do, several of the blades dropped out of the sky. The Female-looking nomu lit itself on fire, and shined brighter as well. The twirling blades ended up pretty much vaporizing two of the Nomu, the Female-looking one and the one with two heads. He still summoned steel threads and cut the remains into tiny pieces, just in case. He didn’t trust that they couldn’t regenerate from that. “L-let’s f-fuse!” He heard one of the Nomu yell out, and the remaining three Nomu jumped together. It was a mass of arms, legs, muscles, bone and skin, until it pulsed and grew. Swollen bubbles all along the Nomu burst, making fluid spew everywhere. He made a steel barrier to protect himself, just in case. It was a good thing too, because the fluid was in fact acid. Eventually the twisting and churning mass of muscle, bone and skin manifested itself in what he could only call an eldritch horror. Towering over the other buildings in the area, making it at least a hundred feet tall at least, eight arms were on the side, tentacles extending from each arm. There were jaws with razor-sharp teeth, long tongues, the bottom jaw and tongue dripping with acidic drool dotted all over the pulsating, black and dark red with partly exposed muscles and bones, mass of a Nomu. There were also dozens of eyes scattered all over, bloodshot, all sorts of colors, looking around, jumping from object to object. Well, this certainly was something else. The gigantic creature had four of it’s tentacle, jaw, and eye-covered pulsing arms fuse together into a massive limb that extended out, muscles, bones, and teeth, as well as the other things that covered the Nomu’s body peppered across its surface. It swung the massive limb, swinging itself through the surrounding buildings as easy as if the buildings were paper. He raised pillars of steel as a shield around him. They kept getting battered away by the relentless assault of the massive Nomu, but he continued making the shield, generating steel until the assault let up. The second the assault from that limb ceased, he twisted the barrier away, and he grew a massive hooked and barbed spire, grabbing onto a section of it and separating it out, he also grew the metal imitation of wings. Combining the wings with manipulating his suit and what he was riding, he was in the air in no time. From his vantage point, he moved fifty of the massive circular saw blades up into the air, spun them rapidly, and sent them at the Nomu. If he had eliminated two of the High-end with this technique, he could surely eliminate the others. Now that he had less of them, he could move them better, spin them faster, manipulate them better. The Nomu extended out bones and teeth that had a metallic sheen to them, as well as tentacles, cords of muscles, extending out jaws, tongues, shooting acid, and even fire, ice, and acid from the gaping maws. Some of the saw blades were deflected, destroyed, or otherwise stopped. The bones were a lot stronger than they looked. Three of the limbs it wasn’t using fused together and enhanced itself until it was a massive limb, and then he went on the attack. He made a thick shield while aiming the remaining twenty blades that he had at the arm, slicing into it. Bones jutted out of the arm to deflect it, but his blades were sharp enough to slice through the bones, even if they’re stronger than steel. He made the edge of the blades narrower and narrower as they decreased in number. The limb was still going though, so he decided to do the next best thing. He raised a dozen hooked and barbed spikes of steel. Despite stretching almost a hundred and twenty feet into the air, they were less of a solid mass, and more of a mess of blades, hooks, and barbs. They were designed to grab into the muscle, and drag into it, stopping it. He made sure that the spikes were angled into the direction of the limb, so that the Nomu speared it’s arm on his spike barrier. He eventually succeeded, getting the Nomu’s arm trapped. He didn’t waste a second, diving forward in the direction of the creature’s head, dodging muscle and bone growths, or deflecting them with steel. He watched as the Nomu created a massive knife, and sliced its own arm off. The entire massive thing, hundreds of feet long and three times was wide then he was tall, regenerated itself completely in the span of a couple seconds, the entire massive limb then reached for him. Well that means he has to pull back, there’s no way he’ll be able to get in that close with those sorts of conditions. He then extended out his arm, and he summoned dozens of his messy spikes, and then summoned spikes off of those spikes, and then spikes off of those, until the entire Nomu was cut through with spikes. He then extended them out, pushing them all through the Nomu, and then wrenched them out in all directions. The Nomu exploded, masses of flesh, bone, muscle, and thousands of gallons of the acid spewed around. He looked around the ruined area from his skyward position, none of the chunks looked like they were moving. Just to be safe, he created more circular saw blades and ran them through, slicing them up into tiny pieces just to be sure. Three of the largest chunks of the old Nomu grew, and morphed, until the original three Nomu that had created the massive creature appeared.   So now he was back to square one.

If nothing else, it’s a beautiful Sunday morning. You’ve been up for hours, manning your family’s convenience store by yourself since daybreak, but the weather is begging you to cheer up. Stray patches of sunlight come in through the window and heat your skin as you scurry around, restocking shelves and wiping surfaces. A warm breeze is passing through the city today and it eases the door open and shut, making the entry bell rattle. You’re crouched behind the cash register when the bell rings out once more. You only realize it wasn’t the wind when you hear footsteps making a tentative path towards the aisles. Darting to your feet, you dust off your apron and put on your best customer service smile. “Welcome to The Corner Market, can I help you find anything?” You scan the store to see who just walked in, or if it was just the wind after all. A tall figure is standing near the aisles, confirming that you hadn’t experienced an elaborate auditory hallucination. (Unless this figure is part of an even more elaborate audio-visual hallucination, the chances of which you quickly brush off as slim to none.) Upon hearing your voice the person begins walking towards you, and with a closer look you realize you recognize this him. “Nanami?” Your voice barely hides your shock at the sight of him here. On a Sunday morning.  Kento Nanami is one of your regulars, but he only ever stops by on his way to work. Meaning every day except for Sunday, he comes in right before seven-thirty in the morning, wearing his fancy business suit and getting a cup of coffee along with a pastry and newspaper. For that reason, Kento Nanami waiting at the register empty-handed and wearing ordinary clothes is a sight unseen. And a sight to behold. The look on his face is as much nervous as yours must be bewildered. For whatever reason he can’t seem to look you in the eye, and instead his gaze busies itself with the racks of candies and puny bundles of flowers next to the register. As much as his odd behavior is amusing you, it’s still on your mind that he’s standing at the register without any items to purchase. This disheveled demeanor is the last thing you'd have expected from the strict person who’s been following the same routine of visiting your store for around half a year.  “Would you like the usual?” The sound of your voice seems to startle him out of deep thought and his eyes quickly move to meet yours. You tilt your head towards the coffee machine since he looks confused about what you mean. “Oh, uh… Yes, thank you.” With a nod you maneuver the machine and as his coffee heats, you get a cup out from under the register. You upgraded the store’s cups from dingy styrofoam to paper cups with lids after Nanami began regularly visiting. No one else has dared to purchase the store’s disgusting coffee more than once, and you don’t blame them. But you’re grateful for Nanami’s consistent service and the least you could do in return was supply him with a slightly nicer cup, especially to go along with his (usually) dignified appearance.  A smile forms on your lips as you pull out a sharpie and write Nanami’s name on his cup, remembering when you first met many months ago.   It’s a Monday morning and you’re already weary from work, though the week still lies ahead. The door swings open and in walks a tall man, dressed in a polished suit and wearing an interesting pair of glasses. From his looks, and that it’s so early in the morning, you figure he must be a salaryman working at the corporate buildings nearby. He isn’t the first businessman to stop by your store on the way to work, but this is the first time you’ve seen this man. That alone tells you he must be new to town, but his weathered expression and tired eyes signal this situation is nothing new for him. You give him the typical greeting and he acknowledges you with a polite nod, grabbing a newspaper from the display near the door. Then he steps into the aisles, emerging shortly with a small heat-up pastry.  “Would that be all?” You ask after ringing him up. He nods, and you offer to warm his pastry in the small microwave behind the counter, to which he agrees. As you stand in silence for a moment and wait for the treat to be ready, the business man clears his throat. “Can I get a coffee as well, please?” You nod, punching the cost into the register.  “I gotta be honest, our coffee isn’t the best. Next time you should wait until you’re at work and ask your assistant to get you the expensive artisan stuff.” He chuckles. “Is it good for business to say such things to your customer?” He passes you a few dollars. “Probably not. I’m not really the business type.” Besides, your honesty-driven humor is why the customers keep coming back, you think as you hand back his change. “But you seem like you are. I’m humbled by your presence in our simple family-owned store.” “You say that like I’m a celebrity. What do you assume I do for work?” There’s a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “No clue, but the fancy suit is giving me big ideas.” You grin, handing him his styrofoam cup. “We hope to see you again soon,” you call out, just before he’s out the door. To your surprise, he’s back the next day. He gets the same order and you make note that he’s the methodical type. But your initial meeting hints at him having a good sense of humor hidden somewhere under that stoic demeanor. You’re determined to find it, determined to make him a regular customer. So, when he makes the same purchase on the third day in a row, you withhold his request for coffee for a second longer. “Name, please,” you tell him. He furrows his eyebrows. “Why would you need that?” “So I know who this coffee is for, of course.”  “It doesn't take you very long to pour the drink. Surely you'll still remember who the coffee is for after one minute.” “Sir, please. I’m only trying to adhere to company policy.” He raises his eyebrows, and his lips move to form what almost looks like a smile. “Policy? Such a policy didn’t seem to exist yesterday, or the day before.” “Right… It’s a new policy.” Now, he’s definitely smiling. “Very well. I don’t mean to interfere with you following workplace rules. The coffee is for Kento Nanami, please.” You nod, attempting to appear very serious as you scribble his name on the cup styrofoam with your half-dried sharpie. And now you know the stranger’s name. “Coffee for Kento Nanami,” you repeat back, pouring the hot liquid and handing him the cup. He nods and accepts, taking a moment to examine your sloppy handwriting. “Thank you. It does help to see my name on it. I now know it belongs to me, rather than one of the many other customers.” He gestures at the empty shop. “Of course. That’s exactly the kind of customer service we pride ourselves on here." You finish ringing up his newspaper and pastry and hold them out to him with a genuine smile. "We hope to see you again soon.”  He collects his items, returning the grin before walking out the door, and something about that last look on his face makes you certain he’ll be back. And he has come back, every day since then. (Except for Sundays. (Not counting this particular Sunday, though.)) You’ve never spoken as much as on that day, but you still pass a few words here and there. A certain sense of familiarity has always remained between you. And you still write his name on his coffee cup every day, maintaining that small tradition. What’s more is that after the second interaction, you texted your two best friends about your workplace encounter with a quote, “young but really serious looking business person who kinda gave off sugar daddy vibes?” That line immortalized him in your group chat, sparking your friends to perpetually ask for updates about the nonexistent situation between you two. (In fact, they almost decided to come visit the store so they could “coincidentally” see him, until they both remembered they're never awake before noon.)   You finish scribbling his name on the cup, and abruptly end your walk down memory lane. Even after you’ve given him his drink, he seems just as on-edge. You feel like this situation could warrant a joke about the fact that your shop’s coffee is way too disgusting for him to come all the way here on his day off and buy a cup.  But you know, from his abnormal behavior, he’s not here for the coffee. And it seems like he knows you know. After all, you didn’t do a good job of hiding how surprised you were to see him today, and your residually awkward mannerisms must speak for themselves. So, as much as you’d like to ask, you get the feeling he would’ve already explained himself if he wanted to…  And now here you both are. Separated only by the checkout counter and an imperceptible air of tension. Standing face-to-face, yet looking anywhere except at each other. Finally, you clear your throat. “Can I get you anything else?” This time he’s only marginally less startled by the sound of you speaking. He makes eye contact for a second before looking back down at the counter. “How about those flowers, please?” Crammed next to the register and racks of candies, you’ve laid out a few pathetic bundles of flowers given to you by the florist next door. Leftover snippings from unsold bouquets, he had said. One look and you were sure nobody would pay money for those things, but you weren’t going to turn down free inventory. Miraculously, it seems like you had made the right call. And Nanami’s sudden appearance at your store as a ball of nerves is finally adding up. At least, if your current guess is right: he doesn’t strike you as a guy to buy flowers for himself, so he must have gotten himself a date.  You’re not sure how you’re going to break the news to your group chat that “potential sugar daddy” is potentially taken. Also, you’re not sure if you should tell Nanami that his date won’t be impressed by a dingy leftover bouquet-thing from a convenience store. But he seems so stressed, and knowing the neighboring florist is closed today, you decide not to mention it for his mental healths’ sake. “Sure, which bouquet would you like?”  “Uh,” his eyes dart between them, expression growing somewhat frantic. “Which do you prefer? I mean, which one do you think I should get?”  You want to help him out. You really do. But the poor man isn’t giving you much to work with. You’d already decided that “None of these, dumbass! Get them a real bouquet of flowers if you want a second date!” would be too honest, all things considered. So instead you take a nice, long look at all the options and settle on the one nearest to him, which has a few brightly colored flowers. Maybe that’ll distract the recipient from the overall underwhelming-ness of the “bouquet”.  “I think this one’s the winner,” you lean over the counter to point at the best one. (“Best” is relative, for the record.) Nodding, he picks it up and places it gently on the checkout counter. In your periphery you see him rocking back and forth on his heels as you finish ringing it up. Apparently crossing the hurdle of buying the flowers wasn’t enough to calm his nerves.  “Here’s your receipt. Have a great day, we hope to see you again soon.”  Taking his items in his hands, Nanami doesn’t head for the door as expected. Instead, he stands firmly in the same spot, continuing to look around like something is on his mind.  Finally, he speaks. “Could I ask you a question? Something a bit serious?” He looks at you and your heart drops. Serious? How does he define serious? On a scale from lost car keys to double homicide, that descriptor leaves too much to the imagination. “Um, sure. What is it?” “What do you think of marriage?” You blink at him and to your amazement, he doesn’t seem to be making any sort of joke. “Huh? You mean as an institution, or…?”  “No. Well, maybe indirectly. I mean, how do you feel about it on a personal level? Do you ever wish to get married?” “Um… I’m not totally sure. I guess I’ve thought about it sometimes, but not that seriously. I haven’t ever had any reason to really think about it.” The fancy way of admitting you’ve never had a real boyfriend.  “Alright,” he sets down his coffee and adjusts his glasses. “I don’t know how to ease into this, so I’m going to be blunt and ask you a question, and I’m fully aware that it’s going to be a bit shocking.” You nod, not sure what else to do. “If it would be beneficial to the both of us, would you be willing to marry me?” Well, “shocking” is a good way to put it.  According to the multiverse theory, there exist infinite parallel universes, many of which are almost precisely the same as the one you’re in but with a few slight differences.  You’re certain that in every iteration of this current situation across all parallel dimensions, there’s not a single instance where Nanami’s question didn’t shock you to your very core. “If it would be beneficial to the both of us, would you be willing to marry me?” “... would you be willing to marry me?” “... marry me?” “Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice snaps you out of the endless void of confusion in your mind.  “Hm?”  “I asked if you’re feeling alright," he repeats. "After I asked if you'd be willing to marry me, you seemed to have entered a state of shock.” Well, now you’re sure you heard him right. “Yeah, uh… sorry. I think I kinda am in shock. I really wasn’t expecting you to ask that.”  “Right. I’m sorry, I…” he pauses for a moment, looking sheepish. “It was unfair of me to ask that so suddenly. I wanted to ask you soon, and I was afraid of losing my courage. But this wasn’t a good way to do so. I assume you have a lot of questions.”  Maybe if you were processing this situation fully, you would have questions. Currently, your brain is juggling the urge to laugh hysterically from shock, or get your phone out and text your friends about this ASAP. “Um… well, uh… why are you asking me of all people?” “Well, it’s for financial reasons that I’d like to get married as soon as possible. I’m not close with anyone romantically, so I tried to think of a person I know who could also benefit from being legally married. And…” “... and the first person you thought of was me?”  “Not the first. But the person who seemed like the best candidate was you.” “Dude, are you calling me poor?” You’re teasing him, hoping to lighten the mood, but in his state of high stress the joke goes right over his head. “No!” For the first time, you hear something other than calm monotony in his voice. “No, that wasn’t the reason at all. Truthfully, most of the women I know are already married. Or they’re my coworkers, in which case it would be unwise to ask them this favor. Then I thought of you—you’re somewhat of an acquaintance, and seemingly the best person I could ask.” He scratches the back of his neck, searching for something with his eyes. “But, I’ll admit that I took your job into account. I thought that, as someone working in a convenience store, it’s likely that you would be open to another stream of income.”  “Hey, for all you know I’m some rich kid who’s only working this job out of sheer boredom.” “Oh. Well, I suppose that could be the case,” he smiles, feigning suspicion. “Are you?” “... no.”  “Then maybe you would be willing to consider this?”  “Marriage? Marrying you for legal benefits?” He nods. “Look, I… I can’t.” Nanami looks away, suddenly appearing withdrawn. “Of course, I didn’t expect—” “I mean,” you interrupt, “I can’t answer until I know more about the entire situation. I’m still kinda in shock, but as soon as I process what you said I’m gonna have a million questions. So there’s no way I can give you an answer until you’ve given me some answers.” “Right, I understand. We need to discuss this more. Now isn’t a good time or place.” “ Exactly,” you say mischievously, glancing at the clock then back at Nanami. “Pick me up at seven, okay?” “What?” “At seven o’clock tonight, come back here and pick me up, then we can grab something to eat and figure it out.” He's frozen for a moment, confusion clouding his expression.  “So you… you want to discuss over dinner tonight?” “Yeah, of course. If we’re gonna talk about getting married, we’ve gotta do it in a more appropriate setting. Besides,” you readjust your apron with a laugh, “you didn’t really think you were gonna marry me without buying me dinner first, did you?” He smiles shyly. “Well, no. But that wasn’t the plan, anyway.” “If you say so. You’re gonna tell me all about this plan of yours tonight, okay?” “Yes. I’ll be here again at seven.” “And I’ll finish everything up by then so we can go out.” You nod your head towards the door. “You better get out of here now. Keep distracting me and we won’t get around to having dinner until midnight,” you tease. He nods and starts towards the door, then abruptly turns back. “Oh. I nearly forgot, but… um, these are for you.” He holds out the dingy bouquet of flowers, which you’d forgotten he even had, and after a second you realize he’s giving them to you. So he’d bought those flowers for you…   The irony of the gift isn’t lost on you, but before you can truly dwell on it your attention goes back to Nanami, who gives you a small nod before walking briskly out the door. You swear there’s a hint of blush across his cheeks, but the swiftness of his disappearance makes it hard to tell for sure.  Once Nanami has left, there’s not a moment to lose. There are a few orders of business you’ll have to attend to in preparation for closing shop early to get dinner with him.  * * * Inventory has been sorted and organized, shelves have been restocked, displays are touched up, and surfaces have been thoroughly cleaned, all in record time. Somewhat thanks to the fact that only one customer has shown in the past few hours, you’ve crossed off most of the stuff on your pre-dinner to-do list. You situate yourself behind the register and pull out your cell phone, preparing to do the task you’ve been most excited for all day: informing the group chat.   You: guys i have a really insane work story to tell u  You: but i’m gonna wait until ur both here to explain bc u need to hear it in real-time   You hit send and put your phone down. Truth be told, you’re sort of nervous to be telling your two best friends in the world that a near-stranger proposed to you at work. And that you didn’t immediately tell him no. But they’ve never judged you before so you can only hope that stays the same.   Hana: omggg did that drunk dude from last week show up again??    Naomi: No way, it’s still too early in the day for drunk people    Hana: oh ur right Hana: give us a hint!! did it happen today?   They answered immediately like you’d expected. That means now you have to explain, in writing, what happened today. Here goes...   You: it wasn’t the drunk dude, and it’s something that happened today You: uhh do u guys remember the businessman who comes by a lot?   Hana: OMG Hana: U MEAN THE SUGAR DADDY? Hana: AKA THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE CAPITALIST??? Hana: IS THE STORY ABOUT HIM?????   Naomi: Omg!! Is he gonna pay your college tuition? Naomi: Just do NOT sleep with him ok? No strings attached!!   You: guys!!! he’s not actually a sugar daddy!!! You: all i said was he seemed like he COULD be one You: but he’s not!!!   Naomi: Ok so you don’t have a sugar daddy Naomi: Did he ask you out?   You: kinda?   Naomi: What? How did he “kinda” ask you out?? Naomi: Just tell me he didn’t do anything creepy or I’ll be contractually obligated to end his bloodline   You: nooo no dw he wasn’t creepy   Hana: waitttt i need a mental picture Hana: what does he look like again? Hana: omg does he have instagram or anything??    You: oh god i never even thought of that but i’m gonna guess no You: but he’s kinda tall, blond, has glasses, wears a fancy suit usually, and has a serious face   Hana: oooh  Hana: the blond part is a red flag but we can work with that   Naomi: Wasn’t your ex blond?   Hana: yes Hana: and he’s the reason why blond is a red flag!!!!!!!!   Naomi: Lol that’s fair Naomi: Hold on was that the whole story? Did he ask you on a date or what?   Hana: yea spill!!!   You: ahhhh this is so weird You: like idk how to tell u guys what happened bc it’s SO wild ur not even gonna believe me You: but i swear this is what happened You: he came by work today which was kinda weird bc its a sunday and he literally only comes every day EXCEPT sunday but anyways he seemed kinda nervous and i was def acting confused to see him there, and then he bought a cup of coffee and this ugly ass bouquet of flowers that i didn’t think anyone would pay real money for, and then basically he asked me if i would be willing to marry him if it would financially benefit both of us You: oh yea and then he gave me the flowers haha You: so we’re gonna go to dinner tonight so he can explain everything bc idk what kind of financial benefits he was even talking about  You: basically i was in shock so i’m spending the rest of the day compiling my questions and then we’re gonna talk and and i’ll decide if i’ll do it or not   Hana: GIRL W H A T? Hana: UR TELLING ME U GOT ENGAGED TODAY?? Hana: TO A HOT AND RICH BUSINESS MAN???? Hana: i never wanted to be somebody else so bad in my life Hana: ur living the y/n life   Naomi: Omg you weren’t lying when you said it was a wild story Naomi: He really proposed? Just like that?   You: FIRST OF ALL i’m not engaged!! i didn’t say yes!!! You: and yea it was kinda out of nowhere and i could tell he was super nervous to ask… but dw he didn’t try to make it romantic thing or anything so it was like a business proposal haha You: idk he seems really calculated and smart so i feel like if he’s asking this kind of favor he must have really thought it through and maybe he really needs the favor? i’m interested to hear his reasoning u know You: but idk i think i should’ve just said no. like how naive am i?? i can’t just marry some random dude right??   Hana: i meannn he’s not a random dude right? Hana: u guys see each other every day   You: only for a few minutes tho You: i don’t think we’re close enough to get married…    Hana: but that’s not really what ur doing right Hana: he probably just wants u guys to sign the papers and get some tax benefits Hana: it’s not like ur gonna permanently be his trophy wife or live-in housekeeper or anything right? Hana: but even then i would have a hard time saying no to that hottie ;)   You: PLEASE u haven’t even seen him before     Naomi: Idk about the marriage part but it’s not like you’ve agreed to anything yet Naomi: May as well get a free dinner and hear the whole pitch while you’re there Naomi: But also, marrying someone for financial benefits isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever heard Naomi: Text us as soon as you get home ok?? I want to know what happens   You: ok i won’t leave out a single detail!!   Hana: u should secretly record the whole thing in ur voice memos and send it to us  Hana: NO WAIT do an instagram live and we can watch!! Hana: ACTUALLY share ur location and we’ll just show up in disguise!!!   Naomi: Please do share your location for safety purposes. I promise I’ll keep Hana from showing up in disguise.   You: haha will do You: i gotta go now i have a pile of hw to finish before i go out You: thanks for the advice!!! and pls wish me luck!!   Naomi: Good luck! Stay safe!!   Hana: good luck and if you can find an excuse to take a picture with him, send it immediately!!!!!   You set your phone down, ready to do your homework and feeling more ready for tonight. You’ll go into it with an open mind, and luckily your friends will support you no matter what you decide. Whatever the outcome, you have a feeling tonight will be a night to remember. You stare at the half-eaten plate of food in front of you, wondering if you or Nanami is going to be the first to bring up the topic of the hour. Since leaving the store you two have only exchanged pleasantries, and now you’re halfway through dinner with nothing else to talk about. Well, certainly you have something to talk about... namely, the concept of getting married for miscellaneous benefits. But neither one of you has dared to mention this. You wonder if Nanami is hesitant to be the first to speak about it, considering your reaction when he first suggested his plan. It wouldn’t be ideal for you to enter yet another state of shock in the middle of a Thai food restaurant.  You know someone's got to be the first to speak up but you've both been taking your sweet time, from the moment Nanami set foot in the shop this evening. * * * “You aren’t dressed yet?” Your eyes dart up, away from the problem you were focused on—so much so that you didn’t hear the ringing of the entrance bell, or the footsteps approaching the register (where you’ve dragged over a chair to set up a makeshift homework station).  Needless to say, you've only now noticed Nanami's presence. Time flew by, and it seems like he's here to pick you up for dinner. He’s wearing a fairly casual outfit yet his expression is as serious as usual. His eyes, however, are fixed on you in slight confusion, and you mirror the expression until having processed his question. “Oh, right,” you reply, looking down at your outfit (which you’ve been wearing all day): a dusty apron over your bright-red work shirt and brown slacks. “I wasn’t sure how fancy my clothes should be, so I thought I’d just wait until you got here and then get ready real quick.”  You two hadn’t actually specified where you’d be getting dinner, so you’d kind of hoped Nanami would figure it out. The only issue being, you weren’t sure if he’d decide to take you out for the fanciest meal of your life or if you’d stop by a McDonald’s drive-thru. You knew it would be a challenge to get ready quickly once he showed up, but you also didn’t want to be dressed for the completely wrong occasion. “Do you... bring an extra pair of clothing with you to work?” “No,” you reply with a laugh. “Well, kind of? This building is old so there are living quarters right above the shop. It’s where me and my parents live, so I can just go up there and get changed in a second.”  “I see. Whatever you wear doesn’t have to be too formal, though slightly more so than what you’re wearing now.” “What are you talking about? I’m dressed in my finest garb,” you quip, gesturing at your abominable outfit. He raises his eyebrows, looking at your clothes for a second time. “Ah… I can tell now that I’ve looked again. It would be best if you put on something less special, then. Our dinner isn’t worthy of that quality of clothes.” He turns to the clock, and you notice it’s a little earlier than seven as if he expected the delay. “If you’re done working, I’ll wait here until you’re ready. You can take your time, there’s no need to rush.”  “I won’t rush, but you’ll be surprised at how fast I can be ready.” You calmly pick up your homework and make your way to the very back of the store, opening a locked door that resides in the wall between rows of refrigerated goods. Entering the store's stairwell you call out, “Be back in a few minutes, probably!” The moment the door has safely shut behind you, your mental timer starts ticking and sheer chaos ensues. You couldn't bear to tell Nanami you’re the slowest person in the world when it comes to getting dressed. Especially considering how put-together he is, there’s no way he’d sympathize with your lack of time management and general messiness. So you’ve just told a small white lie for now by pretending to be more adult-like than you really are... the only problem is how much secret running is involved with this plan. You dash up the stairs and enter your family's apartment, tossing your stuff on the first open surface. Then you scramble into the bathroom and turn on the shower, only letting it heat up for the few seconds it takes you to rip off your work clothes, after which you bravely get in and screech as the glacial water hits your skin. After a few minutes of intensely scrubbing with soap while bending your neck at contortionist-level angles to avoid getting your hair wet, you jump out of the shower (narrowly avoiding a freak bathtub accident in the process) and try to multitask running to your room and drying off. Once in your room, you only allow yourself a few seconds to consider outfit options. You hastily decide to wear a simple dress and light jacket, which seems just as fancy as Nanami’s clothes. You make a mental note that you should try to be more prepared in the future, though you know your brain will send that thought straight to the trash.  You look in the mirror one more time before you’re back in the stairwell, smoothing your hair with your fingers as you scurry down the steps. But when you enter the shop, you ditch the franticness and stroll over to the front of the store at a leisurely pace.  Nanami is standing in the same spot as before and puts on a polite smile once he sees you, though he averts his eyes almost instantaneously. You wonder if he can tell how winded you are from all that running around, or otherwise has any suspicions that you just struggled for your life in an attempt to be on time. “You were right, you got ready very quickly.” “What can I say,” you pause to smile, discreetly trying to regulate your breathing. “Time management is my specialty.” * * * You set your fork down and take a deep breath. After clearing your throat and reminding yourself of this dinner's purpose, you decide to bite the bullet. (Besides, you’ve already taken many bites out of your dish, and at this rate you’ll both finish eating without saying a word and then go your separate ways.) “So,” you pause after breaking the silence, giving Nanami a chance to snap out of staring pensively at his utensils. “Can you take me through the whole story of why exactly you wanna get married so suddenly?” And so desperately that he’d ask a near-stranger?!  “Right. I should explain the whole situation.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose bridge, making you notice the tense look in his eyes. “I could have explained this morning, but I was hesitant to give you all the information unless you were open to the idea. I was worried you might feel pressured to say yes.”  “Don’t worry, I’d be perfectly fine with saying no. Delighted, actually.” “Perhaps I should take that as an insult.” “Perhaps,” you parrot back, and his solemn expression briefly turns into a smile.  “Well, anyway,” he continues, “the reason is almost comical. I’m currently eligible for a promotion at work, and being married would significantly increase my chances of being selected.” Your jaw metaphorically drops into your lap. “Huh? This is all because of a promotion ?” “It comes with a considerable pay increase that would allow me to retire almost a decade earlier.” “Huh.” That is a considerable pay increase. “And how exactly would being married help you get a promotion? That sounds like it’s against the law or something.” “Well, it might be unethical, but it isn’t as if it would be the primary cause. I’m fairly certain that I’m second in line for this promotion. The person who's most likely to get it is my incredibly irritating and immature coworker, who also happens to be the single most talented person in our line of work. In skill alone, he and I don’t even compare.  “The company knows all of this, of course, but I’m sure they feel obligated to promote him due to his abilities. The only way I can think to present myself as a better candidate is by boosting my overall image. If I can emphasize the concept of me being a married man and perhaps planning for a family, the hiring board might favor me. They’re very traditional, and I believe it would make a big difference to them.”  “Can’t you just say you have a girlfriend or that you’re engaged?”  “Unfortunately, the integrity of engagements and girlfriends has been ruined by that wonderful coworker of mine.” Nanami rests his forehead on his hand. “He’s had three different fianceés and brings a different woman to every work-related event.” “Oh. Wow.” “Yes, exactly. I believe the company is already dissatisfied with the image he puts out. But with his level of talent, they couldn't simply refuse him the promotion. That is, unless they have a good enough reason. If I appear to have a nice and traditional lifestyle, I think they’ll be inclined to promote me instead. On top of being decently skilled, my values will seem more in line with theirs, and the company’s as a whole.” “And just to be clear, you can’t just pretend to be married?” “I wouldn’t be able to lie about being married, with all the legalities involved. My workplace would know immediately.” “Huh. So that’s the whole reason?” “Essentially, yes. Although there’s another minor reason,” he says, looking away. “Which is...?” “Well,” he looks down for a moment, “if I’m married, they might expect less overtime.” “Huh? Overtime? Is it that bad?” “Yes. I hate working overtime but it’s deemed unacceptable to leave without cause. But if I have a wife waiting for me at home, that might be enough of a reason to leave work at a more reasonable time.” “Makes sense.” You stop for a moment, taking in his entire reasoning. “You said there’s benefits for both of us, right? So how could this help me?” “Well, we would need to maintain the appearance that we’re actually together. At least, my coworkers will need to think we’re truly married out of love if the topic ever comes up. I’ll try to avoid mentioning it unless necessary, but they occasionally come to visit me for work-related reasons and otherwise. When that happens I'll need them to think we live together like a typical couple. My apartment has a spare room and I'd like for you to stay there for as long as we’re married. I’d pay for all our groceries and utilities. You’d be my guest.” You freeze. Living with him? At no cost?  You’re still living with your parents in the tiny apartment above the convenience store, which you’ve lived in since birth. But ever since turning eighteen you’ve been pitching in with utilities and buying your own groceries. You can’t afford to move out, but even your current situation is pricey. Plus, after you decided to go back to college, costs just keep adding up. Staying someplace completely free would be…  “That would be helpful,” you squeak out. “And how long do you think we’ll need to be married?” “It all depends on when and if I get the promotion. If it ends up going to my coworker we can quietly annul the marriage thereafter. But if I do get the promotion, it would be best to remain married until all the details are smoothed out, after which we can stage an amicable split. But in terms of the timeline, it might range anywhere from a few months to an entire year.” You gulp. Being fake-married and living together for a year, potentially?  “Also,” Nanami continues, “Speaking of benefits. If health insurance is of interest to you, we could merge our finances for the duration of our marriage. This would allow us to join the family healthcare plan through my workplace, which offers decent prices.” “Really? I can get health insurance? That’s perfect, actually!” “Yes, although it would be a bit complicated to return our finances to normal in the future, so it wouldn't be ideal if you only need regular coverage. Is there a particular reason you’d like to be on it?” “Oh, if it’s gonna be hard to undo, we can forget about it.” “But you had a reason?” “Well, yeah, there’s just this surgery I’ve been putting off. It’ll be fine though.” Nanami’s head snaps towards you, mouth slightly agape. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? It sounded like you said you need surgery.” “I mean, I don’t need it,” you say. “But technically if I went up to a surgeon right now they wouldn’t turn me away.” His forehead creases as his eyes frantically scan your face. “Your nonchalance is frightening me. Is this a joke? Do you need surgery?” “Stop saying the word ‘need.’ It’s sooo minor. My insurance wouldn’t even cover it, so I just decided not to,” you shrug. “If we get married, we’ll merge our finances and you’ll join my insurance.” “But you said it’s complicated!” “Non-negotiable. We’ll join my company’s family healthcare plan, and you’ll have your surgery before you drop dead right in front of me. I don't want to be put in prison for third-degree murder.” “It’s just a hernia. Those are totally harmless! Plus, the doctors said I’ve had it since birth—that’s twenty-two years! I’ve grown attached to it being there, honestly.” “You could consider this surgery my wedding gift to you.” He takes a sip of water to hide his mischievous smile. “How romantic.” “I have a knack for these kinds of things.” “It’s why I’m marrying you,” you tease, clasping your hands with faux adoration. “Is that your way of saying you agree?” You look away from him, trying desperately to think logically about this all. “Well… honestly, it would be really convenient for me. Moving in with you would let me save up money for stuff like school or getting my own place. And the surgery would be nice, I guess,” you think out loud. “But I’d like to make a request for one additional form of compensation, please.” “What would that be?” “When I graduate, can you help me get a position at your company?” His expression grows confused. “As an unpaid intern?” “No, of course not! I’d like to work in the accounting department.” “Accounting? You would need some background in the field in order to be hired, such as a related degree or certifications.” “Well, duh. I’m majoring in accounting right now, so I’ll graduate with an accounting degree in a couple of years!”  “Oh. I wasn't aware.” From the look on his face, you can tell he truly means it. You'd mentioned in passing that you're taking college classes but never did the subject of your studies come up in those brief conversations during his daily coffee-and-pastries run. “An internship is probably my best bet right now, but I think I could at least score a paid one. Especially with some help…” you give him an innocent smile. “So, could you get me a spot?” “Well, it may be considered nepotism if I personally tried to secure you a role while we’re married. But I can try to introduce you to my superiors and also put in good word. If you make a good impression with them it would go a very long way.” “Nepotism would be fine by me, but I’ll settle for networking.” “You can excuse nepotism? Aren’t accountants supposed to care about ethics?” “Says the guy working at a company that’s gonna promote him for being married!” “It’s not only because I’m married. Besides, I’m not married yet,” he adds. “Take some time to consider it and let me know once you’ve reached a decision.” You take a deep breath. He’s right; you need to think about this long and hard. It’s not a decision to be made lightly, after all. Legal marriage is a serious thing, even in this unconventional situation. You should only give him an answer after taking the time to fully consider your options and their respective repercussions. “Alright, I’ll do it,” you blurt out.  Whenever your childhood self daydreamed about your future wedding, you imagined a festive gathering with all your closest friends and family to celebrate your union with the love of your life. Other details, like a white dress and a big cake, would be like the cherry on top. Needless to say, your mental picture definitely didn’t consist of marrying one of your customers in a civil ceremony, two weeks after he proposed to you in the middle of work. But here you are, on your way to city hall after using coffee to bribe your friend into giving you a ride.  Weirdly enough, you did manage to get the white dress. “Seriously, that dress looks amazing on you! I’m so glad I finally decided to clean out my closet this weekend,” Hana says, one hand on the steering wheel while the other brings her iced coffee to her mouth.  “Yeah, especially considering you haven’t cleaned your closet in years,” you mutter. You don’t believe Hana’s story that she just so happened to sort through her clothes this weekend and just so happened to find a white dress in the depths of her closet, one that just so happened to be in your size and have the tag still on. But she’s sworn up and down that it’s all just a happy coincidence. You have to admit it’s perfect for the occasion: it’s shorter than a traditional wedding dress so you don't feel overdressed, but the delicate white fabric still gives it a bridal feel.  “My sudden urge to clean out all my clothes was just very well-timed. When Nanami sees you in that dress he’s gonna be so glad he asked you of all people to marry him. He might even fall in love with you on the spot,” Hana adds. “He’s not gonna think that. And do you realize that’s not the goal here?” “It doesn’t even have to be the goal. It’s gonna happen, I swear.” “We’ve seen each other every day for the past six months, why would he suddenly fall in love with me now just because I put on a white dress?” Hana shrugs, keeping her eyes towards the road. “I dunno, maybe it’ll be a Cinderella moment or something. If I look in your direction again, I might even fall in love with you! The dress is magic,” she giggles. “Hey, you shouldn’t joke about falling in love with me,” you chastise. “I’m about to be a married woman.” “Speaking of which—” she turns into a parking lot— “I’m pretty sure we’re here.” You gulp, looking down at the paperwork in your hands. Is this really happening?  Ever since you spontaneously agreed to marriage during that dinner, things have been a blur. You and Nanami exchanged phone numbers and he was able to reach out and tell you what legal papers to send over, see what days you were free, and constantly check that you were still okay with marrying him. You felt confident before, but maybe the weight of your decision hadn’t fully sunken in yet.  It’s been two weeks since the initial proposal, and now you’re here at the courthouse on your day off from work. You haven’t even told your parents you’re getting married—you’re not sure if you will, since it's not a traditional sort of marriage in the slightest. Besides, it's already going to be strange to tell them you’re planning on moving out in a few weeks’ time.  Really, you can’t even comprehend it. You’re moving out soon? You’re moments away from being legally wedded? All of this, with a near-stranger? Taking a steadying breath, you hug Hana and step out of the car. You made this decision and could’ve changed your mind if that was what you wanted. Deep down, you know you don’t have any regrets. Bring it on.  * * * Standing outside the ornate entrance to the city hall building, you double-check the time on your phone. There’s no way Nanami is late, but your phone screen shows it’s two minutes past the designated meeting time.  There’s a tap on your shoulder and you spin around, letting out a sigh of relief to be seeing Nanami. “Oh, thank God,” you exclaim. “I thought I was being left at the altar.”  “Left at the altar?” Nanami gives you an odd look. “This is a civil ceremony, so there isn’t any altar.”  “Fine then,” you narrow your eyes at him jokingly. “I thought I was being left at the door to the city hall building. Either way, I’m glad I was wrong.”  He smiles, then looks down at his watch. “Sorry I’m late, the meeting with the registrar went longer than expected.” He glances at the papers in your hand. “Do you have all the legal documents?” You nod. “And did you bring the marriage license?”  He nods as well, holding up a manila folder. “Well then,” Nanami clears his throat, “if we’re both ready, the officiant can see us now.”  “Right,” you whisper. Your brain keeps toggling between acceptance and disbelief.  “You can still change your mind. We aren’t married yet. And even then, annulments exist.” You know he’s trying to be reassuring, and it really does make you feel better, but the fact that such a bleak statement is exactly what you want to hear makes it simultaneously funny. “Why would I change my mind? This is the happiest day of my life. I’ve always dreamed of my wedding day,” you joke, moving to stand next to him and linking your arm with his. You’re about to be married, after all. This is the least you could do to seem romantically involved. “And when you dreamed of your wedding, is this what you envisioned?” He asks, and begins guiding you two into the courthouse. Your heart thumps in your chest and you’re not sure if it’s from being in close proximity to Nanami or the fact that you’re about to be legally married. Either would be reasonable. “Yup. It’s all exactly what I imagined. A big venue, fancy outfits, marrying an acquaintance for financial benefits…” you trail off, taking a closer look at Nanami’s clothes. “Speaking of fancy outfits, I can’t believe you’re wearing one of your cool work suits! Now I feel special.”  “I thought it would be best to dress for the occasion,” he says, and hearing him say the ‘m' word sends a jolt through you. “I noticed your dress as well. The color is a nice touch, and it suits you.” He immediately clears his throat. “But I have to admit, I’d feel more special if you were wearing your work clothes, considering those are your ‘finest garb’.”  You laugh, having nearly forgotten your joke from weeks ago. “I’m saving that one for a different occasion. Our honeymoon, maybe.” Before either of you can dwell on that comment, you’ve arrived at the reception area and Nanami begins speaking with an employee. A feeling of total shock clouds your mind and you enter a haze, allowing Nanami to guide you wherever you’re supposed to go. Upon exiting your altered state you find yourselves in a small room, standing across from one another with a man by your side. You wonder if he’s the officiant and this question is answered when he speaks. “Please join hands and we’ll begin the vows,” the man—officiant—smiles, looking between you two. You stare forward at Nanami, stricken with fear, wondering which of you is going to initiate the hand-holding. For a couple who’s about to be married this shouldn’t be a big deal—in fact, for any set of adults this wouldn’t be a big deal in the slightest. But you have a strange feeling of shyness at the thought of holding hands with Nanami, especially in front of another person. Why does such a small gesture seem like it would be so personal? Your arms stay frozen at your side, and you try commanding them to lift up and meet his, but they won’t budge. It’s Nanami who makes the first move, reaching out to bring your hands toward him. He pulls them gently from your side with such a light grasp that you barely feel it. His hands cradle yours like a question, and in his eyes is an inquisitive look. They ask you what he can't say out loud: “Are you sure you still want to do this?” You can’t answer verbally, so you reaffirm by fully wrapping your hand around his, holding his hand like you’ve done it a thousand times before. For a fleeting second it feels as if you have. It’s strange how quickly your palms meld together like two pieces falling into place. You give him a quick smile, but can’t quite bear to meet his eyes, and turn to the officiant who clears his throat to begin guiding you through the vows. The words pour out of the officiant's mouth. Some are for you to repeat, some are for Nanami to repeat, and some are meant for both of you to listen to. It’s almost too easy for your mind to wander, even as you’re reciting lines you’ve been told to say. Along with what’s being spoken, every detail around you seems to beg for your attention. You hear the officiant’s wide smile through his voice and how each of his words practically oozes happiness. You notice Nanami’s thumb absentmindedly grazing the side of your hand, and you wonder if it's in an attempt to soothe you or himself. You also see a brief flash of uncertainty in Nanami’s eyes each time the officiant asks you to repeat a vow, as if he’s scared you might say no. It seems silly to you, though you also notice how every time the officiant directs a question at Nanami, you unintentionally squeeze his hand a little tighter. Eventually it seems to be nearing the end. Your heart throbs wildly when Nanami says your name in his final set of vows, promising to be yours forever. There’s even a dropping sensation in your stomach when you hear that, despite knowing there isn’t any romantic undercurrent to his words. You repeat your final set of vows as well, reciting Nanami’s full name with the promise to be forever true, and his eyes shyly falter to your hands. Finally, the officiant looks at you both with sheer contentment, his smile somehow even wider. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!” For a split second you feel like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. A kiss? How did you forget you were supposed to kiss? Holding hands was intimidating enough, and now you’re supposed to make out in front of some random old guy? You shove the feeling aside and put on a brave face. You aren’t going to allow yourself to lose your cool like you had about the hand-holding. You've got to be mature about this. If you could hold hands for a half-hour, you can kiss him for half a second. Looking at Nanami with determination, you realize something is terribly off. To an outsider he'd probably appear to be completely calm, but you realize how his hands have tensed in yours, the stiffness in his shoulders, and the slight wideness of his eyes. By normal person standards he looks cool as a cucumber, but by Nanami standards, this is a complete freakout.  So, he also must’ve forgotten that you have to kiss at the end of the vows. And unfortunately, he didn’t recover as quickly as you did. You want to give him a moment to gather himself but if you wait any longer the officiant is bound to get suspicious—you need a way for this kiss to happen ASAP.  You use the hand-holding to pull him in closer to you, and despite seeming dazed he steps forward. Now you're inches apart and it feels like your heart might go into overdrive before you can seal the deal. To close the remaining gap you press forward on your toes, giving yourself the height boost you need to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Leaning into him like you’re giving him a small hug, you bring your lips towards his ear to say a few words of encouragement.  “We’re almost married,” you whisper. In case the officiant can still hear you, this seems like the least suspicious way to subtly remind him that that the kiss will only last a moment and then the hard part will be over. After one little kiss, the plan is in full swing. You pull away from the pseudo-hug and your eyes scan his face for any traces of shock. He seems to have calmed down, and now instead there’s a look of hesitance across his eyes. Once again it seems like he’s reluctant to make the first move, like he’s worried that you’ve changed your mind. You want to scream at the top of your lungs, “I just stood here for half an hour and stared deeply into your eyes while reciting vows about my never-ending love for you! Does it really seem like a kiss is where I’m gonna draw the line?” But given the circumstances, you can’t exactly say that. So, you settle for the next best thing: tilting your head back, you bravely look into his eyes and press your lips against his.  Your eyes flutter shut and your brain buzzes with mental notes of how soft his lips are, and the way his hands have clasped around yours tighter than before, and the sudden warmth from your bodies leaning together so close.  A small voice in the back of your mind says you should stay here forever but after a few seconds you break away, leaning back again to look at Nanami. He has the same straight-faced expression as usual, but a bright red color has gathered on his cheeks and his eyes refuse to meet yours. You’re almost tempted to poke fun at him but your face feels hot as well.  The officiant says a few more words, and you and Nanami politely nod, as if neither of you can comprehend spoken language after what just happened. You’re ushered out the door and make your way out of the building, side by side. As you walk, Nanami’s hand brushes against yours by chance. Your skin tingles and without fully realizing it, your hand grabs hold of it once again.  Strangely enough, he allows your fingers to weave into his. Maybe you two subconsciously need the comfort right now, you think. Both of you continue walking as if nothing is out of the ordinary, neither of you saying a word, and neither of you feeling any need to fill the comforting silence that’s settled between you. You trudge into Nanami’s apartment, which is an exceptionally difficult process due to the boxes stacked on your arms.  “Are there any more boxes to bring up?” Nanami’s voice rings out from elsewhere in the apartment—probably the kitchen or the living room, where he’s been organizing the boxes of your household goods. “Yeah, only one,” you shout. Walking slowly down the hallway, you eventually reach the guest room and attempt to kick open the door, a bold move for an unathletic person like yourself. “I grabbed as many as I could, but one’s still left.” “You should’ve waited for me to help you,” Nanami says, the sound of approaching footsteps indicating that he's coming to help. In the meantime, you let out a small screech as boxes begin slipping. “It’s okay, I got them,” you say breathlessly, and Nanami appears just in time to open the guest room door for you and take one of the boxes from your arms. Whispering a winded thanks, you both shuffle past all the other boxes and place the new ones on any open space you can find on the floor. “I’ll go and bring the last one. You can wait here.” Nanami leaves the room before you can protest, which you’re secretly grateful for since you’re feeling too tired to offer to come. It’s a relief that almost everything’s been unloaded. You’d underestimated how long it would take for two people to move one room’s worth of boxes. Specifically, for the two of you to go back-and-forth from the parking garage (where Nanami's car, your cost-effective substitute for a moving truck, has been parked with all your stuff) to Nanami’s top-floor apartment, carrying heavy boxes all the while. Of course, you could've asked your friends to come and help you move in, or even your parents. But, things have been ever-so-slightly awkward between you and Nanami ever since the wedding ceremony, and you got the feeling that having others around would make it weirder. So, the two of you took it upon yourselves to try and move you into Nanami’s apartment all by yourselves, in one afternoon, exactly one week after the wedding ceremony: leaving just enough time for you to pack everything and barely any to process the fact of leaving your childhood home, possibly for good. Nanami walks into the room with the last box and sets it down with a thud that snaps you back into reality. Looking around the room, there’s now only one more box than a few moments ago, but it feels wildly different knowing that all your stuff is officially in here, waiting. “It seems like that was everything,” he says. “I'm going to look for some scissors so we can begin unpacking.”  Nanami disappears into the apartment, leaving you alone in the room that will eventually be yours.  At the moment, it still looks empty and impersonal. The bed and walls have been stripped of any embellishments, awaiting you to unpack. You only hope that after filling this room with your things, the sense of familiarity and belonging of one’s own bedroom will follow. You hope that this space can soon feel like yourself. It dawns on you that Nanami’s search for scissors is taking strangely long, and you wonder if he’s having trouble finding them. You step outside the guest room, intent on helping him look, but something across the hallway grabs your attention. The apartment door has been left open, probably because Nanami’s hands were too occupied with the box for him to shut it. In any case, you quickly notice that a man is standing at the door. At first you’re afraid this is a break-in, but you realize he could easily get in without any breaking. Instead, he simply seems to be waiting, since he's motionless and leaning against the doorframe (which somehow looks small in comparison to him). He's probably a neighbor or a friend of Nanami's, not a criminal. Unsure of what to do, it seems easiest to continue staring from a distance. But he quickly spots you and waves after a few seconds of awkward eye contact. There’s no doubt in your mind that you’ve never seen this person before, and you wish Nanami would show up and attend to him, or that he’d just go away. Neither of your wishes come true, and it seems like he’s planning to stick around and wait, probably until Nanami comes. Since you’ve both noticed each other, you decide the only socially acceptable thing would be to go over and talk to him.  You take a better look at his appearance as you walk up to him. A pair of sunglasses are perched on his nose, though they hardly cover his bright blue eyes. Combined with his silvery hair and an overall smug expression, you wonder if he’s a model. Though you immediately feel embarrassed about making that assumption and vow never to reveal that to anyone. “Hi,” you say as you stop right in front of him, stiff with nerves. “Can I help you?” “Yeah,” the man replies, “I’m looking for Kento Nanami. He still lives here, right?” He looks over your shoulder as if to see if the apartment still shows any traces of Nanami.  “Yep.” “Right,” he nods. “Just checking.”  There’s a pause after that. “Is he home?” The man adds. “Yeah. He’s just looking for something right now, but I’m sure he’ll be here in a second.” “Cool.” The man leans back and forth on his heels, his hands jammed in his pockets. There’s another pause, but each second of silence feels so excruciatingly awkward that you can’t bear to keep quiet. “So,” you choke out, “Are you one of his friends?” “Coworker, actually. But we’re close friends, too.”  “Oh, it’s nice to meet you, then.” How strange, Nanami never mentioned a friend-coworker. “Are you also his friend or something?” The man asks. “Well, um…” Nanami’s coworkers are supposed to think you two are married, but the words refuse to leave your mouth. “Uh, so we’re… ”  Footsteps approach from inside the apartment, and the man looks past your shoulder with a smile. Your mouth snaps shut and a sense of calm washes over you. Perfect timing. “Gojo,” Nanami says from right behind you. You don't recognize that name. “I wasn’t expecting you to come over.”  “Of course not! I’m here as a surprise.”  “As usual.” “I came to drop off those papers you asked me to review on Friday,” the man—Gojo—holds out a manila folder with a grin. “You said you needed them ASAP, so I knew I shouldn’t wait a whole weekend to get them back to you.” “How considerate,” Nanami replies dryly, reaching over your shoulder to accept the papers. “Although, when I said I needed them as soon as possible, I was intending for you to get them back to me at the end of the same day.” Nanami is as serious as usual, and it really contrasts Gojo's behavior. “Well, they’re here now, and as usual they’ve been revised to perfection.” “I trust that they have. I’ll see you on Monday,” Nanami says, pushing the door shut. “Hold on.” Gojo plants his foot in the doorframe. “Aren't you going to introduce us?” He nods his head towards you, and you wonder if he can sense your fear. You usually don’t get shy around strangers, but the stakes are high since it’s a person who needs to think you two are a couple, and you feel like anything you say will be wrong.  “Alright,” Nanami lets out an audible breath and points to Gojo. “This is Satoru Gojo, my coworker. The one I mentioned as being very skilled.”  Nanami clears his throat, giving you a moment to remember that this is the coworker he had told you all about—more specifically, who he described as childish and irritating. From what he's said, Nanami must hate this guy! Taking another look at the tall man, with his air of flippancy, you’re starting to see how Nanami’s description would be accurate. He seems like a person who doesn’t take things too seriously, based on the unexpected appearance and ignoring deadlines. You wonder how he’s apparently so good at his job. And, why he'd say Nanami is his best friend since the feeling doesn't seem mutual. “And this,” Nanami continues, gesturing towards you, “is my wife.” Gojo’s smugness seems to have its limits—his laid-back expression is quickly replaced by wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Nanami says your name as well, but Gojo seems more focused on the word that came beforehand. “Huh? Wife?” Gojo sputters. “You’re joking, right? You aren’t even dating anyone!” Gojo laughs hysterically and his eyes dart between you and Nanami, but you both stand rigid and Gojo’s face drops. “Wait. This… isn’t a joke?” You shake your head and, in an attempt to provide some kind of proof, meekly step closer to Nanami. It would probably help your case to add in hand-holding or an arm around a shoulder, but based on past experience, it would likely seem suspiciously nervous or clumsy. “Nanami, please…” Gojo looks, for some reason, deeply upset. “Why have you never mentioned her existence? I thought we’re best friends!” Gojo’s claim confuses you, considering what Nanami said about him.  “I suppose it never came up,” Nanami says. “What the hell? You could have brought it up!” Gojo turns away dramatically, his eyes screwing shut. “Just tell me… how long? How long has this been a thing?” You can hardly believe the melodrama. Are they enemies, coworkers, friends, or former lovers?  “We were married last weekend after being together for about six months,” Nanami replies quickly. So quickly, it's clear he must’ve prepared that answer ahead of time. Making a mental note of the numbers, you almost don’t notice the way Gojo’s eyes widen even more. “Wow. I… don’t know what you say.” For a moment he's very still, apart from shaking his head. You anticipate he might even shed a few tears. Instead, to your shock, he lets out a chuckle.  “Don’t get me wrong, Nanami, I’m heartbroken that you kept this a secret until now,” Gojo says. “But I wouldn’t expect anything different from you. I forgive you for betraying me by keeping this from me. And I have to say, I’m proud of you.” He places a hand over his heart and looks between you two fondly. You’re still reeling from all his mood swings and the impressiveness of that impromptu speech. “I’m glad to hear that,” Nanami says, “But we need to get going. She’s moving in today so there’s a lot of unpacking to be done.” “Whaaat? Moving in today, a week after your wedding?”  You freeze. It hadn’t exactly crossed your mind how strange that might seem to someone who thinks this marriage is real. Is your secret going to be found out already? “You’re more of a prude than I thought, Nanami,” Gojo continues. “Though I know you've always been shy around women. But hey, look at you now,” he pokes Nanami with his elbow, to which he receives no response. You want to laugh but neither of you speaks, content with allowing Gojo to believe his own explanation and hopefully leaving you two alone. “Well,” Gojo breaks the silence once again, smiling at Nanami, “Are you going to invite me inside?”   “No.” “Oh. Alright then.” Gojo takes a step backwards. “I'll leave you newlyweds alone now, to unpack. Or whatever else.” He playfully punches Nanami’s arm, but gets no reaction. “I’ll see you again soon, hopefully,” he says to you with a wave that you’re too stunned to return. “And I’ll see you at work,” he tells Nanami.  Gojo turns around and hums gleefully as he walks back down the apartment corridor. Nanami shuts the door quickly, and neither one of you dares to utter another word until all signs of Gojo’s presence are gone. “So,” you say, turning to Nanami, “That’s the coworker you told me about, the one you don’t like?” “Gojo? I don’t dislike him,” Nanami says. He even has the audacity to look surprised at your question.  “Huh? But isn’t he the one you said is immature and irresponsible?” “That would be him, yes.” “And you're saying you don't hate him?”  “Yes. Those words weren’t meant as an insult. It was simply a description.”   “You're kidding,” You laugh. “It doesn’t seem like you think too highly of him.”  “I mean, I consider him a friend, but I don’t necessarily respect him. He has irritating habits and a strange personality. But still, he’s clever when he needs to be. And I find him funny at times. Though I’m usually laughing at him…” Nanami trails off, and you can tell he has trouble putting it into words.  “Okay… so, what you're saying is… you've got your differences, but you’re still good friends?”  “Yes, exactly. We've known each other for a long time and he’s like family to me. We don’t always get along, but still, we’re quite close.”  “Okay, that's fair. But you didn’t seem that happy about him being here,” you point out.  “I don’t want him to have poor habits like tardiness and putting off his responsibilities. Not to mention, invading people’s privacy.” Somehow, it does make sense. You misread Nanami's natural brevity as being hostile. But rather, it seems that Nanami is critical of Gojo in a brotherly way, wanting him to be more disciplined for his own sake.  “In any case,” Nanami continues, “I'm sorry if his sense of humor was disturbing. He has a tendency to make himself a spectacle for the sake of a joke, which can be alarming to bystanders.” “It’s alright,” you assure him. Knowing that Gojo was being dramatic on purpose is sort of a relief, and you’d be worried about his mental state otherwise. “It was kinda entertaining, actually.” “Don’t ever tell that to Gojo. We don’t want to encourage that sort of behavior.” You laugh, almost wishing for another chance to see those two interact. Knowing there are no hard feelings, you find their dynamic really funny.  "Well, anyway," Nanami says, looks down at his watch. “It’s getting late. Do you want me to help you unpack?” You shake your head. You'd rather he didn't witness your indecisiveness about how you’re going to arrange every single one of your belongings. Plus, you don’t want him to be there when you start unpacking your undergarments…  “I think I can handle it by myself,” you say. “But I’ll let you know if I need help,” you add so that he doesn’t think you’re just being polite.  “Okay. Since it’s already getting late, I can make us dinner. Are you hungry?” You nod. Once again, you’re too tired to feign politeness. After the day’s work, you’re famished. Plus, you won’t deny that you’re impressed at the offer, excited to have a chance to try Nanami’s cooking. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready.” Nanami walks towards the kitchen and you head into the guest room, shutting the door behind you. In the privacy of the room, you sprawl across the barren bed and shut your eyes. You think of your stuff in the boxes, and all the ways you can arrange them to fit the room. Your mind wanders to the rest of the apartment, and the boxes waiting in the living room and kitchen, the contents of which will be mixed in with Nanami’s stuff. You then think of Nanami himself, pacing around the kitchen and making a meal for both of you. Imagining it isn’t enough, and you wish you could see the scene unfold with your own eyes. But the mental picture puts a smile on your face, along with the realization that this is now your life: you and Nanami, together in this shared space. You’ll continue living your separate lives, but it’ll still be done somewhat together.  And, after the day’s events and forced proximity due to moving in, you can sense that any residual awkwardness from the wedding ceremony is slipping away. Whatever lies ahead, you and Nanami can brave it together as acquaintances. Although, that label doesn’t seem quite right anymore. You’ve become much more than acquaintances, you now notice. But what, exactly?  Friends, you conclude, after thinking long and hard. That’s what you are now. It must be, anyway. You doubt that any other label could work. The knock on your door comes at just the right time. You’ve finished making your bed with clean sheets and fluffy blankets (meaning you now have to fight the urge to flop down and go straight to sleep). You’ve also unpacked most of the things that were once set around in your room in your old house—stuff like picture frames, nail polish bottles, and childhood stuffed animals. Although your clothes are still packed away, the room is coming together and you’re happy enough with the progress to call it a night. You open the door to Nanami telling you dinner is ready. The smell of spices had already begun wafting into your room, and your stomach had never been so grateful for dinnertime to arrive. The aroma grows stronger as you follow him towards the kitchen, where there are two plates of steaming food set on the table, and you can hardly stop yourself from drooling at the sight. This is probably one of the best meals you’ve ever had, and you haven’t even tasted it yet. One bite confirms these suspicions. Nanami sits across from you and digs in as well, but somehow his reaction to the food is total apathy. Is he unaware of the quality of food he’s eating? “Nanami, this is amazing. I forgot food could taste this good.”  “I’m glad you like it. I was rushing a bit, so it’s not as good as usual. Could be better.” “BETTER?” You shout, even though Nanami is barely an arm’s length away from you. Quickly you clear your throat, but the reputational damage has been done. “Sorry. It’s just a lot better than my cooking usually is.” “Do you cook often?” “Not if I can help it. I’m a terrible chef.” You usually stick to the holy trinity of effortless meals: take-out, instant ramen, and cereal. “I’m not a great chef either. I just follow a recipe until I’ve made it enough times to have memorized all the steps.” “It’s not the cooking that’s a problem,” you admit. “But I have some sort of curse. I’ve never been able to use a stove without starting a minor kitchen fire.” Nanami looks up at you, concerned.  “Well, okay, that’s not totally true,” you add. “One time it was a major kitchen fire. And I was using the oven.” Nanami is now fully staring. You wonder if he thinks his kitchen is doomed to having the same fate. “But don’t worry,” you quickly say, “I wasn’t planning on cooking in your kitchen. I know plenty of fire-free recipes. Plus, fast food exists. Your kitchen is completely safe.” There’s a pause, and you wonder if Nanami is thinking of ways to kindly kick you out. “You know, I can continue to cook for us both,” Nanami says. “It isn’t difficult to double the recipes I typically make.” “No way!” You say. “I already live in your house and I’m gonna be eating your groceries. That’d be too much.” “Not really,” he says. “I’m only trying to pay off my end of the bargain. In case you forgot, I asked you to be legally married to me for a year. I think it's accurate to say I'm indebted.” “But I haven’t done anything yet. You’re doing a ton of stuff to help me out and I’m just sitting around. It feels like I’m the one that owes you. ” “That’s not true. Our agreement simply doesn’t require much active participation on your end.” “Yeah, exactly,” you say. “All the stuff on your end of the deal is actively doing me favors. I already know I’m gonna come out of this deal being better off than I was before. But we don’t know if it’s even gonna help you out in the way you need, and I don’t wanna sit around and hope it does. Please, let me help now .”  You’re dancing around verbalizing your fears: Nanami’s already done so much for you, to make up for the fact that you’ve agreed to marry him, but he might not get the promotion and then the marriage would have been useless to him. If the plan fails, all the ways Nanami has helped you won’t magically disappear, meanwhile he will have gotten nothing out of a year-long agreement. “Let’s make a deal,” you say with a sweet, and hopefully convincing smile. “You make food for both of us, and I’ll do the dishes.” Nanami blinks at you. “Is this the only way you’d let me cook for you?” “Yes.” “Fine then, we have a deal. But only for fear of arson, not because you owe me anything.” “Great! The deal is set. I’ll start tonight.” “How about a small adjustment,” Nanami says. “I’ll help with the dishes tonight. We’re both tired, and it’ll be done sooner if we split the work.” You wonder if this is some sort of trick you can’t detect, but there’s no denying your aching feet and tired eyes. It seems like a genuine suggestion, and you decide to take him up on the offer. Content, you both finish the rest of your meal while making simple conversation about anything that comes to mind. You take turns talking until both your plates are empty, and at a natural lull in the conversation, you start getting up to gather the dishes. But Nanami insists on clearing the table himself and asks you to wait at the table until he’s done. When the table is empty he returns and sits back down. “I have a gift for you,” Nanami says abruptly. You give him a strange look, hoping it subtly conveys the confusion you feel since your birthday isn’t anytime soon. “And I just want to say," he continues, "that it’s sort of a necessary gift to give you in the context of our agreement, so you shouldn’t be worried that you’re indebted to me now.” Before you can contemplate those words too much, he places a small black box on the table and slides it in your direction. He’s averted his eyes now and seems to nervously fiddle with his hands. You open it with a tentative click and find something small and shiny inside. “A ring?!” You exclaim. It’s not much of a question, though, because the object in front of you is clearly an engagement ring. Maybe your friends were right to call him a sugar daddy. But especially after the conversation you just had, you feel guilty that he got you this. “Oh my god, Nanami. Please don’t tell me this was expensive.”  Nanami shakes his head. “One of my old friends is a jeweler, so I was able to convince him to sell to me at a discount price.” “You’re truly a good businessman,” you laugh. “I would’ve called it manipulation, but I certainly prefer your description,” he smiles, and there’s a small pause while you process the moment. “Do you like it?” You look back down at the ring, which you can hardly believe is real and currently in your hands. And after taking a closer look, you have trouble tearing your eyes away from it.  “It’s the prettiest ring I’ve ever seen,” you admit. “And I swear I’m not just saying that to be nice. It’s exactly the kind of ring I would’ve picked out myself.” You grow suspicious the more you speak. How did Nanami manage to pick your ideal ring? “It's probably because I asked your friend for help.”  “Huh?” Your head snaps up—suddenly it’s not so hard to look away from the ring, and your eyes widen at Nanami.  “I reached out to your friend about it. The energetic one… I think her name is Hana.” “Hana? Since when do you and Hana know each other?” In your mind, Nanami and Hana exist in two separate spheres of your life. The thought of them interacting is impossible to comprehend.  “You gave me her email address before the wedding ceremony,” he says.  “Oh, that’s right.” Now that he’s mentioned it, you remember that he needed it to send her a parking permit for city hall. You never would’ve guessed he’d use it for anything else. “I wanted to give you the ring as a surprise, mostly so you wouldn’t refuse out of politeness. But I contacted your friend for advice, to ask if she thought you would like that type of gift. She became very excited and helped me quite a bit.” “I don’t know what’s more of a shock, the fact that you guys have talked to each other before, or the fact that Hana never mentioned anything at all!” In spite of her many talents, Hana is notoriously bad at keeping secrets. “She was very adamant about this being a surprise. She would constantly tell me that you didn’t suspect anything.” “Yeah, no kidding. She didn’t even ask me about rings, so I don’t know how you managed to find something so perfect.” “Actually, she referred me to a photo-sharing website where you have a profile. It’s called ‘Pinteresting’, I believe.” You choke out a laugh. "Pinterest?" You ask, and Nanami nods, looking serious. “Hana helped me find your account, and there I saw a photo collage you had made entirely of rings.” “Oh, wow,” you say, getting a bit shy and cursing your past self for making so many unnecessary Pinterest boards that Nanani might have seen during his search. “And there were a lot of pictures on there?” “Yes, it was a bit like a photo album, and all the pictures were practically identical. It seemed a bit redundant, but it made it easy to discern what kind of ring you like.” You lean back in your chair, a little speechless. “I don’t even know what to say except thank you. I would be going off on you right now for buying me something, but you already told me not to so I’ll spare you out of gratitude.” He laughs, and you jokingly roll your eyes at him.  “Hey, are you gonna have a ring too?” Nanami nods, pulling something out of his pocket. He places his hand on the table and you can see a ring on his finger now, in a color resembling your own.  “It was made with the same metal as yours, so they match,” he explains. Following his action, you put your ring on your finger as well. Surprisingly, you don’t feel magically transformed by the wondrous power of wearing an engagement ring. If anything, the happiest part of this evening was the effort put into the surprise, and Nanami’s childlike wonder towards the Pinterest app. But the ring is pretty nice too, you must admit. “We should probably do the dishes now,” you say, getting up from the table. Nanami nods and gets up as well, leading you to the kitchen sink. There’s a small amount to wash since it was only the two of you, and you force Nanami to take drying duty so you can do the hard work of scrubbing the dishes. You each take off your rings beforehand, setting them side-by-side on the counter. It’s so picturesque, you’re reminded of Pinterest all over again. Those rings stay in the corner of your eyes the whole time you do the dishes. Is this what it’s like to be married, you wonder? Eating dinner together, washing the dishes side-by-side… all normal things, but being married adds a layer of intimacy to it, you assume. One would never suspect any romance in such regular things until having the experience of doing it with someone else. Right now, it feels like you’re beginning to understand. Once the last dish has been dried and put away, you’re sure your legs are going to give out. It’s a wonder that Nanami offered to help because surely you would’ve collapsed otherwise. You remember your bed, with its wonderfully soft and warm blankets, waiting patiently for you in the guest room…  “I’m going to read in the living room for a little bit. You can join me if you’d like to as well.” You snap out of the daydream to Nanami looking at you, waiting for a response.  “You aren’t gonna sleep yet?”  “No, I like to read for a half-hour before I sleep. It’s good to avoid screens before bed.” He walks towards the living room and you follow.  “Wouldn’t it be easier to read in bed so you can sleep right after?” “I prefer to read out here.” He sits on the couch and picks up a book that had been on the table right next to it. The wall behind him consists of a massive bookshelf, which you stare at in awe. “Studies have shown that you should only use your bed for sleeping, to build the association.” You blink at him, wondering if he also notices the implication of what he’s said. After a pause he says nothing, but you're too curious to leave the subject alone. “ Only for sleeping? What about, you know… where do you… where are you supposed to…”  Nanami’s eyes widen for only a second, but it’s long enough that you know your message has been received. “Oh, right. The bed is only for sleeping and other… types of bedroom activities.” “Right,” you said. This is awkward. Or is it? Maybe it’s not awkward and you’re just making it awkward by assuming he thinks this is awkward and acting awkward. But you’re both adults—and married adults, at that—so there should be nothing at all awkward about talking about you-know-what. Except it defeats the purpose to refer to it as you-know-what if you’re trying to say you’re a mature adult, but it is what it is. In order to avoid the awkwardness (or lack thereof), you turn and distract yourself with Nanami’s bookshelf. You pretend to look at it, which quickly turns into actually looking at it, and you remember how much fun it is to scour another person’s bookshelf.  “You can read one of my books if you’d like,” Nanami says while staring at his book, and you realize he’s started reading. You oblige and grab the nearest book off the shelf, flipping to a random page and busying yourself with trying to make sense of the narrative from what’s going on in the middle. As you semi-read the book you chastise yourself for thinking things were awkward between you and Nanami seconds ago. It seems to be a cycle that you keep undergoing: a less-than-optimal experience happens, and you convince yourself things have become uncomfortable, but really you both seem to immediately forget about it. In the end, you bounce back to being able to talk and laugh and do anything normal. Just like now, as you’re both sitting here and reading next to each other. It feels natural to exist near Nanami. Awkwardness doesn't stand a fighting chance between you two. After some sparse reading and zoning out, you look at the clock and notice it’s grown a bit late. Still too early to sleep, but that time of night where your body wants to lay in bed and go limp. You quietly excuse yourself, leaving Nanami still reading on the couch to reenter the guest room.  You automatically gravitate towards the bed, sinking into your mattress as you pull out your phone. Luckily Nanami isn’t here to witness these poor habits. But you have an important task, you remind yourself.  Opening your group chat, you start a video call with your friends. At last, they pick up. Your heart swells from seeing both their faces, gleaming with excitement and unable to stop smiling as they ask about you moving, and what it’s like to live with Nanami, and begging for every detail about your "marriage" thus far.  You giggle like a schoolgirl the entire time you’re talking with them, explaining from the encounter with Gojo to the engagement ring surprise. You all shriek with joy when you show off the ring to the camera, even Hana who knew every detail about it. You’re grateful that your friends can so easily treat this arrangement like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world, especially since it feels like that sometimes. The call finally comes to an end when exhaustion hits you and you’re forced to call it a night, though you’d have been happy to talk with them for hours upon hours. After turning off the lights you plop down on your bed again. You stare up at the ceiling, and the room is only illuminated by a small sliver of light coming from under your door. It’s enough to get a final glance at the layout and the changes you’ve made by sorting your own stuff. Now that your things have been put into place, it's like the walls have molded to fit them, and the room suddenly takes a shape you recognize. Finally, it has some semblance of a home. The light under the door disappears, and so does your view. Nanami must be going to sleep now, and the whole apartment must be pitch-black. It’s not the most comforting thought, especially spending the night in a strange apartment for the first time ever. You remind yourself that Nanami is here, too, and for whatever reason that makes you feel better. By the time you fall asleep, there are a dozen things running through your mind, all of them good and light.

“So, whatcha planning for the date?” Shino asked.   She currently had her arms draped over Izuku’s shoulders and her head perched on his left shoulder, looking at what he was doing on his computer. He was looking at different designs of sci-fi weaponry that he could possibly create. At Shino’s question he smirked.   “Aside from going to the ice cream stand?” Izuku asked.   “Uh-huh. I know we won’t just stop at that. So spill!” Shino said, a smile on her face.   “Nope! That would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” Izuku said with a teasing glint in his eye.   “You’re mean, you know that?” Shino asked.   “I know I am, but you still like me.” Izuku replied, placing one of his hands on her arm affectionately.   Shino leaned her head against Izuku’s.   “I do. And I can’t possibly know why.” Shino joked.   Izuku chuckled lightly.   “So, wanna cuddle on the-”   “Izuukuuuu!” Satsu called from his room.   Izuku sighed.   “Nevermind. I’m guessing Satsu wants to play.” Izuku said.   “I guess so. C’mon.”   The two locked hands and walked over to Satsu’s room. It turned out he actually did want to play. Sword fight to be specific. The three went outside and began playing, smiling all the way through it. Emi and Jesse watched the three play with fond smiles on their faces, side hugging one another as they observed them. After a bit, Jesse decided to join in.   “Hey! That’s not how ya do it!” He said, breaking the hug and walking over to the group.   The trio stopped and looked at Jesse. He walked over to them.   “Izuku, if ya’d be so kind?” Jesse said, reaching his hand out in front of him.   Izuku nodded and broke reality right over his outstretched hand. He learned that if the portal to his pocket dimension was pointed downward, the object he wanted to spawn would fall out of it. Jesse caught a fake lightsaber and smirked.   “Ya aren’t supposed to do it like you are, it’s supposed ta be like this.”   As soon as Jesse finished his sentence, he swung lightly in Satsu’s direction, lightly thwapping him in the head. Satsu let out a shout of surprise before giggling as he retaliated against his father. At Jesse’s initial blow, the play fight gained another member as the four of them fought. Emi laughed fondly at her husband’s silly antics.   _________________________________________   The following day came and the soon-to-be couple went about their school day normally. They earned many glances and knowing smiles as they walked down the hallways to each of their classes and walking to lunch. They weren’t bothered by them in the slightest.   After classes, they went to their training as usual. They got a rather varied response to the reveal that they were going to go on a date.   _________________________________________   Izuku and Shino walked into the training hall holding hands, and almost immediately afterwards, Midnight attempted to tease the two of them.   “Aww! You two are holding hands! Soon you’ll be going on dates and being boyfriend and girlfriend!” Midnight said teasingly.   “We’re actually planning on going on a date after this.” Izuku said, shocking the entire room, including his father.   What happened next, happened almost instantly. Jesse, in his Snipe costume, dashed away with his phone and called his wife. Izuku could hear him shouting at Emi about the two of them dating and how proud they were.    Cementoss and Aizawa stared on silently with wide eyes and shocked faces. Cementoss remained frozen but Aizawa quickly recovered and nodded in approval that the two of them got together.    Midnight squealed in delight over the reveal that the two of them were going on a date and quickly dashed up to them to tug them into a happily tight hug, giggling happily as she did so.   “About time, you two! I’ve seen you two make lovey dovey eyes at each other for months now!” Midnight exclaimed, keeping them locked in a hug as she spoke.   “We… never really thought about it before.” Izuku said.   “Yeah, we just did things we were comfortable with.” Shino added.   “You two are so adorable! I’m so happy for you two!” Midnight cheered.   “Thanks, Auntie Nemu.” Izuku said with a small smile.   “As much as I’d love to celebrate this, we gotta get to work. Can’t have these two late for their date, do we?” Snipe asked as he returned from the phone call.   “Right! Let’s go! We can go a little easier because of their date later, right?” Midnight asked, looking at Aizawa in particular.   Everyone, even Cementoss, looked to Aizawa for an answer. The man wore a blank face, remaining silent for a while before he made his decision.   “Fine… I guess this once we can go a little easier.” Aizawa said in a groan.   The two students brightened up slightly, as did Midnight. After thanking Aizawa, everyone got to work on training the students.   _________________________________________   After the two of them arrived back home, they quickly got ready, taking showers to wash their sweaty bodies and grabbing finer clothes to wear on a date. When they came back out after they got dressed, they appraised one another’s attire.   Shino was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a red vest dress over a white long sleeve shirt. The dress went halfway down her thighs and her long sleeve shirt went three quarters down her forearm. Izuku knew she wore it mostly for fashion rather than functionality, and he had to admit that it looked good on her. Red and white were the two colors that looked good on Shino.   Izuku was wearing a pair of blue jeans similar to Shino’s, only a bit lighter in color, with a dark green polo over his torso. It was simple, attractive, and Shino really liked how he looked. She smiled softly at him as she closed the distance and hugged him. He returned the hug comfortably, smiling softly at the show of affection. Shino pulled back after a few moments, smiling at him.   “Ready to go?” Shino asked.   Izuku smiled softly, nodding at her.   “Definitely. Let’s go.” Izuku said softly.   _________________________________________   Izuku and Shino were holding hands as they walked down the sidewalk. Shino didn’t know if they were going straight to the ice cream parlor or if they were going to do anything else beforehand. Even so, she was excited about the date.   Her curiosity was quelled slightly as the ice cream parlor came into view. The two of them entered the parlor and went to order their ice cream. Izuku got mint chocolate ice cream while Shino ordered neapolitan ice cream. Once they got their cones, what Shino expected was to find a seat outside the parlor and enjoy the sunset from there. Instead, she was gently pulled out and away from the ice cream parlor, slightly confused as to why they were leaving.   Her confusion gave way to realization as she saw them getting closer to a park. She smiled softly in anticipation as she let herself get pulled inside of it, noticing how they were heading towards one of the benches.   “To be honest, I couldn’t think of what else to do other than this.” Izuku said with a sheepish smile.   Shino giggled at his admittance.   “It’s alright, Izuku. I already love the date.” Shino said softly.   The two of them sat at the bench, getting into a comfortable position leaning against one another as they watched the sunset. The two of them remained silent, simply enjoying one another’s company and licking at their ice cream as the sky showed the wonderful colors of the sunset.   The two eventually finished with their ice cream cones and simply cuddled with one another, continuing to watch the sunset until it was below the horizon. Shino’s head was nuzzled in his neck and Izuku’s was resting against it. Their arms were around one another and Shino’s legs were over his.   “We should really get home soon.” Izuku said softly.   “Just a few more minutes… I like being like this.” Shino said softly.   “We can be like this all night if you want. We just have to do that at home.” Izuku replied with a gentle smile.   “I know, but I still wanna stay here for just a little bit longer.” Shino said.   Izuku smiled softly, his hand gently running up and down her back affectionately a couple times before settling on the small of her back.   “Alright, we can.” Izuku said softly.   “Thanks, Izuku.” Shino replied with equal softness.   He felt a slight bit of warmth press on his neck before the feeling of her hair came back to it. He blushed slightly at the thought that ran through his head. Was she really that comfortable with the two of them being in a relationship that she’d willingly do something like that? It both made him blush a bit more and his chest feel all the more warm. He settled with smiling happily as the two cuddled, containing his feelings so that he wouldn’t disturb their cuddling.   Eventually, the two of them got up and left the park, walking hand in hand back to their house, satisfied smiles on both of their faces. When they entered through the door, Emi greeted them, giving them a knowing smile that made the two of them blush.   “Hey there, you two. Did you finish the date with a nice stroll in the moonlight?” Emi asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she questioned them.   “Y-Yeah, we did.” Izuku said, blushing at his mother’s teasing.   Let it be known that even though he was subjected to teasing every day from his mother, he would never get used to it. Because every time he thought he did, she’d do something different to knock him off balance.   “Good! How about you two cuddle on the couch while I make dinner? I’m sure you two would love to do that as a perfect way to celebrate your first date.” Emi said with a wry smile.   The two blushed a bit further at being found out.   “Oh yes, I know all about your cuddling on the couch when we’re not around. A mother always knows these things.” Emi said, her wry smile changing to a clever one.   The two gave no reply, still blushing. Emi giggled, deciding to let up on the teasing for now.   “Go on, you two. You can be embarrassed together on the couch.” Emi finished before leaving the two.   _________________________________________   The rest of the night was a bit less embarrassing due to Emi not teasing them as much. Despite not teasing them, she always looked at them with a look that got them blushing. It was a look they knew meant she was thinking of teasing them but remained quiet.    After dinner, the whole family and Shino settled on the couch and watched television for a while before going to bed. Even though they had a suspicion that Emi knew about them cuddling together in the same bed, they still tried to be sneaky about it, just in case she didn’t know about it. They didn’t want to give her more fuel for teasing.   “I’m coming in.” Shino’s voice echoed in Izuku’s mind.   He looked up from the book he was reading to the door, which was slowly opening to reveal Shino in a pair of red pajamas. She turned around and smiled at Izuku, a slight blush on her cheeks. She made her way to his bed slowly, walking softly to keep the noise down.   Izuku couldn’t help but let the thoughts of how cute she looked out into the open.   “You look very good in that, Shino.” Izuku said, a slight blush on his cheeks.   Shino smiled shyly.   “Better than the clothes I wore on the date?”   “I don’t think you couldn’t look good in anything, Shino.” Izuku said.   Shino smirked.   “Even if I wore the ugliest clothes?”   “Well I mean…” Izuku trailed off.   The two of them shared a soft laugh before Shino got into bed with him. Izuku placed his book onto his nightstand before melting into a cuddle with his best friend turned girlfriend.   “Tonight was embarrassing, wasn’t it…” Shino said.   “Yeah… But don’t worry. The teasing will let up… hopefully.” Izuku replied.   Shino giggled, the noise sounding like music to Izuku’s ears, causing him to smile softly. Shino then nuzzled her head into his chest.   “Goodnight, Izuku…” Shino said softly.   “Goodnight, Shino.” Izuku replied, pulling her deeper into the cuddle slightly as he slowly drifted off to sleep.   The two of them drifted to sleep with smiles on their faces, enjoying the warmth of the person they cared about the most.

“Who could she be?”   “Where’d she come from?”   “How’d she get her powers?”   “Who is Scarlet Lady?”   Chloé stood in the school courtyard with a satisfied smile, soaking up the gossip.   She was Scarlet Lady. Scarlet Lady was her. Her. They were all talking about her .   Chloé closed her eyes and basked.   It had all turned out exactly as she’d planned it. They praised her, envied her, speculated about her. She carried her secret close to her chest, and said not a word as people all around her thirsted to know. It was perfect. It was everything that was her due, finally realized.   Footsteps, light and quick like a skittish bunny, alerted her to Sabrina’s approach. Chloé opened her eyes and held out a hand, receiving her homework like usual.   “Scarlet Lady is amazing, isn’t she, Sabrina?” she said.   “Um... yeah?” Sabrina said hesitantly, toeing the waters. Upon seeing Chloé’s gratified smile, she grew enthusiastic. “Yeah! Scarlet Lady is totally amazing! Though not as amazing as you, Chloé.”   Chloé smirked. Oh, I’d say we’re about equal.   Ivan entered, hunched and withdrawn, drawing everyone’s attention while keeping his own fixed firmly on the ground. He found himself a bench and sat down heavily, and most of their classmates wasted no time gathering around him like brainless moths to a flame.   Chloé sidled over, leaning nonchalantly against a support pillar at the outer edge of their circle. Sabrina followed.   “Did you really turn into a stone monster?” Alix said, and then they were off, everyone armed to the teeth with questions to ask and opinions to give. Most of them were completely stupid, but Chloé listened with interest nonetheless. Unfortunately, the blabber was mostly focused on Ivan and Stoneheart, instead of—hello—the superhero who had defeated him.   “I don’t remember it at all,” Ivan told them, his head bowed.   “Not even Scarlet Lady?” Chloé said, helping everyone with the perfect opening.   Ivan shook his head. “Except for at a distance after I turned back, I guess.”   “Was she cool or what?” she said, but for some reason her classmates were still more concerned with talking about Ivan. Why did anybody care about someone turning into an ugly, boring monster-thing when that same person was also a witness to the world’s most awesome superhero?   “So you really don’t remember anything?” He just admitted to seeing Scarlet Lady.   “You were totally going ballistic. It was so cool.” Not as cool as Scarlet Lady!   “You were seriously out to crush me, dude!” Guess who saved you? SCARLET LADY.   “I’m sorry, I wasn’t myself,” Ivan said, but Chloé had had enough.   “Pfft. Once a monster, always a monster,” she said viciously. “You always looked like a brute anyway. Now we know what’s been hiding on the inside all this time.” If she was lucky, he might even believe it—after all, he couldn’t know what had happened to him. He didn’t have Tikki around to explain that an evil butterfly had used his negative emotions to hijack his brain. None of them did.   None but Chloé.   She was just so much better than them.   At her words, Ivan went from apologetic to angry. He stomped off without a word like the coward he was. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” she called after him with a wave.   Alya walked up to her with a confrontational look abut her, clearly puffed up from having the undeserved privilege of talking to Scarlet Lady yesterday, and Chloé was reminded that she was a mewling little girl scout.   “How could you say that to Ivan? You’re the real stoneheart!” Alya said fiercely.   That’s not what you were saying yesterday , Chloé thought smugly, but knew better than to say it.   “So I’m the one who broke Sabrina’s dad’s arm, am I?” she said instead. “Just because you met the superhero Scarlet Lady and got it shown on TV doesn’t actually make you worthy of licking her boot, so you don’t have to get so high and mighty.”   “You little...,” Alya said and clenched her fists, no doubt having thought herself above all criticism.   “Look out, she’s angry!” Chloé exclaimed, hands on her cheeks. “She’s going to split her underwear and turn into a huge muscly monster!”   Alya stalked off, and was immediately replaced by someone far more pleasant.   “Hey, Chloé,” said Adrien Agreste, he of the perfect golden hair and brilliant green eyes. Handsome. Rich. Famous. Chloé’s .   “Adrikins! You came!” She ran up to him and enfolded him in her arms, clinging tightly as people recognized exactly who had wandered off a magazine cover to grace them with their presence. Hordes of students clustered around them, and Chloé hung proudly onto his arm as she guided their way through them. Adrien smiled and nodded and signed authographs, though he looked weary. Fame can be tiresome , Chloé thought with the knowledgeability of experience.   “Sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday,” he told her in a low voice. “I got held up. I don’t know if I’ll come back after today, but at least I’m here now.”   Chloé gasped. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you come back?” Had he been scared off by the swarm of inferiors surrounding them? That would be reasonable, but still—Chloé couldn’t lose the one person in school worthy of her after a single day! She’d barely even had the chance to gloat about him!   “You know my dad’s pretty strict,” Adrien said. “He wants me to go back to being homeschooled. But I wanted to be here, to make friends and be like everyone else.”   Chloé, of course, caught the unspoken I wanted to be closer to you without having to ask.   “I know what you mean,” she told him wisely. “So, Adrikins, don’t you think Scarlet Lady is like totally amazing? Of course you do. Right?”   Adrien looked oddly constipated. “Ah. Um. I don’t know.”   “You don’t? It’s all anyone’s talking about! I guess I’ll have to tell you all about her....”     ***     Marinette found Ivan sitting with his arms around his knees, listening intently to music in the locker room. For all that he was the biggest person in her class, he was making a noble effort to take up as little space as possible. Her heart panged.   She wondered how Chloé could bring herself to be so pointlessly cruel to people. What could she possibly gain from it?   Marinette sank down beside him and put a hand on his wrist. She wasn’t as brave as Alya, couldn’t stand up to Chloé like she did, but this Marinette could do. Ivan took off his headphones.   “Are you alright, Ivan?” she said softly.   He avoided her eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, guarded but without bite.   “You know Chloé’s wrong, right?” she said. “What happened to you obviously has something to do with those butterfly things that turned all those people into frozen stone monsters, we all know that. That’s not on you.”   Ivan didn’t look comforted. “Mylène looked nervous,” he said.   Oh, of course. Fondness for Ivan sprouted in her chest; she should have seen this coming.   “Not because of you, I’m sure,” she said gently. “She probably wanted to talk to you, but didn’t dare to with that crowd.”   “You think so?”   “Yeah. I do.”   His shoulders relaxed. Marinette, heartened, went on to encourage him to tell Mylène how he felt about her, and they decided between them that a song would be the best way of doing so. By then his closed-off demeanor had melted away, and he practically ran out of the room, giddy and hopeful.   Marinette met up with Alya and went to class. There was a new kid in attendance; Marinette wondered if he was the Adrien that Chloé had talked about yesterday. Even if he was, he looked pleasant enough—if a bit tired—and she decided there was little harm in giving him a chance.   Mylène arrived some time later, and Marinette scanned her excitedly for signs of Ivan having talked to her.   She was interrupted when Stoneheart crashed into the classroom in a fury.   “Mylène!” he roared. People were screaming, everyone fleeing or trying to hide, and Marinette stumbled back as panic squeezed her chest. An uneasy thought pricked at her.   Was this her fault?   Stoneheart got hold of Mylène, ignoring her pleas to let go. He spotted Chloé curled up under a table and ripped it away from over her head. She screamed and hid her face, and Marinette found herself moving forward without thinking.   “Ivan, stop!” she yelled, standing in front of Chloé like a soft, flimsy shield, her heart hammering in her chest and thundering in her ears. “Wha—whatever’s happened, I’m sure we can—”   Stoneheart roared again. “Stop interfering, Marinette! You only make things worse !”   The words felt like a wave of icy cold water washing through her. This was her fault.   “No...,” she whispered. Stoneheart bent to peer down at her with his luminous yellow eyes, large and round like flashlights. Fear made her knees weak: it was all she could do to remain standing. Then he reached out a huge hand for her, and she no longer needed to.     ***     Typical Marinette. It was just like her to go and get herself captured by some humongous piece of rock.   After Stoneheart broke through the classroom wall and wandered off with Dumb and Dumber, Chloé abandoned the classroom—which had gotten drafty anyway—and hid herself away in the locker room.   Tikki immediately popped out of her purse and wasted no time pestering her. “You should never have been so cruel to Ivan! Look what’s happened!”   Chloé rolled her eyes. Tikki was such a nitpicker. “Well, obviously it’s not my fault if he can’t take the slightest bit of criticism. And besides, didn’t you hear him? This is Mylène and Marinette’s fault. I’m not surprised. I told you Marinette would make a terrible superhero, and now she’s already going around akumatizing people. This is worse than even I predicted.”   Tikki opened her mouth, paused and frowned, then said, “So what you’re saying is that it’s okay if you akumatized Ivan, but if Marinette akumatized Ivan, then that is... not okay?”   “What?” Chloé said impatiently. “When did I ever say that? Stop making things up, it’s pathetic. It’s so obviously because I’m not your precious Marinette who, guess what, got herself caught by Stoneheart like an idiot. Unlike me. How much more evidence do you need that I’m better than her?”   Tikki watched her with wide eyes. She said, in a chiding yet imploring tone, “Chloé, that’s unfair and ungrateful. She saved you! And now we have to hurry, so we can save her.”   Why did Chloé have to have such a horribly biased kwami? It was obvious she just wanted to get her beloved Marinette back, and was trying to use Chloé to do so. Chloé was almost tempted to refuse; it would be well deserved.   But no. This was an excellent opportunity to awe the masses again as Scarlet Lady. She couldn’t leave that in the hands of that mangy cat.   “I think you mean save all of Paris,” she sniffed. “Spots on!”   She found Chat Noir not too far away, caught in the grip of one of the many stone monsters surrounding him. His stick was lying in the street, apparently having been tossed to once again defend that idiot Alya from an object about to fall on her head—this time a car, judging by how she was pinned by it against a building, unharmed but stuck.   “Let go, you rockhead!” Chat Noir was yelling ineffectively, his upper body and head covered while his legs dangled free, kicking uselessly. Scarlet Lady put a hand to her forehead in embarrassment.   He must have been able to glimpse her thorugh the gaps between the monster’s fingers, because he shouted, “Scarlet Lady! Toss me my baton!”   “You’re hardly in a position to make demands right now,” Scarlet said breezily as Alya cried out for help in the background. Had he really not learned yet that he couldn’t boss her around?   “Do it or you’ll have to manage on your own,” Chat Noir threatened, which was a good point. Scarlet evaluated the difficulty of retrieving the stick for him, and deemed it annoying but not hair-endangering. Beneath her, but possibly worth it.   With a world-weary sigh, she threw her yoyo and caught the stick, which she then threw at the top of the stone giant’s fist where Chat Noir’s hand was poking out. He gripped and extended it, forcing the fist open and allowing him to spring free.   He sprinted right back to Alya and wedged his stick in with her, extending it again and thus tipping the car away from her. She hurried out of the way and fell to the ground, gasping a little. “Thanks,” she said, a bit hoarsely.   “No problem,” Chat Noir said. He turned back to the stone monsters in the area, which all seemed to be going someplace. “Time to take care of these guys!”   “Wait!” Alya said, stretching out a hand. “The—the main one, Stoneheart, he took my friend and another girl. Please, you have to save them!”   “On it!” Chat Noir said, then tilted his head consideringly. “There’s a thought... maybe we should be aiming for the source anyway.”   Scarlet thought it over; it seemed likely. “Well, of course,” she said. “You really thought fighting the knock-offs was going to do any good?”   Chat Noir curled his lip, but then shook his head and looked away. “Let’s go,” he said, sounding less enthusiastic than he had a moment ago, which was really all for the better.   “Follow my lead,” Scarlet had to add, so neither he nor Alya would think that he was the one giving the orders, and took off after the stone monsters, relying on them to guide the way.     ***     It was so far down .   Marinette shivered. She was up on the first level of the Eiffel Tower, held in the grasp of an angry monster, and she might not be alive tomorrow.   She might not be alive tomorrow.   Police helicopters surrounded them in the air, so very loud but also comforting, and far below, the police had set up barricades and were trying to ward off the stone monsters gathering there.   The wind was colder up here, where there was little to buffer it. She rubbed her arms.   From a distant barricade, a small pinprick of a person spoke up in an amplified, distorted voice that must come from speaking through a megaphone. “I demand the safe return of the citizens of Paris you are holding hostage!” he said.   Stoneheart looked at Marinette, and terror shot down her spine. She shuddered. “You know what?” he said. “You’re welcome to this one.” And he hurled her at the barricade.   Marinette screamed . The wind was rushing in her ears, stinging in her eyes, and she was moving so quickly and the ground was coming up towards her and I don’t want to die I don’t want to die please NO—   Someone caught her.   Marinette blinked, and looked for some reason not even she knew at her hand. She closed and opened it, wiggled the fingers experimentally. Blinked again. I’m alive , she thought dumbly. She turned to her savior.   It was one of the new superheroes—Chat Noir, his name was. He looked down at her with bright green eyes and smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright,” he said. “You’re alright.”   It was all Marinette could do not to burst into tears. She wound her arms around him, practically clinging, and pressed her head against his chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered, and felt him embrace her back.   “Wow, pathetic,” a nearby voice said. Marinette pulled back a little, frowning. What?   “She almost died, Scarlet Lady,” Chat Noir said quietly. Marinette looked past him, and sure enough, there stood Scarlet Lady, hand on her hip and tapping her foot impatiently.   “Ugh, why am I stuck with you?” she said—flippantly, but also with what sounded like genuine contempt. “Use your brain, moron. She’s clearly just faking it for the attention.”   This was the hero Alya was enamored with? Marinette opened her mouth to say something, what she didn’t know, but didn’t get the chance as a police officer declared, “We’re clear to attack!”   “Wait!” Chat Noir said, stepping away from her and gesturing broadly. “Don’t do that! You know it’ll only make it worse!”   “I have a new plan, unlike you. Move aside and let the pros do their thing; you’ve already failed once!”   Chat Noir surveyed the lines of officers aiming guns at Stoneheart sceptically. He turned to Scarlet Lady. “He has a point. We should figure out our own plan,” he said.   “Speak for yourself, mangy cat,” Scarlet Lady said, tossing her hair. Marinette stared. What is with her? Surely there was some reason for this behavior Marinette just wasn’t privy to. Yes, that had to be it.   “Okay, so I’ll figure out a plan,” Chat Noir amended.   Stoneheart coughed, and coughed again; great, violent coughs like he was hacking up a lung. He grabbed his stomach, grunted—and puked up a swarm of purple butterflies. He fell back heavily, seemingly fainted. The butterflies rose up into the air and formed the shape of a face, shifting and indistinct due to the fluttering wings it was made of.   “People of Paris,” it said in a masculine voice. “I am Hawkmoth. Scarlet Lady, Chat Noir—give me the ladybug earrings and the cat ring now. You’ve done enough damage to these innocent people.”   Marinette couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This Hawkmoth-person had used these butterflies of his to turn people into stone monsters, and then made them attack the city and its people—and now he thought he could paint the heroes who showed up to stop him as the villains?   She stepped forward, clapping her hands slowly. In the silence after Hawkmoth’s speech, the sound cut sharply through the morning air.   “Nice try, Hawkmoth,” she said, her voice strong and confident even as she could hardly believe her own daring, “but we know who the bad guy is. Let’s not reverse the roles here. Because of you, these innocent victims have been transformed into villains. Because of you, I almost died less than two minutes ago—and because of the heroes, I’m still alive.”     ***     She’s amazing , Chat thought.   An ordinary girl with no powers or protection or anything, her life nearly extinguished mere moments ago, and yet there she stood, bravely standing up to the man who would have killed her.   Scarlet Lady coughed pointedly beside him. “ Attention-seeker alert, ” she said in a carrying undertone that Chat hoped only he was close enough to hear. “Alright, time for the real hero to show people how it’s done.”   Scarlet Lady strode forward. “Hawkmoth,” she said. “No matter how long it takes, I will find you, and you will hand me your Miraculous!”   She leaped forward, to the Eiffel Tower and then up, wielding her yoyo and cutting through the mass of butterflies again and again until it scattered like confetti and faded into nothing. She landed on the edge of the first level, where she straightened and turned to face them all.   “People of Paris!” she announced grandly. “No matter what happens, know that I, Scarlet Lady, will always be here to save the day!” She released the butterflies from her yoyo, and they exploded out in every direction, now a shimmering golden white.   “You have got to be kidding me,” Chat said as everyone around him broke into wild cheers.   Stoneheart rose, still holding Mylène. Chat charged toward the tower, reaching Scarlet Lady and Stoneheart on the first level. Mylène cried out for help, waving her arms at them.   “You’ll never take Mylène from me!” Stoneheart said, jumping onto one of the tower’s four pillars.   “Like anyone would want to,” Scarlet Lady huffed.   “Come to me, my stone beings,” Stoneheart said as he ascended, and the horde of stone monsters below began the climb as well.   Chat peered down at them. “We’re surrounded,” he said. “What do we do now?”   “I literally just single-handedly took down a host of evil butterflies and stopped Hawkmoth in his tracks. Why does everything have to be up to me? How about you pull your weight a little, hmm?”   Chat bit down the but I thought I was just a measly sidekick that came to mind, reminded himself that he had decided to lead by example, and said instead, “... Right, yeah, your butterfly catching skills. Sounds intense. I was especially impressed with your total number of catches yesterday.”   Thinking about it, perhaps that wasn’t all too polite either. Oh well.   Anyway. He had to get planning.   The situation was mostly like it had been yesterday, with the exception that Stoneheart had Mylène, and seemed to be holding both her and the akuma in the same hand. Since he was already holding Mylène, Chat thought it unlikely that Stoneheart could be tricked into grabbing Chat with that hand like last time. And then there was Mylène’s safety to think of.   What options did that leave?   “Hey, Scarlet Lady?” he said, coming up empty. “What’ve you got in your utility belt?” Chances were slim that it would be anything helpful for this particular scenario, but he was grasping at straws at this point.   “Essentials,” Scarlet Lady answered. “Which reminds me,” she continued, and opened one of the tiny compartments to pull out a gleaming tube of lipstick.   Chat... did not know what to do with that information. “Your utility belt is for. Lipstick.”   “Mhmmm,” she hummed as she applied it. It was a very pale pink that in no way jelled with her fierce red mask and outfit—and apparently even her costume agreed, as it immediately changed the color back to red. Scarlet Lady made a noise of frustration.   “Forget I asked,” Chat said, wishing he himself could do the same, and set off climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower. He didn’t have a plan yet, but the stone monsters were nearing and they had to move.   He caught up with Stoneheart at the top and perched on the great antenna crowning the tower. Stoneheart was supporting himself with his free hand, Chat noticed, leaving both occupied. Could that be used to once again drive him to make a grab for Chat with the hand holding the akuma?   It was worth a try. Chat jumped down, landed on Stoneheart’s upper arm, hopped onto his thick shoulders and ran across to his other arm, trying to be as obnoxious as possible. Stoneheart swatted at him, but his fist remained clenched.   Chat performed some really rather impressive acrobatic feats, swinging around on Stoneheart’s body, even briefly sitting on his head and leaning down to peek at him before relocating posthaste.   He couldn’t see what Scarlet was doing, but that wasn’t a surprise. At least it meant there was the theoretical chance that she was doing something .   An unexpected movement from Stoneheart threw off Chat’s hold. Before he could correct for it, a giant fist came up to meet him, grinding him mercilessly against the solid metal of the Eiffel Tower. He wheezed. Stoneheart raised a leg and kicked him away, sending him careening into the stone creatures below.   What followed was a round of ping-pong with Chat as the improvised ball.   He’d ended up all the way down on the second level, head swimming and limbs watery, before he managed to grab onto something—the railing, which as it happened, the giant clutching at his legs was also supporting himself with. An idea flickered through his head, and Chat acted .   “Cataclysm!” he yelled, and the railing withered away under his hand. The giant tipped back and fell, slamming into others beneath him and dragging two down with him—but Chat clung to the edge of the second level floor, heaved himself onto it, and laid there gasping.   That had been... unpleasant. Chat really didn’t think he had another one of those in him.   “There you are,” Scarlet Lady said. Chat tilted his head to find her standing there, looking annoyed. “Your ridiculous little trapeze act didn’t work.”   “Did you even try to save me?” Chat said curtly, unable to muster up the energy to sound entirely civil.   “Ego, much? I had bigger concerns.”   “Like what?”   “Um, hello? Giant stone monster?” Right. The one that Chat had been fighting on his own.   He sighed. “Silly me.”   He forced himself upright and got moving. The journey up wore on him this time, but there was nothing for it. He had to stop Stoneheart and save Mylène.   Back on the third level, things were much the same as they had been. Mylène was pleading with Stoneheart, her cheeks shining with tears.   “Don’t worry!” Chat said, wishing he sounded more authoritative and confident. “We’ll get you out of here!”   She stretched out a hand toward him, like she wanted him to take it and pull her to safety somehow.   An idea sparked to life.   Chat sped toward her, reaching toward her still-raised hand and dropping his baton into it, then somersaulting back out of reach. “Extend it inside his hand!” he said.   She squinted uncertainly at the controls, and Chat had a moment of doubt—his degree of control over the baton was due to his connection to it, had he underestimated by how much?—but then she stuck it into Stoneheart’s grip and did as instructed.   Stoneheart’s hand opened. Scarlet Lady’s yoyo shot out and caught the crumpled piece of paper falling out. Mylène screamed and hung on to the great stone fingers for dear life.   Scarlet Lady tore the paper, and a butterfly crawled out, taking off toward the sky. “Oh no, you don’t!” she said, spinning her yoyo. “De-evilize—oh!”   Stoneheart’s guise had given away. Mylène and Ivan plummeted.   “We have to save them!” Chat said, already heading for the edge.   “You do that. I have a day to save,” Scarlet Lady said, spinning her yoyo again.   There was no time to argue. Chat jumped.   He streamlined himself as best he could, thankful that Mylène and Ivan were both doing the exact opposite. He caught up to Ivan, pulling him in under his arm, then reached Mylène and wrapped his legs around her. With his remaining hand, he took the baton from her and extended it through one of the Eiffel Tower’s many holes, where it jammed and checked their fall.   For a moment, the three of them just hung there.   “Alright, Ivan,” Chat said, valiantly ignoring the increasing ache of his arm, “I’m sorry to have to ask this, but could you grab on to my waist? I suspect I’ll need at least two limbs available if I’m going to get us down from here.”     ***     Scarlet watched the pure white butterfly fly away. According to Tikki, there was only one more thing that needed doing: fixing all the damage the akuma had caused.   “Lucky Charm!” she said. A trophy fell into her hands, and Scarlet exulted. Now this was more appropriate than a dumb wetsuit. She had won. She’d defeated everyone—Hawkmoth, Stoneheart, Marinette. She had secured her place as the heroine of Paris.   The trophy was engraved, she saw. “For Participating,” it read. Odd.   She tossed it into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!” she shouted, and the trophy dissolved into brilliant energy. The energy spread out in all directions, and everywhere it went, the city healed.   It was amazing. She was amazing.   Standing far above the masses, Scarlet Lady admired the evidence of her momentous importance with a smile.     ***     “Ivan! Mylène!” It was the girl who’d spoken up against Hawkmoth. Chat was just leaving the foot of the Eiffel Tower with his two charges, who both looked relieved to be getting some distance. The girl ran up to meet them. “You’re alright—huh?” A brush of that energy sweeping everywhere from the top of the tower—undoubtedly Scarlet Lady’s work—whisked past them, leaving in its wake a piece of paper lying by their feet. The object that held the akuma , Chat thought.   The girl picked it up, scanning the text on it. “Oh, Ivan, how sweet... Mylène, have you seen this?”   Ivan scratched his neck awkwardly and stared at his feet, but Mylène took the paper with curiosity. “Wow!” she said. “It’s really beautiful! It’s a shame I can’t hear the words when you scream—I mean, when you sing.”   Ivan apologized for scaring her, and she hugged him, and Chat got the feeling he was missing some context—but it all seemed to have worked itself out anyway, so that was fine. He really just wanted to crash on his bed and sleep for a week, so his ability to care for the particulars was limited.   “Oh, I’m glad this wasn’t my fault after all,” the girl-who-stood-up-to-Hawkmoth commented.   “Why would it be your fault?” Chat said, surprised. He wished he knew her name; he was pretty sure she was one of his new classmates, but unlike with Ivan and Mylène, he hadn’t caught her name in the fighting, and they hadn’t gotten through roll call before Stoneheart had interrupted.   She ducked her head. “I... I encouraged Ivan to tell Mylène how he felt. When Stoneheart appeared, I thought it had all gone wrong—which I suppose it had, but not because I told him to try in the first place, eheh.” She wrapped her hands around herself, almost defensively.   Chat shook his head. “That’s absurd! Encouraging someone to confess how they feel is in no way the same as turning them into a stone giant. You didn’t cause this, and you sure aren’t responsible for it. That honor goes to Hawkmoth, and Hawkmoth alone.”   The girl’s eyes were wide, but his ring beeped before she could respond. Two minutes left. “Seems I gotta go soon,” he sighed. It came out wearier than he meant it to.   Marinette’s brow furrowed in concern. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked, eyeing the tired slump of his shoulders.   He straightened the best he could, suppressing a wince. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” There was nothing to be said on the subject. Some fatigue was only to be expected after a fight, and it seemed to Chat a bad idea to let the public in on the... difficulties in his and Scarlet Lady’s relationship. Besides, he had something else to say to her, and only so much time left to do so. “I wanted to thank you for standing up for me and Scarlet Lady earlier. That was really impressive!”   She blushed. “Oh, um, thanks. But it’s really nothing, and less than you deserve for saving everyone! You’re a real hero.”   The words meant more to him than he would’ve expected; perhaps it was because after Scarlet Lady’s interview, most of Paris considered him little more than a sidekick. He smiled, affection warming his worn body.   A soft thud moved his attention to a point farther away from the tower, where Scarlet Lady had landed neatly. “Everything is alright now!” she announced, and quickly accumulated a throng of reporters.   “Yes, that healing force washing over the city was all me,” she told them. “Yes, yes, it’s extremely powerful, that’s true. There’s nothing quite like it.”   Chat considered going over there and saying something himself... but he was running out of time, and he hadn’t even recovered from yesterday’s fight yet, and then this one had been even worse, and—and he was just so tired .   “I’ll be off, I guess,” he said dully, just as his ring beeped again. “Before I go—what’s your name?”   “Oh, um... Marinette. I’m Marinette,” she said, brushing an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear.   Chat considered reaching out and kissing her hand, but couldn’t summon up the energy for dramatics. Instead, he settled on a small but genuine smile. “Nice meeting you, Marinette.”   As he backed away, Scarlet’s voice seeped into his ears again. “Well obviously my sidekick is so destructive I have to save the day,” she was saying. “You saw how he obliterated the Eiffel Tower’s railing today. That’s part of why I’m so vital. I have to fix both everything the akuma destroys and everything he destroys. Plus, I’m the only one who can purify the akuma. It’s all dependent on me. ... Yeah, exactly, it’s a heavy responsibility....”   Chat started running, and her voice faded into the wind.   Exhaustion and the draining unpleasantness of Scarlet Lady prodded at him, but he reminded himself of Marinette, still alive and well because of him, and knew it was worth it.     ***     “So by the time I biked to the Eiffel Tower, it was all over,” Alya said the next day as they neared the front steps of the school. “I’m way bummed. Not that I think that signifies compared to what you went through!” she added quickly, glancing nervously at Marinette.   Marinette smiled. “It’s fine.” Alya and her parents had already spent all of yesterday evening coddling and worrying about her; she knew Alya took what happened seriously. “And don’t worry. You’ll get your scoop eventually.”   “You’re right. Next target: Scarlet Lady, an exclusive interview!”   “Ooh, sounds exciting,” Marinette said, keeping her doubts to herself. Scarlet Lady hadn’t impressed her yesterday, and though she hadn’t thought much of it in that first interview with Alya, the way she talked about Chat Noir grated on her now. Chat Noir, who had been so nice, who’d saved her life, who’d looked so tired....   But no. She couldn’t just go around dragging down Scarlet Lady’s reputation by jumping to conclusions. There was probably more to the situation than she knew.   They entered their classroom. Marinette threw a long look at her old seat, but ultimately passed it by. You can give Hawkmoth the supervillain a piece of your mind, but standing up to Chloé is too much? some part of her questioned, but she shook the thought off. It wasn’t the same. She still couldn’t believe she’d done what she had, but it hadn’t been that remarkable, really. She’d only stated the blindingly obvious, and she’d had heroes there to protect her. Hawkmoth would have squashed her like a bug if it hadn’t been for them.   Marinette just wasn’t the sort of person capable of standing up to others like that. She certainly didn’t feel like she could ever take on Chloé.   She settled in for class, and tried to put yesterday out of her mind. This proved a difficult feat to manage, as it turned out to be the only thing anyone cared about. Even Chloé was more than willing to gush about Scarlet Lady to anyone who would listen. Marinette made do, though, and made it through the day without getting too wrapped up in any of her lingering questions and concerns.   She was getting ready to go home for the day, feeling she’d managed pretty well, when she noticed the new kid, Adrien, had forgotten his umbrella. She picked it up on her way out, hoping she’d catch up with him.   Luck was on her side: she found him standing just outside the doorway in the rain, one hand raised above his head to shield himself. Marinette paused. Outside, the dim, soft light sifting through the dark clouds lent an almost ethereal glow to the world.   She opened the umbrella and held it out over him. “Did you forget your umbrella?” she said with a smile.   He stared at her, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. Poor thing , Marinette thought; up close, he looked so tired it was no wonder he’d forgotten his umbrella.   “I—thanks,” he said at length, grasping the handle. “Sorry, I... didn’t sleep well. And I’m not used to this kind of thing.”   “What kind of thing?” she said. The rain thrummed against the streets and rooftops, light and steady like a gentle whisper.   “Um.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. The thin coating of glistening water on the tiles splashed quietly. “Everything about this. I’ve never been to school before. I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of... new to me.”   Her heart went out to him. He looked suddenly very lonely and forlorn to her eyes, and his weary slouch reminded her of another blond boy she thought might be in need of a hand.   Perhaps to Adrien, she could lend one.   “That’s alright,” she said warmly. “I think you’re doing great. See you around, Adrien.” And she set off into the cold rain, burning with fresh resolve.   She might not be able to do anything for Chat Noir, but she was going to be the best friend Adrien Agreste could ever ask for.     ***     Adrien watched Marinette disappear down the street, running with her backpack over her head against the rain.   He smiled, and a soft warmth bloomed in his heart.

Scripts from the Great Library in Nycene: From 'Professions', a list of official jobs compiled by the State Mages of Nycene, "Treasure Hunter": a treasure hunter is a man or woman, usually a mage, who travels great distances in search of rare and sometime powerful artifacts left behind from the Magic Wars. Some treasure hunters seek objects of historical value, such as Ancient artwork. Others, and the majority, seek out artifacts that contain some measure of magical energy. Many of these treasures can be found in abandoned Ancient cities, which were used during the Magic Wars as places of shelter and bases for wartime operations. Nycene is the prime example of such a city, and continues to harbor the largest collection of state and private treasure hunters in the world. Other cities have been picked clean by hunters, leaving very little to be discovered by anyone considering joining the profession. As a result, the number of private treasure hunters has fallen dramatically in the past twenty years (Edit: private treasure hunting is now illegal by decree of King of Nycene). Any young hunter may wish to consider joining the state treasure hunters, who are consistently provided with steady work payed for by the state... "So your parents were nobles?" I asked Celeste, who was blazing the trail ahead of me with deft skill, sometimes slicing through the thicker underbrush with her dagger. She nodded, her blond hair bouncing across her shoulders, "But they had me pegged as a nymph early, so I was never treated like the lady they wished I would be." "Hm," I mused, eyeing her swinging hips appreciatively as we scaled an incline, "You are most certainly a nymph. I'm not surprised they saw right through you. But I doubt you're missing much. The life of a nobel, at least a human nobel, sounds highly unappealing from what little I know of it." "That's what I've always figured," Celeste agreed and blazed onward, toward Hester Roc. We had gotten up later than I usually did while on the hunt. Deciding to make up for sleep lost the night before, I had been deliberately lazy. When I had finally woken, Celeste was draped across my body and her hand had found it's way through the open neck of my tunic sometime in the night and she was busy idly playing with the springy hair that grew there. Gently I had woken her, and after a light breakfast of little talk we were off. But not until I had given back her dagger, intending it as a gesture of trust. "Do you need to stop wherever you live and get anything?" I had asked. The question was met with a coy smile, "Wandering elves do not respond well to the security and bondage of a home," she had explained, "I have no belongings. I sleep where the land provides me shelter." "Lonely existence," I mentioned. "That's why I have you now," she responded and began to lead the way north. Now it was just past noon and the land, while still hilly, was beginning to level out. Celeste had said that Hester Roc was only a day's walk away, which at the time had baffled me. I had come north from Lancaster after selling off my latest bit of treasure, deciding that it was time to explore the claim that there was a city of Ancients somewhere in the northeast wilderness. At the Green Seo outpost, on the edge of the true wilderness, I had asked the locals if they had ever heard of such a thing. Only one old, grizzled trapper had taken me up on my offer, swearing to me that he had come across a city somewhere to the east of the outpost that had been abandoned for centuries. Figuring I had nothing to lose and everything to gain from not only seeking out unknown treasure, but also leaving civilization behind, I had decided to take the loony man at his word and head toward the fabled city. Directly east would have eventually led me closer to Nycene than I ever wanted to get, so I had tracked north and east instead. Although apparently further north than I had intended. Anything close to where I had thought I was would have been remote indeed, but not secret Ancient city remote. The knowledge that I had gone so radically off course frightening me a little. I did a lot of traveling on my own, and needed to remain deft in my tracking skills. "How did you find this place exactly?" I asked Celeste, falling in beside her. "When you've wandered the wilderness as long as I have, you tend to run into things that are out of the ordinary and very much out of the way." "And how long as that been?" She glanced at me sideways and winked, "Wouldn't you like to know?" Elves could live for centuries. As far as I knew, Celeste could have been living in the forest for longer than I had been alive. It was an interesting thought, but I did not press the issue. She would tell me if she wanted, if not, what did it matter. We crested the top of a small rise, and the trees suddenly cleared, giving us a nice view far into the distance. I could see the snaking path of a river cutting it's way through the green forests below, it's water sparkling in the bright summer sun. Along a gentle bend of the shore, and thrusting up against the backdrop of the blue, flawless sky was a tall rectangular, obviously man-made structure. Still small in the distance, I could tell that it was gray and filled with holes through which sunlight filtered through. Beneath it were smaller, similar structures, all clustered along the bend in the river. The clear remains of a city. "Wow," I breathed, genuinely impressed, "Is that it?" Celeste nodded, "We'll reach it by nightfall if we make good time. There are plenty of buildings we can take shelter in for the night. Tomorrow you can hunt for your treasure, whatever it is." "I wish I knew myself," I admitted, picking up the pace again with Celeste close behind, "All I know is that Hester Roc must be one of the few cities left in the world that hasn't already been combed over by a hundred different treasure hunters." "So I'm assuming you don't work for the state," Celeste ventured, "Having ventured out so far on your own in order to avoid the helpful cooperation of fellow treasure hunters." I shook my head and adjusted my pack, "No love lost between the King and I, that's all I'll say." "So I guess we're both a bit rebellious," Celeste smirked, and I laughed. "I guess we are," I agreed and we made our way toward the river and city that lay along it. The sun had just begun to set when we reached the outside of Hester Roc. Centuries of forest growth had reclaimed the streets and many of the buildings, leaving the only indications that we were at our destination the river and the few, tall structures that remained. These were falling down and rusted and I began to wonder if there would be any worthwhile treasure within them. Hester Roc was certainly one of the more run down Ancient cities I had visited. "Have you explored this place much?" I asked Celeste, who was leading us toward the river and a barely-there stone bridge that crossed it. "Hardly," she responded, stepping over a low stone wall that had once belonged to a sizable building, "But that big tower we saw is still very much intact, relatively speaking. There could be any number of things inside. It's where I figured we'd spend the night." "Works for me," I said, and watched as we neared the bridge, the tower in mention growing bigger. We crossed the river, watching our steps on the crumbling stone. It wasn't really stone, but the fused, seamless, stone-like material that was prevalent in Ancient cities. Whatever it was made out of eluded modern mages and engineers, though it appeared to be composed of a large number of smaller rocks somehow bonded together. By the time we were across the river, the sun had all but set. Muttering a word of activation, a spot on my arm flared, and then Celeste and I were bathed in a warm light emanating from a floating orb above us. "Interesting trick," Celeste commented, "But how do you use magic without writing runes? I've seen you use a number of castings but you don't have any artifacts on you that have etchings." I rolled up my right sleeve, baring the cluster of tattooed runes that almost completely covered my skin from wrist to elbow in colorful ink, "I'm surprised you didn't notice them last night," I said, "I've got another one on my back that's fairly large. I got that one for payment on one of my more lucrative hunting excursions." Celeste touched the runes with the tips of her fingers and marveled, "I did not know mages could do this. Why bother with artifacts and paper when you could have etchings with you at all time?" "Because it's illegal," I explained, "According to the state, no one should have easy access to such large amounts of power. I think it makes the illustrious King nervous up there in his throne room, which is why state mages have permission to kill any mage they see with tattooed ruins on the spot." Celeste spoke, "Sounds like the very type of thing that made me want to leave Lake Land so much as a child. The upper echelon telling the lower class how they should live. How much power they're allowed to have." "You're from Lake Land?" I asked, trying to gently steer the conversation away from those things that caused me anger, namely the King and the state. "I am," she nodded, looking toward the west where the sun had just set, "And sometimes I still feel too close to home, even though I know how far away I am." Lake Land was located far west of where we were, at around the same latitude. During the time of the Ancients it was sparsely populated. It was filled with beautiful lakes and forests which became the home of one of the largest groups of forest elves after their arrival during the time of the Ancient. If Celeste had been of nobility in Lake Land than she must have truly been a disappointment to her family, having given up such a powerful title. "We're here," Celeste announced suddenly, and indeed we were. Covered with ivy and hidden behind a small cluster of young trees was the facade of the building, or what was left of it. A small incline led up to squat, triangular bases, the remains of some long ago destroyed columns lined the front of the building's wall. Behind the wall, through what had once been the entrance, I could make out more trees and plants where sunlight was able to filter down through the many crumbling floors and provide life giving energy. Stepping through this entrance, I looked around, my light orb illuminating the area. Looking up, I could see the crumbling floors of the upper story by the orb's light, all but withered away by time. Climbing up would be dangerous, but I had tackled greater obstacles before. "Must have been an important place at one point," I commented, marveling at the size of this first floor. I could barely make out the far wall even in the bright light. Celeste nodded her agreement, "Perhaps it was where the government of Hester Roc once ruled." "How do you know the name of this place?" I asked, realizing I had seen no sign or indication of the Ancient city's former title. The wood elf shrugged, "I must have seen it on a sign once while exploring." 
 I narrowed my eyes, skeptical. Any signs that had once been here would have rusted away long ago. The small things were the first to go in these cities. Only buildings and treasure remained. "Let's gather wood," I suggested, "We can build a fire and then eat." "Ok," Celeste agreed and set off into the relative darkness of the building. The second time we had sex came suddenly, but naturally. About an hour after arriving at the tall tower in Hester Roc we were both full and relaxed, leaning against my pack together near the fire, which was roaring happily in front of us. We didn't speak, only enjoyed the warmth of the blaze and of each other, my arm draped around Celeste's thin shoulders, holding her close to me. I was a dark mage who fed on the unpleasant emotions of others, but that did not make me a bad person. It was just my style of magic and a good way to claim energy, one that I had learned from my master as a child. I prefer to be alone most of the time, but being with Celeste seemed natural, easy. It was not love, not even lust. Just...pleasure. Happiness. Contentedness. At some point Celeste turned her face toward me and began to kiss my neck. Lightly at first, but then with more hunger. I turned toward her and she captured my lips with hers, immediately beginning to explore my mouth with her tongue, biting softly at my lower lip. Tender but aggressive. She wanted to be a more active party tonight and I was willing to let her. Feeling her hands roaming across my torso to grip the hem of my tunic, I lifted my arms up so that she could pull the garment off of me. Free of it's confines, she began to explore my body with her fingers, playing over muscle honed from years of hard traveling. All the while she continued to kiss me passionately. Her lips were soft and skillful, her mouth tasted sweet, a pleasant counterpart to the nectar that spilled forth from her lower lips. My cock was hard in my breeches and I could feel the heat from Celeste's cunt against my thigh as she tried clumsily to get closer to me. Gripping her shoulders, I laid her back on the blanket we had spread out, positioning my thighs between hers and grinding my erection into the blazing heat of her pelvis, our clothing maddeningly confining. Fingers ran down my back as I shoved one hand under Celeste's tunic, searching for the hard point of her small breast. Her skin was smooth as silk as my hand glided across it and her chest arched into my palm while she cried out in pleasure, throwing her head back. I sat back on my knees and pushed her tunic up over her chest and then her head, tossing it away and admiring the pale flesh of her naked torso in the firelight. Celeste lay back and arched her chest again, inviting me. I took her up, leaning in and capturing the small bud of her left breast in my mouth, sucking at it and eliciting another loud moan of pleasure. I moved to the other breast, toyed with the nipple, and then began to trail light kisses down her stomach, making my way to the sweet nectar that I knew lay just beneath the fabric of her breeches. "I can't wait to taste you again," I said, yanking down her clothing, exposing her steaming cunt. "Then taste me," Celeste urged, thrusting her hips into the air, trying to get to my face. Using my hands to spread her thighs wide, I dipped down and licked her slit from base to clit, gathering a tongue full of her sweet cum. She moaned as I lapped and sucked at the outside of her cunt, flicking the tip of her clit with my tongue to which elicited a sharp cry of pleasure. "Brian!" Celeste gasped as I inserted three of my fingers into her, rotating them, stretching out her tight channel. "Are you always this damn tight?" I growled against her clit, her heat scorching my fingers. "Elves are gifted with a good deal of favorable traits," she said, "Eternal youth being chief among them." With a chuckle, I began to move my fingers faster, lapping up the juices that escaped from her cunt with each thrust. "Keep going," Celeste moaned, gyrating her hips, "I'm almost there." I sucked her clit into my mouth and bit it gently while simultaneously pressing hard on the small bundle of nerves halfway up her upper wall. It did the trick, and the nymph cried out in orgasm. A small squirt of her cum shot from her cunt, landing hot on my wrist as her inner walls spasmed around me. Hands were suddenly holding my head in place, forcing me to imbibe the sweet nectar that came forth, which I did willingly. It was ambrosia and increased my own pleasure, making my cock feel harder and fuller than it ever had. When Celeste released me, I removed my fingers from her and stood up, undoing my breeches and pulling them down, discarding them. Celeste sat up and gave me a wicked smile before turning around, planting herself on all fours, exposing her dripping sex to me. I got down on my knees behind her, using my hand to line the head of my cock up with her entrance. I rubbed it along her slit, coating it with her cum, before gripping her hips and pulling them toward me. There was the familiar pressure of resistance as my cock head cleared her outer lips, and then the heat of her cunt engulfed me as she slid along my shaft. "Damn," I groaned, pulling out and reentering, her cunt just as tight as it had been the night before, small spurts of her cream escaping as I reentered. "Harder," Celeste moaned, and I complied, pumping my shaft into her with renewed vigor, her walls gripping me tightly with each thrust. Sucking sounds filled the building's first floor as wet suction formed between us. "Yes!" she cried, dropping onto her elbows, forcing her cunt into a deeper angle. I was sweating, my chest gleaming as I concentrated on getting as deep into Celeste as I was able, my pleasure rising with each tight thrust. To prolong my orgasm, I withdrew from her and pushed her hips to the side. "Lie down," I said. Turning over, Celeste lay on her back, her knees bent with her thighs spread wide. I moved down, planting my arms on either side of her head and slid into her cunt while staring hard into her eyes. "So full," she panted, and arched her hips upward to get more of me into her. I ground down on her pelvis with mine, mashing her clit between us and, gyrated my hips. This brought a scream of rapture and claws down my back as she came around my cock, almost sending me over myself. At the height of her orgasm, I began to thrust into her, hard. With each movement, she rocked back on the blanket, her small breasts bouncing with the force. At the edge of my emotional periphery I could sense there was pleasurable pain in my actions, and I fed on the empathic energy while continuing to thrust hard into her. "I'm going to cum inside you," I growled, never breaking eye contact with Celeste, whose own green eyes were clouded with pleasure. "Please," she begged, clawing at my back. With a few more hard thrusts, I stilled, pressure building and then releasing as I shot my seed into her, pressing hard on her clit with my pelvis, trying to bring her own, third release. It came, and her nectar spilled out around our joining in small squirts, coating my skin near her cunt and saturating the warm summer air with his sweet tangy scent. I collapsed lightly on top of her before rolling off onto my back, my cock withdrawing easily from her well-lubricated channel. "How was that?" I asked, my sweaty chest heaving with each breath. "Mmm," Celeste purred, laying her head on my shoulder and trailing a hand playfully across my stomach, "Perfect. Believe it or not, I think you're the best human lover I've ever had." I arched an eyebrow, "Where do I rank among elves?" Celeste appeared to think a moment before responding, "Near the top at least." "Ha!" I barked, "Then I guess you still have a few things to teach me." "I suppose I do," Celeste agreed and kissed my neck, "Tomorrow maybe. Right now I'm exhausted." "Me too," I said and pulled the blanket over our bodies and murmured a casting. "Oh!" Celeste gasped, her eyes widening, "What was that?" "Cleaning rune," I smiled, draping a hand over her shoulders and bringing her close, "Whisks away unwanted messes. Pretty useful when you're being dirty." Celeste giggled and shifted to get comfortable, "You are a man of many surprises," she said and closed her eyes. I dimmed the fire and closed my own eyes, thinking of what a fortuitous trip it had been so far. I had a feeling that something big lie within Hester Roc, the forgotten city of the north. Tomorrow I would find out what that was. Tomorrow my true adventure would begin. Scripts from the Great Library in Nycene: "Ancients": The Ancients, also known as the First People, were a global civilization that lived thousands of years ago. They were technologically more advanced than our current civilizations, but did not have access to the use of magic. Little is known about the Ancient culture and technology, much have it having being destroyed with the arrival of the elves and the ensuing Elvish Wars. In the aftermath of the Elvish Wars, those humans that remained, and those who had sided with the elves were taught the elvish secrets of magic. Within a few centuries, and after the Magic Wars, which were waged between these humans, all non-physical traces of the Ancients were lost. Only their cities and the war-time treasures of the Magic Wars were left behind.

Scripts from the Great Library of Nycene: From "The World's Cities": Nycene: Considered by many to be the greatest city in the world, Nycene is the only Ancient city that is still inhabited by humans. Located on a large island on the north east coast of the Feudal Continent, it is the seat of state power in the eastern kingdom. Ancient buildings left standing after the Magic Wars were rebuilt and refortified throughout Nycene, and it boasts many towers that would be impossible to build with modern technology. One of these towers is used as a palace for the King of Nycene. Another houses the Great Library, which contains the largest collection of scripts in the world, compiled by generations of librarians to preserve the world's history. The state mages also call Nycene home, and enforce the King's rule as far as the west as the Great Divide mountain range. All people who reside between the Great Divide in the west, the desert in the south, and the ocean are considered under the King's, and Nycene's rule. Chapter Five: The Road to Nycene We were back on the road to Nycene, Celeste and I were mounted and Maverick walked behind us, keeping up with his inhuman endurance. The sky was ashen grey, and a light drizzle soaked us, chilling our bodies despite the muggy weather. We were silent, and I was lost in thought. Having fallen asleep before Maverick had made it back from setting wards around the camp, I had woken very well rested. My sleep had only been disturbed briefly when I opened my eyes to a dark camp, lit only by a dim campfire, and the soft mewls of Celeste as Maverick thrust into her from behind on the other side of the fire. Something was dripping from between her naked thighs, and I suspected it was not their first round of the night, but I was too tired to join in so I had fallen back into a deep slumber immediately. That morning, both Celeste and Maverick were up and dressed, eating a light breakfast in comfortable silence. All of our spirits were already dampened by the rain by the time we got packed up and on the road, and I knew that it would be a long day's travel. It was mid morning when I had unconsciously moved a low hanging tree branch that would have scraped the top of my head if I had ridden under it, using the rune for manipulating plants. It was ten minutes later that I realized that I should not have been able to move the branch at all. My energy was replete and I had had no chance to replenish. There certainly had been no unpleasant emotions around the night before for me to feed on. So where had the energy come from? I quick check and I knew that I was completely full of it. Only one thing could account for the discrepancy, and I eyed my pack with The Source cautiously, a fresh idea of where its name may have come from forming in my mind. "Maverick?" I called, and the Summoned trotted up to the side of my horse, his head coming to about my waist. "Master?" "Do you know of any elvish artifact known as 'The Source'?" I asked, and Celeste tuned a curious ear toward us. "Hmmm," Maverick thought, rubbing his chin, "It might sound familiar. But I don't know much about your kind of magic." "Celeste," I said, turning to her, "Let me run an idea past you." "Sure." "Do you think The Source is an actual source of magic? Maybe it's how the first human mages were able to learn the craft; with an actual, physical center of power," it was a crazy idea, really. Magic was found all around in nature. There would be no reason for any one object to contain it as long as a mage had a technique for syphoning this energy from their surroundings; such as empathic links. But as I had suggested to Celeste, it was not out of the realm of possibility that humans would need a starting point before developing these techniques. Perhaps a gift from elves to faithful cities. "Interesting thought," Celeste said, frowning, "But from I know about magic, it doesn't make sense. Why have a source of magic like the orb if magic can be found all around?" "That's what I was thinking," I said, glad Celeste was on the same page, "But maybe it acted as a kind of early conduit. A training apparatus of sorts." "You humans do need a lot of help with magic," Maverick boomed from my side, "It makes a semblance of sense." "I don't know," I shrugged, "I guess my friend in Nycene will know more." I didn't want to tell them about my miraculous return to full energy quite yet. It troubled me enough as it was. I didn't need them, or at least Celeste, fretting over it as well. Free energy could be a very dangerous thing. It violated fundamental principles of magic that kept all mages, dark and state alike, in check. "Who exactly is this friend anyway?" Celeste asked conversationally. "An old friend of my master's," I explained, "He works in the Great Library and is an expert in Ancient history. No love lost between he and the state either. He was a supporter of my master's when..." I trailed off, aware I was about to reveal a secret of my past I wasn't ready to. "I don't doubt he's a very wise man if he is a librarian in the Great Library," Celeste said, ignoring my unfinished sentence, "I've always wanted to visit." "It's the only place I feel safe in Nycene," I admitted, "The state mages stay away for the most part. They have their own collection of knowledge in their tower." We walked in silence for a while then. Sometime after noon, I think, we passed a wooden building hiding among the trees with the torch of Nycene painted on the front door. A guards' outpost. It was empty and dark, its only three apparent inhabitants having fallen victim to Maverick's blade. There were similar outposts scattered all around the wilderness, but that had been the only one we had seen so far. And it was new. The last time I had taken this road it had not been there. Perhaps the King thought he was losing control of his people. It was hard to tell what time it was by the sun, seeing how the clouds refused to break their cover. When we did stop, it was only because it had suddenly become too hard to see the road. "Where would you say we are?" Celeste asked miserably as we made a pitiful camp that night. "A day and half more of all day riding like today and we'll be there," I promised, adjusting the tree branches above us to keep most of the rain off, "We'll start seeing towns tomorrow afternoon. We can even get a room at an inn if it's still raining." "Good," Celeste grumbled and wrapped herself up in blankets, "Because this is miserable." Needless to say, all three of us passed that night without any activity. The rain did not let up the next day and even Maverick and the horses starting to show wariness from walking so far in it. But the trees began to thin by around noon that day and we came upon our first town, a small cluster of houses and not much else, soon after. "There's an inn about ten miles down the road if I remember correctly," I said, speaking for the first time that day, "We'll stop. Have a hot meal and get a good night's sleep in a warm bed." Maverick had gone the long way around the town, opting for a longer journey rather than face a mob of angry villagers when they caught a glimpse of his grey skin and red eyes. I doubted we would run into any enemies in this village, so it felt safe letting Maverick separate from us. The guards that had run us down had apparently been the only ones contacted. And by the time the other guards found out what had happened, if they ever did, we would be in and out of Nycene already. I hoped. "Good," Celeste said, "This rain is driving me insane." By late afternoon we had arrived at the small inn between the last town and the next, along a long stretch of road that cut through gentle, green hills of grass weighted down by the rain. With grateful groans, Celeste and I dismounted and gave our horses to the stableboy, who looked just as miserable as we were, and then we went inside. It was clean and warm and the innkeeper was a friendly, fat man with a booming laugh and a charming smile. He informed us he had plenty of room for two young lovers such as ourselves and called for his young son to please take our packs upstairs. Next we sat at a table near the fire, where a smattering of other folks, local farmers I didn't doubt, were drinking and playing cards, just grateful to be out of the rain. Our dinner was good and hot, and by the end of my second mug of ale I was feeling like my old self again, chatting with Celeste in the carefree manner we had developed of the past two and a half weeks. When it got dark out and the inn started to get more crowded with local folks, I suggested to Celeste that we retire, call Maverick, and chat about our next move. We would be arriving in Nycene before the end of the next day and we needed a plan before we proceeded. She agreed and we went up together, catching knowing glances from a number of the patrons. The room we were given was small, but the bed was large, covering more than half of the space. Other than that, there was only a small table with a mirror above and a wash bowl on top. Even a sparsely furnished room was better than being out in this rain, though. With a little push of energy, I sent a signal out to Maverick that he could follow back to us. I inspected the curtained window next to the table and noted it looked out the back of the inn, which would be perfect for the Summoned to climb through undetected. Satisfied, I turned around and was treated with the sight of Celeste stripping out of her soaked tunic. Her tiny nipples standing at hard points on her chest. "What are you doing?" I asked, grinning, "We have some business to discuss..." "Calm down," Celeste returned, draping her tunic over the table to dry, "I just couldn't stand the damn wet material anymore. You'll just have to try to keep your hands off me." "For now,"I promised, and heard the creak of the window's hinges open and Maverick climbed through like a giant spider, his leather armor dripping with rain water and his long black hair plastered to his head. "Getting started without me?" he asked, eyeing Celeste and starting to unbuckle his armor. I feared he would be naked in no time, so I dived right in to the business we had to discuss. "Before our hormones get the better of us," I said, "We will be on the outskirts of Nycene by tomorrow evening and we need to discuss how to best enter the city undetected." "Easy," Maverick said, already stripped to the waist. "Oh yeah?" I arched an eyebrow, "And how is it so easy?" "Go underground," the Summoned said matter-of-factly. Celeste and I exchanged baffled expressions. "Excuse me?" I asked, certain that my bodyguard had just completely lost his mind. Maverick removed the rest of his armor as he let out a low chuckle, "You humans have forgotten almost all of your history. It's almost pathetic." "Explain yourself," I said to the now completely naked and unmistakably aroused Summoned. "There is a large system of tunnels beneath Nycene left over from the Ancients," Maverick said while he looked hungrily at Celeste, who was biting her lower lip and squirming a little under his gaze, "We can access it from the outskirts of the city easily. Nycene used to extend much further than it does today, and some of the tunnel entrances are still pretty accessible outside the city gates. Then we can use them to navigate the city unnoticed." "There's an entire network of underground tunnels beneath Nycene and the King doesn't know about it?" I found that impossible to believe. With the amount of time and effort the King put in to learning every secret possible from the city and its people, I doubted very much that he had overlooked something this major. "I'm sure he does," Maverick said. "So it's guarded?" I spoke fast, trying to break through the cloud of sexual tension that hung in the air between all three of us. "Yes," Maverick admitted, approaching Celeste, "But much less so than any other entrance to the city. As far as he knows, no one else is aware of its existence. We could easily get around any guards he has stationed in them. Now enough talk," with one, rough motion he bent and yanked Celeste's breeches down her legs, the musky aroma of her cream instantly filling the air, "Get on the bed and spread those thighs. I've been smelling your juicy cunt since I came in this room and now I want to taste it." Celeste kicked off her clothes and sat down on the edge of the bed, doing as Maverick had commanded and spreading her thighs to give us both a perfect view of her glistening slit, dripping juice as always. With an unearthly growl, the Summoned knelt on the floor and spread her thighs even further, inhaling her scent deeply. "So good," he moaned and dipped his head forward, licking a long path from the base of her slit to her bud, gathering up a tongue full of cream as he went. Celeste shuddered and moaned, tried to close her thighs around Maverick's head but was prevented from doing so by strong hands that kept them wide open. Stripping off my tunic I got on the bed and knelt behind Celeste, allowing her to lean back onto my chest so I could get a good view of her cunt getting licked. My hands came around her back to cup her small breasts while I watched Maverick's tongue snake its way into the ever-tight hole between her lips. She was already sweating and moaning, her juices flowing freely, dripping down Maverick's chin as he began his onslaught. Gripping her chin, I turned her face toward mine and went in for a hungry kiss, our tongues dueling hotly with each other while underneath my grip, she squirmed and undulated with passion. "Are you going to cum?" I whispered into her ear, breaking the kiss and giving her nipples a hard pinch, "Are you going to dribble your sweet cunt juice all over Maverick's face?" "Yes," Celeste moaned, her hips bucking off of the bed, trying to get closer to the never-ceasing tongue of the Summoned, "Oh fuck yes." "Then are you going to lick your cream off his face while I have my own little feast?" I asked, feeling her body tense, knowing she was getting close to her first orgasm. "Y...yes," Celeste shuddered and I kissed her again, roughly. Moments later she squealed into my mouth as an orgasm ripped through her body. I stopped what I was doing to her mouth so I could watch as she gushed cum all over Maverick's willing face. He licked up as much as he could, but it still made a mess of his lips and chin. Not to mention the sheets of the bed and Celeste's inner thighs. I moved out from behind Celeste and swapped places with Maverick with unspoken communication. I knelt where he had knelt and smelled the sweet tang of the juices he had called forth from her cunt. Her thighs were sticky wit the stuff and a I started there, licking it up and reveling in its unique taste. Glancing upward, I saw Celeste had been true to her word and was licking and kissing the cream off Maverick's face while he held her head roughly by her golden hair. I smiled and turned my attention back to my target. With two fingers I entered her channel and began to rub against her g-spot, wanting her to squirt her cum all over me. Even though she had just had a sizable orgasm, it was mere moments before I had Celeste writhing above me. Maverick held her still while I pumped my fingers against her spot, feeling it swell. Leaning in I flicked her clit with the tip of my tongue and then sucked it hard into my mouth. "FUCK!" she screamed and I picked up the pace of my fingers, adding a third and thrusting hard into her, like I planned on doing soon with my cock. Her legs, free from restraints, closed around my shoulders, holding me in place as I coaxed her closer to release. Cream dripped out around my thrusting fingers and loud, wet noises filled the room. Anyone walking past the door would be able to hear, and even possibly smell, the extremely erotic scene taking place and he or she would be surely filled with jealously. I know I would. "Cum for me, Celeste," I said softly, but loud enough for her to hear it over her own pants and sighs, "Spray me with your juices." "Cum," Maverick growled and his hand slid down her heaving, sweating belly and pinched her clit with savage roughness. Celeste came, fulfilling my wish and squirting a strong stream of her nectar all over my chest and face. It smelled and tasted divine, and I stood so the next stream hit my stomach, the hot splatter fueling the erotic frenzy that was building in my mind. "Maverick," I said as Celeste's orgasm subsided, "Sit against the head of the bed." The Summoned moved along the mattress so that his back was against the wall behind it, his cock standing at full attention between his legs. Celeste was panting and sweating, but still looked ready for another round or five. "Climb on his cock,"I told Celeste, "But face me. I want to watch you while he splits you open." With eager limberness, Celeste moved toward Maverick. Getting on her knees, she backed herself up so that her legs were on either side of his. She continued to move until Maverick's cock stood poised at her entrance, pre-cum joining the mess of moisture already built up around her lips. "Down," I pointed and she lowered her hips. Maverick's head cleared her lips with amazing resistance, becoming engulfed by her tight channel as she started her journey downward. Celeste took her time, a fraction of an inch every few seconds. Cum dripped down Maverick's shaft and balls as she slid down and down. And he remained remarkably still, allowing the nymph to take complete control. Eventually she was seated completely on top of Maverick's hips. I could see the slight bulge of his cock where it pressed up against her upper walls, almost too thick to fit within her. "How does that feel?" I asked, getting a thrill from commanding and watching my own little show. "So full," Celeste moaned, and began to play with her clit, shifting her hips a little around Maverick's shaft, seemingly enjoying the feel of him inside her. "Now slide up his cock," I said, "Leave only the head. And remain like that." She did as she was told, using her thighs to withdraw all but the tip of Maverick's member from her over-stuffed cunt. The skin of his shaft glistened wetly with her juices and more continued to run down it as she remained poised above him, waiting for my next command. "Down," I said and she slammed home harder than I had anticipated, letting out a little cry of pleasurable pain. "Up." She slid up. "Down." Back home. "Up. Down. Up. Down." I continued in litany, watching the flush rise in her chest as she rode herself on Maverick's cock to my commands. The Summoned let out a few groans of pleasure now and then, but for the most part he acted the part of the tool very well. "Continue that pace," I said and stripped out of my breeches as Celeste continued to fuck herself in earnest, her little mewls of pleasure going straight to my cock. "Are you close?" I asked her and she nodded, "Keep playing with your clit until you cum." I climbed onto the bed and sat back on my knees, watching and waiting for the inevitable. "YES!" Celeste finally cried and impaled herself fully on Maverick. Cream gushed from her cunt around their joining. Maverick grunted soon after and his own cum began to leak from her opening as he emptied a giant load inside her. "Get off and get on your back," I said. She did, cum dripping from her snatch. I sat up on my knees and grabbed her hips roughly, pulling them toward my own. Then I pushed her legs back toward her head, exposing her well-lubricated cunt to my more than prepared cock. I entered her. Combined cum squeezed out around my shaft and I could feel the gooey mixture facilitate my movements as I began to fuck her hard. She was still hot and wet and her fluttering walls gripped me tightly. Having watched her fuck herself on my Summoned had already brought me to the brink of orgasm. I knew that she was almost spent, and so I was racing toward the finish, enjoying the soft pliable flesh of her cunt as I fucked her harder and harder. Sweat and her nectar dripped from my chest and onto her body, which was writhing in pure ecstasy, climbing toward her fourth orgasm. With a final lunge I came inside her, filling her to the brim with even more cum as she squirted out around me, coating my pelvis and lower belly with juices, making me even more sticky than I already was. Maverick watched and stroked his cock. "On her belly," I told him, and he stroked harder for a few moments before huge ropes of white cream erupted from his tip, landing on the alabaster skin of Celeste's stomach. Apparently watching my own brief show had excited him like his had me. I withdrew and stood back to admire my handiwork. The nymph lay panting, exhausted, covered with cum, with even more dripping from her cunt. A bead of our three combined juices dripped from my cock and onto the mattress. "We did good work," I told Maverick and he nodded his agreement with a malicious smile. Celeste had become our shared object of pleasure, and we all three were reaping amazing benefits from the arraignment. "Fuck," Celeste moaned and lewdly rubbed the cum on her belly into her skin, "That was amazing." "Wait until we're both inside you at once," I said and murmured the cleaning casting that got rid our mess, which was becoming a little uncomfortable post-climax. "Shit," Celeste groaned and sat up, "I don't know if I can handle that." "You will," I promised, and flopped down onto the right side of the bed, my chest still heaving as I came down from my exhausting efforts. She snuggled up next to me, her head on my shoulder. Maverick extinguished the lamp that lit the room and stood at the window, "I will watch the area while you rest," he announced. I always figured he did not sleep. This confirmed it. "Thank you," I said drowsily and noticed with amusement that Celeste was already asleep next to me. She had had quite the workout. The Summoned nodded and climbed out the window. For a while after he had left I pondered the relationship we had formed with Celeste. It had been an unspoken occurrence and the most exotic thing I had ever been involved with. And it would end as soon I sent Maverick away, making it unfortunately temporary. Just like my personal relationship with Celeste. Pleasure would be fleeting, it seemed. Which suited my life fine. I was meant to be alone. But still, it pained me to have to loose Celeste. She was something special. Strong and adventurous, rare qualities in many of the women I came across. 'Stop fretting over things you can not control,' I thought to myself sternly, 'What will come will come. Just try to enjoy yourself while you can.' And I agreed with myself. I would enjoy Celeste and Maverick and everything that transpired between us until this particular quest was over. Then I would move on to the next one. Meet more people, have more sex, and eventually retire. Such was the life of a dark mage. The life I had chosen. The life I was good at...

Life was looking good for Tony Stark. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist was also a god-damn superhero that saved the world from an army of aliens. Sure, he had help—but everyone had to admit that he was the coolest one of the group. The internet polls didn’t lie, after all, and he and Star Spangled Man was running toe to toe in being named the sexiest Avenger. Cap was currently in the lead—but Tony didn’t mind. He always came up on top in the end. And yeah, he did have that minor inconvenience of the all-consuming nightmare that plagued him every time he closed his eyes, but he was working on it. Hell, he was talking  to a professional and everything! And sure he panicked sometimes, but he needed it to work. For her. It was the main reason why he suggested moving back to California in the first place. Sure, New York would have been easier in the grand scheme of things and Pepper nearly blew a gasket when he casually mentioned he was going to let the newly started branch to fend for itself—but there was a deep satisfaction blooming in his gut to see his woman back at home again. Lips twitched into a sly grin as he remembered the first night back. It had been so long since she stayed at their place that he made sure he re-introduced her to every room. And ever piece of furniture too. But after weeks of unpacking and wandering around their home Tony admitted he was growing a bit restless. The California sunshine was beckoning to him and he knew exactly where to go. “JARVIS, prepare my Tesla will you? I’m thinking donuts.” “The usual place, sir?” Tony grinned ear to ear, “Of course. It’s her favorite after all.” Pivoting on the spot, Tony yelled out, “Hey Hoooooney?” “Yes, Tony?” his missus’s voice echoed from somewhere downstairs. He bounded towards the stairwell, taking two steps at a time until he spotted the beautiful lady. Without much of a thought, he grabbed her by the waist, swinging her up into the air. Tony reveled in the airy giggles that burst from her mouth. “Put me down Tony!” “Fly, Iron Woman Fly!” he shouted, dodging her swatting hands as he spun her around once more. “NOOOO!” she struggled in his hold, causing him to lose his grip. She shrieked as she fell into his chest and he smiled at the cute glare she shot him. “Tony! I told you—no flying!” He pouted, “But you were so good at it. Come on—do it for daddy.” His love made a face, opposing the gleeful laughter spilling from his lips, “Oh my god. Tony. Really?” Tony’s grin never left his face as he pitched his voice lower into a purr, “Does my baby girl not want her Daddy to ravish her?” She clutched his chest, heaving between streams of laughter. Tony watched her face, feeling warm at the sight. God, he was so lucky to have her. “Hey—” he said, bringing his face closer to her to brush his nose against hers. Nuzzling for a bit, he pulled away before saying, “I’m feeling caged up in here. Why don’t we go to Randy’s?” He waggled his eyebrows, “It’s been a while since we’ve had them. And you’ve been whining about them for—” “Ah sweetie,” his woman said, kissing his cheek before he could finish his sentence. She wiggled a bit until he let back on her feet. “Thanks for the offer, but you know I can’t eat donuts! They’re filled with too much sugar!” Tony paused, thoughts screeching to a sudden halt. What? “What kind of doctor would I be if I let you and me eat donuts—uh no.” Picking up her laptop, she gave Tony a light nose tap before turning away from him, “If you want to go out—let’s go to that new 4 Michelin Star Restaurant that opened up! I’ve been meaning to try it!” Walking towards the living room without glancing back, she continued, “I’m going to be working on some thing for the next hour or so—see you then?” “Yeah—“Tony said, casually turning around as well. His fingers spasmed across his jeans as a thoughtful frown settled on his face. “I’ll be in the lab. Working on…things.” He fast walked towards the elevators, not bothering to hear what else was said. His eyes remained focused on her retreating form until the elevator doors slid shut. --- She had dealt with burns before. Nasty, thermal full thickness burns from a SHIELD weapons test gone wrong came to mind.  The skin had all but melted off the woman’s arm, frying in the sizzling fat underneath it, muscles spasming from experiencing the outside air for the very first time… Even after she called in the leading split thickness skin graft surgeon in the country to help with reconstructing the scientist’s extremity, the graft didn’t take and she watched without a hint of nausea as thick black necrosis traveled up the site, unable to live without the blood flowing through the vessels welded shut by the flames. But the burning embers traveling slowly over the very tips of her fingers made her stomach roll. “A little side effect, I’m afraid,” said the man in front of her, pearly white teeth matching with the stark sterility of the hospital room. It made the unnatural glow of her fingertips more apparent against her skin. “But it fixed you right up. You would have been dead without it.” SHIELD’s Introduction to Kidnapping forgot to mention that no matter how ready one was, one couldn’t prepare for the sheer bad luck that she began to suspect she had. That the history of feeling like her heart was clenching in her chest was not due to her emotional stress she had recently undergone but in fact warnings of a gastric ulcer ready to perforate. And as all things went, it decided to explode a hole in her stomach, spilling gastric fluids and blood inside her body the moment her kidnapping had begun. And Killian was right.  She would have died if she didn’t get medical attention. But hellfire was roaring in her chest. “A surgeon would have sufficed,” she said, tearing her gaze from the glowing fire in her hands and to her kidnapper. She forced some humor into her voice, “A bit overdoing it, don’t you think?” “Perhaps,” he said, smiling in a way that seemed he knew something she didn’t. She remembered another white male with a similar face and shuddered. “But I needed you alive. Luckily, for you, I had the means.” “What do you want?” Killian’s grin turned sinister and she shrunk back as much as her fatigued body could dare, “I have Christmas plans.” His smile suddenly dropped and he slammed his hands against the side of her knee, “All the pieces have been set but you-“ he lifted her chin in a sharp arch, earning a small cry to escape her lips in pain, “are a confounding variable.” “And as a fellow person of science, you know what we do about confounding variables,” he said, pulling back and walking towards the door that jailed her. He turned his head around to send her a smirk. “We remove them.” --- “Not liking your dessert, my dear?” Tony asked, watching his girlfriend pick out the berries from her fruit parfait. She smiled apologetically, “Ah...I’m not really a fan of strawberries.” Tony merely hummed, gaze sharpening over her form. --- Half-melted slush rained down her face, causing her to jerk backwards in shock. The back of her head smacked painfully against the wall, enhancing the already present disorientation she felt from being abruptly awoken. “What the hell?” she gasped, shaking her head as ice dripped from her hair. “You’re welcome,” her personal guard, who she nicknamed The Rock for the bald head and bulging bicep he had, snickered at her discomfort. She was frankly surprised to see her inside her cell—most of the henchmen stuck to judging her behind the bars. “For what?” she snarled, knowing the answer before the guard replied. She closed her eyes, hoping that the glow emanating from her fingertips would disappear. “You’ve been given a blessing, you know,” the Rock said, coming closer towards her. His face took on an almost envious disgust as he tapped the prosthetic hand on his left. “One you don’t deserve.” She shook her head, “I never wanted this.” She lifted her head to glare at the man, “Killian is using you as human time bombs. You’re expendable to him.” No one gave her any information, but she could tell what all of this was about. Why else would you make your own henchmen into supersoldiers that could explode at any given moment? “Whatever his motive is—it’s not for your benefit.” A punch came flying towards her face but there was nothing she could do to avoid it. Gritting her teeth as pain bloomed against her jaw, she didn’t bother to hide the tears that fell down her cheeks. “Why don’t you give up?” The Rock said, panting a bit from the exerction. His eyes were wild, a hint of madness brewing deep within. “The boss gave you an opportunity. Help him stabilize the formula and save the millions of veterans like me.” He gestured wildly towards his missing limb. “Aren’t you a doctor? Don’t doctor’s help people?” A headache formed in between her eyes and she snarled, “Why help people who have already taken it for granted? Do you think physicians like chopping people’s limbs off? It was to save your life—and sure, not saying that finding a way to grow a limb isn’t something that would benefit people like you—but not at the expense of hurting others!” She continued, her voice increasing in volume, “And if you grow a limb—so what? Are you any different from who you were without one appendage? Yes, accidents happen but people adapt. People change. You aren’t your arm, just as a haircut or a new suit of armor doesn’t change the fundamentals of your entire being. And based on what I am seeing—” she spat a globule of spit at the man, causing him to stumble back in disgust. “I don’t think having a hand will change the fact that your heart is as black as tar.” The Rock grabbed her hair and pulled up, causing a small whimper to escape her teeth. His disgusting breath wafted close to her ear as he growled, “The company you keep isn’t pure either, darling.” “Tony is leagues better than you.” Her head was smashed against the wall, causing black dots to form in her vision. She flinched as the Rock whipped his hands away, anticipating another attack when he instead brought out a smartphone and shoved it towards her face. “You think Stark gives a fuck about you? He doesn’t even know you’re gone!” It took a while to comprehend the screen in front of her but her eyes focused on the picture of Tony and herself exiting an unknown restaurant. A quick flick of her eyes indicated that the picture was taken last night. She had been in this place for over a month. She licked her scabbing lips, trying to keep an air of calm beneath the turmoil that coiled inside her, “Nice tech. Facial mapping—couldn’t have been Killian’s. “ She remembered seeing something similar back at SHIELD. A prototype mask that could project another person’s face on an agent for spying purposes. “Based on the shit you’re carrying and the overall facilities, he’s probably placed all his budget on advancing the formula. So—must be a collab company. Making friends, are you?” She watched in satisfaction as the henchman’s face paled at the. “What—am I wrong?” She was strangely disappointed when the only response she got was the sound of the door to her prison slamming shut. --- “Hello?” “Helen Cho. This is Tony. Tony Stark. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” “I’m afraid I have not, sir.” “Suuuure—” “Seriously sir, I do not know who you ar—” “Anyway, this isn’t about me. Have you seen an American Emergency/Trauma physician around your parts lately? Small, long hair about yay high. Personality the size of Everest.” “Er…I don’t think so?” “…I see. Well, I’m uploading my contact information to your personal cell. Call me if you she comes by. Bye—” “Wait what? My personal—how do you have the access to my—” Beep beep beep beep. --- All she wanted at this very moment was a strawberry filled donut from Randy’s. Another thing SHIELD’s class forgot to warn her about was the sense of overwhelming loneliness she was subjected to and how to fix it. The thought of Tony made her belly ache—although lately, she had been feeling more and more cramps. It was probably due to the hunger—or perhaps the whole regeneration of her gastrointestinal system. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the whole thing. Bruce would have figured it out by now, she thought feeling sorry for herself. Tony would have fixed whatever formula this thing was, made a bomb, and busted himself out before dinner. But she had been stuck here, imprisoned, for a whole month! She was running out of time. Another cramp rolled through her stomach and she groaned. She briefly entertained the idea of taking Killian’s offer to join his terrorist organization as their personal doctor—but it wasn’t as if she could manipulate her way out of her situation. And there was no way in hell that she was actually joining the man. Feeling her muscles spasm painfully, she licked her cracked lips before yelling out, “H-hey!” Her voice cracked awkwardly, vocal chords lax with disuse. After a few repeat shouts, a disgruntled henchman marched towards her little cell. The Rock had stopped visiting her and she morbidly wondered if he ended up getting the serum he wanted.  “What do you want?” “Bathroom?” she asked, earning her an annoyed sigh. A few moments later, she was being dragged down the hallway towards the toilet led by the chain clipped to the handcuffs surrounding her hands. Tripping to keep herself from falling, she thanked the man before shimming her pants down, no longer uncomfortable in using the toilet in front of a watchful eye. She didn’t know why there was such a heavy security team around her, but she liked to think that Killian was somehow under the impression that she was dangerous. She almost laughed at that thought. Ha. Her, dangerous? “Hurry up!” the henchman, Bieber she nicknamed based on the hairstyle he was sporting, “You’re going to cut into my lunch break!” She grabbed the toilet paper, finishing up when she suddenly paused. “Did you hear me? I said hurry up—what are you—” Bieber shouted, reaching over as if he was intending on yanking her off the toilet when his eyes followed her gaze. The grunt he let out was filled with pure annoyance, “Great. Another thing I have to worry about. You’re lucky the facility list hasn’t been sent out yet—” Suddenly, the cramping made sense. The overwhelming hunger for donuts made sense. But, this can’t be right. There was dark red blood staining her underwear for the first time in three years. The thing—the formula…. What did he do to me? --- Look, Tony wasn’t stupid. The missus didn’t deem it necessary to disclose how she got the gigantic scar running from her pubic bone to her belly button but he knew what that scar meant. He could count the months and days. So when he noticed tampons on the grocery list JARVIS kept record of to buy in bulk at the end of the month, Tony knew that the evidence he had been complying over the last few weeks were true. His woman hadn’t had her period in years. This woman sleeping in his bedroom was an imposter. He didn’t want to arise any alarm by looking into things but the missus was missing and he needed to do something about it. In a different world, Tony may have done something reckless like try to find her himself—most likely getting into deep deep trouble. This job needed to be discreet and he admitted that the only other person flashier than Iron Man was the Hulk himself. But he was rational. He had resources.   He knew the perfect person for the job. “Hello?” “I need your help, Miss Rushman.”

  "....I can't believe we have to go through this again!" Seo complained after they were all gathered back inside the Old Campus building. All fifty students crammed in the classroom. "Well, at least she left snacks!" Hiroto held up the protein bars. "Whoa, apparently this one bar is a whole meal!" A few of the other students were examining the compact food as well. "This is so weird..." Asami said, frowning. "I'm still confused on how many Ritsus there are," Kanada said. "Especially considering the original future Ritsu hasn't been put online yet." "I'm working on it!" Ritsu 2.0 whined from Okuda's phone. "But setting up a system is hard!" "You're an AI!" Okamoto exclaimed. Ritsu 2.0 huffed. "...I still have other stuff to do." Kayano looked sat down on the desk and looked through the small device. "So, Ritsu made a whole show about us." "It's finally my time to shine!" Koro-sensei gushed. "Koro Q..." Nagisa hummed, rubbing his chin. "It is kind of strange." "Yeah, but didn't Koro-sensei also request it in the Rules To Live By book he made in the original future?" Sugino reminded him. Asano sighed, already looking tired. "Is no one else annoyed that she messed up time travel again?" Nagisa smiled sheepishly. "Well, time travel is hard..." "At least it gives us more time to work on our plan," Isogai said, smiling. Asano sighed again. "I suppose..." "Plus, it'd be nice hanging out again!" Kondo looked excited. "Those last three days were the best thing ever." Miura smiled nervously. "And, it would be nice having a break from the Principal..." "Binge-watch time!" Fuwa high-fived Oota. "An Otaku's dream!" "Our lives aren't a tv show..." Sugaya paused, and then sighed. "Actually, they kind of are now..." Kimura hummed. "Do you think we get royalties?" "Do we really have to watch this show!" Tsuchiya complained. "How long is it anyway!?" Kayano hummed. "Huh...it's kind of weird." The students looked over questionably. "What do you mean?" Karma asked, trying to look over her shoulder. "Well, the first season has twelve episodes which are about ten minutes long," Kayano said. "But, for some reason, she's labelled the second season as 'the unreleased second season because the producers cancelled it', with more episodes." There was a pause. "Wait, so her show got cancelled?" Mimura asked. Fuwa sighed. "The true evil of this world..." Asano rubbed his chin. "While the time bubble is an advantage, we should be using the time productively rather than watching a clear cash-grab show." "Excuse me!" Ritsu 2.0 looked offended. "This is why you're an annoying side-character!" Fuwa snapped. "We don't all have to watch it if we don't want to," Kataoka said, shrugging. "Some of us could also be planning and coordinating in the other rooms?" "Good idea." Okano nodded. "Plus, at least we have more privacy here than in the assembly hall, so it's not so bad." "Yes, bonding!" Koro-sensei looked delighted. "Your sensei has plenty of board games—" "NO!" A majority of them yelled. Koro-sensei sulked in a corner. "Why do you keep hurting me like this?" Kayano hummed. "Okay, so should we start watching or not?" "Well, besides planning there isn't much else to do," Seo grumbled. Araki shrugged. "We might as well give it a watch, it could help give us ideas on how to sort out this mess?" "I doubt that, but hey, what have we got to lose?" Tsuda said. "What little sanity we have left?" Satsuki suggested. "We are stuck with 3-E again for three days." "Yeah, but we're all friends now so it'll be fine!" Hinano was sunshine and rainbows. "Dibs on pressing the play button!" Uchida hastily raised his hand, before diving to the front and grabbing the projector device. "No, take backs!" "Uh..." Kayano frowned. "Okay, let's do this!" Kondo looked excited, grabbing a snack from the pile on the desks. "Are we all sitting on the floor or?" "Well, we have mats in the supply closet next door," Toka told them. "We could get those to be more comfortable?" "That's a good idea." Isogai smiled sheepishly at Asano. "How about we all watch the first episode together, and if other people don't want to continue we can separate into other rooms?" Ren nudged Class A's leader. "Yeah, it could be fun." Asano frowned, crossing his arms. "...Very well." Nagisa looked amused. "Well, let's go get the mats and set up, then we can start." "Sounds like a plan." Rio grinned. "Ritsu had better have made this spin-off something special!"       The PE mats were laid out on the floor, with the projector mounted on the desk in front of the blackboard, Uchida guarding the play button. "Anyone kind of scared of how Ritsu's going to portray us in this show?" Hara asked. "I mean, you guys are already crazy so nothing else would be much of a stretch," Machida commented, and then laughed nervously when Sugino shot him a look. "Uh, you know, the good kind of crazy!" "Well, I'm excited about it," Okuda said, smiling. "the intro we saw looked cute." "Yeah, but it had that stupid acorn," Terasaka rolled his eyes. "Did she really have to include it?" "Well, it is the school mascot," Nagisa replied in amusement. "Okay, is everyone ready!?" Uchida called once all the students were seated. "Yeah, if Koro-sensei will stop trying to eat all the snacks," Hazama said, looking over at the octopus who was trying eat the snacks off the table. "Ah!" Koro-sensei froze, caught in the act. "Sir!" Toka chided. "I was only going to have one more bite!" Koro-sensei exclaimed, growing flustered. "We have to ration them! That's all the food we have for three days," Kataoka said sternly. "I was only going to have one more..." Koro-sensei huffed and sat down next to Nagisa and Karma. Nagisa smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes we're ready," Uchida said, pressing the play button. The black screen opened with words typed in a white, pixelated font. [Begin a new quest?] [Yes] [No  ] The "Yes" option was selected. "Oh, so it's really like a video game," Karma said. "That's pretty cool!" Oota said. Kanzaki nodded, looking excited. "Yes! This looks like it'll be fun." The screen faded to black, then showed an animated 3-E sign outside of the classroom as Koro-sensei's laugh was heard. "Nurufufufu! Alright, people. Let's get started, shall we? Whoever feels ready..." Green stripes appeared on Koro-sensei's face. "Come and get me!" The entire class rushed at him with their weapons, giving loud shouts. "Hey, this is just like the first episode of the footage," Hokoma said. "Well, Ritsu did say this series was supposed to honor our time together in the original timeline," Rinka replied. "Yeah, but we look kind of weird here..." Kimura stared at his hands and then the screen. "Like we're chibi or something..." "I think it looks cute!" Hinano replied. Koro-sensei took photos. "You all look so adorable!" The opening was played. "Play that song!" Fuwa shouted. "Mr K isn't here to stop us now!" A few students groaned. "I mean, I feel we probably shouldn't overkill it with the intros," Oota commented. Chikara o hime ta kimi koso yuusha Tabidate sa a kanata mezashi te Mahou no gakkou maou wa danjou Ikinari dai sentou "Yeah, this is going to get annoying fast," Koyama said. "You're annoying!" Fuwa threw a pencil at his head. Make ochikobore kono kumi wa zako demo muri Maemuki mahou ni kakerare te Iku yo (yadaa) soko da (kowaai) Nantoka taisan Ara gushigi yuuki no keiken chi Agaru (tereruu) agaru (offuu) Sore sodatta kibou no tsuru giofurikazase! (Minna ganbare) "Everything is so colourful," Miura gushed, her pigtails bouncing. "I know, I love it!" Hinano gushed with her. Saa maou taiji iccho sekai sukui masu ka (hoihoi) Dakedo sou na n da yo ne aite ga warui Shire ba shiru hodo rasu bosu kateru ki shi naku naru yo Bugu to hasami wa tsukai you senzaiichiguu mirai o sensei oshie te Nee dou naru no? "See! It wasn't even that long," Fuwa argued, eyes sparkling. "I vote we play the intro EVERY episode!" "Overruled," Asano said dryly. "You're not even in this class!" Fuwa snapped. "I wouldn't mind having the intro played every time." Rio looked amused. "Depend how fast it'll get annoying." "Probably pretty fast," Karma commented. "How come, Maehara, Isogai, Karma, Nagisa, and Kayano and singing the intros this time around?" Shindo questioned. "Oh, yeah, we got booted!" Hiroto looked offended. Isogai smiled in amusement. "Maybe we didn't give Ritsu the copyright to use our voices?" The class sighed in exhaustion. Nakamura and Okajima rested their heads on their desks. Okuda, Kurahashi, and Maehara leaned up against the front wall of the classroom. Mimura sat next to Maehara. Koro-sensei stood, unharmed, behind the podium at the front of the classroom. [The E Class did their best] "Yep, that about sums it up," Hazama commented. "We got our asses handed to us a lot in the beginning." "All a learning curb!" Koro-sensei chimed in. "I'm afraid you've got miles to go before you're heroes," Koro-sensei said. When they had tried fighting, Okajima had swung a wooden stick at the Demon King with a shout. "Our attacks don't connect!" "Oho! That's the spirit!" Koro-sensei encouraged. [A miss! No damage hath been scored!] Nakamura tried to fire her magic at the Demon King, but he dodged. [Miss!] (He's too freaking quick!) she thought. Koro-sensei sniggered. "I am a force to be reckoned with." "Yeah, and a smug bastard to boot," Rio said. "Swear jar!" He flashed the repaired jar into view. "No way!" Rio yelled. "Yeah, we're not funding your porn habit," Karma said, smirking. "It's not for that!" Koro-sensei turned bright pink while the others laughed. The Demon King appeared behind her. His face was white as he stared blankly and smirked creepily at her. [The Big Bad is smiling.] Nakamura groaned in annoyance. "Heh! Look at my horns!" Koro-sensei looked happy. "A true demon!" "Uh, I'm not really getting the demon vibes," Hatanaka said, frowning. "You just look like an octopus with horns." Koro-sensei looked offended. "No! I'm a king of terror, a demon of deceit." "You're bright yellow with horns! You don't even have wings," Mimura pointed out. Koro-sensei huffed, smushing his tentacles together petulantly. "I'm still a terrifying demon..." Terasaka sat on the ground. He, Muramatsu, and Yoshida leaned their backs against each other. "Ugh, face it, people. We're level one. We got a snowball's chance in hell." "I know," Muramatsu agreed, defeated. "And all we got for weapons are these wooden sticks." He held one up. "Speak for yourself; mine's made of plastic." Yoshida held up a toilet plunger with flies buzzing around it. "Mightiest warrior in the land!" several Kunudon voices exclaimed. "That's for unclogging toilets!" the words on the screen read. The Demon King freaked out. "THAT'S UNHYGIENIC!" "Gross!" "Ew!" Kanada wrinkled her nose. "I know you guys got screwed over a lot for being E Class but at least the government gave you decent weapons," Hatanaka commented. Okajima shrugged. "Well, this is meant to be medieval fantasy, I guess." "Since when was a toilet plunger medieval fantasy!" Kataoka exclaimed. "Poor Isogai has it the worst," said Sugino, who was sitting on the floor next to Maehara. Isogai stood confidently, facing away from them. "Granted, the suit of armor makes him look heroic..." The screen showed what Maehara and Sugino were seeing - the back half of Isogai's armor wasn't there, the front being held up by a string tied around his back and another around his neck. The only thing he was wearing on his back half was underwear. "...but only from the front side." "WHAT?!" Isogai turned red in the face while his friends and the other students burst out laughing. Kataoka covered her mouth to try not to laugh. "At least the front half is nice." Hiroto clutched his side. "Oh, wow!" Isogai ducked his head. "Why...?" Isogai rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "It was all my family could do to scrounge up the cash for half." "What respectable retail chain even sells them like that?!" Maehara exclaimed. "I'm not that poor!" Isogai's cheeks burned redder as the students kept laughing. "Who makes half an armour anyway!?" Asano raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't you just by the bottom or top half if that's all you could afford?" "Exactly!" Isogai covered his face in his hands. Then he directed his attention back to Koro-sensei and the rest of the class. "In any case, we're nowhere near ready." "I don't get it; why choose the nobodies in E Class for this?" Sugino asked. The screen showed the front of the main school building. (Kunugigaoka School of Magic,) Nagisa narrated, (where students from all over the world come to forge themselves into heroes, complete with a backwoods satellite campus for those who don't make the cut. That's where E Class meets and where we share a secret no one else in the entire school knows.) "Wow, Ritsu keeps calling out our low self-esteem in semester one," Rio remarked. "I mean, your self-esteem was low," Machida said. "Though, I'm kind of hoping this series doesn't focus on the Principal being crazy and the rest of us at the main campus being jerks." "Well, I have a feeling the Principal will still be crazy." Kayano shrugged. "But maybe he'll have less screen time." Asano hummed, grimacing a little. "Hopefully." Ren smiled. "Well, this series kind of seems like a comedy, so maybe it'll show him getting pranked on?" "Uh, that might earn us a death sentence though," Nagisa commented. Karma smirked. "Still worth it." The students stared, focused at the front of the classroom. (This year, for some reason, our teacher just so happens to be... the Big Bad.) Koro-sensei stood behind the podium. "Huh. So he really does exist," Fuwa said. Behind her, Hara ate bite after bite of food out of a bento box, not bothering to chew before swallowing. Nagisa looked at Fuwa and deadpanned. "Huh?" The screen cut to a yellow background with five Koro-sensei facial expressions on the bottom. It read in both Japanese and English, "Koro-sensei Quest!" and Nagisa's voice said, "Koro Q!" The screen showed a picture of the school building with the caption, [Some days ago]. Karasuma stood at the front of the classroom. [Royal Knight Commander: Karasuma] "So I'll just come right out and say it. I'm gonna need you, young people, to kill this thing for us." "So business as usual?" Hara commented. "I wish Mr Karasuma was here." Hinano sighed. "I mean, he'd probably find this annoying," Yanagi commented. "I don't know, he might like it," Machida replied, shrugging. "Ritsu's pretty much is portraying him how he is." "I wonder what Bitch-sensei will be like." Toka tapped her chin. "She looked like a witch in the intro." Hatanaka laughed. "Yeah, like a bitch-witch!" Asami sighed. "Really?" "Hey, it's a good pun!" Next to him, the Demon King stood behind the podium. "Hidey-ho, class! I'm the Big Bad Demon King, or, as of today, your teacher." The entire class sweatdropped. "Yeah, no." Rio laughed. "That is accurate." "Wait, why are some of the students' blank characters suddenly?" Asami questioned. Fuwa sighed, shrugging. "I guess budget cuts really ate into the production." "How cheap is this series?!" Sugaya questioned. "Right, so, first off, know that he's fast, even by demon king standards," Karasuma told them. "Big Bads are fast?!" the class exclaimed. "But how are we supposed to take him on?" Kayano asked. "And why us in the first place?" Nagisa added. "Because, apparently, there's only one way to land an attack on him," Karasuma answered, "and I have it on good authority that your bugs are the key." The class sat up straighter in their seats, surprised. "Huh?" "Bugs? What like glitches or something?" Kimura questioned. "Well, it is going for the video game theme," Takebayashi replied. "A bug is whatever sets you apart from the herd, those little idiosyncrasies that make you who you are," the Demon King explained. "Take Isogai, for example. His inability to buy the back half of a suit of armor is, in fact, a bug." Isogai's eyes widened in horror. "YOU MEAN IT'S NOT JUST BECAUSE MY FAMILY'S DIRT POOR?" The students started laughing again in full force when they saw his face. "Money, or, rather, the lack thereof in your case, should not allow you to buy only half a suit of armor." "True, you probably should have picked up on that." Isogai sighed as the others laughed. "This really isn't fair... how is that even allowed to be a bug?" Kataoka covered her mouth to smother her giggles. "I know, I'm sorry!" "But, it's funny!" Hiroto chuckled while Isogai looked annoyed. Yoshida stared at his toilet plunger. "So is me only being equipped with plumbing hardware a bug, too?" "Oh, come on!" Yoshida yelled. "Why do I get stuck with the toilet plunger!?" Tears streamed down Isogai's face. "At least you're not half-naked!" "Or how my magic only attracts actual bugs?" Kurahashi clapped and several insects began to fly and crawl around her. "You betcha," the Demon King confirmed. "That's kind of cool though," Juba said, admiring the bugs. "Think of how many rare bugs you could get!" Hinano looked interested. "Yeah, true! I could sell the rare ones for money!" Hiroto perked up. "That's a whole business idea!" Okano flicked the back of his head. "Can you go five minutes without thinking of a new way to get rich?" Hiroto smiled sheepishly. "Hey, it shows good business ambition!" Kayano stared at her chest, her face pink and tears in her eyes. "Is it the same for my cup size?" Okajima held an armful of magazines that read "smut" on the front. "And me not being able to throw away dirty magazines?" The Demon King quickly shook his head, "Unfortunately, those are not bugs." "Ugh..." Kayano blushed. "It could be a bug!" Toka patted her back sympathetically. Okajima frowned. "You mean not being able to throw away porn magazines is an addiction." "Yes, get some help," Kataoka said, sighing. "But I love my magazines!" Okajima despaired, taking one out of his jacket pocket and hugging it close. "They have so many memories." Kataoka and many of the students looked horrified. "WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT WITH YOU!!?" "Uh...light reading." Okajima gave a nervous laugh. "EW!!" Hatanaka discreetly hid his dirty magazine under the mat. "Think of him as a final boss," Karasuma said to the class. "If there's any hope of him being defeated, it's in what makes you children unique." "Oh," the class responded, disappointed. "Your government and I came to an understanding." The Demon King's face became shadowed. "They will allow me to teach E Class and in return, I will train you all to beat me." "WHY?!" the class shouted. "An astute question, to be sure," the Demon King replied dramatically as if he were performing a play. He turned his back to the students. "The simple answer? It's lonely at the top. I'm anxious to know what it feels like to take on an equal in battle. Or more succinctly..." He suddenly wore a cosplay of Goku from Dragon Ball. "I wanna become stronger!" he whined. Most of the students deadpanned. "We all caught the reference, right?" the Demon King asked. "YES!" "I really do like the series!" Koro-sensei exclaimed. Fuwa high-fived him. "Otaku's for the win!" "So the demon king wants to train us to be warriors this time around because he's bored?" Takebayashi raised an eyebrow. "I mean, it's pretty in character." Koro-sensei nodded. "I do enjoy a challenge!" "What I want to know is how he became the demon king in this world?" Kayano questioned. "Also, do you think I have tentacles in this series?" "Uh, hopefully not?" Machida looked nervous. "That was already traumatic." Sugino shrugged. "I just want to know what all our quirk—" Fuwa quickly covered his mouth and gave him a stern look. "Bugs. They're called bugs," she said firmly while Sugino looked scared. "Uh... Fuwa, you're scaring us." Nagisa looked concerned. "Do you want us to get a lawsuit!?" she yelled back. (He's really into this...) the class thought. Fuwa raised her hand. "Mr. Kaaaa- Commander?" "Hm?" Karasuma turned to face her. Fuwa sniggered. "Looks like my talents are being put to use!" "What? With the whole saying weird stuff without context?" Araki asked. "Or as we otakus like to call it!" Oota chimed in. "The Fourth Wall Breakers!" Fuwa grinned. "Finally! My jokes are going to be appreciated for what they are!" "Mediocre humour?" Asano remarked dryly. Fuwa tensed, and then glared at him. "EXCUSE ME!!" Oota, Mimura, and Kimura had to hold her back from attacking. "JUST LET ME PUNCH HIM! JUST LET ME DO IT!" "Is there any sort of time limit on this?" "I'm not sure that I-" "Oh, got it," Fuwa interrupted. "So it depends on our ratings and popularity. Right." A number of students started laughing. Fuwa calmed down when she heard, smiling brightly. (Finally!) "I guess Ritsu knew the show may not get a second season," Kanzaki said. Koro-sensei sniffled, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. "At least she made my dreams a reality, no matter how short the air time." (What do you call an unkillable, demon king teacher?) Nagisa thought. Kayano stood excitedly from her seat, raising her hand. "Koro-sensei!" she exclaimed. (Oh. Never mind. Guess that works. Sure, why not?) Nagisa laughed along with the others. "Well, at least it's straight to the point," Kayano said, chuckling. "Plus, I guess the name is pretty simple to put together." The screen showed the outside of the school building. (And so Koro-sensei and the E Class were about to embark on one truly unusual adventure.) The same transition from before was used, except instead of Nagisa's voice, Kayano exclaimed, "Koro Q!" The words "Ace Sorceress: Confessing the Truth" was shown on the screen on top of a picture of a closed curtain. Guitar music played in the background. The words disappeared, revealing the shadows of what was behind the curtain, which appeared to be a person with long hair and their hands tied up, forced to stay in a standing position. Next to them, Kunudon repeatedly hit them with a whip. "Say it!" Kunudon shouted. "Say it and I'll go easy on you!" Each time the whip hit them, the person let out a short gasp. There was a brief silence as the students stared. "WHAT THE HELL ARE WE WATCHING?!" They all yelled in horror. The curtains opened to show the person was Bitch-sensei. She wore only underwear and had a heavy blush covering her face. "Listen, if you want a sibling, go to bed, for Christ sakes! You're spoiling the mood." Kunudon ran back and forth, screaming frantically. "WHAAAAT?!" "AH! AVERT YOUR EYES, CHILDREN!" Koro-sensei stood in front of the projector. "Kind of a delayed reaction!" A lot of the students yelled. "Why is Kunudons whipping Bitch-sensei?" Okuda looked worried. "Um, maybe it's just a game?" Kanzaki said nervously. Okajima drooled. "Yeah, a fun one." Okano whacked him over the head. "Stop perving!" The transition appeared again, this time with Nakamura's voice saying, "Koro Q." The words, "Tell Us, Mr. Principal!" were shown on the screen, each letter a different bright color. "Tell us, Mr. Principal Asano!" several Kunudon voices exclaimed. "UGH!" "No, not him, please!" Miura cringed. Asano sighed. "Oh, wonderful..." "Wow, in episode one as well," Rio said, smiling sympathetically. "Well, maybe it won't be so bad." Kondo tried to be optimistic. "He could be telling a joke." Everyone stared at him like he was crazy. "...Yeah, you're right, it'll probably be horrible." He sighed, deflating. The screen showed the speaker centered above Class E's chalkboard. "Good morning, students," came the principal's voice. "This is, of course, your principal speaking. Quite a few queries crowding my inbox today from those of you less... well adjusted. Hmm. Let's address some concerns, shall we?" Four anonymous students stood silently, listening to the announcement. "Here's one from a lost soul who calls himself 'Longing for 2-D Life.' Takebayashi broke out in a sweat. (Oh no.) "Longing for 2D life?" Tsuda snorted. "Seriously?" 'I study day and night with every fiber of my being, but so far, the results have been mixed. Please teach me a good way to study.'" The principal scoffed. "Oh, Takebayashi." The student on the far right jerked back and let out a small panicked shout. The other three students sweatdropped. "Ah." Takebayashi yelped. "Why would you submit that to the Principal?!" Muramatsu questioned. "I haven't submitted anything!" he replied, flustered. "Please. Every fiber of your being, you say? I think not." The student on the right slumped, staring at the ground. "Uh, oh..." Rio cringed, as the other students grew on edge. Asano sighed. "Here we go..." "Do you forego sleep? Meals? Excretory functions?" Takebayashi began shaking, his face going pale. The class watched him, unsure of how to respond. "Are you coughing up blood? Do you feel the icy fingers of death creeping up your spine as you study those books?" Takebayashi's whimpers turned into screams. The students grew horrified again, looking over at Asano. "Your dad's the one who gave you that advice?!" Muramatsu yelled. Asano looked at him like it was obvious. "Well, more or less, yes." He shrugged. "I think he gave me the lecture when I was around twelve or so because I complained about being tired, but I can't quite recall the context." "TWELVE?!!" Ren sighed, looking worried. "Please just move out already and live at mine, we're getting a new pool!" Asano tried not to roll his eyes. "Moving out will just make him worse, besides we need to work on taking him down, so luring him into a false sense of security is the most practical way to go." "Yeah, if he doesn't kill you first from working you to death," Karma said dryly. Asano frowned, ignoring the uneasiness in his stomach. "I'll be fine..." Kayano hummed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I hit a fish in his office a few days ago so the place will smell." That caught a lot of students by surprise. "Wait, what?!" Nagisa did a double-take. "Kayano." Koro-sensei tried to reprimand, but he just looked amused. Kayano smirked. "Well, after everything we found out he did, I thought it'd be funny." Her smirk grew. "The smell should be really kicking in soon! It'll drive him crazy!" Karma and Rio grinned. "Nice." He placed a hand on Kayano's shoulder. "We should block up the pipes as well!" "Oh, and how about setting off a stink bomb?" Rio's smile was sharp and wicked. Kayano grew nervous. "Uh..." Nagisa sighed. "This is going to get out of hand..." "If not, then I highly recommend you stop whining and push harder!" "Well, at least he's in character..." Mimura commented, frowning. "Yeah, except I wish Ritsu had just made his character OOC so we wouldn't have to put up with his creepiness," Oota said, shivering. "He's so creepy." "And, gives terrible advice," Fuwa remarked, shrugging. Takebayashi sighed, looking mortified. "Why would I even ask him for advice...?" "Koro Q!" Kurahashi's voice said as the transition appeared again. Class E faced Koro-sensei in the plains at the front of the schoolyard. "Today, you'll be taking on your nasty archnemeses, slimes," Koro-sensei told the class. "Kind of a sad archnemesis, huh?" Mimura said. "Well, we are pretty weak," Kayano reasoned. "Being level 1 of a game does kind of suck at first," Kimura said. "I kind of like it," Kanzaki said. "It's less stressful at first and I don't mind taking the time to get to know the game." "Yeah, but it gets boring pretty quick," Karma commented. "I guess, but I think it depends on the game, with fantasy games I like learning about the world," Kanzaki replied, smiling. "I also like doing a few side-quest as well before moving onto the main mission so I can build up my skills and learn more about the smaller details of the story." "Hm, that's true, I guess," Karma replied after thinking about it. "But I mainly just like jumping into the action first." "'We can't even defeat a slime.' If only you can release yourself from that mindset, break that spell, you're sure to advance as warriors," Koro-sensei held out his tentacles, motioning to the area behind him. "The slimes in these parts are on the warpath, and rather full of themselves, to be frank." He held up a finger. "Let's teach them a lesson." "Whoa! Behind you!" Nagisa pointed. "Hey, lookie here! E Class must be feelin' brave!" Three kunudons with blue, smiling acorn caps came angrily marching out of the forest. "I don't remember anybody giving you kids permission to be on our turf!" [Some slime kunudons draw near!] (Wow, attitude much?) the class thought. "So just Kunudon, but more of them?" Hara remarked. "Pretty much," Okano replied. Rinka sighed. "As if one acorn wasn't bad enough." "Huh?" One of the slime kunudons suddenly noticed Koro-sensei standing with the students. "Uh oh. It's the Demon King!" "Why is he slumming on this level?" another asked. "Seriously?" a third agreed. "Wait, I get it!" the first one exclaimed. "These humans are his sacrifice!" The slime kunudons folded their hands and laughed nervously. "Wow, they're even bigger jerks than you guys were," Hiroto commented. "They are annoying," Kanada looked embarrassed. "And we did insult you guys a lot." "Yeah, but Kunudon always was annoying, I hate that stupid acorn," Yoshida said, scowling. "Your highness, nice to see you!" the first one said. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your, uh, honorable presence?" The third slime kunudon appeared in front of the other two and held up a box full of macarons to Koro-sensei. "Please accept this small token of our esteem!" Koro-sensei looked down on them, his face shadowed. "The only sacrifice here today..." His eyes glowed red as he pointed at the slime kunudons. "...is you, pitiful creatures." The slime kunudons stared up at him in horror. "You're sacrificing... us?!" Koro-sensei chuckled. "I quite like being a demon king." "It looks like it had its perks." Karma smirked amusement while some of the students laughed. The students screamed as they ran across the plains. The three slime kunudons chased them back and forth, laughing and shouting, "Charge!" One of them kicked Maehara in the back of the head. Another pounded into Kanzaki's back. The other slammed Okajima into the ground. The girls huddled together, two of the slime kunudons poised to attack them. Isogai rushed over and faced the slime kunudons. "Leave them be!" "What a man!" the girls exclaimed. "He's half naked!" Okajima shouted. "He's still prince charming!" A lot of the girls exclaimed. "Oh, come on!" Okajima yelled. "I've got this!" Isogai told the girls. "Still, what a man!" the girls said. Isogai blushed while some students laughed. Hiroto poked his cheek teasingly. "Guess the white briefs add to the charm!" Isogai turned bright red. "Hey!" Okajima ran over and shoved Isogai out of the way. "Whatever. Get a load of me!" He threw off his shirt and waited for their response. "THAT'S DISGUSTING!" the girls shouted. Okajima sobbed. "THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Kataoka looked away in disdain. "Then don't be a pervert." "Yeah, I'm trying to forget that photo of you streaking..." Okano shivered. "I think we're all trying to burn that out of our memories," Hara said. "What'd I do wrong?!" Okajima shouted, his eyes white. His eyes widened as he realized there were many more slime kunudons laughing behind him. Hundreds of pairs of red eyes appeared. [The slime kunudons called for help!] Nagisa and Koro-sensei watched as the slime kunudons beat Okajima up. "Why aren't you girls helping!" Okajima complained. "You wanted to impress us and prove your chivalry." Rio pretended to swoon. "Protect us from the mean acorns and your sacrifice won't be in vain!" The others laughed while Okajima despaired. Nagisa's expression became determined. He smiled. "Hey, Koro-sensei, I'm ready to give it a try!" Koro-sensei laughed, smirking. "Show me that bloodlust." The others grew intrigued. (What's my special power going to be?) Nagisa started to look excited. (We'd been labeled misfits and cast aside, but for once our outlook is positive,) Nagisa thought. (If we just apply ourselves, things will change!) He began to walk forward to face the slime kunudons. Suddenly, massive blue flames appeared around him. "NAGISA?!" the class shouted. Both the students and the slime kunudons stared at him. He released a loud shout as he appeared to become larger. "WHAT THE HELL?!" "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" The students screamed. Nagisa gawked. (WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!) "It would appear that Nagisa's particular bug is marked by random stat changes," Koro-sensei explained. There was a pause. "...I mean, that does fit," Machida commented. "BUT WHY DO I LOOK LIKE I'M ON STEROIDS!?" Nagisa looked horrified. Karma shrugged. "Special XP?" "This must be what god mode feels like!" Nagisa's voice became deeper and he was still surrounded by the flames. His height had tripled and he became incredibly muscular to the point where the width of his shoulders equalled his previous height. [Status: STR: 99999] "Time to hit these slimes with everything I've got!" Karma wouldn't stop sniggering. "Nice voice." Nagisa hung his head. "I sound like I have throat infection..." "But, if this isn't his full strength then what happens when he maxes out?" Kanzaki questioned. "Uh, an ultimate power is unleashed?" Hashizume suggested. His eyes flashed with determination. "Achievement unlocked! Fire!" The blue flames disappeared and a tiny, orange fireball floated out of the center of his outstretched hand. "Huh..." Sugino and everyone else looked confused. "Kind of underwhelming," Araki said. It moved slowly toward five slime kunudons, who were staring at him, completely unafraid. As the fireball reached them, they stared at it curiously. Suddenly, the fireball released a loud explosion and blew them all up. "Ah!" "Or not!" Araki looked shocked. Koyama scratched his head. "Was that like a bomb or something?" Nagisa pumped a fist into the air. "YES! I am now Conqueror of Slime!" [Nagisa's level increases!] "WHAT KIND OF MAGIC WAS THAT?!" the class asked. "It was underwhelming but also... overwhelming?" Sugino scratched his head. "Huh." Karma shrugged. "Well, that is kind of Nagisa." "Uh, thanks." Nagisa wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not. "Nice work, Nagisa!" Kayano looked impressed. "It's a powerful bug!" Nagisa smiled. "It is pretty neat, I guess." He looked embarrassed. "Though I'm not sure if I like the Hulk mode..." "Yeah, but I though your wanted people to see you as more manly?" Tsuda said, and then earned a chiding look from Miura. Nagisa blushed. "Well, yeah, but I don't want to look like that... it's a little too much." He sighed. "I don't know, I guess it just looks weird..." "Now that Nagisa's shown us how it's done, we have to step up, too!" Isogai directed. "Yeah!" Maehara agreed. "With our powers combined, they'll be toast!" "Nice motivation, Nagisa." Rio ruffled his head, causing the boy to look amused. The students rushed at the slime kunudons and began attacking them with their weapons. Koro-sensei watched proudly. "HEY, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!" the slime kunudons shouted. "ARE YOU KIDDING?!" "UNCLE, UNCLE!" "WE'RE SORRY! WE'RE NOT WORTHY TO LICK YOUR BOOTS!" "Now that's more like it!" Yoshida laughed along with the others. Hazama smirked. "I could watch this all day if it means seeing Kunudon get beat up a lot." "Seconded!" Rio agreed. The slime kunudons escaped the attacks and ran back to the forest. Part of the way there, they turned around and shouted, "BUT JUST SO WE'RE CLEAR, WE TOTALLY LET YOU WIN!!" They continued whining and crying as they disappeared over the hills. As soon as they were gone, the class celebrated their victory with one another. [The E Class's level increases!] "Level 2 and only the first episode!" Okano exclaimed. Kanzaki chuckled. "We should end up moving up quickly if we keep up that attitude." "Nicely done," Koro-sensei complimented. "I'd say the dark clouds of your misfit mindset have finally begun to part." "Uh, sir..." "Ne?" He looked over to see Nagisa, who was still in his giant form, squirming uncomfortably. "I was... just curious when I'd change back to normal." Koro-sensei screamed. Nagisa ducked his head while the others were laughing. "Well, you wanted to be taller," Karma teased. "Not like this!" Nagisa yelled. The scene shifted to later on. The screen showed hot, sizzling coals. Koro-sensei and Nagisa, who still had yet to change back to his original size, sat on a bench inside a sauna, wearing towels around their waists. Koro-sensei also wore one around his neck and on his head. "Oo... kay?" Nagisa said in confusion. "Trust me, a sauna is the best way to rid your body of toxins," Koro-sensei told him, "and that troublesome bug." "But I thought our bugs were good?!" Nagisa said. "Oh, come on!" Nagisa sighed loudly as the laughter from the other students grew. Koro-sensei patted him on the head. "Don't worry! I'm sure you'll be back to normal in no time!" "But water makes you bloat up, sir," Kayano said. "So isn't being in a sauna just going to mess with you?" "Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine!" Koro-sensei reassured. "Besides, I have to support my student." "Yeah, but isn't weird having a teacher hang out with a student at a sauna...?" Hiroto commented. "It's perfectly wholesome!" Koro-sensei grew defensive. The screen showed a picture of the crescent moon as Nagisa splashed his way into the water. [Ten minutes later] Nagisa stared dejectedly at his hand. The water in the hot spring only went up to his waist. "I haven't changed even a little!" "Aw, man." Nagisa sighed. "Look on the bright side!" Karma grinned, patting his head. "Now we can start calling you Goku-Nagisa!" Rio cackled, poking Nagisa's cheek. "This'll make a great cosplay!" Nagisa looked unimpressed. "This isn't making me feel better." Next to him, Koro-sensei made a sound of enjoyment. Nagisa looked over and gasped. Koro-sensei's head and tentacles were deflating, giving him an uneven, oval-ish head and lopsided smile. "HOW COME YOU'RE SHRINKING?!" In a voice that sounded like a struggling chipmunk with completely depleted strength, Koro-sensei said, "To be continued." "Uh, of dear..." Koro-sensei gave a nervous laugh. "I suppose I was exposed to the water and steam for too long..." "No shit," Terasaka rolled his eyes. "Swear jar!" Koro-sensei yelled, shoving the jar in the boys face. "I'll smash that stupid thing again!" Terasaka threatened. Koro-sensei yelped and held the jar close. "Don't say things like that!" "So, are we watching the next episode?" Kayano asked. "Hell, yes!" Rio grinned. "This whole show is hilarious!" She poked Nagisa. "And I wanna see more of Nagisa's bug." "Ugh..." Nagisa groaned. "This show is pretty funny." Kanada chuckled. "And they're pretty short too." Isogai looked over at Asano. "So, we'll have plenty of time to talk about planning after we relax." "Yeah, can't be coughing up blood all the time," Hiroto tried to tease awkwardly. Asano rolled his eyes. "Fine, I suppose the show isn't a complete disaster." "Wow, talk about a compliment." Yoshida laughed. "Come on, Uchida, go ahead and press play." Uchida grinned. "It's my pleasure." He smacked his hand down on the play button.      (Kunugigaoka School of Magic,) Nagisa narrated, (where students come from all over the world to forge themselves into heroes. We’re E Class - outsiders, underdogs - and we share a secret no one else in the school knows. This year, our teacher just so happens to be the Demon King.) “So, how much of this do you think follows the original timeline?” Kayano questioned. “Well, the main mission is there,” Nagisa replied. Okuda frowned. “I’m hoping for a happier ending though…” A number of the students grew uneasy when they remembered. “Yeah, hysterically sobbing wasn’t exactly fun the first time around,” Rio said, sighing. “I’m sure it won’t be like that!” Koro-sensei replied quickly, patting her head. “This is a fun experience, children.” Koro-sensei stood behind the podium at the front of the classroom. “Alrighty.” Green stripes appeared on his face and he gave them a smug smirk. “Take your best shot.” The class rushed at him with their weapons and shouted in determination. (Another day with the one and only Koro-sensei. Here goes nothing!) The opening started to play. “Can we just not!?” Araki complained, groaning. “It’s iconic!” Fuwa yelled. “Meh, I preferred hearing Karma and the rest of the gang sing,” Hara commented. Hiroto’s eyes sparkled. “Hey, maybe we could turn into a karaoke sing-along!?” “Yes!” Ren’s eyes dazzled. “You, Maehara, are a genius!” Hiroto winked. “I try.” “Oh, God…” Okano sighed. “No way! That’s lame!” Terasaka complained. “No, it’s not!” Ren objected. Asano rolled his eyes. “Yes, it is.” “How about we just skip it for now and then decide later if we want to do a karaoke sing-along instead?” Kataoka suggested. “That sounds like a good idea,” Toka replied. “More like ear bleeding,” Seo muttered.  “The song goes so fast in places it’ll be a miracle if you sing along to it,” Isogai said. Hiroto smirked. “Don’t underestimate a pro!” “I like Kataoka’s idea!” Fuwa smirked. “Karaoke challenge is just the thing needed in a comedy!” Yoshida looked confused when he saw her stare at the wall while she was talking. “Fuwa, stop staring at the wall, it’s weird.” Uchida shrugged and skipped the opening. The school bell rang at the start of the school day. Koro-sensei stood at the front of the classroom, holding up a finger. The chalkboard behind him read hero. “Okay. My goal, boys and girls, is to train a war party capable of giving the Demon King a run for his money. To get started, we need some heroes. However, I’m sad to say there doesn’t seem to be anyone here who meets that criteria.” The class stared at him, their jaws dropped. “But, there’s Isogai!” Maehara protested. Isogai smiled sheepishly. “Oh, thanks.” Hiroto smiled, giving him a thumbs up. “Well, it’s true. You and Karma are really good leaders.” Karma looked smug. “We are pretty amazing.” “Yeah, it’s been interesting seeing the different types of leadership,” Kayano commented. “Isogai’s definitely a man of the people, more diplomatic,” she observed. “Karma’s more ruthless but still hears people out.” Then she glanced at Asano. “And, Asano’s a dictator.” Asano looked annoyed. “It’s called strong leadership!” Karma shrugged. “Look, you gotta give the minions some control.” He gestured to Terasaka. “Why do you think Terasaka’s minion number one?” “I’M NOT YOUR MINION!” He threw a textbook at him, which just made Karma laugh. “I give my classmates plenty of control,” Asano argued. “Well, actually it’s more like a hierarchy system,” Juba spoke up, frowning. “The rest of the big five are the elite who have power over their respective subgroups.” “But, not anymore!” Kanada quickly intervened. “Because we’re all friends now, remember!?” “True…I suppose this class harmony business does demand a slight change in the hierarchy system,” Asano agreed, frowning. “If you ask me.” Karma shifted next to Asano. “You should switch up the favouritism, keep them on their toes.” “Stop giving him ideas!” Seo snapped. (I suppose the other Big Five are my friends, they shouldn’t need to do menial minion duties.) Asano hummed, rubbing his chin. “He does have a point though…” He glanced at his classmates. “Kita, Kondo, you’re both now promoted to getting my morning coffee.” Kondo’s eyes lit up like stars. “Really!?” Kita’s eyes widened in awe. “Wow…” “BUT, THAT’S MY JOB!” Ren looked heartbroken. Asano raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who insisted we were best friends, so why should my best friend be tasked with getting my morning coffee?” “But…” Ren faltered, but then looked surprised. “Wait, did you just acknowledge we were best friends?” The others in Class A looked surprised as well. Asano shrugged, crossing his arms. “It’s a position which could easily change if you irritate me enough and fall not disfavour.” Ren started to grin. “But, you admitted we’re best friends!” He swung an arm around him. “Does that mean you’ll be my karaoke buddy!?” “No!” Asano tried to shove him away. “I’d rather cut out my own tongue!” Rio laughed along with the others and took a photo on her phone. “Granted, between his leadership skills and undeniable courage, he does have a certain heroic streak. There’s just one problem.” The screen showed Isogai from behind. “In his case, the phrase ‘heroic streak’ has an unfortunate double meaning.” “Harsh!” The class deadpanned. “Sir!” Isogai went bright red while the others were laughing. “Heh, my apologies.” Koro-sensei placed a knitted hat on the boy’s head. “Here, have another hat.” “Oh…” Isogai smiled when he looked at the green and blue shaded hat. “Thanks!” “Hey, there’s something I don’t get, though,” Kimura spoke up. “If this bug has been around for ages, how come Isogai didn’t notice all his clothes were half-covered?” “Maybe the bug just manifested when he got his powers?” Sugaya said. “Or maybe it just affects armour because his underwear is still there,” Okano said. “Thank God…” Isogai sighed. “Yeah, maybe the bug is a prude?” Rio said. Mimura half-shrugged. “Or Ritsu had to follow censorship.” “I’m just happy they left me some dignity,” Isogai mumbled, his face buried in the mat. Sugino propped his head up against his hand. “Okay, then. If Isogai doesn’t fit the bill, well, then who do we have that does?” Koro-sensei was suddenly wearing a hero costume and holding a giant sword, having a realistic human face for once. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but… muah!” “Ah!” A lot of students looked alarmed. “What’s wrong with that face!?” Koro-sensei complained. “That defeats the purpose!” Maehara told him. “So what are we supposed to do?” Kataoka asked. Karasuma also stood at the front of the classroom. “Well, when the conversation turns to mighty warriors, three names never fail to be brought up.” “Then why are they just mentioning them now?” Kondo asked. “I mean, it’s only been one episode,” Araki argued. “Plus, they weren’t really mentioning warriors in full detail.” Koro-sensei’s face popped up in a pentagon in the bottom left corner of the screen. “How long have you been standing there?” A few students laughed. “You know, he did seem to just appear sometimes in the original footage,” Hazama commented. “Must be his government agent skills,” Rinka joked. Karasuma pushed the pentagon away without responding. “I recommend enlisting the three of them to your ranks.” A picture of three silhouettes with glowing eyes appeared on the screen, then switched to one of Karma in a demon cape, looking down on whoever he was facing. “The first is said to dwell in a northern cave and call himself Karma, a.k.a. the Red Devil. Legend has it his abilities are way above average.” “Hey!” Karma smiled. “It’s me.” Nagisa looked amused. “I guess you were due for an appearance.” “Red devil suits,” Rio said, smirking. Karma’s smile grew into a sharp grin. “I know, right?” He rubbed his chin. “Red Devil… that could be a good code name.” “I’ve heard of that guy,” Isogai said. “Yeah, he’s supposed to be a super sadistic ranger type, I think,” Kurahashi added. “Sorta hard to believe we have a living legend in our own backyard,” Nakamura said. “I know, I am amazing,” Karma said smugly, stretching. Rio rolled her eyes and pinched his cheek. “Watch it with that ego.” “The second is Ritsu, known as the Evolved Mage,” Karasuma continued as the screen showed a picture of purple-haired Ritsu glaring at the screen with glowing eyes. “Dwelling in a northern cave, her magic is rumored to evolve on a daily basis.” “Wow, I look pretty good here!” Ritsu 2.0 gushed, fluffing her hair. “I guess evolved mage fits with the Ai aspect,” Fuwa said, staring at the screen curiously. “It is pretty neat!” Ritsu 2.0 agreed. “I hope I get more of the spotlight so I can show off my talent!” “Wow, she kind of is shallow,” Kayano commented. “Hey!” Ritsu 2.0 looked offended. Next was a picture of Itona. He stared at the screen with wide eyes and a jagged smile. “Third is the Silver Berserker - Itona. The story goes that deep within a northern cave-” “JUST HOW MANY NORTHERN CAVES ARE THERE?!” Terasaka shouted. There was a burst of laughter. “Well, he has a point!” Rio was clutching her sides. “Maybe they’re all lined up together, like neighbours?” Okano suggested. “Silver Berserker is a cool name for Itona,” Yoshida said. “Yeah… how do you think he’d react if he was here?” Muramatsu wondered. Hazama shrugged. “Probably say something dry and then insult Terasaka.” “Yeah, sounds like him.” Yoshida nodded. “Ugh.” Terasaka looked annoyed. “Yeah, which is why I’m glad he’s not here!” “Yeah, so Karma can insult you instead?” Hazama replied. Karma grinned. “Of course! Gotta make up for it somehow.” “Shut up!” Terasaka scowled. “You guys are just assholes.” The yellow background, Koro-sensei faces, and words “Koro-sensei Quest!” covered the screen as Nagisa’s voice said, “Koro Q!” The words “Ace Sorceress: Confessing the Truth” were written in fancy kanji on top of closed red curtains. The same scene began again - behind the curtain, Kunudon repeatedly hit Bitch-sensei with a whip and she gasped each time she was hit. “Say it!” Kunudon shouted. “Come on! Spill your secret!” The curtains opened to reveal Bitch-sensei, tied up the same way she was last time. A heavy blush once again covered her face. “Remember that birthday money you asked me to keep safe? Yeah, Mama treated herself to the Korean spa!” Kunudon ran back and forth, shouting, “NOOOOO!” There was a surrounding groan. Koro-sensei blushed. “Oh, my…” “STOP LOOKING!” Okano yelled, trying to shoot their teacher. “Ah! I wasn’t!” Koro-sensei whined. “LIAR!” A lot of students yelled. “Why do we keep getting shown this!?” Araki shouted. Ritsu 2.0 whistled innocently. “What?” “Maybe, Ritsu’s secretly a pervert?” Rio said, shrugging. “I mean, you would know,” Hiroto commented, causing Rio to smirk. “Well, I guess she probably got exposed to things when she escaped onto the internet,” Fuwa replied, smirking. Tsuchiya wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, ew, gross!” “Hey! I’m not a pervert!” Ritsu 2.0 objected, but then frowned, thinking about it. “At least I don’t think I am…” “You’re a pervert!” They all yelled back. “Koro Q!” Nagisa said as the transition appeared again. Koro-sensei and the students stood at the entrance to a dark cave. “Here we are, class,” Koro-sensei announced. “The secret lair of the Red Devil.” “Secret, yeah,” Maehara said, unamused, as he stared at the sign in front of the entrance that read, “Karma’s Cave.” Karma started to grin. “Well, this should be fun.” His friends sighed in exasperation. “Why do I have a strong feeling we might not all come out of that cave alive?” Mimura asked. Karma just grinned. “Because that’s part of the adventure!” Nagisa tried not to look amused. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” “Nagisa, this is Karma we’re talking about, stop being so optimistic!” Sugino shook his shoulders. “Not to worry, children, Demon King or not, I won’t let anything happen to you,” Koro-sensei reassured. “Yeah, besides, I’ve probably only got eyes on the octopus, so as long as you guys don’t get in the way, you’ll be fine.” Karma gave them a thumbs up. “Uh, doesn’t really eliminate the risk of being collateral,” Kayano commented. “Okie-dokie. Hand these out if you would, please. One each.” All of the students suddenly had an enormous book in each of their hands. They stared at them, sweatdropping. “What are these, boat anchors?” Nakamura asked. “The strategy guide for this dungeon,” Koro-sensei answered, “Everything you need to know, compiled into one handy dandy manual! Maps, monsters, treasure chests, safe points, you name it - I’ve got you covered!” The screen showed a picture of the cover of the book, titled, “Karma’s Cave: Complete Strategy Guide” with the subtitle of, “No sweat: It’s Koro-sensei’s strategy guide,” next to a picture of the Demon King’s face. Hiroto sighed. “Of course he made manuals.” “Well, it is one of his specialities,” Isogai replied. “Plus, they came in handy in that kidnapping episode.” “My writing capabilities really are something!” Koro-sensei gushed. Mimura hummed. “Why don’t you ever try writing book anonymously to make extra money?” Koro-sensei looked over curiously. “Hm… that could be interesting.” Then his eyes lit up. “I could finally write a romance novel!” The students sighed loudly. “Uh, never mind…” Mimura regretted bringing it up. “What wrong with me writing romance!?” Their teacher complained. “Other than it probably ending up as a trashy romance novel?” Rio teased. “It wouldn’t be trashy!” Koro-sensei whined. “No self-respecting dungeon raiders should be without one!” several Kunudon voices exclaimed. “Eeheeheehee!” Koro-sensei laughed, raising his tentacle arms in the air. “Isn’t being on the attacking side of things exciting?” “So exciting,” Maehara said sarcastically. Koro-sensei’s excitement suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a smooth tone of voice. A picture of a demon girl in a small bikini appeared on the screen. “The sealed portion of this book deals with more… adult monsters.” “We talking parental advisory stuff?!” Okajima and Maehara asked immediately, blushing faintly. “SIR!” The students yelled at the teacher. “Ah! No!” Koro-sensei grew flustered. “Look away, don’t judge me!” “Is half of his show just going to be you all being perverts?” Asano complained. “Well…” Fuwa hummed, looking at a graph Ritsu 2.0 projected on her phone. “That is 80% of our content…” “Have you even thrown away your porn magazines since we got out of the bubble?” Okano questioned. Koro-sensei was sweating. “Um…” “Bet he’s got a whole stash in the teacher’s lounge,” Muramatsu taunted. Okajima suddenly looked interested. “We should go check—” “No.” Kataoka stopped him from getting up. “There’s no way you’re even going near there!” Then she sighed when she saw Rio smile slyly. “Rio, you’re not going either!” Rio tried to look innocent and shrugged. “I wasn’t going to.” “Children, I promise I’ll do better.” Koro-sensei looked ready to cry. “As soon as we get out of this time bubble, those magazines are gone.” “That’s what you said last week,” Isogai replied, sounding disappointed. “I promise I’ll do it this time!” Koro-sensei said quickly. Nagisa sighed. (That’s probably not going to happen.) Koro-sensei ignored them. “And, of course, the final page lays out details regarding the dungeon boss himself.” Karma looked at the screen curiously. The top section of the page read, “Parameters: Excellent in all areas. Battle prowess is especially high.” The hexagon showing his abilities was almost entirely filled up. “What does ‘Irregularities in his luck trait’ mean?” Maehara asked. “I was about to ask…” Kayano said. “Irregularoties?” Machida asked. “Huh.” Karma frowned a little, but then shrugged. “Meh, whatever it is, I’ll still be awesome.” Rio raised an eyebrow. “Famous last words.” The screen showed what had happened one time when Karma had just finished a fight. He glared condescendingly down at the four guys he had just beaten up. “Heh. All bark and no bite, huh? You could live a bazillion years and not get close to beating me.” “Ah, yes,” Koro-sensei replied to his students. “You see, when Karma thinks his opponents are beneath him…” “I mean, these guys clearly are.” Karma shrugged. The students sighed again. Nagisa shook his head faintly. (Great, his ego is already growing again.) A washtub suddenly fell from the sky and hit Karma straight on the head. The four guys immediately turned to look at him and failed at keeping themselves from laughing. “Wait, what!?” Rio snorted. “Huh?” Karma looked confused. “Did… did a washtub just fall on his head?” Uchida questioned, frowning. “Well, yeah, but why?” Shindo asked. Karma continued staring down at them, trying to not lose his cool even. “That’s right, fleabags. Laugh it up while you can. After that, go run back to the shelter and get yourself euthanized.” “…the effect on his luck is rather negative.” A door came out of nowhere and fell on Karma’s head, creating a hole in the door. The four guys laughed at him again. “That’s his bug. When he acts cocky or looks down upon someone, his luck takes an astronomical plunge.” The box under Karma’s head, which was still sticking out of the door read, [Luck: -258]“Oh…” Karma said, scratching his head. The students started chuckling. “Well, that’s a cute bug.” Rio teased, poking his head. “Maybe you can fight the monsters off with frying pans.” “Buzz off.” Karma whacked her hand away, feeling his cheeks start to heat up. Asano arched an eyebrow. “How does he not have a concussion?” Ren shrugged. “Magic?” “Oh, I get it - karma!” the class realized. Karma blushed a little when the laughter grew. “Well, it fits.” Nagisa looked amused. “It is funny how each bug fits our character,” Kayano said, grinning when Nagisa looked sheepish. “You might find it weird, but your bug being you having a massive secret power upgrade is pretty accurate.” “How is me having a plunger accurate though?” Yoshida complained. Isogai silently wept. “And, why is my families financial situation have to be a defining character trait?” Kimura frowned, thinking about it. “It kind of feels like all our personalities were summed up into a label…” Sugaya looked at the ball of clay he was sculpting in his hand. “Now that you mention it, it is kind of weird how my only hobby is art but I never seem to do anything else.” Hara stared at the chocolate bar she was eating. “Or why I always seem to be eating with an endless supply of food.” She looked confused. “I’m not even hungry!” Muramatsu stared at his hands. “Or the fact everyone only remembers me because I can make good ramen—” “Okay, people, settle down!” Fuwa interrupted. “Not everyone can have a character arc!” “Huh!?” They all looked over at her in confusion. She sighed loudly. “Sometimes you just have to accept that you’ll always be a side-character…” Oota patted her back sympathetically. Sugaya exchanged a confused look with Hara. “Uh…” Koro-sensei wore green stripes on his face. “A shame, really. Oodles of potential. He’d make a great warrior if not for the disagreeable tendency to lord his prowess over others.” He laughed. “Kinda like you’re doing right now, you mean?!” Kayano and Nagisa exclaimed. Koro-sensei tried to look innocent. “I haven’t a clue what you mean!” His students sighed loudly. Inside the cave, plumes of fire shot out of the mouths of monsters carved into the walls. Sharp spikes waited at the bottom of pits. A giant axe swung back and forth across the walkway. “Wow. This place is crawling with booby traps,” Maehara said. “Dude must be a total sadist,” Nakamura agreed. “Well, thanks!” Karma grinned. “It is a pretty sweet set-up!” “Sadist!” They exclaimed. “Nothing wrong with having fun!” Karma replied cheerfully. “You know, I have to wonder, Karma, when have you not been a sadist?” Okano asked. Karma hummed thinking about it. “I don’t know… I mean, I kinda just stuck to myself growing up.” His smile threatened to waver. “Like one time when I was five, I clogged bags of chilli powder in the vacuum until it exploded!” “WHY!?” Nearly everyone yelled. He shrugged. “I thought it’d be funny.” (Of course, he did.) Nagisa sighed, shaking his head. “I hope the maid was okay.” “Well, she quit a week later so…” Karma shrugged again. “I guess she couldn’t hack it.” “Or she didn’t want to raise a demon spawn,” Asano said dryly. Karma smirked. “I was an easily bored kid.” “Not that his handiwork’s gonna do much to slow down Koro-sensei.” The Demon King maneuvered through hundreds of arrows being shot at him. He pulled out a jar and began painting on their tips. “A little poison oughtta dial up the danger quotient a notch.” “YOU’RE NOT HELPING!” His students shouted at him. “There’s always room for improvement!” Koro-sensei argued. “Not when we still have to pass through them!” Hiroto yelled. “We still have to walk through those, you know!” Nakamura reminded him in annoyance. “EXACTLY!” Hiroto pointed at the screen. Koro-sensei whistled innocently. He began painting on the two swinging axes. “And these blasé blades are simply screaming for a much-needed artistic makeover!” When he moved away, they each had a picture of the skull and crossbones from One Piece. “We don’t need that kind of danger!” the students told him. “Nice! One Piece reference!” Fuwa cheered. “Why, thank you!” Koro-sensei gushed. “You’re meant to be protecting us, not making the traps more deadly!” Mimura argued. “But, it’s an adventure!” Koro-sensei whined. “If anything this is perfectly in character,” Tsuda said, shrugging. “We’ve already been trying to tell you the octopus is a walking hazard.” Tanaka coughed. “Space.” Asano sighed. “Do not remind me.” He massaged his temples. “I’m getting a headache just remembering the insanity.” (Questing through a dungeon’s a lot easier with someone like Koro-sensei blazing a trail out ahead of you,) Nagisa thought, (but where are the monsters?) “HEADS UP! MONSTER INCOMING!” Maehara shouted. “Way to jinx it, Nagisa!” Muramatsu said. “Heh, sorry!” Nagisa smiled sheepishly. “An adult one?!” Okajima asked excitedly. He looked forward and saw a kunudon with a mushroom cap on its head. “Dang it, never mind. Huh? Wait, they’re in the strategy guide.” Kataoka’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You were way too hopeful it was an adult monster.” Okajima blushed. “Um, come on, you can’t blame a guy for wanting to see a sexy monster.” Hatanaka frowned. “The show is kind of lacking in the sexy monster department that right now.” Okajima sighed. “Exactly! Where’s a good monster harem when you need one!?” “Maybe because we don’t need one!” Okano yelled. [Some mushroom kunudons draw near!] Okajima read the guidebook. Kurahashi and Maehara looked over his shoulder. “Right, so apparently these guys only smile when they see lower level adventurers.” They looked up to see how the mushroom kunudons would respond to seeing them. The mushroom kunudon’s face changed from a blank expression to a dark, condescending smile. “Ouch!” “That’s obnoxious,” Maehara said. “How is it they managed to make Kunudon worse than they already were?” Kimura questioned. “Well, it is the embodiment of Kunugigaoka’s values,” Takebayasho replied. Terasaka grimaced. “Yeah, which is why I hate it! I wish the stupid thing would get eaten by a squirrel!” The class was suddenly surrounded by many mushroom kunudons. “Just like moths to a flame!” They all laughed. “Holy crap, they’re all over the place!” Nakamura exclaimed. “Are we in trouble?” Kayano asked. Koro-sensei held up a finger. “Not to worry, children. Monsters can’t attack the final boss.” His face became smug. “I’ll be fine!” “That’s dumb,” the class replied. Oota shrugged. “But, accurate. The final boss plot armour is pretty thick.” Karma hummed. “They are pretty hard to beat in games.” “Exactly!” Koro-sensei exclaimed. Araki sighed. “To be honest it isn’t exactly different from this reality considering how many times Koro-sensei has been able to avoid death.” “That is a testament to my skill.” The teacher chuckled. “More like a pile of plot-convenient bullshit!” Seo snapped. “How the hell does that spaceball-ultimate-defense-form crap even make any sense?” “Anti-matter,” Koro-sensei replied brightly. Koyama clutched his head in anguish. “That still doesn’t make sense!” Araki buried his face in his hands. “It makes less sense each time I think about it!” Suddenly, the mushroom kunudon in front of him chopped off his tentacle before he could see. The other mushroom kunudons gasped, then ran away, screaming. Karma climbed out of a mushroom kunudon costume and stood in front of Koro-sensei and the students. He wore a purple shirt and gray pants with brown adventurer boots. His ragged cape was black and had a red underside. Nagisa stared at him in surprise. (Karma!) “Whoa!” A few students jumped when he suddenly appeared. “How long was he even hiding there!?” Yoshida questioned. A shadow covered Koro-sensei’s face. (The boy was incognito! Ingenious!) Karma grinned. “Gotcha!” Koro-sensei chuckled. “Very devious, young man.” He patted his head. “Outstanding!” Karma felt a rush of warmth in his chest, but tried not to let it show. “He actually hurt him…” Kurahashi said. “Am I wrong, or does that make him the first?” Kayano asked. “Yep.” Karma smirked, stretching. “You know me, no time like the present for going in for an attack.” “It does kind of fit though,” Oota commented, thinking about it. “The more I think about it, Karma’s more of a frontal attack guy while Nagisa is sneakier, which showed a lot when they were trying to kill Koro-sensei.” Nagisa hummed. “That’s true…” He smiled at Karma. “Guess that’s what makes us a good team!” “More like a team of nightmares,” Koyama commented. Araki nodded. “You two are terrifying when your skillsets combine.” Karma grinned, swinging an arm around Nagisa’s shoulder. “That’s part of the excitement.” Nagisa chuckled. “Yeah, I guess.” Karma began talking down on the Demon King. “And here I thought ‘Koro-sensei’ was a play on the Japanese for ‘unkillable teacher’. Guess the teacher part was true, at least.” Koro-sensei groaned in annoyance. “Ooh!” Rio laughed. “This should be good.” Koro-sensei huffed. (I almost forgot how big the boy’s ego was in the early days.) Karma looked amused. “What’s wrong, sir? You can handle a little teasing, right?” Koro-sensei tried not to huff. “Of course.” “Anyway, impressive bobbin weave you pulled there, fraidy cat.” He approached Koro-sensei, completely looking down on him. He stopped less than a foot from his face. “Oh, come on!” “Personal space, please.” Koro-sensei tried to talk over him, but he didn’t stop. A few students started to chuckle. (Damn it.) Koro-sensei poked his tentacles, trying not to scowl. (I’m losing face already!) “Did you just say personal space?” Machida asked. “It’s very important!” Koro-sensei replied quickly. Shindo sighed. “Definitely.” He looked over at Karma and Isogai. (I felt claustrophobic just watching that Baseball episode. I mean, I expected Karma to be intimidating, but Isogai actually started to freak me out.) “What’s wrong, are you scared? “This is a bit chummy.” “Do I intimidate you?” Koro-sensei finally lost his temper. Veins popped all over his red face. “I’m gonna need you to back off!” [Karma looked down on the Big Bad!] The students burst out laughing while Koro-sensei looked embarrassed. Karma smiled sharply. “Aw, don’t take it personal, teach!” “I am not!” Koro-sensei said quickly. Nagisa smiled sympathetically. (He’s definitely taking this personally.) A washtub fell from out of nowhere, bounced off Karma’s head, and hit a red button on the wall of the cave. The floor opened under his feet and he fell into a pit. [Karma fell through a trapdoor!] “KARMA!” the class called down the hole. “Wow! He didn’t even look surprised,” Hatanaka said. “Well, why would he? He’s probably used to it,” Asami replied. “Oh, man, that is one serious bug!” Maehara commented.“Worst luck ever!” Kayano agreed. “Yeah, I can see it backfiring a lot in battle,” Kondo said. “He’s probably so used to it he would have learned to use it as a weapon, though,” Kayano argued. “Oh, yeah, true.” Kondo rubbed his chin. “I guess if he timed the bad luck right it could work.” “Sure, but still, he did land the first blow,” Kataoka reminded them. Isogai turned to her. “Good to know he isn’t all hype.” Karma grinned. “Thanks!” Isogai sighed and shook his head. Koro-sensei repeatedly punched the wall of the cave. He mumbled to himself, pouting, then punched the wall faster. Maehara and Nakamura watched him, sweatdropping. “Uh… Is he punching the wall?” Maehara asked. “People actually do that?” “All that smack talk seems to have really touched a nerve,” Nakamura said. “I’m sensitive, okay!” Koro-sensei yelled. “WE KNOW!” The students yelled back. Karma sniggered. “Hey, cheer up, sir, I’m sure I’ll come around and join your group eventually.” Koro-sensei sighed. “Yes, well hopefully.” “I mean, it’s kind of obvious he will,” Tanaka replied dryly. “This is a tv show. What else is he gonna do? Spend the whole season in a cave?” “Well, who knows? It could be like those tropes where he’s slow to turn,” Uchida said. “Maybe.” Karma looked at the screen curiously. “But, being stuck in a cave sounds kind of boring to be honest.” “Well, yeah, you’re all alone,” Miura replied, frowning. “And, besides, by the looks of it, your character here doesn’t even have any friends or… oh,” Seo trailed off, an uncomfortable silence settling. Karma’s shoulders stiffened when everyone grew quiet. “What?” His stomach twisted a little. “You can say it, I don’t care.” He tried to smirk. “Ritsu’s just showing it how it is.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care if my parents aren’t around.” Nagisa looked concerned along with his friends. “Karma…” Karma shrugged. “Well, it’s true, I don’t care.” He frowned a little. “They do their own thing and I do mine. Everyone’s happy.” Nagisa pursed his lips, concern growing as an uneasy silence settled. “…Then, it’s decided.” Rio’s eyes glinted with determination. “CLASS SLEEPOVER AT KARMA’S!” “Wait, what?” Karma did a doubletake. “YEAH!” 3-E yelled. “I’ll bring the movies!” Mimura offered. “I’ll make popcorn!” Toka offered. “Can we come too!?” Kondo gave them a puppy dog look. “Yeah, I wanna come too!” Oota pleaded. “Dude, I still barely know you guys,” Karma replied dryly. “Hm, that is true…” Kondo looked disappointed. Rio’s eyes shoned. “GIANT SCHOOL PARTY AT KARMA’S HOUSE!” “YEAH!” Nearly everyone yelled. Karma looked up in alarm. “Hey, now wait a minute!” Asano groaned, burying his face in his palm. “Please, no!” “But, it’ll be fun,” Ren said brightly. “We can send the invites via the group chat once the bubble pops!” Hiroto cheered. “YEAH!” “HOLD ON A SEC! I DIDN’T EVEN AGREE YET!” Karma shouted, starting to grow flustered. “I WANT TO DJ!” Koro-sensei yelled louder. Rio grinned, pinching Karma’s cheeks. “Oh, come on! We can have a sleepover next week and then plan a full party for the end of the month! It’s perfect!” “I don’t want a stupid party!” Karma yelled petulantly. Nagisa tried to smother his laughter. “It could be fun, though.” He looked amused. “A class sleepover could be interesting.” Karma frowned, considering it. “I guess…” He looked annoyed when he glanced at the other students who were busy crafting something. “But, I don’t want a stupid party— ARE YOU MAKING INVITATIONS!?” The students froze, handfuls of paper and crayons in their hands. “Uh…” Miura looked around and then shoved the crayons in her dress pockets. “Um… no.” “Can I DJ at the party!?” Koro-sensei begged. “There’s not gonna be a party!” Karma insisted. “Okay, but what if we just have the party in your garden then?” Hiroto suggested. “Oh! I love garden parties!” Hinano gushed. “Yeah, us too!” Okuda and Kanzaki smiled. “Oh, come on!” Karma yelled. Uchida quickly pressed the play button when he saw Karma start to grow more annoyed. Karma jumped out of the hole and landed back on the ground. The students gasped in surprise. “Got a little careless there for a second. No disrespect, chief, I’m just surprised the Demon King’s such a featherweight.” “I’m not a featherweight!” Koro-sensei whined. “You’re pretty easy to rile up,” Karma replied, shrugging. “I barely have to try.” Hazama shrugged. “It is true.” Kayano chuckled. “And, funny.” Koro-sensei grumbled something. Another washtub hit him on the head. “Well, well.” He turned to face Nagisa. “Hey, Nagisa, what’s up? It’s been a while.” Another washtub fell on his head. Kayano, Nagisa, and Okajima’s eyes widened before Nagisa responded. “Long time no see.” “Oh, it looks like we know each other here as well,” Nagisa said, smiling. Karma shrugged. “Well, it’d be kind of weird if we didn’t.” “Whoa, whoa. Say what?” Kayano said. “Oh. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” Nagisa told her. Nagisa’s smile grew. (Hopefully, we don’t end up fighting on the show…) “Hey, you think we’ll end up beating each other up here as well!” Karma looked amused. “Uh…” Nagisa grew wary when he saw him smile. “I hope not.” Karma walked over to the three of them. “So, uh, how the hell are you bottom-feeders kicking it with the final boss?” A washtub fell on his head with every few words that came out of his mouth. Nagisa stared at the ground. Okajima stared at Nagisa, his jaw dropped. (Dayum, sick burn on Nagisa!) A box with an arrow pointing to him and several Kunudon voices exclaimed, “And you!” A few students laughed while most of Class E looked affronted. “BOTTOMFEEDERS!?” They exclaimed. Karma grinned. “I mean, you guys are a low level.” Nagisa rubbed the back of his neck and tried to laugh. “Uh, yeah, true, but we have determination!” “Look, we, uh…” His confidence and determination suddenly increased. “…want you to join our war party! You’re the only chance we’ve got. I always knew you were amazing, but that attack a minute ago… Work with us and Koro-sensei’s as good as defeated!” Karma turned to glance at the rest of the class and another washtub fell on his head. The class stared at him in disbelief. (He thinks we suck!) A number of students started laughing. “Seriously!?” 3-E complained. “Wait! Did you think we sucked when you first met us!?” Okajima questioned. Karma gave an apprehensive laugh. “I mean, yeah, but not anymore!” That didn’t seem to make them feel better. Karma turned back to answer Nagisa. “C’mon, seriously? Even if I did join you…” An enormous washtub landed on his head. (Like, SINCERELY suck!) The laughter increased as some of 3-E started to growl. “Hey! That was because I didn’t realize how strong you guys were.” Karma tried to save the situation. “Remember my speech during final exams?” That seemed to placate them. Hiroto exchanged a look with Kataoka. “…Well, okay then.” “Now we definitely have to have a party at yours!” Rio grinned wickedly. “As revenge!” “No way!” Karma fought back. “…I think we all know it’d be my kill.” As the washtub fell past his shadowed face, it revealed a button labeled “Trap”, which he quickly pressed. “That’s no- AAAGH!” Koro-sensei was scooped up in a net hanging from the ceiling. The students gasped. “No way it’s that easy!” Okamoto objected. Tsuda frowned. “Yeah, that net was way too slow for Koro-sensei!” Koro-sensei chuckled. “Most likely.” He poked Karma’s head while the boy seemed unimpressed. “I believe your chibi counterpart is about to get a lecture in teamwork!” “Yeah, whatever.” Karma whacked the tentacle away. “The net wasn’t that bad of an idea…” “It’s a better trap than jumping off a cliff at least,” Kita replied dryly. Hazama nodded. “That’s true.” Karma hummed, his stomach twisting a bit when he remembered. “Yeah…” “I’m just glad Ritsu didn’t include Nagisa’s grenade attempt either,” Kayano sighed. “Watching it for a second time on the big screen was hard enough.” Nagisa smiled apologetically. “Uh, sorry!” “Yeah, I’m hoping we don’t get any creepy moments,” Kanada said, frowning. “I like that this show seems lighthearted.” Karma laughed, pulling out his knife and leaping toward the net. “You’re mine now!” Once he saw what was in the net, his eyes widened. “Huh?” A mushroom kunudon stared back at him. Once Karma landed back on the ground, the mushroom kunudon stared upward at nothing in particular, appearing dazed. “My life is meaningless,” it said monotonously. The students started laughing while Karma scowled faintly. “Nothing like an old switcheroo!” Koro-sensei chuckled. “That net was slow.” “Where’d he run off to?” Karma asked. He looked to the side where the sound of a hair dryer was heard. Koro-sensei had a green towel wrapped around himself and white one resting on his shoulders. He used a hair dryer to blow warm air through a long, brown, straight wig. His skin was completely pink and he was smiling as if he were satisfied. “Sorry, it’s this cave. I felt grimy,” he said in a southern accent. He laughed. “DID YOU TAKE A BATH?!” Karma shouted, his eyes white. The students laughed. “Of course, he did!” Kimura was clutching his sides. “It’s good to be productive!” Koro-sensei replied cheerfully. “Sometimes you need to take time to relax.” “No disrespect, but to be honest, you were so slow and that trap so tedious, I thought, ‘Why not make the most of my time and zip over to a hot spring for a nice, soothing dip?’” Pictures showed what Koro-sensei had done - when the trap was set off, he picked up the mushroom kunudon, set it in the net, and flew over to the hot spring. “Just the ticket, too. Healed that nasty wound up like magic.” “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BATHE YOURSELF IN A HOT SPRING!” Karma shouted, holding his knife above his head, ready to strike. The laughter grew louder. “Wait, but you can’t get in water,” Karma said, frowning. “Yeah, and you took a trip to the hot springs in the last episode,” Kayano said. “I’m sure I used my mucus to protect myself,” Koro-sensei replied, then he sighed contently. “And another thing I do love about Japan is its sublime springs. So relaxing.” “They won’t be if we drown you in one,” Karma said dryly. “I thought we agreed on no killing for now!” The teacher argued. Karma shrugged. “Doesn’t we can’t attempt it every now and then.” Suddenly, Koro-sensei moved out of the way and appeared behind him. In one motion, he took off all of Karma’s clothes other than his underwear and wrapped several tentacles around him. “Oh, really?” He flew both of them back to the hot spring. “HEY!” Karma blushed when he saw himself be stripped to his underwear. “What are you doing!?” “A trip to the hot spring most likely!” Koro-sensei replied, unconcerned. “I feel that if Mr Karasuma was here, he’d label this as inappropriate,” Machida said, raising an eyebrow. Kayano shrugged. “Probably.” “A trip to a hot spring is a place to reflect,” Koro-sensei insisted. “And, besides, being in a cave all that time can lead to all sorts of grime building up.” “I don’t need a bath!” Karma’s cheeks heated up. “Just because I’m in a cave doesn’t mean I’m dirty.” “I don’t know, Ritsu seems to be hitting hard with portraying you as a cave hermit,” Kayano teased. “I’m not a cave hermit!” Karma objected. “What are you talking about?” Asano arched an eyebrow. “You’ve literally installed booby traps and attack anyone who enters – you’re clearly a cave hermit dweller with an ego.” “Yeah, well, if I’m a hermit, then you’ll be some annoying, attention-seeking nerd,” Karma countered. Asano looked annoyed as the other students laughed. “What are you five!?” Karma shrugged. “I’m not wrong.” “I mean, you do like being front and centre, Asano,” Ren said, amused. “That’s – you’re not helping, Ren!” Asano snapped. Several round bars of soap sat on the side of the water. “You’re strong, Karma, I’ll give you that.” Karma spluttered, his face full of confusion. “You’re quick on your feet, literally and figuratively.” Terasaka gave a bark of laughter along with the other when they saw the chibi face looking around the screen frantically. Karma scowled faintly while Nagisa tried to hide his laugh. As soon as he processed what was happening, he leaped up off the stool and turned around, pointing at Koro-sensei. A light blush appeared on his cheeks. “Hey, quit trying to wash my back; it’s weird!” “Okay this is definitely inappropriate!” Machida exclaimed, creeped out. “Sir, what are you doing!?” Kataoka yelled. Hiroto clutched his stomach. “Dude, it’s worse than the time he wouldn’t stop grooming his nails and eyebrows!” Koro-sensei sighed fondly at the memory. “My nail designs were dazzling.” Karma blushed as the laughter grew. “Oh, man…” Nagisa smiled in amusement. “Well, at least you get a spa treatment.” He ran around the edge of the water. “Creep thinks he can just- agh!” A disclaimer at the bottom of the screen read, “No running in the bath, kids!” Koro-sensei appeared next to him, moving the same pace. He held up Karma’s arm by the wrist and washed under his arms. “The trouble is you let those talents go to your head.” Karma turned and stared at him in disbelief, completely creeped out. “How about not being a creep while lecturing me!?” Karma snapped. “But, I’m multi-tasking,” Koro-sensei replied obliviously. “Besides, who knows what germs you picked up in that cave.” “What are you, a mom!?” Karma exclaimed. Mimura shrugged. “I thought we all agreed that he was a soccer mom?” Chiba smirked. “He does act like one.” “If wielded in arrogance, a blade will never touch me.” The screen showed a picture of Kayano, Nagisa, and Karma each pulling out their own abilities to fight a common enemy. “The Demon King isn’t felled by a single player, but by a team of skilled warriors working in tandem. Camouflaging yourself was an exceptionally clever move. Why not shroud yourself in the mantle of E Class next time?” The two of them now sat next to each other in the water. “I see. You want me to be part of the group, too.” “Of course, we need our class Ace!” Koro-sensei said. Karma hummed, feeling a swell of amusement. “You guys would probably be lost without me.” Koro-sensei flew the two of them back to the cave, each of them only wearing a towel. Once Karma was returned to solid ground, he held out his hand to Koro-sensei. “Fine. Give me my clothes back and I’ll give it some thought.” As soon as he finished speaking, Koro-sensei had put an E Class uniform on him. “Alright, there we go.” Karma looked down and found that he wasn’t wearing his old clothes. “DAMMIT, I DIDN’T SAY YES, I SAID I’D GIVE IT SOME THOUGHT!” There was a round of laughter while Karma looked at the screen in alarm. “Too late!” Rio exclaimed. “When in doubt, kidnapping’s the way to go!” “YEAH!” Many of the class yelled. “Besides, you’ll need a uniform,” Okuda replied cheerfully. “There’s no way I’m wearing the full uniform willingly,” Karma objected. “But, you look so handsome!” Koro-sensei wept. “I look like a dork!” Karma snapped. Rio pretended to wince. “Ouch, way to dunk on the rest of us.” Kanada shrugged. “You guys aren’t really strict on the uniform code anyway.” “Yeah, how come you guys love those yellow cardigans so much?” Satsuki asked. “They’re comfortable!” Hiroto replied. Isogai hummed. “I prefer the blazers.” He smiled sheepishly. “It makes me feel tidy.” “And, a prince charming!” Toka and Kayano chimed in, making the Ikeman blush. Kataoka looked amused. “Yeah, I like wearing the full uniform.” She chuckled. “Plus, the last time I wore a cardigan to a student council meeting Asano nearly had an aneurysm.” Asano’s brow furrowed. “School cardigans should be worn for casual settings or free periods, not during formal meetings.” A few students sighed in exasperation. “Yeah, well, I like feeling comfortable, so screw uniform protocol!” Terasaka huffed. “Besides, being isolated on the mountains means we can get away with relaxing on the rules,” Rio said, shrugging. “And, Koro-sensei doesn’t mind.” Koro-sensei nodded. “I would rather my students feel comfortable.” Tanaka rolled his eyes. “I bet you’d freak out and make them smarten up if the Principal was doing a unform check though.” Koro-sensei gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I probably would panic.” Then he shivered. “My teacher’s review will be coming up soon as well!” “Teacher review?” Tsuda questioned. Asano sighed. “The Principal is just using that as an excuse to spy on them.” “Ugh, sounds gross already,” Kayano commented. “Wait the principals doing it!?” Hiroto questioned. “I knew they were doing one, but like is he actually sitting in on the lessons?” “Well, the Dean and Vice Principal can’t do it since this is all still a state secret,” Asano replied. “The only other teachers who know about Koro-sensei are the ones who were trapped in the time bubble.” Hazama smirked. “Imagine him sitting in on Bitch-sensei’s lessons?” A few students laughed while Asano began to appear ill. “Now that’s something I have to see,” Kataoka said, chuckling. “Either way, I want to do well!” Koro-sensei looked flustered already, cleaning his desk. “I’ll make sure this whole campus doesn’t have a speck of dust!” Terasaka groaned. “Ah, great, now he’s gonna be an even bigger clean freak.” He looked over at the students to find that they were holding a banner that read, “Welcome, Red Devil!” and “3-E’s Rising Star”. “E Class proudly welcomes our newest member!” several of the students announced. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! AND YOUR BANNER LOOKS LIKE A BAD WEBSITE.” The students started laughing again. “Did they have that banner prepared!?” Kondo exclaimed, chuckling. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” Juba joked. Hinano grinned. “An assassin is always prepared!” Kanzaki chuckled. “Also, since our mission was to recruit him we have to prepare a celebration kit to bring him in!” “And, kidnapping tools by the look of it,” Yanagi looked amused. Toka smiled brightly. “Of course!” A box appeared at the bottom of the screen. [Karma joins the party!] “AND, WHY ARE YOU PUTTING THAT IN A STUPID DIALOGUE BOX?!” The laughter grew as Karma sighed. “Well, we need a dialogue box to confirm we completed the mission,” Kanzaki said cheerfully. The students formed a giant circle and repeatedly tossed Karma into the air, chanting, “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!” (And that’s how you drag the Red Devil into being part of your class,) Nagisa thought, (which brings us that much closer to being that much closer to defeating the Big Bad!) “BUT, I STILL HAVEN’T SAID YES!” Karma shouted. Rio cackled. “TOO LATE!” “Yay! Friendship!” Hinano yelled excitedly. “It’s more like kidnapping,” Asano remarked dryly. “Pfft, like there’s a difference!” Hiroto exclaimed. “Look, if you’re not willing to kidnap people to join your friendship group, then you’re clearly doing something wrong,” Rio challenged. Rinka nodded, cleaning her gun. “An assassin has to be affirmative.” Yanagi frowned. “Uh, well, that seems more like a cult, but okay.” “It’s good Karma’s joined though, now we just need Ritsu and Itona to join our group,” Okuda said, smiling. Karma hummed. “Well, kidnapping aside, it should be fun having everyone together.” Nagisa nodded. “And, it means we’ll be able to advance faster if we work together.” Kanzaki looked excited. “This show makes me want to play online fantasy games again.” “Oh! That could be cool, we could form our own party online,” Kimura suggested. “Yeah that would be fun,” Fuwa agreed. Karma looked intrigued. “Yeah, it could be.” He grinned. “Can I be a bad guy?” “Uh, wouldn’t that make us a party of villains if we’re forming a group?” Nagisa said. “Nah, I can just be the token anti-hero in the group,” Karma argued, smirking. “Keeps things more interesting.” Koyama’s eyes lit up when he overheard. “Um, Asano—” Asano sighed. “No.” “But, it could be fun,” Koyama whispered. “I could be a wizard, and you could be a warrior—” “I wanna be a wizard as well,” Seo said, frowning. Asano groaned, running a hand down his face. “We do not have time for that.” Ren smirked. “It does sound fun though… I could seduce other players online!” Asano sighed again. “I can think of a hundred ways that could and will end in a disaster.” “Uchida!” Rio grinned. “Go ahead and roll the next episode!” Asano frowned. “We still need to go over planning for Shiro’s mission.” “Yeah, but these episodes are short so we have plenty of time,” Okano argued. Isogai smiled at the council president reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Asano, we’ll have enough time. Besides, everyone seems to be having a good time.” (Damn Ikeman.) Asano scowled briefly, wanting to roll his eyes. “Fine, but if we run out of time then don’t say I didn’t warn you…” A few students rolled their eyes. “I’ll take that as a go-ahead.” Uchida grinned and pressed the play button.     The school bell rang, signalling the start of the school day. The class gathered in the schoolyard and faced Karasuma, waiting for instructions. (Starting today, Royal Knight Commander Karasuma will be teaching E Class the way of the sword,) Nagisa thought. "Oh, so I guess he joined on as their teacher like in the other timeline?" Oota frowned, opening up a packet of crisps. "I guess we're just supposed to assume." "Probably, it makes sense, also I like how he's a knight in this," Sugaya commented. "It's a perfect it!" Hinano gushed hearts in her eyes. "Mr K is brave and noble!" Tsuda shrugged. "Well, real-world medieval knights were kind of assholes but I guess I we're going with the fairytale..." Karasuma held the weapon in his hand by the golden hilt, the long, silver blade extending out in front of him. "This is a civilized weapon," Karasuma said. "Mastery is its own reward." He turned around, then swung it forcefully. The top of the mountain next to them detached from its base and flew into the air. "HOLY CRAP!" Sugino shouted. "That slash sliced a mountain!" Maehara exclaimed. "Wow!" Kimura's eyes widened. "Laws of physics aside I could imagine him doing this," Takebayashi commented. Mimura snorted. "He is almost superhuman." "Yeah, remember the hotel poisoning incident?" Kataoka said. "Mr K is cool in whatever medium!" Hinano gushed, recording on her phone. "Do you think our characters will get together in this?" "No, because that's illegal," Asano replied dryly. Hinano blushed. "It's not that big of an age different!" "He's 28," Chiba commented. "So!?" Hinano huffed, holding her phone close. "I can wait." She frowned. "Even if he's dating Bitch-sensei, I don't mind sharing!" The others groaned in exasperation. Hara sighed. "I'm really not sure that's healthy, Kurahashi..." Hinano scowled, shaking her head. "I don't care. Even if it's impossible, I'll always be Mr K's biggest fan!" Koro-sensei quietly cried. (Even when he isn't here he's still taking my spot as the best teacher!) Karasuma turned back around to face the students as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He held out the sword. "Now you try." "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!" Sugino and Maehara shouted. The others burst out laughing. "He would actually make us try too," Hiroto said. Sugino nodded. "Yep." Isogai looked amused. "Well, he does like seeing us reach our full potential." Koro-sensei stepped forward. "That's Tadaomi Karasuma: arguably the most feared and respected swordsman in any world." "And he's actually sharing the secrets of his awesomeness with us!" Isogai said excitedly. "This is sweet!" Maehara agreed. "Oh, wow! The fact he's so scary makes him hot!" Okano gushed, blushing. "This'll be a great way to get to know him a little better!" Kurahashi replied, wearing the same expression. "I'm convinced you guys also drool on him during your PE lessons," Tsuda commented. Okano, Rinka, Toka, and Hinano blushed. "No!" Okano said quickly. "I'm not ashamed to admit it," Hinano said brightly. Rinka looked thoughtful. "He does have an impressive physique..." Chiba raised an eyebrow. "So, you do drool?" Rinka's cheeks heated up, looking away. "No..." "I mean, Mr Karasuma is really amazing so you can't blame them," Machida commented, cheeks heating up. "You're only saying that because you have a crush on him too," Hatanaka replied dryly. Machida panicked. "Ah! Shut up!" "Look, let's not kid ourselves and pretend we weren't all ogling him when he rescued Bitch-sensei during Reaper Knock-offs assassination attempt." Karma smirked. "We do have photos of you main campus dweebs getting nose bleeds." A lot of the students grew embarrassed. "You can't really blame us since he has the body of a demi-god," Satsuki sighed. "It should be illegal to look that good." Toka sighed wistfully. "True." Behind them, Sugino attempted to fire attack after attack with his magic, but nothing came from his palms like he wanted. Sugino frowned when he noticed. "What am I doing?" Nagisa hummed. "It kind of looks like you're trying to push something. Maybe it's a magic bolt?" Sugino looked excited. "Hey, that could be cool." Koro-sensei screamed. "Eeeeee! Damn you, Karasuma! You're trying to take my place as their favorite teacher!" Koro-sensei picked up a sword. "Attention, boys and girls! If you think his technique is all that, check out these funky, fresh moves!" He now held seven swords, each in their own tentacle. "Wayoooo! Now, everyone, hold their weapons exactly as I am!" "SERIOUSLY?!" the students shouted. Nakamura laughed along with most of the others. "Same old, same old." Koro-sensei huffed. "I'm a sociable person! I don't like being ignored." "We're not ignoring you, you're just needy," Mimura replied, frowning. "I'm not needy!" Koro-sensei objected. "YES, YOU ARE!" Everyone fired back. Koro-sensei went and sulked in the hallway, poking at the floor petulantly. A few of the students peaked around the doorframe. "Oh, come on!" Hiroto rolled his eyes. "I think he's sulking is growing mushrooms again." Sugaya pointed at the mushrooms growing around Koro-sensei. "Ugh, just ignore him." Tsuda slid the door shut. "He's such a big baby." Koro-sensei whined when the door was shut. "Don't ignore me!" Koro-sensei's face went pitch black. "Observe what the stance enables me to unleash!" He inhaled deeply. "Whah!" Flames flew out of his mouth. [The Big Bad breathed hellfire!] "THAT'S NOT SOMETHING PEOPLE CAN DO!" Isogai protested. "WHAT ARE THE SWORDS FOR IN THIS SCENARIO?!" Maehara asked. Nagisa chuckled as the students started laughing again. "He does overdo it a lot." Kanzaki looked amused. "But it's nice that he cares." "Yeah..." Kayano smiled a little. "You guys are seriously lucky he'll do anything for you," Oota commented. "Most teachers don't even care enough to teach properly." Nagisa nodded, humming as he looked at the doorway. "That's why it's hard to let him go..." The mood sobered a bit. "...You guys really think you can save him?" Kanada looked concerned. "I mean, it would be nice but..." "Everything has to end eventually," Araki argued, frowning. "We know..." Sugino looked uncomfortable. "But we can still try right?" There was a strained silence for a bit as most of the other students looked unconvinced. The students gathered into a circle off to the side. "Wow, desperate much?" Nakamura said. "He's trying too hard," Okajima commented. "If I'm gonna learn swordsmanship, I want a human to teach me," Sugino agreed. "Blast, I'm losing them!" Koro-sensei panicked. The mood brightened up a little when the others laughed again. Koro-sensei sniffled and poked his head around the door. "How long are you going to keep sulking?" Okano sounded exasperated. Koro-sensei rubbed his eye. "Until you all appreciate how cool I am!" There was a loud sigh from nearly everyone. "Sir, you know we love you, but you act like a total goof half the time!" Rio exclaimed. "But you are also really funny," Kanzaki said warmly. Koro-sensei perked up. "Being funny is cool right!?" "Uh, yeah, sure," Mimura gave a nervous chuckle. Koro-sensei looked relieved. "Wonderful!" He took out a monopoly board game. "Now does anyone want to take a break from watching to play monopoly with—" "NO!" Everyone dismissed him. Koro-sensei went back to sulking outside of the classroom. The opening was skipped. Uchida ignored the glare Fuwa was shooting him. (On Commander Karasuma's recommendation, the crown approved funds for E Class to equip itself with weapons, so here we are in the nearby village to do some shopping,) Nagisa narrated as the class walked down a street. Koro-sensei was still fuming. "Isn't Commander Karasuma generous, letting us buy new equipment?" Nakamura said to Kurahashi. "Yeah!" Kurahashi agreed. Koro-sensei was still red with a tick mark on his head. He pulled on a handkerchief that was clenched between his teeth. "That jerk is siphoning off my popularity with the youngins!" Nagisa, who was watching him, laughed. Hiroto scratched his head. "He really is kind of insecure." "I'm not insecure!" Koro-sensei popped his head around the door. "I just need validation!" The students exchanged looks. "...Isn't that insecurity?" Ren commented. "No..." Koro-sensei huffed. "I just want constant reassurance my students love me and that I'm doing a good job!" "We can't praise you 24/7," Hara argued. Koro-sensei sniffled, sitting down with them. "But what happened to students joyfully giving their teacher an apple as they skipped to class?" "We're not in primary school!" Kimura argued. "Who even did that in primary school anyway?" Rio questioned. A few students looked embarrassed. Karma grinned. "I once slipped wasabi into my teacher's lunch, does that count?" "No!" Koro-sensei admonished while the others were laughing. The class approached a weapon stand. The man behind the counter had pointy ears, a bushy moustache, a large nose, and metal goggles attached to a hat with spikes. A large, pink heart surrounded his head. "Sorry, 'fraid all I got in stock are Irina dumplings," he told the students. The class sweatdropped. "Huh?" "Irina dumplings?" Nagisa repeated. "Oh, we must end up meeting Bitch-sensei in this!" Toka exclaimed. "Yeah, but the guy looks weird with the heart thing so I'm not sure it's gonna end well," Machida pointed out. "Hm, she was a massive bitch when we first met her," Rio said, frowning. "Isn't this a weapons shop?" Maehara asked. "What are we supposed to do with dumplings?" Nakamura said. "Trust me, you'll never have juicier." The man opened one of the boxes of dumplings labelled "Irina Dumplings" and "Goddess-soft". Inside were two dumplings that looked way too similar to a pair of boobs. A few students choked on their snacks and spat out their drinks. "WHAT KIND OF DUMPLINGS ARE THOSE!" A lot of them shouted. Okajima drooled. "The best kind." Kataoka buried her face in her palm. Tsuda wiped her nose when it started bleeding. "How is this not censored...?" "Because they're too beautiful to be censored." Hiroto grinned. "Ugh!" Okano sighed, shaking her head. "What the-" the students were unsure of how else to respond. Okajima blushed, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. "I'll take two!" "Hey, you can't blame me, just look at them!" Okajima argued, and then wiped away a tear. "Made to perfection they almost look real!" Kataoka sighed. "He's a lost cause." Kanzaki and Okano rushed over to the group, having returned from looking at some other shops. "Guys, the armory's only got Irina crackers!" Okano told them. "And all they have at the item shop is Irina cakes," Kanzaki said. "You're kidding me!" Maehara exclaimed. Several men in the village had giant hearts around their heads and more hearts in their eyes. "Irina, how I adore thee, mistress!" one of them said. A man with dark green hair rubbed two of the Irina dumplings against his face. "You're a golden goddess! I worship you!" he exclaimed, borderline hyperventilating. The others laughed while Nagisa sighed. "Yep, this is something she would do," he said. Rio couldn't stop cackling. "Oh, wow!" Nagisa stared at the man, deadpanning. "What the heck is going on in this village?" Karma and Koro-sensei stood off to the side, each holding a gelato. Koro-sensei wrote in a notebook. "Beats me," Karma replied matter-of-factly. "The Irina soft serve is a sugary revelation!" Koro-sensei commented. "What is this, an eating tour?!" Okajima exclaimed. "What's wrong with trying the food?" Karma asked innocently. "Aren't we supposed to be there getting weapons?" Sugaya questioned. Karma shrugged. "Exactly, all that hard work works up an appetite." "Due diligence, Okajima. If we're going to uncover what's going on, no stone must be left unturned!" The class was confused. "Huh?" Koro-sensei disappeared for a moment, then came back with a short man with gray hair and a suit. "If you would, Mister Village Chief!" "Yes." The man's eyes widened and became bloodshot. He appeared to become almost possessed. "Things are not as they seem! Our community is enthralled to dark magic! Rave travellers, I beg you: DRIVE HER OUT! BANISH THE DREAD WITCH IRINA!!!" The screen showed a picture of Bitch-sensei in a very revealing witch outfit. She was laughing calmly but cruelly, surrounded by an evil aura. "Wow, this guy is intense," Hara commented. Okano nodded. "I know, the eye thing really adds to the effect." "Well he an RPG, they tend to be intense sometimes." Kanzaki chuckled. "And, it looks like we have our next quest." "Well, if she's a witch enchanting everyone, so this should be fun," Fuwa said, looking excited. Tanaka hummed, taking out his notebook. "Enchanting everyone..." "Sounds like a shipping episode to me!" Miura squealed from excitement. Asano groaned. "Please, no!" "Hey, technically this is just a show so it's not even real," Kondo argued. "No, it's still weird because we're REAL PEOPLE," Okano sighed in exasperation. "But, the matchmaking could be vital for your future happiness!" Koro-sensei exclaimed. "And, what if we just want to die alone buried among book and our per tarantulas?" Hazama asked dryly while writing in a notebook. There was a long pause as everyone turned to look at her. "...Um..." Koro-sensei looked concerned. Hazama shrugged, still writing. "Just a thought." "So, anyway!" Miura started writing in Tanaka's notebook. "It's shipping time!" "Asano..." Isogai looked at Asano pointedly. "Could you maybe stop them from—" "That would be futile." Asano sighed when he saw Araki gather around Tanaka as well. "Do what now?" the class responded. Koro-sensei laughed mischievously, holding up a finger. "Nurufufufufu! Methinks this has potential as an extracurricular lesson!" "Koro Q," Nagisa's voice said over the transition. The class now stood in front of a four-story-tall, white tower with arching windows on each floor. A large sign above the heart-shaped entrance without a door read "Welcome" with a couple of hearts. Enormous roses were painted on either side of the walkway. [Tower of Temptation] "Tower of Temptation? Kind of a skeezy name, isn't it?" Kayano asked. "It is a little on the obvious side," Takebayashi remarked. "Well, it doesn't really seem like Bitch-sensei is being discreet," Mimura replied. The class walked through the entryway. "Excuse us!" Okajima whisper-called. His voice echoed around the empty space. "Anyone home?" Hatanaka snorted. "What's with the voice?" Okajima looked amused. "Well, it is a creepy tower." "Ah, intrepid wanderers! Fates be praised," came Bitch-sensei's fake-exhausted voice from off to the side. The class looked to their left to see a woman with long, blonde hair holding a chipped bowl. She wore a black shawl. She carried herself in a way that gave off the impression that what she held was all she owned. She held out the bowl to them and looked up at them with her bright blue eyes, begging. "Water, please." Flowers appeared to bloom around her. "I'm on the very verge of death from thirst." "SKETCHY!" Kayano exclaimed "Pretty sure we should stay away from her instead," Nagisa commented. Maehara and Okajima held out their water canteens to her. "Here, m'lady," Maehara said. "Have ours." "WHAT DID NAGISA JUST SAY?!!" Kayano shouted in exasperation. Hiroto shrugged while some of the others were laughing. "Hey, I'm just being a gentleman." "Yeah, right!" Okano argued. Hiroto smirked. "It's true! I have a noble heart." Okano rolled her eyes and threw a stray monopoly piece at him. "I can't thank you enough!" The woman stepped closer to Maehara, placing a hand on his shoulder and slipping off her hood. Maehara stared at her, blushing and wearing a crooked smile. The woman then placed her lips on his. Maehara's eyes widened. "Well, that's pretty in character," Nagisa remarked while the others sighed loudly. The class screamed. Okano glared at them and blushed, looking like she was ready to punch someone. Hiroto smirked when he saw. "You look jealous." Okano blushed and hit his shoulder. "Shut up." Hiroto chuckled. "You know, my offer for that date is still open." "Not on your life." Okano crossed her arms. "Wait, what!?" Miura early keeled over from shock. "What date!?" "You guys are going on a date!?" Kanada yelled. "No!" Okano blushed harder, and glared at Hiroto who was sniggering. "Besides, I don't have a crush on you anymore." "Pfft, yeah right," Tanaka muttered. Miura happily wrote in the book. "So, she's her true feelings? That's so romantic." "How is that romantic!?" Sugino questioned. Karma, who was incredibly entertained, held out his index finger and thumb over his chin as if making a mental note to tease him about later. Isogai half-deadpanned, also blushing. Karma grinned and took a picture. "This should be fun." "Is your photo album just blackmail material of your classmates?" Hokoma asked. Karma looked amused. "Nah, it's only 35%." "What is the rest of the photos of Nagisa crossdressing?" Araki remarked dryly. Nagisa groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Guys..." Karma glanced at him. "Relax, I deleted most of them." Nagisa turned bright red. "I told you to delete all of them!" Karma frowned. "But they're memories of our friendship." "Uh, you really delete them, Karma," Sugino said, sighing. "It's not cool to make Nagisa uncomfortable." Karma scowled while Nagisa smiled at his friend gratefully. "Can't I just keep one?" Karma argued, looking at his phone. Nagisa sighed. "Ugh, Karma..." Karma frowned. "Okay, fine I'll delete all of them...if you put on this cowboy outfit." He smiled and pulled out a cowboy costume. "It's manly. See?" "Why do you have that!?" Nagisa yelled. "Why did you bring it with you here?" Asano questioned, looking confused. Koyama frowned. "Did you have that costume just hidden somewhere?" "Not important." Karma put the cowboy hat on Nagisa's head and then tried to put the necktie on the boy. "Come on, just a couple of photos!" Rio already had her phone out. "Come on give us some angles!" Nagisa was alarmed and confused. "What is wrong with you!?" Koro-sensei intervened and quickly picked up Nagisa so he was out of their reach. "Alright, settle down you two." He plopped Nagisa down next to Isogai, Kataoka, Hiroto, and Okano. "Aw..." Rio and Karma looked disappointed. Nagisa sighed in relief, taking off the cowboy hat. "Thanks, sir." Hiroto chuckled and ruffled his head. "You really can't catch a break, dude." Nagisa heaved another sigh. "Tell me about it." Okano looked amused and put the cowboy hat on, making Kataoka giggle. The woman continued to deepen the kiss. 10 hits. 20 hits. 30 hits. 40 hits. 50 hits. "I'm out," Maehara said dreamily. Around him, a cloud of pink smoke went poof. When it had dissipated, he had a pink heart around his head like the men in town. He was blushing heavily and was drooling. He began laughing calmly but eerily. [Maehara was entranced!] "See?! That's what I'm talking about!" Nagisa said. "Well, that didn't take long," Hazama commented. Hiroto sighed, stretching. "What can I say? I'm too chivalrous for my own good." Okano threw a shoe at him. "Ow!" Hiroto rubbed the back of his head. "Stop throwing stuff at me!" The woman laughed confidently. "Like candy from a baby." She pulled off her shawl, revealing the purple dress and hat of the witch. "Now what's all this I hear about you driving me out?" "SHE REALLY IS A WITCH!" Kayano exclaimed. "Yeah, sure, but... wow!" Sugino said, staring at her with a light blush on his face. The other members of the class were doing the same. "Guys!" Kayano exclaimed. "Ah! Her powers are too strong!" Okajima shielded his eyes. "It's too late for us?" "I am super jealous of her cup size," Kayano pouted, glaring. Kayano blushed bright pink when a few people laughed. "Ah! That's a lie! I'm not jealous." Toka looked sympathetic. "Hey, it's okay." She looked embarrassed and whispered, "u m, to be honest I which my cup size was a little smaller..." Kayano looked surprised. "Really?" "Uh, yeah." Toka gave a nervous chuckle. "It really hurts my back sometimes..." "Oh." Kayano felt a little better after that. "I never really considered that." Okajima still stood behind the witch. "So, uhhhh... what about me?" he asked, pointing to himself. "Oh, huh-nee, you're not my type," the witch said as if pitying him. "What!?" Okajima yelled. "That's not fair!" "Uh, you know it's a good thing not getting enchanted right?" Nagisa questioned. "Not when it's rejection!" Okajima whined. Okajima shouted and the hearts around his head shattered. "Agh! Don't be mean!" His blush suddenly returned. "No, wait. That might actually be my thing." The cloud of pink smoke exploded around him and a pink heart also appeared around his head. "Yup, totally is." He began laughing like Maehara. [Okajima was entranced!] "Big shock." The class deadpanned. "Are you kidding me!?" Kataoka yelled. Okajima blushed. "Hey! There's nothing wrong with it." "So, what? Okajima is into humiliation kink?" Hatanaka questioned. Takebayashi looked thoughtful. "This explains so much..." Miura's eyes sparkled when she looked at Kataoka. "...Maybe that's why he tries to annoy Kataoka so much!" "Huh?" Kataoka looked over in confusion. "What are you talking about?" "New ship?" Tanaka's eyes sparkled as well. "No!" Kataoka shouted when she heard them. "Quickly write it down!" Miura ordered, pointing at Kondo frantically. Koro-sensei stepped forward. "I take it we're in the presence of Irina Jelavic, the Seductive Witch?" "And if you are?" the witch responded. "Might I ask that you kindly release the villagers from your salacious enchantment?" "Sorry, no can do. I've grown accustomed to a certain standard of living," she said matter-of-factly. "But let's change the subject." She thrust her chest forward at Koro-sensei. "You seem like a hardy bunch. You'd make a fine addition to the minion class." "Dream on, witch! You're not gonna seduce us!" Nakamura shouted. "Yeah, we're impervious to your magic!" Kurahashi and Okano agreed. Rio looked smug. "No matter how big the boobs, we won't be seduced!" "My love for Mr Karasuma will be my shield!" Hinano declared proudly. "More like obsession," Araki commented dryly. The three of them heard quiet laughter from off to the side and looked over to see Sugaya, Yoshida, Sugino, and Muramatsu surrounded by hearts. "Guys..." they said in disappointment. "Sorry!" Sugino apologized. "Well, this isn't going well," Rinka said, frowning. "Wait, how many boys outnumber us again?" Hara quickly counted. "So Ritsu isn't here yet and neither is Itona and if all the boys are enchanted then that makes it... twelve girls against fourteen boys..." She scowled. "Ah, damn it." "There's only a two-person difference!" Mimura argued. "At least we have Koro-sensei with us," Kanzaki reassured. The witch bounced her chest in Koro-sensei's direction, trying to seduce him. Koro-sensei stared, trying to avoid being taken over by her spell. (Fight, Koro-sensei,) Nagisa thought. (Keep it together!) "Hey, wait, Nagisa isn't affected yet," Okano pointed out. Hara looked relieved. "Nice! That might even out the numbers then." "Wait, how are you not affected though!?" Hatanaka questioned. Nagisa shrugged. "I mean... they're just boobs." A few students gasped in horror. Okajima looked disturbed. "Just...boobs?" Hiroto looked away from Nagisa. "I can't even look at you." Nagisa was unimpressed and sighed. One poof later, Koro-sensei had a heart around his head. A Koro-sensei voice in the background exclaimed, "Insta-killed by cleavage!" [Koro-sensei was entranced!] "Oh..." Kanzaki looked disappointed. Koro-sensei was intrigued. "Hm... perhaps her powers are too strong." The girls in class sighed. "Well, we're screwed," Kayano commented. "SERIOUSLY?! COME ON!" Kayano glared. Nakamura's eye twitched. "WAY TO GO, PERV!" "NO FAIR! WHY DO BIG BOOBS HAVE SO MUCH POWER OVER MEN?!" Kurahashi whined. The other students were laughing while Koro-sensei and the boys looked sheepish. A shadow covered the witch's face. "Welcome to the team, boys. Chase them out of here, will you? I'll be upstairs, slipping into something more comfortable." Okajima, Maehara, and Koro-sensei crept forward, their fingers curled as if preparing to grasp at the other students. Shadows covered their faces and Koro-sensei's eyes were glowing red. Under their breath, they repeated, "Chase them out, chase them out, chase them out, chase them out..." "Oh! And..." The witch stopped walking and turned around. She snapped her fingers and a heart-shaped cage made out of glass appeared around the female students and floated into the air. The girls screamed. "Oh, no! This is bad!" Nagisa exclaimed. "There we are! You shorties are gonna help Mama develop a new charm that works on women! Doesn't that sound fun?" the witch said sweetly. A number of students exchanged looks. "...So, what she's gonna turn the girls into lesbians?" Muramatsu asked, looking confused. Hazama shrugged. "Or just not straight, and honestly, mind control aside it doesn't really sound like a punishment." Toka was bright red. "That's not really how it works..." Tsuchiya looked over curiously. "And, how would you know?" Toka yelped. "N-no, reason!" She gave a nervous laugh. "Um, anyway, I think bitch or witch-sensei means is that the potion just doesn't work on girls because um... biology, I'm sure it has nothing to do with sexuality or... um, yeah! That's the reason!" "Uh, okay." Araki shrugged. "No one really—" "I'm just saying it's more of a mind control charm!" Toka yelled in panic, her face red as a tomato. "It's not like we'd all end up kissing each other or—" Machida and Tsuda quickly covered her mouth while the other students exchanged confused looks. Machida gave a nervous laugh. "Okay! You can stop talking now." "Seriously, save your gay panic for later, idiot," Tsuda whispered impatiently. Toka's cheeks heated up as she quickly tried to calm down. Deflating like a balloon as she was released. "Uh..." Nagisa exchanged a look with Kayano. "Right..." Koro-sensei hummed to himself and made notes in his new notebook. Okajima, Maehara, and Koro-sensei were still approaching the rest of the class. "Agh! Move it!" Sugino shouted. Okajima, Maehara, and Koro-sensei were laughing creepily and still repeating, "Chase them out, chase them out, chase them out..." Rio made a face. "Ugh, creep factor." "At least a good portion of us aren't enchanted yet," Nagisa argued. Sugino nodded. "Yeah, if we can hold out then we can help rescue the girls." "Yeah, but Witch-sensei has Koro-perve over here enchanted," Mimura argued. "Don't call me that!" Koro-sensei complained. "If Koro-sensei is enchanted though, then could that limit his power since he isn't in control?" Isogai argued. "Oh, yeah, that's a good point," Kataoka replied. Karasuma suddenly ran into the room and swung his sword at Koro-sensei, who held it back with his tentacles. "Commander K?!" the students exclaimed. Karasuma turned around, wearing a determined and focused expression. "Hey! I can handle these idiots! Go ahead and make sure the witch is stopped!" "Yes, sir!" "I knew he'd come to our rescue!" Hinano looked smitten. "How did he show up so fast?" Isogai questioned. "It must have been his intuition!" Okano replied. "Koro Q!" Isogai's voice said as the transition appeared on the screen. The witch relaxed on a couch in a large, mostly empty room. Everything - the walls, floor, furniture - in the room was pink. The girls had been moved to a cylindrical wire cage a short distance from the witch. [Tower of Temptation - Top Floor] The witch took a sip from her glass of wine. "My goodness, the menfolk are such pushovers." "Then why be so proud about wrapping them around your little finger?" Kayano asked. Nakamura crossed her arms. "You're not fooling us; no way that full-figured bod's not some kind of illusion." Kayano nodded in agreement. Kurahashi covered her mouth and her eyes widened. "Wait, her boobs are fake?" Kayano nodded furiously. "SHUT UP! UGH! I'd have magic-ed those big mouths shut!" "Could they be fake?" Hatanaka looked distressed. "Is it all a lie!?" Asami sighed. "I really don't think it matters that much..." "What are you talking about?" He shook her shoulder. "Of course, it matters!" Nobody had noticed the rest of the class entered the room, but they now stood next to the witch's couch. "Release them at once!" Nagisa ordered. Kayano folded her hands together and blushed. "Nagisa!" she exclaimed. The witch stared at them in confusion. "Huh? What the hell! How'd you nobodies get up here?" She set down her glass of wine and her annoyed look was quickly replaced with a smile. "Doesn't matter. The more slavishly devoted minions, the merrier!" She snapped her fingers and winked. "Charm." A cloud of pink smoke surrounded the students. When it moved away, they had pink hearts around their heads and were drooling. Karma and Nagisa, who were standing off to the side, had evaded the attack. "Look Karma and Nagisa aren't affected!" Kondo's eyes lit up. "I told you guys they were gay," he whispered. "Wait, what?" Nagisa frowned. Tsuda looked annoyed. "No, they're not!" "There's still a chance." Kondo grinned and grabbed Tanaka's notebook. "I'm writing it down." "They weren't affected because they moved out of the way of the charm, you idiots!" Asano tried to tell them. Kondo wasn't listening. "Pfft, yeah right." Nagisa groaned, burying his face in his hand. Karma raised an eyebrow. "They're seriously still writing in that book?" Rio nudged him and pointed at Koro-sensei. "Well, he's not exactly stopping it." Koro-sensei chuckled as he wrote in his notebook. "Great. So now what are we supposed to do?" Nagisa asked. Karma held a hand up to his chin, thinking. "Hm..." A washtub fell on his head. Nagisa's jaw dropped. "Does anyone else wonder where all the washtubs go?" Oota questioned. "She's been playing that charm close to the chest!" he pointed out condescendingly, more washtubs repeatedly hitting him in the head as he spoke. "Heh! But if we got it away from her, the spell would be broken!" "Wonderful idea, Karma." Koro-sensei nodded. "So, in this world, you can just physically grab charms?" Okuda said. Kimura shrugged. "Video game logic.!" The witch glared at him. "Uh!" She held up a fist. "Yeah, so what if it would, carrot top?" A shadow covered Karma's face. He made a Koro-sensei smile and held up a finger. "Nailed it." A giant washtub fell on his head. The students were laughing while Karma looked smug. Karma stretched. "I'm just too smart for this world." Nagisa looked amused. "Right, sure." "Like you've got the guts to yank this baby out of my hand!" She pointed at Karma and Nagisa. "Get 'em, boys! I'm tired of looking at their faces!" The entranced members of the class immediately began walking toward the two students. "I was going to let you leave here alive, but since you know my weak point... Too bad they had to be so damn pure; it would have been so much easier if they'd just let me enchant them." Her tone abruptly lightened. "Oh well! C'est la vie!" Nagisa and Karma were being cornered, having to back up closer and closer to a large window. "Oh, wow, she's really gonna kill us," Karma remarked. "Kinda cold," Nagisa said. "Are you guys forgetting how she was going to let the Reaper 2.0 murder you!?" Seo snapped. "She was upset over her heart getting broken," Toka argued. "THAT'S NOT AN EXCUSE TO MURDER KIDS!" Tsuda yelled. "Nagisa! Karma!" the girls exclaimed. The witch's eyes narrowed. "This is what happens when snot-nosed pubescent punks stick their noses in grown-up business! Buh bye now." The entranced boys shoved Karma and Nagisa out the window. They screamed as they quickly fell toward the ground. Nagisa cringed. (Crap!) "Ah! No!" Kayano shouted. "This is too dark for this series!" Fuwa shook her head in distress. "Not to worry, I'm sure I'll save them," Koro-sensei reassured. "But, you're enchanted too," Okuda pointed out. "Oh..." Koro-sensei looked puzzled. "Yes, I suppose that could cause a problem." "You think!?" A lot of the students yelled. "I can't look." Kanzaki buried her face in her hands. Before they hit, though, they were suddenly picked up and saved. Their eyes widened in surprise. "Wha-" The witch stared, angry and shocked. "Hooo! That was almost too close for comfort." Koro-sensei gently landed on the top floor of the tower, placing Karma and Nagisa back on solid ground. "Phew." Nagisa sighed in relief along with a lot of the others. "You see!" Koro-sensei looked relieved. "No silly enchantment could ever come between me and protecting my students." The witch stared at him in complete shock. "SON OF A- YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE UNDER MY SPELL!" "Madam, please. Your magic has no power over me. What do you take me for, a trash mob?" Koro-sensei's face went pitch black and his slitted eyes glowed red. "Do your homework," he growled. "Status effect enhancements have no power over the Demon King!" "Go figure," Karma said. "Heh. Knew it all along," Nagisa laughed. "Nice fake out there, teach," Karma said. Koro-sensei chuckled while the others looked shocked. "Well, it makes sense since he wasn't fooled by her when she first made an appearance," Takebayashi said. "Oh, yeah, that's true," Okano replied. "He might be a pervert, but he's still smart." "Why thank you!" Koro-sensei preened at the praise. "I am a master of deceit." "Well, at least not when you're flustered or insecure," Karma replied. "Ugh!" Koro-sensei was wounded. "Well, yes, there are those drawbacks." Koro-sensei laughed. "Nurufufufufu! Toying with you has been a lark, but trying to push my students out a window to their deaths is a bridge too far." The witch stood in a defensive stance. "Nice try, jawbreaker. I'm not sure what's going on, but don't pat yourself on the back just yet; I still have hostage- Huh?" When she looked over at the cage that had held the girls, she found them standing behind Karasuma with the top 80% of the cage chopped off. "Not anymore, you don't," Karasuma said. "I've taken the liberty of setting them free." "WHAT?!" the witch exclaimed. "This thing told me his plan on the first floor." When Karasuma's sword was stuck in Koro-sensei's grip, he'd winked and said, "Easy, easy, I'm only pretending!" "A true master plan." Koro-sensei chuckled. "I honestly outdo myself sometimes." "You did have us fooled there for a sec," Nagisa replied sheepishly. "Not to worry, my boy." Koro-sensei sighed wistfully. "As alluring as womanly cleavage is, I won't ever let it distract me from protecting my students!" The girls began screaming and fangirling over Karasuma. "Gah! He broke the cage in one blow!" Okano exclaimed. "Coolest thing I've seen in my entire life!" Kurahashi gushed. "Same. I think I'm falling in love," Nakamura agreed matter-of-factly. "AHHHH, no, no, no! This was my idea! Why are they all smitten with you?!" Koro-sensei asked. Karasuma glared furiously at him, holding up a fist. "I DON'T KNOW!" The others were laughing. "You can't blame us, Mr K is fantastic!" Hinano looked in love again. "He really is a knight in shining armour." Koro-sensei grumbled under his breath. "And what about your immunity to Irina's charms? I'm the Demon King, so of course it couldn't get a foothold on me, but are you sure you don't bat for the other team?" Meanwhile, the witch stared at them in disbelief, her jaw dropped. Behind her, Nagisa deadpanned and Karma smiled mischievously. "It's called being disciplined!" Karasuma shot back. Shindo nudged Machida. "Hey, you might have a chance." Machida turned bright red and shoved him. "SHUT UP!" Hinano looked curious. "Hey, maybe Mr K likes both?" "I don't know, I think he really is just dense and super disciplined," Kataoka argued. Tanaka hummed, looking at his notebook. "You know... Mr Karasuma does spend a lot of time in the Principal's office—" Asano grabbed the boy's notebook and tore it in half. "No." "Asano!" Tanaka and a few of the shipping club members looked horrified. "No! That had precious intel in there!" Miura complained. Asano glared at him darkly. "Enough." Tanaka and Miura cowed and hid behind Kataoka. Kataoka looked confused. "Uh, why are you hiding behind me?" "For protection!" Tanaka yelled. She sighed and shook her head. Once Koro-sensei and Karasuma were done bickering, they came over to the witch. Enormous flames seemed to appear behind them. Their faces were shadowed and both of their eyes glowed red. "Game, set, match! Admit defeat, foul witch!" Karasuma ordered with a wide smile. "Someone's been a naughty sorceress!" Koro-sensei said, holding up a tentacle finger. "It's punishment time!" The witch stared at them as they approached, tears streaming down her face as she shrieked. "Well, this looks straight from a horror movie," Yoshida said. "Yeah, what's with the creep factor?" Hara commented. "Well, she did nearly kill Karma and Nagisa while also enslaving everyone with mind control," Kayano said. "Exactly! She must be taught the error of her ways," Koro-sensei declared. "Yeah, but we're not sure we trust you with that," Hazama replied dryly. The group of students outside the entrance deadpanned when they heard the shrieks die down into moans. "No! Please, stop!" After a moment, the witch sat on the floor. Her clothing and hat were covered in scratches and her hair was in a dishevelled state. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. "I-I'll be a good girl from now on, I swear. Cross my heart. I beg your forgiveness." "What did they do to her?!" Mimura, Sugino, Kimura, and Maehara wondered aloud. "Things I can imagine are better off not known, children," Koro-sensei said solemnly. "Um..." Nagisa looked concerned. "It's like episode 4 all over again," Hokoma said. "With the tentacle massage and the shed." Asami grimaced. "Yeah, I've been trying to block that out of my mind for a week now," Okajima stared at her. "Mmm..." Suddenly, pink smoke exploded around him and a heart surrounded his head again. [Okajima was entranced a second time!] "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Okano, Nakamura, Kurahashi, and Kayano shouted. "So much," Kataoka said, and then sighed. Okajima blushed. "What? Everyone has their own thing." He became flustered. "Don't shame me!" "Hey, everyone has their own thing," Hiroto said brightly. "If anything, this episode taught us a good lesson of when it comes to romance, everyone's different." Kayano frowned. "Uh, I'm not sure that was the lesson—" "It's true." Ren shrugged. "I myself am weak to true romance. Love letters, a traditional serenade." Hiroto patted him on the shoulder. "I can respect that." He grinned. "And, if we're on about preferences—" Isogai buried his face in hand. "Please stop..." Hiroto remained confident. "I myself and more of ass man—" Okano gagged him with a chocolate bar. "Stop!" Isogai sighed. "We really don't need to know that, Maehara..." "He has a point though," Ren said just as brightly, making Asano sigh in annoyance. "My ideal wouldn't definitely be—" Seo and Araki forced his head down into the mat. "SHUT UP!" Uchida frowned as he watched them all start to squabble. "Uh, yeah, I'm just gonna play the next episode." He pressed the play button.      Dark storm clouds cast shadows on the main school building. "I see," came the principal's voice. "They call him 'Koro-sensei'. Why would a demon king teach students how to defeat him?" Lightning cracked, lighting up the principal's office through the giant window on the back wall. The students tensed a little when they saw. Asano grimaced faintly. (Oh...he's here.) "Well, this doesn't look good," Mimura said warily. Ren pushed Araki and Seo off him. "Get off!" Araki was distracted by the screen. "What do you think the Principal's like in this?" "Terrifying and evil?" Hara suggested. "Seems like his normal M.O," Fuwa commented. Karasuma dutifully listened to him. (Pope Gakuhou Asano: national treasure, hero maker, a man who's vanquished many a-demon king in his time.) Muramatsu nearly spat out his drink. "National treasure!?" "Well, he is a pope and a hero in this world," Okuda commented. "Yeah, but still, who the hell would think of him as a national treasure!?" Yoshida yelled. "He acts like a creep half the time." Asano raised an eyebrow. "You do realise he's won multiple awards?" "Yeah, but he's still creepy!" Kimura argued. "Anyone else going to question the pope thing?" Kayano asked but the others were busy talking. "That's hardly anyone sees the real him," Tsuda said, shrugging. "He's not an idiot, he's going to present his best self for the cameras." "Yeah, that is true, a lot of people do trust him," Hiroto commented. "Exactly," Asano replied, nodding. "He's spent over ten years building a perfect image of himself." He frowned faintly when he remembered something. "When I was younger he was always setting up 'family days' for us so the press would eat it up." "Really?" Rio looked over curiously. "What did you guys do?" He grimaced slightly. "Mainly outside events, I caught onto it pretty quickly though," he explained. "One time when I was seven it took me to a park and told me to play on the equipment, and then had it so that the press 'just so happened' to stumble on us." He wrinkled his nose at the memory, remembering how uncomfortable he'd felt when his father had tried to push him on the swing, and then how annoyed the man had gotten that he wasn't smiling enough for the cameras. "It wasn't particularly enjoyable..." "Wow, that's... kind of horrifying and desperate," Okano said, frowning. "Who even does that?" "A guy trying too hard to sell a perfect persona so people will trust him and his school," Takebayashi remarked dryly. "Though, it's not exactly uncommon for parents to do it on a subtler scale." Hazama grimaced. "Ugh, I know, it's pathetic." Kanzaki stomach twisted. "And, awkward." She fidgeted. "And, I don't like how obsessed they can get about other people's opinions." "Yeah, it's really fake and cringe," Machida replied, frowning. "Sometimes I think my parents know what my older brother is like but they choose to just ignore it..." Nagisa nodded, thinking about his mom. "My mom does act differently around her friends..." "Yeah, I hate my mom's friends because of that," Hazama said, scowling. "They always defend her." Tsuchiya frowned. "...Why don't you just cause a scene then?" she asked, it not making sense to her. "If you just go along with it you're not really going to change anything." She combed her hands through her hair. "If my daddy makes me mad, I just tell him to his face." "Oh, yeah, I'll try that next time when my mom's throwing plates around the house," Hazama said dryly, her gaze cold. "That'll show her." Tsuchiya bristled. "I'm just saying..." Nagisa sighed, thinking about when he'd tried to talk to his mom. "It's hard because a lot of the time they don't listen." "Yeah, if I don't do what my brother says he'll just beat me up," Machida said, uncomfortable. "It's not exactly easy when they can intimidate you and make your life worse. You're lucky because you have a dad who loves you enough not to lash out." "Well..." She frowned, feeling put on the spot. "Yeah, but you should still do something." She felt uncomfortable. "Anyway, they shouldn't treat you like that..." "Well, they do, so when you come up with a solution, let us know," Hazama replied dryly, while a few students looked uncomfortable while her friends looked concerned. Terasaka frowned. "You okay?" "Yeah, great." Hazama shrugged, not looking worried. "This anomaly... Show him to me." Karasuma held up a hand and a screen appeared on the wall of the room. The picture showed Koro-sensei in a woman costume, holding a woven basket by his arm. He attempted to casually converse with the people around him. "He appears to be purchasing eggs," Karasuma told the pope. "Like my mother used to say, eggs-emplary children need their protein!" Koro-sensei said. The pope stared at the screen, unamused. "You cannot be serious." The students burst out laughing. "Oh, man, that's perfect!" Maehara clutched his sides. Isogai chuckled. "Of all the moments." "Eggs are important!" Koro-sensei told them. "You do need your protein!" The opening was skipped. Another crack of thunder boomed as the pope said, "You'll forgive me if I find it hard to believe that this is the Demon King. You are familiar with the established criteria, are you not?" "What? He can't just judge a book by its cover!" Koro-sensei exclaimed. "I don't know, sir, you're not exactly what people would think in terms of a demon king," Kimura commented. "Yeah, for one you look like a giant octopus," Mimura said. "And!?" Koro-sensei huffed. "I'm sure demons come in all shapes and sizes!" "Not with tentacles," Sugaya argued. "Yes, absolutely!" Karasuma replied immediately. He held up a book titled, The Complete Big Bad. [The Complete Big Bad, chapter 2] "Fiery, piercing eyes!" The screen showed a picture of Koro-sensei's tiny white eyes as they blinked. The students started to snigger at the comparison. "Oh, yeah, this'll convince him," Karma remarked while Nagisa laughed. "A jaw able to snap a dragon's spine." The screen showed a picture of Koro-sensei's smile as it widened. "Steel, sundering talons." The screen showed a picture of Koro-sensei as he formed and released a fist with his squishy tentacle hands. "Earth-gouging heels!" The screen showed a picture of Koro-sensei's tentacles as they slithered around. Karasuma's eyes went white. "HE'S NOT ANY OF THOSE!" Rio cackled, laying on the mat. "It just keeps getting better!" Koro-sensei chuckled. "As I said, you can't judge a book by its cover." "Why do you look so different from what the book describes though?" Kayano questioned. "If the demon king has been around for centuries, how come this version looks so different?" "Well, I am one of a kind!" Koro-sensei gushed, putting on a wig as he fluffed his hair like a southern belle. The pope was still watching Koro-sensei on the screen. "This must be your idea of a joke." Karasuma panicked. "NO, YOUR EMINENCE! QUITE THE OPPOSITE." The students laughed more. "Aw, poor Mr K," Hinano sympathized. "I know, right, he really can't catch a break," Toka replied, chuckling. "I'm telling you I can totally see them as a ship," Tanaka whispered. Miura nodded. "They do have chemistry." Her expression became determined. "We need to repair the book." Tsuda sighed. "You guys do remember the principal is still married right?" The pope folded his hands. "Very well, then. In any event, I'm inclined to doubt that a demon king has the aptitude to be an educator." Koro-sensei was offended. "That's obscured!" He held up a sign that read 'Demons are teachers too!'. "And, discrimination! Let demons teach!!!" "Uh, aren't demons known to eat humans?" Okano questioned. "That's a stereotype!" Koro-sensei replied. "Demons don't even exist!" Koyama exclaimed. "I beg to differ," Hazama remarked, stretching. "I bet they do." "They could live among us for all we know," Kita spoke quietly, scaring some of his classmates next to him. "Yeah, you two for starters." Seo frowned and looked over at Karma. "Maybe him too." "What do you advise we do, sir?" A shadow covered the pope's eyes and he smirked ominously. "It's quite simple. I shall devise a little test." "Ah, great, here we go!" Okajima exclaimed. Kimura sighed. "Who wants to bet the test will put us in danger?" Takabayashi hummed. "I'd be shocked if it didn't." "Be careful! It's pitch black in here!" Nagisa warned the class, who was walking through a long tunnel. The sound of someone tripping was heard, then Maehara's shout of, "OW!" "Yep, not even five minutes in and you're already heading into danger," Tsuda commented. "I wonder if the test involves fighting more monsters, and maybe Koro-sensei will need to protect you again." "Whatever it is, I'm sure we'll triumph!" Koro-sensei said brightly, chuckling. "Pope or Principal, he'll have trouble proving I'm not a good teacher!" "Or he could just expose the porn stash in your office?" Yoshida said. "Ah!" Koro-sensei was wounded by the verbal assault. "And sorta cramped," Isogai added. Kurahashi screamed. "Okay, who just touched my butt?!" "Dammit, Okajima!" Kataoka punched him. "It wasn't me!" Okajima insisted. Kataoka looked annoyed. "Okajima!" "Why do I always get blamed!?" Okajima yelled. "Because you're a pervert!" A lot of the students yelled back. Hatanaka shrugged. "Yeah, but who isn't?" Karma laughed. "Wait, what!?" Kataoka looked surprised. "Karma, did you set me up!?" Okajima shouted. Karma looked curious and shrugged. "I don't know." He hummed. "Though, touching butts in the dark isn't really my thing." "But cross-dressing your friends are?" Machida questioned. Karma shrugged. "Everyone needs a hobby." Nagisa sighed. "It's not a hobby." "Hey! Is that the way out?" Kayano asked, referring to the light at the end of the tunnel. It grew closer and closer the farther they walked. When the class had all passed through the doorway, they were in a large, square, brick room. Torches were on the walls at approximately five meters high around the entire room. [1st Chamber] "Here we are, class," Koro-sensei announced. "Today's dungeon: the Ruins of Tribulation!" "I dunno about anyone else, but this is the furthest I've ever been!" Isogai said. Maehara held up a fist. "Talk about awesome!" "The perks of questing as a party are pretty great, huh, guys?" Nagisa said. "Leveling up, baby!" Okajima exclaimed. "Yeah, towards death," Satsuki commented, frowning. "What even is the Ruins of Tribulation? Like a literal fiery pit or something?" "Considering it's the Principal sending us on this mission, it probably is," Kimura replied. "Settle down, people!" The students looked toward the sound of Koro-sensei's excited voice to see him wearing a massive backpack. It was jam-packed and had ropes tied around it to hold everything in. "Eyes on the task at hand! This is no time to get carried away!" "MAYBE TRY TAKING YOUR OWN ADVICE SOMETIME!" the class shouted at him. "I'm nervous!" Koro-sensei cried. "WE NOTICED!" They yelled back. "I might be cynical, but my gut tells me if this quest was the pope's idea, he's got some shady ulterior motive," Hazama commented. "Relax, think of it like a pop quiz," Sugino replied. "To the death," Hazama replied dryly. "Oh, come on it's not going to be that bad," Sugino argued. "The real principal tried to destroy a building while we were inside," Kayano argued. "If anything, Ritsu probably made this version of him even crazier!" "Ritsu wouldn't do that!" Sugino argued. Ritsu 2.0 shrugged. "I don't know, I do like being entertained." "Ritsu!" Kataoka chided. "No big deal, we've got this!" He turned to their teacher. "Koro-sensei, back me up!" Koro-sensei was kneeling on the ground in front of a mirror, wiping it clean with a rag. "Clear this stage, I get a raise. Clear this stage I get a raise. Ah! There we are!" Sugino deadpanned. "You know what, never mind." "Oh, wow, he's already cracking," Hara commented while some of the others laughed. Koro-sensei sobbed. "I just want a good salary!" "Yeah, you're in the wrong career field then," Kayano replied, shrugging. Koro-sensei huffed. "You children are too young to understand." "Or maybe you're just really bad at budgeting," Araki commented. "Or maybe don't buy so much junk food?" Fuwa said. "But the price of fruit is extortionate!" Koro-sensei complained. "I didn't think the Demon King got a salary," Nagisa commented. Kayano shrugged. "Well, I guess they still have rights." Nagisa nodded. "Like super creatures I guess." "Clear this stage, I get a raise, clear this staaaaa..." Koro-sensei looked up at the pair of feet that had approached him to see a kunudon wearing clothes with a green and brown color scheme. His hat had Koro-sensei eyes and three horns sticking out at different angles. "Hey, everybody!" he said in his overly cheerful Kunudon voice. "I'm the guardian of these ruins! Pleased to meetcha!" Koro-sensei stood up. "Ah, the trials begin in earnest. Okie dokie, class, breeze through them quick so we can report back to the pope." "Yeah, Kunudon doesn't look that tough, like barely at all," Sugino said. "And Koro-sensei's the demon king, so it'll be fine," Kimura commented. Kanzaki hummed. "I'm not sure, the principal wouldn't give him an easy task. There has to be more to it." The kunudon looked down to the ground and began shaking. "Oh, my my my! 'Breeze through them quickly'?" When he stood back up straight, he was wearing sunglasses and holding a wooden baton. "SHUT UP! WELL, YOU RANK BOTTOM-BEATERS SURE MUST THINK THE WORLD OF YOURSELVES! NOW, WHERE IN THE H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS DO YOU GET OFF TALKING TRASH ABOUT MY TRIALS?" The kunudon, attempting to look cool, blew a bubble with his gum, but it popped once it became too big and stuck to the entire front half of his body. "UWAAAA!" Tick marks appeared on the heads of Koro-sensei and the class. (What's his deal?) "Uh, I don't know whether to find this intimidating or funny," Kataoka said, chuckling a little. "Since it's Kunudon, I'm choosing annoying," Okano replied. "I think he's kind of funny though," Kondo said, shrugging. "Like in a terrifying why!" The kunudon brought a slab of red stone with writing on it up from the ground. "BEHOLD! THE RUINS OF TRIBULATION!" "Uh... What's that?" Okajima asked. The kunudon shoved his baton in Okajima's direction, poking his cheek a few times. "ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME YOU CAN'T READ? THE RULES ARE LITERALLY ETCHED IN STONE!" Kondo laughed. "See what I mean." Okajima blushed while most of the students laughed. "The acorn does have a point, Okajima," Mimura teased. Okajima huffed. "Whatever." Okajima sweatdropped, staring warily at the kunudon. "Wow. Thanks for that." Karma approached the slab and read it. "Get a load of this. Apparently the first trial is called the Chamber of Impostors and they've slipped somebody pretending to be one of us into the group." "Where and how did they do that, exactly?" Nakamura asked. "Of course! In the dark hallway!" Isoagi stared back down the hall. "So, the first trial is to identify the impostor and remove them from your questing party," Nagisa reiterated. Maehara looked back and forth. "But how do we know which one of us that is?" Koro-sensei began sweating nervously and pointed a finger at himself."Before we start pointing fingers, let's establish that I'm the real McCoy, agreed?!" He began rushing back and forth between Isoagi and Nakamura, who both deadpanned. "Please don't kick me out; I couldn't bear the rejection! I promise I'm me!" [The Big Bad is panicking!] The entire class deadpanned. "Why would it be you, when the test is for you!?" Kayano questioned. "Maybe that's part of the test!" Koro-sensei panicked. "If I'm the imposter then I'll doubt myself!" "Uh...what?" Sugaya scratched his head. Koro-sensei shrivelled up in a corner. "WHO EVEN AM I!?" "And, we've lost him." Sugino sighed, shaking his head. "Wow, he's really invested in this," Nagisa commented. He flew over to Nagisa and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Help me out here, Nagisa! You'd know if I wasn't real, right?!" [The Big Bad is panicking badly!] Nagisa deadpanned. "You seem kinda eager to clear your name, sir." "Then maybe I am the imposter!" Koro-sensei was flustered. "My life is a lie!" "Will shut up already!?" Seo yelled. Koro-sensei stared intently at him. "Look at these adorable button eyes! Don't they just melt your heart?! Are these the eyes of a monster?!" "Yes, you're the Demon King!" Maehara reminded him. "What?" Koro-sensei cried. "Don't say that!" "Well, it's kind of hard when you're being creepy about it," Tsuda said, frowning. "Aw, don't worry, sir, we don't think you look like a monster," Hinano reassured. "You're just squishy octopus!" Koro-sensei took it as a compliment. "Really?" "Yeah, from a horror show," Karma said dryly. Koro-sensei gasped. "Karma!" The boy shrugged. "What?" "If I don't clear this dungeon, I won't be able to get my promotion!" "What's that supposed to do with-" "I NEED A RAISE!" The students laughed while Koro-sensei puffed his cheeks in frustration. "Low salaries aren't a joke, children!" Koro-sensei sighed. "There are so many things I want to buy!" "What do you even spend your money on, sir?" Okuda asked, brow furrowed. "It can't all be spent on junk food." "Uh..." Koro-sensei blushed. "W-well, children, the life of an adult is a complicated one—" "Do you gamble or something?" Hatanaka asked bluntly. Koro-sensei yelped. "No! Why would you even thank that!" Then he looked fidgety. "I don't gamble!" "Then how come we found this in the teacher's lounge?" Asami held up a betting pamphlet. "It has a list of all the horses competing next week." "Ah!" Koro-sensei flushed and snatched the pamphlet from her. "T-that isn't mine!" The students didn't look convinced. The pope and Karasuma still watched the situation play out from the screen on the wall of the pope's office. "Wait, how is he spying on us this time, where's the camera?" Kimura asked. "Meh, it's the Principal, he probably has cameras everywhere," Hiroto commented. Asano nodded. "Most likely." "You see now the point of this trial?" the pope said, his eyes shadowed once again. " An educator must know his students. Ah, but a demon king... Now there's a creature known to differentiate between opponents. All who defy him are indistinguishable fodder. He'll likely start by kicking out the ones who defy him." He raised his eyes to the screen. "Now show us... the true nature of the Demon King." Koro-sensei stood in front of a wall with attempted notes on how to solve their issue, which was really a list of half of the students' names and who was definitely not the impostor and who might be. According to the list, the ones who were "really, really, really, really clear" were Koro-sensei, Isogai, and Kataoka. Nakamura, Karma, and Sugino were somewhat suspicious. The ones who were very suspicious were Maehara, Terasaka, and Kayano. Okajima was "really, really, really, really suspicious." "Anyone else like to share their thoughts?" Koro-sensei asked. "INCONCEIVABLE!" the pope shouted as a bolt of lightning cracked outside. There was a burst of laughter. "Of course, he would!" Yoshida chuckled. Asano covered his mouth to hide a snort. "Well, played..." Koro-sensei looked pleased. "It's important all deductions are carried out respectfully so we don't devolve into a witch hunt." The class discussed amongst themselves who the impostor could be. "Real talk? I'm completely stumped." "It's a head scratcher, all right." "Which one of us could it be?" The screen panned to the side, eventually reaching Terasaka, who was glowing. His eyes shone and he radiated light. He gave a thumbs up in the direction of the screen. "Believe!" He blew a kiss. "WHAT THE HELL!?" Terasaka looked mortified while the others had keeled over laughing. "OH, GOD!" Rio clutched her sides from laughing so hard. "Someone take a picture!" Terasaka looked embarrassed. "No way, knock it off!" Yoshida and Muramatsu had already taken pictures. "Dude, what's with the glow!?" "Forget the glow, did he just blow a kiss!?" Mimura couldn't stop laughing. Terasaka's face was bright. "Damn it, Ritsu!" Ritsu 2.0 chuckled. "I think it's funny!" "Ooh! Ooh!" Okajima raised his hand. "Yes! Okajima," Koro-sensei called. "Well, I've got a pretty good nose. If we line up all the girls to let me smell them, I could tell who-" Nakamura didn't let him finish before flipping him over her head and slamming him into the ground. The rest of the class stared at her. "Thank you, Nakamura!" Tsuda exclaimed. Rio winked. "Just doing my job." "It was just a suggestion!" Okajima blushed. "Okay, but I guess I can see why that would be a bad idea..." Kataoka sighed. "Okajima, why?" "You're still asking that after everything we've seen?" Okano replied. "Hey! Sometimes I just don't think before I say things!" Okajima exclaimed. "Sometimes?" Koro-sensei sweatdropped. "I think we can agree that Okajima isn't it?" "YEAH, SO WHAT?" Kataoka fumed. "THAT GUY'S A PERV. I SAY KICK HIM OUT EITHER WAY. GOOD RIDDANCE!" The students laughed. "Hey!" Okajima whined. "Kataoka!" Kataoka crossed her arms. "You were being a perv." Karma smirked, a mischievous look on his face. "I think I might have a surefire method." "Nyu?" Koro-sensei dodged when Karma came rushing at him with a knife. "One down - Koro-sensei's not our man," Karma said. "They might be able to duplicate his appearance, but never his speed." Koro-sensei moved so he was shifting around behind the class. "Aha! Very clever." "Good thinking, Karma! Nice!" Nagisa exclaimed. Karma turned to the kunudon. "I gotta tell you, tough guy, as trials go, this isn't all that hard." "Uh, it's obviously Terasaka! Why aren't you noticing?" Koyama exclaimed. "Yeah, how come!?" Terasaka scowled. "That guy looks nothing like me!" Hiroto shrugged. "I don't know, maybe Ritsu just wrote us dumb." "Well, you guys can be oblivious," Satsuki commented. "Oh, yeah, because you totally didn't get fooled by Koro-sensei's disguise," Mimura argued. "Technically that was our alternative selves," Araki replied, adjusting his glasses. [Karma's luck decreases!] A washtub fell on Karma's head and bounced against a red button on the wall, which opened a trapdoor under his feet. He fell silently through the hole. [Karma left the party!] Several of the students and Koro-sensei crowded around the trapdoor. "Okay, he's the real deal!" Isogai confirmed. "Poor Karma!" Kayano said. "Don't worry, he's probably fine," Okajima told her. "Wow, thanks." Karma raised an eyebrow while the others chuckled. "Well, you are tough," Okajima replied, laughing. "Besides this bug happens all the time for you." "This Chibi version of you does seem to have good balance," Rio commented, amused. The words, "Tell Us, Mr. Principal!" covered the screen in bright letters and several young student voices exclaimed, "Tell us, Mr. Principal Asano!" There was a groan of despair. "Not this again!" Muramatsu yelled. Asano sighed. "Here we go..." "Why is your dad giving out advice anyway?" Koyama looked freaked out. He shrugged. "Well, he is the principal." "Yeah, but his advice freaks me out!" Yoshida exclaimed. The principal's voice came through the speaker at the front of Class E's classroom. "Good morning, students. This is, of course, your principal speaking. It seems I have another handful of emotionally fraught questions from your less stable peers today, so let's... address some concerns." Four anonymous students stood in the classroom. "Here's a puzzler from 'Class Pet Duty'." The third student began shifting around and laughing nervously, revealing Kurahashi's laugh. "Kurahashi?!" Her classmates looked over at her questionably. "Class pet duty?" Okano smiled knowingly. "Oh..." Hinano blushed. "Um, I'm sure it's not bad!" "I mean, after seeing Takebayashi's..." Hiroto trailed off. Takebayashi covered his face in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it." "Our friend writes, 'I'm infatuated with an older man. What can I do to get his attention?" "Mm hm!" Kurahashi nodded along. "KURAHASHI!!!" The students yelled in anguish. Hinano blushed. "But I need all the advice I can get to get Mr K's attention!" "IT'S ILLEGAL!" Araki was nearly pulling his hair out. Hinano huffed. "Love has no age!" "YES, IT DOES!" A lot of the students shouted. Hinano shook her head. "It's not like I'd steal him from Bitch-sensei, I just wanna share!" Kataoka sighed. "They're not going to– why are we still having this conversation?" Rio shrugged. "It's a lost cause, let's just be glad she isn't a yandere." "Yet," Hazama commented. "Hm, romantic advice..." "Mm hm!" Asano groaned, burying his face in his hand. "Not again..." "Again!?" Nagisa looked concerned. "First, you must gain control of this man, mind, body, and soul." There was a sound of despair. "Oh, please no!" Machida covered his ears. "Oh, dear..." Koro-sensei sighed, putting some knitted earmuffs on the boys' ears. "Huh?" Kurahashi looked up at the speaker in surprise while the other three students sweatdropped. "Kurahashi..." Sugino sighed, shaking his head. "You can't just—ARE YOU TAKING NOTES!?" Hinano looked up from the notes she was taking. "What? This could be useful!" Okano tried to wrestle the notes from her. "The principal's advice is crazy!" Hinano held onto her notes. "No! It sounds useful!" "Let go!" "No!" Nagisa sighed as he watched. "I'm concerned..." "You're a little late to the party," Kayano commented as she watched. "Learn everything about him. Place of residence. Family dynamic. Who are his parents? What's his salary? Does he have a well-managed stock portfolio? Every piece of information you can find." Kurahashi glowed as she took notes as quickly as she possibly could. Her classmates deadpanned as they watched her, incredibly concerned. Hiroto looked horrified. "Asano, please tell me your dad did not give you this conversation!" Asano stared at him blankly. "... A good stock portfolio is important." The students groaned in exasperation. "Who would even take that seriously?" Machida sighed and then baulked when he saw Shindo concentrating and taking notes. "Are you taking notes!?" Shindo froze. "Uh, no..." Machida grabbed the notebook which said 'Asano likes: 1. Transformers 2. Pissing off the Principal 3. A good stock portfolio.' "What even is this?" he exclaimed. Shindo grabbed the notebook and held it to his chest. "Nothing!" "The more you know about a person, the more exploitable weaknesses you'll find and the easier they will be to control. Like any skill, this will take time to cultivate, so practice on your fellow classmates." "AGH-" The students froze. "If you're incapable of treating another person like a marionette, romance may not be for you." "No! My notes!" Hinano cried when her notes were taken. "No! I need them!" "Yeah, if you wanna be arrested," Okano kept the notebook out of reach. "Give it back!" Hinano whined, jumping onto her back. "He will be mine!" "Kurahashi!" Kataoka tried to take her off. Ren sighed, tired. "How old were you when he gave you this talk." "Twelve," Asano replied dismissively. "Believe it or not this is the watered-down version." "THAT MAKES IT WORSE!" A lot of them yelled. "Koro Q!" Kayano's voice exclaimed as the words "Koro-sensei Quest!" and five Koro-sensei expressions appeared on top of a yellow background. The students surrounded the glowing Terasaka, who was tied up and kneeling on the ground. "Gotcha, you sneak," Maehara said. Nakamura stood with her hands on her hips. "I tried to tell you he was too pretty." "Hey!" Terasaka yelled while the others laughed. Rio grinned. "It's nothing personal." "It is when you call me ugly!" Terasaka yelled. "Technically she just said the imposter was prettier," Hatanaka teased. "Nice job!" Terasaka said overly excitedly, then blew a kiss. The kunudon glared at them and clenched his teeth. "So you saw through my ruse, ey? Not bad for such a squishy bunch." Behind him, Koro-sensei panicked. "The real Terasaka is safe, yes?" "Aw, why can't this be real Terasaka from now on?" Hazama asked. "THE HELL!?" Terasaka shouted. Hazama was unapologetic. "He's shiny." Karma shrugged. "If anything it's an upgrade." "THAT'S IT!" Terasaka lunged at Karma, pinning him. "Screw you!" Karma grinned and pulled some wasabi out, gaze demonic. "Oh, so you wanna play!" Nagisa sighed. "Oh, boy..." Rio laughed and recorded it on her phone. "Karma! Terasaka!" Koro-sensei quickly tried to pry them apart and wrapped his tentacles around them both. "Boys! That's quite enough." Karma shoved the wasabi up Terasaka's nose just before they were pried apart. "Oops!" "Ah!" Terasaka clutched his burning nose. "DAMN IT, KARMA!" Koro-sensei quickly separated them to opposite ends of the classroom. "That's it, Karma can stay at the back." He plopped him down next to Satsuki, Okamoto, and Kita, "And, Terasaka can stay at the front." He put the other boy back next to Yoshida, Muramatsu, and Hazama." "Aw, come on!" Karma frowned when he saw his friends were all the way at the front. "This is lame." He glanced at the two students next to him, a few cobwebs on the desks. "...Who are you guys again?" "The side characters no one cares about," Satsuki replied dryly while examining her manicured nails. "The forgotten..." Kita whispered, shrinking in on himself as a spider fell from a cobweb. Okamoto sighed. "We can barely hear or see anything back here..." "Really?" Karma looked annoyed, narrowing his eyes to see the screen over the row of heads. "Damn..." Satsuki peered at Karma and hummed. "Do you know how to steal a watch?" Karma raised an eyebrow. "...If I say yes, will you help me get back to the front?" She looked delighted. "Only if you help me steal Asano's phone and not ask questions why." "Deal." Karma shook her hand. "OKAY, LOSERS, ONTO THE NEXT TRIAL!" the kunudon announced, pointing to a blue slab of rock with his baton. [2nd Chamber] "'Chamber of Secrets,' okay..." Isogai said. "Tell the guardian something only you know about another party member." "How did we not get copyrighted for that?" Fuwa questioned in alarm, quickly making a note. "Is she asking for a lawsuit?!" Nakamura sighed. "That sounds pointless." "Actually, sounds awful," Nagisa said in complete seriousness. "What kind of trial is this?" Maehara asked. "Isn't the principal just trying to expose our secret at this point?" Mimura asked. "That does seem the whole point," Isogai replied, sighing. "To be honest, I'm hoping that's all he wants." "Yeah, he tends to go overboard," Kataoka commented. Koro-sensei held up a book. "Don't fret, children! I have us covered." He put on a pair of square classes and revealed that the title of the book was "Notebook of Students' Secrets - Top Secret." "Knowing the gory details of a student's life is, after all-" He paused to suck in some air. "-a vital part of the job. While I snooped in on all sorts of situations, I built up a collection of your most massive secrets!" The screen showed several times when he had discovered secrets about some of the students. The first was of Okajima posing in front of a mirror while wearing a speedo. Koro-sensei hid very non-discreetly in the doorway, but Okajima was too focused on himself to notice. The caption for the situation read, [Abs & thighs (and self-delusion)]. "WHY ARE YOU SPYING ON STUDENTS IN SPEEDOS!?" The students yelled at Koro-sensei. "AH, MY EYES!" Okano cringed, covering her eyes. "Every memory is important!" Koro-sensei whined. "Not if it's stalking!" Nagisa exclaimed. Okajima frowned, humming. "Hey, I look good!" He gave a thumbs up. "Your confidence scares me sometimes, "Hara commented. "Also why are our teachers obsessed with spying on us!?" Seo questioned. "A teacher needs to know their students," Koro-sensei argued. "Not on this level they don't!" Seo snapped. "Not going to lie, going to a normal school where teachers don't stalk you after hours does have its appeal," Kayano commented, shrugging. Sugino sighed. "Yeah, it does." The next was of Mimura getting very into playing his air guitar. Koro-sensei watched him from the bushes. [Solo air guitar in the woods at night] "AH! No!" Mimura blushed while some students laughed. "Damn it, not again!" "Wow, Ritsu's really dragging everyone," Rio said, taking a photo. The final one was of Sugino with both hands extended in front of him as if trying to fire a spell. He yelled, "SUGI-STRIKE!" while Koro-sensei took notes behind him. [Practicing special moves] The students laughed. "Ah!" Sugino turned bright read. "Stop!" Nagisa chuckled. "It's not so bad." Sugino groaned, burying his face in his hand. "I look like those kids who do Naruto runs." Rio burst out laughing. "Oh, crap, you do!" The students laughed more. "Well, I think you made it worse," Kayano said. Sugino buried his face on the floor and wanted to die. "That treat means going above and beyond, but the information I've compiled is well worth the trouble," Koro-sensei finished. "Creep," the students responded. Koro-sensei wept. "I just want to know my students!" "You always take it too far!" Kataoka complained. "An instructor knows the secrets and weaknesses of every child in his class. There are no better means to ensure they obey," the pope commented, the shadows on his face giving him a terrifying aura. "I'm beginning to be impressed." "Oh, a compliment!" Koro-sensei sounded pleased. His students threw textbooks at him. "THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!" Karasuma sweatdropped. "You sure you're not a demon king?" "HE IS!" A lot of the students yelled. "I mean, it wouldn't be a stretch," Hiroto said, shrugging. Okano sighed. "I'm still expecting him to turn out to be a demon." "Ugh, I can't believe you!" Nagisa said angrily. "Ooh, Nagisa's angry!" Rio smirked. "You're in trouble now, sir." "Uh..." Koro-sensei gave a nervous laugh. Nagisa frowned. "You can't just expose our secrets." "But I'm an educator!" Koro-sensei whined, holding up his notebook. "It's my job." "It's really not," Nagisa replied, sighing. "Nyu?" "Okay, fine. If that's how it is..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad titled "Notebook of Koro-sensei's Secrets." Koro-sensei screamed. "IS NOTHING SACRED?!" "NO!" The students shouted. "You do have it coming, sir," Kayano said. "Plus it's easy!" Karma yelled from the back while Satsuki was outlining a covert plan with the other forgotten students. Nagisa whispered something into the kunudon's ear. Koro-sensei immediately panicked. "AAAAAA! PLEASE, STOP! I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU SAY!" The kunudon looked up at Nagisa in shock. "What?! Seriously?!" Lighting struck outside again as the pope stared at the screen, his eyes white. (INCONCEIVABLE!) [The pope is stunned!] Behind him, Karasuma wasn't at all surprised. The students started laughing. "He really seems to like that word," Okuda said, chuckling. "It is funny seeing him flustered for a change," Toka commented. "Yeah, but whenever the Principal gets worked up it tends to end with him trying to kill us," Sugaya said. Koro-sensei cried in a corner. "That's it, I'll never show my face in public again!" "You always say that!" Mimura exclaimed. "No, I don't!" Koro-sensei huffed. "I mean you go off and sulk all the time so it's not exactly new," Okajima commented. "You do like to be a drama queen." Rio chuckled. "But it's funny." The kunudon slammed his baton onto the ground. [3rd Chamber] "For the final trial, I've prepared a little something that oughtta be right up you losers' alley!" A wall fell from the ceiling, separating Koro-sensei from the students. "The Chamber of Self Sacrifice."  The kunudon was doing his best to sound evil, but with the pitch of his voice, he wasn't really selling it. "Look at the ceiling!" Nakamura exclaimed. The class looked up to see that the ceiling was slowly moving closer toward them. There was a sigh of exasperation. "Oh, great, surprise, surprise the Principal is trying to kill us again," Hiroto exclaimed. Asano hummed. "I wouldn't say that exactly, but it does seem he's not above placing you in harms way again." "At least the ceiling is going slow enough to give us time to escape," Muramatsu said. "Yeah, which will hurt more when it crushes us to death," Hazama remarked. The kunudon laughed. "Ahahahaha! Soon, you'll be squashed like the insects you are!" He readjusted his sunglasses. "This is where the trial part comes in, boys and girls." He snapped his fingers and two big, red buttons were lifted from the ground - one in front of Koro-sensei and one in front of the students. "Fairly straightforward - press the button and the door on the opposite side will open. Just be warned, once it does, the door on your own side can never be opened again." The students stared at the button, contemplating what to do. "If we press our button, Koro-sensei will get out of here alive," Nagisa said. "But on the flip side, if he doesn't press his, we'll all be smashed into mystery meat pâté!" Nakamura pointed out. Hatanaka burst out laughing, clutching his side. None of the other students were laughing. "Pate..." "What the hell are we supposed to do?" Maehara asked. "Relax, Koro-sensei will save you," Kondo reassured. "He does have a track record for it," Hatanaka commented. Hara hummed. "Though on another hand, this is a great opportunity to kill him." Tsuda rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, considering how many chances to kill him we saw you guys miss in the original timeline, I'm not holding out much hope." Karasuma and the pope watched Koro-sensei stand in front of his button. "Can he sacrifice himself to save the lives of his students?" the pope asked. "We're about to see his true nature. A monster has no business being a teacher!" Karasuma gave him a pitying and tired look, already knowing what the Demon King would choose. "SHOW YOURSELF! REVEAL YOUR BLACK HEART AND BEAR YOUR FAKES, DEMON KING!" Koro-sensei pushed the button without hesitation. Another lightning strike flashed as the pope stared at the screen with a dropped jaw. [The pope is confused!] Karasuma wasn't surprised by this outcome at all. The students burst out laughing. "Look at his face!" Muramatsu chuckled. "Ha! No hesitation!" Koro-sensei sniggered. "Well, it appears I've been underestimated again, rather embarrassingly." "I assure you, abandonment was never an option," Koro-sensei said. "For goodness sake, they're my responsibility!" The class shouted reassurances to their teacher as they ran out of the room. "Hang in there, Koro-sensei!" "Don't worry; we're coming for you!" "Hold on, sir!" "Or you could just leave him to die? That's kind of your mission here," Seo commented. "Yeah, they're not going to do that," Tsuda replied, shrugging. Chiba shrugged. "We're sentimental." The kunudon had tears in his eyes and a light blush on his face. "I am touched beyond words. E Class... how lucky you all are." He fell to his hands and knees. A cape was then placed on his shoulders. "Huh?" He looked up to see the glowing Terasaka holding out a hand. "Loooove you!" Terasaka said. The kunudon's face lit up and he leapt into Terasaka's arms. "WAIT, WHAT!?" Terasaka shouted while the students wouldn't stop laughing. "Isn't Kunudon a guy?" Okajima asked. "I thought it was neither since it's, you know, an acorn," Yoshida commented. "Hey, love is love, right?" Rio teased, nudging Terasaka. "Congratulations!" "THAT'S NOT EVEN ME!" Terasaka shouted, blushing. "IT'S AN ACORN!" "Hey, no need to hate on the nut family," Hazama teased, causing the students to laugh more. "Koro Q!" said the voice of the glowing Terasaka as the transition appeared on the screen. "I've seen quite enough for today, thank you," the pope said to Karasuma. "But-" "I acknowledge that Koro-sensei is a teacher at Kunugigaoka Magic Academy, but that said, should he fall short of my scholastic vision, I won't shrink from terminating him, Demon King or no." Koro-sensei chuckled. "Ah, as if he could." He wiped a tear from his eyes. "But hearing his high praise is enough." "Even though he's still a jerk about it," Kayano commented. "Well yes, but I still believe he's got some good hidden in there!" Koro-sensei insisted. "He just needs some sense knocked into him." "Like a punch?" Rio suggested dryly. Rinka loaded her gun. "Or a bullet?" "Hayami, no!" Koro-sensei reprimanded. "It'd only be pellets." Rinka glanced at Asano. "That cool with you?" Asano smirked. "So long as there's no permanent damage go right ahead." "Asano!" Koro-sensei chided. "I'll get the rubber bullets," Chiba said dryly. "Children, please!" Koro-sensei cried, sighing. The class was reunited with their teacher outside of the ruins. "Well done, class," Koro-sensei said. "Quest complete! Whaddya say we head back?" "Yes, sir!" the class responded. "So, uh... I'm just gonna put this out there for everybody to ponder," Karma said. "If we'd left Koro-sensei in there, we'd have beaten him." The background music abruptly cut off. "Uh-" the class didn't know how to respond. "Told you!" Tsuda sighed. "Hey, the important thing is that we learned something!" Okajima replied, and then frowned. "Uh... what did we learn exactly?" "Was there even a moral to this?" Hara asked. "Uh..." Nagisa tried to think. "Well, I guess... that we should know each other?" "What? That knowing your friends deepest darkest secrets it's vital for friendship?" Rinka questioned. "That spying on each other is normal?" Sugaya asked. "That we're all easily replaceable with knock-off clones that sparkle?" Hazama said dryly. "Is... that even a lesson?" Kayano asked. Hazama shrugged. "Probably." "Well, I think the moral is easy!" Hinano exclaimed brightly. "Stalking and spying on your friends for information is completely acceptable when it involves overcoming a trial!" A number of students murmured and nodded in agreement. "Children, the lesson is clear," Koro-sensei said warmly. "The true message is to never leave anyone behind." There was a pause as the students pondered on this. "...What about the real Terasaka? You left him behind," Koyama said. "Yeah, what's that about?" Hashimoto asked. "Yeah, what the hell, guys!" Terasaka snapped. "Oh, yeah," Hiroto replied. "Kind of seems like an oversight." "Uh..." Koro-sensei gave a nervous laugh. "I-I'm sure he'll turn up!" "What kind of answer is that!?" Terasaka shouted. Koro-sensei laughed nervously. Karma smiled. "You guys are suckers." A washtub hit him on the head and fell onto a red button on the ground, opening another trapdoor under his feet. A few of his classmates surrounded the hole. "Uhh..." "There he goes again!" Kayano exclaimed. "And that, boys and girls, is what we call 'commitment to the bit'!" Koro-sensei said. "Got it," the class replied firmly. The trapdoor closed, leaving Karma underground. "So, much for not getting left behind," Karma said from the back. Koro-sensei turned around. "I'm sure your trap door will lead you back to the classroom!" he said cheerfully. "Now, you and Terasaka will stay separated until you learn not to attack each other." Terasaka looked smug from behind Koro-sensei. "Ha!" Karma frowned. "Oh, come on." "So, I guess that'll be never then?" Sugino joked. Kayano chuckled. "Poor Karma." Nagisa looked amused and waved at the red-head. "Hang in there, Karma!" Karma frowned as he watched his classmates at the from. "Hm." "Okay, here's a map." Satsuki shoved the hand-drawn map towards him. "And's here the blackmail." She shoved a stack of notes in his hand." Karma looked at one of the notes and then let out a low whistle. "Huh, impressive. This kind of stuff could destroy a person." "Just get me Asano's phone," she hissed as her gaze darkened. "I need it." Karma shrugged. "Kind of creepy, but okay." He tucked the blackmail material away and started his journey back towards the front as the next episode started.                                              "Exciting news!" Koro-sensei stood at the front of the classroom, facing his students. "We have a fresh-face transfer student joining E Class today!" "Oh! Maybe it's Ritsu or Itona!" Hinano exclaimed excitedly. "I mean, this show is following the original time so it'll most likely be Ritsu," Takebayashi replied. "Yeah, but wasn't she the powerful sorcerer in the northern cave or something?" Kondo commented. "Yeah, but there were a lot of sorcerers in the northern cave," Sugaya replied. "Yeah, what was that all about?" Kimura questioned. "Karma has his own cave so were the rest of them just in two separate caves behind his?" "Probably," Mimura said, chuckling. "Kind of like they had their own creepy penthouses." "Oh!" The class was pleasantly surprised. Maehara excitedly stood from his seat. "Is it a girl? Say yes!" Okajima gave him a thumbs-up, blushing. "It just so happens I have a photograph of her from Commander Karasuma. She's pretty cute!" "You mean a photo you probably stole?" Hara said. Okajima laughed sheepishly. "Maybe, but that's not important now." He pulled out the photo to show a pink-haired Ritsu with red eyes and an emotionless expression on her face. She wore an E Class uniform and a white headband. "Whoaaa! She's perfect!" Maehara laughed. "I know, she's so totally hot!" Okajima agreed. "Check out her boobs!" "COULD YOU BE ANY MORE DISGUSTING?!" Kataoka fumed. "Hey! I can't help being a boob man!" Okajima argued. "Besides, everyone has their thing." "Their thing?" Kataoka remained unimpressed. "Yeah, you know how some people are ass and others are... uh..." Okajima frowned, thinking. "Personality?" Nagisa suggested blandly. "Oh, yeah, that as well!" Okajima exclaimed. Next to her, Kayano held a sign that said "No More Big Boobs". "DOWN WITH TATAS!" she shouted. Nagisa sweatdropped. "Ooookay then." "Hey!" Toka sighed, annoyed. Kayano gave a nervous laugh when she saw. "Uh...your boobs are okay though, Yada!" "Uh..." Toka blushed. "Um..." Kayano turned bright red. "N-not like that!" "I mean even within the context it sounds incriminating," Takebayashi commented. "Shut up!" The door opened and Karasuma rolled in a giant stone slab. "Uh... What's with the rock?" The class blanched and sweatdropped, outside of Hara, who was busy downing a bowl of ramen. The top half of the stone lit up and a picture of the transfer student appeared. "I am the Autonomous Intelligence Magic Stone Tablet, who will be joining your class," she said monotonously. "IT TALKS?!" the entire class exclaimed. "It's Ritsu!" Hinano looked delighted. "So, what she's a magic tablet in this?" Araki asked. "Well, duh, it's a fantasy world," Rio commented. "I wanna know what she'll be like though." "Well, hopefully, she doesn't start shooting magic bolts at us," Hiroto joked. "Uh, no offence Ritsu, though, I mean it's Ritsu 2.0 since we have the Ritsu on screen and the original Ritsu... and then that future Ritsu." Ritsu popped up on the screen. "You can just call me Ritsu!" she argued. "We're basically the same!" "To be honest, there's so many Ritsu's right now I'm starting to lose track," Sugino commented, sighing. Koyama adjusted his glasses. "I dislike future-future Ritsu the most since she got us trapped here." The opening was skipped. "Aw! But I wanted to hear it!" Asami said, frowning while Uchida skipped the opening. "Hey." Karma poked her shoulder. "Huh?" She looked around. "What are you—?" "Switch placed with me," he said curtly, the two of them still near the far back. "What? No," Asami replied, frowning. "Why would—?" Karma passed her the note which read that she had a crush on Hatanaka. She choked, looking horrified as she quickly scooted out of the way so he took her place. "Thanks." He put his phone away, moving closer to the front. "Hey." He tapped the next person in front of him. "Switch places with me..." "So how come the new girl's just a big rock?" Maehara asked. The class stared at the transfer student, who was now sitting behind Hara. "Excuse me, this is the legendary Sage's Tablet on which the thaumaturges of old collected their spells for vanquishing demon kings," Karasuma informed them. "On her is written all of the spells used throughout history." "Oh," Okuda said. "I guess when you put it like that..." Kayano stood excitedly, her eyes replaced with flames of determination. "CAN SHE MAKE MY BOOBS BIGGER?!" The students burst out laughing while Kayano turned bright red. "Alright, who's writing this dialogue!" Kayano yelled. Tsuda clutched her sides. "Someone who clearly did their research!" Okajima stood with hearts in his eyes and a wide smile on his face, his arms in the air victoriously. "OR TEACH ME TO STOP TIME FOR NO PARTICULAR REASON?!" "THAT'S NOT WHAT SHE'S FOR!!!" Nakamura shouted angrily. "OKAJIMA!" A lot of the students shouted. "It's not what you think I swear!" Okajima said quickly while Kataoka looked ready to kill him. "The ancient ones ensured she'd only be used by good people, unselfishly, so they gave her the capacity for independent thought," Karasuma said. Kayano and Okajima stared at him, tears running down their faces. "WAIT, WE'RE NOT GOOD?!" Asano sighed. "Okajima's a pervert and Yukimura once went homicidal with tentacles, so you're both not exactly winning moral achiever of the year any time soon." Both Okajima and Kayano looked insulted. "Oh, come on, that was ONE TIME!" Kayano yelled at Asano who rolled his eyes. "And like you're one to talk about morality!" "JUST BECAUSE I LIKE THE RISKY STUFF DOESN'T MAKE ME A BAD PERSON!" Okajima exclaimed, and then looked at Hatanaka. "Right!?" Hatanaka hummed and then shrugged. "I don't know, it's kind of a morally grey area." "The benefits are many," the transfer student said. "This permits me to wield magic at my discretion for the solitary purpose of eliminating he known as the 'Demon King'." "Good for you," Karma said to her. "Best of luck getting rid of him with some dinky magic spell." A washtub fell on his head. "My skills aren't dinky!" Ritsu 2.0 argued from Fuwa's phone. Karma paused from where he was blackmailing another student to switch places with him. "They were pretty basic when OG Ritsu showed up." "Machine guns were basic?" Oota questioned. "They were overdone in those first few episodes," Fuwa commented nonchalantly "Do not fear, friend," she responded. Suddenly, two hands extended out from her sides. One held a fireball and the other a ball of water. Nagisa stared at her, his jaw dropped. Fuwa frowned. "Ooo!" Karma sounded intrigued as if his mind had started running through what they would be able to do with this magic. "Wait, what?!" Kimura yelled. "How does she have arms!?" "Is there a person trapped in there?" Sugaya shouted. "Uh, are magic stone tablets supposed to do that?" Okano scratched her head. "I don't think so," Nagisa said, frowning. "I am able to cast two spells at once, combining them to create a completely new attack." The stone slab began to have a foggy, yellow outline and a ball of energy began to form in front of her. The students hid under their desks and covered their heads with their hands just in time for the ball of energy to fire a laser at the front of the classroom. The world went dark for a moment. Then the laser faded and everything went back to normal. Koro-sensei stared, unnerved, at his melted tentacle finger. "This..." The class turned around to see that the transfer student was eating a bowl of food, holding it up with one hand and using chopsticks with the other. "...Is my particular bug." "WHY IS SHE EATING RAMEN!?!" The students yelled. "WHERE DO WE EVEN START WITH THIS?!" the class shouted. "Why does she have hands?!" Maehara asked. "Is there a person in there?!" The transfer student looked up from her bowl of food. "Sorcery." "THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER!" Hiroto shouted, shaking his fist at the screen. "What even are the rules of magic in this show?" Isogai asked. "I know, right, it's not really making sense," Mimura replied. "There's an ex-assassin, octopus, sitting in the corner knitting and this is what's blowing your mind?" Tsuda gestured to Koro-sensei who was still knitting. "Not the reality you're in but the fictional show your life is based on?" "Yeah, but that's science, this is magic," Mimura argued. Araki wanted to tear his hair out. "It's not real science!" "Are you sure? Because it looks like you're actually eating," Okuda said. "Still sorcery." "IS THE RICE BOWL AN ILLUSION, TOO?" Nakamura shouted, her eyes white. "Sorcery. My magic uses a great deal of HP, so I must replenish regularly - that's the price of extraordinary powers." She held out her bowl to Hara. "More, please." "How does that even work?" Rio questioned. "If she's just a stone tablet why does she need to eat!?" "None of it makes sense!" Okajima cried out. "Now you know how it feels!" Araki shouted back. "UH?!" Hara's jaw dropped. "There isn't any more!" "Yes, there is. Right there." "But this is..." "More," the new student said forcefully. "Great, now she's stealing my food!" Hara complained. Kayano shook her head mournfully. "Unforgivable." Nagisa sighed. "She seems worse than how the original Ritsu acted." "Well, maybe we're just misjudging her here," Kanzaki said hesitantly. Karasuma stood next to Koro-sensei at the front of the classroom. (She might actually help us defeat this thing,) he thought. He turned to Koro-sensei. "As of right now, she's a member of this class. Any objections?" Koro-sensei's face became mischievous. "None at all, my good man. Welcome to the family, Autonomous Intelligence Magic Stone Tablet." He flew to the back of the room and held open a dirty magazine in front of the student, who was still eating. "I wonder if I might ask a teensy little favor. Do you know any spells for banishing mosaic censoring?" Koro-sensei cringed. "Uh..." "KORO-SENSEI!" The students yelled at the octopus, making the teacher jump and nearly drop his knitting. "IT'S ENTIRELY INNOCENT!" He cried, hiding his face in shame. "F-for art purposes!" "Like hell it is!" Kataoka reprimanded. "Bad sensei!" Hinano chided loudly. Koro-sensei dragged himself off to a corner and cried. "Ritsu why would you shame your sensei like this..." Ritsu 2.0's face sparkled on the screen. "Because it's easy!" The student glanced at the picture. "I am forbidden from instructing the Demon King in the ways of magic." She turned her attention back to her food. "But yes." "I KNEW IT!!!" Koro-sensei and Okajima celebrated. Hara handed the student another bowl of food. "A sage spent his whole life concocting one," the student told them. "He must have been very wise," Okajima commented. "How is that wise!?" Okano questioned, shaking her head. "It shows years of dedication," Okajima replied firmly, a tear in his eyes. "A true genius. He crawled so the rest of us could run!" "Yeah, so wise! All he did was look at porn!" Maehara exclaimed. The students laughed. "It still took dedication!" Okajima said strongly. "Think of how many hours he spent watching porn." Kayano cringed. "Ew. No." "Not really a good mental image," Rinka commented while cleaning her gun. "Koro Q," the new student's voice said as the words "Koro-sensei Quest" and five Koro-sensei expressions covered the screen. The class now stood in front of a cave. [Gungagun Cave] "Okie dokie, boys and girls! This will be your new quest with your new party member!" Koro-sensei announced. "I expect every one of you to level up." "YES, SIR!" the students responded. Inside the cave, the students all gathered in one group. "So, you need a better name," Kataoka said to the new student. "'Autonomous Intelligence Magic Stone Tablet' is a mouthful." "I once vanquished a band of savaged plunderers from the bowels of a remote northern cave. The battle earned me the peculiar but apt nickname 'Ritsu, the Evolved Mage'." "Why does that story sound awfully familiar?!" the girls exclaimed. "Oh, so was Ritsu in this world always a magic tablet?" Toka questioned. "It seems like it," Nagisa replied. "Mr Karasuma never said she was human in the other episode." Fuwa pointed a finger upward, making the connection. "Oh, so that's who you are! You're one of the warriors Commander Karasuma mentioned in episode 2! For continuity, I draw your attention to the Red Devil." Nagisa deadpanned. "Uh, what?" "Well, the audience needs a reminder," Fuwa said, nodding. "It's barely been three episodes," Oota commented. "Never underestimate short term memory!" she replied brightly. "Great! Then we'll call you Ritsu, too," Kataoka said. Ristu turned around without responding. The students sweatdropped. "...She doesn't like that name?" Yada said in confusion. Suddenly, two human legs wearing boots appeared under the stone tablet and began walking away. "HOLY CRAP, SHE CAN WALK?!!" the students shouted. "On itty bitty feet!" "HOW IS SHE WALKING!?" Yoshida shouted. "I don't understand, if she's more human than tablet, then why isn't she just a robot?" Sugaya questioned. "I guess Ritsu really wanted to be shown in her box form," Okuda said, brow furrowed. "Well since this is fantasy mobile phones don't really seem like a thing," Mimura said. "And, if she has to come along with us on quests then she has to be mobile somehow," Takebayashi explained. "Couldn't she just turn into a mini-tablet or something?" Kimura suggested. "Um..." "Actually, why can't she do that?" Hiroto scratched his head. "She already can eat noodles." Fuwa shrugged. "They're just really dedicated to the joke." Five Koro-sensei faces floated across the screen. Okuda now stood at the front of the group, holding a staff with a glass ball on the top at a bunch of stone kunudons. "Enemies at twelve o'clock!" she said. [Some Level 5 Stone Kunudons draw near!] Ritsu's eyes closed. Her stone tablet made some beeping noises, then her eyes opened. "Analysis done. Stone monsters: attacks are heavy, but quite subtle." Nagisa was lost. "What's that mean?" One stone kunudon stood by himself, surrounded by blackness. A spotlight then turned on, focusing on him. His back was toward the students. He began in a defeated voice, "I got this hot chick's number and hit her up with, 'How you livin'?'" He turned his head slightly, revealing that his face was entirely shadowed. "It's been four days. She never texted me back." Nagisa and Kataoka sweatdropped and deadpanned. "Heavy but subtle," he said. "I feel kind of bad." Rio burst out laughing along with the other students. "Okay, that's funny." "So, what, they attack us emotionally?" Nagisa questioned. "Emotional damage is the most effective," Fuwa said brightly. Ritsu stepped forward. "Allow me to handle them, please." A fireball appeared in her right hand and a ball of water in her left. "Combo spell." She put her hands together, combining the elements, and raised her hands in the air. "FLAME RAIN!" Fire began to fall onto the kunudons, who screamed as they were engulfed. "Whoa!" Many of the students gasped, eyes wide as the screen glowed up with the colours from the spell. "Oh, crap, she's awesome!" Muramatsu's exclaimed. "Not bad!" Terasaka laughed. "She's burning those jerks like maggots." Okano gave a nervous laugh. "She's also kind of terrifying..." Hazama smirked. "I know. It's impressive." The class watched excitedly. "Damn, she's good!" Maehara exclaimed. "That's the way, Ritsu," Nakamura encouraged. Suddenly, their eyes went wide. Ritsu had turned around and was now firing a bright white spell at her classmates. "Petrify." The class panicked as they began to turn solid and gray. "WHAT THE HELL!?" The excitement was quickly replaced with confusion. "What is she doing!?" Sugino yelled. "Turning you to stone by the looks of it," Ren commented. "WHY?" Okajima protested. "What did we do!?" "What are you doing?!" Kayano said. "We're turning to stone!" Yada exclaimed. Ritsu's expressionless eyes stared at them. "I defeated the enemy by myself; therefore, I myself am entitled to the experience points. Since incapacitated party members do not gain XP, I have temporarily frozen you." "Not cooooo-" Maehara was cut off as he finished turning to stone. The students, who were completely solid now, could be seen frozen in some very odd dance positions. [The E Class was petrified!] "THE HELL, RITSU!" The students yelled while Ritsu 2.0 whistled innocently. "Wow, she's actually more anti-social than OG Ritsu was..." Hara said nervously. Kanzaki looked sheepish. "Um...Yeah, looks like it." Nagisa sighed. "At least she hasn't shot at us..." "That's a pretty low bar!" Kayano exclaimed. "Plus she shot laser blasts earlier on that could have hit you," Kondo pointed out. After Ritsu finished defeating the enemies in the cave, she was given her experience points and unfroze her classmates. [Ritsu's level increases!] Maehara approached her, a shaking fist formed, as he forced a smile and tried to not lose his patience. "Um, Ritsu! Little much back there, don't you think?" "I have calculated the odds of defeating the Demon King and have determined it more efficient for me to level up exponentially rather than all party members doing so together, a little at a time," Ritsu replied. The students sighed, frustrated. "We're supposed to be a team," Yada pointed out, disappointed. "Ugh, she's acting like one of those players," Oota said, sighing. "You know, the ones that always hog all the points and rush into every battle." Kanzaki nodded. "Those players are difficult to work with..." She frowned. "But, if since this is mirroring the other timeline then she'll come around." "Yeah, if we're not half-dead before then," Hazama remarked. "I advise we move on," Ritsu said as she began walking further into the cave, completely ignoring Yada. The class stared at her and sighed again. "Koro Q!" Maehara's voice said over the transition. Okajima held a hand over an injury on his cheek. He noticed Ritsu walking toward him. He turned toward her and pointed to his cheek. "Ritsu, help a guy out with a healing spell?" "I am afraid I can't do that, Okajima. The number of enemies you can destroy at full health compared to the amount of magic I would have to use to heal you renders that proposition unsustainable." "YEAH?! WELL, YOU'RE UNSUSTAINABLE!" Okajima shot back. A few students chuckled while Okajima scowled. "Wow, this Ritsu is mean, I like it," Tsuda commented. "I don't!" Okajima complained. Fujii chuckled. "She is kind of funny." (In the end, Ritsu hoarded all the experience points, and she kept every item we picked up.) Many of Class E sighed while a few students laughed. "Oh, wow, she really is a jerk in this," Hatanaka said. "Yeah, she is." Karma tapped him on the shoulder, nearly at the front. "Mind switching?" "Huh?" Hatanaka frowned. "Why—?" Karma held up his phone showing Hatanaka cosplaying as Sailor Mercury. "Ugh!" Hatanaka baulked and silently switched places with the red-head. "Please don't show anyone that photo..." Karma grinned, moving places with him. "Why? It looks good." The students laid on the ground, exhausted, while Ritsu stood with nine different weapons as she ate a bowl of ramen. When they regrouped with Koro-sensei, the students grumbled in frustration while Koro-sensei observed what Ritsu had done. Koro-sensei had a conversation with Ritsu, dead stone kunudons around the edges of the cave. "Young lady," he began, "I can't stress enough how important it is that you get along with your fellow classmates." "Get along? To what purpose? I can vanquish you all by myself." Lightning suddenly shot out of her hands and Koro-sensei had to quickly dodge. (My combo magic doesn't faze him,) Ritsu observed. (Could he have adapted?) "Oh my, what dainty fingers you've got there!" Ritsu's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Koro-sensei, now wearing a blue dress with a white undershirt and long, brown wig, was rushing back and forth between the lightning to reach Ritsu's hands. (Is he giving the Evolved Mage a manicure?) she thought, annoyed. The students laughed while Koro-sensei chuckled faintly. "Yeah, that's pretty in character," Hara joked. "Making sure my students look their best is important!" Koro-sensei started manicuring Hiroto's nails. "WHAT THE HELL!?" Hiroto shouted as the teacher painted his right-hand nails orange. "It's such a pretty colour!" Koro-sensei gushed. "I DON'T CARE! PAINT SOMEONE ELSE'S NAILS!" Hiroto tried to wrestle his hands free while the students laughed harder. Koro-sensei was back in his teacher outfit, looking smug. "There's something I'd like you to see." A stone kunudon in what appeared to be a floating robot made of stone moved toward him, his angry face dark red from being drunk. A bottle of alcohol sat next to him. [A Level 19 Stone Kunudon draws near!] "You don't know pain!" There were so many tears in the corner of his eyes that they should've spilled out, but they somehow didn't. "Not till your wife leaves you! And the boss tells you to get lost! And you're stuck with chronic illness! The kind that even the insurance won't touch! Do you even know how hard that is?!" The students deadpanned and sweatdropped. "This one's level nineteen, all right," Nagisa said . "Definitely heavier," the rest of the class agreed. "Oh, man, he sounds like my uncle!" Someone said, making the students laugh more. Koro-sensei shook his head sympathetically, while Hiroto yanked his hands free from the nail painting. "You can laugh, children... but age is not kind..." "What? Because you can relate because you're old?" Rinka commented. "I'M NOT OLD!" Koro-sensei shot back. "You like, raised a kid who's now in his 20's," Tsuchiya replied, rolling her eyes. "Doesn't that make you middle-aged or something?" "NO!" Koro-sensei grew more defensive. "I'M STILL IN MY PRIME!" "I mean, prime is a stretch at most," Hazama said, shrugging. Koro-sensei cried quietly while Nagisa patted him on the back sympathetically. The stone kunudon emptied his bottle of alcohol and threw it off to the side, causing it to shatter against the cave's wall. He then covered his mouth with his hands, sounding like he was about to throw up, but kept going anyway. "I'm gonna teach you little brats how hard life really is...!" He began to throw up as he floated back and forth, chasing the students and trying to vomit on them. The class ran away, screaming. Koro-sensei turned to Ritsu. "So, how do you think they'll do?" "How will they do? Even as a group, they're no match for the likes of him. Let me take care of this." Koro-sensei held out a tentacle arm to stop her. "Child-ren!" he sang to the students, grabbing their attention. "Time to unveil the you-know-what you've been working on in secret after school!" "HOW DID YOU KNOW?!" Nagisa and Kayano shouted. "You guys aren't really subtle," Shindo said, crossing his arms. "And it wouldn't be that hard to notice you doing something sneaky since he has super hearing." Nagisa sighed. "True..." "No point in trying to hide it if the target's just busted you, right?" Karma said. "Oh, fine." A wide, determined smile replaced Kayano's pout as she turned to her friend. "Let's do this, Nagisa!" Okuda held up her staff. "Flames, dwell within this blade!" "SWORD OF FIRE!" Kayano shouted. "Offense-buffing light!" Fuwa and Nakamura said. "Mighty aura!" Nagisa and Karma ran side by side, each holding a flaming sword, ready to swing. "WHOA!" Oota's eyes sparkled as a lot of the students looked impressed. "So cool!" "Yeah, we are pretty cool," Karma remarked, sitting next to Nagisa and Kayano. "Oh, hey, Karma, you're back." Nagisa looked surprised. "I thought you got sent to the back." Karma shrugged, glancing behind him at the wake of students who he'd blackmailed and now looked terrified."Yeah, I know, but I met some people." He grinned. "It was fun." "Uh?" Nagisa exchanged a questioning look with Kayano. "Ready?" Karma asked. "Yep!" They rushed forward and leapt, coming down on the stone kunudon. "FIERY... CROSS SLASH!" they shouted as they swung their swords. The stone kunudon was engulfed in flames and had a permanent X on its back as it was flung to the side, Karma and Nagisa landing firmly on the ground. "Nice!" Okano cheered. "Good teamwork, guys," Okuda said, smiling at Nagisa and Karma. Karma smirked, knocking Nagisa on the head teasingly. "Alls that's missing is wasabi!" Nagisa smiled warily. "Maybe not..." "Nyufufufufu," Koro-sensei laughed. "We did it!" The class cheered. [The Stone Kunudon was defeated!] "YEAH! We killed him!" Kimura cheered. Their celebration was cut short when they heard the loud crying from the direction of the stone kunudon. They looked over and saw five stone kunudon children surrounding the defeated one, crying over the loss of their father. "DADDY, NO!" the children sobbed. "PAPA!" "...Oh." The students all collectively cringed. "Well, this is awkward," Hazama remarked. "DID WE JUST ORPHAN KIDS!" Nagisa sounded distressed. Kayano gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, we did pretty much murder him in front of his kids in cold blood..." Karma shrugged. "They'll probably get over it." "KARMA!" Nagisa stared at the floor in guilt. "...I killed their dad." Karma gave him a thumbs up and smiled. "Yeah, but we looked cool doing it." Nagisa groaned in despair. "No one told me he had a family!" Maehara exclaimed. Fuwa shook her head. "That's pretty heavy stuff." Oota covered his mouth to hide his laugh. "Oh, man!" Sugaya tried not to laugh. "I feel horrible for laughing, but..." "Keep it together..." Hara was trying to keep it in. The still-glowing Terasaka approached the stone kunudon children and hugged one of them, smiling. "It'll all be okay." Nakamura sweatdropped. "Are you ever gonna change back?" Terasaka facepalmed. "OH, COME ON!" The students erupted in laughter. "Wouldn't you agree that the odds of defeating me increase significantly if you all work together?" Koro-sensei asked Ritsu. "Well, theoretically, yes." Koro-sensei laughed. "Then let's put theory to test and beef up your cooperation skills outside of class." Ritsu was now strapped to Koro-sensei's back. "Be careful on your way back, boys and girls! See ya!" he said to the rest of the class as he shot up from the ground, leaving the rest of the students behind. The students used their arms to shield their faces from the wind he left behind, then turned toward each other. "Huh?" The screen showed a picture of the school building with the caption, [The next day] "Looks like she's going to get an upgrade," Takebayashi said. "Maybe she'll be less mean afterwards," Okajima commented. "Aw, but I like mean Ritsu, she's funny." Tsuda chuckled. "Look I'm fine with her being mean, I just don't want her to keep turning us into stone," Hara replied. "Ah, good morning, team!" came Ritsu's cheerful voice, a wide smile and light blush on her face. Her eyes were now a bright blue instead of their previous red. A rainbow shone in front of the forest behind her, her tablet showing a picture on the entire front face rather than just a face view. "How's it going?" "WHAAAAAAA?" all of the students shouted, completely confused by the 180 she had done in the past day. "Yep, some things don't change." Rio crossed her arms. "I wonder if she'll stay like this, though." "Well, she seems to have free will from the start, I think," Sugino replied, frowning. "Maybe she'll just have an in-between personality after this?" "Aw, guys, I'm just excited we get to work together!" "Who're you?" Nagisa asked. "Ritsu, who else?" Koro-sensei answered. "Well, mostly, just improved," Ritsu added, now holding a bird on her finger. "I've been rewritten to be a better team player!" Takebayashi pushed up his glasses. "Excellent! Heh. A 2-D girl is preferable, anyway." Okajima sweatdropped. "Takebayashi... seriously? That's your first line?" Takebayashi blushed while the students laughed. "Every time," Hiroto teased, ruffling the boy's head. "How is that one of the constant things." "Shut up!" He blushed more. "There's nothing wrong with liking 2D girls!" "How did you change her overnight?" Nagisa asked Koro-sensei. "You see, chiselled on the tablet's flip side in ancient script was her operating spell," their teacher explained. "Once I deciphered it, tweaking our new addition was elementary." "You can read and write ancient languages?!!" Karma wasn't surprised. "I'm starting to think there's nothing this guy can't do." "Moral of the story: a good hero is a jack of all trades, so be sure not to neglect your ancient language studies!" Koro-sensei finished. "Yes, sir!" the class responded. "So instead of coding, we have... magic code?" Muramatsu shrugged. "Makes sense I guess..." "I don't know the magic in this show is kind of all over the place," Mimura commented. Araki sighed when he overheard. "They still aren't grasping the irony of that." Asano raised an eyebrow. "Are you surprised? These are the people who thought space wasn't a big deal." The other Big Five felt physical pain at the memory. Koro-sensei zipped over to Ritsu, a blush on his face. He held a notebook and pencil, ready to take note of whatever she would say. "Now, uh, getting back to our little spell for banishing pixelation we talked about earlier-" "THAT'S NOT WHAT SHE'S FOR!!" Karasuma fumed. The students all cast the octopus judging looks. Koro-sensei cleared his throat. "It's innocent—" 3-E started shooting at him again.   

By the time Harry and Hagrid arrived in London, the former was shivering from the cold air that hit his wet skin. The umbrella he got from Hagrid didn’t do much for him. Harry’s body was also hurting a lot. His ribs were killing him, and from all the stares that he was receiving from people who he and Hagrid were passing, he knew that the bruises on his body were very prominent.    Hagrid finally stopped in front of a dodgy looking pub that everyone else didn’t seem to take notice of. Harry was about to ask where they were, but the man walked into the pub causing Harry to trail behind him, not wanting to get lost.     As they entered the pub, Harry took notice of how old the inside looked. It didn’t necessarily look bad, but it definitely wasn’t in tip top shape. “Welcome back Hagrid! D’ya want Your usual?” Harry’s attention was brought away from looking around the pub, to the bartender who addressed his guide. “Not today Tom. ‘M here on Hogwarts business, takin’ young Harry here to get his school stuff.” Harry cringed when he saw Tom look at him with an awed expression on his face.    “Bless my soul. It’s Harry Potter!” Tom’s loud announcement caught the attention of every single patron in the establishment. If it was possible, Harry cringed even more, his hair changing color slightly from his normal black color to a light blue for a split second. It happened so fast that it almost went completely unnoticed.    People came up to the young boy and started grabbing his hands and shoulders, some even pulling him into a hug. This made Harry extremely emotional, and not in a good way. The touches reminded him of his uncle, and when he saw Hagrid just watching him get smothered by these strangers, not doing anything to help, he felt angry. Tears began welling up in his eyes as he tried, and failed, to get away from the hoard of people harassing him.    This went on for ten more minutes before Hagrid grabbed Harry and guided him to the entrance of Diagon Alley. The boy couldn’t even take in the scene before him, he was still too worked up from the previous encounter he had.  He didn’t speak until they reached a tall, white, somewhat lopsided, building that read Gringotts Bank. As they entered the bank, the young wizard took notice of a sign by the door. He carefully read what the sign said.    Enter, stranger, but take heed Of what awaits the sin of greed, For those who take, but do not earn, Must pay most dearly in their turn, So if you seek beneath our floors A treasure that was never yours, Thief, you have been warned, beware Of finding more than treasure there.   “Welcome to Gringotts, Harry. Ain’t a safer place in this world. Well besides Hogwarts o‘course.” Harry looked up at Hagrid with a wary look that he masked quite well. He didn’t get a good feeling when the words “safe” and “Hogwarts” were in the same sentence. Harry looked around and noticed that the employees in this bank weren’t humans. He tugged on Hagrid’s sleeve and whispered to him. “Hagrid, what are they?” The tall man chuckled at Harry’s question, again, making Harry blush. “Those there are goblins, Harry. They aren’t known for being nice to us humans, but don’t take it to heart. They’re mean to everyone.”     Hagrid guided Harry to a desk where a goblin was sitting. When they reached the desk, Hagrid cleared his throat to get the attention of the worker. The goblin looked up, an annoyed look on his face. “Harry Potter is here to make a withdrawal.”  The goblin raised an eyebrow at Hagrid. “Well, does Mr. Potter have his vault key?” The young wizard in question grew pale. He didn’t know that he even had a vault, let alone a key. How was he going to pay for his school stuff? His worried inner monologue was cut short as Hagrid produced a key from the pocket of his coat.    This caused Harry to become confused. Why did Hagrid have his vault key? Shouldn’t that have been with his guardians? The goblin also seemed to be thinking the same thing as Harry. “Why do you have Mr. Potter’s key? I wasn’t aware that you were his guardian.” Hagrid glared at the goblin. “I’m not. I was given the key by Professor Dumbledore.” The goblin only glared right back, not phased at all by the giant, but affected by his words. The goblin glanced down at Harry, immediately taking notice of the bruises on the young boy. The creature’s expression grew dark.    “Due to Mr. Potter’s guardian not being present, his identity will have to be confirmed.” The goblin turned to the side slightly before shouting in a language that wasn’t familiar to Harry. While they were seemingly waiting, Harry decided to ask the goblin his name. “Excuse me, Mr. Goblin, sir?” The goblin looked down at Harry with a raised brow, and the boy took it as a sign to continue. “What is your name? I don’t think that you ever mentioned it.”    The goblin’s face showed a look of shock for a few seconds before it returned to its usual stoic look. “My name is Ironclaw, Mr. Potter.” Harry smiled slightly at the goblin. He thought that Ironclaw was an awesome name. Another goblin approached the three moments after. “Mr. Potter, this is Adrak. He will be taking you to confirm that you are who you say you are.” Harry nodded at Ironclaw and waved at Adrak, who in turn nodded to the boy. As Adrak led Harry away, Hagrid tried to follow. He was stopped immediately by Ironclaw. “Only Mr. Potter goes.” The tone in his voice made it clear that there were no exceptions.    Harry took in everything as Adrak guided him down the halls of Gringotts. He was so in awe of all the weapons and gold trim on the walls, that he almost ran into the goblin guiding him. Adrak looked at Harry with a brow raised, to which Harry blushed in embarrassment before muttering a quick apology.    Harry looked at the door they stopped in front of. Adrak’s name was engraved into the wood and was outlined in, what seemed to be, gold paint. Adrak opened the door and led Harry into the room. “Take a seat Mr. Potter, I have to gather some things for the inheritance test that Ironclaw requested.” Harry did as he was told, waiting patiently for the goblin to finish preparing. Adrak placed a piece of blank parchment on the desk along with a silver dagger, which made Harry tense up. He didn’t have the best experience with knives. Adrak took notice of his tenseness and addressed it quickly. “There is nothing to worry about Mr. Potter, the dagger is simply for you to use to prick your finger so you are able to put exactly seven drops of your blood on the parchment. The dagger will heal the cut after seven drops have been administered to the parchment.”    The boy immediately relaxed at those words. He took a deep breath and picked up the dagger, pricking his finger and holding over the parchment. After carefully counting seven drops, he moved his hand away, and placed the dagger back on the desk. Adrak grabbed the parchment and his eyes grew slightly at the results. He quickly pushed a button on his desk and spoke quickly in the same language Harry heard Ironclaw speak earlier.    “Is something wrong?” Harry was growing slightly worried. He thought that this would be quick, but he was apparently mistaken. “Mr. Potter, do you remember ever being visited by Albus Dumbledore?” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at Adrak’s question. “Why would professor Dumbledore come and see me?” Adrak didn’t like Harry’s answer and he made it very obvious. “Here are your results for your inheritance test Mr. Potter.”   Name: Hadrian Rigel Potter-Black   Age: 11   Birthday: 31st, July 1981   Mother: Lily Evangeline Potter née Evans    Father: James Charlus Potter   Father (Blood adopted): Sirius Orion Black (imprisoned)   Godfather: Rodolphus Corvus Lestrange   Godmother: Alice Longbottom née Fortescue (Incapacitated)    Titles: Heir of the Ancient Family Potter (Paternal) Heir of the Ancient and Noble Family Black (Blood adoption) Heir of the Ancient and Noble Family Peverell (Paternal) Heir of the Ancient and Noble Family Slytherin (Maternal)   Vaults Potter Trust Vault (Refilled to 10,000 G annually; Accessible ) Black Family Vault (With permission from Lord) Lestrange Family Vault (With permission from Lord) Peverell Family Vault (Accessible at age 15)  Potter Family Vault (Accessible at age 15) Slytherin Family Vault (Accessible)   Magical abilities, blocks, and compulsions: Parselmouth: 70% blocked (APWBD; broken 30%) Parselmagic: 100% blocked (APWBD) Eidetic Memory: 100% blocked (APWBD) Metamorphmagus: 90% blocked (APWBD; 10% broken) Core magic: 75% blocked (APWBD) Loyalty compulsion keyed to APWBD and Weasley Family: (APWBD; set to activate upon meeting) Hate compulsion keyed to Slytherins, Dark magic, Dark creatures, and Dark Wizards: (APWBD) Godfather bond: 100% blocked (APWBD) Horcrux: Piece of Tom Riddle’s soul- located in scar on face   Hadrian Rigel Potter-Black stared at the piece of parchment, willing the tears in his eyes to go away. He was overwhelmed at the results, which were bittersweet. The bitter part being the blocks and compulsions, and the sweet part being that he had family left besides the Dursleys. He saw that he had an adoptive father who was in prison, and a Godfather left. “Adrak, is there any way to get in contact with my Godfather?” He wanted to meet the only family he had access to. “I have already contacted Heir Lestrange and he should be here momentarily.” Adrak had called both Ironclaw and Heir Lestrange after the results of Heir Potter-Black’s results were in.   The two were completely silent while they waited. Hadrian didn’t know how long had passed before the door to the office swung open to reveal Ironclaw, followed by a tall, dark haired man. Hadrian stared at the man, taking in his features. He had short, black hair and hazel colored eyes, was quite muscular, and had a tattoo crawling up the side of his neck. The man looked at Adrak with a blank face, not seeing Hadrian yet. “What is the meaning of this summons?” The goblin didn’t answer, he just pointed in the direction of the young wizard in the room.    The man looked in the direction that Adrak pointed, only to freeze when he saw the boy in the corner of the room. He didn’t need a test for him to know who the boy was. His eyes welled up with tears that threatened to fall. He slowly made his way to Hadrian, but as he got closer, he noticed the bruises on the boy’s neck and face. The man quickly took a deep breath to calm himself before crouching in front of Hadrian with a small smile on his face.    “Hello Hadrian, my name is Rodolphus Lestrange. I’m your Godfather.”

After that evening, where Mo Ran found Xia Sini curled up in his bed, blood staining the insides of his small thighs—a clear sign of the way he had been defiled, abused—his relationship with his shidi shifted, tinged with the stain of that night. Xia Sini clung harder to Mo Ran than ever before, called him by ‘gege’ regularly, practically transformed himself into Mo Ran’s smaller shadow. Xue Meng had only raised an eyebrow and mentioned they seemed to have grown even closer in the days after returning from Peach Blossom Springs. If only that was all there was. Because Xia Sini grew physically closer, too. He refused to sleep on his own, sneaking into Mo Ran’s room instead to climb beneath the covers and cling tightly to Mo Ran instead. Mo Ran wish he knew where exactly Xia Sini’s rooms were, because otherwise his threats of returning him to them were totally empty. Xia Sini already knew they were, though, because he never listened to them. And this would be fine, understandable, even, if it weren’t for the way Xia Sini would touch him in these moments—small fingers with still some pudge of baby fat left to them trying to work their way underneath Mo Ran’s robes, his body pressed tight against his and angling towards Mo Ran’s crotch—all with those big, bright eyes full of innocence and soft little pleas of “gege, won’t you indulge shidi just this once?” Of course Mo Ran understood. Of course Mo Ran, his early years what they were, could empathize. Xia Sini had control of his own sexuality wrested from him at far too young an age. Mo Ran knew exactly the kind of response that could provoke, the way it could make someone too young to understand what they were feeling want to wield that control for themselves, to tilt themselves head-first into the terrifying unknown and conquer it. It didn’t mean Mo Ran didn’t know better than to allow it, though. So he would stop him, place a respectable distance away from him, and usually, that would be enough for a while. Only a few more days of this, Mo Ran promised himself. And then he’ll be able to sleep in bed on his own again. One morning, Mo Ran woke up to a weight settled over his hips, a delicious friction grinding against his clothed erection, and he sleepily rolled his hips upwards into it. “Has this wife decided to treat This Venerable One this morning?” he mumbled incoherently, still mostly dreaming, mind caught in the past. He reached out on instinct to grip the small waist of the figure seated on his lap, then jolted awake as sudden realization poured over him like a bucket of ice water. There was something wrong. This waist was small. Too small. Far too small. “Xia Sini!” Mo Ran yelped, trying to wriggle out from under him, but in his still-waking state, he was uncoordinated and Xia Sini managed to squirm enough to keep himself seated, his rounded, giving flesh bumping against Mo Ran’s cock, and wow, no, bad, very bad. “I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Xia Sini grumbled, small fists clenching Mo Ran’s robes. Xia Sini was still clothed, thankfully, but Mo Ran would have preferred a lot more layers in between himself and the boy’s body in the current moment than the few flimsy ones he had to make due with. “What were you going to do?” Mo Ran asked, voice sliding upwards in alarm. “I—I don’t know!” Xia Sini’s face burned. “I just... wanted to see...” “Wanted to see what?” Mo Ran sounded scandalized. Mo Ran was scandalized. “What it was like!” The it remained undefined. “Haven’t you gotten a pretty good taste of that already? Why are you coming back for seconds!?” In Mo Ran’s defense, he had just woken up to a small child grinding against his morning wood, so he wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind for the present conversation. Even still, he knew the moment the words left his mouth that it wasn’t the right thing to say. “What does it matter to you?” Xia Sini shot back, eyes icing over, lower lip trembling even as it jutted out defiantly. “Shidi...” Mo Ran sighed deeply. “We’ve gone over this. I don’t want you. Not like that. Not with you.” “Of course gege doesn’t want me.” Xia Sini sounded petulant. “What do you want, then?” Mo Ran opened his mouth to answer, then paused. His mind immediately flashed to someone else—someone Xia Sini bore a startling resemblance to—even as Shi Mei’s name rested on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t have to say anything, as it turned out, because Xia Sini answered for him. “It’s Shi Mingjing-shixiong you want, isn’t it?” Xia Sini frowned. “What has he got that I haven’t, anyway?” he demanded. “I’m cute like this, aren’t I? I’m small and soft and helpless. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” And then he spread his palms flat against Mo Ran’s chest, pushing him back down where he started to rise off the bed, angling his hips to grind himself against Mo Ran’s cock. His eyes slid closed, head tilting back and his small, rounded mouth falling open, a small moan escaping from his lips. Fuck. Oh, fuckfuckfuck. “Sh-shidi—” Mo Ran protested, stuttering on a moan of his own, before he finally summoned the strength to push Xia Sini off of him, small body tumbling to the side of the bed. Xia Sini’s head whipped up to glare at him as he kneeled on the bed, long loose strands of hair falling around large phoenix eyes that burned with a defiance reddened at the edges. Mo Ran knew that look, a twisted deja vu unsettling his stomach. Chu Wanning had never given him that look in the past life for shoving him off of Mo Ran, though. Usually the opposite. “You can’t do that,” Mo Ran tried to explain. “It’s not... it’s not right.” “Am I that disgusting, then?” Xia Sini hissed, a vitriol far older than his years poisoning his tone. “Is that it?” His voice caught. “I know I’m unlovable. I just wanted—just wanted to pretend. Just once.” “Don’t say that,” Mo Ran said, serious, gripping Xia Sini’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare say you’re unlovable. You are.” “Mo Ran, just shut up!” “C’mon. How could you be unlovable? I love you, after all, yeah?” Xia Sini glowered at him. “I said shut up!” he screeched, and with more than a bit of spiritual energy infused in it, landed a solid push to Mo Ran’s chest, sending him very nearly careening into the wall. Fuck, Mo Ran really forgot just how much power was contained in the small body of his shidi sometimes. He caressed the back of his head that had knocked painfully against the wall, and did nothing as Xia Sini stormed from his room, still clothed only in the thin inner robes he slept in. And—alright then. So. What now? Mo Ran was clearly outclasses by the enormity of this current problem, but he wasn’t entirely sure where to turn to. Except—there was one option. His shizun, Chu Wanning. Clearly, there was some relationship between Chu Wanning and Xia Sini, even if he wasn’t his father like he claimed. Shouldn’t Chu Wanning know something happened to Xia Sini? Shouldn’t be the one to help Xia Sini rather than Mo Ran? Satisfied with the thought of unloading his current predicament onto Chu Wanning, he lept from his bed, shoving his feet into his boots so he could set off in the direction of the Red Lotus Pavilion.     Creeping inside, the Red Lotus Pavilion was deathly silent. No one had answered him when Mo Ran arrived, and Chu Wanning was nowhere to be found. Weird. Maybe he was still sleeping? Chu Wanning wasn’t a particularly early riser, after all. Mo Ran picked his way to his bed, noting any traces of the cleaning he had done all the way back when he was first reborn seemed to have been overtaken by mess once more. Sure enough, he found a sleeping form curled up amongst the alarmingly sharp odds and ends that cluttered Chu Wanning’s bed. But the body resting there did not belong to Chu Wanning. It belonged to Xia Sini. Mo Ran frowned, stepping forward carefully, glancing down at Xia Sini’s sleeping face. What was he doing here, and where was Chu Wanning? And—just like that—it was like a veil had been lifted from Mo Ran’s eyes. Where was Chu Wanning? An excellent question, it seemed, whenever Xia Sini was around. And then, Xia Sini’s own words came crashing down around him. You don’t know, he had said, that night he came crawling to Mo Ran after someone dared touch him. I’m cute like this, aren’t I? Those eyes—staring at him, wronged, red at the corners— Those eyes belonged to Chu Wanning. Chu Wanning wasn’t Xia Sini’s father. Chu Wanning was Xia Sini. Without even thinking, Mo Ran stormed closer, shaking the small form awake. “Who the fuck was it, Wanning?” he growled, all the weight of his past life years’ infused in the low pitch. “Who the fuck touched you?” If someone had touched Xia Sini—then—that meant someone had touched Chu Wanning. Someone who wasn’t Mo Ran. Who the fuck had dared? “Mo Ran!” Xia Sini said, blinking awake, cross. “What are you doing here? Who are you talking about?” “So you admit it, then?” “Admit what?” “That you’re Chu Wanning?” “Of course I’m me,” Xia Sini spat, then froze, horror creeping across his face. “Wait. Mo Ran—“ He didn’t need to mince words anymore, Mo Ran realized. He wasn’t dealing with a lost, scared child. He was dealing with the Beidou Immortal, wielder of three holy weapons, the most powerful man in the cultivation world. “Who fucked you, Wanning?” “Why do you care?” Xia Sini—Chu Wanning—pouted. Mo Ran wanted to strangle him. Why did he care? “No one gets to touch you,” he spat out. “But they did. It happened.” Chu Wanning crossed his arms over his chest, looking away. His hair was still down from sleep, thrown at odd angles over his head. “Did they know?” Mo Ran asked, hands clenched into fists, shaking. “Know what?” Chu Wanning turned back to look at him. “Who you are. Did they know when they—did that to you? Did they know who they were fucking?” “They knew,” Chu Wanning said, voice flat. “I don’t get why you care. Are you mad at me?” “Mad?” Mo Ran echoed.  “For—what I tried to do. Earlier...” Chu Wanning blushed, brows twitching together, a hilariously consternated look on a face so soft with youth. Mo Ran grunted. Oh, he was mad alright. In the fire that roared inside of him, gone was the sixteen-year-old disciple. All that remained was the Emperor, and the rage that burned white-hot. Someone had touched something that did not belong to them. Someone had touched something that was his. All sense or reason was scattered to the wind, replaced with a temporary insanity. Only one thing was clear in his head. This is Chu Wanning. This is mine to take.  And now, Chu Wanning wanted Mo Ran to take him. “Let me see,” Mo Ran ordered him. Chu Wanning clutched nervously at the sheet thrown over his lap. “See what?” he asked. “Where he touched you.” The he undetermined, but Chu Wanning knew. With impossibly large eyes, those hands too small for the man they belonged to slowly pushed aside the sheet and reached for the ties of his robes. Xia Sini was a child, but Chu Wanning was not, and Chu Wanning was Xia Sini, so— Mo Ran’s mind couldn’t keep the facts straight, the situation far too confusing for someone as simple as himself. As far as he saw it, the body in front of him housed Chu Wanning, so it was Chu Wanning’s body.  Looking at Xia Sini’s naked body, Mo Ran would have felt nothing. But as Chu Wanning shucked off his robes, Mo Ran was not looking at the body of Xia Sini, his young shidi. He was looking at the body of Chu Wanning, his shizun, his concubine, his person. His. This was a body every nerve in body screamed out in hunger to claim. Who was he to refuse their call? Mo Ran pounced on Chu Wanning, capturing his lips in a blistering kiss. When Chu Wanning had tried to kiss him that night, climbing into his lap and clumsily mouthing at Mo Ran’s lips, it was hardly even successfully a kiss. But now Mo Ran takes control, overwhelming him, directing each breath from his lungs. “Wanning,” he gasped, hand trailing down his chest, over his soft stomach, lower still, “open your legs for me.” They parted for his hand without hesitation, sliding open with such obedient ease, and it set Mo Ran’s blood on fire. Why now? Why like this? “Good boy,” he praised, but internally he couldn’t help the frustration— Why, Wanning? Why couldn’t you have been this good for me back then? Why did things have to end the way they did when you were always capable of this? But it didn’t matter. Because here was Chu Wanning (soft and small and helpless) and he was being good, just for Mo Ran. Mo Ran found a small vial of oil, and Chu Wanning looked at it curiously as Mo Ran slicked his fingers, then returned them to the place between his thighs to press against him. “This is what you want, isn’t it, Wanning?” “You know that,” Chu Wanning hissed, and Mo Ran chuckled. Ah, there he was. How had he not noticed sooner? “I want to hear you say it,” he insisted. Chu Wanning’s rounded cheeks lit up red. “Why? So you can mock me later?” Mo Ran frowned. “Because I want to know you want me, shizun,” he said, the title teasing. But it seemed to throw Chu Wanning off-balance—he gawked at him openly. What he ended up saying was much better than what Mo Ran had asked for. “Please,” he said, weak and desperate. “Please, Mo Ran, inside.” Mo Ran thrust his finger into the velvety warmth of his body roughly, reveling in the feel of it. In the feel of returning home. “That’s it, that’s good,” he praised as Chu Wanning whimpered, “you’re taking me so well.” “I can take more than that,” Chu Wanning protested, shifting his hips, accommodating the intrusion. “I did take more than that. I did.” The reminder twisted something ugly inside of Mo Ran, and he forced a second finger inside of Chu Wanning alongside the first with little fanfare, all the way to the second knuckle. It seemed to knock the breath from Chu Wanning’s lungs, what little of it they held, his throat catching on a stuttered choke. “And this, then?” Mo Ran asked. But Chu Wanning just shook his head. “More,” he demanded, and he angled his hips downward, fucked himself on Mo Ran’s hand. Mo Ran could only stare in awe. He didn’t know this level of open desire was possible from Chu Wanning, of all people. He suddenly worried—this was still Chu Wanning, right? The poison that made his body like this—it didn’t affect his mind, too? But any concerns were dashed by Chu Wanning moaning on Mo Ran’s hand. “Ah—ah—that feels...” His eyes flew open, wide, surprise painted on his face. “Mo Ran,” he whined, “Mo Ran, MoRan,Moran,moran,moran,” an endless chant, slurring together. “Beautiful,” Mo Ran breathed. “Shut up,” Chu Wanning hissed. “Are you going to make me do all of the work myself?” No, Mo Ran was not. His body lurched back into action, pinning Chu Wanning down, setting a brutal pace with his fingers, approximating exactly the right way to do so in the body he knew with this new, smaller form. It didn’t take long before Chu Wanning pawed at his chest, telling him, “Enough, enough, I’m ready.” There was no way that was possible. “Soon,” Mo Ran promised instead. Soon apparently wasn’t good enough, because Chu Wanning bit his lower lip, casting pleading eyes up at Mo Ran. “Shidi’s being good,” he said, in a weak, watery voice. “Gege, please? Please, gege.” A pause, the span of a breath. “Fuck me, gege?” It took only a moment for Mo Ran to break at that, the heat rising to flush his cheeks at those words. He was hopeless to stand against them. “Fine,” he said, flipping them over so he was resting on the bed—nearly skewering himself on a sharpened file in the process—and Chu Wanning straddled his lap. “Like this,” he said, and Chu Wanning nodded his head. Mo Ran still had his robes on, but he didn’t want to bother wasting any time, just reached to free his cock, straining with his arousal, hard and flushed red, precum wetting the head. A tiny pink tongue darted out to link soft, pouting lips as Chu Wanning stared down at it. Oh, fuck, that was hot. He reached one hand forward, experimentally, already small hand even smaller wrapped around Mo Ran’s cock, eyes listing up when Mo Ran groaned, struggling to stop himself from thrusting upwards into his grip. “Let me,” he said, taking his cock in hand, gripping Chu Wanning’s hip as he lined it up with his hole. Chu Wanning stared down, determined, his own cock small and flushed and useless against his abdomen, a hungry look in his eyes. But Mo Ran had to pause for a moment, a little nervous. Chu Wanning... really was small like this. Lovers might have protested before, but Mo Ran always rolled his eyes at their dramatics. But now... Would he fit? He was taking too long for Chu Wanning’s liking. “Gege,” he demanded, wiggling his hips a bit to rub the head of Mo Ran’s cock against his entrance. “I want your cock, gege.” “I’ll go slow,” Mo Ran promised. “I don’t care,” Chu Wanning insisted. Mo Ran grinned. He had a feeling that would change very quickly. “Relax,” he instructed, and Chu Wanning nodded so seriously at him, eyes bright and solemn, and then Mo Ran lowered him down and onto his cock. Mo Ran had never fucked something so tight. His eyes rolled back in his skull as soon as his head forced its way into the small, protesting entrance of Chu Wanning’s body, head thudding heavily back against the headboard as his vision whited out. “Ah!” Chu Wanning cried, Mo Ran barely registering the thinned, high-pitch whine. “Ah, g-gege, you’re, you’re big....” “Shhhhhh,” Mo Ran soothed him. Only his head had made it in; they had a long way to go. Chu Wanning’s legs shook violently, the fat clinging to the smooth pale expanse of the insides of his thighs vibrating as he struggled to take Mo Ran’s cock, teeth scraping at his lips as small, broken pants fell from them. Mo Ran wanted to bite those thighs, suddenly, mark up the soft spaces of his body with his teeth. A reminder of who he belonged to, of who owned those places, so no one could ver be confused about it again. So no one ever tried to take what was his again. “G-gege, it’s too much,” Chu Wanning whined, sinking down, slowly, one more inch. Mo Ran chuckled, muscles straining with the desire to thrust violently into his body against his control. “You’re doing so good, shidi,” he said, one hand stroking Chu Wanning’s flank, kneading his flesh, “you can do it. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?” Chu Wanning nodded, tears welling at the corner of his eyes. “Then be good,” Mo Ran said, “and take me.” He forced him down a little further, Chu Wanning openly crying by the time he was halfway sheathed inside of him, face flushed red and mouth hanging open. His eyes were unfocused, hand scrambling against Mo Ran’s chest uselessly for purchase, completely gone. Barely half of Mo Ran’s cock inside him and he was already fucked out. “Almost there,” Mo Ran lied as Chu Wanning continued to sink down onto him. “G-gege,” Chu Wanning begged, “you’re—you’re so big.... my stomach.... I’m so full!” And, holy fuck. Looking down, Mo Ran could practically see the outline of his cock bulging against Chu Wanning’s soft stomach. Big, fat tears rolled down Chu Wanning’s cheeks as he writhed on Mo Ran’s cock, inner walls a vice grip on him, a tight, punishing heat that felt—so much, so much, so good. He couldn’t take it any longer. “Fuck, Wanning,” he growled, “you feel so good, you know that?” With both hands gripping his hips, bruising, Mo Ran slammed Chu Wanning the rest of the way onto his cock. Chu Wanning screamed, throwing a hand against his own mouth, biting it, trying to stifle the sound. “There you go,” Mo Ran said, calming. “That’s all of it, Wanning, fuck, you took my cock so well, look at you.” His tone was breathless, reverent. Chu Wanning rested another hand against his stomach, feeling the place where it bulged, hiccuping slightly as he sniffed back his tears. “Gege,” he murmured again, then rocked his hips experimentally, punching a whine from his throat. “Gege!” “Take your time,” Mo Ran told him, though his self-control was already fraying. Chu Wanning squirmed on his cock, panting, grinding his hips down and wringing little whines from himself every so often. It wasn’t enough for Mo Ran, only enough to be torture. “Wanning, I need, I have to—,” he started to explain, and Chu Wanning gazed at him through tear-clouded eyes. Mo Ran wasn’t sure he even heard him. But he didn’t say no, so that was going to have to be good enough. Mo Ran shifted a bit, planting his feet flat on the bed and tightening his grip on Chu Wanning’s waist. That alone was enough to send Chu Wanning toppling against his chest, teeth sinking into the meat of his muscle where he landed. “Fuck,” Mo Ran said, but he let Chu Wanning bite him, focusing instead on moving inside the tight heat of his body. He went slowly for the first thrust, tried to go slow for the second, and then snapped, completely losing all control, by the third. It was far too much stimulation for Mo Ran to contain himself, and he bounced Chu Wanning’s slight frame on his cock violently, heedless of the broken little whimpers that flowed from him. It was intoxicating. It had been so long since Mo Ran had fucked anyone—so long since he had fucked Chu Wanning, not since before this second lifetime. There was no way he was going to last long, which was probably for the best, because he didn’t know how much of this Chu Wanning’s body could take with it so small and fragile like this. Mo Ran would have to figure out a way to get him back to normal soon, he decided. There was only so much restraint he could exercise with Chu Wanning like this. His climax washed over him with a final, punishing thrust inside of Chu Wanning’s body, spilling deep inside of that welcoming heat, filling the channel already stuffed impossibly full even further with his cum. Chu Wanning cried out as Mo Ran’s cock pulsed its release inside of him, squirming, shaking his head uselessly as Mo Ran came. Both of them were panting, chests moving up and down heavily, when Mo Ran came back to his senses. Chu Wanning was slumped against him, boneless, drooling against his chest. Mo Ran pushed him up, getting ready to move him off his lap, when small arms flung themselves around his neck, and Chu Wanning wrapped his legs tight around him. “Uh-uh,” he protested, burying his head into Mo Ran’s shoulder. Mo Ran paused. “Um,” he said, “you really want me to stay in you?” Chu Wanning nodded against him. “...for how long?” “Dunno,” Chu Wanning mumbled. “Tired now.” He squeezed Mo Ran’s neck tighter. “You want to nap like this?” Mo Ran asked, disbelieving. Chu Wanning nodded again. Mo Ran sighed. “Alright, then, shidi,” he said, successfully extricating himself from the stranglehold on his neck. He wiped his fingers through the clear thin smear of liquid on Chu Wanning’s stomach, then brought them to his lips. They opened for him, let him press inside, sucking them clean. “You can nap now, but then, you have to do something for me when yo wake up. You’ll tell me,” Mo Ran told him, “who touched you. Later. You’ll let me know who it was, alright?” He did not leave room for debate. Chu Wanning nodded vaguely, and Mo Ran smiled. “My good boy,” he said, and Chu Wanning smiled, tucking his head back against Mo Ran and closing his eyes, wriggling close to Mo Ran as he settled himself down to sleep, Mo Ran’s softening cock still trapped inside him, his cum leaking down to coat his thighs. Sleep, Wanning, Mo Ran thought to himself, stroking the back of his head. Don’t you worry. I’ll protect what’s mine.

Anna woke up when she heard the front-door of the house slamming shut. She glanced at her phone to check the time and smiled when she saw it was only eight in the morning. She usually woke up earlier than this on weekdays, but she loved staying in bed until late on weekends. Yet the door closing could mean a very interesting thing. She got out of the bed and put back the T-shirt she had thrown last night. It made her think about how she had fallen asleep and she had to check the pic again on her phone. Just glancing at it made her all horny again. Her sister really was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Gosh, how can I be so lucky to have her? I so don't deserve her! But she wasn't going to worry about that. On the contrary, she planned to enjoy it as much as she could. I should delete it. She knew it wasn't safe to keep it on her phone, even if nobody ever looked at it without her consent, but she couldn't. So instead she took it out of the image folder and hid it somewhere only she would find. At least it won't show up among the other pictures. She was sure she would look at it a good number of times in the coming days. She quietly left her room and stood in the corridor to listen to any sound she could hear. Nothing. Then she went downstairs and checked the front-door. Locked. Apparently no one was home. She checked all the rooms and noticed a post-it on the kitchen table. "We're going shopping. Should be back at noon. Can you cook for lunch?" Anna smiled and quickly ran upstairs. She opened her sister's room and came inside. Elsa was sleeping soundly, her beautiful long platinum hair framing a peaceful face. The redhead admired it for some time before she realized her sister was naked. Her nightdress was on the floor and the sheet revealed the soft skin of her shoulders. She must have gone to sleep right after our little exchange of photos. She took out her T-shirt and joined her in the bed. It wouldn't be fair to be dressed while she isn't. The blonde was lying on the side and Anna snuggled against her. She shivered as her nipples brushed her back and hugged her from behind. It seemed to wake her up and she turned toward her, eyes half-closed. "Anna?" "Hi sis. Sorry, I didn't want to wake you up." "It's ok. It seems it's already late." She put one hand over her eyes to shield herself from the sun, and revealed her bosom as she did. This time she could see it for real, and not just for a brief instant, and Anna felt the urgent need to touch them. She wondered how great it would be to suck on them, but realized that Elsa certainly wouldn't want that. Yet. But one day I will totally do that. "You're drooling again sweetie." "Sorry." She looked back at her face and Elsa laughed. "It's okay, it doesn't bother me." she kissed her and Anna kissed her back, but then Elsa seemed to realize they were not in their flat in Corona. "Shit, we need to be more careful." "Don't worry, mom and dad aren't there. They went shopping and shouldn't come back before noon." "Oh. I see." She kissed her again. "Have you locked the door? Just in case." "Nope. Don't move, I'll do it." She got out of bed and locked the door. When she turned back she saw her sister staring at her body with hungry eyes and she took all her time to get back to her. She lay next to her and rested her head on her chest as she had always done, even when they were note together as a couple. Elsa put her hands on her lower back and said. "Did you delete the pics?" "The first one. But I couldn't delete the second one, sorry. You were so hot and sexy. I changed the path though. Do you still want me to erase it?" She would do it if she asked, of course, but she hoped not. "To be honest I didn't delete yours either..." "Oh. You're such a pervert sis. Keeping pictures in your phone of your little sister masturbating." She had said it to tease her, but the silence that followed made her realize it may have been a mistake. After all Elsa had been sure her feelings were wrong for three years, and Anna wondered if she still didn't believe it. "I guess I am, but you know what? I'm fine with it." Anna smiled broadly and lifted her head to kiss her. She was glad Elsa was finally accepting it. "Because I think said little sister is even worse." Anna giggled and said "I guess you're right" as she gently squeezed her left breast. God it feels so good. "It's still early. Wanna sleep a little more?" "I had other things in mind" she winked at her, "but I guess it's better than nothing." She lay comfortably against her and sighed with satisfaction. One or two hours of extra sleep in her sister's arms was more than good enough. When their parents came back home, the two sisters were cooking together in the kitchen. Elsa heard the doorbell ring and gave Anna a last kiss before going to open it and helping her mother with the shopping bags. Then she came back to her sister to help her chop the potatoes. "What are you preparing?" asked their mother. "Just a potato gratin." "Want me to help?" "Na, it's okay. We're used to it." Anna said with a smile. "So what did you do this morning?" "Hum... I slept late. And I think Anna did too." "Yep." They had spent the whole morning in her bed, cuddling and kissing. They finished preparing the meal and Elsa put the baking dish in the oven. "It's nice to see you two still get along so well." "Hum?" "We feared you would fight or argue if you were left alone in a flat. And you didn't seem so close anymore yesterday. But it seems everything is going ok." "Of course it is! It's great!" Anna hugged her from behind and Elsa's first thought was that she needed to get away to hide their true relationship. But apparently her mother had found it strange they weren't too close last evening, and they had to find the right balance between inappropriate behavior and what they used to do before. It's not gonna be easy. "And your results are good so far, Anna. Better than they used to. And you're cooking too now. I guess it was a really good thing to send you to Corona with Elsa." "Yep. We take care of each other, right sis?" "Indeed." She kissed her on the forehead and their mother left the kitchen with a smile on her face. Anna waited for a few seconds and then stole a true brief kiss. "I guess she wouldn't like to know how good things are going." "I guess not." They spent the whole day being careful of what they said and did, and Elsa realized hiding it wasn't a pleasant thing. She was constantly scared that something would betray her, and the prospect of their parents learning the truth was dreadful. When they finally said goodbye the next day and got into her car, she sighed heavily. "Damn that was harder than I thought." Anna nodded. "It's worth it though, right?" Elsa started the car before answering. "Yes, it is. But I'm so scared they will discover the truth." It would completely destroy their family. "There's no way they'll find out." Elsa wanted to believe it too, but she was getting really worried. "Maybe now… but what about in two or three years? Or even later? They're going to wonder why we're not dating anyone." Anna shrugged. "Plenty of people live alone. I'm sure we're not the only siblings living together." "Yeah, but not dating anyone?" "We'll lie to them. Tell them we have some girlfriends or boyfriends from time to time, but nothing serious. Then we'll get older and everyone will think we're both old maids and that living together helps us cope with the loneliness." "Wouldn't it bother you?" "I couldn't care less if it means I'm with you." "Well… I see that you've already got it all figured out. Have you planned anything else that I should know of?" "Oh don't worry sis, I've got so many plans for us, nothing bad can happen. I do picture us rich as fuck because of your genius brain though, so don't let me down on that!" Elsa laughed and ruffled her hair with her right hand, holding the wheel with her left. She was glad to see Anna was thinking long-term. It meant she really took it seriously and that she planned to stick with her. Anna was relieved to be back in Corona. It had been a difficult weekend, juggling between hiding her true feelings for Elsa and acting as she used to last year in order not to raise suspicion. They had got back here on Sunday afternoon and had spent the evening and the night catching up on all the time they had to stay apart. She knocked on the bathroom door. "Have you finished? I need to do my hair, and it's already late!" They had got out of bed a bit later than usual. The door opened and Anna's mouth dropped as she saw her sister in nothing but her panties, skin still moist and hair still wet. She winked at her and continued drying herself, while Anna tried to do her hair. She put all her efforts on it, but her eyes couldn't focus on herself in the mirror. When the blonde bombshell next to her was finally dry, she kissed her senseless and sensually dressed up. Anna loved how comfortable and confident her sister was getting, but it was really hard for her to resist and calm herself. Soon. She's getting there. Elsa helped her once she was fully dressed and they left the flat in a hurry. Kristoff was waiting for them in the corridor, as Anna had told him they would drive him to school too. "Hey girls. How was Arendelle?" "Hi Kris. Meh." she waved so-so with her hand. "Oh. Missed me?" he answered with a smile. "Don't flatter yourself." The blonde guy chuckled. "You look really happy for someone who just spent a bad weekend." They arrived to the car and she sat on the passenger seat while he sat on the backseat. "What about you Elsa? You look much happier than usual too." "Hum… what does that even mean?" "I'm not saying you usually look cold and… you know what? Never mind. You look just like you always do. I don't mean anything wrong by that. Or good.. Huh, I'm just gonna shut up, ok?" Elsa grunted and drove them to school and Anna tried not to laugh at her sister's stern face. She knew her better than that and she was aware her cold behavior was just an act. She couldn't kiss her goodbye as she wanted to, but she left with a "Love you sis." that could be interpreted in two ways, and she knew Elsa would take it for what she meant. She looked at her phone and realized they weren't that late. They still had a couple minutes before their first class, and she decided to bring up the fake-dating topic with Kris. "I wanted to talk to you about something." "Yeah?" "I have both bad and good news." "Oh, I don't like that. Let's start with bad news." "We can't really fake-date anymore." She was surprised to see him smile. "Does it mean what I thinks it means?" "Yeah! She finally said yes!" "I'm so happy for you. Did the jealousy thing help?" "Totally. I don't think she would have given in if not for that. So than you so much." "I knew something had changed last week. Let me guess, it happened on Monday?" Elsa had stopped her from leaving to who she though was her boyfriend on Monday evening. "Yeah… how did you know?" "You looked so happy on Tuesday. And for the rest of the week." "Well, to be fair I still am. It's like I'm on cloud nine right ever since." "That's great. So, can you tell me who she is now?" "Na. She's still in the closet and doesn't want anyone to know." "Hum… for all I know it could be Elsa." Anna looked at him and freaked out. What? Does he know? She tried to act as best she could. "What?! That's so gross! She's my sister!" And I want to fuck her so bad. He chuckled. "Yeah, that was gross. Anyway, I could totally find out who she is. I mean, I'm always with you at school, and I'm your neighbor." "Please don't. She doesn't want it to be known." "Ok, ok. I won't pry." They stayed quiet for a while until he spoke again. "So… do we need to fake a break-up?" "No, we've got some time ahead of us. She's ok with it as long as we don't kiss or do anything romantic." She had asked Elsa and she had told her she trusted her not to do anything with him that she wouldn't like. She guessed the fact that he was gay helped a lot. "Ok. Maybe we should break up during the winter holidays then? And just announce in January that we're still friends." "Yep. That's ok for me." The bell rang and they got inside. "Is she blonde?" "Wha… why…?" "You've got blond hair on your top." He picked one and showed her. It was definitely Elsa's. "You said you'd stop prying." "Yeah… sorry. It's most likely your sister's anyway." Fuck. First our parents, now Kris. We've got to be careful.

Making his way through the corridors of Winterfell he entered the Lord’s solar and found it occupied by Eddard, Benjen and Barristan. For a moment he was concerned they’d suddenly decided to send him to the Wall, but squashed it as he closed the door. “You called for me?” asked Jon. He noted that Ned seemed grim where Barristan wore solemn resolution. Benjen seemed concerned, almost wary as he looked from his brother to Jon and Barristan. “Jon,” Ned said motioning to the chair opposite him while Barristan and Benjen stood to either side behind him. “Is something wrong?” Jon asked as he took the offered seat and looked to each man. “I’m going to tell you about your mother.” Jon’s eyes widened as he took a breath that swiftly escaped him as Ned continued, “But I also have to tell you about your father.” Benjen frowned seeing the boy’s brow sink as she shook his head. “What?” Ned nodded somberly. “I’m not your father, not by blood.” Jon stared at him, anger mixing into his confusion. He looked to the floor trying to speak, but only letting out brief, shaky breaths before he looked to Ned. “Who?” Meeting his gaze Ned answered, “Rhaegar Targaryen.” Ben’s jaw shifted hearing it finally confirmed, though having assumed as much. Ned had never told him, but he knew enough to know. Jon’s brow shifted as he sat back in his chair, his eyes sinking to the floor as he said quietly, “You’re my uncle.” “I was there when your mother died,” Ned said quietly. “I brought her back here and had a statue built for her. I think some part of me wanted you to be able to look upon her face.” “Then you should have told me,” Jon looked to Ned, his eyes darkened. “You should have-” He turned his head and shook it, blinking back tears. “I suppose I understand. Who would want to know they were born because their father raped their mother and left her for dead?” “She was never raped,” said Benjen. When Jon turned to him he frowned. “I saw them wed on the Isle of Faces.” Jon stared at him for a moment before looking to Ned and seeing he knew as well. “I was never a bastard?” “Jon,” Ned said carefully, “when I led the party to the Tower of Joy there were three Kingsguard waiting for us. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower. They weren’t there to guard some hostage… they were there to guard their queen regent and their rightful king, Aegon Targaryen.” “What? Aegon died.” “The Aegon born to Elia died,” said Ned. “All I know is Lyanna called you Aegon Targaryen, but I couldn’t well call you that so named you Jon.” “Even my name is a lie?” Jon asked, his elbow digging into the arm of his chair as he pressed his fingers into his forehead with a bitter laugh. After a moment he sighed and lowered his hand. “So I’m the last dragon?” “Not quite,” said Barristan. “Near a year after the war ended Rhaegar’s brother Viserys and newborn sister Daenerys escaped to Essos, their mother dying in birth I believe.” “There’s Aemon as well,” said Benjen. “The Maester for Castle Black.” “He left with Brynden Rivers,” Jon remembered from one of his books. “He must be ancient.” “He is,” Benjen assured with a laugh. “Though as kind as he is blind.” Jon’s head sank forward in thought before looking to Ned. “How do I know any of this is even true?” “There is proof,” Ned said carefully. “Witnesses. Howland Reed survived the Tower of Joy and saw her. Benjen saw them wed.” “Is that it?” Jon shrugged. “The word of men who lied for near fifteen years?” Ned frowned at the bitter question. “There is more, but…” “Show me.” When Ned hesitated Jon rose from his chair, his eyes shining black as he glared down at Ned in his chair and demanded, “Show me.” Ned led them through a path that would leave them unseen as they entered the crypts of Winterfell. Jon followed silently through the path, remembering his dreams of the Winter Kings and wanting to laugh that in the end it turned out he never belonged there. They came to the statue of his mother, Lyanna Stark, the only female he knew of to have a statue. The only one without a sword. Jon stared at her stony face, wondering how many times he’d look upon it before without ever knowing. If he had, would he have come down here every day to see her, to speak to her? He could have found solace here. He could have found a mother that didn’t despise him for something he never had a part of, something he’d never wanted, a lie cast upon him. “It’s here?” Jon asked looking to Ned. “In here,” Ned said raising his oil lantern toward the sepulcher. Jon stepped toward the tomb and saw within her bones beneath a pale shroud that faded with age. With a glance to Jon, Ned said, “When I found her she made me promise something. Not to save you, I would have that without question and she surely knew as much.” “What did she ask of you?” Jon asked. “To protect your heritage,” Eddard said as he knelt down and moved a slab set in the back of the statue of his sister. One he’d set himself years ago after having the statue commissioned and brought down here. Jon watched him pull a long chest from the cavity and unlock it before turning it to Jon and picking up the lantern. Ned moved to his side while Ben and Barristan watched. Unlatching the chest he found a black cloak with long dead petals spread across it. Jon found small rolled parchments atop it and unraveled one. “My winter rose, I look upon the sky and fear each day may be my last, yet greet each dawn with a smile for it is another day until the Long Night comes,” Jon read, looking through the letter. This was his father’s handwriting. His true father. Setting it back beside the others atop the cloak he realized there was more beneath the cloak. Or rather, wrapped within it. He carefully began moving them, his brow furrowing as he noticed the odd weights and shifts in shape. When he finally removed the cloak he saw not only was the inside of the cloak red, but what it covered made Barristan, Benjen and Jon all gasped. Laying across the bottom of the chest was a slender blade housed within a black scabbard with gold meeting the cross guard which had a ruby set on either side. The gold of the waving horizontal guard seemed to leak into the black hilt, which had gilded lines through it leading to the golden fire shaped pommel. “Is that Dark Sister?” Barristan asked, earning a nod from Ned. Yet Jon found himself reaching not for the sword, but the dragon’s egg beside it. It was much larger than any hen’s egg with fine red scales covering it’s surface, shining bright as jewels in the lamp light. It was heavier than expected, with smooth scales of deep, rich red which seemed to shimmer as he turned the egg in his hands. “Blood and fire,” he whispered, noting the fleck of gold in it as well as whorls of midnight black. “That’s-” “A dragon egg,” Ned nodded. “Lyanna said it was a gift from Rhaegar before he left.” “And Dark Sister?” asked Barristan. “She said he’d gotten it from Maester Aemon,” Ned said with a look to Benjen. “Who likely got it from Bloodraven,” said Jon, setting down the egg. He picked up Dark Sister and unsheathed it partially to examine the rippled steel of the longsword. He’d imagined it much like the sword he’d bought Arya, but was only just slimmer than other longswords he’d seen and the same length as most others. Ned nodded. “Rhaegar left it with her. He thought her a warrior, but she was too weak. A fever had taken her.” Sliding Dark Sister back into her scabbard, Jon put it all back into the chest and slid it back in to the cavity, closing it with the flush slab. Rising to his feet, Jon stared at the floor for a moment. “I’ll need time to think.” “Take as much as you need, son,” said Ned. He saw Jon bite back a comment, likely ready to tell him he wasn’t his son, but he only frowned and made his way from the crypt. Benjen watched Jon’s back before looking to Ned and Barristan. “What do you think he’ll do?” With a glance toward the statue he asked, “Would it be enough?” “Maybe,” Ned sighed. “The letters will be of more use than the sword or an unhatched egg we could well have found, but they’ll bolster the rest, the letters and accounts of others.” “Do you think he’ll try?” asked Benjen. Ned glanced to Barristan as he frowned. “Whatever his choice, the Starks stand together.” Jon had been roomed with Dom and Sam, his old room, the one he’d had before leaving, had been changed and given away. The moment he returned it was clear he had no place in Winterfell, but he’d been glad at least to be paired with his friends. When he didn’t join them hours after leaving for his father’s solar flickers of concern had grown in them. “Perhaps he’s finally given in,” Domeric said with a smile. “Decided it time to give up and rode to a brothel to find his solace.” With that they found sleep, but that was broken early, before the sun had risen when they heard the door open. Waking they found Jon sat beside his bed packing the few things he’d removed back into his bags. “Jon?” Sam asked sitting up in his bed. “What’s going on?” “I’m leaving,” Jon said, stopping to look back at them. “Will you two join me?” Domeric sat up, his brow furrowed when he saw Jon’s frown. “What’s happened?” He turned to them. “Will you come?” Dom and Sam exchanged looks before throwing aside their furs. “Where are we going?” asked Domeric. Jon had spent the night thinking on much, as well as this. He’d considered riding to White Harbor and sailing to Essos, to find the aunt and uncle Barristan had mentioned, but they weren’t alone. They had one another. He could find a way to contact them, to let them know he was alive, that he wanted to know them. But Aemon was alone. “Castle Black,” he answered. “Are you taking the black?” Sam frowned. “I’d follow you many places,” Domeric said teasingly, “but I fear I’m not ready to give up the Dreadfort just yet.” “No,” Jon said shaking his head, standing as he tucked a cloak into a large satchel that hid Arya’s sword, sliding it over his shoulder. “I have something I need to do there. Things I need to see. We’ll tell them we’ve come to see the Wall at least once in our life and check in so I could properly ask the king to help them.” Domeric arched his brow, clearly curious what had caused this but trusting Jon. “We could leave before they break fast.” “I have things I need to handle,” Jon said adjusting the satchel across his back. “Could you two prepare the horses?” “We can handle it,” Domeric nodded. “I’ll meet you by the stables,” Jon said holding the bag on his left hip as he left the room. In the dark of the early morning Jon Snow crept into the crypts of Winterfell. One of the few things which was likely unique to squiring with Barristan, was the kingsguard’s lessons on stealth. He’d sneaked into a city to save the mad king and knew much of going unseen and moving quietly despite spending his time donning heavy snow white armor. He left the lantern near the entrance as he made his way within, his stride sure and unstopping as he went to the statue of his mother. For a moment he stopped before her, his eyes having shifted to the dark enough for him to see her, placing his hand in her stony grasp. Moving the slab he opened the chest Ned had shown him and took the cloak from his bag, wrapping it around Dark Sister and his egg which he placed back in the bag. Setting the chest back he hid it away, with no clear sign the slab existed once it was set. Arya sat up in her bed before the sun had risen over the horizon, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she dressed and answered the door. She blinked in confusion at Jon, who offered a smile. “May I come in for a moment?” With a nod Arya stepped aside, waving Nymeria away as she sat on her bed. When Jon closed the door she noticed the bag on Jon’s torso. She stood with a gasp. “Are you going already?” “I’m sorry, Arya,” he said walking to her. “I need to do something while we’re in the North, but I’ll be back, I promise.” “Why?” She pouted, sinking to her bed. “You just got back.” Jon took a knee, holding her shoulders. “Arya, it doesn’t matter where I am or what happens. No matter what, you’re my sister and I love you, do understand?” Arya nodded, blinking back tears brought on by his sudden sincere declaration. “I love you too, big brother.” “I’ll always do what I can to protect or help you, but I can’t be there always, so I’ve brought you something,” said Jon. “Something you’ll have to keep secret.” “A present?” “You could call it that.” He opened his satchel and pulled a thin small sword from beneath the cloak he’d packed. Sheathed in a gray scabbard with a blade slimmer than Dark Sister. The hilt was black with a rounded gray pommel and straight gray cross guard. “A sword,” she said in a hushed breath. “This is no toy,” he said drawing it from the scabbard to show her the pale steel, which though narrow retained a cutting edge. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.” “Girls don’t shave,” said Arya. “Maybe they should,” Jon said with a smirk. “I’ve seen a few with legs hairy as my head.” Arya giggled at him. “It’s so skinny.” “So are you,” Jon said handing her the sheathed sword. “I had this made special for you by the best blacksmiths in King’s Landing, Tobho Mott. It’s the kind of sword bravos use in the Free Cities. It won’t take a man’s head, but if you’re quick enough it’ll poke him full of holes.” “I can be quick,” Arya nodded. “If you end up coming to King’s Landing, I promise I’ll try to help give you lessons, though I’m not sure how much use I’ll be with such a different sword.” “Really? You’ll teach me?” “As much as I can,” he assured. “First lesson, stick them with the point end.” She smacked him with the flat of the sword. “I know which end to use.” Jon chuckled. “Good. Make sure you watch how they fight in the yard, even if you can’t use the same things they do you can learn how they fight and think on how to counter it. Run, ride, do whatever you can to make yourself strong.” “I’ll find someone to practice with until you’re back,” she nodded, sheathing the blade. “Do you really have to leave? What if we leave before you’re back?” “Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle,” he told her. When she nodded he motioned to the sword. “All the best swords have names.” “Like Ice,” she said looking over the blade. “Does this one have a name?” “I’d considered one. Can you guess it?” He teased, “It’s your favorite thing.” After a puzzled moment she smiled, looking to him. “Needle.” Hiding the sword away she followed Jon to the stables where they found Domeric and Samwell had prepared their horses with enough provisions for the Wall and back. “All set?” Domeric asked before nodding to Arya. “Is she coming with?” “No,” Jon said shaking his head. “Just here to see us off.” Arya smiled to his friends, who gave her nods as Jon turned to her, who took a knee, letting her wrap her arms around him. “Take care.” “And you, sister.” Jon held her shoulders as they separated. “I’ll need you to tell Ser Barristan that I’ve gone, as well as Father. Tell them I’ve gone to the Wall to see it once before I go back south. If you can find them alone and when you’re sure no one else is around then tell them I’ve taken what’s mine and will decide if I’ll take the rest when I return. Okay?” Arya nodded. “Okay.” Seeing her confusion he chuckled. “I can’t explain right now but I will later, I promise. They’ll know what I mean, but remember, no one can hear or know. And tell Robb I’m sorry I left early and didn’t tell him, but I need to hurry so I can get back sooner.” “Can I tell him about Needle?” Jon chuckled. “Just don’t tell Sansa. She may tell your mother or the septa and no good can come of that. You’re smart enough to know who else can know, who else can keep a secret.” “I’ll wait to tell them,” Arya said looking toward the gate. “Give you time.” “Thank you,” Jon said rising and mounting his horse. Securing the satchel at his hip he took the reins and gave Arya a nod before leading then toward the gate as Dom and Sam fell into place at his sides. He would have gone alone if he had to, but it was a relief to know he rode with men he could speak to of the truth, who could help him decide what to do. As of now all he knew was he didn’t want to be in Winterfell, and wanted to let his uncle know that he wasn’t alone, and maybe neither was Jon.

Prologue As long as Rose Tyler could remember, there were a few things that she absolutely adored: Mum, the colour pink, flowers (the pink ones), her bedroom (it was pink), and His Royal Highness, Crown Prince John X of the Kingdom of Gallifrey. The family business was a florist shop located on Peckham Street, which was situated south of the Cadonflood river. The river divided the city of Arcadia into the wealthy, aristocratic north side, and the working class south side. The building that the shop was in had started out life as a pub in 1785 (Rose had asked her Mum if there were dinosaurs walking around the royal city of Arcadia back in olden times). Her Granddad and Gran had bought the abandoned corner of the old building and had turned into a flower shop before the War. When Rose was an infant, her dad had been hit by a car, and tragically, he died. So then it was just Rose and Mum. But her mother was a wonderful woman. She showed Rose the value of hard work, was compassionate, cheerful, and fun-loving. Little blonde-haired, golden brown-eyed Rose grew up surrounded by the sweet and fresh aroma of blossoms and greenery. By the time she was five years old, she knew the name of every flower that was sold in the shop just by sight, and knew most by smell. Of course, the pink ones were her favourite. And like all of the loyal subjects of Gallifrey, the portraits of the beloved royal family hung in a place of honour on the wall behind the cash register. Often, she looked up at the regal face of King Alistair, and the kind face of Queen Doris. But the Prince was her favourite. Prince John X was her very own, real life, fifteen year old Prince Charming. Her picture books were filled with his cutout face pasted over the faces of fairytale princes. She drew stick figure pictures of him holding hands with a certain blonde-haired, brown-eyed princess who always wore pink gowns, and always, they were standing in front of a simple, boxy, turreted castle with a moat. For Halloween, she would dress up as a princess. She wore her mum's pink satin dress that she knew had the puffiest sleeves in the whole world. Her best friend, Mickey, who was a little bit older, always would take her trick or treating through the block of flats where they lived. She told everyone that he was Prince John, who happened to be dressed as a pirate. Just before January 30th, every year Rose would make the Prince a birthday card covered with sparkles and hearts. Together, Rose and her mother would walk to the big, red postbox on the corner. Rose would stand on tiptoe, and push the envelope through the slot. And most nights, she would hug her favorite teddy bear, press the play button on her pink CD player, and dance around her pink bedroom to her Sleeping Beauty CD. “I love you, Prince John,” Rose would say before she kissed Mr. Tedopolous on his fuzzy brown cheek. oOo Prince John was seven when Queen Doris had come up with the plan. "Darling, I don't see why this gaggle of palace children have to leave the palace every day and be carted off to school," the Queen had said to the King one summer afternoon. "We shall have our own jolly little school right here in the Palace. We certainly have the facilities. John can grow up having friends. You'd always wished that for him, right?" "Brilliant idea, Dearest," King Alistair had agreed. So the children of the secretaries, diplomats, executive staff, domestic staff, groundskeepers, etc... and Cousin Harry (the King and Queen's ward, Duke Harold Saxon, the Earl of Oakdown), were all schooled together. So the Prince grew up with a cadre of friends (and a few frenemies, like cousin Harry and his partner in crime, that surly Vislor Turlough, son of the head groundskeeper). He had two best mates: Donna and Jack. Donna was the family chauffeur's granddaughter, and was constantly reminding him, "I am not Sabrina, and you are definitely not Harrison Ford or Humphrey Bogart, and I am never going to be in love with with you. Got it, Crown Boy?" Jack was the son of someone who worked in the American embassy. Somehow he'd wormed (conned? charmed?) his way into palace life. (The Queen adored him. The King tolerated him.) He didn't officially live there, but may as well have. When Crown Prince John turned fifteen, he began to notice the pretty girls and lovely women who lived, worked, and flitted in and out of the palace. He flirted with the female staff in the hallways, and danced with diplomats' daughters at parties. He liked kissing and hugging and holding hands. He fancied himself a bit of a poet and wrote (really terrible) sonnets to that platinum blonde (and a little bit frightening) gate guard with the fierce and protective eyes who reminded him of that actress who played Captain Phasma... and to his mum's cute and bubbly ladies' maid who looked just like Daisy from that dull soap Downton Abbey soap opera that his Mum loved... and to the kind, quiet daughter of his father's tailor who could be Audrey Hepburn's twin. One time, Donna and John had kissed, dared by Jack, and had immediately jumped away from each other and rubbed the lingering distaste off of their lips with their shirt sleeves, knowing that they were definitely best mates, not soulmates. But it wasn't a girlfriend that Prince John longed for (not that he would even be allowed to have a girlfriend), he wanted what his parents had. Much of their work-time was spent sitting at an antique partners' desk. There, they would brainstorm how to improve the national library system; they would have an argument about the possibility of life on other planets; they hand-wrote replies to as many letters from their subjects as they could. His parents were the picture of what a marriage could, and should, be. They held hands when they made public appearances; took meals in the kitchen happily chatting with the staff; they attended John's footie matches and cheered right along with the other parents. Most of all, they were devoted to each other. In a world where royals married other royals for political advantage, his parents had married for love. They were soulmates. And that is what he wanted. oOo When Rose was thirteen, away went the fairytale picture books, and up went the fold-out special edition mini posters from those gossipy, bubblegum magazines devoted to royals and boy bands. Twenty-three year old Prince John was fit, having grown out of his skinny, gangly stage. He'd filled out into a lean, muscular, tall man. Rose and her friends would coo how he was sooooooooo cute in his university robes or cricket whites, hot in jeans and an indie-band t-shirt when he went clubbing. But in his regal princely attire, he was gorgeous. Rose would turn on the pop radio station, and dance around her pink bedroom. She imagined that she was wearing a skin tight sequinned mini-dress and four inch rhinestone stilettos, and Prince John was wearing second-skin jeans and that tight Superman t-shirt. They were on the dance-floor at one of those posh clubs in Soho -- the kind with the red velvet rope and a tall, bald bouncer who would always usher them in without a question. oOo He was twenty-three and restless. He'd finished university (early) with a doctorate in astrophysics, and really didn't want to move back to the palace. He wanted to travel. So he got his pilot's license, bought a two-person jet, and hopped continents for a year, visiting the world's most renown and historic observatories, advanced radio telescopes, and deep space arrays. At one point, he'd even been invited by NASA to join the next astronaut training class. He was at Cape Canaveral in Florida, USA when he called his dad to let him know that he wouldn't be back for a while. "Just imagine! Me! The first royal in space!" But that plan was quickly squashed as too risky for the next monarch, and he returned home and did the next best thing: taught at Gallifrey university hoping that perhaps someday, one of his students would set foot on Mars. oOo She turned twenty. The scrapbooks dedicated to Prince John, and all of those clipped pictures from Smash Hits magazine were lovingly and safely packed away in plastic bins, and the life-sized stand-up cardboard cutout of the Prince -- with lips a bit worn from fingertips-to-lips goodbye kisses -- was carefully flattened and slipped under her bed. Now, a framed portrait of His Royal Highness and an always-fresh and perfect pink rose in a silver vase graced her bedside table. His was the first face she saw in the morning, and the last she said goodnight to. And she was no longer living in her childhood flat. She was on her own. Her dream of going to university had burst when her mum had died unexpectedly -- just when she'd found love again. But Rose had inherited the family business... that small, but bustling and profitable (enough) florist shop. And she no longer had a crush on Crown Prince John of Gallifrey. Rose Tyler was in love. No one believed her, but deep in her heart, she knew her love for the man that she had never met was totally and completely and undeniably real. oOo He was thirty. And single. The King and Queen consistently nagged him to at least try to meet some nice (aka marriageable) women. They even arranged some blind dates with both noble-born and commoners (how very un-royal and inappropriate wagged aristocratic tongues). Some of the meetings were pleasant, but all were a bust. He made some new friends, but none of them sparked his soul. "Her hand didn't fit in mine, Jack. It was cold and limp and felt like I was touching a mushy pear." "I couldn't see any sparkle in her eyes. I took her to the planetarium and she fell asleep. Asleep! How can anyone fall asleep when there are stars! If she'd just kept her eyes open she'd have seen the wonders of the universe. And she was wearing a pear-shaped diamond ring." "Blimey. If this were 1939 I would have sought out the nearest bomb shelter. When she laughed, all I could hear was air raid siren. And she went on and on and on about nothing. Literally nothing, well, except her family's pear orchard." "Her perfume smelled like pears. I'm completely serious. Pear perfume. I almost threw up." "She ordered a pear-tini at dinner, and then she kissed me. Just lunged at me, and of course, she tasted like pear." "I'm serious. The universe is conspiring against me with all of those pears. I just want a soulmate, Jack! Is that too much to ask? My parents are soulmates, my grandparents were soulmates. It runs in families, right? I'm starting to worry it isn't gonna happen for me." "Keep looking, Doc. She's out there. But... you sure you don't want to use those five senses of yours and test me out?" "Jack...." oOo Twenty-five year old Rose had settled in to the life of a shopkeep. She really did love her shop. Brightening people’s days in big or small ways, making a celebration a bit more beautiful, or helping soften the pain of tragedy or a broken heart — this job wasn’t just her vocation. Floral design was her passion. And at least in this aspect of her life, she was perfectly happy and content. Of course her parents had named her Rose, and she’d stopped rolling her eyes at people’s comments a long time ago. “Rose is such an appropriate name!” “That’s so sweet! Rose sells roses!” “You were named after the shop, weren't you?” Well, she did still roll her eyes at that last one, because the antique carved wooden sign -- from the shop's former life as a pub -- hanging outside above the door proudly stated The Wolf and Rose - Est. 1785 and she was certain she wasn’t over two hundred years old, even if some days she felt like it. Today was one of those days. Normally, creating the flower arrangements for a wedding brought her joy and fulfillment. But not this wedding. It was 5:30 am, and she’d been up for almost thirty-six hours. And even though this wedding would pay more than all of last year’s jobs combined - multiplied by three - she’d felt nothing but pain and misery every minute of the past three months. How did this even happen? she'd asked repeatedly over the past few months. Of all of the shops in the whole country, how’d my shop get chosen? This is wrong. So, so wrong. And Rose Tyler felt that all-too-familiar sense of complete wrongness deep within her soul. And that magic place on her neck screamed, begged, and cried out to Rose to find the other half of her soul. oOo "Don't go that way, John. The wolf was seen there in that wood last night." Thirty-four year old John followed his best friend, Jack, taking the trail that circled the small lake instead of the one that went through the woods. He ran until his lungs burned, pushing himself much harder than he probably should have on such an important day. But he kept going. As long as the physical pain was there, he had something to keep his mind occupied. He was two months shy of thirty-five years old, and today was his wedding day. But he wasn't marrying his soulmate. King John had never found her.

Stiles has a long history of hanging out in this hospital. He’d practically lived in the waiting room when Lydia had gotten very sick sophomore year, with Jackson right beside him, pretending he wasn’t scared. And he’d been there pretty often junior year, when Danny had his appendix removed, followed by the time his dad had been stabbed on the job. So being here now is practically routine to Stiles. Everything is almost comfortingly familiar, from the terrible cafeteria food to the pervasive antiseptic smell. But in all his time spent waiting in the ER, he’s never seen anyone as attractive as the man sitting a few chairs down. Stiles would normally consider the hospital an off-limits place to hit on someone, but this guy doesn’t look worried, so there’s probably no emergency. He just seems bored, and maybe a little tired. Over the past few years, Stiles has improved his technique for approaching other people, so he doesn’t just walk over to Hot Guy, though he impulsively wants to. Instead, he goes to the coffee machine around the corner, and quickly buys two coffees. “Hey, man,” he says, heading back toward Deliciously Stubbled. “The machine gave me an extra coffee, do you want one?” Hotness looks over, and his eyebrows go up in surprise. “Sure, thank you, um?” “Stiles,” he supplies, handing over the coffee. “And you?” “Stiles,” the guy says, like he’s trying it out. “I’m Derek.” “Well, Derek,” he says, sitting in the chair next to him. “What brings you to this lovely establishment?” “My sister is getting her cast off,” Derek says, taking a sip. Stiles drinks some of his, too, though he’s not a fan of plain black coffee. “Wouldn’t have thought it’d take that long,” he says, because Derek has been here a while. “It wouldn’t, except that my other sister is with her, and I know for a fact that she’s flirting with the Ortho doctor,” Derek says drolly. Stiles laughs. “That would hold things up. I’m here because my friend is getting stitches out of both of his hands.” Derek’s raised eyebrows ask the question as he drinks more coffee. “Dirt bike,” Stiles explains, and Derek nods in understanding. “And normally that wouldn’t take long either, but his mom is a nurse here, and I’m sure she’s taking the opportunity to lecture him. Again.” That makes Derek crack a smile, and Stiles’ breath catches. “At least it’s nothing too serious,” Derek says. “My sister broke her leg while out in the preserve by herself. My mom really chewed her out for that one.” “What was she doing out there?” Stiles asks curiously. “We live near the edge of it, so we go pretty often,” Derek says, shrugging. “We’re usually not trying to climb the highest tree there, though.” “She fell?” Stiles asks, wincing a little. “She did,” Derek confirms. “And there’s not a lot of excitement in this town, so everybody showed up—the police, ambulance, fire department, you name it.” “Hold on,” Stiles says, because this is starting to ring a bell. “This wouldn’t happen to be Cora Hale, would it?” “Yep, that’s my sister,” Derek says, and one of his eyebrows quirks up. “How did you know?” “My dad is the Sheriff, I hear about everything,” Stiles says, grinning. “It stuck in my memory because Cora and I went to high school together. I guess she’s still kind of a daredevil.” “She is. Wait, you’re the Sheriff’s son?” Derek asks, eyes wide. “…Yeah?” Stiles says hesitantly, because Derek’s tone is almost accusatory. Derek obviously catches his look, because he quickly says, “I thanked your dad for his help, after they got Cora loaded in the ambulance. And then he talked to me for a few minutes—he told me not to worry, that Cora was in good hands—then he claps me on the shoulder and says, ‘Remind me to introduce you to my son some time, I think he’d like you.’” “He did not,” Stiles says, though he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “He’s always trying to play matchmaker for me, I apologize.” “I don’t think it’s anything to be sorry about,” Derek says, smiling. “Unless you’re not interested?” Stiles blinks in surprise, because things like this don’t usually go his way, but he recovers fast. “No, definitely interested,” he says. Derek grins. “Guess your dad was right,” he says, amused. Then something behind Stiles catches his eye, and he tips his head that direction. “I think that’s your friend.” Stiles turns to see Scott, who’s standing at the other end of the waiting room. He waves both of his bandaged hands, and Stiles grins and waves back. “It’s definitely him,” he says, glancing back at Derek. “I figured,” Derek says, laughing, and Stiles catches Scott holding his hands out like he’s a mummy. “Anyway, I think my sisters will be back soon,” he says, pulling out his phone. “So can I get your number? Maybe we can meet up in a nicer place, and get to know each other better.” “You mean like, go on a date?” Stiles says, pulling his phone out too. “That’s exactly what I mean,” Derek says, smiling warmly. “Well, I can’t wait,” he says, plugging his number into Derek’s phone. “How about tonight?” he asks, and Stiles almost drops it. He hastily hands it back. “Tonight sounds great,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager. That makes Derek smile again, and Stiles is pretty sure his heart skips a beat. “I’ll call you later, so we can make plans,” he says. “But I guess you better take your friend home.” Stiles looks over, sees Scott leaning against the wall, patiently waiting. “Yeah, I better. But I’ll see you tonight,” he says. “You’re not the only one looking forward to it,” Derek says, and Stiles decides he should walk away before he says something embarrassing. He does look back, though, and gives Derek a little wave before he pushes open the door. “Dude,” Scott says as they walk out to the jeep. “I stayed back for a while, because it looked like you were doing well with that guy.” He nudges Stiles’ side. “So?” “I definitely was,” Stiles says, grinning. “I got a date!”   *   (They meet up for burgers, don’t bring up hospitals at all, and kiss against the side of Stiles’ jeep for what feels like hours. It’s great. And when Derek pulls away, panting a little, and says, “Can I take you on another date tomorrow?” Stiles doesn’t hesitate to say yes.)  

Tshing. Tshing. Tshing. Artemis glared over at Cobb. He was sharpening his knives, and the rhythmic metal-on-metal scrape was getting annoying. It was the only sound being made at the moment- Cobb’s willingness to talk had died out after he’d explained just how doomed they all were. After hearing what was going to happen, she was even more determined than before to break out. When he’d told them what was going to happen to Talon… well. She didn’t consider herself quick to care about people, but hearing that he was going to be killed had felt like a burning slap across the cheek even more than hearing that she and the others were also going to die. Maybe she was just used to people issuing death threats to the team. Or maybe it was more than that. Okay, definitely there was more than that. Talon’s position was achingly familiar to her. Like it or not, she knew what it was like to be manipulated and blackmailed into doing things she didn’t want to do, only to have the only people she could rely on turn around and stab her in the back as soon as she slipped up even a little. Talon was a kid, plus he was actually pretty cool. Before she’d made the effort to talk to him, it was easy to see him as a villain, but now he was just a person. He didn’t deserve any of this. Still, righteous anger or whatever it was didn’t help with actually coming up with an escape plan. She didn’t doubt that they could somehow bust out of the cage if they were alone- it wasn’t that secure- but Cobb didn’t seem like he was planning on leaving anytime soon. Which brought them back to square one. Tshing. Tshing. Tshing. She had the strong urge to somehow grab the knife from him and throw it into the wall so hard it quivered. Before she could do anything (not that she could do anything), Wally spoke up. “So, your friends don’t seem to be in any hurry to kill us,” he said. He almost managed to make it seem light and conversational, but was given away by the tension in his crossed arms. Cobb didn’t look up or stop what he was doing to respond. “Are you in a hurry to die?” “No, just curious. I was under the impression that we’d be dead sooner rather than later.” Cobb shot Wally an annoyed glance. “I could speed up the process, if you wish.” “If you could, why haven’t you?” M’gann asked. She was glaring at him in a way Artemis had never seen before. “I pledge loyalty to the Court,” Cobb said. “Just like any good Talon.” “Not every good Talon,” Conner said. “Yes, every good Talon,” Cobb snapped. “If you’re referring to the traitor- you don’t know what being a good Talon is.” “You know him.” Batman said. Artemis jumped a little- she had almost forgotten he was there. He’d spent his time up until this point lurking in the corner like a shadow, watching the room with narrowed eyes. Now he moved forwards into the middle of the cell. “I trained him.” Cobb said. “Trained him to be better than this, definitely.” His face was blank, but his voice had an edge to it. He was sharpening his knife with a kind of intensity he hadn't been before. “You cared about him,” Artemis realized. “And then he betrayed your trust. That must have stung.” Cobb stalked forwards, jabbing his knife in her direction. “He’ll get what is coming to him, just like all of you will. Soon enough-” It happened fast enough that she almost missed it. Batman moved forwards in one fluid motion, reaching through the bars and grabbing Cobb's arm. Cobb stiffened, then slumped to the floor. Batman withdrew his arm, and Artemis caught the glint of a small syringe. “Did you just kill him?” Wally blurted, eyes wide. “No,” Batman said, turning towards the cage’s locked door. “I gave him an extremely small dosage. He’ll only be out for a minute.” “Wait, but-” The door clicked open. Batman turned and glared at them. Any protest Artemis might have had died in her throat. “You need to find anything you can on the Court. The Owls are probably gone by now, but there could be something they left behind. That’s priority one.” “But what about-” “I’ll find Talon,” Batman said, turning away. … Bruce worked best when he knew things. Most people do, Sir, Alfred would say sardonically. But that wasn’t what Bruce meant. Most people knew how to get basic information to get basic tasks done, things like applying for jobs or balancing a checkbook. Bruce took knowing to the next level, made it almost an art form, a delicate mixture of holding his cards to his chest while coaxing everything around him to show him theirs. So yes, Bruce knew that Cobb wouldn’t die. And he knew how to find Dick. Hopefully. He had some idea, at least, from the information that he’d found on the USB drive that Miss Martian had found, and from the electrum sample Kid Flash had given him. He’d been able to deduce a way to render Talons unconscious with the sample he’d gotten, but he’d used up what little he had on Cobb. He would need to find more electrum if he wanted to make more. Given what he knew about processing, he probably did. Something to add to his list. Right now, though, his main concern was finding Dick. He was making his way down the building’s levels as fast as he could, even with the bone-deep ache of exhaustion seeping through him like poison. If Alfred were here, he’d raise an eyebrow pointedly. But Bruce kept moving. He’d made a promise to Dick that he would protect him, and he’d be damned if he ever broke his promises. Dick already had so many people in his life that had failed him. Bruce didn’t want to add himself to the list. The information he’d gotten in the USB drive from before had been notes detailing the process of, well… processing. He hadn’t known what that had meant at the time, but had memorized the information anyway. Now that he knew Dick was being processed, thanks to Cobb’s bragging session, he was able to do something about it. Processing took place somewhere cold. Apparently the body had to be chilled for it to work, or something like that. They even made the victim wait somewhere cold beforehand, so as to reduce the risk of corruption. The filters in his cowl could tell him where the coldest place in the building was. That was the best bet he had towards finding Dick. He was nearing the coldest area of the building. He could feel it on his skin, even though he was warm from exercise. Dick had to be near here. As he ran down the hallway, he heard a muffled noise, almost like a gasp. He slowed. What was… He listened hard for a couple seconds. Nothing. He was about to dismiss it as his imagination when he heard it again- a muffled, distressed noise, coming from behind one of the doors. He turned towards the metal door closest to him and put his ear up to it. Yes, it was definitely this door. On the other side, someone was crying. And if he were to think about people in the Court who had good reason to cry right now… The key was hanging next to the door. Bruce snatched it off of its hook and quickly unlocked the door. He pulled it open and stepped inside. Dick was curled up against the wall to his right. On seeing Bruce, he gasped and shot to his feet. Bruce took in his appearance. His cheeks were streaked with tears, and he was cradling one of his palms with the other hand. He stared at Bruce like he might be a mirage. “Are you okay?” Bruce asked. His voice was softer than his usual growl. Dick threw himself at Bruce, his arms wrapping around Bruce’s middle and squeezing hard like he might disappear. Bruce tensed up in shock, but quickly forced himself to relax and wrapped his arms around the smaller figure. Dick obviously needed comfort right now. Normally, Bruce would resist unnecessary delays in enemy territory, but this wasn’t an ordinary situation. Besides. They could spare a minute. He pulled Dick close and pretended he didn’t notice his shaking. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.” After a couple seconds, Dick broke away, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t- sorry,” he muttered, looking away and wiping at his eyes. Bruce bent down to Dick’s level, so that he could look him in the eyes. “Everything will be fine,” he said. “We’ll make it out of this.” Dick stared at him, breathing shakily. “What if we don’t?” he said finally. His voice was small. “What if we can’t do it?” Bruce was tempted to say ‘that’s not an option.’ Or maybe, ‘we will.’ That was what he might have said, if he were talking to Clark or Diana. But he wasn’t, and it was obvious that empty promises and determination weren’t going to cut it. He opened his mouth, at a loss for words. He wasn’t good at this. His mind grasped for something he’d been told once by Alfred. “Why do we fall?” he said finally. Dick drew a shaky breath. “I dunno,” he said after a beat. “Why?” “We fall so we can get back up.” Dick sniffed and wiped at his eyes with a watery smile. “That’s dumb,” he said. “Thanks,” Bruce deadpanned. Dick rolled his eyes and shot him a small smile. “No, I mean, that’s not why we fall. We fall because someone pushes us.” Bruce was quiet for a moment. “If that’s true,” he finally said, “Then why do we get back up?” Dick stared at the ground, seemingly pondering the question. “Then…” he said slowly, “We get back up to push back.” “There you go,” Bruce said. He paused. “Now, I’d suggest we get out of here and find the others before someone decides to find us first.” Dick smiled, a bit wider than before. “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” … It didn’t take long to join up with the others. They were scattered throughout the hallway in front of the Courtroom, battling what looked to be about twelve Talons- definitely less than before. That was good. Still, even one Talon would be a struggle for most people. Kid Flash noticed him and sped over to his side. A gust of air washed over Dick from the backdraft. “Hey, dude, watcha doing?” “Not much,” Dick smiled back at him. “Mind if I cut in?” “Be my guest,” Wally said with a grin, and the two of them leapt back into the fight. Dick was tired, and cold, but the adrenaline of the fight and the promise of everything almost being over pushed him forward. Luckily, Cobb wasn’t one of the Talons they were fighting, so he was able to get away with moving a bit slowly. Near him, Wally used his speed to evade the Talons and steal their weapons. “You know this is all a distraction?” Conner said over the mindlink, breaking the hold of his opponent and dropping to the ground. “Yeah, but the Owls are all probably gone by now,” Dick said, using the wall as a springboard to slam into Wally’s opponent. The Talon fell forward, and Dick hit him in the back of the head with the handle of his knife, knocking him out cold. Breathing hard, he paused. “I doubt they’d stick around. We’ll have to figure out some other way of taking them down.” “One that doesn’t involve ever actually seeing them?” Artemis said. “I mean, the Talons are still here,” Dick said. ...Wait. Why were the Talons still here? If all the Owls had jumped ship, they should have gone too. At least most of them, with maybe a few staying behind to guard him and the others- but not this many. So if they were still here, that meant... “What?” Wally asked out loud, noting his expression. “I think I’ve got an idea,” Dick said, backing up. “Cover me, okay?” he turned and ran down the hallway, ignoring Wally’s protests behind him. The sounds of the battle slowly faded away until all he heard was his feet thumping rhythmically on the ground. His mind buzzed with restless energy- or maybe it was exhaustion. Either way, he kept going. It wasn’t a long ways to get to where he wanted to be. He wasn’t as familiar with this part of the building, but he had a good memory, and he’d visited this particular room just a couple days ago. The room looked exactly the same as he’d left it, but darker. The fake fireplace was turned off in the corner, and the lamps were off as well. The curtains hung heavy and imposing in the darkness. The desk looked like nothing more than a shadowy lump, save for a sliver of light glancing across its surface. Dick flicked on the lights and hurried over to the desk. This had been the place where he’d been assigned to kill Batman. It was just now occurring to him that the Owls that had talked to him before had been talking between each other before they’d talked to him. That meant this was a safe space for secrets. And if he had to guess what the Talons were still doing here, guarding secrets the Owls didn’t want him to find seemed like a safe bet. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Dick spun around, backing into the desk. Cobb. Of course it was him. “Why do you always have to sneak up on me and insult me every time you want to start a conversation?” Dick said. “Maybe if you worked on your spatial awareness instead of overthrowing your betters, I wouldn’t have to.” Dick rolled his eyes. “You had such potential, you know. You were always my favorite student.” Cobb paused, studying Dick. His face was inscrutable. “Do you remember when you were young, and you tried to run away?” Dick didn’t say anything. Of course he remembered. It had been pretty soon after the Court had taken him. They’d sent him on his first assignment. As soon as he’d left the building, he took off and hadn’t looked back. “You sought out help from that woman,” Cobb said. “Harris,” Dick said. “What?” She had a name. Miss Harris.” His voice had an edge to it. Cobb gave him another look. “Yes, well,” he said. “You told her everything. She took you home to her apartment for the night while she figured out what to do. And we tracked you down the next day. We had to kill her.” Dick remembered that part vividly. She had been terrified. She tried to hide it, for his sake, but he could see her hands trembling as she faced down a Talon in her living room. He’d cried as he watched them kill her, then as they’d grabbed him roughly and left through the window. He hadn’t tried to run away since. “What’s your point,” he ground out, glaring. “After that, the Court wanted to process you,” he said. “They dragged you down there kicking and screaming. But you managed to talk your way out of it. You were an extremely clever eight year old.” Dick didn’t break his glare. Was Cobb actually trying to flatter him? He was smarter than that. “After that, you had trouble sleeping,” Cobb said. His voice raised a bit, and he swept his arm out. “And who went to the trouble of getting sleeping pills for you?” “What, so you do one nice thing for me when I was eight and suddenly I forget all the times you’ve been a jerk?” Dick said, a bit louder than necessary. “You literally tried to kill me!” “I have only ever looked out for you!” Dick flinched back. He stared at Cobb, his eyes wide. “I have stood up for you and trained you and bent rules for you,” Cobb said. “You are an exceptional child and I care for you deeply.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if I have to.” Neither of them moved. A part of Dick wanted to stop fighting. Go back to the Court. How could he just leave? There were bad moments, but there were good moments there too. Maybe. Not really. If he said no, Cobb would kill him. He focused in on that part, a spark of annoyance flaring within him. Cobb stared at him with the same look he’d given him when they were fighting each other in the Courtroom earlier, all concern as he laid out why Dick was wrong. “Oh, shut up. ” “Excuse me?” Cobb glared at him, but Dick didn’t back down. “I said shut up! You never cared about me, you just cared that I had potential! If you really cared-” he cut himself off. “If you really cared, you would have let me leave when I first tried to. If you really cared, you wouldn’t have let the Court take me in the first place.” He glared at Cobb. “I can’t believe I ever cared what you thought of me.” Cobb seemed frozen in place for a second, but then recovered himself. “Very well,” he said. “If that’s how you want to do things.” He took a step forward, his imposing frame filling up the doorway. Dick backed up, his hands reaching for his knives. Idiot, you know you can’t beat him, he scolded himself. Cobb drew out his knife, but before he could attack, an electric buzzing noise filled the air. Cobb froze in place, eyes wide. Dick stared in confusion as Cobb collapsed to the ground. Batman stood where Cobb had been a second before, glaring down at his unconscious form and holding- “A taser,” Dick said. “You tasered him?” “He’s just unconscious,” Batman said, instead of answering. “Are you okay?” “That wasn’t the- I’m fine,” Dick said, staying rooted in place as Batman stepped over Cobb’s slumped form. “How’d you know I was here?” “I didn’t,” Batman said. “I heard voices.” “Oh.” Dick’s face heated up. He’d been yelling pretty loud. He wondered how much Batman had heard- whether he’d been there for his emotional babbling. To hide his face, he turned back to the desk and started rooting through the drawers again. “What is this place,” Batman said. It barely sounded like a question, but Dick was getting better at reading him. “It’s the place they told me to kill you,” he said, feeling around in the drawers. “I thought it was kinda weird that they did it in here, they usually don’t…” His fingers bumped up against something. That’s weird. He nudged it harder, and there was a soft click. The Owl carving on the top of the desk that he’d assumed was decoration lifted slowly, revealing a small compartment inside. “They usually don’t?” Batman prompted, coming to stand beside him. “Right.” Dick reached into the compartment and pulled out a small USB drive, then turned to smile at him. “So I figured there must be a reason for that.”

  It was more morning than night now. Jun had already been moved to his own room, but Seungcheol was yet to tell the others in the apartment. That was only because he himself was exhausted. His feet were throbbing, his eyes were dry, and he could give anything to be in his bed right now. Yet at the same time, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he tried. So much had happened in one night, so much went wrong, and he couldn’t rest. He had to be strong, be reasonable, because he could see everyone else was on the verge of breaking down. And so was he. But Seungcheol was the leader, he needed to be strong. After sending Chan and Wonwoo to get them some food from the cafeteria, the older walked back into the room, hoping to at least rest a bit on the larger arm chair. Seungcheol sighed, pushing his dark hair back as he walked into the dimly lit room. “Uh? You’re back already?” The oldest raised a brow when he glimpsed at someone standing by the foot of Jun’s bed. Probably Wonwoo, given the height. “Hey, Seungcheol.” The leader’s eyes widened once he recognized the voice, and he didn’t waste a second. Before he could even hold himself back, he was grabbing the boy and pushing him up against the closest wall, his forearm pressing against his neck. If his mind was functioning with any more reason, he would realize what a ridiculous thing he was doing. But right now, Seungcheol had abandoned reason. He was tired, he was hurt, and he was furious. “Give me one reason not to kill you.” Seungcheol spat, looking the other in the eye as he barely struggled. “That sounds too dark even for you, Seungcheol.” Ming Ming teased, though he had no hint of amusement in his eyes. “One fucking reason.” Seungcheol warned, pulling the other back a bit only to push him harder against the wall. Perhaps it was a childish thing to do, but it did give him some satisfaction. “Because we’re in a hospital and your boyfriend can only do so much to cover for you?” Ming Ming reasoned, but again, Seungcheol was beyond reason. “I can handle that.” Seungcheol pointed out. “Then I guess there’s no reason.” Ming Ming breathed out, his eyes looking bleak. Seungcheol’s jaw clenched as he held the other up. “Self pity won’t help you.” “I think we both know it’s not so much self pity as it is common sense right now.” The younger smirked, though again, it lacked any amusement. Against his own better judgement, Seungcheol decided to put him down, pulling back. “If you try to hurt him–“ “I already did.” Ming Ming pointed out, looking back at the bed. And there his friend was, lying down with a breathing mask and looking much paler than he should. “How is he?” His voice was different. Low, defeated. Seungcheol was too tired for this shit. He wanted to hate Ming Ming, and he did, with blinding fury. Yet a tiny part of him felt like pitying him. Because they were once friends, he was once his leader too. But fuck, he hated that part. “Not great, but could be worse.” Seungcheol admitted, looking back at Jun as well. It almost gave him goosebumps, seeing his friend so still, so quiet. “Guess your aim is not the same anymore.” “I didn’t miss.” Ming Ming mumbled. “You telling me you intended to hit his fucking rib?” Seungcheol snickered, incredulous. “I don’t miss, Seungcheol.” Ming Ming repeated, looking back at him now. “Then what are you saying?” Seungcheol scoffed, turning towards him. “That we should be thankful that you hit a bone instead of his heart? That you’re some sort of savior?” He let out a dry laugh. “You still fucking hurt him! If we hadn’t gotten here in time–“ “But you did, didn’t you?” Ming Ming raised his voice as well, his calm exterior threatening to break. “I did what I had to do.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Seungcheol frowned. He couldn’t do this, not now. He couldn’t help everyone else when he could barely help himself. Ming Ming didn’t reply, however. He pressed his lips together, looking back at the boy on the bed. He took a step closer, but nothing more. Not that Seungcheol would let him touch him. “Do you think he’d forgive me?” He asked softly, brows twitching together. “…Do you think you deserve to be forgiven?” Seungcheol asked with a scowl. “No. Not now, at least.” The younger admitted, smiling bitterly. “But it’s Jun.” As much as Seungcheol hated him right now, he was right. Jun was never one to hold grudges, even when he should. “Then probably. He’s too forgiving, anyway.” “He’s too trusting.” Ming Ming corrected him, looking back at the leader. “I find that a quality.” Seungcheol pointed out, staring him in the eyes. “A dangerous quality.” Ming Ming added, eyes fleeting for a moment before they focused back on Seungcheol. “But that’s why he has you, right?” He smirked. “I knew you’d take care of him.” “Someone had to, after you left.” Seungcheol replied. “No one has to take care of anyone, Seungcheol. We choose to.” Ming Ming corrected him once again, wetting his lips. “And you chose not to.” A low blow, maybe, but Seungcheol wasn’t above those right now. “You chose to leave him.” Ming Ming had no answer to that. Instead, he glanced back at Jun. “I didn’t miss, Seungcheol.” “You said that already.” His brows furrowed in a bit of confusion. “Because I didn’t.” Ming Ming repeated. “It wasn’t supposed to…” He licked his lips, as if he could utter the word. “It was supposed to warn.” “Warn about what?” The leader frowned now, stepping closer. “Let this one go.” The younger spoke firmly. “These people aren’t what you’re used to, Seungcheol. Don’t go after them.” Seungcheol wanted to ask, wanted to push him back against that wall and ask him what the hell he was talking about. But he was exhausted, and as much as he still wanted to kick his ass right now, this wasn’t about him or Ming Ming. So he let the other walk past him, turning around to watch him leave. “Are you happy?” Seungcheol asked. Ming Ming paused, holding the door open for a moment. “It’s not about happiness, anymore.” He replied without turning around, closing the door behind him once he left.     ——     “What?” Junhui had to ask, because he wasn’t sure he heard it right the first time. It couldn’t be, right? Seungcheol hadn’t even spoken that fast, yet Jun felt as if the words had rushed right past him, with no intent of reaching his ears. He needed to hear it again, needed to make sure he wasn’t just daydreaming and caught some odd words in one sentence. “Ming Ming came to see you in the hospital.” The leader repeated, this time with a small explanation in addition, though it helped him no more. “What are you talking about?” It was Wonwoo who asked now, and he sounded a bit angry. Junhui wasn’t sure if he shared the sentiment. He had no idea what he felt right now. “That doesn’t make sense, we were with him the whole time.” He was right, it didn’t make sense. So much so Junhui wasn’t sure if his mind had infinitely slowed down to help him understand, or if it had sped up to the point he couldn’t keep up. “It was right after you got moved to your room.” Seungcheol began explaining once again, and Jun knew the leader had his eyes on him, but as much as he looked back he couldn’t see him. Couldn’t focus on him. “Wonwoo and Chan had left to get food, I was just talking to Shua and when I got back… He was there.” “What do you mean he was there? How did he even get in?” Jun would be grateful of Mingyu’s concerned questioning, if he wasn’t so curious to find out what the fuck was going on as well. “We don’t know, there’s no record.” Jisoo answered this time. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone snuck in the hospital.” He pointed out, basing it on his own experience. “This isn’t just sneaking in, he could’ve hurt him!” Minghao complained, as protective as always. “Why was he there?” Jun knew his voice was low compared to the others’, but in his head it was the loudest one. Or at least that question was, pounding and ringing in his ears, begging for an answer. “I don’t know, I…” Seungcheol seemed to struggle at how to continue, looking at the two next to him for some assurance. “I’ll be honest, because that’s the least you deserve.” Junhui wasn’t sure if he should take that as a bad thing or a good thing, so he simply nodded, trying to brace himself for what was to come. “He wasn’t there to hurt you, that much I am sure. He just… He didn’t say much. I wasn’t exactly happy to see him either, as you can imagine, so I didn’t ask much. I don’t know, maybe I could’ve gotten more out of him, but…” The leader sighed, Jisoo’s hand rubbing the other’s sagging shoulders. “He asked how you were doing, I told him you’d be okay, no thanks to him…” Jun felt as if he should flinch at that, but instead he simply placed his palms over his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. It was all too much, even if Seungcheol was the only one speaking. “We didn’t talk a lot, but… He said he didn’t miss.” Junhui breathed in at that, his hands sliding up his face and pushing his hair back. Seungcheol seemed to give him a moment before continuing. “I didn’t really believe him, and even if I did, I told him it didn’t matter, he still hurt you. But he said he knew what he was doing.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Jihoon muttered, less angry yet more hurt than Jun expected. “He said he was giving us a warning.” Seungcheol’s tone shifted slightly, now directing his words to everyone in the room. “That we’re meddling with things we shouldn’t go against, and then… And then he left.” “Fuck.” Junhui breathed, tugging at his own hair a bit before throwing his head back with a light chuckle, if one could even call it that. “Jun…” Jeonghan called softly, but no amount of softness could help him right now. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jun mentally cursed at how weak his voice sounded, how hard it was not to break at the words. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like, but given the way Seungcheol’s eyes curved downwards in disappointment, it wasn’t pretty. “We wanted you to get better first. You were hurt, gravely hurt, we didn’t wanna risk your recovery.” Seungcheol explained, looking between Jisoo and Jeonghan before looking back at Jun. “But we took too long, and I’m sorry. We were scared, we wanted to protect you, and it wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.” “We’re sorry.” Jeonghan corrected him like before, with voice dripping with sincerity. Junhui understood. Or he should understand. He felt like he should, but he wasn’t sure he did anymore. Everything was a mess in his mind, feelings he should feel, questions he should ask, people he should judge, or shouldn’t. It was all going too fast. “I can’t, I can’t do this.” The boy breathed out, burying his face in his hands. They couldn’t do this. He’d been fighting himself, fighting to convince himself that what had happened had happened, that there wasn’t more to it than what they had seen. He had tried so hard to let this go, and now it came running back. They were dangling hope right in front of him, like bait on a hook. He was eager to take it, because that’s what he always did. He held onto hope, only to have himself hooked and dragged for miles and miles, then thrown back into the ocean as if it was nothing. And like a fish, he was eager to hold onto it once more. It didn’t matter how many times he got hurt, how many times they held hope in front of him only to take it away, he never learned. And he was so, so fucking eager to hold on again. He wanted so much to believe Ming Ming never meant to hurt him, to believe something was going on and that his once best friend needed his help. But last time had hurt so much. Trusting him had hurt so damn much, and if hope happened to let him down once again, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. “Junnie…” Jun snapped out of his thoughts at Jihoon’s voice, looking back at the other who wore an expression Jun couldn’t read at the moment, and that was a first. The older felt his eyes water, but he was glad no tears were shed. He didn’t want them to see him like this, or at least he didn’t know what he wanted. “I can’t… I gotta go.” The Chinese gulped, pushing himself up faster than he realized. They all looked as if they meant to stop him, but thankfully no one did. “Hyung.” Hansol called softly, and it hurt Jun even more to see the pain on the younger’s face. “We can talk about this.” Seungcheol offered, and it was probably best, honestly. However, Jun couldn’t do that, not right now. “I just, I need some time alone.” Junhui clarified, and he should apologize, he should say something, but he couldn’t. It was unlike himself, to up and leave how he was doing, but he felt anything but himself at the moment. “Jun…!” It was Soonyoung to call now, but Junhui was already out the door, with no idea where he should go. He just needed to get out.     ——     “You shouldn’t have told him.” Minghao was the first to speak out after the older left. He looked angry, worried, a mixture of feelings that brought an unpleasant frown to his face. Jihoon couldn’t say any of the others looked any better, though. “What? You wanted to keep this from him?” Hansol questioned, his brows pulled together with the rare judgmental tone. “No, but I think they should’ve come to us first.” The Chinese defended, gesturing towards the other three who looked as guilty as they probably felt. Still, they didn’t look pitiful. The three of them had an open posture, as if they’d thought long and hard about the subject, and that Jihoon didn’t doubt the least. “We didn’t want to corner him.” Jeonghan explained, his voice clear and patient. “It wouldn’t be fair to tell everyone else before telling him. How do you think he would’ve felt?” “How do you think he feels now?” Wonwoo asked then, clearly not satisfied with the outcome either. “Better than he would’ve felt if we’d told everyone else first.” Seungcheol insisted. “What difference would it make, keeping it from him? It’s not like it would change the fact that Ming Ming was there.” “No, but we could’ve found another way to come about it.” Minghao argued, this time standing up and crossing his arms. “Why didn’t you tell us at the time? Why didn’t you go after him? You were right in front of him!” “Hyung,” Seungkwan tried to call him down by tugging on his arm, but Minghao didn’t really give in. “And what? Should I have picked a fight in the middle of the hospital? While Jun was in the fucking bed?” Seungcheol argued, and though it wasn’t like himself to lose his temper, it wasn’t something completely knew either. Jihoon knew his friend. Seungcheol was righteous, but he also stood firm to his beliefs, and sometimes that got the best of him. “You saw what he did to Junnie, hyung.” Soonyoung voiced out, his tone much lower compared to the two, but he didn’t sound very apologetic either. “Why did you let him get away?” Seungcheol sighed, pushing the dark strands of his hair back as if he was running out of places to go. It was Joshua who spoke next though, sounding as impartial as he could. “He didn’t do it on purpose.” The American defended. “He was hurt and tired. We all were that night. I don’t know what I would’ve done, as I’m sure none of you do either. So cut him some slack. He screwed up, but things could’ve gone much worse than they did.” It wasn’t usual for Jisoo to use such a cold and harsh tone, but it worked on getting some sense into all of them. “I’m sorry, I really am.” Seungcheol breathed out, looking up at them with tired eyes. Jihoon could see it, how that secret had been eating him out from inside for weeks. He almost felt bad for his friend, but his concern for Jun at the moment took a larger part of his feelings. “Things could’ve gone much better too, I know, and I’m sorry. But it was all I could do at the time. I told Han and Jisoo because I couldn’t handle it alone, I didn’t know what to do.” “We understand, hyung. We just wish you could’ve told us sooner.” Seungkwan reasoned, his voice much softer in comparison to the others. “We know. We just thought that everyone was getting so much better, feeling so happy… We wanted to give you some time to feel good.” Jeonghan explained in a motherly tone, teeth digging on his bottom lip. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have told him at all.” Minghao suggested, sitting back down with a defeated expression. “He deserved to know.” Jisoo pointed out. “It concerns him more than anyone else in this room.” “I’m with Hao.” Wonwoo let out, leaning back against the front of the arm chair with an arm resting over his bent knee. “Just because he deserves to know doesn’t mean he has too. Maybe it would’ve been better if he didn’t.” “How could that have been better?” Mingyu frowned, for once going against his friend. “Because now he’s gonna spend every damn night awake wondering what the hell that jerk was doing there.” And Wonwoo had a point there. Jihoon had to agree, Junhui was one to consider everybody’s feelings. Even feelings that didn’t deserved to be considered. “Not one fucking second of Jun’s time should be wasted thinking about that guy’s intention. He had no right to be there in the first place.” “It’s not that simple.” Soonyoung argued, though it lacked any  resemblance to their usual playful banter. “What would’ve happened if he found out? What would we have said to him? Oh yeah, your former best friend stopped by but we decided not to tell you ‘cause it wasn’t worth your time?” “If there wasn’t anyone else there, he wouldn’t have found out.” Minghao pointed out. “It still wouldn’t be our secret to keep.” Chan argued then, though he seemed torn between both sides. Jihoon figured he probably settled with his brother, still. “It wasn’t theirs either and they kept it.” Wonwoo gestured to the elder three. “And look how great he was doing until now. I don’t care who Ming Ming was, he’s no longer a friend, not after the shit he pulled. Not after hurting Jun more than once now.” “He wasn’t doing great.” Jihoon spoke out for the first time since the taller walked out, having all eyes turned on him. Maybe they expected him to have said something sooner, but honestly, he had no idea what to say. He wasn’t even sure how he was feeling. A bit nauseous, maybe from the overload of information that had been dumped on them. He figured he was angry, too. Angry at Seungcheol for not coming to him before, angry at Wonwoo and Minghao for being so ignorant to their friend’s feeling. Yet anger wasn’t the overpowering feeling in his gut. Right now, he figured he didn’t care if Seungcheol or Wonwoo were right, he didn’t care if they should’ve told him or not. He cared about Jun. He cared about the fact that Junhui had left the apartment alone without saying where he went, because he never did that. He cared that the older was now somewhere alone with his feelings, feelings that were far from being anything pleasant. He was worried about Jun. “He was doing better, but not great.” Jihoon clarified, standing up. “Just because he didn’t talk about it as much, it doesn’t mean he didn’t still think about it. It’d be foolish to think Jun ever stopped thinking about why Ming Ming was there.” The others seemed to quiet down at that, with a feeling of shame downing over them. “It’s not fair to give him hope.” Minghao spoke in a much softer tone than before, and Jihoon could see so clearly how the boy was just trying to look after his friend. “Whether he sees hope in this or not, that’s not our choice.” Jihoon pointed out. “I know we’re just trying to protect him. The fact is we should’ve protected him before, and we failed, and he…” Jihoon swallowed down the lump in his throat. “He got hurt. And perhaps since then we got a bit too protective, but we can’t do that.” “You can’t blame us for wanting to protect him.” Mingyu pointed out with a frown, loyalty showing in his tone. “I can’t, but no matter how much we try to shield him now, it won’t make up for the fact we already failed to do so before.” The words were bitter in his tongue, as Jihoon admitted his own fault in the whole thing. “So? You want us to just stop caring for his feelings?” Wonwoo argued, still a bit stubborn. “No, but if we hid this from him we wouldn’t be caring for them, we’d be neglecting them.” Jihoon put it bluntly. “It wasn’t their secret to keep, believe me, I’m not happy about that either.” The shorter threw a glance at their leader before continuing his argument. “But it’s not ours either. And arguing about it won’t make any fucking difference. Cat’s out of the bag now, and we can’t put it back. So instead of discussing whether we should’ve told him or not, we should be there for him.” “He’s right.” Seokmin agreed, nodding. “If hyung is hurting again, it just means we should have his back even more. Fighting about it won’t help anyone.” Jihoon sent a small but grateful smile in his friend’s direction, who thankfully replied with one of his own. He was glad Seokmin understood, though he was not surprised. What the boy lacked in stubbornness he more than made up for it in empathy. “Just, figure yourselves out before making more of a mess out of this.” The hacker sighed, walking to the front door to slip on his shoes, grabbing a coat while at it. “Where are you going?” Chan asked, as if worried about another of them leaving in the middle of the conversation. “I’m gonna go find him.” Jihoon answered as he opened the door. He was going to find him, and he was going to be there for him.     ——     Fortunately, it wasn’t hard to find his friend. In fact, Junhui was in the first place Jihoon had thought of looking, the training gym. It was a relief to find him nonetheless, even if that relief was soon replaced by a cold shiver running down his spine. The closer he got to the other, the colder that shiver grew. Junhui was sitting down on the old beaten training tatami, with his shoulders slumped and his head low. And for a moment, Jihoon felt himself stop. For a moment, his right foot wouldn’t move in front of the left, and he stood there, stuck. It’s not that he didn’t want to go to him, he did, truly. He wanted to be there for him, to help him, but could he? He wasn’t Jeonghan, or Seungkwan, or even Soonyoung. He was just starting to get the hang of opening himself to others, he was in no place to be comforting anybody. He had the emotional fluency of a sea kelp. Wait, who was he kidding? He was worse than a damn sea kelp. And Junhui needed him and he was stuck in place frozen in a mix of anxiety and self doubt. No, this wasn’t about him. For once, he wasn’t the one who needed someone to pry his feelings out of the damn cliché metaphorical wall he built around himself. For the first time, Junhui needed his help, and it didn’t have to do with computers or missions. So this wasn’t about if he could help him or not, it was about if he should help him. And given the amount of times Jun had been there for him, returning the favor was the least Jihoon could do. So with renewed energy, the younger made his way over, plopping down next to the taller. For a moment, he simply sat there, wondering if Junhui wanted to break the ice. If the older was ignoring him or simply hadn’t noticed his presence, Jihoon wouldn’t know. “Hey,” He tried, and it seemed to be the second option, as Junhui seemed to suddenly snap out of whatever thoughts were haunting him to look at his friend. “How are you?” “I…” Jun wet his lips, fixing his posture a bit and already trying to slip on the mask he wore so well. “I don’t know. I’ll be okay, I guess.” “Future me can care about how you will be, present me doesn’t give a fuck.” Alright, maybe that was a little rough. “I wanna know how you feel now.” “Well, I told you.” Junhui pushed back his dark hair with a resigned sigh. “I don’t know.” “Talk through it?” The younger suggested much like the elder had countless times before. “Don’t steal my line.” Jun reprimanded playfully, though Jihoon remained unamused. “Jun.” He insisted, raising a brow. Thankfully, the other didn’t insist on his act, simply sighing once again. Alright, that was an improvement, right? What could he do next? “Maybe you’re upset?” He tried suggesting. “Why would I be upset?” Junhui questioned, not judging, but curious. “Why wouldn’t you be?” Jihoon frowned, genuinely surprised. “You just found out your old best friend, who by the way, shot you, came to see you in the damn hospital. And your current friends kept that from you for weeks.” “Wow, how are you not a psychiatrist?” Junhui snickered. “Honestly, you have a gift.” The dry humor wasn’t common for the other, but Jihoon preferred that over fake smiles. “I’m just saying, you got more than enough reason to be upset. And mad, confused, whatever.” “I am confused.” Junhui agreed with a slight groan, taking a breath as if to collect his thoughts. “I just,” He tried once again. “Nothing makes sense. I knew it, okay? Not that he was there, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me for no reason. I knew there was more to it than just… Hurting me.” Jihoon couldn’t describe how much those words hurt him. Because this was Junhui trying to excuse shitty behavior because he’s thinking of other people before himself. In times like these, Jihoon more than understood Minghao. However, he didn’t interrupt. He wasn’t there to talk, he was there to listen. “But I spent so much time trying to let go of that. I tried, I really tried, and it hurt like shit to tell myself over and over again that Ming Ming didn’t fucking care.” Junhui gasped softly, as if he was running out of air. “And now they come and tell me that he did?” The grimace in his face was an easy dagger through that brick wall of his and straight into his damn heart. Fuck. “How the hell am I supposed to feel? I have no idea, Jihoonie.” “Well, for starters, I’d be fucking furious.” Jihoon admitted, crossing his legs and rubbing his knees. “At who?” Junhui wondered tiredly, because apparently even that was hard. “I don’t know, at everybody. I wouldn’t fucking care. At the universe even, for pulling that kind of shit.” Jihoon threw his hands up in resignation. “Look at everything that happened in like, two months. You didn’t do anything to deserve that shit, so what gives? I’d be cursing my way through the solar system if I were you.” Junhui’s eyes were open a bit too wide, as if enthralled by Jihoon’s response. A frown soon took over though, along with a decided nod. “Yeah, I’m angry. I am angry.” He repeated, and for once Jihoon could finally feel the frustration in his tone. “Like what the hell? First of all I see Ming Ming, and then I think wow, great! But then he fucking shoots me? And then he comes back for me?” Perhaps this wasn’t the time, but Jihoon was so fucking proud. Finally, Junhui was letting it out. Finally, he was giving him a piece of his mind. So once again, Jihoon didn’t even think of interrupting him. “And I can’t even do anything, you know? I can’t ask Ming Ming why the fuck he was there because I got no clue where he is. I can’t train, I can’t beat out my frustration. I wanna break every fucking thing in this room and I can’t and I–“ It was only with that gasp that Jihoon noticed the redness in the other’s eyes, the fat tears beginning to escape them, and that just fucking jabbed the dagger into his heart. “So do it.” Jihoon blurted out, not knowing when his hand found it’s way onto the other’s upper back, feeling the sobs he attempted to hold back. “Get angry, break everything. You’re already hurt anyway, what’s it gonna do, fuck you up even more?” Junhui gulped, looking back at Jihoon once again. “But Shua-hyung said–“ “Fuck what he said! He kept the truth from you, anyway.” Jihoon pointed out perhaps a bit too angrily, but in his defense he just wanted to spure Jun on a bit. “And fuck them too! Who told them they could keep a secret from you?” “I know!” Junhui exclaimed. “They shouldn't have kept it from me! I… But I can’t be upset. They were just looking after me, you know they were…” “I don’t give a fuck what they were trying to do!” Jihoon let out, gesturing towards the entrance door as if the three were hidden behind it. “It was still wrong, they still hurt you. So you wanna get angry? Get angry! Stop thinking about how you should feel and just feel it.” “But I just… I..” The older swallowed down his voice, messily wiping his tears on his long sleeve before nodding quickly. “Y-Yeah, you’re right!” He sputtered. “They had no right to do that, right?” “Right!” Jihoon agreed, relieved that Junhui was finally thinking of himself first. “And screw the guys for blaming me about thinking of Ming Ming. And fuck Ming Ming for what he did!” Perhaps it wasn’t the time to grin, but Jihoon found himself smiling with excitement as he pushed himself up, much too proud of his friend. “Yeah, fuck’em!” Jihoon cheered, looking around and rushing to grab a small dumbbell from the floor next to the pull up bars, quickly rushing back to the other. “Come on.” Junhui seemed lost as he stood up as well, sniffling a bit. “What?” “Throw it.” Jihoon placed the weight on the taller’s hand. “Come on, break something.” Jun eyed the dumbbell on his hand before looking around the room, closing his hand around it. “I… But we shouldn’t–“ The hacker only groaned. “Don’t be a wuss. What are they gonna do, scold us? Just do it.” And for emphasis, the shorter threw a kick at the other’s ankle. “Ow, hey–!” Junhui complained. “You’re really shitty at this, you know?” “Throw the damn weight.” Jihoon frowned, unrelentless. “Fine.” Junhui huffed, turning the weight a couple of times in his hand while looking around. Jihoon took a couple of steps back once the other seemed to aim at one of the doll dummies, pulling his arm back and finally throwing the damn thing. And oh, it was beautiful. the bell hit right on the chest of the plastic doll, not only knocking it aside but properly causing a domino effect that took down three more dummies and two benches. “Shit–“ “Awesome!” Jihoon let out, grinning from ear to ear. “But the dolls–“ Junhui tried, being interrupted once again. “Come on,” The shorter insisted, elbowing his side lightly. “Didn’t that feel great?” Jihoon wasn’t sure if his own joy was becoming contagious, or if the weird therapy was working, but a smile slowly made its way through Junhui’s lips. “It was kinda cool.” He admitted with a shy yet mischievous grin. “Told you.” Jihoon was perhaps a bit smug, but he didn’t dwell on it. “Just let it go, alright? Break things, be angry at them, it’s fine.” “I know, I know, just… I don’t wanna hurt anybody.” Junhui explained, though he already seemed much more well resolved than when he had found him. “You won’t. I’m angry at them all the time and they still fucking love me.” Jihoon rolled his eyes, though he did give in a little bit. “But if it makes you feel better, I can try to… Be a bit nicer, to them.” The younger suggested with a sigh. “That way I’ll compensate for you being angry.” Junhui’s brow almost disappeared under his bangs, and Jihoon wondered if he should take offense. “Are you even capable of that?” “I am trying to help here Junhui, don’t push it.” Jihoon warned with a frown, though the other soon snorted. “You’re not trying, you are helping, Jihoonie.” The taller threw an arm over his shoulder, and just for the sake of the moment, Jihoon didn’t push him off. “And I’ll take you on that, thanks.” “Eh, it’s my job to take care of you.” The hacker shrugged, smirking up at the other. “Then you’re doing a great job.” And if the dagger was suddenly replaced with a warm flood of emotions, Jihoon would insist it was just a coincidence.     ——     Minghao should’ve expected someone to come after him, given the way he had stormed off to his room not too long after Jihoon. But what was he supposed to have done? Stayed there and talked? Seungcheol clearly wasn’t changing his mind, and honestly, neither would he. Plus, what difference would it make? Jihoon was right, what’s done is done. But he could still be angry about it. What? He held grudges. Blame his personality or sign or something. “Did you get the short straw now?” Minghao wondered as Hansol was the one to walk through the door. Not that he didn’t like the younger. Hansol and him got along incredibly well, actually, and hung out in a regular basis. But the American was rarely the one to talk sense into anyone, it just wasn’t his thing. “Nah, I’d say Mingyu got it, he’s stuck with talking to Wonwoo.” Minghao would laugh if he hadn’t almost flinched at the first name. Well, he was sure glad Mingyu wasn’t the one to come to him. That was usually how it went, and most of the times it worked. However, since the previous night, Minghao found himself feeling slight odd next to the other. Because whenever they were alone in a room together he’d start questioning his feelings for his best friend. He’d start over analyzing every damn word, every gesture, anything either of them would do. He’d try to figure out the meaning behind them, if they were simply normal words friends would exchange or if they had more feelings attached to them. And he had to do all that while trying not to let Mingyu know what as going on inside his head. It was a pain in the ass. So if a scolding from Vernon was what he’d get in exchange for not having to face his best friend, he’d gladly take it. “Look.” The Chinese sighed, putting down the nunchucks he’d picked up not long before the boy had joined him and turning to look at him properly. “I know I lost my temper and all that, but I stand by my words.” “I know, I get that.” Hansol nodded, sticking his hands deep into the pockets of his old stained hoodie. “I’m not here to change your mind.” “You don’t seem to be here to hang either.” Minghao pointed out, raising a brow. “Well, not right now.” Hansol admitted with a small smile before shrugging. “I’m not stupid– I’m not!” The younger insisted after receiving a slightly accusing glare from the taller. “I know you’re too stubborn and too protective to change your mind.” Minghao chose to look pass the stubborn comment so he could finally get to it. “But you agree with Seungcheol?” “No, I just think you gotta find a better way to put it.” Hansol frowned a bit before letting out a long sigh. “So you want me to shut up?” Minghao accused. “Sometimes? Yeah, I do.” Hansol blurted out, though there was no anger or judgment in his tone, as usual. “And let them fuck everything up?” The older questioned, failing to hold back the tone of his voice. Hansol groaned however, rolling his head. “Didn’t you hear Shua-hyung? They already fucked up. What’s the point of fighting about it?” Minghao parted his lips to reply, but he couldn’t manage to find the words. Instead, he half turned around, looking around the room he shared with the others. It was messy, definitely needing a clean up. And he did not want to know what the hell was peeking out from under Hansol’s bed. He hoped it was an old fur coat, but he was pretty sure it moved. “This isn’t about if they told him or not.” Hansol continued, noticing the other’s attempt to avoid the subject. “I know that’s not what you’re mad about.” “I am mad about that.” Minghao insisted, glaring at his friend. “Okay, then it’s not all you’re mad about.” Hansol reasoned, and well, Minghao figured that was obvious enough if Hansol could tell. “Of course it’s not the only thing!” The older let out, pushing his hair back. “That guy that hurt him, that we don’t even know, came back. And they’re acting like it’s not fucking big deal. You’re acting like that!” He gesture to his friend, who seemed less than bothered by the whole ordeal. “How can you not be angry?” “Who said I’m not angry?” It was the first time Hansol actually raised his voice, a frown adorning his face. “Of course I’m angry. You said it yourself. They talk of Ming Ming this, Ming Ming that, and all I know is that he shot our friend! Don’t you think I’m angry too?” “Then why didn’t you say anything?” Minghao complained, confused yet also frustrated. Why was Wonwoo and him the only ones to speak up? “Because it’s not about me!” Vernon let out, properly shutting Minghao up. The younger let out a long breath then, as if the simple act of getting angry had taken a toll out of him. “I don’t think any of us know what we’re dealing with here, hyung. We’ve never done this before. It’s like some next level Hamlet shit, and we’re lost as fuck, but it’s not about us.” Minghao wasn’t sure when he had moved to his bed, but he found himself sitting down on the edge, elbows on his knees and head dropping. He was right, they had no idea of what was going on, and he was so tired of trying to figure it out. So tired and so angry. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for him.” He admitted weakly, glancing at his friend who now sat next to him on the mattress. “I know, we all know. And we’re all trying to do the same thing.” The younger’s voice as still as deep as always, but much warmer. “But I think Jihoon-hyung’s right, you know? The best we can do is to be there for him.” “How? He doesn’t even wanna talk to us right now.” He had walked right out the door, like he had never done before. To say Minghao was lost was to state the obvious. “He’s gonna wanna talk about it eventually, and we need to have his back.” Hansol explained, showing much more maturity than it could be expected from him. Though that was the thing about Hansol. He was a kid at heart, but he knew a lot more than he led on. Minghao swallowed the words in his chest, nodding lightly. He still had many complaints, many questions, but Handol was right. Jihoon was right. This wasn’t about him. “What if he chooses to forgive him?” He felt his brows pulling together, his eyes squeezing at the question. Because that was one of his biggest fears. What if Jun chose to forgive the man that had done that to him? “Then we’ll support him on his choice.” Hansol spoke as if it was the only choice, and Minghao understood that it wasn’t the only one, but it was the right one. “He needs to know we’re there for him.” “Doesn’t mean we need to forgive him though, right?” Because if that was asked of him he’d break the whole damn apartment down. “Oh, fuck no. I’m not forgiving that piece of shit.” Hansol scoffed with a slight smirk, shaking his head. “But–“ “It’s not about us.” Minghao completed, earning a rewarding smile in return. Hansol was good at those. “Yeah, I think I get it now.” “Good.” The younger’s smile shone in the white light when he patted Minghao’s knee before pushing himself up. “Now, can we hang out?” “Sure, but I’m not teaching you how to use those.” Minghao quickly shot down that idea when he saw Hansol going for the nunchucks. He had learned his lesson with Seungkwan. Never again.     ——     To say he felt a bit guilty was too much of an understatement. He felt the guilt seeping into his bones, sinking into his stomach and making his body much heavier than it should feel. Not that he didn’t stand by their decision. He took a bit too long to tell the group, yes, that was a mistake he was willing to admit. The same mistake that gnawed at his heart. However, he didn’t regret telling them the truth. Yet like said, guilt was still weighing heavy on his shoulders, particularly when he visited a certain friend of his. “Hey,” The leader called as he peeked into the dark room, spotting the hacker in front of the multiple computer screens. “Got some time?” “Mmh.” The other just hummed. Not exactly a great sign, though it was better than having a stapler thrown at him, which may or may not have happened sometime before. Seungcheol took the taciturn answer as an invitation and made his way inside, closing the door behind him and trying to find a chair in the dim lighting. Once he managed, he slid over to his friend, trying to figure out what he was doing. “What are you doing?” He gave up and asked, since he couldn’t understand neither the numbers or the alphabet on the screen. “Working on something.” Jihoon answered, typing away in the blue light keyboard. “Work or pleasure?” Seungcheol questioned, genuinely curious. Though he figured if it was work, Jihoon would’ve already told him about it. “Pleasure, kinda.” The shorter answered with a shrug. “Something kinky?” Seungcheol teased, trying to lighten up. Taking by the glare he got in return, it didn’t exactly work. “Did you need anything?” Jihoon asked instead, looking back at the screen before him. “No, I just…” The older sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t even sure how to start. “You’re mad at me.” “I’m not mad, I’m angry.” Jihoon corrected, and though he didn’t bother to look at him, Seungcheol felt like his friend was a bit more open. He’d rather be scolded by Jihoon any day than be ignored by him. “What’s the difference?” Seugncheol wondered, frowning a bit. “I don’t know, but it feels different.” Well, that was something Seungcheol didn’t expect, at least coming from him. The younger had always had a bit of a tough time with figuring out his emotions, so it came as a surprise to know he could tell the difference, even if it was only in his mind. Perhaps he wasn’t giving his friend as much credit as he deserved. “I’m sorry.” Seungcheol sighed, shoulders slumping. He truly was. The last thing he ever wanted was to get anyone angry at him. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to.” Jihoon mumbled, the unsettled feeling showing in his tone. “You deserve an apology too.” Seungcheol pointed out. They all did, but the leader felt like he owed him more. Because for years it had been him and Jihoon, and hiding such a big thing from him felt almost like a betrayal. “I know I should’ve told you.” The leader continued, so he wouldn’t lose the courage. Truth is, I should’ve probably talked to you first. And Soonyoung.” They were always the first ones he talked to when the matter was the group, so it only made sense. “But I was confused, and tired, and just…” Seungcheol sighed, pushing his hair back. “I didn’t know what to do, and I went to them first. And I don’t regret talking to them, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t bring the matter to you too.” Jihoon had stopped typing by then, looking down at the keyboard as if the words he was looking for would be there. Seungcheol simply waited, let the silence take over for a moment. “It’s okay.” Jihoon spoke then, finally staring at him properly. “I mean, it was really, really stupid to hide it for so long, and you should’ve at least told the two of us, but… I forgive you.” Seungcheol breathed those words in as if they were fresh air, finally filling his lungs properly. “Thanks.” He smiled small, genuinely grateful. “I’m still angry at you though.” Jihoon frowned, and honestly, Seungcheol wouldn’t have expected anything else. “But it was hard. We were all pretty shaken up, still are, and just… I can’t imagine what it was like to go through that then. It was hard, right?” Seungcheol’s lips parted, though he wasn’t surprised. Jihoon never had much trouble understanding him, which was one of the reasons they got along so well. And he had talked about this with Jisoo and Jeonghan, over and over again. After all, the two were as worried about him as he was about them. So he never imagined he actually missed talking about this with Jihoon. “Well, wasn’t great.” Seungcheol smiled bitterly, scratching the side of his neck. “Kinda wanted to smash his face in when I saw him.” He admitted with a lighter chuckle, gaining a smirk from his friend as well. “Surprised you didn’t.” Jihoon added, which made sense, given Seungcheol’s temper wasn’t exactly a quality of his. “Can’t say I didn’t try.” The leader confessed. “But I didn’t wanna cause Shua any problems. Plus, Jun was right there, so…” “Yeah.” Jihoon nodded, showing he understood once again. “It was the right thing to do.” He reassured, to which Seungcheol sent him a grateful smile. “You okay, though?” “Yeah, yeah.” Seungcheol nodded, straightening his posture a bit. He wasn’t lying, either. Like said, the three of them had talked about it over and over again, both Jisoo and Jeonghan trying their best to make sure Seungcheol was alright. And he felt he was, right now. “Just, tons of questions, you know?” “Well, you’re not alone there.” Jihoon hummed, pulling ups his sleeves that were sliding pass his fingertips before. “Is that why you wanted me to look him up?” Seungcheol nodded, cracking his knuckles as a force of habit. One Seungkwan was not particularly fond of. “Yeah, I just don’t like not knowing what’s going on.” He explained, though once again he knew he wasn’t the only one sharing that feeling. “How’s Jun doing?” Jihoon’s whole posture seemed to change at that, with his shoulders sagging and his expression softening. “He’s… Confused.” The boy sighed. “It’s a lot to take in.” Seungcheol reasoned, earning a couple of nods from the other. “And he’s not sure what he can take in either. It’s just like you said, too many questions, and he doesn’t know what to take from all of that.” The shorter explained, which showed how much he had talked to him. Seungcheol was glad though, that they could rely on each other. “Is he mad at us?” Seungcheol wondered, though he wasn’t upset. Of course he wasn’t happy either, just he understood if it was the case. “I don’t think so, but I told him he should be mad for a while.” Jihoon confessed, to which Seungcheol gasped playfully. “Traitor.” He accused, quickly playing it off with a laugh. And thankfully, Jihoon joined in, making him feel even lighter. “Don’t tell me shit and that’s what you get.” Jihoon smirked, though he was soon shaking his head. “Nah, just, I think he should let himself get a little mad at people, you know?” “Yeah, I get it.” The leader agreed, nodding. “Can’t promise Jeonghan will be as understanding though.” Even if he could be the most understanding out of the three sometimes, he was also the softest one when it came to the other members. “Eh, I doubt he’ll be able to stay mad for long either.” Jihoon reasoned with a shrug. “True.” Seungcheol snorted. “I’m proud of you, Jihoonie. You’re opening up.” He cheered, reaching out to ruffle his friend’s hair. A gesture that was not kindly taken. “Soon enough you’ll be hugging us and telling all your secrets.” The younger quickly swatted his hand away, frowning. “Ew, gross. Don’t pull a Soonyoung.” The disgust was clear in his eyes, but Seungcheol couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, fine, one step at a time.” The leader chuckled, pulling back to get back up and leave Jihoon to his things. Before he left, however, he stopped by the door, looking back at his friend who was helplessly trying to fix his hair. “We’re okay, right?” Seungcheol asked, hopeful. The hacker seemed to be taken by surprise, his expression softening once again. “Yeah, Cheol.” Jihoon smiled small. “We’re okay.”  

It was Saturday morning, seven days after Lizzie returned to school. Josie had taken her twin out for a quick trip to the pharmacy, leaving Penelope alone with M.G in the commons area. “How’s your relationship with Josie goin’?” M.G asked. “All right.” “And with her sister, Lizzie? She seems really sweet.” “She’s okay.” Penelope’s tone was indifferent. M.G looked up from his comics. “What's the problem?" “Nothing.” “You know you can tell me anything, right? It’s not like I’m going to tell what you said to Hope.” M.G was still not satisfied. He put down his comic and sat straight on his chair. The subject was not closed yet. Penelope was thoughtful for a moment. Then she groaned, "Lizzie’s out for my blood. I can feel it." “Why the hell would---?" M.G broke off, a slow grin lighting his face. “She’s still thinking about you slithering into Josie’s bed?” “Okay first off, I didn’t slither in her bed,” Penelope sputtered, her face heating up. “Second, I apologized for going off.” M.G hummed. “And then Josie kicked you out of the room.” “Politely asked me to give them privacy,” said Penelope. “And you three never really talked about that again.” Penelope crossed her arms. “Lizzie’s freezing me out and she’s not keen on sharing Josie either.” Penelope knew Josie was not interested in exercises of any kind, but Lizzie enjoyed it, so ever since she came back, the crack of dawn was reserved for the twins jogging along the perimeter of the school. Mornings were for Lizzie catching up with her lessons with Josie and since Penelope wasn’t exactly well-versed with the Arts (and wasn’t invited), the only subject Lizzie struggled at, so she knew her presence wasn’t needed. Afternoons were reserved for whatever the hell the twins were doing in their own room, meaning Penelope could only meet her girlfriend an hour before the school curfew. “Maybe she misses her sister so much. So spending time together without you is not exactly freezing you out.” M.G said thoughtfully and Penelope secretly and begrudgingly agreed to his explanation. “And you’re not exactly um friendly.” “I’m friendly to you!” M.G laughed. “And I’m grateful for that. I’ll tell you one thing, teenage girls aren’t exactly a fan of the evil temptress thing you have going on.” Penelope snorted. “Josie never complained about that.” “I never complained about what?” a female voice called out. Penelope turned. Josie was carrying a huge tray piled to the top with bread, yogurt, and pancakes. Penelope watched, puzzled, as Josie headed for the exit. “Where are you going?” Penelope asked. “Old Mill. Lizzie wants to have breakfast alone. You can come if you like.” There was a loud groan in the background and Penelope’s irk grew tenfold. Space be damned. Penelope was going to spend time with her girlfriend, whether Lizzie would like it or not. “I’ll go.” Penelope hefted M.G by his shoulders. “M.G’s coming with us. He wants to meet your sister.” “I didn’t--” Penelope kicked him in the shins. “Yeah, I really want to meet Lizzie.” Josie brightened. “That’s so sweet. Do you two would mind if I ask for tea? I can’t carry everything.” “Why can’t Lizzie carr--” “We’ll get the tea!” M.G hollered. Once the twins were out of sight, M.G rounded towards her, hands on his hips. “Peez, it’s like you’re intentionally asking Lizzie to hate you or something.” Penelope raised her hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   Penelope wished she had an appetite because the twins knew how to eat. Sets of old couches were carted into the Old Mill until it resembled a quaint furniture showroom. The twins lounged around the table, talking and laughing while M.G flitted across the room, bringing an endless assortment of fresh-baked cookies, chips, and cold drinks. The whole scene was familiar, it was the same one with the morning routine she had with Josie, yet so completely alien that it nearly gave Penelope vertigo. All she wanted to do was be with Josie—preferably alone, but she knew she would have to wait. If their relationship was going to where she wanted it to be, it meant getting to know Lizzie and building some goodwill. As Lizzie excused herself to grab some juice, Josie leaned over and whispered, “I want to show you the movie theatre in town. The place is incredible.” Penelope should’ve felt thrilled. That sounded exactly what she needed. Instead, resentment swelled in her throat. “Is Lizzie going to be there?” Josie froze. “Pen. Come on, don’t be like that.” Penelope swallowed back some biting comments. “Hey, it’s fine. Bring your uh Lizzie.” “I’ve been thinking,” Josie said nervously. “I had this idea--” Josie stopped when Lizzie shrieked her name. “Josie! The yogurt. Someone ate my yogurt.” Lizzie’s eyes zeroed on Penelope, her face turning red. “Did you---” “It’s right there Lizzie, where you left it.” M.G interrupted, pointing at the edge of the table. Penelope was pretty sure it was a new one, but she saw the anger in Lizzie’s face and she thought, l mustn't upset her. She’d leave with Josie and Penelope would probably not see her girlfriend again until evening. “There you go, Lizzie. It’s right there.” Penelope threw M.G a grateful look. “Right. I thought Pen here ate it...since she likes to take everything that’s mine.” “Lizzie, calm down.” Penelope sat there, liking Lizzie less and less. She turned to Josie and tried to jest, "You’re twin’s a bit high-maintenance.” Based on the look on the twins’ faces, it was a crushing failure. Lizzie stiffened. "What do you mean by high maintenance?" "I’ve had dad clear the docks for you. You can go for a nice walk in the meadow and spend the rest of the morning there. Can you clean the room?" Josie looked at M.G and Penelope pleadingly. “Sure,” said M.G. “You two go to the docks without us. Classes are starting anyway.” Penelope looked at Josie. "I uh I’ll see after class?” Lizzie stared at her. “Josie’s with me until 6 pm.” The undertones in Lizzie’s voice took Penelope a moment to decipher. Josie looked down, suddenly interested in the trees behind them. Then hit her: it wasn’t a request, it was a flat out authoritative order. Josie forced a smile. "I'll get dad to join us, Lizzie. We'll have a good time, won't we?" The twins took off, leaving Penelope and M.G alone in the Old Mill. At the distance, the bell let out a cacophonous sound. “You okay?” M.G asked. Penelope had no answer.   After they had cleaned up, Penelope took the initiative to befriend Lizzie during the Magical History class. It was the first time they’d all sat down together—the four of them. M.G trading jokes with Lizzie, while Josie and Penelope trailed behind them. M.G and Lizzie speaking in a civilized manner should’ve reassured her, but seeing all of them in one place only reminded her that her time with Josie alone wasn’t meant to last. No more easy days at Salvatore School, pretending that her and Josie’s time together was the only thing that mattered. In an awkward moment, she and Lizzie tried to sit in the same chair next to Josie. After a brief silent standoff, as if they were both thinking, Seriously?, they ceded the chair to M.G and sat at opposite sides of the room. Josie threw her a worried look. “We’re fine.” She mouthed back, playfully blowing her a kiss, and turning back just in time before Dorian arrived. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw sparks flew out of Lizzie’s hand. The bell rung and before Penelope could stand, Lizzie grabbed Josie’s hand and ran with her toward the door. “I’ll see after class!” Josie yelled. “Sure you will,” Penelope muttered bitterly.   Josie slamming her back against the broom closet was definitely a surprise. She mumbled something about escorting Jed to the clinic to treat his hand burn, before pulling Penelope in a hug. Penelope strained against her, but still, she could not get close enough. She pulled back, tiptoed to the foot of the laundry seat, and touched her lips to Josie’s cheek with soft, tender kisses, her hands moving upward until she felt Josie’s heaving chest in her hand. “Something is clearly running in your mind.” “Pen, more hugging. Less talking.” “Fine. But we’re going to talk after this.” Penelope hugged her more, Josie’s ebbing tension was palpable against her arms. A few minutes later Penelope whispered, "As much as I want where this is going. I really want to know what you’re thinking. You’re going to share what’s going on here?" She dropped a quick kiss on Josie’s forehead, earning a giggle from her girlfriend. "Lizzie’s driving me crazy," Josie confessed. “She’s driving us both crazy.” Penelope nodded. “I’m sensing that there’s a but in there.” “She’s my sister. So it’s just natural that I care about her,” Josie fidgeted, her head slamming against the hardwood. “But… is it bad that I want to leave her alone, just to spend time with you?” Penelope didn’t know how to answer that so she remained silent. “I really don’t want to make myself choose,” Josie groaned. Penelope dropped a kiss on Josie’s nose. “You don’t have to.” “What do you mean?” Penelope smiled. “I’m not making you choose. She’s your sister, I understand that. But you’re still taking me to that movie theatre, yeah?” Josie nodded coyly. “You’re going to like it Pen. They do marathons of old romantic movies. Gone with the Wind, Singing in the Rain…” “The Notebook?” Penelope teased, earning a blush from Josie. “You and me in a movie theatre, unsupervised? Be careful Jojo, it sounds like your taking me out on a date.” “That’s because I am.” Penelope grinned. “Oh?” Josie stared longingly at the hollow of her throat, at the sharp line of her jaw and then to her lips. “Go out with me. Tomorrow.” “I don’t know Josie,” Penelope fake-groaned. “I have this thing with M.G and…”In one impatient movement, Josie lunged towards her mouth. It wasn’t very a graceful moment, but as her lips captured hers, Penelope found she didn’t care. She froze, just for a second, but then both her hands snaked its way to Josie’s cheeks and she was kissing back, and her mind focused on a single thought: impatient Josie tasted so fucking good. “Pen, you didn’t answer my question,” Josie mumbled on her lips. “Well, it’s hard to talk when your mouth’s near mine.” Josie slapped her playfully in the shoulders. “Come on. Say yes.” “You already know the answer to that.” “But I want you to say it.” “Fine,” Penelope chortled. “I’ll go out with you.” Josie grinned. “I’ll take a kiss as a confirmation.” Penelope was about to give her a kiss when someone pushed open the broom closet. They found themselves looking at Lizzie, looking at them with absolute distaste. At that moment, all thoughts about kissing Josie was replaced by a sudden urge to hex her sister. Wrestling with this burst of annoyance, she heard Josie’s voice as if from a great distance away. “Lizzie, what are you doing here?” “You were taking so long, I thought Jed was giving you a hard time or something,” Lizzie scowled. “Apparently you have other things to do.” Penelope couldn’t help it. She smirked, making a show of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Josie was looking embarrassed. “Er….come on, Lizzie. Let’s go back to class.” Lizzie crossed her arms. “Hopefully, this is a one-time thing. I don’t want to find my sister making out in public.” “Oh please, this is a broom closet. It was empty 'til you came butting in.” blurted Penelope, tossing her hair out of her face to glare at Lizzie. Words flew right off her mouth, without thinking. “Look, Lizzie. I know you care about your sister so much but let’s get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business if your sister wants to go out with me.” “Yeah, it is!” Lizzie hissed, not bothering to beat around the bush. ‘I don’t want people associating my sister to you. What? You thought I wouldn’t know everything about you just because I was away?” “Right. Well, what did you learn then?” “Everyone had the pleasure of telling me of your dark past.” Penelope scoffed. “Dark past? I wasn’t even born when my parents conspired with Kai!” Lizzie snarled. “You’re still a Park. By extension, you’re the reason why our bio-mom’s gone.” “She doesn’t mean it, Pen –’ said Josie automatically, who was now raising her arms outstretched. “Oh yes she does!” said Penelope, flaring up at Josie all of a sudden. That was definitely below the belt and Josie was still sticking up to her twin. “Blaming me for the death of your mom so you can find a way to hate me? That’s pathetic.” A streak of yellow light missed Penelope by inches as Josie pushed her up against the wall. “Lizzie!” shouted Josie, who sounded close to tears now. “Penelope, please stop.” Penelope let out a burst of derisive laughter. “Me? Seriously, Josie?” And with that, Lizzie stormed away. Josie quickly let go of Penelope; the look on her face screamed disappointment. They both stood there, breathing heavily until M.G appeared in front of them. “I heard shouting,” said M.G. “Everything okay in there?” “You know damn well we’re not.” “You’re gonna argue with him too?” Josie snapped, then scowled at M.G first, then at Penelope. “I’m going after my sister.” “Yeah, you do that.” “I’ll talk to you later.” “Don’t even bother Josie. You and I both know your sister won’t let you.” As Josie pushed past into the darkening corridor, she shot Penelope a dark look that Penelope returned with interest. “You’re not going after her?” Penelope shook her head. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m pretty sure she wants you to go after her.” M.G pointed at his ears. “She’s really frustrated.” Penelope gulped. “Then she has to wait until morning.” M.G groaned.   It was almost midnight and Penelope saw the twins, Josie in front, walking out of the forest. They were dressed up in their nightgowns and Lizzie looked as if she was heaving, her face pink. It’s only then that Penelope realized the twins snuck out, just like her and M.G. “See that?” asked M.G. “Think they’ll rat us out if they see us?” “No,” said Penelope, stuffing the weed back in her pants. “That’s low, even for Lizzie.” “You’re going to apologize to her… Or Josie?” “Nope.” M.G sighed. “I figured you wouldn’t.” When the twins ran towards the back door, Lizzie walked up to her twin and said something. Her voice became raised, talking so fast that Penelope could tell that she was pissed. Josie crossed her arms, her body tensed. “What are they arguing about?” Penelope whispered as they hid behind the bushes. “Also, why were they in the woods?” “Can’t tell you,” M.G whispered back. “It’s private.” Penelope scowled at him. “Look. It’s better if you hear it from Josie.” To kill time, Penelope walked M.G back to his room and helped him clean the remnants of the weed that clung on his shirt. Just then, someone knocked. “Is it Hope?” “It’s Josie. She’s looking for you.” Penelope almost ran to the door. “Also she’s with…” Too late, Penelope pulled the door open. Josie had her hair down, falling past her shoulders. Lizzie was leaning against the hallway, disinterest in her eyes. Penelope’s smile deflated. “Hey, you,” said Josie. Behind her, Lizzie looked as if she would rather be caught for sneaking out than be with her sister. “Hi.” Josie wrapped her arms around Penelope in a tentative hug. Then she pulled away. “Hi, M.G. Would you mind if I steal Penelope for a moment?” “Not at all. I don’t like her anyway.” M.G joked, earning a chuckle from Lizzie. Penelope could tell that the other Saltzman twin was already captivated by his boyish charm. “Also, stay out of the shortcut, Hope’s patrolling the east wing.” “Oh joy,” whispered Lizzie. “Come on, Josette. I need to sleep.” Josie surprised Penelope by taking her hand and the three of them crept down the hallway until they find the door that must be to twins’ bedroom. The door was cracked open and Penelope was pushed inside. “I figure the three of us could have a sleepover or something.” Penelope and Lizzie groaned. “What did I do deserve this?” asked Lizzie. “I’m trying to work this thing together for the three of us,” Josie hissed, just as angrily. “Is that too much to ask?” She went to her bed, spreading the blanket as hard as she could. “All I want is for my two favorite people is to hit it off and be happy. But… apparently.” Flames flickered on her fingers. “I’m too stupid to believe that my life’s finally getting better.” Life’s finally getting better? What was that supposed to mean? “Jo--” “Sleep wherever you want.” Josie sniffled, curling into a ball around her pillow. Penelope wasn’t sure whether it was meant for her or Lizzie. Penelope stopped dead. Guilt flooded her. She looked back at the Lizzie as if she wanted to say something to her, but thought better of it. “Come here, Jo.” Lizzie snuggled her sister before sending a glare to Penelope. She didn't say another word on the subject as she pushed herself next to her Josie. “Don’t cry.” “I’ll uh… leave.” Penelope jerked her thumb towards the hallway. “You really are emotionally stunted as they s--” Lizzie took a deep breath and looked as if stopping herself from hurling more insults. “I’m sure Josie would appreciate if you stay here.” “Right,” Penelope muttered. “I’ll sleep in your bed then.” Lizzie threw her a dark look. She motioned her head and Penelope followed, her eyes zeroed on the dusty cot underneath Lizzie’s bed. “You know what? I’ll sleep in the cot.” Penelope almost rolled her eyes. “I’ll...hold your hand if you want, Jojo.” “Yes please,” Josie mumbled, her hand slipped under the covers. The twins fell asleep quickly but Penelope lay awake, turning it all over in her mind. Her last, comforting thought before she fell asleep was that even if Josie was having problems with her life, she somehow made it better, even for just a while… But she couldn’t see how Lizzie fit in that problem, the way Josie talked about her before her twin came back from Denver was that Lizzie was the perfect sister. Penelope knew very well how deep their sisterly bond was even before she met Josie, everyone attested to that-- she yawned and turned over -- surely, Josie was just stressed or something...   Penelope drifted awake. She wasn’t sure what woke her up, whether it was the crick on her neck or the cold floor kissing her feet. Either way, she turned over, barely opening her eyes, and vaguely recognize what she was peeking at. Lizzie was sniffling, staring at her twin. Lizzie’s eyes were bloodshot. Her chin was trembling. She looked… scared. Lizzie shifted forward and her hand was on her twin’s waist. Josie looked dead asleep on her arms. “Jo, I’m trying okay? Sometimes I feel like you don’t see that.” Lizzie kissed her cheeks. “I’ll try my medications again, I promise.” It felt heavy. Private. Penelope didn’t want to hear more so she closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep.

   “So, you’re telling me,” Lance’s mom started, looking from Lance to Lotor and then back to her son, “that you and your friends got abducted, managed to make the best of it, and then you got engaged in… space?”    Pidge burst out laughing. “ Told you that you guys are practically married!”    Lance sighed and rubbed his temple. “We aren’t engaged. We’re… it’s hard to explain, but we aren’t engaged or married or any of that.” He reached out to the bowl in the middle of the table and grabbed one of the chips; his mom was now making her way around the kitchen, going about making a meal without having to make a run to the store, and so she had poured a bowl of chips for them to snack on while she worked. Just to snack, of course, because she made it very clear that she intended for them to eat well that day. “You know I’d never get engaged without talking to you about it first.”    She smiled. “Good. Although, I have to admit that I’m pretty surprised.”    “That I brought home an alien?”    “That you brought home someone so well-behaved.”    “What’s that supposed to mean?”    She chuckled and shook her head, still smiling, and turned her attention back to the stovetop, pasta boiling in one pot and eggs in another. “All of the people you’ve dated before have been… how do I say this without sounding awful? Oh, you know I love you, but you just haven’t chosen very well.”    That was, quite frankly, true. “Well. You aren’t wrong.” He leaned over and put his head on Lotor’s shoulder. At least, as close as he could to putting it there. No matter where they were in the universe, Lotor was still too damn tall. “Lotor won’t give you any trouble. I’m surprised you didn’t freak out when I brought a large purple man into the house.”    She took the lid off the pot of pasta and stirred it a little, then replaced the lid, deciding it could boil a little while longer. “If you think I’m not shocked that there’s, what, three aliens sitting around my dining room table, you’re very, very wrong. But my being shocked or surprised or anything doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is that you’re my son and I want you to be happy above anything else. I didn’t carry you for nine months and then go through all of those hours of labor and then raise you for all those years  just to reject you and someone you love because they’re… not quite what I had pictured when I thought about who you would end up with.”    “What kind of person did you think I’d end up with?” he asked.    “Oh, I’m not quite sure,” she said, reaching over and turning off the heat to the eggs. “Maybe someone like Hunk over there. He seems like he would balance you out pretty well, and that’s what I was always most concerned about. You’ve always needed someone with a steady head, but someone still casual enough to keep up with you when it came down to it. I didn’t think you’d ever end up with someone so formal, if I had to try to put a proper explanation to it.”    “My being formal isn’t a bad thing, is it?” Lotor asked. “My father was, in the words of your people, a bully. I decided I did not want to be like him. I took up formality to escape brutality.”    “No, no, of course it isn’t,” she assured. “I only meant that I wouldn’t have imagined Lance being with someone like you. I don’t mind it, though. Maybe you can keep him in better check when his thoughts get away from him.”    “It is an honor to be there for him,” Lotor replied, “but I must admit that I fear he keeps me in check more often than I do him. There are things that I would like to avoid, but I cannot erase the way I was raised. He keeps me calm.”    Pidge grabbed a chip. “I've got a question. This is kinda off-topic, but you know I've gotta ask. The family is huge, right? Where's everyone else?”    Lance’s mom now turned off the heat to the pasta. She leaned down to check the chicken breasts baking in the oven. “My husband is at work. Only one of Lance’s siblings still lives here, but he's out with friends right now. I'll start calling people to tell them to come see him after I've fed all of you. You all need to eat before I start bringing in the grandparents and the aunts and uncles and siblings and… Lord, have we always been related to that many people?”    Despite knowing that there was an approaching onslaught of relatives and questions and introductions, Lance smiled. The next few days were going to be long . He looked forward to each and every one of them, no matter what hell they brought. His dream was coming true. He was getting to see his family again. His own flesh and blood, the people he had always loved, the people who had always been there for him… his family. Even if they didn’t fully believe his story the way his mother didーshe was a saint, never once doubting the honesty of her sonーand even if they hated his friends and even if they were angry as all hell that he had hooked up with a dude out there, he was ready to see them again. He was ready to answer all of their questions. He was ready to hug them as many times as they wanted. He loved his family.    He just hoped that they would still love him. He had changed a lot since the last time they were all together, since they had last seen him. Would they approve of the person he had become or would they wish that he was still the way he used to be? And he hoped that they loved everyone that he brought back with him. What would he do if they didn’t? He was probably worrying too much, but if they didn’t approve of who he was now and of the people he called his friends and the person he was in love with… he desperately hoped that that wouldn’t be the case.    But if it was, what was he going to do?   *      He had been right. The next few days had been long. Though the Voltron group had to take a break that next day to fulfill their promise of doing that interview with those officials and filing reports and all of that junk, the time after that had been insane in the best way. They had been an endless stream of familiar faces, of hugs and kisses and screams of joy, of all the best food his family had to offer, of photo after photo after photo, of pure happiness. And, somehow or another, nobody complained about his friends or his boyfriend. There had been a few sideways glances, perhaps, but after all that time of being apart, nobody had the guts to say anything negative about them in front of Lance.    Lance’s older sister had been one of the most eager when it came to Lotor. She had come into the house loud and proud like she always did, but there was something different about her. There was a ring on her finger and her stomach was rounder than it used to be. She wouldn’t talk about herself until she had gotten the details of Lance’s adventure and his friends and his boyfriend. Especially his boyfriend. It was hours before she talked about her own life. She was still with the same boy she had been with for a year or so before Lance went missing, now married to him and planning for a little one. Lance was thrilled, of course, hearing that he was going to be an uncle.    His own aunts, uncles, and cousins were also doing well, though none of them could claim marriage and a baby. His grandparents were living the same old way they always had, taking walks to the beach in the morning and the evening, spending the day in between those times reading or sewing or doing any of their other hobbies. The family had naturally been shocked when Lance disappeared, praying for his return but slowly losing hope over time. They began to think others were right when they said that Lance was probably dead. And then he had showed up back home and the word had spread among their blood like wildfire, the message of Lance is alive! He’s home and alive and safe! screaming its own way through the family. For about a week and a half, Lance’s mother was all too happy to make room in the house for her son and the seven people he brought home with him. Life was good .    But it couldn’t stay like that. Lance had to sneak down the hall one night to where his mother sat in the living room with a cup of tea and a book, had to sit down next to her, and had to tell her the truth. The way she was sitting reminded him of that statue he had found in Lotor’s castle, but he didn't have the time to worry about that.    He had to tell her about what was going to happen next. He didn’t intend on staying on Earth for much longer. The others had already made plans to go and visit their families, and though Lance would have liked to go with them and see all of their homes, he just… couldn’t. There was no telling how long that would take. All eight of them going around the world together was insane. Plus, there was more at work than just the humans’ desire to reunite with their loved ones. They had already taken so much time visiting Lance’s family because there were so fucking many of them. They couldn’t keep on like that.    There was work to do out there in the universe. Lance’s mother sighed sadly and nodded, saying only, “I understand.”    She did understand. She understood completely. Lance had made promises and he was too good of a kid to go back on his word. She didn’t understand exactly what was happening out in the grand scheme of the universe; she knew nothing but Earth, didn’t know the war that raged outside of the peaceful solar system she was born in. She hadn’t seen what was out there, not like her son had. But she understood that her son, strong and brave and wonderful, was making peace become a reality instead of a dream wherever he and his friends went. Her son, a warrior of peace. Her son, a hero.    She made him swear that he would visit regularly, which he had no problems agreeing to. He said he had planned to do that anyways. She had kept his room exactly the way he left it with the hope that he would come back to her, and though he would have to take a few thingsーlike a bunch of his clothes, considering he had been wearing the same Earth outfit for as long as he had been goneーhe promised he would leave most of it the same just like she had done for him. He would come home again. He wouldn’t stay lost. He’d be home again. She pulled him in for a hug, tears in her eyes, and held him tight.    “We’ll always be here for you. We’ll wait for you. Your sister will have her baby one of these days and you'll have to come home and be an uncle. And you're coming home for your wedding, okay? Don't bother telling me again that you aren't engaged. He wants to marry you, you know.”    Lance smiled. He was returning the hug, surrounding himself in the warmth and comfort of his mother’s arms. He had missed this. “I know he does. He's a handful.”    “But he's your handful.”    “Yeah. I guess so.” He chuckled. “If he proposes, I'll make sure to convince him to have the wedding here on Earth. I'm sure he won't mind. Although, I don't think he could pay for a wedding here. Different currency and all.”    “Don't worry about that. The family would pitch in, every last one of us.”    “Mom?”    “Hm?”    “Thank you. For everything. I don't think I've ever properly thanked you for everything you've done for me. I love you.”    She pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I love you. And I'm so, so proud of you. I'm blessed to have you as my son.”    They sat together on the couch for awhile. Lance wasn't sure how long it would be before he came home again, so he had to soak up as much of that motherly love as he could before he left.    Leaving Earth was awful. The whole family showed up to see him off the day after his talk with his mom, each one of them giving him a long hug and well wishes. He hated to do it, to leave them again so soon, but he reminded himself that there was more at stake than just his and his family’s disappointment at him leaving. Lotor had organized some things before they left, making sure that the work at least got started while everyone was away, but it was time to really make sure that it was all working out the way it was supposed to. There was no telling if the people Lotor had entrusted the task to were actually doing their job the way they were supposed to.    Lance wasn't the only one to get hugs. The look on Lotor’s face when Lance’s mother wrapped her arms around him was priceless. Then came Lance’s older sister, who, after her hug, announced that if she ever heard anything about Lotor hurting her baby brother, she'd find a way out to space and beat him up herself, pregnant or not. The fire in her eyes made him nod, promising that no harm would come to the boy. And then the little onesーa bit bigger than they had been the last time Lance saw them, but still littleーcame surging forward, pulling on the loose fabric of Lotor’s clothing and begging him to come back and tell them more space stories. Lotor said that he would, though there was a look in his eyes like he was actually terrified by the loud, miniature humans that were surrounding him.    The trip back to Lotor’s castle wasn't as quiet as Lance had thought it would be. He had expected Lotor to flop down in a chair and fall asleep, being worn out from dealing with so many people for all those days. Instead, he sat down and pulled Lance into his lap, smiled, and said, “You have a lovely family.”    Lance nodded. “Yeah. I told you they'd give you a chance. My mom really liked you.”    “For which I am incredibly grateful. Although, I'm not sure what to make of the children. They were a little too excited to have an alien in the house.”    “Every Earth kid is excited about aliens,” Lance said. “That's just the way it is. Humans have always wondered about other life in the universe. We’re very curious about, well, everything.”    “So I've noticed. Otherwise none of this would have happened.”    “What do you mean?”    “If you hadn't been curious, you wouldn't have gone roaming the castle in the middle of the night. We wouldn't have had that nice talk. I don't think I would have ever had the courage to tell you how I feel about you otherwise.”    “I doubt that,” Lance replied. “I mean, you were just able to blurt it out when we were at the hot springs. I don't see why you wouldn't have been able to any other time.”    Lotor shrugged and Lance was once again jealous by how elegant everything the Emperor did was. “I suppose there is not much use in wondering about what if . What is done is done. And you are mine.”    Lance smiled and kissed Lotor’s cheek. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m yours.”

“Fine.” Felix replies quietly after a few moments. “Thank you.” Seung-min responds and they separate. “I’ll be leaving now then, and again- please take care of yourself while we’re gone. Promise?” Seung-min adds and Felix simply nods. It’s not a nod for confirmation- it’s more so to show that he’s listening. He’ll try though. It’s not like he doesn’t want to take care of himself- he does want to- the best he can, actually, but sometimes it’s not enough for people to understand that.    He’ll try.   He’s not useless. He can do things by himself. “Okay..I promise.” He answers, and Seung-min smiles. “Good. Do you wanna say bye to Chae-yun?” Seung-min asks, gesturing towards the living room. Felix nods, knowing that if he doesn’t say goodbye she’ll get upset, and will say it’s “bad luck” , or something along those lines. So, he makes his way over there,  where he finds Chae sitting on the floor, trying her hair up in two pigtails- and he sees she’s doing a poor job, however, because half of her hair keeps falling out.    “You need help Chae?” Felix asks and he watches as she pauses what she’s doing and looks up at him. “please?” Chae pouts, and Felix kneels next to her, taking the hair clips from her tiny hands. She watches silently as he puts together her pigtails, fixing it up slightly. “Done.” He mutters and stands up, holding out his hand for hers. “It’s time to go to school okay? I’ll see you later.” Chae-yun nods, “Bye mommy. I hope you feel better soon!” She says happily, giving him a hug before following Seung-min out. Once they’re gone Felix goes back to his room, flopping on the bed. He pulls the covers over his body, hissing when the coolness of the mattress seeps into his skin. God , the bed is fucking cold. He turns onto his side, pulling his limbs near his stomach, curling into a ball.    Felix straightens out his hoodie sleeves, pulling them over his hands, making sweater paws. He pulls the hood over his head, basking in the scent- which by now had a mixture of Hyun-Jin’s lavender, and his vanilla scent. He knew he had to give back the hoodie, but he didn’t want to. It didn’t belong to him, and even though Hyun-Jin had given it to him, it was purely because his work clothes were uncomfortable. Felix couldn’t just keep it. Even if Hyun-Jin’s scent was so calming and nice- Even if sleeping with the hoodie had given him the best sleep he’d had in so long- Even if his omega will whimper at even the thought of losing it-   He still has to return it.    Felix sighs, rolling around, until he’s curled into a smaller ball than before, hugging his knees and burying his face in the fabric of the hoodie, letting the scent wash over him, calming him down. For now he’ll just sleep- and later he’ll text Hyun-Jin.  It takes him nearly two minutes until he falls back asleep. When he wakes up it’s because of how hot and needy he feels. His body is coated in a thin layer of sweat, making his clothes stick to him uncomfortably. The blankets are suffocating on top of him, trapping his heat inside and weighing him down. He feels nauseous, dizzy even. It’s so hot— so, so, hot. The symptoms from before come back all at once, almost overwhelming, as heat starts pooling in his lower abdomen, making him gasp. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain, gritting his teeth.   If he’s being completely honest, this isn’t new. His heats have been going on for years, since high school. They always start the same way— headaches, nausea- cramps and heat strokes. The one thing he hates about it is that it gets harder as each day progresses, instead of getting lighter. Soon enough he’ll start producing slick- then he’ll be whining- his omega, for someone to touch him, to soothe him. But he doesn’t want that- he doesn’t need it. Right? “You want Hyun-Jin don’t you? You want him to take care of you, make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Don’t you want to be held? Told everything will be fine? You want to feel cared for, protected. Don’t you?” A voice echoes in his head, making him shake his head, refusing to acknowledge them.    He doesn’t- he shouldn’t.   “You want him. You want him to touch you- you want him to mark you and claim you.” It continues. He really shouldn’t. He knows that. Yet he still wants it. But that would mean giving in to his instincts- his omegas needs, ones he thinks are useless. His heat is driving him crazy, pushing him to act on these desires; to crave more and more for Hyunjin’s touch- an alpha's touch. Felix swallows thickly as another wave of heat ripples through him, leaving him weak, writhing, panting, with every heartbeat and desperate for relief. He bites down hard on his lip to stop the whine from escaping. His hands make their way to his abdomen, pushing on the tightness, squeezing the skin in hopes that it might ease its pressure. It doesn’t really, but at least it gives him something to focus on other than his own pathetic cries of need- other than the building arousal in his body. His hands move from his stomach to his waist, his fingers slowly trailing up, fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats.  “Don’t you want relief?” The thought is tempting. It’s tempting. Felix does but he doesn’t at the same time- not like this. He bites his lip again, so hard that it’s bleeding— the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth as he shakes his head no, moving his hands back to his pillow- holding it tight. It stings. His lips part slightly, letting out small whimpers as he tries to calm himself down, trying to ignore the fact that his legs are shaking, his hips moving up subconsciously, seeking friction against anything. He feels so sensitive and vulnerable right now it hurts.   Despite that he won’t. He can handle this..   He just needs a distraction- something to take his mind off of what his body’s doing- Something to make him forget about the ache in his lower body. His thoughts are too loud in his ears, and he needs it silenced. He needs it to stop. As if on cue he gets a message- A message from the person he was trying to stop thinking about for a moment, Hyun-Jin. -.-.-.-  “You’re still sulking?” Min-ho questions as he sits on Hyun-Jin’s bed, sighing. He looks at the alpha who’s sitting at a desk in the corner of the room with a sketchbook and several colored pencils scattered across it. Hyun-Jin had been working on a drawing for a while, his eyes glued to the page as he tried to come up with something good to add to it. “I’m not sulking.” The response is immediate, making Min-ho laugh. “Oh really? Then why is it ever since Felix left yesterday you’ve been in here, drawing him? I even had to call off two of your meetings today since you wouldn’t come out.” Min-ho stated and Hyun-Jin rolled his eyes.   “Just text him,” Min-ho advises, and that has Hyun-Jin jolting up, looking at him wide-eyed. “Text him what?” The alpha asks incredulously, his voice desperate. Min-ho smiles mischievously. “I don’t know- maybe tell him you’d like to come over and help him with his heat. That you wanna knot him.” He says casually, grinning wider when he sees blush creep across Hyun-Jin’s face, his ears stinging red. He’s thinking about it now that Min-ho brought it up- Just the thought makes his heart race, the idea of helping Felix with his heat- helping him get through it all was appealing. He’d cuddle him and kiss him, he’d make sure he stays hydrated and he’d cook anything he wants. If Felix wanted him to knot him— he would. He’d love to see Felix in that state; hot and needy, his skin flushed and sweaty. His Alpha would love that sight so much, would want to mark him, lick every inch of the omega until he felt better-   “Wow, you’re thinking about it? It was just a joke.” Min-ho states amusingly, cocking his eyebrow as he smirks. The statement has Hyun-Jin snapping out of his thoughts, staring blankly back at him, soon averting his gaze to the sketchbook on his desk, focusing on the contents. He has nothing to say back, no witty response he could use. Min-ho notices this and lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease you or anything.” He apologizes and Hyunjin nods his head slowly. The omega stands up from his spot on the bed, moving closer to Hyun-Jin, sitting down next to him as he places one arm around Hyunjin’s shoulders.    “Why don’t you text him if you can come over?” He suggested. The idea itself sounds good, especially after seeing how stressed Felix had been yesterday when he left him. “Won’t that— be weird?” Hyun-Jin pauses to think about it. “He’s in heat now right now...I don’t think he’d want me to come over during that time.” He mumbles, and twirls a color pencil in his hand repeatedly. He also doesn’t think he’d last being exposed to Felix’s heat, being near him with his pheromones all over the place- it would be torture. He can handle his pre-heat but he’s not sure about his heat.   “Well, you’re half right and half wrong. I’m sure he’s having trouble right now- like just yesterday, you exposed his omega to your scent, meaning he’s probably having a crisis. Did you know it’s not good to leave your mate alone after doing that? It’s harsh on their body.” Min-ho explains, and that was something he didn’t know. “Plus he’s unmated, remember? He doesn’t have an alpha.” Min-ho added. “At least not yet.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Hyun-Jin, making the alpha scowl. “You’re not helping.”    “I am. Make up an excuse.”   “An excuse for what?”   “To see him.”    “Like what—“   “Buy him a gift or stuff to help him during his heat, and tell him you want to drop it off.”  Hyun-Jin furrows his brows in consideration of Min-ho’s suggestion, wondering if he should take the advice seriously or not. He thinks about the whole thing for a second and then gives in. “Fine. What do I need to buy?” He questions and Min-ho raises his arms triumphantly. “Maybe toys-“    “Min-ho!” The alpha whines and throws a pillow at the omega. “What, did I say something wrong?” He argues, catching it before it hits his face. Hyun-Jin narrows his eyes at him, his face painted with a look of utter disgust. “No— just no.” He shakes his head. It takes a few moments before an idea comes to him. “What about nesting items?” That question seemed to catch Min-ho off guard, not expecting that suggestion. He kinda assumed Felix would have that already, but the more he thinks about it the more he’s unsure.   Hyun-Jin raises an eyebrow at him questioningly, prompting the older omega to respond. “Is that good?” He asks for confirmation, tilting his head slightly. He wants to make sure that it’s the right thing to buy for Felix because this isn’t something he typically does. He’s not entirely sure what’s good for omega’s- what they like and such, but he has a vague understanding from Min-ho and Ryu-Jin. “Yeah, it’s good, very good actually,”  Minho responds, nodding his head in approval. “You should probably go to Nestea then. They have lots of things there.”    Nestea was a large store located near the city, that had a pretty good range of products for omegas and alphas (mostly omegas) to choose from. It had an entire section dedicated solely to nests,  which was mostly filled with various types of blankets, pillows, comforters, stuffed animals and more. There was also a section for medicine and suppressants such as painkillers, lubricants, heat reducers, etc. In other words, everything an omega needed to keep themselves calm and well rested throughout their heats.    “Okay.” Hyun-Jin agrees. “I’ll go there first.” He said and leaned back, stretching his arms out behind himself. “Should I text him first..?” He asks, wondering which comes first. Should he text Felix before he goes to the store? or after. “You should, just ask him if you can come over.” Min-ho encourages, and Hyun-Jin grabs his phone from where it was laying beside him, opening the messaging app.    // Lix  :; Hey Felix, is it okay if I stop over? I bought some stuff for you. :)    He sends, waiting for a moment for him to text back. After what feels like 3 minutes he responds.   :; Sure that’s okay. My address is ..”   :; Alright. I’ll be there soon. //   Hyun-Jin smiles at the text. So far so good. “Do you want to come? To help me pick some things?” Hyun-Jin asks and Min-ho shakes his head no. “I’m not sure if I can. I have to go to the office to inform your father you missed the meetings. Anyways, I’ll send you a list of what you should get him.” He answers, cutting the conversation short about the meeting business. He knows how much Hyun-Jin hates it when he brings up work matters with his father- the reminder of his responsibilities always seems to upset him.  “That’s alright.” Hyun-Jin shrugs, a bit disappointed Min-ho couldn’t come but that’s okay. He gets up and looks for a hoodie- simple clothes to go out in. As he does that Min-ho gets an idea. “You should bring Felix some of your clothes..to add to his nest.” He suggests, watching as Hyun-Jin stares at him in bewilderment, obviously shocked he even came up with that idea. “Okay, I’ll do that too.” He hums in agreement, picking out an oversized sweater, and slips it on, along with beige sneakers. He grabs his wallet and stuffs it into his pocket before grabbing a backpack, putting some of his clothes in it.     As he makes his way towards the door, Min-ho stops him saying, “Did you forget you're famous? You can’t walk out there without a disguise. At least wear a hat- a mask and glasses. You don’t want the paparazzi up your ass do you?” Min-ho chuckles, the sound bouncing all around the room.    Hyun-Jin perks up at the mention of paparazzi, making him shudder at the thought of them taking pictures without him knowing. “Right. Thanks for reminding me.” Hyun-Jin mutters, running over to his dresser to pull out the “disguise” set. “Be careful. If they get a shot of you at Felix's house, it won’t be good. I’ll send a couple of people to watch for them. Have fun!” Min-ho added, waving goodbye to the alpha as he leaves the room. On his way out he says goodbye to Kkami. (not without kissing the dog to death.) 

The thing no one tells Tony about these banquets is that they’re so boring they make him want to jump out of the nearest window. That might be because he already knows that, after a few decades of going to them, but still. Emotionally, he would appreciate the warning, or at least for Peter to agree to come along with him one of these times so that there’s someone there he doesn’t mind talking to. Instead though, he’s rubbing elbows with the most boring, pretentious men in the city, and they all, unfortunately, want to talk to him.   Tony wouldn’t say he runs from them , exactly. His suit is silk, which is a real pain to get sweat stains out of, so it’s more of a brisk walk than anything. But after a particularly excruciating conversation, his feet carry him to the back of the room and a bit behind a curtain, where he plans to avoid attention for as long as possible, except then he looks to his left and finds—well, it seems like another man, but then Tony looks closer and finds that’s not quite the case.   He cuts an intimidating figure, hair perfectly coiffed and dressed to the nines like everybody else—Tony’s pretty sure that’s Alexander McQueen’s latest collection, and he works the artsier vibe well—not to mention his picture-perfect posture, but much more than a glance at his face reveals that his features don’t quite fit the maturity of the rest of him. He has an unmistakable softness to him, the last vestiges of baby fat rounding the angles trying to take shape in his cheeks, and the way he’s biting his lip takes his appearance from that of a young professional to a nervous student, albeit one from some kind of pompous, private school.   (Tony would know.)   However, the most interesting part of the kid isn’t his exterior; it’s the set of homework problems set in front of him—college-level calculus. Like, junior -in-college level calculus, so it probably has a different, uglier name Tony can’t remember right now.   Regardless, this seems a lot more interesting than anything behind him, so he clears his throat.   The kid acts like he’s just fired a gun next to his ear. He hunches down, limbs flailing to shove the homework into his lap. “Shit —I mean—um—I was just taking a breather, Father, and looking over my notes, so—”   “Woah, there. If I’m your dad, someone’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. I was wild in the early 2000s, but not that wild.”   The kid stops flipping his lid, and very slowly, he cranes his neck around. The second he catches sight of Tony, his eyes blow wide. “Holy shit,” he breathes.   Tony waves and steps closer, taking the closest seat. “Hi to you too.”   “You’re Tony Stark.”   “In the flesh.”   “You are sitting next to me.”   “Also true.”   “Why —uh—sir, are you sitting next to me?”   “Kid?”   “Yeah?”   “If you never call me sir again, I will answer that question and any others you might have.”   “Okay—uh—”   “Call me Tony.”   “—Tony.” The kid’s mouth is hanging open a little, but Tony gets why this might be a disorienting experience.   He flashes a winning smile but is careful not to let it get too big at the corners—that’s his fake smile, and he’s trying to get the kid to tolerate him, not his press persona. “There we go. Anyway, I’m sitting next to you because everyone else here is a bit of an asshat, and I’ve never seen someone do calculus at this sort of gig. What’s your name?”   The kid’s eyes slide off Tony and search the crowd. Tony follows the line of his gaze and finds it zeroed in on a tall, slick man with the boy’s same perfect, tawny complexion. In the back of his head, he briefly wonders if kids these days are still getting expensive skincare shoved down their throats by their mothers for the sake of public appearances, but then the kid answers him, still staring at who Tony assumes is his father: “Eugene.”   Huh. It’s a little stuffy for a kid in a semi-floral suit. “Got a nickname, Eugene?”   “No,” he says, too fast. Tony raises a brow, and he blows out a breath. “It’s not polite for respectable company,” he grumbles, clearly parroting someone else.   Tony rolls his eyes. “Respectable company —what is this, Buckingham Palace? I’m a billionaire, kid, not a prince. What’s the nickname?” The kid stares, then shifts his shoulders back a little, like he’s bracing for impact. “Flash.”   Now that seems appropriate. “Much better,” Tony declares. “Eugene,” he mimics. “God, it’s nearly as bad as Anthony. Good for you for ducking out of that one entirely, by the way, because Gene’s not much better.”   “Thanks,” Flash says, not sounding at all like he’s confident that’s the answer he’s supposed to give, but Tony doesn’t mind.    He drums his fingers on the table. “Great—now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, you got that, or do you need some help?”   “That?”   Tony hopes they get beyond the one-word answer stage soon. He nods toward the homework the kid’s doing a shit job of concealing, given the way it’s poking out from under the tablecloth. “Calculus. Linear algebra. Whatever else you might call that—it’s all connected, and terms get blurry after a while. Doesn’t really matter what you name it if you can do the math, but you get the gist. Want me to walk you through it?”   Flash doesn’t move for a moment, visibly processing the offer, and then he slowly pulls his homework back out. “That’d be nice,” he says, voice small, and Tony grins.   //   “Hey, what the hell kind of school do you go to that you’re already learning this?”   “It’s not for school. My parents make me go to tutoring to learn this shi—stuff early.”   “Did you just keep yourself from swearing around me?”   “Not polite for respectable company.”   “That’s stupid as shit.”   Flash sighs.   //   It only takes twenty minutes or so to get through the handful of problems Flash wasn’t able to solve on his own, which is impressive in its own right. More importantly though, that’s twenty minutes Tony hasn’t had to interact with anyone else there, and he’s excited about it.   “Thanks for the help,” Flash says when they’re done, folding the homework into quarters and tucking it into his breast pocket alongside his surprisingly small pen, both of which are hidden by a lavender pocket square, the same color as some of the flowers on the suit. “That—uh—cleared a lot up. My tutor’s pretty cool, but he believes in, like, figuring stuff out on your own sometimes, which doesn’t work when you have zero fucking clue what you’re doing in the first place.” There’s a pause for a moment where he clearly doesn’t know what to say, and then—“You headed back to the party now?” He won’t look Tony in the eyes as he asks it, assuming that same stoic position, his arms crossing across his chest.   Tony frowns. “Do you want me to go back to the party? Because I’m not trying to be a nuisance here, but no. I have exactly zero desire to return to—” He waves a hand at the general masses and pulls an unflattering face. “— that.”   “Really?”   “Really. You’ve been to one of these things, you’ve been to them all. There are only so many ways people can go about the same kind of ass-kissing.”   Flash snorts, then looks around like someone’s going to yell at him for it. When no reprimand comes, he relaxes, an ounce of slack coming into his stiff frame. “That’s fair. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.” Tony makes a gesture to go on that Flash runs with, expression pinching with distaste. “It’s a school night. My parents say networking is as important as academics, but I paid my friend—well, acquaintance, I guess—to hack into their personal records, and both of them barely managed a C in calc in college, so you’d think they’d understand the importance of having a calc test in the morning.”   First of all, ouch . If Tony was one of the kid’s parents, he’d be embarrassed to show his face after that line. Second of all, what kind of acquaintance can hack into someone’s parent’s files? Tony makes a note to ask more about that later, mostly because he wants to meet them. Third of all—“Do you need help with regular calculus, too?”   Flash rolls his eyes, but Tony gets the impression it’s not exactly at him. “No, it’s easy. I want a good night’s sleep for it, though. This probably won’t run that late, but they’re almost definitely going to get in a fight on the drive home and will pull over to yell at each other, and it’ll be a whole thing.” His hands are waving around him, and a curl pops out of its carefully gelled style with the force of it. “Add the fact that everyone here is the worst, and you have the perfect storm for my night not going the way I want it to.”   Part of Tony is amused that he’s using the phrase perfect storm in casual conversation (but then again, he would’ve too, before Rhodey lovingly bullied him about it), but another part of him is busy trying to speak because it feels like he just got sucker-punched.   They don’t look anything alike—for one, Howard never would’ve allowed him to wear a suit that bold—but Tony can’t help but feel like he’s looking at a younger version of himself.   “Dragging a teenager to a formal event should be considered cruel and unusual punishment,” Tony agrees, and he hopes Flash can’t see that he’s knocked his real smile a little loose, that he’s making up for the imbalance with that false, cocky cheer the public expects from him.   Flash, however, huffs a stilted laugh. “Lobby Congress about it.” When the sound tapers off, though, Tony notices that his eyes are on the table again. Then, he speaks again, lower. “But really, you can go back to the party if you want. I’m not going to throw a hissy fit about it.”   (Tony does not think about how many times he sat at a back table, wishing anyone would care about him instead of the idea of a Stark.)   “Quit trying to pawn me off to go talk to businessmen,” he says around the growing ache in the hollow of his throat.   “Isn’t that part of your job?”   “Only because my fiance makes me. These guys are the worst. Like, look over there.” Tony dips his head toward a man in a royal blue suit. “He’s married, but he’s been having an affair with his secretary for years.”   Flash’s eyes are huge, and he leans in as if to hear the secret better. “You’re kidding.”   Tony shakes his head. He can feel his grin getting sharper. “Look to his left. That guy’s company is fielding five different lawsuits over workplace safety violations.”   “Well, his tux is awful,” Flash sniffs. He’s been nursing what looks like a glass of sparkling grape juice, and he takes a sip he manages to make look judgmental. “Gucci is overdone.”   “Yeah?” Tony asks, probing for more of what he senses is the tip of the iceberg of that particular opinion.   Flash nods. “I mean, their subtler stuff is fine, but the logo prints look cheap, especially for an event like this. No one should be wearing that kind of thing unless they’re on the red carpet or social media. I mean, if your clothes have to show how loaded you are, you’re probably compensating for something.”   Tony’s never thought about it much except in his subconscious, but he finds himself inclined to agree. “You got an interest in fashion?” he asks.   Flash looks down, which Tony is starting to get is a clue that he’s saying something he’d get scolded for at other times. “Sort of. I think the politics of it—” Tony has no idea what that means, but Flash says it like it’s obvious. “—is cool, and some collections are nice, but as far as a career goes—” Flash peters out, shrugging.   “Not for respectable company?” Tony guesses.   Flash’s answering smile is thin and razor-edged, and Tony finds himself increasingly glad he decided to ignore the rest of the room as they keep talking.   //   Tony never does catch the name of that acquaintance Flash mentioned.   //   The next time Tony sees Flash is at a charity gala. That time, he’s supposed to be there as Iron Man, aka a representative of the Avengers, but that doesn’t make it better. He doesn’t mind talking to the directors of the charity because unlike some people, like the two men he’s making small talk with, he’s not a complete dick, but the same smarmy assholes as usual compose most of the crowd.   Thomas—who Tony hates but is the vice president of a data company—is starting to humblebrag about his kid who’s an engineer and would work like a charm in a company like yours, Mr. Stark when Tony spots a vaguely familiar silhouette on the horizon.   It’s not the kid he spent two hours getting to know about a month ago, but it is his father. Tony has the impression he’s not a pleasant man, but he figures he can do Flash a favor and put in a good word.   “Apologies, gentleman,” he cuts Thomas off mid-explanation of his son’s outstanding resume. “I have an appointment across the room.” It’s not a good reason to leave the conversation, not even a particularly polite one, but Tony doesn’t care. He makes a beeline across the room as best as he can, which means a lot of stopping for polite hellos and handshakes, but eventually, he makes it. “Mr. Thompson,” he calls when conversations die as the men surrounding Flash’s father notice Tony’s appearance, “pleasure to meet you.”   Unlike his son, Flash’s father doesn’t balk at his presence other than a minute widening of his eyes. Smooth, Tony notes, though that’s not necessarily a positive. Mr. Thompson extends a hand, and Tony shakes. “Mr. Stark,” he greets, shiny, white teeth flashing, “have we run into each other before?”   “Not exactly. I had the pleasure of meeting your son at a previous event, and I thought I’d take the chance to introduce myself.”   Flash’s father chuckles, even though Tony hasn’t made a joke. Even if he had, Tony’s spent years picking fake from real reactions out of a line-up of endless faces dying to impress him; he can feel how plasticky it is. “I’m glad Eugene made a good first impression. How did you two get talking?”   Tony thinks about Flash shoving his homework under the table. “I complimented him on his suit,” he lies. “He’s got an eye for that sort of thing, right?”   “It’s a passing interest,” Mr. Thompson returns the fib in turn. “He has a better head for numbers. He actually attends a STEM-focused school here in the city—Midtown School of Science and Technology, if you’ve heard of it.”   . . . as a matter of fact, Tony has heard of it, which makes things interesting, especially given the tidbit Flash dropped last time they met about a hacker who now sounds a lot like one Ned Leeds. However, all he says is, “It sounds familiar. Is there any chance Eugene is here tonight? I’d love to talk with him. SI recruits high school interns here and there, so I’m always interested in keeping a pulse on this generation’s brightest.”   It’s the right thing to say. Mr. Thompson’s eyes practically glitter. “As luck would have it, he is.”   “Perfect. I’ll stay around here, and you can send him my way?” he offers, getting possibly a little too much enjoyment out of subtly telling the man what to do, but Mr. Thompson just nods.   “He’ll be over in a few minutes,” he agrees, then slips into the crowd.   //   Tony swallows down old memories when he sees Mr. Thompson steering Flash through the gala’s floor with a hand on his shoulder, most likely gritting instructions into his ear, although that could be Tony projecting.   It’s funny, how ambitious fathers only have nice things to say about their kids to other people.   //   The second Mr. Thompson pretends to give the two of them a moment alone—he lingers on the outskirts of Tony’s line of sight, sipping on wine and speaking to a woman who looks like she could be Flash’s mother—Tony sighs. “Isn’t he just a delight?” he muses, which is not the most neutral thing he’s ever said but is candid, which he thinks Flash deserves.   “Sorry about that,” Flash says, wilting a bit. Tonight, he’s in a suit that’s nearly all black, save for the baroque, gold patterning on its lapels, and that’s easy enough for Tony to place.   “Kid, Versace isn’t meant for slouching. Don’t feel too bad—I’m the one who sought him out.” He clears his throat. “How’ve you been? How was that calc test?”   “Alright, and good.”   “Any homework in your breast pocket?”   Flash laughs, more full-throated than he did the last time Tony saw him, and takes a sip of his drink. “Nah, I figured this week’s stuff out on my own.”   Tony nods. “Good job.”   It’s meant as a quick comment. Despite how easily it comes to Tony, he’s aware, objectively, that math at that level isn’t exactly easy, but Flash chokes on a mouthful of his grape juice. Tony panics for a second, but Flash eventually coughs, waving him off. “Shit—no, I’m fine, just wasn’t expecting that.”   Expecting wha—   Oh.   Oh.   Tony slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks so he doesn’t ball them into fists, and he resists the urge to cut Flash’s parents a glare.    (He knows how this goes, and his approval will go a lot farther than his ire, no matter how furious it makes him that the kid was taken off-guard by the tiniest possible bit of positive feedback.)    “As long as you feel okay,” he says, grabbing a fabric napkin off the closest table for Flash to cough into. “Speaking of math, though, you didn’t tell me you went to Midtown.” It’s a smooth topic change, mostly so that Tony won’t say something a little too angry to be appropriate for a kid he, technically, barely has a working relationship with. Flash accepts it easily. “I didn’t think it was relevant,” he admits.   Well, your dad did, Tony thinks but keeps to himself. “I have an intern that goes there—maybe you know him. Does the name Peter Parker ring a bell?”   A beat.   Flash’s grip on his glass is suddenly much more intense, and Tony feels as though he might’ve misstepped. “I know him,” he says, tone turned very, very measured.   Interesting.   “Same classes?” Tony prods. He didn’t know Peter had someone in his life that feels this way about him—clenched fingers, gritted teeth—but he’s intrigued.   “A few. We’re on the Academic Decathlon team together.”   “And?”   “And what?” Flash’s eyes dart to him. They’re about the same height, but Tony feels as though he’s being sized up, from the way Flash is analyzing his face.   He cracks a smile and hopes it conveys that he can be trusted. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem super enthused to hear his name. Got a reason for that?”   “No offense, but I don’t want to waste my time with a literal superhero talking about Peter Parker.” He spits his name out like a bad bite of food.   “Alright, then. We don’t have to.”   But Tony lets the silence hang for one, two, three seconds, and—   “He’s just annoying, alright?” Bingo. Tony doesn’t even have to say anything for him to keep talking. “Sorry if you’re close or whatever, but he flakes all the time, on everything and everybody, and people still act like he’s the shit. If I pulled half the stuff he does, I’d get chewed out until the end of time, but no, he’s fine to do whatever he wants, I guess. He’s a literal genius, too. Everyone else has to work their ass off to get to his level, and he doesn’t even care how smart he is. He could get into any college he wanted if he applied himself, but no, he just wanders around like he’s too good to deal with any of it, and it pisses me off.” He’s practically growling as he finishes, some of his juice sliding down the side of his glass from it sloshing around with his gestures.   Tony, placatingly, nods. “I can see that.” It’s not exactly a lie. If he puts himself in a high schooler’s shoes, he can see how Peter would be irritating. He cares a lot about the kid—it’s hard not to, with the amount of heart packed into his surprisingly small frame—but he’s dense as a rock about some things, including, he assumes, how his peers see him.   Flash cuts him a look. “No you don’t,” he grouses, and Tony blinks. He thought he was doing a pretty good job lying, or at least playing nice with the irritated teenager in front of him.   “I—”   Flash lifts his chin along with his brows as if to say really? It’s surprisingly effective, and Tony sighs. “I see where you’re coming from, honestly, but I really think he’s just oblivious.”   Flash scoffs. “That’s the whole problem! It’s—” His mouth screws up for a second, searching for the right word. “—it’s wasted potential, alright. Like, metaphorically, he’s not looking any farther than two feet in front of him. If he did, he could get his act together, but he’s not, so he’s just unreliable and obnoxious.”   “You really care about public image, huh?”   Flash sighs, then looks at him with more sternness than a kid his age should be able to muster. “If you look and act the part for wherever you are, you get ahead. It’s simple, and he doesn’t seem to get it.”   As he speaks, Flash pulls his jacket down to smooth out a wrinkle in its surface and wipes away a dot of sweat on his temple, and something comes together for Tony all at once. Flash’s thing with fashion—his own and his critiques of others—really does have less to do with aesthetics and more with politics, as Flash put it. He likes working the room, and that means dressing like someone deserving of respect. While he’s busy fuming and sipping his drink more angrily than Tony previously thought possible, Tony studies the stiff lines of him, the way he surveys the crowd when he’s not meeting Tony’s eyes, keeping tabs on what’s important to him. The kid’s knowledge of social dynamics is, as far as Tony can tell, spot-on, down to the hierarchy of his own home.   He has the charm his parents want, and yet no interest in how they want him to use it, which is both painfully familiar to Tony and a damn shame that his parents have boxed him in so tightly.   Now, Tony has two choices. He could waste time feeling sad about that, or he could do something, and frankly, Tony’s always been a man of action.   (Especially when it might keep this kid from the pitfalls he dealt with at his age.)   “Hey, kid, have you ever considered a career in public relations?”   “What?”   //   The third time Tony runs into Flash Thompson at an event he doesn’t want to be at, Stark Industries is hosting. Arguably, this should mean that Tony’s more present than usual, but he, in his middle age, has become something of a creature of habit. He likes the same coffee (that he has imported from Thailand) every morning, he likes to tinker in his lab at the same time every night (from 7:00 to 10:00 PM), and he likes to pull the same disappearing act he always has at formal events. This time, however, he has the kid with him—the superpowered one, not the vaguely snobby but nonetheless endearing one he’s found more recently.   Because it’s an SI conference, Tony can excuse inviting Peter as interning experience, never mind how loudly Peter protests that the internship is fake, anyway, so he shouldn’t have to do this. It helps that May wants pictures of him and Tony to scrapbook, so she makes him go.   (“No alcohol for him” she’d still whispered into Tony’s ear as he and Peter headed out the door, an unspoken but no less frightening threat than the ones she screamed at him after Homecoming.)   At any rate, that means Peter’s being dragged along with him when he leaves in search of a nice wall to stand on or table to crawl under—he’s not picky. The event is SI’s annual growth conference, where they mostly brag about their milestones from the last year and plans for the next, which means it’s more open to the public than a seminar or a shareholder meeting—SI wants the public to see tonight’s happenings, so it shouldn’t be surprising, honestly, that Tony literally runs into Flash Thompson.   He has yet to figure out why Flash’s father keeps getting invited to these things, let alone how he has the extra tickets to bring his wife and child, but since that’s below his pay grade, he doesn’t especially care. It’s not like it matters when Flash spins around in response to the pressure at his back, sees Peter, and immediately twists his lips into a sneer. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he deadpans, less composed than Tony’s ever seen him.   Peter, standing to Tony’s side, has approximately the same reaction, face twisting with disgust. “What are you doing here?”   “Listening to the conference, obviously. What are you doing here?”   “I have the Stark Internship. Remember that, or were you too busy having your date with Black Widow?”   Tony is lost, but it doesn’t matter because Flash is occupied rolling his eyes, his careful words and mannerisms from previous run-ins long gone. “It’s not my fault I didn’t think you could show up consistently enough to maintain an internship at a Fortune 500, loser.”   “I’m the loser? You’re the one—”   “Hey!” Tony cuts in, placing hands on both of their shoulders. “What if we both calmed down?” Both of their mouths click shut, but there’s no quieting the intensity of the glares they send each other, prickling with animosity. Tony knew Flash didn’t like Peter, but he had no idea Peter was this against Flash, too, which means he’s a little taken aback by how quickly the tension between the two of them ratcheted up in literal seconds. “Flash, meet Peter. Peter, meet Flash. Flash, it’s good to see you. Peter, it’s great to see you making friends. May I remind both of you that we’re in public, and I like it when Pepper doesn’t kill me?”   The boys glare harder, and Flash is the one to break the standoff, shaking his head a little and smoothing a hand over his hairdo. Tonight, he’s in a deep emerald suit that’s undeniably polished but nondescript enough that Tony can’t tell the brand. “Of course,” he says woodenly, then finally looks at Tony, who’s not accustomed to it taking this long to get acknowledged. “Peter, you don’t look as pasty as usual in that shade of blue. Good to see you, Tony.”   “Tony?” Peter hisses, incredulous and apparently ignoring the dig at himself.   “What do you call him, then?”   “Mr. Stark— duh.”   “Well, he told me to call him Tony.”   “He told me to call him that too! Doesn’t mean I listened!”   “See, this is why I didn’t believe you about the Stark Inte—”   Tony never sees the knife coming.   One moment, his eyes are pinballing back and forth between Flash and Peter, and the next, there’s a blade half an inch from his chest, kept there by Peter’s hand wrapped around a waiter’s wrist. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, and the waiter—or, well, what was supposed to be a waiter but is now better classified as a failure of an assassin—strains futilely against Peter’s iron grip.   A good ten seconds pass before anyone screams, and Tony sighs once others start following suit.   This would’ve been the third year in a row without any sort of violence at this conference, but here they are, with people descending into hysterics around them and Tony going to have to talk to the police later. It’s inconvenient all around, really, but in the pause Tony takes to pinch the bridge of his nose and make a mental reminder to put a spa day in his schedule soon, Flash, of all people, jumps into action.   “Stand back!” he barks, spine straight, marching a determined line between Tony, Peter, the assassin, and the rest of the room. “You,” he points to a woman standing nearby, “call 911. If you don’t want to speak to the operator, give the phone to me. Where’s the nearest security guard? Someone flag them down! Come on, you can’t expect him to hold this guy forever,” he snaps, despite that Peter seems to be very in control of the situation. He’s pressing the assassin-in-waiter’s-clothing to the floor inch by inch, twisting his wrist in a way that makes him wince and drop the knife, which clatters to the ground. Flash keeps yelling. “If you’re not helping, move to the exit! Go!”   People stare at him for a moment, maybe processing the teenager standing concerningly close to the scene of an attempted murder, maybe startled by the authority in the orders he barks, maybe just admiring his outfit choice, but then they start to do as he says.   Flash watches them go, arms crossed and eyes stormy, as if daring anyone to ask who put him in charge, and Tony takes the time to think that he wears authority well.   On the floor, the guy who had the knife starts growling something aggressive, or at the very least, unkind, but Tony doesn’t care enough to listen. He looks down at his shirt—unharmed, thankfully—and then he processes that two teenagers just dealt with an attempt on his life. Two teenagers who hate each other just dealt with an attempt on his life, and Tony knows he’s too desensitized to assassination attempts because all he feels is proud, even when they start to argue about who’s going to talk to 911 when the lady hands Flash her phone.   “Give it to me,” Peter snaps.   “You’re not taking the call. You’re literally holding the guy in place; you don’t even have a free hand.”   “You could put it on speaker!”   “I’m not putting 911 on speaker!”   “I’ll put you on speaker.”   Tony grins.   //   It takes a little bit for security to take the assailant away, what with the way he twists and screams about coming back to finish the job someday, but they manage, and that leaves Peter, Flash, Tony, and Pepper standing in a now-empty banquet hall while they wait for the cops to find them.   “We should go downstairs to meet them,” Pepper suggests, after kissing Tony’s cheek and checking him over for injuries herself.   “We should,” Tony agrees, and then they don’t because he’s not the only one who’s gotten used to a little bit of danger in his day-to-day. In the meantime, he looks at Peter and Flash, who piped down with Pepper’s arrival but are still fighting with each other under their breath, and clears his throat.   They quiet long enough to look at him, and Tony smiles, rocking back a little on his heels. “You know, the two of you make a pretty good team.”   “No, we don’t,” they say at the same time.   Tony gives the two of them a disbelieving stare. “Your practice handling assassination attempts together is what made that go smoothly, then?” They both scowl at him. Flash’s phone buzzes—his parents, probably—but he doesn’t move to look at it.    “It was a fluke,” Flash insists.   “Definitely,” Peter agrees.   (They’re in the same position, arms crossed, brows knitted, and Tony doesn’t think they know it.)   “Whatever you say,” Tony hums, “but even with Flash working for my news team, it’s going to be pretty hard for you guys to promote Stark Internships together if you don’t learn to get along.”   It’s only a natural conclusion to these things. It’s not every day Tony finds a kid who can successfully command a room of pretentious adults, and it’s definitely not every day that said kid’s parents give his actual interests some credit. If he has to say the internship is for STEM-related purposes, that’s fine, but Tony has to agree with Flash: he hates wasted potential.   It takes a few seconds for that news to sink in, and when the two boys explode into a united front of noise, decidedly aimed at him, all Tony can do is laugh.

Levi woke up engulfed in Eren’s scent. But when he turned to reach for him, there was no one there, his bed cold and empty. He sat up, blinking through the fuzzy haze weighing down his head. And then it hit him—his heat, his begging, his desperation— everything.  Panic rushed into his veins, his face flushing with shame. His friends had barely been buried in the dirt for more than three days and he was already trying to get knotted by an alpha—the enemy. “Levi?” Eren's voice filtered through the thin walls. Heavy footsteps came bounding up the stairs. He hurried into the bedroom, his wild eyes landing on Levi. “Are you okay? You smell distressed.” The moment Eren was in his field of vision, his heart calmed, the panic gripping him letting go of its tight hold. “I’m fine.” Levi swallowed past the dryness in his still swollen throat. “Do we have any water left?” “Yeah, we lucked out,” Eren said, sitting down on the corner of the bed. Levi noticed how he kept his distance, how he refused to make eye contact with him as he pulled his backpack into his lap and pulled out a full bottle of crystal clear water. Eren handed it over to him. “The alphas that were holed up here had some on them.” Levi took it, quickly uncapping it and taking several long sips. The water quenched the fire in his throat while simultaneously clearing the lingering fog in his head. That’s right. It was all coming back to him now. When Eren found this house, he’d run into some trouble. Levi had been so lost to the intensity of his heat that it never registered how close of a call that run-in had been. “How many were there?” Levi asked. “Three.” He perked up, surprised that Eren managed to take them all out.“You killed them all? Just like that?” “Yeah,” Eren said with no remorse, as if Levi was a fool for thinking he’d do anything less. “You're in heat. I told you I would protect you. They needed to die.”  Levi stiffened. It was just like he suspected—Eren was a true monster at his core. And yet, he was trying to protect him, to take care of him. And for whatever reason, that knowledge did something to Levi’s body that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. A fuzzy feeling brewed in the pit of his stomach and his skin was warming up again. Hopefully, it wasn’t the next wave of his heat hitting him already. There were still too many things he needed to talk to Eren about before he lost his mind again. “I told you,” Eren said in a low voice. “I can protect you.” Levi pulled the blanket draped across his lap over his chest, and he stared down at his hands. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he grumbled. “ I don't need your protection.” Eren sighed. “I'm not saying you always do. You've shown me you're perfectly capable of fighting. But you're still an omega. And omegas have heats. It's my responsibility to protect you.” “Your responsibility?” Levi scoffed. “I'm not your omega, Eren. Besides, I'm not even supposed to have heats. This is the first one I've had in over ten years.” “What?” Eren turned to look at him for the first time since he sat down. “Why's that?” “I got in an accident several years ago. Too much exposure to radiation. It made me infertile.” “Oh.” Eren frowned. “That's too bad.” “It's fine.” Levi waved him off, sinking down into the mattress and staring up at the dark ceiling. “I never wanted kids anyway.” “Really? Not even a little bit?” “You've seen how cruel this world is. This isn't the time or place for having kids.” “But you're strong. And surely with the right alpha you could give the kid a good life—” “What are you trying to prove right now?” Levi interjected, sitting up on his elbows so he could glare at the side of Eren’s face. “I said I can't have kids. Why does it matter?” “I don't know.” Eren bowed his head. He sighed long and hard, his hands balling into fists at his side. “It doesn't make sense though. Why did you start your heat now ?” Levi shrugged. “You're the first alpha I've spent more than five minutes with. I guess it triggered something.” Eren was quiet as he stared down at his lap. In the silence, Levi laid back down, unsure of what he could say or do to try and salvage this shitty situation they were in. “How long will your heat last?” Eren suddenly asked. Levi turned his head, peering over at the alpha sitting at the end of the bed. There were worried lines etched into his forehead. “Usually five days or so.” At that, Eren’s shoulders slumped and he buried his face into the palm of his hand. Why did he seem so stressed? It’s not like he was the one who was in a compromising situation. Which got Levi thinking— “Eren… have you ever actually met an omega?” A green eye peeked out from behind his fingers. He shook his head. “Seriously?” Levi asked, surprise coloring his voice. “There weren’t any in that vault of yours?” Eren exhaled sharply, letting his hand drop into his lap. He stared blankly up at the ceiling. “The older ones we had all died from childbirth before I presented. And the kids that were born from them weren’t old enough to present while I was living there.” Well, that explained why Eren was shocked to find out Levi wasn’t the stereotypical omega that he expected. Though it did little to explain why Eren didn’t want him. Wouldn’t a baby alpha like him, who's never been around an omega, let alone one in heat, be overcome with the instinct to knot them? It didn’t make any sense. “What’s your deal, Eren?” Eren’s gaze snapped onto Levi, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” “You’re young. Impulsive. Naive about this world. Clueless about pretty much everything—” Eren’s eyes flashed at that but Levi kept pressing on, not letting the alpha’s anger intimidate him. “And yet, you're determined to help me. To protect and take care of me—an omega you don’t know jack shit about. But then you act like you can’t stand being around me. For fuck’s sake, you won’t even look me in the eye.” “I’m looking at you right now,” Eren said, a fire burning in his soul. “Yeah…” Levi arched a brow. “And what do you see?” Eren snapped his mouth shut and looked away. Again. Annoyed, Levi sat up and crawled to the end of the bed. Grabbing Eren by the chin, he forced their eyes to meet. “Answer the question.” “I…" his eyes flicked across Levi's face. "I see a man who is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Even though I’ve been told over and over that omegas are weak and need an alpha to survive, you’ve shown me that’s not true.” Eren licked his lips and swallowed loudly. Levi’s eyes snapped to his moistened lips, and for a fleeting moment, he remembered how sweet they tasted. “I respect you.” Levi was quiet as he searched Eren’s face, looking for the lie. But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find it. It was all starting to make sense. “Is that why you wouldn’t fuck me?” Levi asked. This time, Eren didn’t look away. “When we first met, I promised I wouldn’t do anything to you. And even though you were begging me to do it, I knew you weren’t in your right mind, that you didn’t really want it.” “And if I asked right now?” The green in Eren’s eyes pulsated and it was quickly swallowed up by the blackness of his pupils. He sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw flexing underneath Levi’s fingers. “Do you want that?” It was Levi’s turn to look away. He let go of Eren’s chin and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. “We might not have much of a choice.” “That’s bullshit,” Eren said, a sharp edge to his voice. It cut across Levi’s skin, drawing his attention back up to him. “There’s always a choice. If you don’t want it, then I’m not fucking you. I’m not some kind of animal.” No, but you are a monster. That much I can tell already, Levi wanted to say, but he held his tongue. There was no point in poking the beast. Not now, at least. Not when he was trying to get Eren to agree to something Levi didn’t really want to do. “Let me make this very clear for you, Eren. If you don’t fuck me through this heat, then we’re going to be stuck here for way too long. And if we don’t get back to the Underground soon, a bunch of people are going to die.” “You’d give up your body to save these people?” “I’d give up my body to make sure my friends didn’t die in vain.” Eren sighed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he considered Levi’s words. Clearly, this decision was taking a toll on him, which was a bit of a surprise. As far as Levi was concerned, any other alpha would’ve jumped at the opportunity to fuck him through his heat.  “If it makes you feel any better... I don’t hate the idea of you fucking me. If anything, I’m…” Levi paused, weighing his words. How truthful did he really want to be about how he felt about this whole situation? On one hand, he hated how vulnerable and exposed he was right now. But at the same time, there was something about Eren that made him feel comfortable. Like he could trust him with this side of himself.  He let out a heavy breath. “I’m glad it’s you.” Something flashed across Eren’s eyes and before Levi could make sense of what was going on, Eren was hovering over him, his heavenly body heat rolling across his bare skin in waves. Eren’s breath came out heavy and uneven as he stared down at Levi’s lips, his long hair hanging around both of them like a curtain. “Do you want me, Levi?” Eren murmured, his voice soft like velvet. Levi closed his eyes as something warm and piquant filled his pores. He took a deep breath, Eren’s musky scent filling his lungs. It burned from within him, making his blood burst to life beneath his skin. Just like that, he could feel his heat once again seeping into his veins, could feel arousal tightening in his abdomen like a vice, could feel his head becoming heavy with a thick and sensuous fog.  A low whine caught in the back of his throat as he rutted up into Eren’s firm body, slick beginning to seep from between his cheeks. Already, his skin was on fire, and the only thing that could douse it was Eren’s steady touch. “Yes,” he muttered, his fingers digging harshly into Eren’s arms. “Alpha, please.” Eren squeezed his eyes shut, a groan falling from his parted lips. “You’re sure about this?” Levi threw his arms around Eren’s back, burying his face into his neck, peppering his smooth skin with hungry kisses. Long-buried primal instinct flared up inside of him once again, and he quivered at the taste of alpha pheromones on his lips. He couldn’t stop himself from indulging in him, licking and sucking all along Eren’s scent gland like a starved man. “Yes—want you—” he rutted his cock up against Eren’s thigh, gasping as pleasure shot through his limbs. “—so bad. Please .” Eren ripped himself away from Levi with a growl, sitting back on his knees. He stared down at him, eyes black and dripping with hunger. He started to tear off his clothes, not breaking eye contact with Levi as he undressed. “You want my knot, omega?” Levi keened, writhing against the scratchy mattress as his body reacted to the alpha’s words. Every nerve inside of him ignited, every inch of his skin begging to be touched. Everything about the alpha wedged between his legs had him losing control. Anything Eren wanted, Levi would give it to him, without question.  “Yes.” That’s all it took for Eren to snap.  In an instant, Eren ripped the blanket from between them and pressed his body firmly down on Levi’s chest, skin on heated skin. It quelled the aching in Levi’s bones and he sighed with relief as he nuzzled his nose into the soft underside of Eren’s chin. “Smell so good,” Levi slurred out as he continued to grind his cock on Eren’s bare skin. A breathy moan fell from his lips as the friction warmed his blood and slick dripped down his leg. “So good.” Eren’s fingers tightened around Levi’s hips, squeezing so hard that Levi was sure there would be bruises left in his wake. A low growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re a tease, you know that?” Levi shook his head against Eren’s neck, his tongue running languidly over his scent gland. “Just want you, alpha. Want you to knot me.” Eren's hands trailed up Levi’s sides and he jerked his hips, his massive cock pressing against Levi’s slickening hole. It was enough to drive Levi crazy and he keened, his back arching off the mattress as he pushed his ass down on Eren’s alpha cock, begging for more. “Fuck.” Eren pressed his forehead onto Levi’s shoulder, his arms shaking. “You’re so wet.” “For you, alpha,” Levi murmured, desperate for Eren’s touch. Why wasn’t he fucking him yet? Why was he torturing Levi like this? “So wet for you. Please fuck me, alpha. Please .” Eren groaned into Levi’s shoulder, his teeth nipping at his skin. Levi shivered as a sharp pain prickled his spine and he could feel another wave of slick seeping out of his quivering hole. Eren’s fingers continued to explore the expanse of Levi’s chest until they brushed against his pert nipple. Taking one of them between his fingers, he pinched and pulled as he thrust his thick cock between Levi’s slicked up cheeks. “Ah!” Levi cried out, throwing his head back against the mattress. Everything was so sensitive, and he could feel himself slipping down a rabbit hole of desire with every press of Eren’s body against his own. “ More .” Without hesitation, Eren gave it to him. His fingers continued to tease his nipple while he grinded his body down on Levi’s cock. With his free hand, he twisted his fingers into Levi’s hair, pulling their faces together. Staring down at him were eyes so black with desire, Levi thought he could drown in them. Unable to look away, he surged forward with his eyes wide open as he crashed their lips together. Their tongues tangled up with each other as they stared into each other’s souls, both of them completely exposed and desperate for one another. Suddenly, Eren pulled away, his hands sliding down to Levi’s hips. He flipped Levi over, pulling his ass up into the air. Without Eren on top of him, his bones began to ache and he whined as he pressed his face into the mattress, so desperate to feel Eren’s skin against his own. “Shh,” Eren cooed as his hands slid across his ass. He palmed his cheeks, spreading them apart, a puff of warm air tickling his twitching hole. “You’ll get my knot, omega. Patience.” Levi didn’t have any patience left. If he didn’t feel Eren inside of him soon, he was sure his heart would stop beating for good. But before he could complain, two fingers slid between his cheeks, prodding his entrance. Levi rolled his ass down onto Eren’s touch, anticipation burning his chest. Eren pushed his fingers in, curling them just like before to find Levi’s sweet spot. "Ah! Wait—" Levi’s nails dug harshly into the mattress as he cried out in pleasure. He was already so wound up, he thought he might just come from Eren’s fingers again. “Eren, I—” Eren added another finger, the burning stretch making his toes curl. Slick seeped out quicker than before, more of it dribbling down his leg. Levi gritted his teeth, caging in a moan as his legs shook, a sweet pressure building up in his core. Suddenly, something akin to hot satin began circling languidly around Levi’s entrance. Levi gasped in surprise as pleasure prickled his skin. He rolled his hips back onto Eren’s fingers, wanting more of whatever that sinful feeling prodding his sensitive hole was. Eren groaned, the low rumble sending sweet vibrations through Levi’s entire body. “You taste so good.” The fog in his head momentarily lifted and realization settled into his brain. Eren’s tongue was lapping up his slick like he was starved for it. The pressure building up inside of Levi’s abdomen tightened. “More. So good,” Levi slurred out, his mind swimming with lust. “So close.” That seemed to embolden Eren. He plunged his fingers in and out of his hole with renewed fervor, pushing desperately against Levi’s sweet spot, his tongue swirling around those sinful fingers, drinking up Levi’s slick.  “Oh, fuck, Eren, yes !” Levi’s vision went white as sparks danced across his skin, muscles quaking as cum shot out from his cock, soiling the already disgusting mattress beneath him. At this point, Levi couldn’t stop the string of whimpers and moans falling from his lips, couldn’t stop the trembling of his legs as Eren continued to overstimulate him. But then Eren pulled back, leaving him cold and empty. With shaking arms, Levi slowly pulled himself onto his elbows and looked at Eren over his shoulder. There was slick dripping off his lips, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes a black, hungry void. “Eren, I thought—” Before he could get the words out, Eren rammed his cock into Levi’s stretched-out hole, the abundance of slick and saliva, making it slide easily into him. The burning stretch that bloomed from his ass had his eyes squeezing shut, his lips trembling with groans of both pleasure and pain.  “Shit,” Eren breathed out above him, his fingernails biting into the soft flesh of Levi’s hips. He tentatively jerked into him, his thick cock plunging deeper, making Levi’s stomach quake. Never in his life had Levi felt so full. The feeling was overwhelming, and his eyes stung with hot tears. This alpha’s cock was shoved so deep inside of him that it almost felt like their bodies had been sewn together. Even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to tear away from each other. Despite his recent orgasm, he could feel pressure building up inside of his cock again, slick pooling between his cheeks. Lost to the heat burning his blood, he pressed his ass back on Eren’s cock, sinking it even deeper. Eren slid his hands around Levi’s waist, his palm pressing against his lower abdomen. He jerked his hips, going deeper still. He pressed down on Levi’s stomach, right where Eren’s cock was pushing up against his skin. “Ah—” Levi cried out, his body collapsing as he buried his face back into the mattress. It was already becoming too much for him to handle. “Feels so good. Please alpha, want your knot.” Eren leaned over him, his broad chest blanketing across Levi’s back. His breath was hot in Levi’s ear. “Don’t worry, you’ll get my knot, omega.” A shiver ran down Levi’s spine and he turned to try and steal Eren’s tempting lips into a kiss, but Eren straightened up before he could, his hands tightly gripping Levi’s hips. And without warning, he pulled out slowly, only to thrust right back into him. The harsh movement pushed Levi back down into the mattress, his moans muffled as he dug his nails into the bed. Eren’s pace quickened and before Levi could make sense of what was happening, Eren was frantically pounding into him, his cock stretching Levi open in a way he didn’t know was possible. It was like a missing piece of himself was being shoved violently into place, and instead of pushing it away like he always thought he would, he was grabbing hold of it and ramming it right where it belonged. “Yes, yes, YES, alpha, feels so good,” Levi cried out, his mind a shameless bog of lewd thoughts. “Do—do I feel good, too?” Eren growled, his fingers roughly tangling into Levi’s hair. He tugged harshly, pulling Levi off the mattress. His hot breath tickled Levi’s neck, his nose brushing against his protruding scent gland. Eren sucked in a ragged breath as he continued to fuck into Levi with just as much ferocity as before. “So good. Such a good omega. Want you so bad.” Levi’s belly tickled, his skin warming, the praise going straight through him. Completely lost to the instincts coursing through his veins, he turned his head to the side, exposing his scent gland for Eren to see. “Have me,” Levi murmured around a string of whimpers and moans. “I’m yours, alpha.” Eren’s grip tightened around Levi’s hair, pulling harshly as his nails continued to bite into Levi’s hip. The pain went straight to Levi’s cock, and delicious pressure swelled up inside of him, making him blind to the world around them. “Mate me, mate me, mate me, ” Levi begged, his body screaming out for Eren to bite his neck, for Eren to claim him once and for all. With a low groan, Eren let go of Levi’s hair and straightened out. While one of his hands continued to dig into his side, his other was missing from Levi’s body. Eren made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and something warm dripped down onto Levi’s back. Before he could turn around and see what Eren was doing, he was pushing Levi down, fucking him hard into the mattress. Levi’s body screamed for the alpha to mate him. He kept begging, kept calling out for Eren to do it, but his mouth never came close to his neck. But then Eren was hovering over him again, his lips at the base of Levi’s ear, his breath ragged and uneven. “Want my knot, omega?” “God, yes!” Levi cried out, the pressure swirling in his core stretching out his skin. He could feel Eren’s cock swelling up inside of him, could feel it filling Levi up even more. It made the tension in his abdomen pull tighter and tighter, until it snapped in half, reality shattering all around him. More cum shot out from his twitching cock, his hole clenching down on Eren’s thick length, sucking him in deeper as a vibrant heat flashed across Levi’s skin. His throat was raw as he cried out, unable to control the endless flood of moans pouring from his lips.  “Shit, Levi, I—” Eren cried out as his knot swelled deep within, the ungodly stretch making Levi’s stomach tingle. Eren buried his face into Levi’s back, his hot cum filling him up as staggered groans danced across Levi’s skin.  “That was—fuck. ” Eren panted hard behind him, his sweaty cheek pressed up against Levi’s shoulder blade. He turned his head ever so slightly, his lips brushing against Levi’s still tingling skin. Levi hummed, closing his eyes. Muscles weak and head sluggish, Levi collapsed onto the mattress, completely spent. But Eren’s knot pulled harshly against his ass, and pain shot up his spine. He hissed, recoiling against Eren’s chest. “Shh, don’t move.” Eren wrapped his arms snugly around Levi’s waist, holding him close. He rolled both of them onto their sides so they were laying with Levi’s back pressed against Eren’s chest. “Are you okay?” Unable to find his voice, Levi nodded.  “You can sleep, if you want to,” Eren said, rubbing his hand up and down Levi’s arm. Something bright red caught in the corner of his eye. Levi turned, his gaze honing in on the bloody mess covering Eren’s forearm. “The hell did you do?” Levi mumbled, too exhausted to get worked up over his mysterious injury. “I—” Eren’s nose pressed between Levi’s shoulders, his lips brushing against his heated skin. “I really wanted to mate you when you were begging me to. I knew you didn't really want that so I bit myself instead.” Levi’s chest tingled and he turned his face into his arm to hide the blush creeping up his neck. How the hell did he manage to find an alpha like this? Just when he thought his luck was running out, this bright-eyed brat came barreling into his life, turning his whole world upside down. “You’re crazy,” Levi muttered. It was the only thing he could think to say. His head was still too foggy for him to make sense of any of this. “Maybe.” Eren chuckled softly, the slight shake of his chest reminding Levi that his knot was still buried deep inside of him. He pushed his ass back into Eren, relishing in the way his whole body tingled at the feeling of his knot pressing against his walls, trapping his alpha seed inside of his body. Some primal instinct buried deep down inside of his soul rejoiced at that, telling him one thing over and over again— This is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Giyuu’s crow, or Kanzaburo as he was named, had informed him that Rengoku was currently located in a village not too far from Shinobu’s Butterfly Mansion. The battle with Akaza had taken place only a few weeks ago, and since then Rengoku had been spending most of his time at Shinobu’s mansion being treated for his injuries. From what Giyuu had heard, Rengoku’s injuries were so bad that he would most likely have died, had the Kakushi not arrived as fast as they did. It was quite incredible that he was already in a good enough shape to go on another mission after such a serious fight, but it seemed that most of the Hashira members were built this way - Giyuu himself included. They could never stay in the hospital beds for too long, as every second spent being treated for their injuries, was a second that could have been spent outside fighting demons and protecting people instead. It wasn’t uncommon at all for them to leave before they had healed completely. Giyuu wondered if Rengoku had done the same and if he was even in a good enough shape to be slaying demons again. It took a few days for Giyuu to reach the village where Rengoku was currently staying. It was a very small village, probably only a few hundred inhabitants, and it was located near the foot of a small green mountain. The nature was quite beautiful in the area, with a tiny lake running through the village and into the dense forest covering the mountain above. Giyuu arrived just before sunset and slowly made his way into the village center. It was almost an overstatement to call it a center, as it was mostly just a few houses surrounding a well. A few market stands were up as well, although empty now as the villagers were slowly beginning to retire into their homes for the night. It would probably be very easy to find Rengoku. The Flame Hashira wasn’t exactly “subtle” in the way he spoke, dressed, or behaved, and his golden mane would stick out like a sore thumb in this tiny village. Giyuu would probably just have to ask one or two people if they had seen him, and then- “WOW! AMAZING!” And there he was. Giyuu recognized the Flame Hashira’s signature enthusiastic and loud voice right away. It was coming from a nearby alley a few houses away from the well, and as Giyuu made his way there, the cheerful outburst became louder and louder. “EXACTLY! GREAT! You are fast learners!” As Giyuu turned around the corner of the street to face the alley, he was met with broad shoulders and a white cape - Rengoku’s body facing what appeared to be two children engaging in a play swordfight. One of them, a young girl of around eight years of age, was holding a broom, while the other, her younger brother presumably, was fighting back using a long wooden stick. They were laughing and grinning at each other while trying to simultaneously avoid and tap the other’s weapon of choice, each move followed by an overdone imitation of swordsman techniques. “Am I doing it right?” the young girl asked while swinging her sword around in circles over her head. It was a weird movement and very much not an actual sword technique, but Rengoku didn’t seem to mind at all as his voice stayed cheerful in his reply. “Yes! As a first step, yes! But you will get better! And if you keep practicing, soon we might be fighting side by side in a real battle!” he replied. “Really?” the young girl’s eyes lit up as she stared happily at Rengoku’s much taller figure. Did he really mean it? These children were clearly just doing this for fun, but Rengoku seemed to be genuinely optimistic about the young girl’s skills. Giyuu looked at him perplexed, feeling very much out of place in whatever display of "future swordmanship" was going on in front of him. “Hey! You! Who are you?” Giyuu looked back at the two children and found the younger boy pointing his finger at him. Rengoku turned around, following the young boy’s movement, and his eyes met with Giyuu’s. He exclaimed in surprise: “TOMIOKA! What a joy to see you here!” Rengoku smiled at Giyuu, his eyes face and posture giving away that he was genuinely surprised to see the Water Hashira here. “How long have you been standing there? I thought you were someone from the village wanting to pass through, so I didn’t even notice!” Giyuu looked at him and nodded as a greeting, the same way he had with Ubuyashiki. “I just arrived a few minutes ago. We have been ordered to do our next missions together, the two of us.” Giyuu had been thinking a lot about how he would tell Rengoku that they were going to team up for future missions without creating any reasons for him to be suspicious. In the end, he decided that the best thing to do was probably just to keep it short and simple. The less he said, the less reason Rengoku would have to question anything. Hopefully. “YES! INDEED!” Rengoku blurst out, voice as loud as ever. Giyuu wondered if any of the people in the houses surrounding them had already gone to sleep. Either way, they were most likely awake now. “I was told of this! That there have been quite a few things happening recently, that require two of us on duty together! I did not know that it was you I would be teaming up with, but I am very happy about it, Tomioka! We will form an excellent partnership!” he said. He was happy to work with Giyuu? Giyuu looked Rengoku in the eyes, but nothing about the man’s honest and enthusiastic demeanor gave any hint of him lying for the sake of politeness. He seemed genuinely excited to be teaming up with Giyuu. Maybe he had gotten bored from all that time spent in bed getting treated at the Butterfly Mansion. Maybe this was just exciting to him because he had been in bedrest for so long. Probably. Giyuu nodded and turned his gaze back to the children standing behind the slightly taller Hashira. They blinked up at him, eyes wide and in wonder and admiration. The older girl grabbed her younger brother’s hand and they quickly ran up to join Rengoku by his side, all still while staring at Giyuu. “Mr. Swordsman, Is this your friend? He looks so cool! Is he also a swordsman like you?” she asked. “YES! INDEED, HE IS! Very cool and very strong! Tomioka is one of the best!” Cool and strong? One of the best? Giyuu shifted his face to look at Rengoku, suddenly feeling very awkward in the situation. He had never been good at receiving praise like this, and it seemed like giving praise to others was one of Rengoku’s favourite past time activities. The Flame Hashira locked eyes with his, sending him a friendly smile. Giyuu shifted awkwardly, a weird and uncomfortable feeling poking at him ever so lightly. “It’s getting dark.” He said, looking to the children again, before Rengoku could continue saying anything else. “You should go inside.” The children blinked in confusion and looked up at Rengoku who nodded in agreement with Giyuu. “Yes! It is indeed getting dark! You should go back inside! Taru, Haru, we will continue another time! Great work today, keep it up!” He memorized their names? The children laughed, thanked Rengoku many times and left the alleyway, leaving Giyuu and Rengoku to stand alone on the little road between the two small houses. From what Giyuu could hear, most of the villagers had left the streets by now. It was quiet, the only sounds being faint voices from the houses around them and the sound of crickets. Rengoku quickly broke the silence. “So! Tomioka! Are you hungry?”   ------------------------------   They placed themselves outside a tiny ramen stand a few houses from the main street. Rengoku had spent the entire short walk there beaming about how delicious the ramen was from this specific stand and how talented the chef was. The owner of the stand was clearly happy to see Rengoku as well. Giyuu could imagine that Rengoku’s visits probably generated a lot of income for the stand owner. The Flame Hashira was known for having a serious appetite, only rivalled by Kanroji. They got a bowl of ramen each and started eating. Giyuu didn’t realize just how hungry he had been until he started eating the ramen. And Rengoku had been completely right – it was delicious and Giyuu enjoyed finally getting some real food after travelling for days. Giyuu was nearly halfway through his bowl when Rengoku started asking for thirds. The depth of this man’s stomach was truly impressive. “DELICIOUS!” Rengoku seemed to get excited very easily about even the smallest of things, and sitting alone like this with him, made Giyuu realize just how far this man’s friendliness and optimistic character stretched. He had even remembered the stand owner’s name, and when ordering the ramen, he had made sure to tip him a very generous amount for each serving he ordered. Giyuu had always known that Rengoku was a kindhearted person, but he had not known that it was to this extent. It was interesting seeing Rengoku up close like this, outside of Ubuyashiki’s mansion or the battlefield. It made Giyuu think that he probably knew a lot less about him than he initially thought. Giyuu watched him as he took in his third bowl of ramen, night having fallen completely over the now sleeping village and moonlight colouring his hair with a grey tinted shade. Even when eating, his eyes seemed intense. Deeply focused on the task ahead of him. But now that Giyuu was sitting closer than ever before, beside him outside of this ramen stand in an unfamiliar village, he noticed that there was something else hidden in Rengoku’s eyes, in the way he looked at things. There was the focus, the optimism, the enthusiasm, but something else intangible in those red-yellow eyes. It reminded him a bit of the look Ubuyashiki had had on his face when Giyuu went to his mansion. Was it worry? “Huh?” Giyuu blinked a few times as he realized that those same red and yellow eyes were now staring directly back at him. “Tomioka?” Rengoku asked. Giyuu’s eyes widened, realizing that he had been staring at Rengoku’s face without registering what he had been asking him. How rude. He must not lose focus like this again. “Hm?” Giyuu said, trying to prompt Rengoku to repeat his question. “Ha ha ha, distracted by the taste of the ramen, huh? I told you it was DELICIOUS!” Rengoku laughed and quickly slurped up the rest of his now fifth (?) bowl of ramen. “I was asking about the demon! The demon that has been terrorizing this village!” Demon? Oh right. For a second, Giyuu had almost forgotten the fact that Rengoku was unaware of the main reason Giyuu had been sent here: to protect him from Akaza in case he attacked. And from the look of his face and tone of speaking, Giyuu could tell that Rengoku didn’t suspect anything. Great. “The demon, yes.” Giyuu said, tone of voice as calm and expressionless as ever. “No, I have not managed to find out anything about it. What do you know so far?” Giyuu asked. Rengoku didn’t seem to mind the fact that Giyuu hadn’t been able to find any information about the demon before coming. He proceeded to tell him what he himself knew so far: “The disappearances started happening a few weeks ago, and there seems to be no system or pattern to them. Every other night, someone new just disappears. Adults, children, women, men… it can be anyone! And they haven’t found any bodies either, so the demon must be well hidden somewhere. We must find it before anyone else gets taken.” Giyuu nodded. All of the Hashira and demon slayers came from different backgrounds and walks of life, but what tied them all together, was their hatred towards demons. Demons who so mercilessly claimed human lives as if they were simple chess pieces just patiently waiting to get knocked over. It was horrible and they had to stop them before they could end the lives of more innocent people. They had to stop the demon in this village. “Let’s go look for it.” And off they went.   ------------------------------   The demon was difficult to find, but after a few nights of trying, they managed to find it hiding in the very same well they had been circling every day in the town center. It was a quick and easy fight: the two of them worked surprisingly well together, each aiding the other one in the areas where they were weaker. Flames and water working together on the battlefield, strengthening each other in the process. It was elegant and their fighting styles complimented each other seamlessly. It almost felt like dancing. It took less than ten minutes for the demon’s head to fall to the ground. The demon had been good at hiding, but it was not very strong. It was ugly, a hideous being who had been a previous villager of this same town and fathered multiple children, some of whose lives it had ended in the previous week. It was tragic and seeing the amount of pain this incident had brought over the tiny village, made Giyuu’s heart hurt. He could tell that Rengoku was gravely affected by it as well, and as they walked back towards the inn they had been staying at, it was with a heavy mood. None of them said anything as they each entered their respective rooms and got ready for their last night of sleep in this tiny, but now purged, village. A few hours passed of tossing and turning on the futon provided by the inn, but Giyuu was unable to fall asleep that night. The thought of the demon consuming its own children for the sole purpose of getting stronger in order to end even more lives, made him feel sick to the stomach. After he decided that it was useless to keep trying to fall asleep, he got up and went over to the sliding door connecting his room to the outdoor veranda facing the inn’s private garden. He slid up the door and went outside, his sleeping yukata hanging loosely over his muscular body. The inn had provided them both with very comfortable sleeping robes for their stay, and Giyuu enjoyed the feeling of the soft fabric against his skin. However, as he stepped onto the veranda and was greeted by the cool night breeze and starry sky above, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Rengoku was there as well, sitting on the veranda with his feet tagging along the soil of the garden. The door to his room was open, and Giyuu wondered how long he had been out here. His face turned to meet Giyuu’s. “Oh! Tomioka!” he said, much less energetic and loud than usual, but still in a friendly and welcoming tone. His eyes looked strangely somber. Giyuu nodded at him, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. He had gone out to get some fresh air, but would he be imposing on Rengoku if he stayed outside when he was already sitting there? Would it be best if he just gave him a quick “goodnight” and went back inside to continue his very unsuccessful attempts at falling asleep? Or did Rengoku, now that he knew Giyuu couldn’t fall asleep either, expect him to- “Join me!” Guess that decision had already been made for him. Giyuu didn’t answer but walked over to Rengoku and sat next to him, keeping a respectful distance between them. It almost sounded to Giyuu as if a sad sigh escaped Rengoku’s mouth as he placed himself roughly two meters away from him. Or maybe Giyuu was just imagining things. He was tired, so it was very possible that he was just imagining hearing things. But he knew for sure that didn’t want to impose on the Flame Hashira’s privacy, so this was probably the most appropriate thing to do to avoid offending Rengoku. “Can’t fall asleep either?” Rengoku said, crossing his arms and donning his signature pose, while looking up at the night sky above them. Giyuu didn’t answer, but Rengoku didn’t seem to mind his silence. That was one thing that Giyuu had noticed during these past few days they had been spending together. Rengoku didn’t seem to mind Giyuu’s lack of words or verbal engagement in things. He didn’t seem to mind at all but would just continue talking whenever Giyuu didn’t reply. It was oddly comforting. To Giyuu, every conversation felt like pressure. Pressure to react a certain way, to respond a certain way, to reply a certain way. Most people felt uncomfortable around him because he never did these same things or lived up to these expectations of conversation. And because of his stoic and quiet demeanour, they would always hang around for a few minutes, but quickly find a way to politely leave before his silence started making them too uncomfortable. But with Rengoku, things felt different. Even though Giyuu never said as much as him, every interaction and conversation still felt weirdly balanced. As if he didn’t have to say anything to keep Rengoku engaged. It was easy being around him. “I probably twisted and turned around my bed for like two hours before giving up. ANNOYING!” Rengoku laughed, the last word of the sentence being a bit on his characteristically louder end of the volume spectrum. Giyuu hoped that no one had woken up from Rengoku’s loud outburst, but since this was a tiny village in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, he doubted that the rooms were filled to the brim with sleeping customers who were now very awake and very unhappy. “You know…” Rengoku said. Giyuu turned to face him, his hair and face yet again coloured grey by the moonlight. This shade of light looked very different on him. Rengoku was always covered in such bright colours: his eyes, his hair, his clothing... He looked different in this dim light, but it suited him and highlighted every feature of his face in a way that Giyuu had never noticed before. Rengoku actually had a very handsome face. It was a very different face, but a handsome one. On their own, his overly bushy eyebrows looked kind of ridiculous and goofy. But mixed together with everything else on his face, they added a certain charm and uniqueness to his features and highlighted his eyes in a way that no other shape of eyebrows would have been able to. The same could be said about his hair. It was wild, messy and chaotic in every way – but it suited his character, and it framed his face in a way that made him stand out. They complimented his perhaps best feature as well: his eyes. There was just something unique about Rengoku’s eyes and the way they- “… and that’s why I will never buy bento from that place again! Can you imagine!?” Rengoku laughed, clearly entertained by his own story. Giyuu blinked a few times, eyes widening in disbelief. He had no what Rengoku was talking about and hadn't heard a single word of the story he had been telling him. Giyuu got confused. Had he lost focus again? This was the second time this week. Something must be wrong with him: perhaps the tiredness and exhaustion from battling the demon? “WOW! TOMIOKA! You look so surprised!" Giyuu's eyes widened even more. "I have never seen you like that! Eyes all wide! You have very beautiful eyes!” ... Huh? What? ...Beautiful eyes? ... Giyuu suddenly became very aware of his own face and body, feeling like a shy child wanting to hide behind their mother’s protective frame. He could feel his cheeks starting to heat up and got worried that he might have caught a flu. Rengoku was staring at him once again, the same fiery eyes almost looking into his soul. Giyuu didn’t know how to respond to that compliment, so he instead shifted his gaze to his feet, trying to ignore that same weird feeling of something between anxiousness and adrenaline working through his body. Did he have a stomach flu? And did Rengoku really think he had beautiful eyes? Why did he say that? “But that is enough of that story!” Rengoku exclaimed. “I enjoyed fighting with you today! We make a good team!” Giyuu nodded, blue eyes till not meeting fiery red and yellow. He noticed a ladybug crawling across his feet. A few minutes of silence passed between them before Rengoku spoke again. “You know, those children, Taru and Haru?" Rengokus voice dropped, and his entire expression suddenly shifted to a much more serious one. "The demon we fought today… That was their father.” Giyuu looked up in disbelief. The children that were practicing sword stances with Rengoku the day he arrived? That demon was their father? He continued: “I met them on the day I arrived. Their two older siblings had gone missing a few days before my arrival. Their father had been gone for a lot longer, the first person in the village to disappear.” His voice became very quiet and serious, a tone Giyuu had never heard from the Flame Hashira before. “I quickly put two and two together and figured out that it must be because of the demon. But I would never have guessed that it was their own father.” He sighed and joined Giyuu in looking at the ground. Giyuu could feel that same pain again, hurt and anger from before coming back and swelling up inside his body. No one deserved to die like that, and especially not to the hands of their own father. “It made me think of my own relationship with my father, in a way. Not that he would EVER do something like that, of course! But it just made me think of my brother, and…” Rengoku suddenly stopped and looked up at Giyuu with a surprisingly worried and shocked expression covering his face. There it was again. That same worried look in his eyes that Giyuu had been catching secret glimpses of over the course of the days they had spent together in this village. Why was he worried? Did Rengoku have a bad relationship with his father? And he has a brother? Giyuu wondered if it was a little brother or a big brother. And how old he was. Does he look like him? Rengoku quickly shook his head and forced a sad smile on his face. “Nevermind that! I won’t bore you with my family history, Tomioka!” He quickly said, and stood up, the somber smile still covering his face. Giyuu didn’t like that smile. He didn’t like seeing Rengoku like this. “Tomorrow, we shall travel to our next location! GOODNIGHT, TOMIOKA!” Rengoku said, his deep voice echoing through the tiny garden in the middle of the inn. He shut his door and disappeared into his room. Giyuu sat back, now alone on the veranda, feeling perplexed about the interaction they had just had. It had felt oddly intimate, and Giyuu felt like there was something that Rengoku had really wanted to talk about but didn’t. All of this about his father and his brother… Should he have asked more into it? Rengoku could have told him. Giyuu would have listened. ... Maybe Rengoku didn’t trust him? There was something about that thought that made Giyuu’s insides hurt in a way that felt unfamiliar. What were all these weird sensations he had been feeling recently? Perhaps he could sleep it off. Giyuu went to bed shortly after, and for the first time in a string of many following similar nights, his dreams were visited by a yellow-haired man in a fiery white robe.

“What was that?” Levi stopped, shifting the assault rifle from his back to his chest, squinting through the dirt-stained glass of his gas mask. There was rustling in the bushes and the sudden creak of metal. He raised the gun, pointing it at the noise, and took a tentative step towards it while holding up his fist, signaling for Farlan to wait. Something shifted, and a shadow stretched over the hardened earth as it moved behind an abandoned car. He pivoted on the ball of his foot, aiming the barrel at the rusted bumper, holding his breath as he waited for the unknown creature to show itself. A flash of familiar red blew out from behind the car. Levi dropped his gun just in time to see a human girl sprinting out from behind the bumper with her arms extended. In a flash, she pounced on him with a high-pitched squeal, enveloping him in a tight hug. “Gotcha!” Isabel cheered as she hung off of Levi’s neck, her gas mask knocking against his own. “Izzy!” Levi hissed. “What are you doing? I could have shot you!” She pulled back, her green eyes sparkling behind glass. “But you didn’t.” “You’re not supposed to be out here, Izzy,” Farlan said, stepping between them and grabbing her arm. “It’s dangerous out here. There’s—” “Raiders, ghouls, giant mutated spiders,” Isabel interjected, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I know .” “Omegas shouldn’t risk coming out here, Iz.” “Is that right? Then why is it okay for him to come up here?” she asked, pointing at Levi. "Levi's different. He knows how to handle himself." Isabel jerked her arm out of Farlan’s grip and pouted. "I know how to handle myself too. I snuck up on you, didn't I?" Levi pushed his assault rifle behind his back and patted Isabel on the head, her flaming hair greasy against his palm. "You almost did. But you made too much noise and because of that, I knew exactly where you were. The only reason I didn't shoot was because I saw your hair sticking out." Isabel threw her head back and groaned. "I'll get you one day." "You need more practice."  Another rustling in the bushes silenced them and Levi's eyes snapped towards the noise. He lifted the strap of his gun over his head and passed it to Isabel. It sat awkwardly in her small arms as she balanced it against her chest. Using hand signals, Levi motioned Isabel to take aim at the creature hiding in the shadows. Behind him, he heard Farlan huff, but his gun rattled despite his annoyance, readying himself in case Isabel missed her shot. Suddenly, a giant rad-rabbit with red eyes and sharp fangs peeked its head out of the wilted brush. Levi heard Isabel suck a breath in as she steadied the gun.  One…  Two…   A gunshot rang through the silence, the air around them going still as the rad-rabbit fell forward, blood seeping out of the hole in its head. Levi stepped forward, inspecting the kill. Its white fur ran red around the bullet hole that went clean through its skull. Isabel exhaled a breath, handing the gun back to Levi. He slipped the strap back over his head and cradled it against his chest, feeling safer with its weight in his arms. Isabel knelt in front of the rad-rabbit and picked it up by its feet, hanging it in the air, blood dripping onto the earth, the dry dirt hungrily drinking it up. She turned around to face Levi and Farlan, a twinkle in her eye. "Nice kill," Levi praised. "You shouldn't encourage her," Farlan muttered. Levi cut him a hard look. "We need people who are willing to go out and hunt the wastelands. And she wants to learn— " "It's not safe for her," he interjected. "It's not safe for any of us. But we do it anyway. We have to." Isabel skipped up to Farlan, a proud gleam in her eye as she brandished her bounty. "I'm strong, Farlan! I can provide for us. See!" Farlan glanced between Levi and Isabel, a torn look in his eyes as he deliberated. “Fine,” he said, defeated. “I suppose we could use the help, anyway.” “Right!” Isabel cheered. Levi bit back a smile. After years alone in the Underground, he’d found a family in Isabel and Farlan. After the years they'd spent together, they became a brother and sister that he never had. He didn’t have a clue what it was like to have siblings of his own, but he thought it might be something like this. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back before the raiders find us.” The three of them turned around and began retracing their steps through the once-thriving metropolis. The high-rise buildings of old were now a mere shadow of their past splendor. Where spotless windows once gleamed under the sunlight, there were now black holes hiding evil creatures that were better left alone. Levi and his friends didn’t dare venture into the buildings that were left standing in the city. The people stupid enough to enter them with the vain hope of finding canned food or abandoned ammo or weapons never made it out alive. As they passed one of the high-rise buildings, Levi spotted a half-decayed corpse leaning against a pile of crumbled rebar. Half his face was missing and his eyes were hollowed out, large maggots festering inside the cavity. He was stripped of his clothing, a clear sign that scavengers had picked his body clean. Behind him, he heard Isabel softly gasp. “Poor guy, traveling the wastelands alone…” “Traveling the wastelands alone will get you killed. The guy was an idiot,” Levi said, looking away and pushing forward. “Yeah, but still, maybe he was a nice guy. Maybe he didn’t deserve this fate.” “This world doesn’t favor the kind, Izzy. You’d do well to remember that.” “I know,” Isabel said, her voice laden with sorrow. Isabel deserved a better life than this. She deserved a life that wasn’t so grim and grey. A life that was full of sunshine and smiles. Levi wished he could give that to her, a life worth living, but that reality was destroyed when the world burned in a blinding flash twenty years ago. Ever since that fateful day, the sun never shined as brightly as he remembered. Whenever he went outside, the sun was always hiding behind a thick cover of clouds, casting a grey veil over everything it touched.  Today was no different. The road they followed was cracked and littered with giant chunks of debris and car skeletons. As they traversed the uneven terrain, they came upon a telephone pole that had been knocked over in the blast, blocking the road. They carefully stepped around it, their eyes locked on the nearby building as they passed by. Levi clutched his gun tightly against his chest as he peered into the murky shadows, searching for any signs of movement. It was quiet. Quieter than usual. Usually, there was the occasional rustling caused by a rad-rabbit or a dire-deer hiding in the overgrown foliage. Sometimes there was the caw of a craven flying overhead, or the groaning of metal breaking down after twenty years of disuse. Today, there was nothing. And the silence was unnerving. “I think a storm’s coming,” Isabel whispered, her voice nearby. Levi turned, finding her just a step behind him, eyes wide as they searched the sky. “The animals are hiding.” “We better hurry,” Levi agreed, and he quickened his pace. With water as scarce as it was, a storm was welcome. The rain would flood the tunnels that had been carved out around the Underground, draining into their makeshift filtration system, purifying it of radiation and soot. It was only welcome, however, if they made it back to the Underground in time. If they were caught in a rainstorm, the radiation would burn through their clothes and right down to their skin. A rumble of thunder shook the earth. Overhead, the clouds were moving quickly, the sky darkening as the seconds ticked by. Cursing under his breath, Levi busted into a full on sprint, his legs burning in protest. Behind him, he could hear the heavy thud of boots hitting the pavement as Isabel and Farlan matched his pace, their breaths ragged as air filtered through their gas masks.  A single raindrop fell from the sky, landing on Levi’s worn leather jacket. It softly sizzled as it was absorbed, eating away at the leather. “Shit, shit, shit, ” Farlan cursed. “Faster, FASTER!” Levi pushed his legs as fast as he could go. Despite his short stature, he was quick, quicker than the average beta in the Underground.  “Ah!” Isabel cried out. Levi whipped around to see Isabel stumbling on a chunk of debris, the rad-rabbit still clutched in her fist as she went flying towards the pavement. He swiveled on his heel, dropping his gun to his side as he reached out for Isabel, catching her before she fell. He pulled her upright, grabbing her free hand and tugging her forward. Even though he could easily outrun both Isabel and Farlan, he wasn’t about to leave them behind. They were the only family he had.  Another raindrop, another sizzle. Levi didn’t want to even think about what would happen if it started to downpour, pushing that thought out of his mind. Gritting his teeth, he forced his legs to move faster, ignoring Isabel’s protests as he pulled her along. The entrance to the subway station appeared on the horizon, the old glass doors blasted and broken. The once grand archway was black with soot and crumbling along the edges. Levi ran for it, gasping for breath through his gas mask, praying that the filters would last him until he was safe underground.  The subway entrance drew close and they hurried up the steps, sliding through the broken doors as the darkness of the station swallowed them whole. Levi let go of Isabel’s hand as soon as they cleared the threshold, hunching over as he gasped for breath. Desperate to taste clean air on his tongue, he tugged the gas mask over his head, and he could feel his greasy hair sticking up. With the rainstorm, they would finally get to have a shower. There was a silver lining in that, at least. Outside, the sky opened up, unleashing a torrent of rain onto the earth. It splattered against the pavement, drumming loudly through the quiet air. Inside the station, Levi could smell the world burning.  “Shit, that was close,” Farlan said through ragged breaths. “No shit,” Levi huffed, straightening out as he sucked in a desperate breath, trying to even out the frantic beat of his heart. Isabel, however, faced the rain and flipped off the sky. “HA! Take that mother nature! Try again, bitch!” “Don’t antagonize her,” Farlan groaned. “Next time we might not be so lucky.” She spun around, a grin splitting her cherubin face. “That wasn’t luck, silly! We outran a rainstorm. That was all skill! We’re unstoppable!” “Farlan’s right, Iz,” Levi said. “We were lucky. That rainstorm came out of nowhere. If  we hadn’t realized when we did, we’d be dead.” Isabel deflated, her smile falling off her face. “You’re no fun.” “This isn’t meant to be fun. This isn’t a game—it’s life or death. It’s survival. You might think exploring the wasteland is an adventure, but it’s not. If you want to come with us to the surface, you need to take this seriously, or we’ll all end up dead.” “Okay,” she mumbled. “I’ll do better next time.” Levi nodded, patting her firmly on the shoulder. Gathering themselves, they descended down the powered down escalator, the metal groaning under their weight. The darkness began to swallow them up and Levi reached for a match to light the way. A spark flared and the fire cast long shadows along the tiled walls. They followed the tunnel in silence, the tap of their boots against the concrete and the roaring of rain overhead the only sounds floating between them. The fire burned out and Levi fumbled to light another match. The light faintly stretched down the tunnel and at the very end of it, there was a make-shift wooden wall with a door cut out of it. They approached it and Levi knocked against it. The sliding hatch opened in the middle of the door, revealing a set of tired-looking eyes. “Password?” “Rad-rabbit stew,” Levi said. The eyes shifted and then disappeared, the hatch sliding shut. A lock clicked and the door opened. Levi nodded at the guard, whose name he was pretty sure was Darius, as he stepped through. Darius had a machine gun strapped to his back, a sash of bullets around his chest, and several knives tucked into a harness around his arms. If anyone, or anything, tried to break into the Underground, this man had enough firepower to take down several raiders or ghouls before he was taken down himself. “Made it back just in time, I see,” Darius grumbled as he eyed the three of them. “But you’ve returned with a bounty, so that’s good.” “My first kill,” Isabel beamed. Darius nodded, eyes crinkling. “A good shot, by the looks of it. That’ll get you a solid deal, if you’re looking to trade it off.” “We need more ammunition,” Levi said. “Know anybody willing to trade?” Darius pursed his lips, thinking. “Try Moses. He’s been craving some real meat lately. Won’t shut up about it. Bet he’d be willing to trade up some bullets for your kill, there.” “Got it. Thanks.” With that information stored in the back of his brain, Levi led his friends into the Underground, the place Levi called home for the past twenty years. When the Pulse event destroyed the world, Levi had only been fifteen years old. And after the initial EMP that rendered electronics obsolete, chaos broke out in the city. It had been a blur of panicked screams and flailing bodies as people forced their way underground, desperate individuals knocking over children and elderly in a vie to get to safety before the nukes dropped.  Levi and his mother had been victims to the selfishness of survival and in the scrambling crowd, they’d been pulled apart and separated. Levi cried after her, pushing through bodies to try and find her but he was lost to the current of people pushing down the streets towards the subway station. Despite his efforts to chase after her, the wave of bodies carried him to safety—to the Underground home he’d known for most of his life. His mother, however, didn’t make it. Levi waited and waited, hoping she would show up one night, but she never did. Either she was still out there, wandering the wilderness or she’d been burned to a crisp when the bombs dropped. Levi knew it was the latter, but thinking about it, accepting the bitter truth of her fate, hurt. At the end of the tunnel, the underground city appeared in all its lackluster glory. Crooked shacks lined the perimeter, stacked on top of each other, creating small apartments for the residents. Several vendor stalls were tucked against the concrete walls, the wares spread out on the tables few and far between. At the end of the platform was a make-shift cafeteria hiding inside an abandoned subway car where people gathered for their evening meal. Men and women with greasy hair and ragged clothes milled about, trading goods. Some of them indulged and were enjoying a bowl of rad-rabbit stew inside the subway car. It wasn’t the most glamorous of societies, but it was home, a place where Levi felt safe.  “I’m gonna go check in with Hannes, make sure the filtration system is working well so we can all get a shower later,” Farlan said. “Lord knows we need it.” “No kidding,” Levi huffed. It’d been over a week since he’d gotten his hands on clean water and his skin was itching for a good wash. “We’ll head home after we talk to Moses.” Farlan nodded and waved goodbye before slinking off towards a different tunnel that led towards the maintenance room. Levi placed his hand on Isabel’s back, guiding her over to the large shack that was used as a barracks of sorts for the guards. Through the window, he could see a lantern burning and several men were sitting around a table playing a game of cards. Levi approached the door and knocked firmly against the wood. The voices inside went quiet. A man whose name he’d forgotten opened the door. There was a ragged scar over his left eye. “Yeah?” “Moses here?” Levi asked. The man’s jaw flexed as he stared Levi down. “Moses!” he abruptly called out, not breaking eye contact. Moses appeared behind him, his blond hair ruffled. He smiled down at Levi. “Hey, Levi.” His eyes flicked over to Isabel and the rad-rabbit clutched in her fist. “And Isabel! Come in, have a seat.” The two men stepped aside. Levi and Isabel trudged inside the shack, taking a seat at the table where the guards had been playing cards. Moses sat down across from them but the man that answered the door hovered behind their chairs.  "I see you two went up to the surface," Moses started, gazing at the rad-rabbit. "Come here to trade?" "Heard from Darius you've been looking for meat. Thought maybe we could help each other out," Levi said. Moses leaned back in his chair. "Is that right? Good on Darius for looking out. What are you looking to trade for?" "Ammunition, if you've got it." "Shit. I don't have much to spare—" "Damn right you don't," the man standing behind them cut in. "We're all short on ammunition these days. The guard doesn't have enough to spare for some shitty rabbit meat." "Aw c'mon Abel," Moses complained. So that's what the bastard's name was. "I've had canned beans for the past week. Let me live a little, man." "Not worth it Moses," Geiger, another guard sitting at the table, cut in. "Didn't you hear what happened in Sector Five? There was a ghoul breach. The ugly bastards took out three men and bit several civilians before the horde of them was shot down." "Shit, seriously?" Levi breathed. He hadn't heard about that. "Yeah, and medical supplies are tight right now. The ones that were bitten won't be treated for their radiation. In about a week, they'll mutate into ghouls themselves without the medication." "How many were infected?" "Five in total. Two of which were children." Levi's heart dropped. With how easy it was for people to die of illness or malnutrition, human life was precious in the Underground. Especially the children. Most omegas were infertile due to prolonged exposure to radiation combined with rampant malnutrition. Levi was no stranger to this struggle, being diagnosed as infertile after accidentally spending too much time in a pocket of extreme radiation while exploring the surface nearly ten years ago. Luckily, at the time, they had proper medical supplies to treat his radiation sickness, but his reproductive system had suffered from the exposure and no amount of medicine could treat his infertility. Quite frankly, that was fine by him. While many omegas in the Underground dreamed of being able to bear children and rear the next generation, Levi was happy the way he was. A nuclear apocalypse was no time for playing house. Being pregnant, having kids—it was far too dangerous. Especially since the Underground didn’t have any alphas around for protection. After the Pulse, it was discovered that an alpha’s physiological make-up made them more resistant to radiation. With that advantage, they took to the surface, effectively ruling over the wastelands in packs full of alphas. They were known mostly as raiders—vicious and cruel groups of alphas hellbent on hoarding food and supplies on the surface. It’s part of the reason why Levi and Farlan never ventured past the perimeter of the city. Out there, in the wastelands, alphas were kings. “Levi,” Isabel whispered. “Maybe we can help.” Levi gritted his teeth. There weren’t many people in the Underground who were willing to brave the surface. But Levi and Farlan were seasoned experts, most of the residents relying on them for food and supplies when times were tough. It earned them their fair share of respect around the Underground and because of that, they were sometimes slipped an extra can of beans or bottles of water during a trade. If they were able to secure medicine for the infected, they’d not only save lives, but they’d also be owed a great debt. And sometimes, in the Underground, a favor could be the manner of life or death. Finding medicine, however, was no easy feat. Most of the buildings in the city had been picked clean years ago. If they had any hope of finding medicine, they’d have to leave the city and risk running into raiders out in the wastelands. It was a risk, one that could easily get them killed if they weren’t careful. But with the way Isabel’s eyes silently pleaded with him, Levi knew it was the right thing to do. People needed them, needed their expertise. Besides, they might be able to find more than just medicine out there, too. “Trade us some ammo and we’ll head out once the storm passes,” Levi said. Isabel exhaled, a smile breaking across her face. “I’m coming too, right?” “We’ll talk about that later.” “Thank you,” Geiger said with a sigh, clearly relieved. “Moses, gather up some extra ammo for these two.” “Sir!” he exclaimed, jumping from his chair and scrambling over to the safe tucked in the corner. “According to the reports we’ve been getting back from other sectors, it sounds like ghoul activity is high as of late. Hopefully, the rainstorm will have them slithering back to their hole, but if that’s not the case, you’ll need all the help you can get,” Abel explained. Moses dug several boxes of .233 rounds out of the safe and dropped them onto the table. “That’s the last of the .233 we have. We’ve still got a decent amount for our machine guns but this is it for the rifles. If you find any weaponry while you’re out there, do your best to bring it back. We’re desperate for it." “Sure,” Levi agreed. Moses placed the boxes of ammo onto the table and took a step back, eyeing the rad-rabbit resting in Isabel’s lap. “I believe this belongs to you, now!” Isabel said, passing the rabbit over to Moses.  He took it, and it looked like he was about to cry as he cradled the dead animal against his chest. “Finally, real meat. Thank you!” “Sure thing!” Levi grabbed the boxes off the table and shoved them in his backpack. “We probably won’t be back for several days. Hopefully, the victims can hold out until then.” “I’ll let them know that you’re risking the surface to try and help them,” Geiger said. “That’ll give them some hope to hold onto.” Levi nodded. “Right. Let’s go, Iz.” He stood up, the wooden chair scraping against the concrete. Isabel followed after him, and she wished the guards a good night before they both ducked out of the barracks. “What now?” Isabel asked. “We should probably head home. Gotta tell Farlan the plan and get ready for tomorrow.” They began their short journey home, passing by several people sleeping on dirty mattresses tucked against the wall. It was hard for the human body to tell what time of day it was while trapped underground and most people slept whenever they felt tired. While living underground kept them safe from radiation, mutants, and raiders, it had its drawbacks, too. Many of the residents were vitamin-D deficient, and more than the average person suffered from brittle bone disease and depression. Since the Pulse event, there have been significantly more suicides than deaths from raider or ghoul attacks. Aside from disease, depression was the number one killer in the Underground. At the very edge of their settlement stood a shack that Levi had built with his own two hands. It was small, but with Isabel and Farlan living with him, it felt cozy and not at all crowded. It was the closest thing he had to a home since the Pulse took everything from him. Levi opened the wooden door and set his backpack down by the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a match, lighting the wick on a nearby lantern. Fire illuminated the small living room and Isabel skipped inside, sliding into one of the rickety wooden chairs that surrounded a small table. “Hungry?” Levi asked, padding over to the pantry in the corner. “Starving!” she said. “What do we have?” Levi pursed his lips as he looked over their supply of canned food. “Tuna, beans, tomatoes, oh—” He grabbed one can with a half-burned label and turned it around in his hands. “Chicken noodle soup?” “Oh! That sounds good!” He nodded and closed the pantry door. Going through the motions, he grabbed some kindling and set it ablaze before throwing it into the small fireplace. He poked the already charred wood, encouraging it to burn. Once the logs caught flame and the fire was hot, he placed a saucepan onto the grate over the fire, grabbed his knife, cut the aluminum can open, and poured the chunky soup into the pot. “So,” Isabel started. “I’m coming with you guys tomorrow, right?” Levi’s shoulder stiffened as he stirred the soup. “Listen, Izzy, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” “Why? Because it’s too dangerous?” She scoffed. “I proved myself today, didn’t I? I snuck up on you, I killed that rabbit, I sensed the storm coming. I can help. You guys need me.” “You did well today,” Levi agreed. “It’s just… I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The chair scraped against the floor behind him. Suddenly, Isabel was at Levi’s side, her head resting on his shoulder as she watched the steam rise.  “I get it. I feel that way every time you and Farlan go to the surface without me.” She turned to look at him and she tightly gripped his shoulder, eyes burning with determination. “But I’m not a kid anymore. I want to help provide for this family. I don’t want to be left behind down here. I want to be up there, with you and Farlan. I want to see the world that I was denied. I want to breathe in fresh air without a gas mask. I want to go with you.” The fire in Isabel’s eyes captivated him and Levi couldn’t look away. As much as he wanted to keep her safe, he knew that she was right. She had a right to this world just as much as he did. And if she wanted to see what life had to offer outside of the Underground, who was Levi to deny her? “Fine,” Levi conceded. A smile broke out across Isabel’s face. “You won’t regret it!” Levi could feel his lip twitch and pulled her into a side hug, resting his cheek on top of her head. “I trust you.”

  ---xxx---   Kurosaki Ichigo   Home. He hadn’t thought of it that way for so long, but going back now, he couldn’t help but think of it that way. The people he loved most lived there, even if things changed and they couldn’t love him.   Unlike with Starrk, he didn’t hesitate. For once, he faced his family and wasn’t a coward. He could invent scenarios and make assumptions for the rest of his unnatural life, or he could suck it up and face them. He left them , not the other way around.   He knocked like a normal person, but he didn’t feel like one. He was putting on a decent charade, but he was sure they would see through it. For as much as he changed, his family still knew him, deep down.   There was chatter inside and a girl opened the door, laughing. Her laugh died, choked out of her by a sudden, sharp breath. She lunged for him, slow to his senses in a way that felt sticky to perceive. He could have stepped aside, but that would be rude. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise when Karin hugged him, but it was still unexpected. “Ichigo!” she shouted. She dug her fingers into his back, trying to crush him with her hug. She screamed in anguish, squeezing him for all she was worth, and Ichigo let her get it out, taking it with a shaky smile.   “You were gone too long!”   Ichigo whispered, “I missed you too.”   “Did you?” she cried into his kosode. Beneath her cries, he had hoped she wouldn’t hear.   He didn’t get a chance to answer. Yuzu gasped, nearly shattering the glass she was holding. It slipped, she fumbled it, yelped, caught it, and didn’t even bother to take it to the dining table. She set it on the ground and ran for them both, flinging her arms around them in a dogpile.    Even if it didn’t feel deserved, he needed a hug. A hug from someone that didn’t kill things in their spare time. He hadn’t thought he’d get contact at all; he’d set his expectations low. So very low.    They hugged him and cried, talking over each other. Frustrations, fears, anger. They got it all out at once, and he stood there and held them both, listening and waiting.    They finally bored of tears and Karin hauled him off the front step into the foyer. It had been a very long time since he’d stood there, and it was a bit weird. It felt less like his home and more like a place he knew from his dreams. Some place conjured by fantasy that he could never visit. Yet here he was.   His father stood just feet away, his expression intense. For once, Ichigo had no idea what he was thinking.   Grimmjow followed them inside and Ichigo was surprised to see Yuzu greet him like he was familiar.   “You brought him back, Grimmjow-san.” His sister smiled so wide it forced tears to slide down her cheeks.   Grimmjow scoffed, circling to flop onto the couch. His tone carefully schooled the pain from his voice. “I didn’t do shit, he woke up on his own.”   Yuzu just smiled at him, eyes puffy and red from crying, but once she wiped them away, no more tears fell. Her hair was a mess from being scrunched in a humid and sweaty hug, and she pushed it out of her face, sniffling. “I’m glad I got to see you again.”   Ichigo’s smile was small, heart twisting at the very real reminder he might never have seen them again. “Me too.”    To his continued shock, Karin started the unpleasantness first. “Grimm told us what you did.”   Isshin made an angry sound and swore at Grimmjow. “You promised me!”   “She found out on her own, your little hellspawn isn’t stupid!” Grimmjow barked. He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. “Get over it.”   Well, that was familiar. How much time did he spend here? More than he let on.    Ichigo cleared his throat and said, “Should we sit, or..uh.”   Karin marched to the kitchen table and dragged out a chair with a horrific grind and flopped into it. “Yes. OYAJI. SIT.”   His father scowled at the three of them, but never Yuzu, and took a reluctant seat. Ichigo followed, trying to remember the last time he sat in an honest to god chair. Well, there was the throne...and Gods, no, he was not thinking about that now . Yuzu joined them, a cautious look directed at their father, and Ichigo disarmed. He left the trench knife on the tabletop and leaned the khyber blade against the cabinets, both within reach even if he didn’t need them. Zangetsu was a steady comfort, he always had been.    He sat.   All eyes were on him. He sank back in the chair a bit, trying to act human. It was hard.    He didn’t need to breathe or fidget or blink. Should he even pretend? It felt like a shallow lie at this point. So he didn’t try. He was just himself. Whatever that meant anymore.   When no one spoke first, he started. “Grimmjow told me it's been five years, and I know I was supposed to be asleep...but it doesn’t feel that way.”   Isshin cut in. “Elaborate.”   Ichigo felt Grimmjow’s attention on him as well. This wasn’t something he’d voiced around him, but he thought Grimmjow might know. “The world outside of this one, it’s different. I feel…” What did he feel? He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to put it into words.    “No…” Ichigo relented, acceptance softening his voice. “It’s not a feeling. I’m not a part of this world anymore,” Karin inhaled to interrupt, and Ichigo spoke fast, “but I want to be. I know what I did, I know who I was, but it feels like it happened lifetimes ago. It’s...strange.”   Isshin was blunt. “You’re different.”   Ichigo agreed with a soft tilt of his head, his eyes flicking to Yuzu. So was she. She flushed under his look, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She looked away. Later then.   “I’m always different,” Ichigo scoffed. “This isn’t a new situation.” He stopped beating around the bush and spit it out. “I wiped out millions of people to save myself, to eat a God, and I was already on track to do it before I even knew Shinigami existed.”   Shinigami stirred, voice distant in his thoughts. “I waited. I found you, and you flourished.”   Ichigo didn’t give that a second thought, fearful of where it might lead. He spoke softly. “I don’t want to lose touch more than I already have.” That was less than he meant to say, but it shed light on what he really meant.    Yuzu reached up to swipe at a stray tear, blinking furiously. She looked around the room, struggling to hold them back. A chair creaked, Karin sniffled, a dog barked in the distance, the A/C clicked off. It was quiet, but Ichigo wasn’t rattled. He waited patiently for...something.Isshin broke the silence first. “So...what are you?”   Grimmjow groaned from the couch. “We talked about this.”   “I want to hear him say it,” Isshin said. His tone was devoid of emotion, but his expression was focused, determined. His eyes hadn’t left Ichigo, and his hands clasped on the table were white-knuckled. Ichigo wasn’t sure why the answer was so important to his father, but he hated the way the word sounded. Speaking it felt like uttering a curse, as if acknowledging it would make it real. Maybe that’s why Isshin needed to hear it.   Slouching back in the chair, Ichigo sighed and spoke so quietly, he wondered if they would even hear it. “A God.”   Grimmjow made a noise across the room that Ichigo thought nobody was supposed to hear. That tiny bit of distance made him realize it didn’t matter where Grimmjow was, he could hear him if he wanted. He could do more than what he did, he could sense his energy, his feelings, the thread of his life. It was a startling realization.    He looked at the arrancar, but his words were directed at his family. “Grimmjow once said...all of this...Gods, changing souls and all this power, wasn’t meant for a single person to experience. He was right.”   “And?” Isshin pushed.   “And nothing,” Ichigo said. “I can’t do anything about it. There’s no room for regrets, there’s no way to undo what I’ve done. I can’t die, I can’t backtrack,” he looked back at his father, “but if worse comes to worst, I can remove myself from the situation.”   Yuzu whispered, “What does that mean?”   “Time is irrelevant to me and it flows differently in the outer world. If the world would be better off without me, Grimmjow can make me leave.”   The arrancar shot up and snapped, “I didn’t agree to that.”   “You didn’t have to,” Ichigo said. He looked steadily at Grimmjow, unfazed by the acid in his eyes. It was an argument Zangetsu and Grimmjow shared. Neither wanted to put others before him, no matter if it was Ichigo’s desire.    Satisfied Grimmjow had nothing more to say at the moment, he turned back to his family.    Isshin narrowed his eyes and asked, “Do you even feel guilt?”   “Oyaji!” Karrin snapped.   The pain in his father’s assumption should have ached, but it was a distant feeling, like a memory. Ichigo had come to grips with where this conversation may lead, his father’s reaction wasn’t surprising, but his own reaction still bothered him. It should hurt more.   “It’s okay, Karin,” Ichigo said. “It’s a good question.” He looked down at the tabletop, tracing the spiral grain of years in the wood. He thought about it, trying to organize his reeling emotions. He still had feelings, that he was gratefully acceptant of, but familiarizing himself with them was difficult. He’d only had time to consciously think about it for a few hours.    “Yes and no.” Ichigo spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I had to do it. Who do you think would die first if the Gods tried to retaliate against me?” He glanced at Yuzu as if in apology. “That’s not an excuse, but it was still a deciding factor. Before I even knew that could happen, I’d made the decision. It’s no less true now than it was then.”    He looked up through the roof, through ambient energy and clouds and stars and felt the shudder in his soul. “I didn’t know any of them, and I can’t mourn who I didn’t know. I know doing it makes me a monster, everything I ever learned says so, people always tell me so...I don’t feel like one, but I don’t think most monsters do.” He looked back down and gave them a real answer. “I don’t think I feel guilty, that would mean I feel remorse but...I’m sad I had to do it.”   “ Had to ,” Isshin hissed.   Ichigo’s tone stayed level. “It wasn’t only for self-preservation. If the Gods woke up, hunted me, and followed through with finding new hosts, Ishida would be dead, Yuzu would be dead, Grimmjow would be dead, and every captain tied to my soul, including you, would be dead. Dead for good.”   Isshin paled, and Ichigo knew it wasn’t because he’d come close to death, he understood perfectly what Ichigo had traded.   Shinigami whispered in his soul “Predictable child.”   ‘So what?’ Ichigo pressed. ‘I still got what I wanted.’   ‘We were meant for each other,’ Shinigami crooned. It felt mocking, in a way, and Ichigo chose to ignore it.   Ichigo explained it aloud for his sisters because they still hadn’t caught on, or maybe they didn’t want to. “I chose to sacrifice millions to save a handful of people I love. I’d do it again, and again, as many times as it takes.” He wasn’t so sure they understood that, but he meant timelines and dimensions. It didn’t matter which reality it was.    The version of himself that he’d killed had been one in a thousand, maybe even thousands. Kyoraku must have been hard-pressed to find a version of himself that had taken a selfless route and had regretted it.    Both of his sisters looked sick, teeth clenched and tense. Ichigo expected to see the horror on his sister’s faces, but it still stung, neither did it change his mind. They dropped their eyes when he looked at them, and he couldn’t blame them. Ichigo was hardly willing to hold eye contact when it could mean facing judgment and disappointment head-on.    “You knew,” Isshin accused. “When you came to say goodbye, that all of those lives would be spent for them .” Narrowed eyes snapped to Grimmjow. “You lied to me.”   Grimmjow snarled, “It wasn’t up to me to tell you. Maybe if he never woke up, I’d have finally spilled the beans on your fucking death bed, but this was up to your son.”   Karin shot to her feet, knocking her chair over, and glared at Isshin. “Goodbye? What goodbye?”   “Karin…” Yuzu reached for her, but hesitated, waiting for their father to answer.   Isshin’s resolve wavered briefly, but fell back into steely determination. He met Karin’s glare with his own. “I didn’t let him see you.”   “Stop making decisions for us!” Karin shouted. Her voice wavered, tears shining in her eyes. “Just. Stop .” She sounded like she was going to break down, and Ichigo remembered how he’d felt when he learned his father knew everything and chose not to tell him…or help him. It hadn’t been a good feeling.   Ichigo moved, not with shunpo or la sangre, he just moved, placing himself between Karin and his father. She was so tall now, he didn’t need to crouch to be at eye level anymore. He slowed down to a speed she could track, and she flinched, startled, but unafraid. She shouted, “Are you defending him?!”   “No,” Ichigo said softly. He reached for her shoulders, gently holding her, and felt her trembling. “I kept secrets too, I didn’t exactly defy him to see you. I was too ashamed to tell you the truth, even if I’d seen you.”   “So you did care,” Karin whispered, voice wobbling with unshed tears.    Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “I do care. Because I didn’t want to tarnish the memory you had of your brother. I knew I would, but I didn’t want to face it. I still don’t.” He slowly let her go, head tilted. “I traded millions to keep you. I did. It was my choice.” He went out of his way to make the emphasis known. He didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt that they had anything to do with it.   He couldn’t unravel what his sister’s expressions meant. He felt if he wanted to, he’d know exactly what they were feeling. He made sure he didn’t see too deep, or reach too far. He didn’t want to know. He might invade Grimmjow’s privacy, but at that point it was too late. That personal rule didn’t extend to his sisters.   Yuzu let out a slow, shaking breath and whispered to herself in reassurance. “Okay….okay.”   Isshin interrupted, speaking without inflection as he came to a conclusion. “You want to be a part of their lives.”   He did. Desperately. Ichigo looked from Karin to Yuzu. “If I didn’t, I’d have never come back.”   Yuzu sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening. Then that was news to them. No more lies. His sisters were adults and they weren’t getting any younger. Isshin kept enough from them, they deserved to know everything if that’s what they wanted.    Ichigo circled the table at a studiously normal pace and sat down again, prompting Karin to right her chair and retake her seat, still angry, but quietly simmering with her arms tightly crossed. She glared at their father and spoke stiffly. “You disapprove.”   Isshin glared back at her, then directed it onto Ichigo. “Do you actually want to know them, or are you desperately clinging to humanity?”   Could it be both?   Tearfully looking between the two of them, Yuzu snapped, “I don’t want to be in the middle of a fight, we’re here to talk. ”   Ichigo wasn’t offended, but Grimmjow was. He leaped over the couch, abusing his speed to jab a finger in Isshin’s face. “He’s your son and you’re doubting that he loves them?”   Isshin crossed his arms, clearly not threatened. “I saw what that thing did to you. It didn’t just rip you apart, it took you over completely. How do I know the same thing hasn’t happened to Ichigo?”   “Does he look homicidal?” Grimmjow huffed and added, “More than usual.”   It was a valid reservation, Ichigo had it too. “What do you think, Grimmjow, am I possessed?”   “No,” Grimmjow answered, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Shinigami is in there, but it’s not you, I’d know.” Ichigo didn’t think Grimmjow would even let him touch if he had doubts about who he was, let alone kiss him, and fuck him.   To Ichigo’s shock, Isshin accepted that answer with a nod. Clearly, Grimmjow’s opinion actually meant a great deal to him, far more than it had in the past. Isshin circled back, attention settling on Ichigo. “And what about your sisters?”   Yuzu and Karin looked uncomfortable, but they watched Ichigo hopefully, uncertainty hanging over them both. That stung, but it was deserved. Ichigo said, “They’re the most important people in the world to me.”   “Hey,” Grimmjow whined.   “You don’t count, you share my soul.”   Shock rippled across his sisters and they all looked at Grimmjow.   Ichigo’s brows raised. “They didn’t know?”    “It didn’t exactly come up,” Grimmjow muttered. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall behind Ichigo, so his feigned nonchalance must not have been worth keeping up.    Yuzu watched Ichigo keenly and asked, “Is that different from being a conduit?”   “Yes,” Ichigo answered without hesitation. He felt a flicker of annoyance at Ishida, but pushed thoughts of him aside to explain the difference. “Grimmjow was dead when I did it. I don’t think a living person, or even a shinigami or an arrancar could survive it otherwise. Tearing a soul apart is much easier than forcing another inside. Hollows eat souls, it's different than what the Gods do to a conduit, or what I did to Grimmjow.”   “Different how?” Karin asked.   “Subtlety,” Ichigo said. “Grimmjow can’t sense my emotions distinctly anymore. My memories blur with his own. The same for his motivations and impulses.” Ichigo felt Grimmjow’s eyes on the back of his head. He knew Grimmjow hated that he couldn’t tell what parts of himself were actually his, he knew he wouldn’t like Ichigo telling his family about it. But it was important.   “I’m working on that,” Grimmjow growled under his breath. Ichigo didn’t doubt it. If anyone could figure it out, it was him. He trusted the arrancar explicitly. “Enough about me. Kurosaki finally has a break, there’s nothing left that can possess him, kill him, or try to eat him. He deserves to live his fucking life.”   “Technically I am dead,” Ichigo interjected.   Grimmjow snarled, “Shut the fuck up. So what’ll it be, brats, do you want him in your life or not?”   Isshin bristled, “It’s more compli-”   “You shut the fuck up too,” Grimmjow snapped. “This is their choice.”   Karin and Yuzu shared a brief look, and Yuzu squared her shoulders, clearly speaking for the both of them. “Of course we want to see you. I...I don’t know how you can make choices like that at all, so I can’t judge you for making them. I still love you, I still miss you when you’re gone. You have responsibilities I don’t understand, and that’s okay. I just want to know you. Not who you were, not who I lost, I want to know you .”   Ichigo shifted, brows furrowed, and tried to force down the feeling in his heart. It ached, because he was afraid he was about to disappoint her. “I’m not a good person,” he whispered. “You’re sure?”   “I disagree,” Yuzu said. Her voice was firm, and there wasn’t room for argument in the glare she leveled at him. Ichigo couldn’t help but smile. She was tough, more than their father gave her credit for.    Karin’s eyes bored into the tabletop while she spoke. “Grimmjow told us you used to come see us, keeping your distance because you were afraid. You care, you always have, and that’s enough for me.” She snorted, as if her thoughts were stupid, and looked at the wall. “Besides, how many people can say they’ve got a God watching their back?”   An amused smirk crossed Ichigo’s face and he answered, “About ten.”   Yuzu smiled. “Then let’s keep it that way. I have a lot to tell you.”   “I’ve got all the time in the world,” Ichigo said. And then some.   Isshin didn’t look happy about it, but he was outnumbered and they were adults, what was he going to do? Yell at them? That wasn’t his style.   “This means no more secrets, right?” Karin pressed.    “Within reason,” Grimmjow emphasized.   Karin wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather die than hear about what you two get up to.”   Grimmjow blushed and sputtered, “T-that’s not what I meant and you know it you little shit.”   She stuck her tongue out at him and Yuzu spoke quickly, a blush on her own cheeks. “How long are you going to stay?”   Ichigo looked to Isshin, who was remarkably quiet. “That depends on how long I’m allowed to stay.”   His father’s scowl deepened and he grudgingly admitted, “That’s up to the girls.”   Despite getting what she wanted, Karin still didn’t look happy, but Yuzu looked relieved.   “I didn’t come here to talk about me,” Ichigo said, “but I don’t mind. I know I’ve kept a lot of secrets, intentionally or otherwise.” He couldn’t apologize, because he wasn’t sorry. If he had to do it all over again, he’d probably keep just as many secrets. “I missed a lot, and I didn’t come here with a plan.”   Yuzu was still playing with her shirt, biting back a question. Ichigo shifted in his chair, watching her. “We’ll talk before I leave.” Not necessarily as her brother, but as a host. He was positive Grimm had given her the conduit talk, so it wasn’t about logistics, it had to be more personal.   His sister eased, nerves smoothed, and gave him a small smile. “So,” she started, then cleared her throat. “What do we talk about?”    The silence stretched and after a long moment, Karin erupted into giggles. She never laughed like that, so it almost sounded hysterical. “I don’t have anything interesting to share.”   Grimmjow snorted, loud and rude. “What a fucking liar. This little half-pint killed a menos with a soccer ball .”   Karin’s face went red. “You-that’s different!”   Isshin’s eyes went wide. “You did what ?”   “Oh, don’t start,” Grimmjow shouted. “Blahblahblah not my little girls this or that, she’s fine, it was just a menos.”   “Just a menos?!” Isshin shouted.   Yuzu shouted, “Stop shouting!”   “I’m not!” Isshin shouted. He jabbed an accusatory finger at Grimmjow. “You’re a bad influence, she shouldn’t be killing hollows!”   Ichigo cleared his throat. “Someone want to tell me how a menos got here in the first place?”   They stopped, looked at him, and Isshin looked at Grimmjow. The arrancar ground his teeth. “Does it matter?”   Ichigo’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, does it?”   “It was Kisuke,” Karin blurted. “He was trying to open a way between Hueco Mundo and the living world and uh...he hit the menos forest by accident.”   “Kisuke made a mistake?” Ichigo was shocked. That just didn’t happen.   Grimmjow said, “Bastard swears up and down he didn’t fuck up, that the density or whatever of some bullshit is different and it threw off his calculations.”   Ichigo cocked his head. “So who’s been taking care of the hollows in the living world?”   “The quincy,” Yuzu chirped.    Ichigo wasn’t shocked to hear that, but it did raise a question that had been haunting him since he woke up. “Does that include you?”   She flushed, glancing at their father, then back. “Ummmm...yes?”   Ichigo could sense her power, but he still felt a jolt of pride in his sister at the confirmation.   “Don’t look so pleased,” Isshin grumbled.   Grimmjow snorted, overexaggerated and rude. Ichigo shot him a look and Grimmjow defended himself. “Look, I wanted to punch him, but I didn’t.”   “I’m proud,” Ichigo said dryly. He wanted to ask if Grimmjow was the one training Yuzu, but he wanted to save that conversation for later. “What about work? Friends? School?”   And the conversation drifted onto easier topics, and he found the normality refreshing. He wanted to know everything, he’d missed them so much. Maybe he didn’t deserve their acceptance and forgiveness, but he’d desperately wanted it.    Karin had a promising future in soccer, Yuzu worked part-time at a cafe, and both fought hollows in their free time. Together. He couldn’t have been more proud of them if he tried.   They talked well into the night, and several boxes of takeout later, well past the time they all should have gone to sleep, Ichigo got to speak with Yuzu.   They moved to the roof to talk for privacy, and Ichigo felt an all new flash of pride to see her using hirenkyaku. She was good at it, and she joined him with no effort at all. They sat together in companionable silence, and Ichigo spoke first, sensing anxiety bottled up inside his sister.   “Ishida taught you that.”   She hugged her knees close, playing with the hem of her skirt. She nodded. “I...I know you’re angry with him….and he’s angry with you...but-”   “Don’t be sorry, and don’t apologize,” Ichigo snapped. He schooled his tone and tried again, letting out a rush of breath. “Yeah, I’m mad at him. He dragged you into this, I never wanted that, but it’s too late to change it. Ishida isn’t a bad person, I know he isn’t. I’m pissed off at him, but I also pity him...and he’s right to be angry with me.”   “Nii-san…”   “I got him involved, I got Inoue killed. Maybe there really wasn’t another choice, but I ruined his life. I don’t expect him to forgive me for that. Helping him regain his power was a choice I made as a host, not his friend, not entirely.”   She looked down at her feet, then laid back to look at the stars. “You’re the real host for die konigin, right? Does that make me your conduit?”   “Technically, no, but I can sense your connection to Ishida, to das licht. Your connection to me is through das licht only. It’s thin, I can’t sense your feelings, and I doubt you can sense mine.”   “I wish I could,” she whispered.   Ichigo looked to her sharply.    “I kept hoping you would come back. Grimmjow wouldn’t lie to us if you were awake, he’s not like that, but I...wanted to know for myself.”   Ichigo looked at her, remembering what it was like to be left in the dark, to be forced to trust someone else’s word rather than seeing for himself.   She turned suddenly and there were tears in her eyes. “I want to be your conduit. You said it's too late anyway, right?”   Brows drawn tight, Ichigo twisted to face her, his hair slipping off his shoulder. “You don’t need to be my conduit, I won’t disappear again.”   “Dad could sense you, but he wouldn’t tell us anything!”   “Hey, hey,” Ichigo soothed. He reached for her shoulder, then pulled her into an awkward hug. With a gaping hole in his chest, he wasn’t the most huggable, so it was more of a one-armed embrace. She hiccuped and he squeezed her shoulder. “I won’t disappear again. I don’t think you want to feel what I feel. Sensing every spat Grimmjow and I have will get old after a while.”   She stumbled into a laugh, wiping the tears from her face even as she was squished against his kosode and armor. “I feel left out,” she admitted.   “You won’t be anymore,” Ichigo promised. She gave him a dubious look and he grimaced. “Really, I mean it. Ask me anything.”   She sniffed, then startled him with a personal question. “You and Grimmjow fight? What about?”   He blushed, glancing away. “Uhhhh.” He hadn’t expected that, but he did just tell her he wouldn’t keep secrets. “Lots of things.” He was just stalling, wondering how to reorder his thoughts. “Once we fought because I betrayed his trust. Another time was because I lied to him. Another time I left him behind. Once he was angry because I wished I was dead.”   Her grip tightened on him, her reaction what he’d expected. He couldn’t look at her, still ashamed he’d ever wished for it at all. “That was before Shinigami, when I thought I would lose my mind. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”   “Is that why dad is scared of you?”   Ichigo glanced down at her and sighed. “Yeah. My mind isn’t all mine anymore.”   She settled against him, toying with her fingers. “But you’re better now, right?”   He tried to reassure her. “Yeah...yeah, now I’m better.” He felt better. At least he didn’t feel the foreign desire to rip Grimmjow to shreds anymore. His desires felt more like his own, more controlled.    “Good,” she said succinctly. She turned, using him as back support, and sniffed again, pushing her hair out of her face. “I’ll hold you to it, you can talk to me.”   Ichigo understood what went unsaid. She wanted him to talk to her. He said, “Well, the host business and God business isn’t very interesting, or fun. All that leaves me to talk about is Grimmjow.”   “I like Grimmjow,” she offered.   “I’m glad,” he said, and he meant that. Maybe disappearing for five years was the kick in the ass Grimmjow needed to get to know his family. “How much time did he spend here?”   She rolled her head back to look at him. “He didn’t tell you?”   Ichigo scowled. “That bastard doesn’t tell me shit.”   She giggled and said sarcastically, “I wonder what that’s like?”   “Tsk, I’m wounded,” Ichigo said.    She answered his question with a hum. “Well, for a bit he was just checking in. I’d notice him watching, or talking to dad. Then he started to hang around more. He watched Karin’s soccer games. Like, really far away, but he was there, I saw him. Karin did too. Then we saw him watching us while we fought hollows. Then one day he criticized Karin’s kick, and had her try to kick him in the face for two hours.” She giggled. “She never managed it, but he stopped stalking us. He didn’t keep his distance when he followed us after that.”   She looked up at Ichigo with a wide smile. “I invited him to dinner one night. He said he couldn’t eat so the invite was stupid, so I didn’t think he’d show. He did. Dad was so angry, Grimm argued like you did. It made dinner feel...normal.” She looked down, her smile still fond, but smaller. “I can see why you like him. He’s kind of like you, but more practical.”   “Hey,” Ichigo whined.    “It’s true, he’s dreadful.” she giggled again. “He asked why you couldn’t draw blood in soccer. Said it was a stupid sport.”   Ichigo huffed. “Sounds like him.”   “He’d stop by, watch us do homework, watch us fight, watch us miss you too. He missed you so much.” Ichigo swallowed, well aware, and still guilty over something he couldn’t take back. “I found him in your room more than once, just standing there, looking at your things. Or sitting on your bed.”   “You kept my stuff?” Ichigo asked softly.   “Felt wrong to throw it out,” she said. The breeze pulled her hair into her face, and she pushed it back, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You were missed,” she whispered.   Moments passed and Yuzu spoke again, feigning confidence. “Jugram came to talk to me.”   Ichigo’s hand tightened minutely, he caught himself, and dropped his hand to the roof instead, just to be cautious. “I heard.”   “You’re mad?”   “I don’t like him,” Ichigo admitted.   Yuzu hesitated. “You sound like you want to kill him.”   “I do,” Ichigo said. “But he’s a better leader for the quincy than the alternatives. At least he isn’t ambitious. Just classist.”   She snorted softly in agreement. “He said mean things about Karin. I don’t like him.”   Ichigo smiled stiffly. “Well, you sure are my sister.” He asked, “How did that meeting go?”   “He approached me on the street,” she said. “He creeped me out, but I wanted to know what he wanted, so we talked. Grimmjow showed up and uh...threatened to kill him.”   Ichigo felt a feral sort of pride in him. “ Good .”   She noticed his reaction and gave details. “Grimmjow got him to his knees, scared him pretty badly. I don’t think he’ll ask again.”   “Good,” Ichigo reiterated.    She smiled a bit. “Tatsuki has been coming around more.”   “Yeah?” Ichigo asked.   “I...I like her.”   Ichigo waited for more, and the longer the words hung in the air, the more they sank in. His eyes widened. “ Tatsuki? ”   She blushed a deep red. “Yeah.”   Ichigo guessed. “Dad doesn’t know.”   “Of course not!” she squeaked. She started fidgeting again. “She goes out with us when we fight hollows, her and Chad. She’s teaching us a lot. She helped Karin with her kicks, and she helped me out with my upper body strength. Shooting arrows is exhausting! I don’t know how you carry around that huge sword all the time, it looks even more impossible.” She clamped her mouth shut, aware she was rambling.   Ichigo messed with her hair and smiled. “I’m glad you’re happy.”   She smiled. “Yeah.”   “What about Karin? Anyone special?”   Yuzu blushed and sat up straighter, announcing, “Twin confidentiality, you’ll have to drag her up to the roof to ask her next.”   Ichigo laughed into a sigh. He felt good, really good. All that guilt and pain felt less heavy when he was here. It still mattered, but this was important, and it made him happy. He smiled down at her. “I’m proud of you guys. Really.”   Yuzu blushed dark red, her hands clenching on her knees. “Oh.”   “I’m sure dad is too. He’s just...worried.”   “I know,” Yuzu sighed. “He means well. Sometimes I wish I really didn’t have any power, so I could be the normal little girl he always wanted.”    Ichigo sighed again. “Nobody ever gets what they think they want.”   She looked up at him.   “I thought I wanted to be normal, but...I don’t think I do. I’d hate not being able to protect you, Karin, everyone.”   “You don’t regret any of it?” Yuzu asked.   Ichigo stiffened, startled by the question.    “Smart kid,” Zangetsu muttered.   “Not anymore,” Ichigo said. It was his honest answer. “I’ve been selfish, and stupid...all sorts of things, but doing it all again, I don’t think I’d change anything.” Knowing skipping through time was possible, he still hadn’t considered it. Maybe because the risks outweighed any potential benefits, maybe he was just tired.   Yuzu took his hand in her own, startling him again. She squeezed it, and it felt like she grabbed him for her own sake. “I know you’re a killer, I know you’re dangerous, but…” she blinked away more tears and let out a shaky, steadying breath. “When we talk like this, I just see my brother. I could never hate you, or be afraid of you. You’re-” she swallowed, and whispered, “I love you, Ichi-nii.”   He very carefully squeezed her hand back, so careful of the claws she dismissed and the strength he didn’t fully understand. “You’re my everything. I love you all so much.”   He hadn’t thought their talk would end up so heartfelt, but he felt all the better for it. He’d spoken to Karin more than once, but Yuzu had been more difficult to approach. At first glance it would seem the opposite, but Yuzu was so much like himself; shouldering a burden no one asked her to.   It was getting cold for her, so they dropped back down and went inside. At Yuzu’s very vocal insistence, he and Grimmjow stayed the night, ending up in his old bedroom.    Yuzu wasn’t lying, it was just as he’d left it. It was clean, sheets washed and bed made. It was like stepping into a memory. Ichigo closed the door, finding the space somewhat cramped. Grimmjow made himself at home, flopping back onto his bed like it belonged to him. He was almost too tall for it, his bare feet dangling off the end. There were traces of his power in the room, clinging to it in a way that betrayed Grimmjow’s persistent presence. Ichigo looked around like he was lost, sensing Grimmjow’s eyes on him. The room was dark, but he could see perfectly. He opened the closet, staring at the space Rukia once slept. Empty, with folded clothes he barely remembered stacked in the corner. He shut it with a soft clack, staring at the door, then turned to the room again.   “What?” Grimmjow asked.   “It's just...been a long time. It feels like someone else’s life.” Ichigo was talking quieter, careful not to disturb the silence. He heard the trees rustle in the wind, a car crunching on loose pavement as it turned onto the main road. He felt the stir of life all around him. Plants, heartbeats, insects, animals, and even the hum of familial reiatsu. It was a symphony of noise and sensation, and he was snapped from it by Grimmjow’s hand on his wrist. He looked down, watching his fingers trace his veins. His touch was gentle, but grounding, and he let out a slow breath, focusing on Grimmjow again.   “We can leave,” Grimmjow said. “Your sisters would understand.”   Ichigo shook his head, closing his eyes and taking Grimmjow’s hand. “No. I want to be here.” He thought it surprised Grimmjow that he took his hand. He didn’t usually seek comfort so readily, least of all by taking his hand.   “You’re sad,” Grimmjow noted.   A smile crept onto Ichigo’s face. “A little. I don’t know what to call it. It isn’t quite nostalgia.” He removed his swords and leaned them against the wall with careful reverence, then sat on the edge of the bed. Grimmjow lifted his hand to his lower back, petting along his spine. No one else could have gotten away with that besides Zangetsu. He felt vulnerable when people were near his back, but he wasn’t defensive around Grimmjow any longer. Hadn’t been in a long time.   “This is where it all started,” Ichigo said. He turned, looking at the window. “Rukia came here, sensing my reiatsu, and the rest is history, I guess.”   “Really?” Grimmjow asked. “She came here?”   “Yeah.” Ichigo leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you the whole story.”   “Tell me now,” Grimmjow demanded.   Ichigo chuckled. “No, you need sleep.”   “What about you?”   “I don't feel those things anymore.” He sounded more distressed than he intended, so he turned to face Grimmjow, placing a hand on his chest to push him flat. He hovered above him, and Grimmjow's annoyed frown proved he saw right through his attempts at distraction, but he was going to let him get away with it.    “These walls ain’t soundproof.” Grimmjow reminded him, expression impassive, but his eyes betrayed his interest.   “So be quiet,” Ichigo whispered. He kissed him softly, but it devolved quickly, seizing Grimmjow’s wrists to pin him to the bed. He bit and sucked, breaking away just to hiss in frustration. “I can’t get enough of you.” It was a pull he couldn’t ignore or pin on emotion alone.   Grimmjow laughed quietly. “You’d think I was the one that took a long nap.” He licked his lip,swiping away welling red. He hummed, chest rumbling like a purr. “You bit me, you fuck.” His tone was fond and lacking any venom, Ichigo knew he liked it.   “Sorry,” Ichigo lied. He sucked Grimmjow’s lower lip, kissing him gently, as if in apology, then nibbled him again, tangling his tongue in his mouth. Then he collapsed on him, sliding off his hips to force room for himself between Grimmjow and the windowsill.   Grimmjow rolled his head to look at him, paused when he almost poked his eye out on a horn, and readjusted. “You can’t tease me like that.”   “Pretty sure I can.”   He felt Grimmjow glaring at him, and after a moment of silence, his hollow rolled on top of him, still glaring. “This is what you wanted isn’t it?”   Ichigo smiled.    “Don’t look so pleased.”   “It’s sexy when you’re annoyed.”   Grimmjow scoffed. “I’m always sexy, fuck you.”   Ichigo winced, an apology on his face. “Not here.”   “You’re such a coward. Worried your grown adult sisters will hear us?”   “Yes!” Ichigo hissed. “I’ll never be able to look them in the eye again.”   “So be quiet,” Grimmjow parroted. Ichigo frowned, and Grimmjow smirked, his hand pushing aside his clothes to get better access to his chest. “All that tells me is you think you can’t be quiet.”   Ichigo hummed at the sensation of Grimmjow’s fingers tracing the edge of the hole in his chest. “I really don’t think I can.”   Grimmjow’s smirk melted into a pleased smile, looking extremely feline. “Isn’t there Kido for that?”   “Probably, but I don’t know it.”   “Should have learned. Can the Kugeki do it?”   Ichigo rolled his eyes. “And risk accidentally disappearing all the walls? No.”   Grimmjow chuckled. “Would be funny though.”   “No, it would not,” Ichigo argued. His control with the Kugeki wasn’t nearly as good as his control with la sangre, for obvious reasons, and now that the Gods couldn’t creep in his soul, he probably wouldn’t ever get the finesse that he had with Alteza’s power.   Grimmjow slid further back, his thighs settling back on Ichigo’s thighs. He hummed thoughtfully and looked him straight in the eye. “If you get loud I could just strangle you.”   A surge of lust settled in his blood and Ichigo let out a heavy breath. “Yeah?”   Grimmjow smiled, shifting on his lap to press his erection down into his groin. “You love that shit, don’t you?”   “Glad you warmed up to it,” Ichigo said. He was already breathless, not even close to being used to all the extra layers of sensation and background noise. This drowned out the noise, narrowing his entire world to one person.    Grimmjow’s hands slid underneath his clothes, his touch warm, calloused hands tracing his ribs with rough intensity that could only come from Grimmjow. Ichigo lifted his hands to touch, hesitated, and thought better of it. Grimmjow dipped low, nipping his chest. “You’ll get there, we’ve got time.”   A hysterical little laugh slipped out, because that was true. There was finally nothing pressing left. “The world can look after itself for a while.”   “It sure as fuck can,” Grimmjow growled. He moved on to his throat, biting hard, then licking the blood away. The nips sent a jolt up his spine, but the pain was estranged from everything else he was feeling. It seemed Shinigami decided his request should be a constant, and Ichigo was glad he didn’t have to ask again.    Grimmjow growled, “Come out, you bastard.”   Zangetsu’s voice came from his left, and Ichigo rolled his head to the side to see his hollow perched on his desk. “Kinda crowded,” Zangetsu griped.    “I need a babysitter,” Grimmjow said.    “Y'know, there’s a Kido for that,” Zangetsu drawled. He sounded bored, but now Grimmjow knew that was a lie.    “As if he wouldn’t break it by accident,” Grimmjow said. He looked down at Ichigo, seeking some kind of confirmation.    Ichigo groaned, “Yeah, I’d probably eat it.”   “There you have it,” Grimmjow said. “Now become a straitjacket.”   Zangetsu snorted, but Ichigo felt his amusement. He might complain, but he was always ready to help hold him back. He knew it bothered his hollow that there was so little he could do, but this was simple, and saved them both a good deal of stress. He barely remembered the first time, he’d been so overwhelmed, but he wanted to remember. He was a quick study, he could do this.   Grimmjow dragged his shoulders up off the bed by an arm hooked through his hollow hole, his forearm touching the upper curve of it. His fingers curled over the edge, squeezing. Ichigo flushed, leaning back on his hands to catch some of his weight. “That’s kinda hot.”   “Kinda?” Grimmjow scoffed. “Liar.”   Zangetsu settled behind him, taking his wrists in his hands. “Watch the reiatsu.”   Ichigo sighed. “Easier said than done.” Zangetsu squeezed his wrists in sympathy. Despite his shitty control, Zangetsu was good about helping contain it, no matter how much he pretended he didn’t care. Whatever his power was now, it affected the world differently, and he didn’t really want to see what would happen if he let it loose in the living world without testing it first.   Grimmjow was watching him carefully, noting with some hesitation. “You’re nervous.”   “Seems like a stupid place to test my self-control,” Ichigo whispered.   Tilting his head, Grimmjow glanced at the door, in the direction of his sleeping sisters. Ichigo felt Grimmjow reach for la sangre before he used it, darkness wicking over them both to drop them in that same clearing beside the hot springs. “They’ll never even know we were gone,” Grimmjow said. “So don’t hold back.” He paused, then amended that statement. “Too much.”   A thread of tension that had tightened his shoulders slowly untangled itself, and he sighed against the grass. He sensed no humans, barely any wildlife, only the tiny lives of insects and plants. This place was safe.    Ichigo wrapped his legs around Grimmjow’s thighs, dragging his hips down into his own. Grimmjow caught himself on his hands before he face-planted right into his chest. He wasn’t gentle, but he was careful not to accidentally break him. Grimmjow looked up at him with a pleased grin. “That’s better.”   Soft lips found his own, and this time there were no teeth. Grimmjow spoke against his lips, always so tentative to speak about feelings closest to him. “You were so careful the first time. I want to feel your power.”   Ichigo smiled against his lips, pulling against Zangetsu’s grip to lean forward and kiss him. He licked his lips and hummed. “Does it make it better?”   “The fuck kind of question?” Grimmjow breathed. He pressed his hips down against him and demanded, “Let me up, you’re losing the pants.”   Ichigo smiled, dropping his feet back to the ground. Grimmjow pushed back and sat up, spreading Ichigo’s shitagi to bare his chest. He tugged at the tie, slipping it free from the loops and moved on, fingers tracing the thick markings cutting across his skin. Grimmjow stripped him completely, Zangetsu briefly relinquishing his grip so he could shrug out of all of his clothes. It was one of the few times he’d been completely naked beneath Grimmjow, and it made him just as self-conscious as it always had.    He trusted Grimmjow, he really did, but it still felt wrong to lose his weapons, to be laid out and vulnerable beneath someone. He knew just who hovered over him, hands smoothing over his thighs, but old fear was always just below the surface.   The request to loosen his grip on his power remained unanswered; Ichigo was thinking, happily adrift in Grimmjow’s attention. He was breathing hard, but it felt more like a reflex than anything necessary. When he closed his eyes he could feel the reverb of his soul within Grimmjow, like the strike of a tuning fork, resonating every time they touched.   Loosing his power on Grimmjow shouldn’t truly harm him. Ichigo was worried, but that was his job, he was the one with the power.    He opened his eyes and gave Grimmjow a nervous smile. “We’ll try it. I have it on good authority that you’re pretty tough.”   Grimmjow’s lips quirked into a dark smile. “Not even you could kill me.” ---xxx---   Grimmjow   With as uncertain as Kurosaki was over his power, what he was, what he’d missed, Grimmjow hadn’t actually expected to get him to submit to his whims. He sensed old fear on him and moved slowly, admiring the body laid out beneath him to curb his enthusiasm.    Kurosaki was still covered in scars, a reminder of where he’d come from. Grimmjow was glad they remained, which seemed selfish. Touching some of those scars still made Kurosaki flinch and recoil. It was subtle, he doubted even Kurosaki noticed he did it.    Grimmjow loved them all the same. Kurosaki lived, he was the strongest, and this Godling was his.    With Kurosaki’s arms raised up over his head, it left his sides bare, black stripes racing down his flanks to his groin, all the way to his ankles. He was fucking beautiful, and the godling watched him with unblinking, inhuman intensity, his eyes burning in a shimmering gold.    Kurosaki was touchy over his appearance, Grimmjow hadn’t wanted to say anything, but holy shit, those eyes weren’t human in the slightest. His irises were molten, reflecting a depth of power he couldn’t possibly fathom.   He caught himself staring, falling into those eyes. He’d missed Kurosaki so much, he was everything to him, and he didn’t need to prove it. Kurosaki knew, he looked at him and he sensed the nuance in that look. Kurosaki had ruined his life, and still somehow given him everything. He could never repay it, Ichigo wouldn’t want him to, but he still felt the urge to try.   He sensed Kurosaki’s iron grip on his power slide. He held a piece of Kurosaki’s soul inside him, he could feel it almost like it was his own. Kurosaki wasn’t just powerful, he held the entire world in the palm of his hands. That truth was bound up inside of his godling, weighing him down with guilt and responsibility that should never have been asked of him.    For now, Grimmjow could take away some of that weight, and maybe Kurosaki would forget, if only for a while.   Sitting back on his heels, Grimmjow stripped, eyes locked on Kurosaki’s until he kicked off his last boot. He settled back between his legs, Kurosaki’s intense focus never wavering. There was possessive lust in those eyes, and it drowned out whatever fears hovered at the back of the Godling’s mind.   Zangetsu watched them both, a silent presence that Grimmjow now noticed. The hollow spirit looked at him with the same fierce possessiveness he'd seen him turn on Kurosaki. Maybe it was because he had a piece of Kurosaki's soul, or because the spirit finally regarded him as someone worth protecting. It was arousing to be looked at like that.    Lying gentle kisses across his skin, Grimmjow’s attention turned harsh, rough, as more and more of Kurosaki’s power draped over the mountainside. If Kurosaki was his whole world, it was only right that he felt it in his skin, choking his breath, singeing the very air.    Teeth clamping over Kurosaki’s throat, he forced his hips down hard, skin sliding against skin, their cocks trapped between taught muscle. He growled, jaws tight enough to cut off all of Kurosaki’s air. He didn’t need to breathe, but it cut off any moan or whimper like a guillotine. He’d have ripped the throat out of any arrancar by that point, but not Kurosaki. This was a love bite to the God, he felt it when he stilled his hips, Kurosaki’s cock pulsing hot and needy against his stomach.    The blood that wet his tongue was scalding, settling inside him to scorch the edges of his soul. It felt like dying, and he would fucking know. The hole in his gut ached, and he longed to be closer to Kurosaki, to devour him and fill that void. To be devoured, he didn’t care.    He knew he started moving again, but he didn’t remember when. He rocked his hips against Kurosaki, jaws no longer tight over his throat. His nose pressed against the underside of his jaw, drowning in his scent, listening to every soft moan and catch of breath.    He felt the wind in the grass and the stirring of the water in the hot springs. He felt das licht in the warmth of the sun and la sangre in the shadows of the grass and the clouds. He felt beyond that and more, the void of nothingness at the edges of his thoughts, spinning like the dropoff of a great reef.    He felt what Kurosaki felt, that had to be what this was. It was so much, nearly too much.    Grimmjow heard his name whispered on Kurosaki’s lips, so he took them in a biting kiss, stealing his breath. He wanted what Kurosaki had, desperately. He refused to be left behind. Mortal and fragile.   His orgasm settled into him as a slow pounding of pleasure, more and more and more of it, until he was drowning in it.    Then he was on his side, Kurosaki’s chest hot beneath his bare cheek. Grimmjow heaved a content sigh, his limbs heavy and blood still fizzing with pleasure. Their legs were tangled together, strong arms around him with Kurosaki’s chin resting on top of his head. If his arms were free and Grimmjow didn’t remember when or how this embrace happened…”I passed out,” Grimmjow groaned.   Kurosaki chuckled lightly. “Overwhelming, isn’t it?”   Grimmjow whispered, “Fuck…”    He felt Kurosaki's chuckle rumble in his chest. "Well at least I didn't accidentally destroy a mountain."   It was Grimmjow's turn to laugh. "Probably could have fixed it even if you did." He sounded so breathy and distant, pleasure still echoed through his body, settling like silt in his limbs, warm and languid.   He heard the distaste in Kurosaki's voice, as well as the aftermath of pleasure he finally empathized with. "But how embarrassing would that be to explain? Whoops, best orgasm of my life, you know how it is."   Grimmjow's shoulders shook with laughter. "I wish you had, just for bragging rights."   A groan replaced Kurosaki's annoyance. "Don't you dare."   "I've gotta brag to somebody. Who else can say they've fucked a God?"   The groan was even louder. "Whatever, just don't say it in front of me. I'll live in ignorance."   More than pleased with the compromise, Grimmjow carefully pulled away so neither of them were tangled in a horn or claws. "Would you brag about me? Or am I still your dirty secret?" His question was light, but he was a little insecure about it, so sue him.   Kurosaki rolled his eyes, a bizarre look for someone that looked so casually intimidating. "You haven't been a secret since I took a conduit. No offense, but the only person I can brag about getting you to, is you."   "Me?"   "Yes, you. By all logic you should despise me. You're fucking crazy."   Grimmjow resisted the urge to punch him in the nose. " You're crazy!"   Kurosaki suddenly held his throat in his hand, gently pushing him to his back. He blocked out the sky and trees, a curtain of dark hair sliding from his shoulders to pool on the grass, hiding them both in shadow. Between those horns and the stripes marking his face, his irises burned like distant planets. He was so fucking gorgeous. Kurosaki’s voice was softly confident. "This is what it looks like when I brag. I get to do this, and you actually like it."   A hard swallow made his throat bob beneath his grip and Grimmjow just stared at him. "Like is such a weak word."   "You love it?" Kurosaki’s lips parted in a saccharine smile, so sticky and sweet and unusual on his face. He hardly ever smiled like that, so when he did, it was special.   Against his protest, a smile stretched his own face. He covered it up with a palm on Kurosaki’s face, shoving him off. “You could say that.” But he was sure it was more complicated than that...he was obsessed, enraptured, captivated. And Kurosaki wanted him. "You're not getting any more mushy talk outta me."   "I like the mushy talk," Kurosaki complained. "I worked hard to get it."   Grimmjow scoffed, side eyeing him. "As if I'm not the one who got the ball rolling."   Kurosaki nodded. "That's fair. I'm a bit of a coward."   "Who knows why," Grimmjow snorted. "You’ve faced Gods and you could barely knock on your family’s front door."   A dramatic look of despair crossed Kurosaki's face and he whined, "That's not fair, that's different."   Grimmjow drawled, "Cooowaaard. It's why you were too chickenshit to kiss me first."   A fierce blush crawled up to Kurosaki's ears. "I just hadn't considered it before."   Tilting his head, Grimmjow watched him, having had plenty of time to carefully review every single interaction they’d ever had. “The first time I kissed you, you ran. Why?” He was over that particular piece of heartache, especially since Ichigo had come back just as quickly as he’d left.    The blush only deepened, Kurosaki’s eyes wide. “Uhh...You startled me, and umm...I came.”   Grimmjow looked at him in shock. “Really?”    Kurosaki squirmed, somehow looking self conscious when he was the most attractive hollow he’d ever seen. “Yes, really.”   A bit of pride creeped into that memory. “Huh.” He smiled, unable to smother it. He’d done that.   "Don't look so pleased with yourself."   Grimmjow carried on, not finished. "Was that the first time?"   Kurosaki shifted and pretended he didn't know what he was talking about. "First time?"   "The first time someone else got you off," Grimmjow prompted.   Kurosaki hugged his knees, looking ridiculous. "Yeah?"   "That's kinda cute."   "I'm not cute," Kurosaki deadpanned.   Grimmjow barked a laugh and leaned in, lifting a palm to Kurosaki’s cheek to force the godling to look at him. "No, you're not. You're powerful and dangerous and terrifying. But right now you just look like a kicked dog."   "Mixed signals," Kurosaki whined. "You can't call me a dog and flatter me in the same sentence."   "Of course I can," he purred. "If I didn’t sling some insults you might start thinking I’m nice.”   “What a tragedy,” Kurosaki muttered sarcastically, but he was still bright red. Grimmjow was glad he could still blush, it was endearing.    “Yeah,” Grimmjow said, “It’s part of my charm.”   “You’re not charming,” Kurosaki mumbled.    Grimmjow thought that might be a lie, from the ever present sweep of red on his face. He felt like a hot stove, and he actually pulled his hand back. “Sheesh, you’re hot. I mean that literally.”   Kurosaki blushed deeper, if that was even possible. “I don’t...feel hot.”   “Bet I could cook an egg on your face.”   “Put an egg on my face and I won’t fuck you for a week.”   Grimmjow laughed. “You’re not curious?”   Kurosaki looked horrified. “No!”   Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Grimmjow said, “Your loss.”   “I think I’ll manage,” Kurosaki sniped.    Grimmjow snickered, and he couldn’t resist reaching out to touch the back of his neck, pushing his hair out of the way to do it. Kurosaki’s annoyance wasn’t real, he leaned into his touch, immediately swayed by it.   As much as Grimmjow wanted to carry on like that, he was starting to feel gross, and unlike his God partner, he couldn't just wish the ick away, so he got up to slosh into the hot springs.   Kurosaki watched him until he was submerged up to his chest. Grimmjow felt his eyes raking over his back, then the godling joined him. He was in the grass, then he was in the water, like he’d always been there. It was odd, because movement so fast should have disrupted the water, should have disrupted everything, but Kurosaki cut through it as if it wasn’t there. Eerie. Grimmjow blinked at him. “You’re too goddamned fast.”   Kurosaki sank down in the water, his hair spreading out around him in a cloud. “You’re just slow.”   A breathy snort escaped Grimmjow. “You’d find the rotation of the Earth slow.” He sank down under the water, carefully scrubbing clawed fingers through his hair, then surfaced, shaking water from his head like a dog.    Kurosaki was sunk down in the water up to his eyes, watching him like a lake monster. All powerful God, sitting in a hot spring like a crocodile.    Grimmjow asked, "You feel this hot outside of the water, does this even feel hot to you?"   He thought he saw Kurosaki's brows cinch, and he straightened in the water. "Doesn't feel like much, if I'm being honest." His hair clung to broad shoulders and his chest in chaotic loops, water sliding in rivulets over chiseled muscle. His mouth went a little dry.   "That sucks," Grimmjow said.   Kurosaki sighed through his nose in deep agreement, but otherwise didn't answer. Grimmjow was in a good mood, and he saw no reason to sour it. He waded up to him, reaching for his chest. "At least water and dirt sticks to you." He smoothed his hand from his collarbone down, tracing the edge of a marking to the hole in his chest.   Kurosaki knew what he meant, but he covered his discomfort by pretending otherwise. “I’m glad you prefer me filthy.”   Grimmjow laughed. “It’s attractive, fuck if I know why.”    Kurosaki cocked his head, always coming off like an intrigued predator rather than a cute puppy. He hummed and said, “I get it. There’s something about seeing you covered in blood, hair a wreck.” His lips twitched into a tiny smile. “Especially when you try so hard to style it.”   “You should try it, you look like you’ve never seen a brush in your life.”    Instead of wasting time on an answer, Kurosaki reached through his hollow hole, getting a solid grip on his torso, and dragged him in close. Grimmjow gasped, their teeth clacking together in a bruising kiss. The fucker was shorter than him, but when he did shit like that he sure felt bigger than he was. Grimmjow ended up with his hands on Kurosaki's biceps, bracing himself.    It seemed to be all Kurosaki wanted, since he immediately let him go. “If you want my hair nice, that’s up to you.” As if he hadn’t just been halfway down his throat.   "You want me to groom you like a dog," Grimmjiw said blandly.   Kurosaki smiled. "Sure, why not."   "For someone that doesn't need to eat or sleep, you sure are high maintenance."   “You’d be bored if I wasn’t,” Kurosaki dismissed. He slowly withdrew his hand from the hole in his gut, his claws gently teasing the upper arc of darkness at the edges of the chasm. It sent a shock up his spine and his hand snapped out to grip Kurosaki’s forearm in shock. He held him and Kurosaki stayed still, letting him adjust.    It was a slow effort to give in, and Kurosaki waited with all the patience of a statue...or a God. He got a grip on himself and he let Kurosaki go. His hands lifted to Kurosaki’s face, and the other watched him with wide, curious eyes. “If you don’t cut it out, we’re never going to make it back to pretend to sleep.”   Kurosaki smiled, he felt it beneath his palms. He said, “Fine, you can do my hair.”   “Just for that, I’m going to braid it.”   The fucker’s smile never wavered, his brows drawing together in disbelief that was somehow endearing. “Do you even know how to braid?”   “Can’t be that hard. It’ll be even better if I tie it in a knot by accident.”   Kurosaki gave him a flat look. “You’d be devastated if you weren't immediately good at something.”   Dropping his hand, Grimmjow sank back into the hot water and argued, “Nah, that ain’t me.”   “Sure it isn’t,” Kurosaki chirped.    He sank down in the water to stay at eye level and Grimmjow put a hand on his head and pushed him underwater. Kurosaki emerged laughing, hair sticking to his face in hapless curls. Hell, he was gorgeous.   Without intending to, Grimmjow found himself smiling. Kurosaki deserved to finally laugh. It wasn't free of burden, but if he could laugh in spite of it. Grimmjow could live with that. "Come on, go get dry, do your creepy magic trick so I can braid your hair."   "Oh my god, you were serious."   Grimmjow didn't bother to point out how ironic that expletive was. "Payback for the flower crown." He sloshed out of the water, shaking droplets from his hair, and looked at Kurosaki. "Kugeki this shit off me."   Kurosaki was stepping out of the hot springs, drying himself as he walked. He put on a fake scowl and complained, "You want me to abuse my limitless power to dry you off?"   "You just did it!"    Kurosaki smirked, mirth dancing in his eyes, and waved a hand at Grimmjow. And then he was dry. Grimmjow whistled. "Goddamn, it's not even fair how easy that was."   "Just because it's you," Kurosaki clarified. He started to dress, looking somehow graceful, but that might have been because he was struggling to move at a "normal" speed. "I'd be worried I'd skin anyone else alive."   Grimmjow grimaced. "Gross." He yanked up his pants and searched the grass for his belts. He glanced back when he heard Kurosaki still, and caught the God staring. "What?"   Kurosaki smiled sadly. "I'm glad you trust me."   "I have for a long time, dipshit."   And that strained and beautiful fucking smile grew. It was sad how easy it was to earn a smile, while simultaneously feeling like it didn't happen often enough. "Finish getting dressed so you can pretend to sleep."   Kurosaki winced. "I'll just...swap to my inner world." His eyes widened like he'd remembered something. "Ah! I haven't been there yet. Is it different?" He canted his head, and the answer from his hollow drew a small frown to his lips.   "I'll take that as a yes?" Grimmjow asked. He found a belt, slipping it back on, and hunted for the other.    "I'd have found out eventually," Kurosaki muttered. Grimmjow thought he meant that for both Zangetsu and himself. He shouldered his kosode back on, but his chest was always mostly bare. It made Kurosaki look even more enticing.    Grimmjow was zipping up his jumper when Kurosaki was suddenly before him, hair settling around him like ash. He took the edges of his jumper, straightening them, and then took the zipper from him, pulling it back down. It exposed his chest down to his lower abs, and Kurosaki's lips turned up into a pleased smile. "There."   "You want a window?"    "Of course. Don't tell me you don't like showing off."    "Well, when you put it that way." He'd taken to hiding that scar on his chest, his hollow hole, anything that made him different. He wasn't necessarily ashamed, but he'd been spending a lot of time in the living world. People stared. People he’d started to like.   His hands found Kurosaki's hips, holding him tightly, but Kurosaki pulled away, sitting down with his back to him. "Show me your braid skills."    Grimmjow took up a spot behind him, keeping it to himself that he actually knew how to braid hair. He threaded his fingers through it and Kurosaki tipped his head back, clearly enjoying it. So for a time, he pet Kurosaki's head, avoiding his horns to drag his fingers lightly over his scalp. He was slow and methodical, and Kurosaki let slip a soft sigh. Grimmjow couldn't help but reach around for his throat, gently holding him in the palm of his hand.    He felt Kurosaki swallow, his head tilting back just a fraction more. It felt special to know that no one else, alive or dead, could do this to him and live. Kurosaki wasn’t tame, he wasn’t docile, but the God was his.    He pulled Kurosaki’s hair off of his neck, pushing it all over his shoulder. The bow of his shoulders spoke of power he’d seen carve the desert itself in two. He noticed there were no scars here, none that weren’t caused by being stabbed clean through. Kurosaki didn’t let people get behind him, and he didn’t run. Part of the halfmoon scar his own teeth left near the bend of his neck was visible. Grimmjow felt a swell of lust, and he licked his lips.He couldn’t help but lean in, pressing his lips to the nape of his neck. Kurosaki shivered, and the tension that stiffened his spine told him he’d found someplace vulnerable and pleasurable. He nipped with his teeth and Kurosaki sucked in a sharp breath, startled and pleased. Grimmjow growled low in his throat, inhaling his power, tasting it on his skin, and he leaned back again, taking a small length of hair with him.   Kurosaki glanced back, clearly disappointed he didn’t continue. Grimmjow smiled, but said nothing, deftly weaving his hair together into a loose braid. His hair felt soft, like spider silk, but still somehow felt just as unbreakable as the rest of him. He honestly doubted a pair of scissors could cut it. Hell, he didn’t think he’d even be able to pull one from his head. Kurosaki had been human once, but every part of him felt crafted now.    He lost himself in the work and Kurosaki seemed content to sit, still as a statue. It occurred to Grimmjow that he wasn’t even breathing, his eyes unblinking and unfocused as he stared off into a void he literally couldn’t imagine. He felt for a moment that Kurosaki could sit there until the world burned to ash, and never notice time had passed at all. It was a sad moment of clarity, and he stopped, understanding Kurosaki’s initial distress. He thought he’d known, but sitting behind him, out of sight, where Kurosaki stopped holding up his carefully crafted human mask, he knew.Dropping the braid in his hands, half finished, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Kurosaki’s middle, and he rested his unmasked cheek on the back of his shoulder. It was like breathing life into a statue; Kurosaki laid his hands over Grimmjow’s arms and asked, “Why so sad?”   Grimmjow muttered, “Doesn’t matter.” He felt Kurosaki’s curiosity and concern, but there was nothing he could do that he hadn’t already done. He hummed in the back of his throat and said, “You’re now the proud owner of six braids.”   “Thank you.” He spoke it with far too much sincerity to be speaking about his goddamned hair.    Grimmjow let his hand wander beneath the folds of his clothes, pressing his palm to the warmth of his belly. He had him, and he was never going to let him go. He yawned, and admitted, “Maybe I should sleep.”   “I’ll even be the little spoon for you,” Kurosaki offered.   “It's only fair. I braided your hair and everything.”   “I didn’t realize it came with a tax.”   “Sure did, bitch.” Grimmjow held him tight and it was on Kurosaki to move them. La sangre wisped over them with enough time for Grimmjow to sense the gathering of it beforehand. Grimmjow knew Kurosaki could have gone faster, fast enough he wouldn’t have time to blink, but he moved slowly enough to keep him from being disoriented. Sweet, for a monster.    He’d dropped them on his bed, and it was only a matter of maneuvering to get Kurosaki smushed between the windowsill and his chest. It was difficult to work out a comfortable position around his horns, for which Kurosaki seemed eternally annoyed.    He really was exhausted, no matter how badly he wanted to keep his eyes on Kurosaki. He thought the Godling understood, because he didn’t joke about it, and he acted like it was normal and reasonable that he couldn’t go a few minutes without touching him or looking at him.    Grimmjow felt a lot better holding him in his arms, Kurosaki’s broad back to his chest. He couldn’t disappear if he was trapped there. That’s all it took for him to fall asleep, slipping into the most restful sleep he’d had in years. ---xxx---   Kurosaki Ichigo   It didn’t seem unreasonable to him that Grimmjow wanted to hold him in a death grip. When he’d brought Grimmjow back, it had ached to let him leave. He understood what it was like to feel he was missing a part of his soul, and the fear he might never get it back. Get Grimmjow back.   He listened to Grimmjow breathe, felt the rise and fall of his chest and once he was certain he was asleep, he closed his eyes, sinking into his inner world.    He opened his eyes, expecting to find things were different, but he was still startled. The sand remained, but the skyscrapers in his soul stretched for what seemed to be forever. Ichigo stared, eyes wide. He felt heat that wasn’t real, and the shattered windows of buildings created a steady rain of glass. Whatever gravity that had existed seemed to no longer exist. The glass spun lazily in glittering flashes, and he couldn’t find an up or a down anywhere. His hair drifted around him like he was underwater, but he felt no resistance when he turned.    “Weird, ain’t it.”   “Very,” Ichigo murmured. The whispered and distant screams of the Gods were still present, but they could almost be mistaken for shifting sands, and wind howling through barren buildings. He tore his eyes away from the strange ruins to face his hollow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”   Zangetsu rolled his eyes and snorted dismissively. “That’s not a real question.”   Ichigo huffed, annoyed. “I know there’s a lot going on, but still.” He looked past him, then around. “Where’s ossan?”   An odd look crossed Zangetsu’s face, and he jerked a thumb above them. “Near the light. He can’t come down here.”   Ichigo stiffened in surprise. He didn’t need to ask why, he just didn’t expect there would ever be a part of his soul his spirits couldn’t access, let alone separate them like this. “I...see.” It was a lot to take in. More than a lot. Any more change and he might break.    He stared up at the light, at das licht in his soul, and felt Zangetsu’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s better than it could’ve been, aibou.”    Just because that was true, didn’t mean he liked it. Ichigo turned to face him and asked, “What did Shinigami do to you?”   “Who said it did anything?”   “Fine,” Ichigo snapped, “What are the consequences of what it did?”   Zangetsu dropped his hand from his shoulder to look down at the ruined building. “Nothing you haven’t already guessed. I’m still part of you, I still feel you, but everything feels clearer, more solid. It’s weird,” his eyes snapped up to Ichigo’s like he expected an argument. “But I’m fine.”   “Good,” Ichigo sighed, more relieved than he thought he’d be. He was past the point of living without him. They might be the same, but parts of Zangetsu had flourished on their own. He was separate enough that Ichigo could fear him disappearing.    Reaching out for him, Ichigo wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, dropping his forehead to his hollow’s. He repeated himself more quietly. “Good.”   “I’m not goin’ anywhere, aibou.” Zangetsu rested a hand on his chest, just above the chasm through his torso.    It was a tense, but comfortable embrace, and it was no wonder to Ichigo that Zangetsu moved first. His hollow pushed against his chest, forcing him back bodily. Zangetsu pushed him straight through a window, pinning him flat against the wall of an empty, ruined building.    Ichigo’s back struck the wall hard, but he hardly felt it. All it did was bring the edge of Zangetsu’s blade to to his attention, the wrapped edge cutting a hard line across his shoulders. Glass spun around them, white hair swirling around Zangetsu's face, tangling with his own, milky against pitch black. Eyes so like his own blazed against a sea of dark with a hunger that had done nothing but grow since the first time he ever met his hollow.    Ichigo smiled. “This is familiar.”   Zangetsu ignored him. “I see koneko’s point.” Ichigo waited for more, and Zangetsu’s hand slid up his throat, pushing his chin up to bare his throat. A claw pressed to the soft underside of his jaw, an empty threat, but that hadn’t always been the case. A thrill set his nerves on edge and Ichigo let Zangetsu do as he pleased, curious.   His hollow’s eyes glinted with something dangerous and predatory. He mused, “There’s something about having my way with you.”   Ichigo smirked, reaching to tug at the front of his shitagi. “You wanna drive?”   “No,” Zangetsu rumbled, “but I do want a piece of you." His eyes darkened, fingers settling against his pulse while his palm tightened over his throat. "Too much trust…”   “Just enough. You won’t break my trust again,” Ichigo murmured. They walked a line, but it wasn’t a straight, clear line. It was blurred, a line drawn in the sand only to be muddled by the surf.   “I could,” Zangetsu whispered. He held him by the throat and kissed him, slow and soft. He bit him as he pulled away, whispering so quietly, Ichigo wondered if he was meant to hear. “I can.”   Ichigo licked his own blood from his lips, bitter and warm. He called his bluff, insisting, “You won’t.”   Zangetsu raised a brow. “Even if that’s true, I see the merits in testing that trust.”   Ichigo laughed softly. “Didn’t you threaten Grimmjow for that?”   “He’s different.”   “Sure he is,” Ichigo said dryly. He swallowed the blood that seeped from his bitten tongue, teeth bared in a smile that wasn’t friendly, but an expression he’d felt surge from the darker parts of his soul whenever he found his bloodlust. It was a smile Zangetsu knew well, because it was his.   Zangetsu crowded into his space, looking like he was deciding if he should bite him or kiss him. Ichigo casually draped his arms over his shoulders and drawled, “Grimmjow’s going to notice. Unless you can stop nature.”   They both knew only Ossan could control anything to do with his blood, and that question was never, ever going to pass through either of their lips. An annoyed and disgusted look crossed over Zangetsu’s face. “Fine...let him notice.”   Ichigo leaned back against the wall, considering that as his eyes rolled towards the ceiling. Zangetsu would swear otherwise, but he let him think it over, he let him choose. Accepting the consequences, his eyes snapped back to his hollow. He ran his tongue over his lips and asked, “What sort of frustrations do you want to take out on me?”   Zangetsu scowled. “Who said they were frustrations?”   A slow, knowing smile creased Ichigo’s face. “Cause you’re me; it’s what I’d want. You’ve done a lot for me. Too much.”   “It can never be too much. Who can judge when we’re technically the same?” Zangetsu asked. His grip around his neck had sunk lower, smoothing beneath clothes to feel out of sight.   Did he love Zangetsu? Love was too weak of a word. Ichigo didn’t know what this was, but it was comfortable. He was no stranger to contact with him, but only recently had it begun to spiral away from pain into something new. He leaned forward, pushing against a hand to his hollow’s throat, feeling muscle flex, preparing for violence Ichigo didn’t feel like giving. His touch was light, palm sliding down over his chest as he sank to his knees.    “You always wanted to be in control,” Ichigo murmured. He looked up at Zangetsu, his tone serious and reassuring. “This won’t break me.”   His hollow’s eyes flashed and he looked ravenous, but he also seemed pensive.   “What’s stopping you?” Ichigo asked.   “I’ll hurt you.”   “You’re a sword. It’s what you do.” Ichigo smiled, wide and slow. "Doesn’t hurt me that I like it.”   Zangetsu made a face, his expression difficult to read. His hollow slid a hand through his hair until his hand hooked on a horn. He pressed hard, but he didn’t bleed, he couldn’t. "Shouldn't have beat you up so much as a kid, I think it fucked up yer head."    Despite the lightness in his tone, Ichigo saw lust hidden there and it made him squirm. He reached up for him, looping a finger through the tie of his belt, hesitating.   "I might try to eat you," Zangetsu growled.    Ichigo smirked and mocked, " Try . You won't get that far." That did it.    His hollow wrenched his own pants down, cock already red and stiffening. Ichigo stared, glanced up at smoldering gold eyes then back. He grabbed the base, his fingers barely making contact around the girth of it. It didn’t feel like touching himself, no matter if he knew that they shared the same sensitive spots.    He paused, slowly teasing the head as he adjusted to the sensation. It was weird to feel every touch reflected in himself. Zangetsu shared; his hollow wanted him to feel it. He felt the ghostly impression of his own fingers circling his cock and couldn’t help but wonder if he could cum without touching himself.    With how intense the shared sensations had been outside of his inner world, now that he was inside it he thought it was highly probable.    He glanced up at Zangetsu, shocked by the sheer desire in his eyes. It was raw and fevered, amber framed in a sea of dark. His hand tightening in Ichigo's hair, dragging a hushed moan from him.    Zangetsu didn't take his time, he stepped closer, pressing his cock against his lips. Ichigo swallowed him down, moaning until he choked himself, his throat squelching around his shaft. Zangetsu bottomed out and made it clear he wasn't going to move. Zangetsu fisted his hands in his hair, less to keep Ichigo and still and more for himself.   It felt like there was a wet vice on his cock despite the fact he had his hands on Zangetsu’s thighs. Burning and clenching and Zangetsu held him down harder . He felt the tears prick his eyes and he couldn't keep his hand off his cock any longer. It was overwhelming in a very different way than touching Grimmjow. This was literally double of what he was used to. Sometimes Zangetsu shared those sensations with him, but never layered as strongly as this.    Zangetsu didn’t even move his hips, he just choked their orgasm out of him. Ichigo wanted to groan, but he was stuck unless he fought back, and he didn’t actually want to. Dark spots filled his vision, blurry with forced tears, so he closed his eyes and lost himself in the push and pull of what was real and what was shared.    Tears wet his lashes, jaw aching, and he looked up. He had to strain to really see. Zangetsu was curled over him, forehead pressed against the wall at Ichigo’s back. He was trembling in what Ichigo assumed was restraint, his clothes in disarray. Ichigo could see straight through his chest to strands of white hair, floating like spiders silk, shattered glass catching glints of amber light. He’d never seen Zangetsu shaken like this. He’d seen him angry and upset, but unraveled, all because of him? It went straight to his cock, and he was already throbbing on the edge of release.    His hollow was breathing hard, rough and staggered. Soft moans framed the onset of his pants, so loud in the silence, and Ichigo knew he couldn’t take it either. He felt Zangetsu’s grip tighten in his hair, squeezing hard with both hands. His cock twitched in appreciation, gripping the back of Zangetsu’s thighs like a lifeline.   His cock was too deep in his throat to really feel nuance, and he was close to passing out, inner world or not. He was sure Zangetsu came, because he felt the peak of pleasure, spilling over and crashing into his spine, heat flooding his core. He came all over himself, barely remembering when and how he’d gotten his hand around his cock.    Zangetsu loosened his grip and Ichigo pulled back, panting hard, face wet with drool and who knew what else. He panted. "Is this masturbation?"   Zangetsu laughed lightly, lacking the madness he knew was there, and pulled his head against his leg, "Probably, aibou."    “I feel like that should have been harder,” Ichigo said.   “For me or for you?”   “Hhh…both.”   The pause proved Zangetsu was thinking, and he wasn’t sure. “I know you better than anyone. There isn’t any room for shame or fear, not anymore.”   Ichigo hummed again, resting his head against Zangetsu’s thigh. He swiped his arm across his face and sighed. “I won’t overthink it.”   He heard the smile in Zangetsu’s voice. “You will.”   Ichigo shifted, slowly becoming uncomfortable, and it had little to do with the mess he was covered in, and all to do with his body reacting to what he'd just done. "He's waking up," Ichigo murmured. "At least this mess wouldn’t follow me outside of it."   Zangetsu stood there, kneading a clawed hand in his hair in a rare show of affection. "Go see to the kitten."   Ichigo didn’t want to leave yet, but Zangetsu, the bastard, kicked him out. He blinked and found himself back in his room, staring at a dusty, paint-chipped window sill.   "You were leagues away," Grimmjow murmured sleepily. His arms tightened around him, his nose pressed to the back of his head. He inhaled long and deep, then let it out in a sigh. "You smell good."   "You mean I smell aroused."   "Duh," Grimmjow grunted, sarcastic enough that Ichigo knew that was only part of it.    He felt the sleepy thrum of pleasure leftover from his inner world, fuzzy and tingling. Grimmjow’s hand slipped over his hip, his fingers sliding over the girth of his hard cock to press a warm palm to his stiffening shaft. "What were you two up to?" He asked sleepily.   Subtly lifting his hips against his palm, Ichigo told the truth. "I sucked his dick."   For a brief instant, Grimmjow’s grip tightened over his clothed cock. From the way his breath stuttered against his neck, he knew it wasn’t from shock, but arousal. Slowly, Grimmjow kneaded his rapidly hardening erection, and Ichigo wasn’t about to complain. Grimmjow’s hand slipped more comfortably between his legs, smoothing slow and steady strokes over his cock and balls. It was a wildly different pace than what he was used to, and Ichigo covered Grimmjow’s hand with his own, biting his lip.   Grimmjow squeezed his shaft, stroking up with gradually increasing pressure. Ichigo gasped, tripping into a moan. He cut it off, and Grimmjow paused, nipping his ear. “Shhhhh.”    Ichigo whispered, “But it feels good.”    Grimmjow shot back, amused, “But we’re not alone in the woods.”   “Fuck you,” Ichigo hissed, but it was less venemous and more desperate than he’d hoped.    He felt Grimmjow shrug against his back, his mouth finding that scarred bite on his neck. “You could, but I know you won’t.”   It annoyed Ichigo that he was right. He was not going to fuck Grimmjow in his bedroom.    Without any more stalling, Grimmjow renewed his torturous groping, steadily increasing the pressure and intensity of his grip. Damn him, he knew how to make it good, he knew just how much to make it hurt. Ichigo found he was panting hard, small moans escaping despite his every effort to bite them back. He bit his lip hard, sensing he cut through his lip with fangs, but he knew no blood would fall.    Grimmjow took mercy on him, his hand slapping tight over his mouth. He growled, a low baritone that vibrated against his back. It was a sound that sent a pleasant shiver racing up his spine. He squeezed his balls and he wasn’t gentle. “Quiet, Kurosaki.”   Ichigo made a frustrated sound that sounded all too like a whimper. Pain felt so distant now. He felt it, but the pleasure overrode it all.    Grimmjow loosened his grip, and when Ichigo inhaled, he forced his fingers inside, pressing down on his tongue too deeply to be comfortable. Ichigo squirmed, hips jerking up, seeking any kind of friction at all. He choked, then moaned, arching back against him.    “Quiiieettt,” Grimmjow soothed. “Quiet.”    Ichigo made a frustrated sound, and Grimmjow removed his fingers only to tighten his palm across his mouth again. He held him tightly enough he thought he might have shattered a normal person’s skull.    Ichigo kicked at the comforter, pushing back against Grimmjow’s chest to half lay on top of him. That was better, now his horns wouldn’t fuck up the comforter any more than necessary. He breathed hard, staring up at the ceiling, and now he could feel Grimmjow’s cock pressed up against his backside. He squirmed again, and Grimmjow sucked in a breath through his teeth. “God dammit, stop moving.”   Ichigo tilted his head to the side a fraction, glancing back at him in question.   “I really wanna fuck you, don’t test me.”    Valid point. Ichigo stopped moving.   In reward, Grimmjow touched him again, squeezing and fondling him with that careful barrier between them. Without direct touch, it was much easier to stay in control, to keep his attention on the ceiling above him, and not drown in sensation and proximity to his soul. It was comfortable, lacking the fevered need that haunted them every time they touched before. It was a nice change of pace, and even as he felt his orgasm creep up on him, he didn’t lose himself.    Grimmjow was so careful to be slow, and something about his hands on him made Ichigo so fucking hard. Sometimes he felt flickers of forgotten fear, and other times, the quiet and the dark was a comfort, shutting out the world he wanted to forget.   With one hand on his mouth and the other on his cock, Ichigo wanted to ask about Grimm, but he was enjoying it too much to pull his hand away. Grimmjow’s hand muffled soft moans and noises that surprised him. No matter how tightly Grimmjow held him, he knew he could always escape his hold, but knowing that Grimmjow would back off in a heartbeat if he panicked made it so easy to give in. Toes curling, he tightened his legs around Grimmjow’s and came, hot and molten against his hand. He went limp, breathing hard, and Grimmjow finally removed his hand. He felt warm and tingly, pleasure chasing his slowing pulse. He wanted to turn into Grimmjow’s neck, but his horns were once again in the way.    His arrancar still had a hand over his crotch and he was panting hard against his shoulder, mask scraping against his skin in welcome contact. Ichigo reached back, worried if he turned he might shatter the moment by cutting him. His hand found Grimmjow’s head, fingers sliding through his hair. “How do you want it?”   Grimmjow laughed under his breath. “I mean...I wanna fuck you.”   Ichigo snorted in amusement. “Not here. Second best?”   He hummed, like it was a complicated decision. “Hand.” Before Ichigo could ask him to elaborate, he was pushing Ichigo off his chest, sliding back so he had his back to the headboard. Ichigo propped himself up to look, trying to figure out what he wanted via context clues. He grimaced at the wetness in his own pants and waved a hand, cleaning himself with a thoughtless gesture.    “That’s not fair, yknow.”   “Jealous?” Ichigo smirked.   “Very.”   “I can just do it for you,” Ichigo reminded him.   “But then I couldn’t rub your nose in it,” Grimmjow said. He unzipped his jumper and Ichigo’s eyes tracked the widening river of his chest, following the path the scar took down to his hip until he curved out of sight. The zipper made it down over his cock, exposing his shaft, and he was so hard, Ichigo bit his lip in sympathy. The head was dark red and wet, twitching under his gaze.    Ichigo moved to straddle his thighs without prompting. It put them at eye level, and he reached down to replace Grimmjow’s hand with his own. He inhaled to speak, and Grimmjow leaned forward to kiss him, soft and slow and venturing.    Like before, every action was slow, savored, and Ichigo felt it all in the pulse of his cock in his palm. He stroked him hard, then soft, experimenting, finding what made Grimmjow respond. His breath hitched when he twisted, and even if it was painful, he liked the noise. He did it again, fingers clenched in a tight ring around the head of his cock. Grimmjow turned away from the kiss, swearing. He threw his head back, his head thunking against the wall. It left his throat wide open, and Ichigo couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and bit down, his teeth bruising, and Grimmjow let out a tiny yelp. His hands tightened on his hips, claws digging into his shihakusho, likely shredding it. Ichigo realized he came when he felt the wetness on his fingers, surprised that’s all it took. He let go, looking down at his hand, and saw his cum splattered over his lower abs, dripping down the inside void of his own hollow hole. Grimmjow’s muscles trembled in a sated shudder, and Ichigo looked back to his face, the look of exhausted pleasure on his face softening his ever present scowl and sharp features.    Ichigo grabbed his mask, tilting his head back a fraction. He kissed him long and hard, sucking his tongue and teasing with sharp teeth. He groaned against his lips, “Why are you so…” Beautiful? Handsome? Nothing fit, those words were all so ordinary, and Grimmjow was nothing but. “I’m pretty nice, right?” Grimmjow flashed him a cocky smile, complete with sharp teeth and burning eyes.   Ichigo laughed quietly against him and with a thought, they were both clean again. Grimmjow was right, it was convenient. He could still viscerally remember washing blood and gore off his hands and clothes. “Now sleep,” Ichigo groused, “For real this time.”   “This time don’t fuck yourself,” Grimmjow complained.   Ichigo felt a blush heat his cheeks and he swayed back, defending himself quietly. “I didn’t fuck him.”   “Next time,” Zangetsu promised.    Ichigo felt his cheeks burn, and Grimmjow shot him a smug smirk. “You came, it counts.”   “How do you know I did?” Ichigo frowned at him, but it was hard to keep a straight face.   “You smelled really good.”   Ichigo made a distressed noise and flopped back onto the bed beside him. Grimmjow shimmied down the bed, reaching for the forsaken comforter to drag it back up to a comfortable height. He curled against his side like a cat and said, "You're like hot pavement, you're so warm."   "Glad you're comfortable," Ichigo muttered.   "And you're not?" Grimmjow asked skeptically. He was already trailing off, slipping into sleep.   Ichigo grunted and curled as closely into Grimmjow’s side as he was able to. He draped his hand over his belly on top of the comforter, feeling the way it depressed around the hole in his gut. "You're right, I lied. This is nice.”    He meant that genuinely. It was a bit of a farce, to lie in his old bed, draped over a lover. Not just a lover, Grimmjow was so much more than that. He was his lifeline; he shared his soul, his sadness, his burdens...and he was drifting to sleep, already disturbed more than he should have been.   Ichigo heard him start to snore. His all-powerful arrancar, sprawled over his old bed, snoring like a cat. “Good night, Grimmjow,” he whispered.   —xxx—

Christmas Eve 1997- Godric’s Hollow “No,” Hermione said decisively as Harry began to follow Bathilda Bagshot up the stairs. “No?” Harry answered, looking back at her in question. “No, I won’t just wait here,” Hermione tamped down on her natural instinct to go along with his wishes, not when she knew that he was so emotionally vulnerable- there was an urgency thumping in her veins, telling her her that something felt very wrong about this whole situation, and reminding her that Harry was more than a little biased when it came to this town. His judgement might not be the best at the moment and it was her job to protect him; so that he could complete his task, but also...he was her best friend and she couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He paused on the stairs. “You won’t?” He asked incredulously, she was often accused of being bossy, but when it came down to it she usually followed his lead. “No,” she repeated and reached out and snagged his hand, “would you let me go alone?” “No,” he said immediately. “Then how could you ever expect me to do the same?” “That’s different.” “It’s not,” she insisted. “Where you go, I go.” He gave her a long hard look but she didn’t balk. “I’m serious, where you go, I go, Harry.” He took a deep breath, growing frustrated and even more anxious than he already had been, he wanted to move. “I think she wants to talk to me alone.” “I don’t care,” she said, that stubborn set to her jaw that he knew so well. He opened his mouth to respond when she cut him off. “Dumbledore meant for us to be together with this task, didn’t he? He told you that you could tell me about it, after all?” She asked, refusing to even mention Ron. “That was so that I could help, not so you could go running off on your own.” He just nodded, though he very much wanted to argue, she was making a little too much sense and they were wasting time. “Then she can’t begrudge me accompanying you, if she was also tasked by Dumbledore, can she?” Hermione continued to insist. Harry took a deep breath and nodded again, then just shook out the invisibility cloak and threw it over her head alone. “She seems wary of you, come up just behind me, watch our backs.” “Okay,” she murmured her assent. They ascended the stairs quietly. Hermione clutched the back of Harry’s jacket through the cloak to keep him close as with every step she grew more uneasy. There was just something wrong here. When Harry began to question Bathilda, growing more irritated and demanding every time he spoke, she wanted to shake him. Hadn’t he learned better than to lose his temper by now? Didn’t he feel, as she did, that they were already in dangerous territory? And then the thing she didn’t know she’d been waiting for happened. Harry was distracted by something across the room, he was still focused on finding that stupid sword, but Hermione’s eyes hadn’t left the old woman the entire time they’d been in the room. So, she saw the moment her body began to shudder violently and then somehow became unhinged at the neck. And, like something out of a horror film, an enormous snake which exuded darkness emerged from within. Hermione shrieked though it took her a moment to realize the shrill sound was coming from her mouth. And she was frozen in shock, until the vile thing dared lunge towards Harry. She didn’t think, she just acted, as she threw the cloak off a spell that had never come naturally to her burst from her lips. “Expecto patronum!” She yelled at the top of her voice, throwing everything she had into it. A radiant otter burst forth from her wand, more beautiful and more powerful than it ever had been, it filled Hermione’s heart with joy, despite the circumstances. By contrast, the effect it had on the snake was cataclysmic. It was as if she’d thrown a grenade at the great reptile; it exploded, and rained down a disgusting deluge of blood, guts, and bone shards on herself and Harry. She looked at Harry in shock, a ridiculous apology for the destruction she’d inadvertently wrought on the tip of her tongue, only to see that he was clutching his scar- and appeared to be in agony. “He’s coming!” Again, Hermione didn’t think. She just ran to him, took his arm, and twisted on the spot, returning them to their (relatively) safe haven of the tent and her wards. When they landed they just stared at each other for several minutes. “Are you okay?” Hermione eventually asked. “Yeah,” Harry answered. She began to move around almost manically, getting things set back up again, prattling on about how she was sorry they hadn’t gotten the sword, and what kind of magic did he suppose that was which allowed Bathilda’s body to host the snake. Harry just continued to stare at her, his heart thumping in his chest, but it wasn’t fear he was feeling “Hermione.” She didn’t seem to hear him. “Hermione.” Still no reaction. “Hermione!” She jumped and a hand flew to her heart. “Harry you scared me.” “Hermione you killed the snake.” She just blinked at him. “You killed the snake with your patronus!” He strode up to her and threw his arms around her, uncaring that they were still covered in snake gore. “You brilliant girl.” He pulled back, grinning at her but he didn’t release her, and slowly she began to smile as well. “I did, didn’t ?” “That’s another one down!” He whooped. It was better than finding the sword, it was more than he could have hoped for out of the night. And then there was something about Hermione’s patronus, he’d seen her cast it before, but there had been something different about it tonight, the way it had made him feel...he was reluctant to let her out of his arms, and it wasn’t due to the scare they’d just had. “Harry?” She asked bringing him out of his thoughts. “Yeah?” “I asked if you would help me clean up?” She gestured down to herself. Harry would have preferred to actually bathe and he was certain that Hermione felt the same way, but it had been a long night and neither was up to doing the work involved in order to make that happen. So he just nodded, pulled out his wand and began casting a series of cleansing charms on her- always more effective to have them cast on you rather than do it yourself. When he was done she gave him a questioning look, he just nodded and she took out her own wand and repeated the process on him. “So,” she said when he was done, for some reason she suddenly felt shy and couldn’t meet his eyes. “Do you want to take the first watch or shall I?” “I really don’t think I could sleep right now, so I’ll do it,” he answered. She bit her lip. “I don’t think I could either, I’ll just keep you company.” “Okay, yeah, that would be nice,” he admitted, realizing that what he really wanted was to have her back in his arms. They started a fire and huddled around it together, whereas they’d usually link their arms companionably, tonight he chose to wrap one arm around her instead, she looked up at him as he did so but just smiled and gratefully snuggled into his warmth and his familiar, comforting scent. “Do you believe in Christmas miracles?” Harry asked, breaking the silence when he could no longer contain himself. She shrugged. “My parents aren’t particularly religious and magicals don’t really believe in Christmas, it’s just a quaint tradition derived from a muggle religion, so I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” Harry grinned to himself at that non-answer, his heart tight with affection for her. “Never change, Hermione.” “Why do you ask?” “I was just thinking this feels a whole lot like one.” “Oh! Well, yes, I suppose stumbling on a horcrux and accidentally destroying it is pretty miraculous, especially considering how bad our luck has been.” “No, Hermione, not that.” He raised a hand to her face and encouraged her to look at him. “Oh,” she gasped as she met his eyes and her brain finally accepted what her heart and her soul had known for years when she saw the depth of love she felt for him reflected back in those beautiful eyes. A love so deep it allowed her to produce a patronus even in the face of something as warped and evil as Voldemort’s familiar. A love that destroyed that great evil like it was nothing at all. “The way your patronus made me feel,” he explained quietly, never looking away from her. “It’s the same feeling I live with everyday, the same one I get every time I look at you, but this was coming from you, and only now do I really understand what it is I've been feeling all this time, and I’m just amazed. That feeling- that love- was for me, wasn’t it? That’s why you’re still here?” “Harry,” she breathed, brushing her lips ever so gently against his. “That’s why I couldn’t be anywhere else.”

              It had been an eventful week and Jasper almost, almost regretted bringing this kind of drama and excitement into his family’s life once again.   But he figured that perhaps they were expecting it from him. And besides; being a family made up of immortal murder machines turned harmless vegetarians, they surely had to appreciate something happening in their otherwise dull and repetitive lives. Because it was always the exact same plan for Jasper and his family; move to a new small town, try to blend in as much as possible among the humans and keep a low profile, stay for a couple of years which always turns out to be not more than five years and then leave town without looking back, having made no connection with the humans. And repeat.   This one, however, had already deviated from the normal plan the moment he met Ciara in the school library, with everything that followed after that encounter. And this was something Jasper would never ever regret for the rest of his existence, because she’s been worth it. And the situation between Edward and Bella had only contributed to further deviation, with even more drama and action and danger falling upon the family.   Maybe it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise when Leah eventually got added into the mix. Which was not something Jasper had actually planned, but yet here they were; one shapeshifter residing temporarily with seven vampires. Who would’ve thought?   So far, it’s been going surprisingly well.    Sure, Leah had been hesitant to stay with him and the Cullens at first, and it had taken quite a while before she’d given in to their offered hospitality. Not because they were vampires and she was a Quileute shapeshifter, no— —but because they had absolutely no reason (according to Leah herself) to let her continue staying once she had recovered from her hellish fever.   Jasper knew this because he had accidentally, or not so accidentally, having made no move to hide his presence, eavesdropped on a conversation between his friend and adoptive father as she tried to argue her case.  “I’m practically a stranger to you,” Leah had said as she averted her gaze from Carlisle, “and I’ve more than overstayed my welcome, not that I’m not grateful for all the help you’ve given me, because I very much am, and I’m in your debt and I’ll do my best to make it up to you—” The Cullen patriarch had lifted his hand to nudge her under her chin. Once she looked back at him, he’d given her a reassuring smile. “Nonsense, there is no debt to repay so you don’t need to worry about a thing. You’re Jasper’s friend, Miss Clearwater, and I’ve recently been told that you happen to be Ciara’s friend as well. The happiness you seem to bring into these friendships is a perfectly good reason for me to offer you a refuge if you so have a need for it.” His words had clearly flustered the girl and her hands came up to fiddle with the end of her braid as she muttered, “I don’t think it’s happiness I bring them... headaches and turmoil is more likely, given my temper. I can be a real pain in the ass, you know?” Carlisle had laughed good-naturedly, making Leah stare dazedly at the blond for a moment before she snapped out of it with a frown.  “I don’t think that’s remotely true,” he’d given her a friendly pat on the shoulder and continued, “Nevertheless, you are welcome to stay for as long as you need. It has been far too long since we’ve had the pleasure of hosting a guest.”    This had made Jasper smile sadly at the memory Carlisle’s words had conjured in his mind. Ciara had brought so much life to the house with her bright presence, the happiness and affection she’d spread everywhere lingering long after she’d left for Alaska back in december.   Jasper had almost forgotten what her feelings felt like, what she felt like, and now more than ever he desperately wanted to hold her in his arms and bury his face in her neck, breathing in her scent deep into his lungs. He wanted to press his lips to her skin and nuzzle the spot under her ear to make her giggle. To make her sigh happily in his hair.    He wanted to do so many more things to her,    with her,    for her.   But most of all;   he wanted his most precious person to be with him once more.     Later that day, Jasper decided to let the rest of his family meet his friend.   He wasn’t expecting everyone to welcome her presence with open arms, as evident by his blonde sister’s absence. Rosalie had refused to even be in the same room as the girl, and so she had made her retreat to the basement, wanting absolutely nothing to do with their guest whatsoever. Jasper felt a little bad about his behavior the first day he’d brought Leah to the house, and he begrudgingly let his sister distance herself from it all, if that's what she wanted to do.   He’d talk to her about it some other time when the overall mood turned more calm and less tense.   Having brought his friend with him to the living room in order to meet the last members of his family, Jasper stepped away to give them some space. A moment later he sensed a presence standing beside him and a quick glance told Jasper it was Carlisle. He could feel tranquility but also amusement from the other vampire.   “Did you mean it?” he asked quietly while they both observed Alice and Esme introducing themselves to a bemused Leah, who was now wearing one of his own long-sleeved t-shirts and a pair of Ciara’s sweatpants, which were too short for her long legs. The small vampire kept looking up at Leah with stars in her eyes and the girl’s blatant bewilderment at the behavior amused Jasper a whole lot. Carlisle looked at him. “Did I mean what?” “What you said earlier; that she’s welcome to stay for as long as she needs. Did you mean it?” “Of course I meant it, Jasper,” he said, emitting genuine honesty when Jasper met his gaze, “I am quite thrilled to be able to provide a sort of sanctuary for the girl, even if we end up not doing much to help her with her newly gained abilities. Since we don’t possess enough knowledge regarding shapeshifting, there’s not much else we can do for her, I’m afraid.”   Jasper nodded at that, accepting the other’s words.  But there was still one thing he wanted Carlisle to explain. “I could feel some sort of hope from you when she accepted. What exactly are you hoping for?”   Carlisle didn’t respond right away and kept his gaze on the girls, his eyes visibly softening as a giddy and bouncy Alice handed over her cellphone to Leah, which the girl slowly brought up to her ear with a hesitant ‘hello?’ and was instantly subjected to an exuberant greeting, followed by a bombardment of questions about her well-being. Jasper and Carlisle knew exactly who was on the other end of the call and they both appreciated her showing the support Leah sorely needed, even if she’d never admit it to their faces. “When I first reached out to Chief Billy Black,” Carlisle started quietly saying, “it was in the hopes of possibly starting a friendship similar to the one I had with Ephraim. I had no intention to create animosity between us, but alas, it somehow happened anyway. Your friendship with Miss Clearwater is one I never thought could happen, and so I cannot help but see it as a possible bridge between our families. Perhaps this would make the Quileute more amenable to co-exist peacefully and possibly become trustworthy allies in the future. If we can show them our willingness to help any of their people, despite knowing how they feel about our family, then maybe we’ll eventually come to an understanding.”   Jasper couldn’t deny that it was a sound plan and he commended the other’s thinking. “Calculated and clever. It’s not a bad idea having shapeshifters as allies. Consider me impressed, Carlisle, but I do not believe it’s that simple.”   The other vampire shook his head slightly. Then he looked at Jasper with a weak smile. “That’s why I have to hope it is that simple. Hope is the last thing leaving us, after all.”   With that, Carlisle had patted him on the shoulder and left for his study.    Jasper followed him with his gaze until the other vampire was out of sight, then he turned back and saw Alice and Esme eagerly dragging Leah with them in the direction of the kitchen, his vampire hearing catching on to their plans of cooking some food to the starving wolf girl, “you must think us terrible hosts to not have offered you something to eat until now, this has to be rectified at once!”   He supposed his adoptive mother appreciated another chance to sate her motherly instincts by feeding the girl, and the thought made him chuckle. His friend was in good hands for the moment, so he was thinking of taking the opportunity to go hunt and hopefully find some elks to satiate the constant burning in his throat.  As he left the house and ran deeper into the woods towards the wilderness beyond the mountains, Jasper kept thinking back to his conversation with Carlisle.    He had agreed to a certain point, not begrudging the Cullen patriarch his wishes for a more cordial relationship with the tribe. He could not fault him for that. Jasper himself, however, was more of a ‘hope for the best, plan for the worst’ kind of person.  So while Carlisle—and maybe the others as well—had high hopes for a truce with the Quileute tribe because of Leah, he was making plans for a hypothetical battle with the pack if they happened to react badly instead. Jasper would have to organize a sparring session in order to gauge everyone’s skills, like strength and agility, in order to position them in such a way that he and his family will be the last ones standing in a battle of life and death.   One of his concerns in this unlikely but still possible scenario is where Leah would be.   Would she side with him and his family because of their friendship?   Or would she side with the pack because of her loyalty to her people?   He just didn’t know how to formulate a battle strategy without knowing where she stands. She’s a wildcard in this case, a wildcard he would either have to utilize or eliminate from the board altogether.  Jasper clenched his jaw, disgruntled as to where his mind was heading, but reluctantly seeing the necessity of it since it would definitely come to a point where he’d have to choose.   And the choice would be easy.   Nothing and no one was going to stop him from protecting his family.   No one.       Some time later when he had finished his hunt, as he reached the tree line surrounding the house, Jasper wrinkled his nose at the almost overwhelming scent of dog. He suppressed the instinctual growl and forced himself to breathe in the smell in order to get more used to it for Leah’s sake. If she could hold back her complaints of them smelling ‘disgustingly sweet, like walking talking diabetes!’, then it wasn’t more than fair that Jasper tried to keep quiet about her scent.   “Jas!”   Looking up across the lawn, he was met with a beaming Alice waving at him from the bottom of the porch. Emmett stood next to her on the grass with a sunny grin. “Jas!” she exclaimed again, and even from this distance he could see her eyes sparkling with excitement and happiness, “I think we’ve figured out what kind of material works!”   His eyebrows shot up as cautious hope began to bloom in him. “You did? Truly—?”   Alice had not been happy with him when he initially suggested she help Leah with a specific problem; how to keep her clothes from being destroyed whenever she turns into a wolf.   And since they were both girls, he reasoned, it wouldn’t be as awkward as if it had been Jasper helping the girl with this issue. It was a matter of dignity for the girl.   The small vampire had given him a subtle look which he interpreted as ‘thank you Jas for giving me a valid reason to get to know our guest, you’re the best brother ever!’ but in reality it actually meant ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Jasper had just given her an innocent grin and watched with amusement as Leah immediately latched on to the idea and took Alice’s small hands between her own, practically begging her for assistance because “it’d be nice to not have to flash the world whenever I wolf out and pretty please will you help me with this...?”   Funnily enough, Alice had caved pretty much right away, even if she still sent Jasper a glare promising retribution for putting her in this situation.   It made him laugh whenever he happened to think about it, even now.     It seemed, however, like Alice had already forgiven him for it after a day of trial and error with Leah trying on different types of clothes in Ciara’s room. “Yeah, the only clothing staying intact through the change was—” But as Jasper got closer to his siblings on the lawn, the dark stain on the grass in front of them drew his gaze and he immediately interrupted his sister to bring attention to it, “... is that blood?” “Uh, yeah,” Emmett answered as he lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his head in a sheepish gesture, which was a bit unlike him. “Wolf girl and I sparred a little... she wasn’t fast enough to evade my punch and I... I kinda accidentally broke her nose...?”   “What—?!”   “I told him to be careful with her,” Alice was quick to inform him, shooting a glare at the bigger vampire, “but he didn’t listen to me, as usual.” Emmett surprisingly bristled and turned to her with a scowl, “Give me a break! She asked me not to hold back, little sister, and who am I to deny her wishes? Besides, you should’ve totally seen it coming but no, you were too busy making goo-goo eyes at the girl to notice anything else!” Jasper could feel even from the distance between them how flustered and mortified the small vampire rapidly got due to the last thing Emmett said, “I did not—! And for that matter, you know that I can’t see Leah in my visions, so even then I couldn’t have predicted it! Your point is moot!” “Yeah yeah, whatever,” Emmett rolled his eyes and turned back to Jasper, “anyway, it seemed like her nose had already healed after like half a minute, just like that. I have no fucking clue how that happened, but we still urged her to go inside to find Carlisle and let him have a look at it, and maybe change her shirt to something without blood splatter.”    Since he didn’t sense any lies from either vampire, Jasper accepted their explanation with a simple nod. Knowing his stubborn friend, she would’ve never let Emmett go easy on her if they were to spar. But he was still going to ask her about it later.   Jasper let his gaze return to the blood on the grass, marvelling at his and the others’ indifference to it, like it wasn’t even worth a second glance. He found himself having no problem with the smell and didn’t even feel the slightest bit tempted to taste it, let alone seek out the source. Could it possibly be because of her nature as a shapeshifter? It was fascinating and Jasper wanted to discuss this discovery with both Carlisle and Leah, convinced that this was something worth exploring further.   Before he could take another step towards Alice and Emmett, however, a trickle of discomfort in the back of his head promptly stopped him in his tracks.   Someone, or something, was watching them.   Jasper spun around to face the tree line, crouching low to the ground and baring his teeth with a low growl.   “Jas...? What’s happening?”   He didn’t respond to Alice and just kept scanning the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was currently lurking in the woods.   How had he not noticed an unknown presence nearing the house—?!   Not in the mood to play any games whatsoever, Jasper snarled, “You have five seconds to show yourself before I lose patience, and you do not want that to happen, I can assure you.”   A few seconds passed before a man emerged from the trees, his face set in a hard expression. He was unnaturally tall and muscular with short-cropped black hair and copper skin, similar to Leah. Bare-chested and barefoot, the only thing the man wore were a pair of ripped denim shorts hanging low on his hips. But Jasper’s sharp gaze registered some kind of duffelbag tied to one of his ankles, which made him assume there was a change of clothes in it.   A tense silence filled the area between the three vampires and the tall man. Jasper sent a wave of calm and reassurance behind him to Alice and Emmett, silently imploring them to stay where they were.   “State your business,” he demanded, only for the man to completely ignore his inquiry. Jasper felt his annoyance rapidly grow, but he kept his cool and waited patiently.   The intruder looked between him and his siblings, his face twisting with fury when he laid his dark eyes on the red-stained grass. “... what have you done to her?!” “Done to whom?” Jasper calmly asked, deliberately drawing the man’s furious gaze back to himself. Yes, keep your eyes on me, and only me. “—Leah! I can smell her blood from over here! Where the hell is she, you filthy leeches?! Are you the reason she never came back home—?!”   Emmett started growling, clearly not appreciating the names the man called them, but he thankfully stopped when Jasper raised a hand. Then he narrowed his eyes at the intruder, “Who’s asking?” “I’m the Alpha of the Quileute wolf pack, Sam Uley. Now tell me where Leah is or else—!”    Jasper straightened to his full height and scrutinized the man again, letting his cool gaze take in the packleader’s large form with new eyes.   Ah, so he is the one...   This is the one causing his friend so much heartache.   “Oh. well, in that case,” he eventually replied, giving the packleader an insincere smile and a burst of vindication, “I have no clue.” This was apparently not what Sam wanted to hear as he released an enraged snarl, loud enough to reach through the woods and all the way to town.  Then before anyone could blink, the man transformed into an enormous black wolf and leapt at Jasper with a speed that somehow managed to catch him off guard. His back slammed hard into the ground and a weight on his chest pressed him down further, momentarily rendering him unable to move.   Jasper stared up at the wolf and saw the monstrous jaws only inches from his face. He had to shut his eyes when Sam roared at him at a deafeningly loud volume, the action sending a shower of spit all over his face and hair. How vile.   “Jas—!”   “Emmett, stay where you are!” he barked while sending calming waves towards the snarling packleader above him, who had somehow successfully pinned him to the ground with his front legs pressing down on his chest. “It appears he did not come alone.”   Three other presences still hid in the woods, prowling the area around the Cullen house.  It had to be the rest of the pack, and he had no doubt they were awaiting their leader’s commands. Jasper suddenly wondered how that worked.    Did they bark at each other or something?   How did they communicate?   Another roar assaulting his ears brought him out of his musings, forcing Jasper to open his eyes just in time to see a grey blur crash hard into Sam, the momentum throwing the black wolf off of his chest and into the ground. Jasper rolled and got up on his elbows, mutely watching Leah the wolf take on the packleader by herself, keeping him away with vicious bites and full body tackles. It was honestly impressive how she didn’t hesitate in her uncoordinated moves.   While the two of them were occupied with each other, Jasper took the time to throw a quick glance behind him and wasn’t surprised to see the whole family outside, also being witnesses to the spectacle.  Of course they wanted to find out what was going on to cause such a commotion on the lawn.   Rosalie had emerged from the garage, wearing her denim overalls and a furious expression, and the only thing preventing her from jumping into the fray seemed to be the hold Emmett had on her wrist. Meanwhile Edward was occupied holding back a struggling and hissing Alice while he kept his gaze focused on both Jasper and the wolves. Esme looked both scared and infuriated as she stood half behind her husband, the iron grip she had on his arm nearly ripping his sleeve by the looks of it. Carlisle took a step forward when Jasper met his gaze, “Jasper. Are you alright, son?” The concern and urgency he seemed to share with all the others were touching, and Jasper sent them all a wave of affection and calm. “Yes I’m fine, Carlisle. Just stay back, yeah?” The other blond opened his mouth to reply but abruptly closed it again when Leah suddenly moved to stand over Jasper’s body with a warning growl towards the black wolf, shocking everyone with her protective stance.   Sam stood frozen, his big golden eyes staring at them while the other wolves emerged from the trees, all of them standing in a line behind the packleader.   “You don’t need to protect me, little wolf—” Jasper protested but Leah only shot him a quelling glare and barked once at him, the meaning behind it clear as day; Shut the hell up. “Okay, okay, have it your way then.” The grey wolf huffed as he conceded and turned her attention back to the other wolves, glaring at each one before looking back at the packleader. There was a sudden gasp and Jasper turned to look over his shoulder to find Edward staring at the wolves in amazement, his golden gaze flicking between Leah and Sam. “How fascinating.” Esme sent him a curious look. “What’s fascinating? Can you hear their thoughts?” “Yes, I can hear all of them, but... they are able to hear and see each other’s thoughts too. The wolves are telepathic.”   “Whoa,” Emmett could be heard mumbling, “that makes so much sense. No wonder they were so in sync last time...!”   Ah, so that’s how it is...   But Jasper, still lying underneath the grey wolf, wanted to know what was happening at the moment, “Edward, what are they saying?” “Leah is showing the packleader her memories of you, and the later ones involving the rest of the family, which seem to be met with disbelief and bewilderment from his side.” The black wolf snapped his head towards Edward and bared his teeth, a low growl working its way from deep within his chest. It seemed he didn’t appreciate the vampire seeing his thoughts as he took a threatening step forward, but Leah’s snarling growls instantly stopped him in his tracks, making him step backwards closer to his pack.    Jasper glanced up at his friend, taking in her rigid stance and looked back at Edward with raised eyebrows, “And now?” This time his little brother hesitated to divulge what he was hearing, judging by his conflicted face. “I don’t want to tell you all of it since it’s mostly very private... but to sum it all up, she said to him, ‘You owe me. For all the things you’ve done up till now, you owe me this.’” “Oh.”   Silence followed his words, thick with tension as Leah and Sam stared each other down. The current mood made Jasper uncomfortable but he suppressed the urge to take control of it.   He felt like this was an important moment for Leah and he wanted to support his friend.   Finally, the black wolf let out a breath and stood on its hindlegs, smoothly transforming back into a man again, naked as the day he was born. He didn’t seem to care much about being fully nude with an audience in front of him and just bent down to grab the duffelbag attached to his ankle. “Leah, would you phase back so we can talk properly?” Sam quietly asked once he’d dressed himself in a new pair of shorts. Jasper noticed the rest of the pack staying in their wolf forms, seemingly observing the proceedings.   He supposed the packleader had ordered them to, just as a fail-safe.    Smart of him.   Jasper crawled out from under Leah’s big furry body and rose to his feet beside her. She turned her large head to look at him, the silver in her eyes looking like liquid Mercury, and she somehow seemed willing to take her cue from him. He was taken aback by the absolute faith and trust she had in him, and so he sent her a wave of warm affection and gratitude, hoping she’d be able to feel it in her wolf form. “I’ve got you, little wolf. Just take deep breaths as usual.”   While he was demonstrating exaggerated breaths in order to make Leah mimic him, Jasper shrugged out of his blue flannel shirt in preparation to cover his friend up, but once she turned back into a human, he found out his gesture had been completely unnecessary. Leah stood beside him, wearing a black bathing suit with polka dots and her hair tightly braided to her scalp, but one could clearly see the shorter length of her braids as they now only reached down to her armpits. Jasper thought the new hairstyle suited her and made sure to let her know when she glanced at him, sending her a burst of approval and a wide grin. Her cheeks flushed pink and she rapidly turned back to face her former lover, setting her face in a hard expression. “Well, go on then. You wanted us to speak properly, so speak.”     If he didn’t know better, Jasper could have sworn he saw the packleader flinch.  “Leah,” Sam instantly pleaded, “come back with us, come back home. We’ve all been worried about you. Harry and Sue want their daughter to come home and Seth also wants—” She abruptly cut him off with a warning growl, her dark eyes blazing with anger, “No. You do not get to speak for Seth, you have no right to even say his name, so don’t you dare try to use my little brother as a means to an end, Sam Uley.”   He shut his mouth with a click and he gazed at Leah with a contrite face. Jasper was surprised to actually feel remorse and guilt from the man.   With a deep sigh, Sam tried again, “I never wanted to hurt you, and believe me when I say that I wish things were different. But I can’t change the past, no matter how much I want to. I didn’t choose this— the others didn’t choose this either,” he suddenly turned to Jasper, his dark eyes sweeping over the whole family further back on the lawn before coming back to Jasper again, now wearing an expression of pure loathing on his face, “It’s your fault, you know? If your kind hadn’t come back here in the first place, the wolf gene would never have activated and remained dormant, just like with the elders, and all of us would still have normal lives.” Looking away with a growl, Sam muttered almost inaudibly, “These vampires are the reason I ended up betraying and hurting you so badly... they are the ones to blame for everything.”     An almost overwhelming guilt-ridden grief exploded behind Jasper following those blunt words, and he turned around to see Carlisle staring at the packleader with wide eyes.   He looked stricken.  “I... I didn’t know...”   Jasper met his gaze when he looked away from Sam, his golden eyes shining with venom as he quietly repeated his confession, “I didn’t know.” Shifting his gaze to Edward, Jasper found him also staring wide-eyed at the packleader. A mental call of his name brought his brother’s attention to him. ‘Is he telling the truth about this wolf gene? That we are the cause?’ Edward’s resigned nod was answer enough, and so Jasper turned back around, only to find Leah also looking at the rest of the Cullens, her gaze repeatedly returning to Carlisle’s sad and guilty face. Her lip curled over her clenched teeth. “No, Sam. Betraying and hurting me was your own doing.” Leah turned back to face Sam, standing tall and proud next to Jasper. She then continued, “This family may have triggered your initial change, just like you said. But that’s all, that’s all they’ve done. Everything that happened afterwards has been you. Your own decisions. You decided to not give me an explanation and dumped me without telling me why. You decided to abandon Seth and pretend like he didn’t exist. You decided to keep us both in the dark while everyone else knew damn well what was happening.”   “Leah, I don’t—”   “That’s all on you, Sam,” Leah sighed and crossed her arms, “so don’t try to shift the blame on those who don’t deserve it.”   Another silence filled the area as they all waited for Sam’s response. The dark grey wolf standing closest to Sam started growling and pawing on the grass, but a rapid hand gesture from the packleader immediately subdued the wolf. The sullen whine leaving the monstrous animal sounded too much like a berated puppy, and Jasper had to really focus on keeping an amused grin from appearing.   Eventually Sam ducked his head and released a deep sigh. When he looked up at Leah again, his severe expression had softened considerably. “It seems I have much to atone for, then. I swear I will try to make things right, so please Leah, come home and let us help you.” “Help me?” she echoed, frowning at him. “You mean with shapeshifting?” “We’re calling it phasing, but yes. The pack and I can teach you how to control it better, and we can also answer any questions you have about the entire thing, something I’m sure the le— the Cullens have been unable to do.”   Judging by the hesitant curiosity Jasper felt from her, it seemed like his friend was considering it. When she glanced at him in question, he shrugged and gave her a soft smile. “He’s not wrong, you know? We don’t have all the answers so we can’t help you much with this, but they seem to be able to. It’s up to you, Leah.” “You’ve all been plenty helpful with other things though, Goldilocks,” she muttered, gesturing to the bathing suit and her braid. He chuckled. “I’m actually pleased that we managed to assist you with something, despite our lack of knowledge. As for this offer; I say go for it.”   Leah just looked at him for a moment. Then she gave a sharp nod and the two of them simultaneously turned back to Sam, who currently had a perplexed expression on his face. It seemed like he didn’t know what to make of Jasper and Leah’s interaction.   “So you’re not going to make me give up my friendships with the Cullens?” she asked, incredulity coating her voice. Sam visibly clenched his jaw, begrudging acceptance swirling around him. “... no, I’m not. But I don’t know how the elders will react to it. All I can say is that I’ll vouch for you, Leah. You have my word.”   At that, the tension permeating the air between them eased up, and Leah finally made a decision as she proclaimed loud and clear, “Then I accept your offer. Let me go get changed and then I’ll come with you.”      As Jasper and his family all waved goodbye to Leah—and by proxy the pack as well—he couldn’t help but worry about his dear friend. Despite having accepted the packleader’s offer out of necessity, Jasper just knew that it would take a big toll on her mental health. It was inevitable with her being forced to be in close proximity with her former lover. And it definitely wouldn’t help with him also being privy to her thoughts and feelings every time they transformed into wolves.   But Jasper was certain she’d endure it with gritted teeth in the end. He had intimate knowledge of just how tenacious Leah is when she wants to be, and just the thought of his friend cursing out the wolves made a pleased smirk grow on his lips.   She’d be okay.   His friend would be okay.   But he still whipped out his cellphone and sent her an encouraging text message, wishing her luck and reminding her of her standing invitation to the Cullen house, knowing she’ll read it once she got back home. He just hoped she’d be able to find it among Alice’s many texts that he just knew she’d be spamming Leah's flip phone every day. His sister had obviously wanted to throw her arms around the girl in gratitude and happiness when she agreed to exchange numbers, but Alice resisted the strong urge in favor of giving Leah a besotted smile instead. To which she had responded with an easy grin and a ‘talk to you later, pixie’, completely missing the almost painfully obvious infatuation Alice displayed towards her.    Little wolf, ‘oblivious’ is your middle name and I feel sorry for my little sister if you remain oblivious when she starts courting you.   Speaking of Alice... I need to talk to her about something.   Something I’ve been putting off that I need to take care of.     Not having noticed the absence of his family until that very moment, Jasper went back inside the house to seek out the small vampire. He immediately found Alice in the living room, sitting next to Edward on the sofa. She was leaning forward on her bent legs with her arms stretched over her knees, dainty fingers fiddling with the small charm attached to her cellphone. Her golden eyes looked unfocused and Jasper didn’t know if she was seeing a vision or was caught in a daydream. Edward was watching a program on television about felines, but he also seemed to be deeply lost in thought.   Jasper marched up to them and stopped near the armrest at the end of the sofa. “Alice, can you try to get a vision of the redhead?” His voice seemed to rouse her and she blinked rapidly. Then she looked up at him with a frown, “Redhead? You mean Victoria?” “Yes, that one.” “I thought you had let go of that plan,” Edward interjected without looking at him, “since we haven’t seen or heard anything more about her.” “I only put my plans on hold due to the thing with Leah. I’m still going to finish the job.”   Alice pressed her lips together and gave Jasper a half admonishing look. “I don’t think there’s a need for it, Jas. She’s stayed away all this time, giving no indication of coming back to cause trouble. And the few times I’ve had a vision of her, she’s still running away from here, changing directions every so often.” “And that is all well and good,” he agreed easily, “but I still stand by my plan. I have lived by this rule since the vampire wars; never leave mates alive.” “Jasper, you’re not at war anymore,” Edward gently pointed out, having witnessed the memories coming forth in his head. “So perhaps it’s time to retire that one rule.”   He nearly let out an exasperated groan but decided to consider his brother’s suggestion.   Maybe he was being stubborn about this, after all.   Maybe he should let it go and break this ingrained habit of his.   Jasper sighed. “Fine. I won’t go looking for the redhead,” he turned back to his sister, “but could you try pinpointing her one last time for me, just in case?” Alice sent him an annoyed look but ultimately honored his request, her eyes becoming unfocused as she let her gift work. A burst of amusement to his right made him turn his gaze to a smirking Edward. “You really are a paranoid war veteran.”   “Oh, shut up, little brother.”   Suddenly Alice made a confused noise.   “What?” Jasper said, watching a frown appear on her face. “What is it?”   “This is somewhat new,” the small vampire slowly said, “she’s still running, mind you, but it seems like she’s been in a fight or something... yeah, she has—! Because I can see her clutching her severed arm to her chest! Her clothes are ripped in some places and... she’s got a lot of bitemarks...!” “There’s snow everywhere,” Edward added as he watched the vision in Alice’s mind, “Mountains and miles long woods... she looks both frightened and furious as she runs away from something.” Jasper hummed, “Snow and mountains and woods... doesn’t that sound like Alaska?” “Now that I think about it... yeah, it could be that state!” “Then perhaps we should give Morgan a call,” Edward suggested, looking between his siblings. “With how much time she spends running through the wilderness in Denali, there’s a chance that perhaps she has seen Victoria.” “You’re right, Edward. Let’s ask Cia right now!”   As Alice quickly made the call and waited to be put through, a sinking feeling had started growing in Jasper’s chest. He placed his hand over his frozen heart and tried to get rid of the feeling with artificial calm.   “Huh, that’s strange. She’s not answering.”   Edward pulled out his cellphone then, “Let me try.”   As they all waited for Edward’s call to get through, Jasper started to get anxious when the feeling only got worse and started spreading through his body.   What the hell is going on?   Why do I feel like this?   It can’t possibly relate to us failing to get a hold of her.   ... why isn’t she answering—?!   Alice growled in frustration when no one answered Edward’s call.   She made a second call and glared daggers at the phone, daring it to fail again.   A few seconds passed.   Then, “... Alice, hey!”   His siblings let out twin sighs of relief as she finally picked up, but Jasper did not. He only got more anxious and tense when he heard her voice.   It sounded wrong.   “Cia! Thank God I finally got a hold of you—! I need to ask you an urgent question!”   “... yeah, sure... what is it?”   Alice looked at Jasper, alarm rapidly growing in her eyes when she saw the state he was in. “Have you... have you seen a red-haired vampire lately...?” The immediate laughter on the other line, sounding outright bitter and hysterical, sent Jasper’s anxiety through the roof.   No.   Don’t tell me...   Please don’t tell me...!    “Cia? Why are you laughing like that?” Alice quietly asked.   Another cackle sounded through the phone. “Oh, the irony...! It’s killing me! You ask me if I have seen a red-haired vamp AFTER I was almost murdered by one! Your timing is indeed excellent, Alice!”    “What—?!”   “What happened, Morgan?!”   “I just... I wanted to show her the safe trails when she left... and she—she just fucking jumped me out of nowhere! Why didn’t anyone tell me how much damage our fucking nails can do...?!”   Jasper sharply inhaled.   Then Edward hesitantly asked, “How hurt are you?”   “Oh you know, she tried to rip my throat out and when I finally managed to get her off of me by tearing her arm clean off, she scratched my cheek before she high-tailed it out of here. But it’s fine, really! I survived my first real fight, alone, so what’s a few injuries in the grand scheme of things?”   Ciara laughed again, this time with confused hurt in her voice, and something inside Jasper violently snapped. With a loud growl, he spun around and headed for the door with only one thought in his mind,   Get to her.   “Jasper, wait—!”   The growl in his chest turned into a low snarl, and Jasper half-turned to look over his shoulder. If his brother tried to stop him now—   Something small came straight for his face but he caught it in his hand before it could hit him. He glanced at the object in his palm. It was a pair of car keys.   “Take my car.”   His eyes immediately snapped up to see Edward regarding him with understanding as he stood beside Alice, who was still rapidly talking with Ciara. “We’ll take Carlisle’s car and Emmett’s jeep,” he continued, “You go on ahead.”   With a curt nod, Jasper sent his brother a burst of gratitude before blurring away to the garage and throwing himself in Edward's Volvo.   Get to her.        

42 Days Before Prom It starts with an email. Well, that’s not entirely true. If you want to be technical about it, maybe the story starts the day Jisung is born. Or maybe the day Minho is. Or perhaps you could even go back to when Minho’s parents moved into a little yellow house on Cherry Street and Jisung’s father and very pregnant mother moved into the big red brick one next door. Jisung’s brother was born shortly after that, and when Minho’s mother got pregnant with him a year later she turned to her neighbor for advice on being a new mom. Two years after Minho popped out, Jisung was brought into the world. They’ve known each other since he was three days new. So really, sure, maybe it starts on September 17th of that year. But the turning point, the start of something new, that happens on April 21st 18 years later, a month and a half before Jisung’s senior prom, and it comes in the form of an email of all things. It looks innocent when Jisung sees it in his inbox. An email from Minho’s school account with a rather vague subject: From: [email protected] Subject: Someone has sent you an e-card! An e-card? There’s nothing wrong with an e-card, per se, except for the fact that they lost popularity about eight years ago and it would be ten times easier for Minho to just text him whatever he needs to say. Or facetime him. Or snapchat him. Tweet at him. All things they have done on a regular basis in the two years Minho has been away at school. Jisung scrolls over to the email, jiggling his finger on the worn-out trackpad of his laptop to bring it back to the realm of reality (it tends to stray south when untouched for a while) before opening up the virtual card.It starts out with a flower bud, tiny and alone against a sky blue background. White font starts scrolling across the screen as it begins to sprout. Jisung. The petals grow until the flower is fully formed into a daisy, which then triggers about a thousand more to pop up across the screen until some more lettering appears. Will you go to prom with me? Jisung blinks at the screen and replays the card, trying to make sure he’s reading it right and the eye strain from the animation isn’t tricking his mind. No, it’s definitely a promposal. Via e-card. From his childhood best friend, who is very much a university student at JYP University several hundred miles away. 340 miles to be exact. It’s Jisung’s dream school too, he’s required to know things like that. So how and why is Minho planning to bring him to the prom of a high school he does not actually attend? Had Jisung even mentioned anything about it? He doesn’t think so, at least not to Minho. According to his laptop it’s 5:06 pm, which means Minho should be out of classes, and it’s Wednesday, which means he’s off work. Jisung digs his cell out of his backpack, noticing that since he last checked it back at school a few hours ago his message alerts have gone from zero to an alarming 6 from various sources. There are two from Minho, one from his mom, one from Seungmin, and two from Felix. He checks Minho’s first. Minho (3:45 pm): HeyMinho (4:30 pm): Anything happen today? Jisung has way too many questions to talk this out over text. He pushes away from his desk and moves from his chair to the bed, laying down and holding the phone overhead before dialing Minho on facetime. It rings a few times before his face pops up on screen, a little blurry and bouncy. “Hey,” Jisung greets, bringing his phone closer and squinting at the screen. Minho seems to be walking, and there’s greenery in the background. “Can you talk?” “Hey Sungie. I’m walking back to my apartment, it might be loud but I can talk. Here’s Chan,” he says, pointing the camera away from him for a moment to show off his roommate. Jisung barely gets a glimpse of bleach blonde hair and the beginning of a wave before Minho directs it back to himself. “I can wait til you’re alone.” “No, it’s fine. He has headphones in. What’s up?” What’s up? “I got your email,” Jisung starts, hoping Minho will fill in the blanks. “Oh? Did you like it?” “Minho, why are you asking me to my own prom?” “Because you want to go, right?” Minho asks. Like it’s the simplest answer in the world. “I- I wasn’t going to, actually,” Jisung admits. He hadn’t gone last year because he hadn’t had a date, and this year has panned out much the same until now. “But that’s not what I asked. You do want to go, I know you do. But a little birdy told me you might be skipping again,” Minho says with a teasing tone. Ah. He’s been ratted out. “And who might that little birdy be?” “I think he went by the name of Hyunjin?” Jisung makes a note to give his best friend (best friend aside from Minho) a piece of his mind later. “I see.” “You’re skipping just because you don’t have a date, and that, my dear friend, is fucking stupid.” Jisung pulls his hood over his head in shame, trying to hide his face from seemingly all-knowing eyes. “Is that what Hyunjin told you?” “He said you might not go, and when I asked he said he didn’t think anyone had invited you. I put two and two together.” “Ah.” Jisung sighs. The hood hadn’t disguised a damn thing. “Well, sue me. I don’t want to go alone.” Minho is quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of a phone shuffling and the jingle of keys being pulled out of his pocket coming from the speaker. Jisung can’t see the screen in his current setup, but he seems to have arrived at his complex. When Jisung hears the sound of an elevator ding once more, Minho starts his speech back up. “That’s a crazy coincidence, because I happened to love my proms and this is a great excuse to give it one more shot.” “Minho,” Jisung laughs, finally picking his hood back up to see if his friend’s face is more convincing than his voice (no). “You hated your senior prom. You left your date early and came to hang out in my basement.” “She was mad.” “She was pissed,” Jisung giggles, recalling the memory. It’s a little bit hazy, Minho had initially intended to go to an after-party and brought a flask to prepare himself, but Jisung distinctly remembers his neighbor knocking on the door in a tuxedo while he himself donned a pair of sweats stained with cheeto dust and a shirt two sizes too large. The jacket and pants had quickly been stripped off, leaving Minho in boxers and a dress shirt to lounge around and play fighting games in Jisung’s basement as they mixed bottom shelf rum with a 2 liter of cola and gobbled down an entire extra large pizza. Minho’s date called so many times that he eventually just turned his phone off. “I won’t leave you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Minho snickers with a little wink. “You’d be doing me a favor by giving me a redo with a better date.” Jisung bites his lip in contemplation, wondering if he should take the offer. It actually sounds like a good deal, he knows he’ll have fun with Minho, it’s just… isn’t it a little pathetic? “Aren’t you busy with school?” “All I have to do is drive down for the weekend. I don’t even have Friday classes, you know that. Come on Sungie, just let me take you to prom. You know you want to.” He kind of does. Even if it means the school knowing he couldn’t actually score a date his own age (or one that he hasn’t known since he was in diapers), he still wants the experience. If it sucks, Minho is well-versed in dipping out early. “Fine.” “Excuse me?” “Alright?” “Alright what? Is that a yes? I sent a formal invite, I’d like a formal response.” “Yes, I would love to go to prom with you,” Jisung deadpans, though he’s sure a smile is peeking through the face he’s trying to keep serious. “Would you like me to answer the email back as well?” Minho cheers and pumps a fist in the air, loudly enough that Jisung is almost certain his neighbors can hear, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Woohoo! I’ve got a prom date! You’d better dress nice, if I’m at my old stomping grounds I refuse to show up with me and my date looking anything less than perfect. No need on the email, by the way.” “Noted and noted.” Minho looks so nice like this, smile wide and eyes scrunched up in excitement like they always have since he was young. It brings back a lifetime of memories together, laughing over nonsense that was hysterical to them and them alone. Ah. Jisung really misses him. “Sungie? You there?” “I’m here,” Jisung says, realizing he must have spaced out for a moment. “Sorry, what?” “I asked if you got your letter from JYP yet?” Minho asks, tone a little more serious than before. “I’d tell you if I did, you know that,” Jisung says quietly. “Nothing since the waitlist notice.” Minho looks at him sympathetically, a sad glint in his eye. Jisung hates it. “You’ll get in. My roommate-” “I know, your roommate freshman year was waitlisted and he got in. I’ve met Changbin, remember?” “Yeah, I remember.” There’s silence for a moment, and Jisung finds himself regretting cutting Minho off. He was really just trying to be nice. “He was a smart guy. I’m a smart guy too, so I’ll get in. No worries.” Minho smiles fondly at that. “No worries. What are you doing with the rest of your night?” Jisung rolls off his bed to get his backpack and look through his half-filled-out planner, walking Minho through his upcoming work step by step. He’s not sure if Minho is fully paying attention, but he cracks jokes and provides commentary when Jisung veers off topic, which is all he can really ask. They swap roles shortly after, only cut off when Jisung’s father calls him down from his room for dinner. As per usual their quick little call seems to turn into a three hour facetime session. It’s been like that for two years now. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 41 Days Before Prom   “So, Felix, do you happen to have your suit for prom yet?” Jisung’s friend looks up from his school-distributed chicken nuggets at the sudden question. He and Jisung typically eat with a few other friends, but Seungmin and Jeongin have student council duties on Thursdays and Hyunjin is out sick. It’s a shame, because Jisung still needs to reprimand him from spilling his sob story to Minho. “I was just going to wear the same suit I wore last year. Maybe a new shirt and tie,” he says, looking up in contemplation. “Or maybe a bowtie this year?” “Ooh, a bowtie sounds fun. I wonder if I should wear a bowtie?” Jisung says, hoping Felix picks up the hint. “Yeah, they’re cute, I think. I don’t know why ties became the standard, bowties are just so charming. Makes you look like you could own a candy shop or something.” Hint not taken. “Yeah,” Jisung tries again. “Yeah, I just don’t have a suit yet, so I guess I should do that first so I can match them? Or can I do it reverse? Seems more complicated, right?” “Definitely seems more complicated. Suits are usually more basic and… wait, why do you need a suit?” Felix asks, putting his fork down and perching his chin on his hands. “What did I miss?” Success. Jisung smiles smugly, trying to put on an air of mystery as he looks around the room with what he hopes is an expression of nonchalance. “Oh, things have changed a bit. I’ll be going to prom now.” “Alone?” “No!” Jisung says, snapping back to look at his friend in offence. Felix is smiling just as smugly as he was a moment ago. Clearly he knew that would push a button. “No,” Jisung repeats after clearing his throat, “I’m not going alone. Someone asked me. I’m quite popular, you know.” “Yes you are. Who’s the lucky lad or lady?” “Oh,” Jisung starts, stopping himself before finishing the sentence. Does he really want to reveal that it’s Minho? Minho, who they all know to be his very platonic childhood friend of eighteen years? “It’s a secret. You’ll have to wait to see on prom night.” “Why? Who could it possibly be? Everyone we know is already taken,” Felix says, mouth now full of chicken nuggets once again. Jisung watches in distaste as his friend talks and chews at the same time, but laughs when he seems to notice his mistake and uses a tiny hand to cover his mouth. “Yeah, even you, shockingly.” “It’s not shocking at all. I have the same date as last year, Seungmin is a lovely escort,” Felix says, defending his date. “Well, he certainly needs your dancing guidance.” “And I’m perfectly happy to provide it.” “And I’m happy you two came to that compromise. Though I think you should make a real move this year,” Jisung says. Felix smiles a little at that, almost like he already has something in mind. He should, those two have been dancing around acknowledging their since… well, since last year this time when Felix planned a lovely promposal spelling out the question in icing over a pan of homemade brownies and Seungmin failed to realize it as a genuinely romantic act. “I’m working on it. Wait, but who the hell is your date though? Seriously? Do I know them?” “He’s a lovely person, he is a he, and you do know him. I’ll have to leave it at that.” “Fine. You’ll crack sooner or later and tell me, you’ve got a blabbermouth,” Felix says. Jisung wants to contest but the bell rings before he has the chance. Felix stands to clear his tray, but pauses before walking away; “If you do want to go suit shopping though, I’m down. Maybe Saturday?” “Saturday is good for me,” Jisung confirms. Felix gives a smile and a wave before dashing away to get to his third floor class on time. Luckily, Jisung’s is right around the corner. He takes his time putting things away carefully, thinking once again about how distant and disconnected this scenario seems. Saturday. Saturday he’ll have a suit, something tangible to hold and remind him of prom. Of the end of the school year, the end of his high school career, of when “never been to prom” Jisung will disappear and “went to prom” Jisung becomes a reality. They’re meaningless labels, really, but in a world filled with uncertainty he’s willing to grasp at any strings he can find. Even if they are just the threads of a tacky suit he’ll probably never touch again. 39 Days Before Prom “I don’t understand why I’m here, I already have my suit,” Hyunjin whines (not for the first time) as he, Jisung, and Felix sort through the formalwear at a discounted suit warehouse. “Because, you ratted on me to Minho,” Jisung says quietly, still fingering through the hangers of a rounded rack as he looks for the perfect tux. “Spilled some business that wasn’t yours to spill. If you want to be so involved in my prom activities, the least you can do is help find me a good tux. One with-” “Yeah, I get it, slim fit legs and a single button jacket. You’ve already said it ten times,” Hyunjin groans. “And for the record, I only said that because I was under the impression you didn’t have any prom activities. If I knew you’d magically get asked and be a giant pain in the ass about it, I’d have kept my mouth shut.” Felix taps on Jisung’s shoulder and holds up a suit when he gets his attention. “What about this style?” “Hmm” Jisung hums, taking a look. It’s a nice pair of pants, but it’s really more of a straight leg and looks like it’d need a lot of hemming. “They’re too tall for him, Lix. You think he’s got enough leg for all that fabric?” “Shut it, Hyunjin,” Jisung snaps. He’s right, though. If you’d asked Jisung what he knew about suits two days ago, the answer would have been close to nothing. But now, after spending an embarrassing amount of time filtering through prom-wear inspired Pinterest boards, he has a very clear vision in mind. Hyunjin and Felix don’t need to know that, though, so he’d stuck to the simple description Hyunjin had recited. “He’s kind of not wrong though, Lix. It’s a nice pair of pants, it’s just not my pair of pants.” “Got it. Slimmer, shorter leg.” “Yep,” Jisung confirms before browsing through his own rack again. Hyunjin has finally started to look, and through the corner of his eye Jisung can see him pulling out a few pairs of pants and hanging them on his forearm before switching to a jacket rack. This store is nice in all the options it has and the price point it offers, but everything is mix and match and it’s on them to find things of the same fabric. He pulls a few pants himself before switching to a nearby jacket rack and finding a few good options. After far too long on the sales floor and the discovery that Hyunjin has an eye for formal wear that Felix simply does not, Jisung shuffles to the fitting rooms with one arm full of pants and the other full of jackets. When he hangs them all up, he starts to think maybe he doesn’t have it either. “I- shit, this is a lot of stuff,” he mumbles to himself. “Yeah, no shit. That’s what you asked for,” Jisung hears from the other side of the fitting room door. Hyunjin has opted to sit there and act as the tux appraiser instead of joining Felix in the accessories department. Jisung doesn’t answer, just continues staring at nearly identical black fabrics until his friend speaks up again. “Are you good, though?” “I can’t tell what matches.” “Seriously?” “I’ll figure it out, though,” Jisung says, starting to peel off his pants and get to trying on. After a few moments of silence there’s a knock on the door. “Let me in.” “What? No, I’m half naked. Just wait and tell me yes or no,” Jisung says, reaching for a pair of pants and a dress shirt and pulling them on. Before he can even attempt to look for a jacket Hyunjin knocks again. “Just wait!” “No, you’re dressed now, I can tell through the crack in the door-” “Stop peeping at me you pervert! I already have a prom date!” “And I have a boyfriend. Jisung, shut up and open the door. Let me help you out, ok? I don’t want to be here all day. Isn’t that why you dragged me here?” He’s right. Jisung cracks the door open and lets Hyunjin slip inside the dressing room, holding his arms out to let his friend inspect the outfit so far. “Fine. Rate me.” “Five on the pants. They don’t fit you right. Nine on the shirt. But hang on a second, let me just match everything for you,” Hyunjin says, barely glancing at the half-getup before getting to work. He makes pairings out of matching fabrics easily, clearly possessing more of an eye for details and differentiating between different shades of black. “So you’re keeping your date a secret, why again?” he asks, barely looking up from his task. “More fun that way,” Jisung says, looking at himself in the mirror. Hyunjin is right, the pants fit at the waist but are loose in the thighs and go a little past his heels when they should end at the ankle. He starts to strip them off before continuing, not actually bothered at the idea of Hyunjin seeing him in boxers. Though Minho will always be the friend he’s had the longest, Hyunjin is only four years behind. Fourteen years of friendship doesn’t leave much room for secrets. “It isn’t Minho?” he asks, making Jisung snap to look at him. “Try this on. Keep the shirt you have on.” Hyunjin thrusts a suit into Jisung’s hands and takes a seat on the dressing room bench. Luckily they’re in a pretty big stall. “Why would you ask that?” “Just seems like weird timing. Nice boxers,” Hyunjin says, poking Jisung’s thigh as he shimmies a newer, tighter pair of pants up his legs. The boxers in question were a gift from his grandma, decorated with little log cabins and pine trees. He doesn’t wear them when he thinks he’ll be seen. “Well, that’s a rude implication. As if nobody in school or nobody my age would want to ask me to the dance.” “That’s not what I said at all. My date’s from another grade, if you’ll recall. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Hyunjin says. Ah yes, it had been quite the scandal for Hwang Hyunjin, the pride beauty and rumored slacker of the senior class, had asked Yang Jeongin out. It’s not just the age difference, Jeongin is on the student council and Hyunjin skips class on a somewhat regular basis. It’s not as if he’s an actual slacker though, anyone who knows him well knows he gets migraines and his absences are excused. Why he doesn’t make that public Jisung will never know, but his boyfriend seems to understand. Jeongin isn’t the little angel the school makes him out to be either, though. He’s got enough spunk to keep Hyunjin on his toes. They fit surprisingly well together. At least until the end of the year. “Are these better?” Jisung asks, spinning around when he gets his shirt tucked into the new pants. “Loads better. Put the jacket on too,” Hyunjin says, motioning towards it. Jisung does as instructed and spins again, then admires his reflection. “It’s a good tux.” “It is a good tux,” Jisung agrees. The fit is nice, the material is pretty. He looks like a person nearly ready to go to prom. “But there’s five more you should try on.” “Dear god.” “This is why you brought me,” Hyunjin says, framing his face and smiling big. Jisung starts to change again, though the next two suits get dismissed. When he pulls on the fourth option total with a new shirt, Hyunjin pulls out his phone and holds it up. “That’s got to be the one. I don’t say this often, but you look hot.” “I do look hot,” Jisung says, spinning around and admiring himself. He pauses with his back facing the tri-fold mirror, checking out his ass, when he hears the telling snaps of a phone camera. “Hey, you’ve got your own date to check out. Why the pictures?” “To send to Minho. He should see you like a grown adult for once.” “No! No pictures to Minho,” Jisung says, scrambling to grab Hyunjin’s phone and delete the evidence. He knows it’s not a wedding day or whatever, but he’d still like to wow his date in person rather than spoil it through a shitty cell phone photo. “Why?” “Because it’s not necessary. He’s busy, anyways. You’ll distract him,” Jisung says defensively. “Bullshit, it’s Saturday. And as previously stated, you look hot. Since when do you not like to show off? Especially to him?” Hyunjin asks, prying his phone from Jisung’s hands. “Everyone can see the tuxedo on the day I wear the tuxedo. No sooner. Got it?” “But he won’t see it, he’s at school,” Hyunjin says with a coy smile. Shit. Jisung didn’t think that sentence through all the way. “Unless he’s the one taking you.” “Hyunjin, please,” Jisung says, not quite ready to fully admit defeat. “Please? Hyunjin please what?” “Hyunjin please don’t tell anyone,” Jisung mumbles. “Hyunjin please don’t tell anyone what?” he prods. “Hyunjin, please keep your fat mouth closed and don’t tell anyone that Minho is the one taking me to prom.” “I knew it. I’m so damn smart. I knew it as soon as you told me you had a date,” Hyunjin says, puffing out his chest in pride. “Though I don’t get why it’s a secret.” “Because, it isn’t real. It’s like a pity date. Everyone is gonna notice that when we get there, but I can at least build the excitement a little, right?” “I’m sure he doesn’t pity you, you’re like his favorite person in the world,” Hyunjin sighs. His face is very clearly telling Jisung that he doesn’t believe his bullshit, and that he knows Jisung doesn’t believe his own bullshit either. It’s hard not to shrink under that kind of gaze. “Fine, not a pity date per se, but you know what I mean. It’s not romantic.” “It’s whatever you make it,” Hyunjin says, a playful glint in his eye. Huh? “I have no idea what that means,” Jisung says. He doesn’t. Not a clue, not at all. “It means I saw the way you looked at him all last summer. Everyone did.” “You should get your eyes checked. You’ve got a speck of dirt under that one, maybe there’s crud messing up your vision,” Jisung says, pointing at a mole under his left eye. “I looked at him like a best friend I hadn’t seen in a year.” “Like a best friend who got hot.” “He’s always been attractive, what is that supposed to mean?” “He was always attractive, but he got hot. It’s different. You know exactly what I mean, don’t play dumb.” “Even so, he’s my best friend. There’s nothing romantic there, don’t you think if there were we’d have hashed it out in the sixteen years we had before he left for school?” Jisung insists. It’s true, right? Things like this don’t just change because they had a little space and Minho happened to start working out every morning. Not with people as close as Jisung and Minho. “I think you’re stupid,” Hyunjin says, leaning back on the heels of his hands and grinning. Hyunin is calling him stupid? Jisung wants to wipe that stupid grin off his stupid face. “Oh, fuck off. I need to change, get out of here.” “Why do I need to leave?” “Because, you’re going delusional from the lack of oxygen in such a small shared space. Get out now,” Jisung says, grabbing Hyunjin’s wrists and pulling him up. “Go get some air and try to remember the state of the world.” “I didn’t say you had to make it romantic. I just said you didn’t have to not make it romantic. Don’t be so defensive, Sungie,” Hyunjin says, laughing as he’s shoved out of the fitting room. A store attendant is staring at them startled, and Jisung feels his face start to flush with how that must look and sound to a stranger. Curse Hwang Hyunjin and his stupid misleading lines and his stupid grins and his stupid sense of observation. And the stupid way he tends to be right. “I’ll meet you by the ties. Gonna go make sure Felix hasn’t picked out anything too absurd,” he says with a lazy wave of the hand, leaving Jisung to undress in peace. Jisung leaves with this new suit in a garment bag and a burgundy and silver patterned tie in a parcel around his wrist. Red is his favorite color, and silver looks good against Minho’s skin and eyes. 20 Days Before Prom Jisung has developed a pattern in the several weeks since receiving his wait-list letter. He checks his mailbox religiously every day after school without fail, sorts through the junk mail and bills to give to his parents, and prays to anyone or anything that might listen to please let something more exciting arrive with his name on it tomorrow. And each day, when it doesn’t come, he sends Minho an update. Sometimes that’s the only thing they say to each other for the day, just a simple “It didn’t come :(“ followed by a comforting “It’ll be there soon or I’ll march over to the dean’s office and vouch for you myself,” but sometimes it turns into more. A conversation about how different the weather is between their towns, or an assignment one of them has, or something bizarre Minho saw a drunk person do on campus. Sometimes they facetime and talk about absolutely nothing, or watch a movie and pretend there isn’t a couple seconds delay between them. Regardless, Jisung thanks his stars that as a sophomore in university, Minho still finds time to do this with him. He has insisted on buying Jisung a corsage, or something like a corsage, even found a place where he can get two pins instead of a pin and a bracelet. Minho whittled Jisung’s will down enough to learn that a dark red rose would be perfect, though he still refuses to show his suit on video before the big day. “It’s not a wedding dress, dumbass, just show me what you look like.” “It’s just as important, and I’m not a dumbass.” Finals are starting soon, and from last year they both know communication is bound to become scarce as they inch closer and closer to those dreadful days. They talk as much as they can right now, before that terrible time comes upon them. 10 Days Before Prom “So when exactly is Minho coming into town?” “I don’t know exactly, I haven’t asked.” Jisung is seated at the kitchen table with his mom after school, moving a small, shared pile of fruit around with his spoon as he waits for a good reason to get up and go up to his room. The metal makes loud, unpleasant noises against the ceramic plate. It seems to match his mood. He’s a little down today, the lack of mail hit a little harder than it should have and he really just wants to sulk, if he’s being honest. “Well you’d better find out, honey, so we can get something ready for him,” Jisung’s mom chastises, grabbing his spoon and putting it down as she munches on a grape, presumably to stop the horrendous scratching noise. “I want to thank him properly.” “Thank him?” “For being your date. He doesn’t have to come all the way out here and do that, you know. You’d better be grateful.” Grateful. Jisung is grateful, but it’s not like he asked for the favor or anything. He had to spill the full situation to his parents, tell them why exactly he needed money for a suit and prom tickets and explain that they couldn’t meet his date because he wasn’t in town (not to mention because they already know him as a third son). They’d been thrilled, they’re always thrilled with Minho, he practically walks on water in their eyes. And it’s not that Jisung can blame them, Minho walks on water in his eyes too, but he doesn’t really want to hear the narrative that taking him to prom is some type of burden when he’s spent the last month trying to push it out of his own head. “I’m delighted.” “What’s with the tone?” “Nothing, no. I’m grateful. I’ll go call him now,” Jisung says, starting to head for the stairs. “Find out if he wants any kind of dinner too, okay?” Jisung’s mom calls out. “He wants fried chicken.” “No, you want fried chicken,” his mom laughs. “Find out what Minho wants.” “He’s going to want dinner with his own parents! And Minho likes fried chicken too! Don’t you want your own son to be happy?” “Yes I do. Now call your date and get me some info. If you do a good job there’ll be something good in it for you,” she says. Jisung nods and darts up the stairs defeated. He takes a few minutes for himself first, delaying the task not because it’s actually a troublesome thing to do but because his mother had asked him to do it. Maybe not the most mature attitude to hold when he’s about to be leaving home for the first time (hopefully), but old habits die hard. When he’s changed and comfortable and can’t think of any reason to delay his call anymore, Jisung props his phone up on his desk and facetimes Minho. “Hello?” Minho picks up almost instantly, but the screen is the telling pink of someone covering the camera with a finger and there are muffled sounds of water coming from his speaker. “One sec,” Jisung hears Minho reply, followed by the sound of a faucet turning and the water coming to a stop. “Sorry, just got out of the shower,” Minho says. The screen lights up and the picture finally comes through, though it’s one Jisung wasn’t quite prepared for. Minho, shirtless, hair dripping wet and face completely bare. Something Jisung has seen before, absolutely, but not since last summer and even then it had been getting a little hard to digest without his face heating up. At least then he’d been able to blame the hot sun pounding on them as they spent entire days messing around at the beach. What’s his excuse supposed to be now? A late second wave of puberty? He glances at his phone screen, inspecting the tiny version of his face in the corner and checking to make sure his ears aren’t noticeably red. He seems safe, at least for now. But damn, Minho really needs to stop with this whole “hot college guy” thing. It’s getting old. “Should I call you back?” “What? No, Sungie, I’m here. Just give me a second, I just got out of the shower,” Minho says, He’s wrapped a towel around his neck and is walking into his room. Jisung hears the TV going in the background, probably Chan, and watches a little droplet of water fall from the tip of Minho’s hair down to his face, roll down his neck and get caught at his collarbone. “Everything ok, though? You didn’t text before calling, you usually do.” Jisung snaps back to attention, moving his eyes back up to meet Minho’s (at least as much as possible through a screen) and tries to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. My mom wants to know when exactly you’re coming back. To the minute, if you can.” “Oh, ok. I’m coming back thursday night, I’ll leave here at five and hopefully be there by nine. You can tell her 9:03 pm if you think that will make her happier.” “What will you do if you arrive earlier?” “To make your mom happy? I’ll just wait in the car, I suppose. No other option,” Minho says with a smile. He places the phone down on his desk and moves the towel through his hair, leaving a ruffled mess that gets further disheveled when he pulls a soft looking sweater over his head. “And if you’re late?” “I won’t be late. I’ll speed.” “Don’t say that,” Jisung says, unable to hold back a little grin. He’d wanted to make this call short and sweet, give himself ample time to sulk in his room before starting his homework, but that desire is starting to fade. “She’ll know. She always knows. Nine is late though, she wanted to make you dinner.” “I was just going to get fast food on the road,” Minho says. He’s flopped onto his bed and rolled to his side, and if Jisung had to guess he’d say the phone is propped against the wall. It almost feels like they’re laying side by side. Wouldn’t that be nice? Huh? Hyunjin’s little comment is seriously fucking with his brain lately, that must be it. For the past month. He needs to get it out of his head. This isn’t romantic. Minho is attractive, Jisung would say he himself is pretty attractive too, that doesn’t mean he has to think about laying in bed next to him and pushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead before they dry into something uncontrollable (as they tend to do). Minho used to eat his own boogers. (Jisung used to think it was cool, if Minho did it, it must be cool. He used to eat his own boogers too.) So stop daydreaming, stop projecting, get your shit together and continue this very normal conversation with your best friend. “I’m going to need that in writing, because my mom will absolutely delay our normal dinner by three hours to appease your schedule.” “My mom wouldn’t stand for it.” “My mom would make your mom. She’s scarier. Your mom is nice and relaxed and goes with the flow, my mom is a force of nature,” Jisung insists. Maybe it’s because he had an older brother, but Jisung’s mother, kind as she may be, likes to have a plan and rules in place. Minho’s mom is cooler, lets him do whatever as long as he’s safe. That’s why they almost always hung out at Minho’s place. “I will text your mother myself and tell her that I don’t want to hold up dinner for you guys. Just eat without me, we can do a joint family thing before I leave.” “Thank you, that’s all I need. If you’d like, you can also tell her that even if you aren’t going to be there I still deserve fried chicken.” “I’m not texting her that,” Minho laughs. “But nice try. So tell me something.” “Tell you what?” “Anything. I haven’t spoken more than two sentences to you in like a week.” “Not my fault,” Jisung teases, sticking out his tongue. “Not my fault either, I have finals coming up!” If Jisung is going to end this call and make alone time to sulk, this is his chance to do so. “And you’re still in the middle of them, so hang up and get studying!” That’s what he could say. “I know it’s not, I’m just joking. Not much has happened to me though. Just working on some projects.” “Hmm? Anything fun?” “Of course not. So tell me, why are you showering at four in the afternoon? You’re a morning showerer, always have been.” “It’s kind of a weird story,” Minho says, sitting up and towel drying his hair once again. “I’ve got time.” They talk until Jisung is called down for dinner, and when the door to his room opens the familiar smell of fried food wafts through the house and into his nostrils, making him perk up. Fried chicken. Maybe this day wasn’t too bad after all. 4 Days Before Prom “So you really don’t think we should have gotten a limo?” Seungmin asks, hesitance clear in his voice. He’s seated next to Felix on the grass as they all enjoy lunch in the courtyard on this unseasonably warm day. Jisung is pretty sure he thinks he’s being sneaky with the way his arm crosses over Felix’s behind them, but despite the attempt, Seungmin has never been sneaky in his life, and Felix has never even tried. “The limo is expensive, we have like a thirty minute drive to the venue and that’s more than I want to cover. Almost all of us can squeeze into my car,” Hyunjin insists. “But you’re sure you’re good going with M- with just your date, Jisung?” “Yeah, no big deal. It’ll be nice to have some alone time, you guys would probably scare them off anyway,” Jisung says. He doesn’t mind riding alone with Minho at all, even wonders if he should ask his date if they can volunteer the station wagon, which actually would fit everyone. But this adds to the surprise, just another little thing to delay his friends from finding out who his mystery partner is. It’s really more of a fun game than anything by now, Jisung has lost all sense of shame about going with Minho and instead found joy in constantly shooting down his friends pestering. “Yeah, sure we will. Lix is terrifying,” Hyunjin scoffs, gesturing at their friend. He smiles his sweetest smile, frames his face in his hands and waves, the absolute picture of innocence. “Lix isn’t, but Jeongin is,” Jisung insists. He gets a smack on the knee in return from the youngest member of their little group, then another one from Hyunjin. Always there to protect his man. “Ow! You two are the worst couple I’ve ever met, you belong together. Anyway, the point still stands, I don’t have any other option. Don’t waste money on the limo, I’ll be fine.” “I’m sneaking in a flask,” Jeongin declares. This time Seungmin is the one doing the smacking, though it barely makes a sound. “The hell you are, you’re on the student council and you’re a child.” “But it’s tradition,” he whines, rubbing his knee even though Seungmin had barely tickled him. “I don’t want to miss out.” “It’s not tradition, you only want to do that because you heard Minho did it from Jisung. And he didn’t even use it. And there’s security this year. You get caught, they won’t let you in,” Seungmin says. “Holy shit, you’re a killjoy,” Hyunjin laughs. “Don’t worry, Innie, I’ll put a juicebox in my car for you.” “You suck.” “You like me anyway.” “Shut up.” Jisung watches the bickering in amusement, trying to enjoy the atmosphere. Felix is doing his best to keep Seungmin calm at the ridiculous statements Hyunjin and Jeongin keep making, and he can’t help but think what a nice couple they make already. It seems like something has shifted between them, though nothing is official quite yet, and Jeongin and Hyunjin have their own routine well rehearsed by this point in their relationship. It’s hard not to feel like a fifth wheel. He hopes it will be better on Saturday night, when at least he’ll have Minho to snicker to and make jokes with as the couples do their thing. He’s really looking forward to it, they all are, more than he expected. Minho says he’s excited to teach Jisung how to slow dance, and though Jisung resists it verbally he’s actually genuinely excited to learn. Hyunjin had given a few demonstrations, steps from a class he and Minho had taken back when they both attended the same dance academy, but supposedly it will be better with a real partner. Minho will be a good teacher, he always has been. Two more days until he’s in town. Jisung can hardly wait. 2 Days Before Prom “How far are you?” “I’m like three hours away, it’s only six. You didn’t seriously think I was going to speed that much?” Minho’s voice comes through Jisung’s phone a little fuzzy, the result of being on speaker while driving down the highway. “No, of course not. I’m just… Just get here quick, ok?” Jisung says, biting back an overly enthusiastic ‘I just want to see you!’ that threatens to come out. “Aww, you miss me? You want to see me?” Minho teases. Maybe Jisung didn’t bite things back as well as he thought. “I just fear that if you go too long without looking at my face you’ll get sad. So I think you should get here quick,” he follows up. It’s a pretty lame excuse, but at least it makes Minho chuckle before responding. “I want to see you too. I’ll be there at nine, I promise,” Minho says softly. “Ok. I’ll see you then.” “I’m gonna go now, ok?” “Yeah. Focus on the road, why are you talking to me?” Jisung responds. “I haven’t the slightest idea. See you soon, Sungie.” And then the line goes dead. Jisung ponders his next move for a moment, wondering the best plan of action. He’d typically lounge around for a while, not start his homework until after dinner and work into the night. That’s not going to cut it today, he has way too much nervous energy to do nothing. Minho is coming home. Jisung starts his homework early, though even with that his workload is so light at this point in the semester that he has ample time to pace around his room. He should be studying for final exams, that’s the only reason the homework load is lighter right now, but there’s no way he can focus on anything without a set structure right now. So he paces, plays a game, waits for his parents to call him to dinner. He settles on the couch with them for a while after that, tries to distract himself by watching a family friendly show and chattering about the day. Jisung suspects that under any other circumstance they’d be nagging at him to go back upstairs and study, but they know him well enough to sense that that’s not going to happen. So instead they pay him company, distract him until 8:50 when they just so happen to decide it’s time for them to turn in for the night. Ten minutes. Or thirteen, if Minho holds true to his commitment. Why is he so nervous? Minho hadn’t come home for winter break, instead spending the time at his job picking up extra shifts for some spare cash, and while Jisung had understood the decision that means it’s been nearly nine months since they’ve been face to face. He remembers hugging Minho goodbye at the end of the summer, the way that even though his mind said things would be fine his body simply hadn’t wanted to pull away. Maybe that’s what Hyunjin had been referencing, and maybe he had been right. Something in the summer air had crackled between them back then, at least on Jisung’s side, and he still isn’t quite sure what that meant. Maybe he’s about to find out. Jisung darts into the bathroom while he has time, inspects his teeth and skin and runs a hand through his hair to give himself some volume. He looks fine, at least he thinks he does. Maybe even a little bit better than he had at the end of summer, since he’d spent all of January binge watching skincare videos online and has now gotten most of his troublesome spots out of control. A little voice in the back of his head points out that the Jisung from a year ago wouldn’t care how he looked to see his best friend. He ignores it. And then Jisung steps back into his family room, and there are headlights in the street, and they turn. Not into his driveway but into the one next door, the one in front of the little yellow house that Jisung had spent practically half his childhood in. It’s dark, but Jisung can just make out the outline of a dinky old station wagon as it parks. As if to confirm his suspicions, Jisung’s phone dings, and he digs it out of his pocket to look at the message. Minho (8:58 pm): Do I have to wait 5 minutes to tell you I’m here? Jisung darts outside, only stopping to grab his keys, and runs across his yard to the neighboring driveway. The lawn is wet against his bare feet, and when he makes it to the gravely driveway it pinches a little bit, but he ignores it as he runs to greet Minho’s car. Jisung sees his friend looking down at his phone, but just before he makes it to the passenger door he looks up and makes eye contact. He watches a smile grow on Minho’s face, watches him open his door and run out to meet him halfway, sees him spread out his arms before he makes the very spontaneous decision to jump and wrap his legs around his best friend's waist as he holds on for dear life. “You’re here!” Jisung yells, more to the back of Minho’s head than his actual face. He feels solid arms around his back holding him up before his friend starts waddling to the front of his car to place Jisung down on the hood. “And you’re heavy.” “I’m not heavy. Haven’t you been working out? You should be able to hold me no problem.” “I have been working out, but you’re still an 18 year old man. You’re heavy,” Minho says, though from his eyes and his expression Jisung can tell it’s all in jest. “I think you got bigger.” “That’s rude. You just got here and you’re already being incredibly rude. I should find another date,” Jisung huffs. “Not bigger in that way, but like… well, like I said. You’re an eighteen year old man now. You look good, Sungie.” “I do, don’t I?” Jisung says, smiling proudly and getting up from his place on the car hood. “You too. You look taller. And buffer. Who you been using those muscles on?” “Oh, they’re just for show. Unless Chan eats my food, then he gets a beating,” Minho says, rolling up his sweatshirt sleeve and flexing a bicep. Jisung can barely see it, it’s dark and the sweatshirt is bulky as hell, but he still nods knowingly in response. Minho really does look good. Healthy, mature, maybe a little bit… sophisticated? It’s hard to put the exact words to it. Maybe he just looks like an adult. But even with his hair clipped back dorkily in the pins Jisung knows he only keeps for driving and a thin layer of grime on him from being in the car for so long, he can tell it’s a little bit more than he was ready for. He really does look good. “You’re barefoot,” Minho points out, gesturing to Jisung’s feet. He pulls them closer to himself, getting comfy as he sits criss-cross on the hood of Minho’s car. “I am. It’s warm out.” “But that had to hurt.” “Not more than being apart from you, baby,” Jisung says, shooting him finger guns and a cocky smile. “You’re absolutely insane.” “I’m not insane, I just saw your car and ran. I promise my feet are fine.” “You literally have so many pairs of shoes-” “Did you get in ok?” Jisung asks, interrupting his friend from the rant he can tell is about to come. This is not the conversation he wants to have after so many months apart. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Minho says with a grin. “Though Nelson nearly didn’t want to start up when I was trying to leave school.” “Nelson is a dick like that,” Jisung says, tapping on the hood of Minho’s car. He’d had the honor of naming it when Minho received the hand-me-down from his parents, and though it was rather spontaneous Minho has never once tried to change it or take it back. “But we love Nelson.” “We do,” Minho says, patting the car fondly. They’re silent for a moment as Minho looks around, taking in his house, his old neighborhood, his old neighbor. His old life, to some extent. But then he claps his hands and the silence is broken. “Ok, what are you doing right now?” “I’m… sitting here?” “I mean like, tonight. What are you doing?” “Minho, it’s 9 pm on a school night. I have class tomorrow. I don’t know what you’re asking,” Jisung giggles. A look of realization comes across Minho’s face, like he has just now remembered that Jisung is in fact a high school student despite driving four hours to bring him to his senior prom. “Oh, right. Ok but like… you don’t sleep until two in the morning, I know you. So why don’t you go get some shoes, I’m going to put my stuff inside, and we meet back out here in ten?” “Don’t you think your parents will want to spend time with you?” “They’ll understand,” Minho assures him. “I came here for you.” “Oh,” Jisung replies, unsure what to say to that. It brings heat to his ears and a dopey smile to his lips that he hopes his friend can’t see. “But, where are we going?” “You’ll find out,” Minho says. “Just meet me back by Nelson.” “Fine.” With that, they split ways (though Minho insists on piggybacking Jisung over to his lawn, where his feet will be safe and protected from gravel). He makes his way inside to put on socks and shoes, then spends a minute staring at his closet. Should he tell his parents he’s going out? Probably. Should he bring a hoodie? He has no idea, but grabs one just in case. And even though he should tell his parents, and he knows they would probably make an exception on his curfew for this one special night, that seems like it would ruin the fun. So he tiptoes past their room, down the stairs, and out the door. He ducks behind the bushes framing their front windows, sprints across his yard and into Minho’s, and quietly positions himself on Nelson’s hood as he waits for Minho to come out. He isn’t trying to peep, but he is curious, and it’s hard not to look at Minho’s house when it’s the only source of light nearby. Through drawn curtains he can see the silhouette of three people, Minho and his parents. The tallest, Minho’s dad, stands with his hands on his hips as the two other figures hug. Minho and his mom have always been close, his father not as much. When he’d come out to them during winter break his first year of university, both relationships had been pushed to more extreme lengths. His father hadn’t been against it, per se, just faded even further into the background of Minho’s life than he already had been. Minho’s mother, extraordinary and wonderful woman that she is, had been overwhelmingly accepting. Jisung even went to her himself when he was having some of his own… questions. Asked how it felt as a mother to hear that kind of news as he debated what to say to his own family. He’s not as sure as Minho about his own feelings, not so clearly gay or straight, and he’s not sure he ever will be, but in the end he’d come to his own conclusion; if the person is good, he’s open to anything. It’s just that nobody had been quite good enough to try for anything serious yet. Jisung watches on as he hears laughter through the window, matching cackles that Minho and his mother both share. Minho is by far the best person he knows. “I’ll be back before morning,” he hears, followed by Minho running out the front door with a blanket in hand. “Hey, you’re here.” “I’m here,” Jisung confirms, standing up from his spot on the car. “Where are we going? You’re not gonna blindfold me or anything, are you?” “Do you want me to? Is that what kids are into these days? Sensory deprivation?” Minho asks. Jisung feels his jaw drop, not used to hearing Minho’s innuendos in person anymore. “I’m not a kid!” he defends when he regains control of himself. “You’re sick.” “No, I guess you’re not,” Minho says, unlocking the car. “Just get in, you’ll know where we’re going. You don’t trust me?” “Of course I trust you.” Jisung climbs into the car, surprised how tidy it is after such a long journey. Minho had always been the anal one between the two of them. It’s not an easy start, the car whines and groans as Minho turns the ignition, only roaring to life after a good two minutes of ‘gentle touches’ and soft praises whispered into the steering wheel. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have to beg your car to work,” Jisung says, frowning at the dashboard. “You sure this thing is safe?” “Nelson is just temperamental these days.” “Nelson, what’s he done to you?” Jisung asks, patting the glove compartment. “You were always so nice before. Have you missed me?” Minho scoffs at that remark, earning himself a glare and a flick on the arm. “Yeah, that must be it.” “This car loves me. As do you. Stop lying to yourself,” Jisung says. Outside the window he sees the tree-lines streets of their suburb start to clear as Minho turns into a community park. He opens the window and listens as the wind gets overwhelmed by the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Ah. The beach. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” Jisung says, staring out the window as they make their way to a secluded parking lot. The main public beach is gated and locked at night, but there’s a private beach, their private beach, that stays hidden. It’s only accessible if you know the path, and very few people do. “That’s fine, I figured we could just skinny dip,” Minho says, reaching over to tug on Jisung’s collar before earning himself yet another flick on the arm. “Ow! We’re not swimming, are you nuts? It’s dark and it’s way too cold. It’s still only spring” God, if Minho keeps this up he’s going to have a heart attack before he even graduates high school. It’s not just the innuendos and the suggestive language, it’s the touching and the play flirting and the way he looks. He’s still Minho, but he’s different, he really is. Jisung isn’t quite sure how to handle that. “You’ve gotten more perverted since you’ve been at school.” “I’m not perverted, I’m liberated. You should try it sometime,” Minho says. He pulls into the spot closest to the path and gets out, running around to Jisung’s door and pulling it open before he can do so for himself. “See? I’m a gentleman.” “A gentleman,” Jisung scoffs, getting out and looking around. It’s dark without the car’s headlamps on, even with the dim street lights of the parking lot and the moon shining above them. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” “Well, you won’t have to wait too long,” Minho replies. “Huh?” Jisung looks at him curiously as he pulls the blanket from his back seat and a bottle of water to share. What does that mean? “Prom, remember? I got you the most beautiful, gentlemanly flower you could think of. I’ll be a perfect date.” Oh yeah. Prom. “Uh-huh.” “We’ll be the best dancers in the room,” Minho insists. He leads the way into a thin layer of foliage, grabbing his elbow when the path gets a little overgrown. “The best looking couple, too.” “With Hyunjin there? I’m pretty sure he’d be willing to fight you for both those titles,” Jisung points out. “Whatever. We’d win. I’m older, what I say goes.” “Maybe you two should go together and I could take Jeongin. I’m interested to see if you could win prom king without even going to this school anymore,” Jisung suggests. They make their way off the path and onto the beach, Jisung’s body immediately chilling as a breeze comes off the lake and rips through him. He zips his sweatshirt and pulls the hood up as Minho lays the blanket down. It’s not a big beach, if it was it wouldn’t be so private or unknown, but it’s enough for them and their friends. “God, I could never. He’s like my pesky little brother that follows me around, there’s no way I could dance with him,” Minho says, flopping onto the blanket and patting the space next to him for Jisung to join. He does, seated a respectable six inches away, and is immediately pulled closer as Minho huddles against him for warmth. “You two quite literally used to dance with each other,” Jisung argues, earning a gentle knock on his head from Minho’s own. “Ow! What was that for?” “You know what I mean. We took dance classes together, we didn’t dance together. I could never like, take him as a date somewhere. Seriously, like a pesky little brother.” “And I’m not like a pesky little brother?” “No.” “Hmm,” Jisung hums. He’s not sure what to say to that, so instead he stares at the water and thinks. They’ve known each other forever, since he was three days old. So being like a pesky little brother, that’s probably how it should be. But Minho has never felt like an older brother, Jisung already has one of those. An idol, maybe? A best friend? A soulmate? It’s hard to say. How does he see Minho, as things stand right now? And how does Minho see him? “I have a question.” “Hmm?” “You’re a pervert now,” Jisung states. He can feel Minho turn to look at him, but keeps his eyes focused on the water. No way can he ask this face to face. “That’s not true, and it’s not a question.” “Ok, you said you’re liberated or whatever. But you never talk about like… guys. To me, at least. So what is liberated? Are you dating around?” Minho doesn’t answer right away, and that alone makes Jisung nervous. Is he dating up a storm and he just thinks Jisung won’t be able to get it? Or is he not dating around, but sleeping around? There’s nothing wrong with messing around, especially in college. Minho is twenty years old, he has every right to do whatever he wants with his body. Hell, he’s been working hard for that body, it would be a shame for nobody to see it. The thought still leaves a bad taste in Jisung’s mouth. “Well, no,” Minho says after a brief hesitation. “But I could. If I wanted to.” Jisung sighs in relief, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It must be louder than he realizes, because he can feel Minho’s gaze on him intensify, and he finally turns to meet it. Legs pulled to his chest, head resting on his knees, Jisung locks eyes with his. “Oh could you, now?” he asks, putting on a teasing tone to keep the mood from getting weird. “I definitely could,” Minho responds, shifting to mimic Jisung’s position. “So why don’t you?” “I don’t know. I did, last year. You remember I told you I was dating that guy for a couple months?” “Oh yeah. What was his name again?” Jisung asks. He does remember now that Minho mentions it, but that feels like so long ago. He doesn’t recall feeling any resentment at the time, just a bit of awe that Minho had finally acted on feelings he’d always felt he had to hold back at home. He wonders what changed to make him feel this way now. “Juyeon.” “Ohhhh now I remember,” Jisung says. A lie. “You still talk to him?” “No, not at all. I don’t even think I have his number anymore,” Minho laughs, no hint of malice in his expression. He’s shifted to match Jisung’s position, arms wrapped around his own legs as they face each other head on. “So what, you’re not over him? Or you hated dating? Or he ruined it for you? What?” “I don’t know, he was nice. I just wasn’t that into it. I mean, freshman year in general I did try dating, hooked up with a few people, it was all well and good.” “And this year you suddenly turned into a nun?” Jisung teases. “This year… there were just things I’d rather be doing,” Minho says, eyes glazing over a bit as he reaches a hand out to Jisung’s face. “I had other priorities,” he continues, pinching Jisung’s cheek and wiggling it a bit. “Ow! Watch it, dickwad,” Jisung whines, shaking his head to get Minho off. “What other priorities? You were on the phone with me like, all the time. You didn’t seem all that busy to me.” Minho just smiles at him and pinches his cheek again, releasing it when Jisung brings his hand up to swat it away and replacing the grip with a gentle cupping of his jaw. He still moves his hand up and down, he’s always liked playing with the chub of Jisung’s cheeks, but it doesn’t hurt, so Jisung lets him have his fun. “Well, I couldn’t let you be bored and panicky all by yourself, now could I?” “I can hold my own,” Jisung defends. “And I have other friends, Hyunjin is always here if I’m really in trouble. Like, if I need to bury a body or whatever.” “I know you can,” Minho laughs. “And if you have to bury a body, you should still call me. Hyunjin is bad at physical labor, I’d drive the four hours to help just to keep you from having to hear his complaining.” “Wow. My hero. You know what I mean, though.” “Well maybe I just wanted to talk to you, hmm? Ever think about that?” Jisung feels heat creep to his face and jolts himself up, hiding any potential blush before Minho can notice it and tease him. “As you should,” he says, “I’m a fantastic conversation partner.” He leans back on his hands and looks into the sky. It’s a waxing crescent moon, if he remembers anything from last year's astronomy elective. Felix says that means he should be thinking about his intentions, things he wants to happen. He’s not sure if he believes all that, but it seems appropriate right now. What exactly are his intentions? “You are. I’m simply bored to death of not having you at school, oh great and powerful Jisung,” Minho deadpans. He’s shifted to match Jisung’s position once again, staring at the sky and admiring the faint glow of the stars that they can make out, clouded by the pollution of nearby towns and cities. Jisung turns to look at him after a moment, taking him in under the hazy glow. It’s a familiar side profile, but it never has lost its novelty. The nose that used to be too big for his face now looks tall and distinguished. His lips, pouty and defined, still hold the faint curve of a smile from their conversation. He’s a sight to behold, that’s for sure. Jisung really misses seeing him every day. Maybe if they hadn’t been separated, he would be able to pinpoint the exact moment that his feelings began to shift, when he began seeing Minho as something more than his lifelong neighbor and best friend. “Well,” Jisung says, clearing his throat to collect his emotions. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll get that letter soon and I’ll be there next year.” “Oh yeah?” Minho asks, the faint curve of his lips turning up into a genuine smile. “I know you will.” “Do you think I’ll like it?” “What? Being away at school?” “Yeah. And the campus, the people. All of it. Will I fit in there?” Jisung asks. He’s been dreaming of going to JYP University for ages, he’s done the required research, by all accounts he should be set. He knows the school. But Minho actually knows him. “You know I can’t predict that for you,” Minho says, turning to look at him. “But… I think you will. The campus isn’t too big, so it’s hard to get lost. Your gen ed classes will be the same no matter where you take them, there’s no helping that. And as for the people? I can’t predict what kind of people will be in your class, but I always had good luck meeting nice people.” “I see.” “I’ll be there. You like me, right?” Minho asks, sending a flirty wink his way. Jisung knows it’s meant to be a joke, but it makes his heart sink to his stomach. Ah, he might really be screwed. “Yeah,” Jisung creaks out, embarrassed when his voice comes out squeaky and adolescent. That’s one way to show his newfound maturity. “Jisung?” “Yeah?” Minho looks at him before answering, an intense, deep look that makes Jisung feel like his soul is being put on display. Like he’s trying to figure Jisung out, like he hasn’t known him for eighteen years. “Nothing,” he finally says, “no, nothing. You’re just all grown up.” Jisung sits in silence for a moment, wondering what to make of that. The flirting, the looks, the touches. There’s no way Minho has ever seen him as anything but a kid, right? At least, maybe until today. But in the two hours they’ve spent together tonight, maybe it’s his imagination, but it seems like Minho is looking at him a little bit differently. Like… a possibility. Like he might just have a shot. But it’s frightening, not knowing where you stand with someone once so close. Far too frightening to make any kind of grand gesture, or god forbid come out and ask. So he does something subtle. Something small, something that could be easily brushed off if it goes awry. Something that hints to Minho that Jisung thinks he might be a possibility too. Jisung looks back up to the sky and shifts, just enough on his right arm that their hands overlap. If Minho didn’t like it, he’d say something, right? But he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a peep, and most importantly, he doesn’t move his hand away. That’s a good sign, Jisung has to take that as a good sign. He pushes a little further, weaves his fingers between Minho’s until the motion is reciprocated. Their silence remains, though it’s not uncomfortable. With them it never is. Instead it’s an opportunity, a chance to focus on the sound of the waves in front of them, the soft glow of the sky, and the feeling of their fingers laced together after so many months apart. It’s really nice. So he pushes a little further, lets his head lean to the right and rest on Minho’s shoulder and smiles when he feels the weight of Minho’s head lean atop his own. The smell of shampoo wafts into his nose, mixing with the ambient scent of the lake water and sand around them. Jisung lets his thoughts wander a bit, to a world where this could be a normal occurrence. Maybe not the stargazing by the beach part, but the rest of it. The intimacy, the closeness, the feeling of their breathing syncing up as they both space out. Is this what they would be like if the stars aligned and they decided to try dating? After all these years? Is this what being with Minho would feel like? It’s small, the movement he makes to glance up at his friend. His best friend. With the slight shift of his head, Jisung can just make out a bit of Minho’s face, a face he’s known forever. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? What if he’s overreacting, what if he really is going through a second wave of puberty and his body is just tricking him into thinking there’s something more because this version of Minho is new and shiny and gorgeous? It’s not been that long since he’s been home, after all. A couple hours at most. If he pushes things too much and something goes wrong, he could lose all of this. Not just this moment and their newfound exploration of intimacy and flirting, but all of it. His best friend, one of the few constants in his life. His favorite person. He can’t afford to lose Minho. But as he’s shifted slightly up to look at his best friend, Minho has shifted just a little bit down. Their faces are close, much closer than any two friends would normally be, but neither of them seem inclined to move. “What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, finally breaking the quiet between them. He moves just a little, faces still close but now looking at each other more directly instead of his previous bottom-up angle. “Ah, I’m just… I guess I’m thinking about how things are changing?” he says. It’s vague enough not to tip anything off about his exact thoughts, but honest enough not to be a lie. “What kinds of things?” Minho asks. Jisung is still positioned slightly lower than him, leading Minho to gaze down at him with slightly hooded eyes that flicker up and down his face as he waits for an answer. “I guess everything?” Jisung tries, still trying to be discreet. “Like, I’ll be out of high school and out of the house and that makes things feel different. Everything feels different,” Jisung says softly. “Good different or bad different?” “I think good different,” Jisung says, swallowing hard. Minho’s gaze isn’t really flickering anymore, it’s pretty clearly focused on the bottom half of Jisung’s face. Dare he say his best friend in the world is staring at his lips? Well, now Jisung is definitely staring at Minho’s. “Things do feel different,” Minho agrees quietly, eyes still lingering. “Good different.” “Yeah.” Jisung can’t help but think that if Minho wasn’t pondering the same thoughts as him, he wouldn’t be acting like he is right now. He would pull away and put normal space between them instead of lingering three inches from Jisung’s face. He wouldn’t be staring at Jisung’s mouth or licking his bottom lip subconsciously, a habit that Jisung knows for a fact only comes out when he’s nervous or anticipating something. If he was a little more confident or a little more brave, maybe Jisung would give into temptation and lean a little closer. Minho’s lips look soft. Extraordinarily kissable. He’s almost certain that would cross a line. But god does what lay beyond that line look good. The silence has overtaken them again, and it’s pretty clear that if something is going to happen it really needs to be soon. They aren’t close enough for it to be easy, it’s still a question that looms over their heads and in the inches between their faces; will you lean in and go for it or won’t you? A definitive choice begging to be made. What had once been comfortable background noise is now deafening as it mocks their lack of words, their lack of action. He has to make a choice, lean in or pull away, anything to drown out the sound of the breeze and the waves as they whip around in the ever-chilling night. And then the choice is made for him. The waves and wind are deafened by the sound of a loud, robotic ring. His phone, Jisung realizes. He pulls away quickly, whipping the device out of his pocket and glancing at the caller i.d. “Mom?” “Jisung? Where the hell are you, you’re not at home!” His mother is practically screeching, loud enough that he has to pull the phone away from his ear and hold it out to avoid temporary deafness. “I’m out with Minho,” he says into the microphone. He glances at his friend, who has a hand clutched to his mouth and is clearly trying not to laugh. “Where the hell are you on a school night at… 11:45 pm?” “We’re at the beach,” Jisung says quietly. “Hi, Mrs. Han!” Minho pipes in. Great. Of course he has to get involved. “Is that Minho? Minho, I love you, but my son has school in the morning. Please bring him back.” “Yes mam.” “Please drive safely,” she says. “I wouldn’t let a scratch on him.” “Bye, mom,” Jisung says, hanging up before the conversation can drag on. He looks up at Minho awkwardly, unsure how to act given their little… moment. He can tell the awkward feeling is shared, especially with the way Minho keeps holding the back of his hand to his neck to check for signs of flushing. It’s dark enough that Jisung wouldn’t have noticed anything no matter how red he turned, but he’s given himself away. “So, um.” “Yes?” Minho asks, standing up from the blanket and brushing himself off. He holds a hand out to Jisung, a helpful offer of assistance to stand up, which he gladly takes. But Minho lets go as soon as Jisung is up and off the blanket, and it stings more than it should. “Help me fold this?” “Yeah, sure,” he says weakly, grabbing two ends of the cloth and pulling away from Minho to straighten it out before they walk to the middle and meet in a little folding dance. When it’s done Minho tucks the blanket under his arm and reaches back towards Jisung again. “Hmm?” “It’s dark,” he says, opening and closing his palm in a grabby motion. Jisung smiles to himself and grabs on, grateful not to have to do the guesswork when Minho weaves their fingers together once again. “You’re treating me like a kid again,” he chastises. “I’m not. I literally just told your mom I’d get you home safe, I’m just making good on my promise,” Minho says. Jisung speeds up to walk side by side with him. “Again, like a kid.” “You’re not a kid, Jisung. You think I don’t know that?” he says, stopping in the middle of the hidden path and turning Jisung to face him. It’s hard to read his face, the foliage blocks out the little light they’d had, but his tone sounds more serious than it had all night. “You’re full grown, that much is pretty clear.” “Ah,” Jisung says, looking down at his feet. Even the tiniest bit of eye contact right now is a bit too much for him to handle. “Yeah.” Minho squeezes his hand again and gently tugs him forward as they make their way back to the car. As quickly as the stern attitude had come, it was gone, leaving Jisung’s head spinning as he tries to figure out what put Minho off so much. “Well, hopefully not full grown. I think I can still get a little taller, don’t you?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “Pfft. Good luck, I’ve been trying and nothing happens whatsoever.” “You must be doing it wrong,” Jisung says. They’re back in the parking lot now, streetlights providing enough dim light to see without any problem, but Jisung doesn’t let go of his grip on Minho’s hand. It doesn’t seem like Minho minds. “What? I tried drinking milk, but… gross. And I’ve been eating super well, all my veggies and everything. What else is there?” “The dance.” “What dance? I do dance.” “The growing dance. Like in Totoro,” Jisung explains, letting go of Minho’s hand to demonstrate. He clasps his palms together and squats down, knees bent and a look of concentration on his face, before stretching all his limbs as much as he can, hands raised in the air as if to reach the moon itself. Then again, and again, until Minho stops staring at him in confusion and starts laughing his ass off instead. “Oh my god, how could I forget? No wonder I’m not growing,” he laughs, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Is it working?” Jisung asks, tongue poked out in concentration. “I don’t know.” “Do it with me,” he says, taking a break from his form and waving Minho by his side. They used to watch this movie a lot when they were kids, all the Ghibli movies, but while Minho had lost interest as a middle schooler Jisung had continued watching them obsessively throughout his youth. He’s proud to say he has been able to coerce Minho into watching some for their occasional video-call-movie-nights, though Totoro hadn’t been one of them. “Ok, what am I doing?” “Just do what I do. Down, then up. Yeah, like that,” Jisung says, laughing at how absurd they must look. Minho probably can’t tell how his face scrunches up every time he stretches, which makes it all the more entertaining to spectate. “Perfect.” “Oh shit, Jisung!” Minho says, suddenly alarmed. “What?” “I think it’s working! I think you’ve grown!” “Huh? Seriously?” Jisung asks, looking down at his legs. “Yea, wait, stand up straight. Look at me,” he says. Jisung obeys, standing chest to chest with Minho as his friend holds a hand to the top of his head. They’re close again, and he’s conscious of it in the back of his head, but that isn’t what this is about right now. “Oh,” Minho says after swishing his hand back and forth a few times. “False alarm. Still a pipsqueak.” “Wha- Hey! That was on purpose.” “Was it?” “Screw you, Minho. I’ll grow taller than you one day, you’ll see.” “Uh-huh,” Minho agrees lazily. “Get in the car, Jisung. Your mother is going to have my head on a platter if you aren’t home soon.” They each climb into their respective seats, clapping for Nelson when he starts on the first try and bickering all the way home. Just like that, things feel normal again. Except when Minho’s free hand brushes against Jisung’s as he flips to drive, lingering longer than any accidental touch would. And when Jisung lets it, turning his own hand to make the grip more comfortable on the short ride back to his house. 1 Day Before Prom Waking up the next day is hard. Jisung stays up far later than that on a regular basis, true. But usually he’s solitary in his room doing minimal physical activity, not going through an emotional crisis at the beach and coming two inches from kissing his best friend in the world. It’s a lot for his fragile eighteen-year-old body to handle. Maybe finals season has made him weak. He drags himself to school and goes through his day as per usual, but the whole upperclassmen population is abuzz with excitement and secrecy. Girls whisper in hushed tones as they show their dresses only to the most trusted of friends while guys google last minute tutorials on how to tie a tie. Everyone is thrilled for the dance, and Jisung would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling it himself. It’s the thing of legends, the main event of teen rom-coms and coming of age films alike. Today he is pre-prom Jisung, tomorrow he will be prom Jisung, and the next day he will be an adult. Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but it’s what fiction has led him to believe. It’s not until the middle of the day that he receives a text from Minho. That’s to be expected, Jisung knew he’d be spending time with his mother today since he’s not sure when he’ll be back for summer. Minho (12:03 pm): I’m on my way to get our flowersJisung (12:05 pm): Well, I’m eating stale pizzaMinho (12:06 pm): Damn. That should be me. Sure miss high school.Jisung (12:06 pm): You’re a liarMinho (12:07 pm): Maybe so. What’s going on tonight?Jisung (12:08): Idk whyMinho (12:08 pm): It’s a friday, you guys aren’t doing anything?Minho (12:10 pm): You’re not going to make me sit here alone, are you? Oh, shit. Of course. Minho knows Jisung’s friends. He knows them well. Especially Hyunjin. Of course he would expect to hang out with them while he’s here. The only issue is, Jisung still hasn’t told them he’s coming to town. It’s the one thing he’s been adamant about, perhaps the longest secret he’s ever kept; his date will be revealed when they get to the dance. “Hyunjin,” Jisung whispers under his breath, nudging his friend. “What?” “Shh,” he says, putting a finger to his lips and signalling to keep quiet. They’re at lunch with the whole friend group, so he needs to keep this hush. “I need you tonight.” “Huh?” “I need you to hang out with me and Minho tonight,” Jisung says quietly. “Please.” “Sure. Can I bring Jeongin?” Hyunjin whispers back. The boy looks up at the mention of his name, and Jisung offers a shy wave to him before tugging on Hyunjin’s shoulder and pulling him away from the table. “You can’t bring Jeongin. Minho is supposed to be a surprise, remember? But I forgot that we’d have this whole day to kill and I obviously can’t let him sit alone in his room twiddling his thumbs and he knows we always hang out on Fridays so… please?” Jisung asks when they get to a far corner of the cafeteria. “Why can’t you just hang out with him alone, though?” Hyunjin asks in return. “Uhh… He wants to see you,” Jisung fibs. While probably not wrong, it’s not like Minho had specifically mentioned Hyunjin. But Jisung’s head is still reeling with what had happened last night, and he’s not sure he’s ready for a take two. Having Hyunjin as a buffer seems like the best and least conspicuous option in keeping himself under control. Hyunjin looks at him, brows raised in question. “He wants to see me? Specifically?” “Yeah,” Jisung assures him. Hyunjin had been Jisung’s first friend in pre-school, the one to turn their duo into a trio. While he lived across town and couldn’t always join in on their time together, he’s just as integral to the group as Jisung or Minho. But he and Minho clash heads pretty often, and though the fighting is playful they haven’t kept in touch quite as religiously as Jisung and Minho had made a point to. “He said you’re like his little brother. Of course he wants to see you.” “He said that?” Hyunjin asks. He seems a little flustered by the statement, especially since praise is rare from their older friend. “He did.” He’d also thrown the word annoying in the phrase, but Hyunjin doesn’t need to know that. “I mean, I guess I can. I think Jeongin and Seungmin would probably have been discussing prom details most of the night anyway. And with Felix on the decorating committee… yeah, actually, you might be saving me.” “Exactly! So, yes?” “Yeah. Should we just go to your place after school?” Hyunjin asks. Jisung nods enthusiastically, thrilled that his plan worked. Now Minho doesn’t have to know that he’s being kept a secret, Jisung doesn’t have to face his feelings all alone, and Hyunjin… Hyunjin gets to be along for the ride. “Yeah, that works for me. Just meet at my locker after school?” “Sure thing.” Jisung (12:20 pm): It’s just gonna be me, you, and Hyunjin. The others have student council and decorating stuff.Minho (12:22 pm): I can’t wait to see Hyunjin. I’ll get my tissues ready.Jisung (12:23 pm): I don’t understand you two.Minho (12:25 pm): His mom told me to stop him from swearing. Tissues in the mouth were the only good way.Jisung (12:26 pm): That’s so not true.Minho (12:26 pm): *The most fun wayJisung (12:28 pm): My bell is about to ring.Minho (12:29 pm): Ok. Pay attention in class, sweetie. Get good grades.Jisung (12:30 pm): Yes sir. Going home with Hyunjin isn’t a strange occurrence, it happens all the time. But for some reason Jisung is nervous. It’s not a huge mystery as to why; what if he gives himself away? Or what if Minho does? And what if he can’t look at Minho the same in broad daylight knowing what could have happened in the dark of the night? He’s fidgety, and at the very least Hyunjin notices that. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks quietly, nudging Jisung as they ride the bus back home. “What do you mean?” “You’re shifting from foot to foot like you’re gonna pee. Are you gonna pee?” “I’m not gonna pee! I’m fine, I just want to get back,” Jisung says, rolling his eyes at the suggestion. “Back to Minho?” Now, what is that supposed to mean? “Back home. Minho is there too, so I guess yes, back to Minho.” “Did you guys hang out when he got home last night?” Hyunjin asks. Jisung’s mind flashes back to their time together and he tries to will away any reaction his body may have. Hyunjin is grinning down at him, and that and the heat in his cheeks tell him he likely failed. “We did, yeah,” Jisung says. At least his voice sounds relatively normal. “Uh huh. What’d you do?” “We just went to the beach for a while,” Jisung says nonchalantly. “The beach? What’d you do at the beach, skinny dip?” Hyunjin asks, cackling at his own suggestion. “What? What is wrong with the both of you, he said almost the same thing. You really are his annoying little brother,” Jisung whines. It makes Hyunjin laugh even harder, pulling looks from other students who already consider him a nuisance. “Come on,” Jisung says, tugging his friend's arm as they pull up to his stop. “Stop tugging on me, my arm is going to come off,” Hyunjin giggles as they get off the bus. When Jisung lets go he speeds up to match their steps and grins down at him. “Ok, so what’d you do? If you weren’t naked or whatever.” “Oh my god! What is with you, it’s like you want us to be together or something!” Jisung says, laughing at what he thinks is a ridiculous theory. No way Hyunjin would want to turn into the third wheel of their little group. “I mean…” Hyunjin says, side eyeing Jisung without finishing his statement. “You mean what?” “I just don’t think it would be bad, I already told you that. I think you two are like… soulmates or something. I don’t really know under what context, but maybe you should be,” he says. They’ve just about arrived at Jisung’s house by now, and he pauses to keep the conversation away from any eavesdroppers. “Do you really think that’s possible?” Jisung asks quietly. “Yeah, I think so. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just an outsider. But as an outsider, yeah, I do. He’s been away for two years and you’re still so close.” “But I didn’t like him like that before he left. Like, at all,” Jisung says. Although their timing and location are a little bit unfortunate, this is the first time he’s really processed this out loud. Maybe Hyunjin will have some insight. “Yeah, of course not. You were sixteen, you didn’t even know you liked guys yet. Or at least it didn’t seem like you were ready to admit it if you did. And you were busy with classes and clubs and stuff, I doubt you would have noticed anything relationship-wise,” Hyunjin responds. “What makes you say that? About the relationship thing?” “Jisung, I watched Jiwoo try to ask you out once a week for like a month and a half and you didn’t even notice it.” “Jiwoo? No, she just kept asking if I liked coffee. I didn’t like coffee,” Jisung says. He remembers that too, how she would come in and ask if he’d tried the latest new drink at a local coffee shop. The answer was always no, and when she asked if he wanted to try, it was still no. Coffee was gross back then. “But I’m sophisticated now, I’ve found the joy in it.” “She wasn’t asking if you liked coffee, she was asking you to try stuff with her. As in, go to the coffee shop and try the stuff. With her. As in a date,” Hyunjin argues, rolling his eyes. “W-what? She wanted to date me?” “Until she realized how daft you are. I’m surprised it took her so long,” Hyunjin says. “But see? That’s my point. You weren’t romantically inclined back then. Are you romantically inclined now?” “I…” Jisung bites back his words, wondering how much to expose. “I think I might be. Err, I definitely am. I’m pretty sure.” “Towards Minho?” Jisung pauses before responding to that. It might be weird to admit all this to Hyunjin if nothing ends up taking off. It will put him in a strange position, knowing what could have happened but unable to speak up on it. But it also might be really nice to actually say it out loud. “Yeah, probably. Towards Minho.” “HEY! WHAT THE HELL?” Jisung and Hyunjin snap their heads around at the sound of a shout halfway down the block. Minho is standing there, waving his arms like a madman as he shouts at them again. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Jisung shrugs and starts walking, Hyunjin trailing close behind. Minho jogs a bit to meet them, stopping at the edge of Jisung’s lawn. “What are you two doing? I’m bored,” he says, scowling at them. “Really good to see you again too, Minho,” Hyunjin says, rolling his eyes at the less than fluffy greeting. “Hi, Hyunjin,” Minho says, opening his arms. Hyunjin steps forward slowly, lightly embracing the older boy as if frightened something bad may happen. After a few seconds, nothing has, so he tightens his grip and rests a chin on his shoulder. “Hi, Minho. “ Jisung smiles at his friends, amused at the way they can seem so affectionate yet so put off by each other at the same time. It’s a stark contrast to the way Jisung himself had been greeted, but it seems appropriate for them. “Aw, look at us all reunited,” he coos from the back. “You too,” Minho says, pulling away from Hyunjin just enough to grab Jisung by the elbow and pull him in. “Group hug.” Jisung ends up wrapping himself around Minho’s back, encircling their formerly missing friend in a bear hug to be remembered. He rests his chin on Minho’s other shoulder, noting the way he stiffens slightly before relaxing upon feeling Jisung’s breath on his neck. The embrace is broken shortly after that, and when Jisung pulls away it’s hard not to take note of the pink tinge to his ears. “You two don’t know how glad I am to see you. I thought I’d be hanging out with my mom and relaxing, but she’s just making me filter through old stuff for the thousandth time since I left for school. I swear, she wants to throw everything of mine out to make room for a home gym or something.” “Sounds more like something my mom would do,” Jisung says, thinking back to his older brother's former bedroom and how it currently acts as a home office for his parents. “Yeah, it does, which is why I think your mom has been whispering ideas into my mom’s ear while I’ve been gone.” “Most likely. They have a lot of wine nights.” “Did you get time to relax at all?” Hyunjin asks. They start to walk inside at Jisung’s lead, Minho and Hyunjin trailing behind. “Not much, but I didn’t really want it. I had to go get some stuff done for tomorrow,” Minho responds. Jisung’s ears perk up at that, interested as to what exactly it means. “Oh?” “Don’t act so surprised, if I’m going to be a date I’m going to be a good one.” “Now I’m questioning if there’s something I was supposed to do for Jeongin that I haven’t?” Hyunjin contemplates. “It was just basic stuff,” Minho insists. “I picked up the boutonnieres, ironed my suit, broke in my heels.” “Heels?” Jisung asks, surprised. “Just joking about that one,” Minho says with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to make you look even shorter than me in group photos.” “You’re a dick.” “Aw, Jisung,” Minho coos, coming up behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist as he tucks his chin onto Jisung’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.” Jisung turns to glare at him, putting them at a hairs distance. Minho lets go abruptly, jolting back to his spot by Hyunjin’s side. Jisung takes the chance to hold his bag up to his face, which is useful both for hiding his embarrassment as well as pulling his keys free, then executes his daily tradition of rummaging through the mailbox to find a certain letter with his name on it. Junk mail, bills, a sheet of coupons. No elusive envelope from JYP University. He stays faced forward as he unlocks his door, letting the two behind him inside and tossing his bag to the side as they toe off their shoes. “Anyway. What’s a boutonniere?” “The formal name for the little flower pin,” Hyunjin chimes in. “Jeongin wanted a green one, do you know how hard that was to find? The little punk.” “He’s not a punk,” Jisung laughs. “You’re so whipped for him, I bed you’d drive three towns away if you had to.” “I nearly did! But the lady at the shop saw me struggling and said she’d do a custom order for me.” “Sounds expensive,” Minho says. He’s already on his way up the stairs to Jisung’s room, second nature kicking in and sending him up there without Jisung himself initiating the move. “It was a bit. But his family covered the cost of tickets and stuff, so this is the least I could do.” They all quiet down as they run up the stairs and into Jisung’s room, Minho getting comfortable on his bed as Jisung takes the desk chair and Hyunjin makes use of a beanbag chair that’s been in the family for at least fifteen years now. It’s small and ragged and barely used, but it’s helpful for this exact scenario. “Oh, Sungie, I saw your mom earlier and she said she’d be home late. Something about a date night with your dad.” “You talk to my mom without me?” “You talk to my mom without me there. If I’m not mistaken, you even let her feed you sometimes,” Minho argues back. “I- well, yeah! She makes cookies, Minho! And I think she misses you sometimes, so I have to be her replacement son.” “She does make really excellent cookies,” Hyunjin chimes in. “I miss them.” “Next time she makes them, I’ll snag some for you,” Jisung promises. “Excuse me, can you please not use my mother as your personal baker?” “Can you not let my mother use you as a personal message delivery service?” Jisung bites back. Hyunjin looks between the two and giggles, entertained by the show. “I forget how close you two are sometimes. Like not just you two, but your families too. You’re like a married couple,” Hyunjin says. Jisung and Minho stare at each other for a moment before turning away, though Jisung distinctly sees Minho’s tongue swipe over bottom lip in a show of nerves. Yeah, they’re close. Their families are close. Yet another reason to be mildly concerned about the change in dynamic looming between them. “Please, we’re not married,” Jisung rebuttals. “I’m way out of his league,” Minho agrees. “Minho, I-” “Anyway! What about some games?” Hyunjin says, cutting off whatever bickering argument was sure to stem from that. “Mario Party?” “Since when do you like games?” Minho asks. Jisung would ask the same, that’s never once been Hyunjin’s first suggestion. He’s much more of a conversation guy, or a movie guy, or a pretty much anything but video games guy. “Since it seems like a good way to shut you two up,” he returns. “Aw, Hyunjin, I’ve been away for nine months and you’re done with me after ten minutes?” Minho asks, grabbing one of Jisung’s pillows off the bed and standing up to loom over the boy. “Uh- no, I just-” “Pillow for you!” Minho declares, bringing the cushion up before plunging it down onto Hyunjin’s head. Jisung cackles at the scene from his spot at his desk chair, which causes them to both look up and focus on him. Minho hands the pillow over to Hyunjin and grabs another from the bed as they launch an unspoken attack towards the boy. “Stop! No, this is my house, stop!” “When has that ever mattered?” Jisung does his best to dodge and weave as he leaps from his chair, but is ultimately taken down by his friends. He’s missed this. No matter how old they get, or what dynamics shift between them, he hopes they will always have this. This goofing around and teasing each other, despite how much time has passed. When they calm down Hyunjin starts grilling Minho on his year; what he’s doing, who he hangs out with, what kind of advice he has to offer a soon-to-be college student. Things that Jisung and Minho have long discussed on their regular calls. Jisung takes the opportunity to sit back and relax, toss in little bits of info about Minho’s life that he himself had forgotten to mention. Hyunjin seems a little bit surprised that he knows so much, as does Minho, but what can he say? Perhaps he’s been listening even harder than he thought. It’s a calm night, really. Perhaps that’s for the best. At some point they venture down the stairs to watch a movie on the big TV in the living room, Minho squished in the middle so Hyunjin and Jisung can split him evenly while he’s here. And Jisung tries to be ok with that. With the way Minho folds his left leg up and tucks it under himself while his right leg presses into Jisung, arm looped low around his waist. It’s subtle, at least enough that Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice, but it’s the only thing Jisung can focus on. He leans into the touch, he can’t help it, and tries to maintain some sort of self control before giving up and melting into his best friend’s side. By the end of the movie there are fingertips playing with the hem of his shirt, a head rested atop his own, and a set of very curious eyes scoping out the situation. “I’m… gonna go to the bathroom,” Hyunjin says, snapping the two out of their daze as they sit up and straighten themselves out. Jisung nods as Minho utters some sort of confirmation, and they spend the next minute alone trying to avoid eye contact. This isn’t what they’re supposed to do, right? How they’re supposed to act, especially in front of their oldest friend. But just as Minho seems on the verge of speaking Jisung is saved by his phone once again. Or so he thinks. Hyunjin (8:36 pm): You didn’t say something had already happened you little goblin Jisung shoves the phone back in his pocket, hoping Minho doesn’t see the message, but one glance at his best friend’s face shows that he has no such luck. “What does that mean?” Minho asks quietly, a small smirk on his face. “I don’t know. Who the hell knows what anything Hyunjin says means?” “Seems like he’s implying something to me.” Minho schooches closer to Jisung, untucks his leg from beneath his body, and reaches around quicker to grab Jisung’s calves. He can’t do anything but blink in surprise as he’s pulled halfway into Minho’s lap, but he doesn’t try to fight it. There are worse things he could do. “Oh, come on, what the hell?” Hyunjin asks, pulling Jisung out of his confusion as he wipes his hands on his pants and walks over from the bathroom. “I’m still here, you know?” “Yeah, how could I forget?” Jisung deadpans, letting his torso fall back onto the couch so he’s lying mostly flat aside from his legs across Minho’s. “I could hear you making a mess of my bathroom. Pfffft,” Jisung says, making his most disgusting noise only to be met with a flick on the forehead from Hyunjin. “That’s bullshit and I did nothing of the sort.” “I heard it too,” Minho chimes in, blocking Hyunjin’s incoming hand and swatting it away. “And I smell it.” “You two are full of it. You’ve always been obnoxious together, but somehow it’s even worse now.” “You missed it,” Jisung says with a grin. “Only kind of. Man, the others really are in for a surprise tomorrow night,” Hyunjin says fondly. “A surprise?” Minho asks.   “Yeah, I don’t think they’re prepared for all this. The consensus has been that Jisung’s date is some quiet guy that we just don’t know that well, not his evil partner in crime,” Hyunjin explains. Jisung feels his pulse quicken as Minho’s face contorts in confusion, and he can’t help but shrink into himself when the grip on his legs tightens and Minho turns to look at him. “What does he mean?” “Uh, I guess… Just what he said. They’re going to be surprised and happy to see you!” Jisung tries. “Why surprised, though? Did you not tell them I’m taking you?” Minho asks. He’s mad, reasonably so, but Jisung doesn’t know what to say. It’s too late now. “Shit.” Hyunjin looks guilty, incredibly so, and mad at himself in a way Jisung recognizes and really needs to put a stop to. But Minho needs to come first. “I- Uh, no, I didn’t tell them. I thought you’d be a fun surprise!” “A surprise or a secret?” “A secret surprise,” Jisung says, framing his face with his hands and making spirit fingers. “Surprise!” “Is that why nobody else is here tonight?” Minho asks. “Shit, guys, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to like… start something. I should go,” Hyunjin says, heading slowly towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though? For pictures?” “Wait, Hyunjin, it’s not your fault. Don’t leave,” Jisung says, scrambling off the couch and jogging to his friend. “It’s fine.” “He’s pissed,” Hyunjin whispers, glancing over at Minho. “I didn’t mean to start that.” “That’s not your fault, it’s mine. Come on, it’s fine,” Jisung whispers back. He puts a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder and tries to guide him back to the couch, but Hyunjin is taller and stronger than him. He doesn’t budge. “You need to talk to him. I really need to go home anyway, it’s getting late,” Hyunjin says, a little louder now. “How are you going to get home? It’s too far to walk.” “I’ll take him,” Minho jumps in, standing up from the couch and walking towards them. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll call my mom-” Hyunjin starts to say. “No way, that’s going to take ages. Just let me drive you,” Minho insists, walking to the door to get his coat and keys. “My car’s in my driveway. Come on.” “Minho, wait,” Jisung calls out, a little nervous to have him leave on that note. “Can I come with you guys?” “I think it’s best if you don’t,” Minho says, face softening when he sees how nervous Jisung looks. “I’ll come back. Just wait for me here.” “Really?” “Of course.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jisung,” Hyunjin says quietly, following behind Minho as they head out the door. Jisung sees Minho turn to him, say something that he can’t make out and put a comforting arm around Hyunjin’s shoulder. Sees the way Hyunjin leans into it for a moment before straightening up and saying something back before the door closes and he’s left all alone. Of course this would blow up in his face. There’s no way he could just hide Minho’s presence from everyone and not have someone get hurt. Nor was there any way for him to hide whatever feelings are brewing beneath the surface between them without getting caught, especially from Hyunjin. Minho saw the text, they’re going to have to talk about it at some point, especially now that there’s evidence he’s spilled the beans to someone else. But talking will lead to some kind of change, and that’s a little frightening. Too much is changing already. School is ending, he still has no idea if he got into JYPU, Hyunjin is almost certainly going to be across the country from them, and now this? Where is his sense of stability going? The foundations of his life are crumbling beneath him, and maybe it’s for the better or maybe it’s for the worse, but he’s scared shitless either way. For now, for tonight, he really just needs to make sure Minho doesn’t go to bed pissed at him. To make sure he still has a date as well as a best friend. He’s not foolish or dramatic enough to think this type of thing would end their relationship, but with the way things have been going since Minho got home last night… hell, since last summer, the scales seem a little more prone to tipping. It takes seventeen minutes to drive to Hyunjin’s house. He lives across town in a wealthy little cul de sac surrounded by lovely little mansions. Perks of being the son of two doctors. Seventeen minutes there and seventeen minutes back leaves Jisung thirty-four minutes to stew in his emotions and anxiety. Sitting on the couch is doing nothing for him, so he gets up and moves, paces through the house until his parents arrive home, then tries to fill some time with small talk about their day, follows his mom into the kitchen as she pulls takeout boxes from a paper bag and stores them in the fridge, tries to steal a bite of some potatoes before she swats his hand away. Oh well, he’ll have them later. “Are we going to Hyunjin’s tomorrow?” she asks, pouring a glass of water for herself and one for Jisung. “Huh?” “For photos? I want nice pictures of you and Minho, I have no use for selfies,” she says. “Oh, uh. I don’t know. Can I let you know tomorrow?” Jisung asks. “How do you not know? The dance is tomorrow, Jisung, please tell me you’re not this disorganized?” Before he can answer, there’s a flash of headlights in the street, and Jisung jumps up from the kitchen island. “I, uh- can I tell you tomorrow? That’s Minho, I need to check with him,” Jisung says, already jogging to the door. “Jisung?” His mom calls out. “Can you tell me in the morning?” “Sure,” he says, grabbing his keys and running out the door. He can’t have this conversation with his parents in the house, and if his mom catches sight of Minho she won’t let go for hours. He jogs over to Minho’s driveway, opening the passenger side door as soon as the car pulls to a stop. “Holy shit- What are you doing?” “Parents came back,” Jisung says. “Can’t be in there.” Minho glances at Jisung’s form and waves him into the car. “Well, get in then. You ran outside without shoes again, for god’s sake.” “Yeah,” Jisung says with a grimace, climbing into the car. “Didn’t seem that important.” “Uh-huh.” There’s silence between them, the uncomfortable kind, for the first time that Jisung can remember in years. Since Minho broke the news about leaving for a school away from home, probably. He wants to break it, knows someone needs to break it, but he can’t quite figure out how. “So?” Minho asks, egging him on. He’s clearly not making the first move on this one (nor should he). “Sorry. I didn’t tell anyone you were coming,” Jisung says quietly. “You didn’t even tell Hyunjin.” “Wh-” “He told me. That he guessed that I was the one who asked you,” Minho says. “What else did he tell you?” “Let’s talk about you, ok?” Minho says. The words are harsh but his expression is soft, though it does little to ease Jisung’s nerves. “Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone? Is there a reason?” “Well, I kept it a secret because I actually did have fun making people guess. And I wanted to see the look on their faces when you walked through the door. It seemed like fun,” Jisung says. “Seriously? That’s it?” He asks. “Why are you so paranoid, then? You could have just told me that, I’d totally be in on the plan,” Minho says, looking at him questioningly. “Why are you so nervous about that?” “You’d be in on that?” Jisung asks cautiously. That side of the story is easy. Digestible. It’s also not the whole truth. “Of course. I mean, it will be funny. We can totally do that,” Minho says, grinning. Jisung tries to smile back, but it feels strained. “Hey, I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” Minho says, placing a hand on each of his cheeks and directing his head up before squeezing a little. “It’s not a big deal! If that’s all it was, I overreacted.” “That’s not it,” Jisung admits, unable to keep up the lie when Minho is just so… Minho. Perfect. So Understanding. “Huh?” “I was embarrassed,” he says. Minho’s face shifts to one of surprise as he slowly lets go of Jisung’s cheeks. “Embarrassed?” “Yeah,” Jisung says, folding his legs up under him to get some warmth back into his toes. It’s colder outside than it was last night, and even through the car door the wind bites into him. “Because nobody asked me. Or, nobody asked me romantically. So I was embarrassed to admit that my best friend, who went to both of his own proms and doesn’t even live here anymore, felt obligated to ask me.” “It’s not like I felt obligated, Sungie. I wanted to. Want to.” “Yeah, I know. You’re great like that. But it’s still a little hard to admit that nobody actually liked me, like liked me, enough to ask me,”Jisung admits. “Not that I liked anyone enough to ask them either.” “So you were embarrassed to go with me?” Minho asks, making his distaste for the statement rather clear with his tone. “What?” “You didn’t tell people because you’re embarrassed to be going with me. It was easier to not tell them who was taking you than to admit it was me.” “No, Minho, it’s not like that,” Jisung says, panic rising in his chest. “It’s not because it was you. How the hell could I be embarrassed of you?” “I don’t know, you tell me,” Minho strikes back. “I can’t! I’m not! You’re like- you! You were one of the most popular people at school when you went there.” “Right, but I don’t go there now. I’m just an old guy going to his old high school prom.” “Minho, it isn’t like that. It’s embarrassment on my end. Of my character. For only being able to get like… I mean, it basically is a pity date, right? Even though you won’t call it that?” “I already told you, I’m happy to be taking you-” “I know, you said that,” Jisung says. “But it’s kind of hard to call it almost anything else, let’s be honest. And even if you don’t call it a pity date, it’s still one friend taking another. Not a traditional date.” “Jisung,” Minho says quietly, grabbing onto one of his hands and squeezing. He looks like he has something important to say, and Jisung doesn’t dare to hope. He’s nervous, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and that makes it even harder not to make assumptions as to what may be coming. Finally Minho speaks, releasing his lip from it’s hold and making his expression soft. “A date is what you make of it,” is what finally comes out of his mouth, a near echo of the idea Hyunjin had placed in Jisung’s head a month and a half ago. “And what does that mean?” “It means,” Minho says quietly before clearing his throat and starting again. “It means. We have everything in place for a lovely date. Boutonnieres, suits, tickets, the ability to dance. Our devilish good looks. If you stop calling it a pity date it will just be a date.” “Just a date?” “A prom date,” Minho confirms. “A normal prom date with a friend,” Jisung says. “Oh my god. You’re the only one adding these extra terms onto it, you know that, right? Yes, I’m your friend, but… it’s a prom date. Stop adding qualifiers.” “I see,” Jisung says. He knows what Minho is getting at, he isn’t completely daft, but hearing it come from his mouth, in the flesh, where the ability for more to happen is so viable and real would be intimidating to think about on a good day. The suggestion of something romantic still hasn’t been voiced explicitly, and maybe if he were braver Jisung would ask or try to pull it out of Minho. But he’s not, at least not yet, so he simply brushes his hand against Minho’s and lets it rest there. “Ok. A date.” “I don’t want to wait until the dance to see my friends.” “Ok.” “They’re my friends too. It’s not fair that you’re trying to hide me from them.” “I know,” Jisung says. “Sorry. We can do pictures at Hyunjin’s tomorrow, ok? Everyone will be there, we’ll just have to drive separate from them after.” “Do I get to meet Jeongin? I never met him last summer,” Minho asks. “Yes, you’ll meet Jeongin,” Jisung laughs. “But Seungmin is going to be there, you can’t pick fights with him.” “The hell I can’t, that kid is a brat. I haven’t forgiven him for puking on my DS.” “He was like twelve. You shouldn’t have fed him cotton candy for dinner.” “His parents shouldn’t have expected a fourteen year old babysitter to cook dinner!” Minho argues back. Jisung laughs and Minho joins, loud and hearty. He’s missed that laugh, especially in person. He’ll probably miss it as soon as Minho goes back, too, even if it is only for a couple weeks. Out of everything that seems to be changing around him, there are still some things about Minho, at least, that remain the same. His laugh, his eyes, his teeth, his sense of humor. His hands haven’t really changed either, Jisung notices, only the feeling he gets in his chest when he touches them. That’s a change he can live with. “Minho,” Jisung says, filling the space between Minho’s fingers with his own. “I really am glad you came.” “Well. Anything for you,” Minho says smugly, closing his hand around Jisung’s. “I can’t just abandon you now, after all this time.” “You’re being mushy.” “So are you.” “I’m allowed to be mushy, it’s the night before my prom,” Jisung argues back. It’s a nice mood, one that would probably lend itself well to an honest and open discussion of their feelings. Jisung isn’t ready for that yet. “Speaking of. I should probably get my beauty sleep, huh?” Minho locks eyes with him, a knowing look taking over, and squeezes his hand just enough to acknowledge he’s been heard. Maybe he’s not quite ready, either. “You should,” he agrees, “you need it.” “Hey! You’re such a dick,” Jisung says with a laugh, weakly trying to pull his hand away from Minho’s. He only grabs on tighter, grinning wide and yanking Jisung’s hand closer to him. “Yeah, well, I may be a dick but I’m still your best friend,” he says. He pulls Jisung’s hand closer and leans down, placing a small kiss to the space where their thumbs interlace and tucking their fists under his chin. “Always.” “Mushy,” Jisung says quietly, voice laced with even more affection than earlier. “So damn mushy.” “Yep,” Minho agrees, finally letting go of Jisung’s hand. “Now, get out of my car.” “Huh? Oh, yeah,” Jisung says, opening the door and flinching as a breeze blows past him and his bare foot touches the cold gravel. “Hey, you don’t want to piggyback me again, do you?” “Nope. It’s time to start learning from your mistakes, Han Jisung. You’ll be an adult soon.” “I’m an adult now.” “Then face the repercussions of running out here barefoot. Just don’t get glass in your foot or anything, you owe me a night of dancing,” Minho says, pushing him gently out of the car. Jisung sighs and steps out, turning to look at Minho one more time before closing the door. “We’ll meet out here at five, ok? Head over for pictures and some food at Hyunjin’s and drive over for the dance at seven?” “It’s a date,” Minho confirms. “Yeah. It’s a date.” With that he shuts the door and runs, over the freezing gravel, the dewy grass, and into the warmth of his childhood home. Sleep comes late that night, but when it does he spends his dreams dancing across the floor with Minho, bodies pressed so close to one another they may as well become one. The Day of Prom   “Felix, why couldn’t you have come over here to help me get ready?” Jisung whines, phone propped up against his bathroom mirror in a video call with his friend. “I need you.”   “Not as much as Hyunjin needed me, he’s freaking the hell out. You know how he gets before big events. I’m sorry, Sungie,” Felix says apologetically.   “But I’m freaking the hell out too!”   “You seem fine, Jisung. Hey, is your date coming over here with you for pictures? What if they get here before you? Who am I supposed to let in?”   “Huh? Oh, we’re driving over together. The moms will come in different cars,” Jisung says. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Felix look at him suspiciously through the screen, but he doesn’t voice whatever might be on his mind.    “Well, I hope they’re pleasant,” he finally says.   “They’re very pleasant. You’ll love them,” Jisung responds. It’s the truth, Felix and Minho have always gotten along swimmingly, though they aren’t nearly as close as he is with Hyunjin or Jisung. There should be nothing to worry about.   But he’s freaking out. Last night he almost let everything spill, and Minho all but did the same. They’d texted a little bit this morning, just confirming the times for everything before starting to get ready on their own, but he’s been too nervous to carry on a conversation.    It’s a date.   But is it really?   “Jisung, you’re going a little heavy on the eyeliner, no?”   “Huh?” Jisung removes the eye pencil he’s been using from his waterline and blinks, nearly jumping back when he sees how heavy-handed he’d been. “Oh, shit. Fuck, I need a q-tip,” he says, bending down to shuffle through his bathroom cabinets until he finds something to blur the offending makeup away.    “You must really like this person to be so nervous,” Felix says, smiling at him pleasantly.    Oh, if only you knew.   “Uh, something like that,” Jisung responds. “Is this better? Do I look ok? You’re so much better at this than I am.”   “It looks good, Sungie.”   “Is Seungmin with you guys yet?”   “No,” Felix sighs. “No, his mom and dad wanted to see him get ready and lecture him or something. I don’t know, they’re strict. But he should get here around the same time as you. Which, by the way, is in like thirty minutes. Shouldn’t you get your suit on?”   “What? Shit! Yeah, ok. Makeup is good, right? And my hair?”   “Coiffed to perfection,” Felix agrees, giving an encouraging thumbs up.    “Ok. I’ll see you guys soon,” Jisung says, stripping off his pants as he hangs up the call and runs down his hallway. He nearly collides with his father, who simply gives him a worried look and claps him on the back.   “It’s just a dance, son,” are his sage words of wisdom.   “Yeah,” Jisung agrees. “Just a dance.”   “But I’m glad you’re going this year. If I remember correctly, all you did last year was sulk around the house. It was annoying.”   “Well thanks, dad. Sorry to have been a bother,” Jisung quips back.   “Just have fun this year and all will be forgotten.”   “Great. I’m running late though. Can’t go without pants,” Jisung calls out while running to his room. There his suit hangs, expertly steamed with the help of his mother. He’s still happy with the choice, Hyunjin really never misses with this kind of thing, and when he’s fully dressed and finally admires himself in the mirror he can’t help but think that he looks pretty good.    Good enough for Minho? To be determined.   He’s cut off from getting too deep into that thought by a knock on his door quickly followed by his mother’s head poking through.   “Why do you knock if you aren’t going to let me answer?”   “Custom, I suppose,” Jisung’s mom responds with a cheeky grin. “Minho is here.”   “Now? He’s early,” Jisung says, glancing at the clock in the corner in his room. Well, two minutes early.   “He looks dashing. As do you,” she says, walking up and straightening his tie. “I’m proud of you, my love.”   “For what?”   “For everything. But tonight, for going to prom. And with such a lovely date.”   “Mom,” Jisung whines, rolling his eyes. “I get it, you wish he were your son. He’s lovely. But you’re stuck with me for a few more months. ”   “Oh, please. I love you dearly, you know that. But yes, he is rather lovely,” his mother says with a wink. “He’d be a good son.”   “Oh my-”   “I’m just saying,” she continues, cutting Jisung off mid complaint. “I’m saying if something were to happen, he’s lovely. And theoretically, I would approve.”   “What? Mom, where is this coming from? I’ve known him eighteen years, why is this being brought up now?”   “Well he drove all the way here and he looks so lovely. And you’re always brighter when he’s here, noticeably so. Just a mothers observation,” she says. “But you’re keeping him waiting now.”   “But you’re the one-”   “Jisung, downstairs.”   Jisung sighs, knowing he has no chance with this conversation. Now it’s not just the universe giving him signs, or the rise of his heartbeat or the sweat on his palms; now even his mother seems to be pushing him into Minho’s arms. He makes his way to the top of the staircase, pausing when he sees Minho waiting at the bottom looking like god damn prince charming. Maybe he wouldn’t mind being pushed into those arms.    “Well, Cinderella? You coming down?”   “Huh?” Jisung answers, trying to stop himself from gawking. Minho’s got his hair slicked back on one side, a hint of bang hanging down in the front, and his suit is flawless. Upon further inspection, it’s actually the same suit he wore to his own senior prom, but two years and a little bit of tailoring has sure made a difference. A slim silver tie hangs from his neck, a matching pocket square resting on his chest. If there’s one word to describe how Jisung feels at this moment, it’s outclassed.   “I said, are you coming down? I’m all for you having your princess moment, you look awesome, but it’d be nice to have you on the same floor as me,” Minho says with a laugh.   “Oh, yeah,” Jisung says, scrambling down the stairs. His toe nearly catches on the last one, sending him stumbling forward with a little more force than necessary. But maybe Minho really is a prince, at least for the night, because Jisung feels sturdy arms catch him and keep him in place. When he looks up Minho is a nose length away, looking at him like he’s trying not to laugh. “Ah. Thanks.”   “You aren’t allowed to injure yourself, remember? You promised me a couple dances.”   “I’m fine,” Jisung says, stepping back and shaking out his limbs. “Perfectly fit for dancing.”   “Minho!”   The room turns to look as a head pops through the Han’s front door and opens it, waving something in her hands. Minho’s mom.   “Minho, you forgot these!” she says, holding up two clear plastic boxes with something red in each of them.    “Ah, shit! I mean, thank you,” Minho says, flustering as he moves to grab the items from his mom.    “Hello, Mrs. Lee!”   “Hello, handsome!” Mrs. Lee responds, walking over to Jisung and putting a hand on either shoulder. “Oh, you look so good, Sungie! Spin for me!” she says, pushing him a little to the right. Jisung laughs and follows her guidance, spinning slowly for her to take a look.    “Do I? I do, right?”   “The best you’ve ever looked,” she agrees, letting go of his shoulders and brushing them off. “Doesn’t he, Minho?”   “I don’t know, remember that one time the yard flooded and he tripped in a mud puddle? He looked really good then,” Minho chuckles.   “Minho!”   “He looks phenomenal, mom. You look phenomenal, Jisung,” Minho deadpans, turning from his mother to Jisung.    “Give him the flowers!” Mrs. Lee trills.   “I’m working on it!”   “Give me the flowers, Minho,” Jisung repeats, laughing when his date glares at him.    “Your boutonniere, sir,” Minho says quietly, opening one of the boxes to show off a small, dark red rose arrangement peppered with little white hints of baby's breath.    “Pretty,” Jisung coos, picking it up and sniffing it. “And it smells nice. Thank you, sir.”   “I’m glad it matches your tie,” Minho says, lowering his voice so the mothers can’t hear. Not that it makes much of a difference, they’ve already gravitated towards each other and are engaged in some conversation Jisung can’t make out. “You know, it was a real pain in the ass not showing me what you were wearing.”   “But worth the surprise, right?” Jisung asks with a grin.    “Sure, Sungie. Here, hand that over, let me pin it,” he says, gingerly removing the floral arrangement from Jisung’s hand. He carefully pins it to Jisung’s pocket, adjusting the silk kerchief he’d bought to match his tie around it. “Perfect.”   “My turn,” Jisung says. He grabs the second box from Minho’s hand and reveals a matching arrangement, then puts all his focus into steadying his hands and pinning it to Minho without piercing his skin. They’re close like this, too close for comfort, and once again Jisung is reminded of the new ways his body reacts to Minho being in his space. He smells good, like amber and oud, and it’s hard to focus with the smell invading his nostrils and making him want to lean closer and...   “Ow!”   “What? Did I get you? Shit, don’t bleed on your shirt, hold it in!” Jisung says in a panicked voice as he pulls his hand back.   “Hold it in? What the hell does that mean,” Minho cackles, moving his jacket to the side to show his shirt. “I was just kidding anyway, but holy shit, what? Hold it in.”   “Shut up, Minho, I’m trying here. You’re distracting me.”   “I’m literally just standing here.”   “Yeah, but…” Jisung starts, cutting off the end of the sentence as he finishes pinning the boutonniere to Minho’s suit.    “But?”   “Are you wearing cologne?” he blurts out.   “Oh. Yeah, I am. I got it with my holiday bonus, is it too strong? I don’t wear it that much,” Minho says, backing away a little and doing his best to shove his nose into his own collar and sniff.   “No, it’s good,” Jisung says quietly. “Wait, should I be wearing cologne?”   “I mean, I don’t think it’s a requirement-”   “I’m gonna go put some on! Wait here!” Jisung says, sprinting up the stairs into his room to dig through a drawer of rarely used junk. He knows he has cologne in here, even if it is a gift from his aunt from Christmas four years ago.    “Shit, shit, shit,” Jisung curses under his breath when it’s not in the drawer. “Shit!”    “Jisung?”   He turns to see his father standing in the hallway outside his door, looking concerned and confused.    “Yeah?”   “What are you doing?” his dad asks, stepping cautiously into the room.   “I’m- I need cologne. Minho is wearing cologne and he smells really good and I can’t find my cologne,” Jisung responds.   “You threw it out last year, remember? It smelled expired so mom tossed it?”   “Shit! I mean… rats! What do I do? I can’t go covered in AXE,” Jisung whines.   “I’m sure Younghyun left some here, why don’t you go raid his room?” his father suggests.   “It’s full of moms office stuff, though,”   “I’m sure there’s a drawer of his stuff in there. Come on, let’s check,” he says warmly, putting an arm around Jisung’s shoulder.   “He’s going to get mad.”   “Jisung, if your brother used any of this stuff on a regular basis he wouldn’t have left it here. And he’s not going to notice three pumps of cologne missing, either,” his father says, guiding Jisung into his brothers-ex-room-moms-current-home-office. There’s a worn chest of drawers in the corner that Jisung watches his father sort through as he shifts from leg to leg until two dusty bottles of cologne are procured. “They’re both probably old, but take your pick.”   Jisung sniffs the first one, recoiling at the strong citrus scent that comes out and sticking out his tongue. “Yuck.”   “Jisung?” his dad asks from behind him, hovering a few feet back.   “Yeah?” Jisung answers. The second bottle is nice and seems all but untouched, a fresh scent that reminds him of rain and green forests.   “Since when do you wear cologne?”   “Minho is wearing cologne.”   Jisung spritzes himself with his new find, twice on his wrists and once on his neck like he’s seen his mother do his entire life.    “Ah, of course. Minho is doing it, so Jisung must do it too. The old Lee-Han joint family tradition.”   “Oh, come on, it’s not like that,” Jisung laughs. “I don’t know how to do formal events and he does. I want to do this right.”   “Minho wouldn’t care if you rolled around in dog shit before the prom,” his dad says, laughing when Jisung whips around to glare at him.    “I’m not rolling in dog shit before prom.”   “You’re not even going to make it to prom if you keep messing around up here,” his dad shoots back. Jisung nods and grabs the bottle of cologne, making a quick stop at his room to toss it on his bed before running downstairs. What Younghyun doesn’t know can’t hurt him.   “Smell me,” Jisung says when he gets downstairs, shoving his wrist into Minho’s face. His friend grabs it instinctually, but follows the order and leans in slowly to sniff it before sending a supportive smile Jisung’s way. “Cologne.”   “I smell it. Very nice,” he says, slowly bringing Jisung’s wrist down and out of his face. “Completely not necessary, but nice.”   “Is it?”   “It’s nice, Jisung,” he says again, sniffing the air around Jisung and patting him gently on the head. “Really nice.”   “Don’t mess up my prom hair, I spent ages on it.”   “Your hair is fine, you big baby. We need to go,” Minho responds, smoothing down Jisung’s locks with a light touch.    “Boys? Mrs. Lee and I are going to drive in my car if you’re taking Minho’s. We’ll meet you there, ok?” Mrs. Han calls out, pulling them out of the moment and pushing them into action.    “Yeah,” Jisung says, clearing his throat to center himself. If he’s going to slip up like that it’s no wonder his mother is bringing up whatever he has going on with Minho. “We’ll meet you there. You ready?” he asks, turning to Minho.   “Ready,” Minho responds, holding his elbow out. “Take my arm please, my lovely date.”   “It would be my honor, my lovely date,” Jisung repeats back, laughing when he sees Minho’s eyes crinkle up in a smile. He also sees Mrs. Lee nudge his mother and whisper something to her, but chooses to ignore that as they head out the door. With his free hand he pats his pocket, making sure the tickets are secure inside his suit coat, then waves goodbye to his dad at the top of the stairs.   For such a special day, mother nature has not chosen to cooperate with his school in terms of picture-taking weather. It’s decently warm, but the sky is gray and dull, filled with a light mist that Jisung and Minho have to sprint through to get to the station wagon.   While he’s had a gentle hum of nerves all day, it’s not until he gets into the car with Minho that he notices his heart beating loud in his ears. He should try to make this a normal night, he wants to behave like a normal person and make memories he can cherish for a lifetime, but all he can think of right now is Minho. Minho in his suit, Minho wearing a matching floral pin, Minho cursing at his steering wheel as the car refuses to start once again.   “Come on Nelson, not tonight. It’s a big night,” Minho whispers, turning his key in the ignition one last time. It finally roars to a start, and Minho releases a sigh as he slumps over the wheel. “Thank you.”   “Nelson wouldn’t do us dirty like that,” Jisung assures him, patting Minho on the back of the head. “He knows what’s in our best interest, and our best interest is going to prom!”   “Sure is,” Minho agrees, backing out of the driveway and making his way towards Hyunjin’s place. “He’s taken me to two before, and those were terrible compared to this. No way he’d let me down for this one.”   “We haven’t even been to this one yet, let me remind you,” Jisung teases. “I could be a shit date.”   “You can’t be a worse date to me than I was to Sooyoung.”   “Fair point.”   “And I have a feeling you won’t disappoint,” Minho says, smiling to himself as he cranks the radio on quietly.   “I’m doing my best.”   He wants to make some funny joke, tease Minho or shoot some sarcastic remark back at him to keep the mood up, but his heart’s not in it. Instead it’s beating a thousand miles an hour, hard and fast and overwhelming. It’s impossible to ignore, and makes it hard to focus on anything else. This is happening.   Minho lets things go silent for a while, turning the radio up a bit to make up for Jisung’s lack of words. He can sense the tone is off, he always can, but Jisung appreciates the couple minutes of quiet he’s given to get himself together.   “Are you ok?” Minho asks after a while, briefly turning to look at him. “You kind of look like you’re going to be sick.”   “I’m not going to be sick,” Jisung says quietly.   “Why don’t you look happy, then?”   “I am happy. It’s just also… this is it. The last big thing in high school before graduation,” Jisung says, only just realizing the pressure that’s been building on him as he says it.   “Aw, it’s not so huge of a thing, I swear,” Minho says, only to be met with more silence. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”   “No,” Jisung replies quickly. “No, the fact that you’re even here is enough.” He sees Minho smile at that, warm and fond like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. Jisung can’t help himself, he reaches his left hand over Minho's free right one and latches on, a reminder of last night that he really doesn’t want to let go of. Minho squeezes tight but doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes on the road as they get closer and closer to Hyunjin’s place. “Thanks again.”   “Thank me after you see how splendid of a date and dance partner I am,” Minho chuckles. They’re in the cul-de-sac now, and Jisung can make out Hyunjin’s house both from years of recognition and an array of cars littered on the street nearby, overflow from the parents who couldn’t fit in the driveway. “Holy shit,” Minho whispers under his breath, “is every student in the senior class coming to his place?”   “No,” Jisung laughs, “Just Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and Jeongin. Their parents must have all come too.”   “Why couldn’t we just equip one doting mother with six cameras and save the crowd?”   “Aw, I think it’s sweet. We’ll have so many angles to choose from,” Jisung says, clicking off his seatbelt when they find the closest spot they can to Hyunjin’s place. Minho leans into the back of his car to find an umbrella for them to share, and Jisung huddles close as he walks around  and opens the passenger door to keep them both guarded. The fine mist from not twenty minutes ago has evolved into a light drizzle, and Jisung has a feeling it’s only going to get worse from here. They jog inside, shoulder to shoulder, and wait patiently at the door after knocking until it opens to reveal a very frazzled Seungmin.   “Wha- you?” Jisung’s classmate asks, jaw dropped and eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing here?”   “Hey, Seungminnie~” Minho sing-songs, waving his fingers in a teasing fashion at him.    “Jisung, come on. This guy? I hate this guy,” Seungmin says, staring pointedly in his direction.    “Aw, come on Seungmin. As long as you don’t hurl on him he’ll be nice to you,” Jisung says with a laugh. “Right, Minho?”   “Not sure yet.”   “Can we come inside?” Jisung asks. Seungmin is still standing with his arm on the door, blocking entry for both of them, and the rain is starting to come down harder. “Please?”   “You can,” Seungmin says, holding the door open and offering a way in for Jisung while he plants an arm in front of Minho. “Not him.”   “Who is it? Is that Jisung?” they hear Hyunjin call from inside. His face appears a few moments later as he pops up under Seungmin’s arm and pulls him back, clearing the doorway for everyone to come inside. “Hi, Jisung. Hi, Minho.”   “You knew about this?” Seungmin asks, gawking at the three of them. “Of course you did, what am I asking? You couldn’t tell me?”   “Oh, please, Seungmin. You’re being dramatic, I know you two are friends.”   “I don’t want to go to prom with my babysitter!”   “I’m not your babysitter anymore, Minnie. Move on,” Minho says, patting him condescendingly on the head. Seungmin glares but seems to admit defeat, slumping his shoulders down before wandering out of the entryway into the living room. There’s a reason Hyunjin’s house had been the obvious place to do this; marble floors and an intricate staircase greet visitors at the door, the living room is grand, spacious, and tastefully decorated, the backyard is sprawling and beautiful on a clear day. It’s a stunning home that would make for a noteworthy background of any photoshoot.   But today the elegant atmosphere seems to be clouded by one of disarray; there are raincoats tossed over the railing, mothers and fathers alternating between making small talk with one another and fussing over their sons and their respective dates. Within moments Jisung and Minho’s mothers appear, Mrs. Lee causing a fuss over all the parents she hasn’t seen since Minho left for school two years back. Jisung and Minho sneak into the living room on their own, only for Felix to catch sight of Minho and tackle him into a running hug.   “You’re here!” he cries, leaning back to inspect Minho carefully.   “I am.”   “You’re the date! I knew you were the date, of course you’re the date,” Felix says decidedly, pulling away from his older friend and pushing him to Jisung’s side. “Yep. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”   “What do you mean, you knew he was the date? You pestered me more than anyone,” Jisung rebutes, looking between Felix and Minho.   “Yeah, but like I said, we know everyone at school and nobody was going with you. So who else could it be? Plus, he’s Minho.”   “What does that mean?” Jisung questions.   “It means,” Seungmin chimes in, walking up behind Felix and laying a hand on his shoulder, “that for some reason, you insist on being attached at the hip to this guy. Even though he’s the worst.”   “I’m the greatest. Be careful what you say or I’ll punish you. If I remember correctly, your mom gave me permission to put tabasco on your tongue if you swore,” Minho says quietly. “Where is your mom, by the way? I should say hi.”   “Not necessary.”   “Oh, I disagree,” Minho says, looking around the room until he spots Seungmin’s mom. “Mrs. Kim!” he calls out before squeezing Jisung on the shoulder and jogging away. He sees Seungmin’s mother’s face light up in delight before pulling him into a hug, then holding him away to inspect him.    “Seungmin!” she calls out, waving her son over. Jisung chuckles as she sees Mrs. Kim position the boys together for a couple of photos, bursting into all-out laughter when Seungmin holds his hand to Minho’s head to accentuate his height advantage.    “I totally knew it was him, by the way,” Felix whispers loudly into Jisung’s ear.    “Yeah, well, you and Hyunjin both,” Jisung replies.    “What about Hyunjin?”   The man himself appears in front of them, Jeongin in tow via a linked elbow.   “Felix says he knew about my date. As did you,” Jisung explains.   “As did I,” Jeongin adds.   “No fucking way, you literally don’t even know Minho.”   “Yeah, but my boyfriend does,” Jeongin says, a devilish grin growing on his face.   “Oh, and your boyfriend has loose lips, does he?” Jisung asks, squaring up to Hyunjin with his fists in fighting position. “Despite telling me it would be a secret.”   “Boyfriend privilege,” Hyunjin says, mimicking his pose. Jisung throws a fake punch in his direction and Hyunjin fake blocks it, then hides behind Jeongin for protection. “He got it out of me.”   “So did I do all this for nothing? Is there anyone who’s actually fucking surprised?”   The four boys turn to look at their friends across the room, very reluctantly still posing for photos, this time from Minho’s mother.   “Seungmin.”   They round up shortly after that in a group directed by Hyunjin’s mother. Mrs. Hwang is small but mighty, lining them all up on the staircase from shortest couple to tallest, and Jisung and Minho begrudgingly take their place on the bottom of the stairs. He wants to fight for a spot at the top, but certainly not with her. It’s warm, the way Minho’s arms wrap around his waist from behind in the standard prom date pose, and as much as Jisung tries to will the flush away he won’t be the slightest bit surprised if he gets the photos back to see himself with a bright pink face full of fluster.   “Ok! Time for couples pictures! Four of you move, two of you stay!” Mrs. Hwang calls out, shooing them off the stairs. Hyunjin and Jeongin stay for pictures while Seungmin leads Felix down the stairs with a hand to his hip and Minho mimics the same. His touch burns hotter than ever on Jisung’s waist in front of an audience.   He glances up at his date, at his smile and his eyes and the way his posture seems brighter than usual as they wait for pictures. “Are you having fun?” Jisung asks quietly.   “I am. Aren’t you?”   “We haven’t even gotten to the dance yet,” Jisung responds with a soft laugh.   “Yeah, but it’s good to see everyone again.”   “Even Seungmin?” Jisung questions teasingly. Minho laughs and pulls him a little bit closer, leaning into Jisung’s space more and more.   “What about Seungmin?” a voice calls out, shocking both Minho and Jisung and causing them to whip their heads in the direction of the couple waiting with them. Felix seems cheerful as ever, though Seungmin is standing with his arms crossed in his most intimidating pose. It doesn’t do much but make the rest of them laugh.   “Yes, I suppose it’s even good to see Seungmin.”    “But I’m your favorite,” Jisung sing-songs, clutching on to Minho’s arms wrapped around him. Suddenly he’s being squeezed even tighter, then his feet hover off the ground as Minho spins him once around. “Hey, careful! Don’t crumple the suit!”   “Sure, Sungie,” he says mockingly, laughing as he drops him back down to the floor. “Sorry. Just overtaken by my overwhelming fondness.”   “Please, you know it’s true,” Jisung says, finally starting to feel like himself again now that they’re around friends.   “If that’s what you want to believe.”   “I believe it,” Felix chimes in, laughing loudly when Minho glares at him. His arms don’t leave their place around Jisung’s waist, making the threatening look decidedly less piercing and impactful. As much as they butt heads, Minho and Seungmin both have a knack for trying and failing at intimidation tactics. The younger must have learnt it from his sitter at a young age. “It doesn’t take much to figure out how whipped you are.”   “Ok! Next couple!” Mrs. Hwang belts out, snapping them out of the moment. Hyunjin and Jeongin jog down a moment later, pushing Seungmin and Felix towards the staircase.    “What did we miss?” Hyunjin asks.    “How Minho loves me more than you.”   “Yeah, no shit.” Hyunjin stares pointedly at their positioning to prove his point, but Jisung only grabs on to Minho’s wrists to keep him in place.   “Jealous,” he says, sticking out his tongue.   “Jealous,” Minho parrots. “You should have lived closer.”   “You three are funny,” Jeongin laughs. The three turn to look at him, a little thrown off. “You’re just funny together. Hyunjin talks about Minho all the time, but he makes him sound like some kind of demon.  But he’s so nice to Jisung. And Jisung and Hyunjin are always butting heads and making up, but you’re like… gross and mushy around Minho. It’s just funny.”   “I’m not mushy,” Jisung starts to protest, though he’s shortly cut off by the shrill sound of Mrs. Hwang’s voice and ushered to the staircase by Minho.    “You’re totally mushy,” he whispers as they make their way to a center position, holding back his laughter with a smirk.   “And I’m totally your favorite,” Jisung whispers back, linking his arm with Minho’s at the direction of his mother. Minho says nothing for a few moments, distracted with the poses they’re being talked into, until he finds himself being held from the back by Minho once again.    “Yeah, fine, you are,” Minho finally answers, cupping a hand to Jisung’s ear and speaking softly to him, statement going completely over their little audience’s heads. Jisung has to fight not to spin in his arms, to see whatever expression is on Minho’s face for himself as he feeds Jisung words that would make anyone go crazy. But they’re not alone, their parents and friends are watching, and as much pressure and encouragement they all seem to have for Jisung and Minho potentially being something, this isn’t the place to figure it out.   Jisung releases a breath as they finish their photos up, blood rushing in his ears with the excitement of everything going on; parents buzzing around, friends joking and laughing together for what will likely be the last formal school-run event they all attend at the same time, pizza being delivered to serve them all before the dance. Jisung goes through the motions of being a person, a strange sort of detachment lingering in his mind, with Minho at his side. A hand on his waist, a slight adjustment when his pin gets knocked out of place, a napkin handed to him without asking when he gets pizza sauce on his chin; Minho apparently knows what Jisung needs to stay running smoothly, even after all this time apart. He thinks back to what Minho said last night, about the connotation he had put on this thing when he should really just take it at face value.   At face value, Minho feels like a damn good date.   Pizza disappears piece by piece until the clock ticks down and it’s time to go. The venue isn’t far, 30 minutes on the highway or 45 on side streets, a hotel that was once grand and luxurious but now really only seems to have its ballroom going for it based on what Jisung’s heard. Parents watch from the safety of Hyunjin’s porch as the group of highschoolers (plus Minho) run from the house to their cars, Seungmin’s mom laughing and snapping pictures as they try to avoid the downpour. The weather has only gotten worse, as expected, and Jisung and Minho wave a quick goodbye to the others as they clamor into Hyunjin’s car. It’s a stark contrast, the four of them squeezing into the luxury sedan his parents bought as a 16th birthday gift while Jisung and Minho shuffle into the beat up station wagon. They certainly look a little bit more ready for the occasion in their suits and fancy car.   “Made it. Is my hair soaked through?” Minho asks, grabbing Jisung’s attention from where he’s been staring out the window at his friends.  “Huh? No, it’s fine. Mine?”   “It’s good,” Minho responds, reaching over and moving a lock back into place. “Perfect now. You ready?”   “Ready,” Jisung nods. Minho cranks the radio on, though the music is pretty significantly drowned out by the rain outside and the sound of the car roaring to a start. It’s really pouring, a steady stream making its way down the windows, and he can barely see outside the passenger window without squinting. “Can you see alright?”   “I can see fine,” Minho says, backing slowly out of Hyunjin’s driveway. “It’s getting worse though, I think I might take side streets. The highway is bound to be packed.”   “Sure,” Jisung agrees.   He likes driving with Minho, taking back roads and looking at the scenery, he always has. There’s not much scenery now with the darkening sky, but the car is filled with the sound of music and Minho chattering about his finals next week. Jisung tries to contribute, but his favorite playlist is on and at certain points he finds himself humming along more than actually replying to Minho’s statements. His best friend doesn’t seem to mind, even hums along himself when he seems to get the vibe that Jisung is distracted.   “What are you thinking about?” Minho finally asks, twenty minutes into the drive. Jisung has been staring out the window for the past few songs, watching through the rain as the buildings of their town disappear into farmland while they cross the empty stretch into the larger neighboring town where prom is being held. They’ve passed a petting zoo that he, Hyunjin, and Minho used to visit each summer and the sledding hill they’d go to on snowy winter days.    “I’m just looking outside. If I get into JYPU, I won’t really see much more of this stuff,” Jisung says quietly.   “When you get into JYPU.”   “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, though. Graduation is coming, I’ve had an acceptance letter from the local college for ages. It’s looking tempting lately.”   “You’re not going there,” Minho says firmly. Jisung turns to look at him, and even with his eyes focused sharply on the road there’s an expression of determination mixed with nervousness that he can’t quite ignore. Maybe Minho misses him just as much as he misses Minho?   “It’s not like I want to.”   “Good. Because I made sure the couch in my apartment is really comfortable, so we can have our regular movie nights without watching different screens again,” Minho chides. Jisung laughs at that, though if those movie nights are anything like last night he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to hold out.   “I appreciate you buying a whole couch with me in mind. What do I owe you?”   “Your company.”   “Trying my best.” It’s quiet for a few moments after that, until Minho breaks it again.   “You’ll still be able to see those things. You’ll always come back home for breaks and stuff, it’s not like the town will disappear when you leave.”   “Yeah, but it’ll be different. More like a visit and less like my normal surroundings. And who knows if everyone will be here at the same time?”   “Aw, Sungie. They will be. For summer break, at the very least,” Minho says comfortingly. Jisung is about to say something more, maybe mask his nerves in a faux complaint about how Minho hadn’t even come back for winter break, but something catches his eye on the side of the road before he can get anything out.    “What’s that up there?” The road has been empty for the past couple of miles, most people going to prom likely having opted to take the highway, but a small sedan is pulled over on the shoulder in front of them with its hazards flashing in the rain.    “They must be having trouble,” Minho says. “I’m gonna pull over. Make sure they’re ok. Ok?”   “Of course.”   Minho pulls up behind the car and flashes his lights, probably hoping for some kind of signal back from the other driver, maybe for them to get out and explain the situation. Neither happens, and even after a solid minute of waiting the other car gives no response to them. Minho sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt, then reaches into the back seat of his car to pull out a green and white striped umbrella. He turns the key in his ignition off, so the engine cuts out but the lights stay on. “Minho?”   “I’m just gonna make sure they’re ok,” Minho says, bracing himself and wrapping a hand around the handle of his door. “I’ll be quick. Maybe they just need a tow-truck or something.”   “This is how people get kidnapped,” Jisung says, a nervous feeling in his gut.    “I’m not going to get kidnapped. I’m very fast.”   “Yeah, sure,” Jisung says, swallowing hard. “But I’m serious, ok?”   “I know. I’m going.”   “Be careful, please.”   “Always,” Minho says, leaning closer to pinch at Jisung’s cheek before opening his door and jogging to the car while still opening his umbrella. Jisung watches him walk up to the drivers side door, keeping his distance but leaning in a bit to see inside the window. Not three seconds later, a car horn sounds, and Minho scuttles backwards away from the door and back towards Jisung and the wagon. The small sedan rips forward at breakneck speed, leaving Minho in its wake and Jisung confused as all hell until the door opens and Minho climbs back into the car wordlessly.    “What happened? What the hell was that?”   “Uh-” Minho starts, slapping his face a few times to get himself back to attention. “Uh, they were fine. More than fine.”   “Huh?”   “It was a couple. They were doing… couple things. You know. Pants down couple things.”   Jisung blinks in surprise, unsure what to say to that. “Oh. Well, good for them I guess?” he tries, his voice wavering as he tries to decide whether to laugh or comfort his date. In the end he can’t hold out and bursts into a giggle, surprising Minho until he eventually joins along.    “Don’t laugh at me,” Minho says, a bit hypocritical through his fit of giggles. “I’m traumatized.”   “I thought you were ‘liberated’, Mr. College Student.”   “Yeah, but I don’t want to see that. I did not consent to watching some girl struggling to bend over in her prom dress and give her date road head,” he argues back, buckling himself back into the car and starting to turn the ignition.   “Oh my god! I didn’t want details!” Jisung cries out, wiping tears from his eyes and leaning back into his seat. He hears the engine moan and wail, but pays the familiar sound no mind.   “Neither did I! But here I am, trying to take you to prom, concerned my eyesight may be wavering all because I wanted to do a good deed,” Minho sighs, turning his key in the engine again to no avail. “And my fucking car is being a dick.”   “He has been all weekend. You should really get him fixed,” Jisung says, patting the top of the dashboard. “Come on Nelson, you’ve got this.” Minho pulls the keys all the way from the ignition and tries again, barely getting a sputter this time. Jisung looks at the dashboard nervously, actually starting to get concerned. “We’ve got this, right?”   “Of course,” Minho says quietly, trying again. The sound the car lets out can only be described as pathetic, and Jisung can see Minho’s shoulders start to slump.    “Minho, what-”   “Jisung, I’m trying! Just- Just give me a minute, it’s gonna run.”   “Ok. Because it has to run. Nelson, you know you have to run, right?” Jisung says, leaning forward and resting his forehead on the glove department. “We’re going to prom. We look good as hell. No way you’re gonna ruin this for me, right? My last big event before graduation?” There’s no sound from the driver’s side, an almost eerie silence, and when Jisung turns his head Minho is leaned against the steering wheel in an almost pleading position. “Minho?”   “Jisung, I don’t want to say this,” he mutters under his breath, “but I think-”   “Then don’t say it! Let’s go look at the engine. Do you have another umbrella? I’ll help,” Jisung says, desperate to be in any other situation but this.   “Jisung-”   “No. Because it’s prom, and we have to show up to show off to Hyunjin on the dance floor. It’s prom, Minho. You drove all the way here,” Jisung says, voice breaking halfway through. He doesn’t want to be a baby, he’s supposed to be an adult. Minho said he was an adult. So he’s not going to cry or throw a fit, he’s going to find a solution. “Come on, let’s go look.”   “Jisung, it’s useless. I’m not a mechanic, I can’t do anything about this,” Minho says quietly. “I’m sorry.”   “So what then? What do we do?”   “I’m gonna call a tow truck.” Minho pulls out his phone to start dialing, and Jisung pulls out his own phone and stares down at it, debating what to say to his friends.   “Do you think… do you think that we can get it towed and still make it before the dance is over?”   “I’ll ask about the wait time. It’s not impossible,” Minho responds, hitting dial on his phone and bringing it up to his ear. He’s sullen, and Jisung can tell he’s staying quiet in an effort not to let his frustration boil over. He zones the conversation out, trying to give Minho as much space as he can, instead focusing on texting his friends an update on their status. They’d taken the highway, and while there seems to be some kind of traffic holdup they’re apparently moving at a slow and steady space. They’ll get to the dance fashionably late. Jisung holds onto the hope that maybe someone can get him and Minho soon. They’re only about twenty minutes out from either town, and maybe once they drop the car off at the repair shop he and Minho can catch another ride to the dance. Seungmin mimics the idea.   The universe does not.   “50 minutes,” Minho says definitively, hanging up his phone and putting it in one of the car's cup holders. “A tow-truck will be here in 50 minutes.”   “But we’re not even twenty minutes away. Why fifty minutes?”   “Because there was a crash on the highway and they’re dealing with that first. We aren’t their first priority right now,” he sighs, finally turning to look at Jisung. “I really am sorry.”   “It’s not your fault. You were just trying to do the right thing,” Jisung says, trying to put on an encouraging smile. Sure, maybe Minho should have gotten his car checked. And pulling over wasn’t an absolute necessity, but it seemed like the right thing to do. This sucks. It really sucks. But it’s not his place to blame Minho for what seems to be the universe playing a joke on the both of them.    “You really wanted to go to prom, though,” Minho whispers, pulling one of Jisung’s hands into his own and squeezing tight. “You should be able to go.”   “Well, I-” Jisung starts, trying to think of something positive to say. Unfortunately, he comes up empty. “Yeah, I did. But we can’t just leave the car, right? I’m sure prom is overrated anyway, that’s what most adults say.”    “Yeah, but you really wanted to go. I know you really wanted to go, I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”   “It is what it is.”   “You should go,” Minho says firmly.    “What?”   “Without me. I can’t leave the car, but you can call an Uber or something. Or get someone to pick you up. You should go.”   “What are you talking about, I’m not just going to leave you here alone,” Jisung argues, furrowing his brows in confusion.    Go without Minho?   What’s the point?   “It’s my fault we’re stuck, and that we couldn’t all fit in one car, and that we pulled over. You were so excited to dance and stuff,” Minho replies. “Call a car! Go dance and stuff. I’ll try to make it when my car is dropped off.”   “No!”   “Jisung-”   “I don’t want to dance alone. I want to dance with you!”   “I’m trying to give you a halfway here, Sungie.”   “Well, I don’t want it,” Jisung says. “That option sucks. I’d rather wait with you and take our chances.”   “But you want to go to your prom.”   Jisung takes a deep breath and repositions them so both of Minho’s hands are in his own, trying his hardest to face his date head on despite the awkward angles that come with sitting side by side in a car. He does want to go, he’s been looking forward to prom for months. But not alone. He never wanted to go alone, that’s why Minho is here in the first place. That’s not how he wants to close out this chapter of his life, and it’s not going to help him start a new one. “I don’t want to go if I can’t go with you. You’re my date, I’m not just going to leave you.”   Minho smiles shyly at that, like he’s trying to hold back because it’s not the right occasion, but Jisung knows what every twitch of his lips means by this point in their lives. “I left my date.”   “Well, she wasn’t me,” Jisung jokes, showing off a winning smile. “You wouldn’t leave me.”   “Of course. I wouldn’t leave you,” Minho agrees. Jisung pulls one hand back, reaching for his phone to pass on the information to the group chat. “It’s gonna be a long wait though.”   “We’ll be fine,” Jisung says calmly. “I’m sure we can figure out something to do for fifty minutes.”   “I think I can still turn the radio on,” Minho says, flipping his key only halfway in the ignition. Sure enough an upbeat song comes on, a heavy contrast to the dark rain outside and the melancholy mood inside the car. “So that’s something.”   “Ha. If only the car were a little more spacious, we could still dance,” Jisung jokes. He bobs his head up and down absentmindedly to the music, unsure if he’s quite ready to be the moodmaker he usually strives to be around friends.    “We could play a game,” Minho suggests.   “What game?”   “Raindrop racing.”   “That’s not a real game.”   “It could be,” he insists. “We both claim one of the water droplets going down the windshield and see whose reaches the bottom first.”   “Minho, it’s like, pouring rain,” Jisung laughs. “They’re all gone before we can see them.”   “It’s not that bad. It’s getting slower.”   “There’s gotta be something else.”   “We can talk about how the hell I’m supposed to get home tomorrow?” Minho suggests.   “If it keeps raining, you can probably swim.”   “If the rain freezes over I can ice skate.”   “It’s June.”   “Yeah,” Minho sighs. “But it’d be more fun. Walking is going to take way too long, I’ll miss my finals.”   “I could drive you,” Jisung suggests.   “You don’t have a car. And you’re scared to drive. I bet I’ll end up driving you to and from school next year.”   “My parents will probably drive me there. Gotta haul the dorm stuff around.”   “Yeah, but for breaks and stuff,” Minho says.   “Are you coming home for breaks next year?”   “I guess. I’m not really sure. You think I should?”   “Yeah, of course you should. In case I don’t actually get in, so I don’t have to go so long without seeing you again,” Jisung says quietly. “That sucked.”   “Jisung, I swear, you gotta stop-”   Minho is cut off by the loud, unmistakable sound of an incoming video call. His phone, Jisung realizes as his lap lights up. He flips it over to see Hyunjin’s profile photo pop up, a picture of them as kids covered head to toe in mud. He glances at Minho, a silent request for permission to answer, and does so when he gets a nod in return.    “Hello?”   “Jisung! Is Minho there?”   “Where the hell else would I be?” Minho chimes in, flipping the phone to face him and sticking his tongue out at Hyunjin.   “Well I was going to express my condolences that you’re in a shitty situation, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s karma,” Hyunjin mocks back.   “Karma for what?” Jisung cries out.    “I’m sure you’ve done something. Anyway, it kind of sounds like you might not make it.”   “It’s looking that way,” Minho says quietly with a nod.   “Right. So I figured I’d offer a tour. If you want it?”   Minho glances nervously at Jisung, clearly a little on-edge and cautious of the other’s emotions at the moment. “I’m not sure-”   “Please. I’d like to see it while it’s going, at least,” Jisung requests. Minho still looks concerned, but nods.    “Show us the thing.”   “Ok!” Hyunjin says, flipping the phone from his face to the back view. He shows a ballroom, somewhat dated in its architecture, decorated in tasteful balloon arrangements and ribbons representing their school colors. Students bustle by, looking incredible for the most part aside from a few questionable fashion choices and some hairstyles ruined by the rain. “So this is the entrance. And here’s our banquet table,” he continues, pointing the camera towards a table where Felix and Seungmin are chatting enthusiastically and Jeongin is waving at the camera.    “Tell the decorating duo over there they did a nice job,” Jisung says, heart sinking a little not being able to congratulate them himself. Jeongin and Seungmin worked hard on this dance, he knows they put in a lot of free time to make the night special for everyone.    “Will do. Shall we go to the buffet?” Hyunjin asks, already taking them away from the others. Jeongin seems to have run to join them, providing extra commentary as Hyunjin tours them around to different areas. It’s fun, for the most part, and he’s glad he’s at least seeing what he’s been waiting for as it happens.    But Jisung’s stomach drops when Hyunjin shows them the dance floor. Something about that image, couples shuffling close together and moving in time to the generic pop music picked out by a budget DJ, makes him realize how much he wishes he were there to do the same with Minho. He tries to laugh along with his friends, poke fun when the song changes to something that’s been outdated for two years, but it gets harder and harder to keep up the facade of being unbothered.    “Hyunjinnie, thanks for the tour, but my phone is dying,” Minho says, pulling the device out of Jisung’s hand.    “I called Jisung’s phone.”   “I’ll text you when the tow-truck comes,” Minho says. Jisung peers at him curiously, wondering what his plan is.   “Ok, fine,” Hyunjin sighs. “Bye Jisung. Don’t be too sad, ok?”   “I’m not.”   “Bye Hyunjin,” Minho says genuinely, smiling gratefully before ending the call. Within moments he’s got a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, massaging it gently in soothing motions. “Are you ok?”   “Of course. Why do you ask?”   “Because you look like you’re going to cry,” Minho says, a sad smile on his lips. “Which is fine. If you have to. Or want to.”   “I…” Jisung starts, unsure how to continue. The acknowledgement makes him more aware of the weight hanging over him, the slump of his shoulders and the burning sensation behind his eyes. “I just… this sucks.”   “It sucks.”   “I wanted to dance,” he sniffles, aware that he may be about to lose control.   “I wanted to dance too,” Minho says. He moves his hand down Jisung’s arm, running it over the smooth fabric of his suit until their hands touch and their fingers intertwine in reflex.    “And I’ll never get a chance to go to prom with my friends again,” Jisung continues. His eyes are watering now, and he uses his free hand to blot the tears away before his makeup starts to run.   “Aw, it’s ok. There’s tons of other things you can do with them.”   “But those things aren’t prom.”   “No, they’re not.” They sit in silence for a moment, Minho rubbing soothing circles onto the back of his hand while Jisung tries to control the waterworks. He’s not a baby, he shouldn’t be crying over something like this. He tilts his head back, willing the tears to stay inside his head, and inhales deeply. “I’m sorry,” Minho says quietly. “I’m not that good at comforting people.”   “The decorations looked really nice,” Jisung finally says, voice incrementally more steady than before. It shouldn’t be on Minho to make him feel better, especially since they’re in the same situation. “And the dance floor.”   “They did,” Minho agrees. They’re quiet for a little longer before he speaks up again. “We can still dance, if you really want to.”   “I’m not sure how,” Jisung replies, a sad laugh escaping his lips.   “No, really. ” Minho says, gesturing at the radio. “See? We have music. We can dance.”   “We’re stuck in a car, though.”   “I’ll turn it up.”   “It’s raining,” Jisung protests, looking outside. The downpour has lessened slightly, but they’ll still be absolutely soaked if they spend more than thirty seconds outside. “We’ll get soaked.”   “We can use my umbrella.”   “It’s not that big.”   “So then dance close,” Minho says, pulling the umbrella from where he’d tossed it in the back seat and putting a hand on his door handle. “My stupid car ruined your prom, don’t you at least want to put your night to good use and dance?”   Jisung sighs, pulling his hand from the remainder of the grip Minho has on it. They’ll be going home afterwards anyway, and sitting in the car trying to fight back tears doesn’t seem like that much better of an option. “Fine, let’s dance,” Jisung says, giving Minho the most convincing grin he can before opening his door.  “But you have to come retrieve me with the umbrella.”   “On my way, sir,” Minho says, turning up the radio as loud as it can go before exiting the vehicle, opening his umbrella, and coming to escort Jisung out. He has to press up tight to Minho to stay under the cover (not that he minds) as they move to a spot on the side of the road just in front of the car.    “So, who’s leading?”    “Well, if I lead, you have to hold the umbrella.”   “What? Why?” Jisung asks with a pout.   “Because I need both arms to lead, you big baby,” Minho responds, shoving the handle into Jisung’s grip. “So hold the umbrella.”   “Worst date ever.”   “Maybe so.”   That’s a lie, and they both know it. It’s obvious, especially with the spark Jisung feels when Minho lays one hand on the small of his back and the other on his shoulder to keep him close; with the way his troubles start to melt away as they move at a medium pace to some punk rock song playing on the radio. It’s not really formal dancing music, more suited for jumping up and down in a mosh pit, but it’s hard to care when his eyes meet Minho’s and he finally pushes a genuine smile out, glad to experience even this.   “You really will be ok, you know,” Minho says, spinning them around as the bridge of the song kicks up. “Don’t worry so much.”   “You think so?”   “I know so.”   Jisung wants to say more, ask more, figure out how Minho seems to be so sure, but the questions are swept away by a gust of wind bursting through the sky. “Holy shit! Oh my god,” Jisung laughs, shocked. He feels rain start to fall on his head and looks up, only to start laughing even more. “Of course.”   “My umbrella,” Minho whines, looking up with him. It’s completely inside out, ruined by the gust of wind as it catches water and starts to flood. “Come on. My car already broke, why this too?”   “Must be the theme of the night,” Jisung laughs. He’s pretty much completely soaked already, as is Minho, hair hanging in their faces and suits getting progressively wetter. It’s hard to be upset anymore when all he can focus on is the water running down his face and Minho holding him close. This is far from how he expected the evening to go. He leans away for a moment to lay the umbrella on the hood of Minho’s car, now useless to them, and comes back even closer to Minho as the song shifts to something gentle and new.    “I didn’t think we’d get this wet,” Minho says, rocking Jisung back and forth slowly as they dance, spinning them around softly. Jisung lays his cheek on Minho’s shoulder and tries to ignore the rain, instead focusing on what little heat there lay against his face and the soft swell of the music.    “I don’t care, it’s still nice.”   “You cared a few minutes ago,” Minho chuckles softly.   “Yeah, well, it’s too late now. At least I get to dance with you,” Jisung says. His filter is coming down, washed away by the rainfall and the rollercoaster of emotions he’s been on tonight. Right now he’s just at peace. He watches the sky as they move around, sees the clouds move north just enough to expose a first quarter moon. What had Felix told him that meant?   “We can dance whenever next year, ok? As long as it’s drier than this.”   Ah, yes.    A first quarter moon signals the time to make decisions.   “Oh really? You gonna take me on another date?”   Jisung feels Minho stiffen his hold for a moment, feels his breath stutter, could almost swear he can hear the way Minho’s heart beats faster pressed against him. But then he relaxes, and Jisung is pulled even closer, nearly nose to nose as they had been the night before last as he pulls his head from Minho’s shoulder and faces him head on.   “Jisung?”   “Yes?” he answers meekly, trying to find some meaning in Minho’s eyes. He seems to be doing the same with Jisung, curious and intense as they bare into his soul.   “What do you want me to say to that?”   What does he want? He wants Minho, he thinks. Is nearly positive. He’s always wanted Minho, in his life and as his friend, but Jisung wants him in a new way now. Something different. He wants dates, and cuddles, and long drives home from school as they hold hands and talk.    “I just… you know, everything is different. Or about to be. Things are ending and it’s different. With school, and my friends, and everything. And…” Jisung scrambles for words, an eloquent way to convey what he’s been feeling these past two days. Hell, what he’s probably been feeling the past year. “I just think maybe things between us are different too.”   “What, you don’t like me anymore?” Minho teases, putting on a smile that doesn’t quite match his eyes. “You ending me too?”   “No, I like you,” Jisung says with a soft laugh. “I’ll always like you. But that’s what I’m trying to say. It’s different now, I think.”    Minho stops moving as the song changes, an acoustic indie song taking over the radio. His gaze wanders, and he takes his hand off Jisung’s shoulder to weave his fingers through sopping wet bangs and push them back.    “Yeah,” he responds, soft as can be. “Yeah, I think I know exactly what you mean.”   “Is that weird? After eighteen years?”   “I don’t know. It might be weird. Does it matter?” Minho asks. Jisung thinks about that, mimicking Minho’s position by pushing the bangs off his face, then tracing his fingers down his cheek to his jaw. It probably is weird, to suddenly change the way he looks at his best friend of eighteen years. But it probably wasn’t all that sudden, either. And people probably don’t do this often, but do other people really matter when Minho is here, and he cares enough to drive hours upon hours in a car that was clearly on it’s last leg and dance with Jisung in the pouring rain just because he doesn’t want to miss out?   “I don’t think so. I want to try something, just to be sure,” Jisung says, finally letting his eyes drift down to his best friend’s lips. Minho doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t comment either; instead, he leans in. Closer and closer, it nearly feels like slow motion, like Jisung can feel each raindrop running down his face as Minho’s lips near his, feels the way they’re knocked off his nose when Minho leans left and he leans right, feel them splatter when Minho’s mouth melts onto his own. It’s quick, his very first kiss with Minho, and almost as soon as the warmth takes over his lips it’s gone.    Jisung doesn’t want it to be gone.   So he leans back in, gives Minho another peck before pulling away, then another, awkward and cautious until he can help but pull back a little bit more and giggle.    “What? Too weird?” Minho asks, his grip on Jisung iron strong.    “Not weird,” Jisung breathes out, the words mixed with laughter as he leaves his tongue. “No, sorry, it’s not weird or funny, just… surreal? Maybe surreal.”   Minho leans in again, sealing their lips together in a more definitive way, stealing the smile right off Jisung’s face and replacing it with something strong and intoxicating. “It’s real,” he says firmly.   “Yeah, I know. Real date, real kiss, real feelings. I’m getting that now,” Jisung says, head spinning as he resists the urge to lean right back in for more. He feels like he’s flying, he can’t believe how much weight has left his chest and how good Minho’s lips feel on his own. The rain soaking through him and weighing down his clothes just might be the only thing left keeping him grounded as Minho kisses him again.   They don’t pull away from each other again, not for a good long while, and that’s perfect. When water leaks in, rolling off Jisung’s nose and onto the curve of his lip, Minho doesn’t even think twice before licking it away. God, does that open up a whole world of opportunities Jisung never knew existed. He’s kissed people, sure. Chaste pecks for spin the bottle or a dare to kiss Felix for five seconds on a friday night. Never anything like this. Never anything with passion, never anything with tongue, and certainly nothing that gives him the same heart-fluttering feeling as Minho nibbling his bottom lip and licking over the mark.    Jisung feels his hold on Minho grow possessive and desperate, water ringing out when he clutches the jacket of his suit too hard. That seems to be the thing that snaps them out of their rhythm, Minho pulling away slowly to stare into his eyes with a look of satisfaction. “Slow down, we’re not going anywhere,” he says, a smirk taking over his kiss-swollen lips.   “I’m very aware of that, thank you,” Jisung shoots back, releasing his grip on Minho’s back just enough to take half a step back and look at him comfortably. “Thanks to Nelson.”   “I’m not that mad at him anymore,” Minho laughs.   “Me neither.”   “Oh really? What’s your reason?”   “Well,” Jisung starts, wondering how to phrase things. He’s not really inclined to be subtle anymore, not when he’d just spend the past several minutes making out with his best friend. “You probably wouldn’t have kissed me like that in the middle of a crowd.”   “I would have.”    “What?”   “I would have,” Minho repeats. “If you’d looked at me and told me you had feelings for me, or might have feelings for me, I would have kissed you. Even in the middle of a crowd. Even in the rain. If we were in outer space I’d take off my helmet and kiss you.”   “You’d die,” Jisung giggles.    “At least I’d die having kissed you. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” Minho asks, leaning in the press a chaste peck to his cheek. “You don’t, do you?”   “I- How long have you wanted to kiss me?!” Jisung asks, shocked. Maybe in his subconscious he’s wanted Minho for a while, but he’s only had these unspeakable urges for the past few days since he’s been home. So what has Minho been hiding?   “Oh my god, at least a year? Probably since the start of last summer,” Minho replies. “You really didn’t notice? You seemed kind of like… not to be cocky, but you kind of stared me down all summer.”   “I thought you just got hot!”   “I did get hot.”   “You’re stupid,” Jisung huffs out.    “Is that why you like me so much?”   “Oh my god, you- mm,” Jisung is cut off by Minho’s lips on his once again, short and exaggerated as he kisses him quiet. When he pulls away, Jisung is left with a pout. “You can’t just keep doing that.”   “I don’t see why not,” Minho sing-songs. Jisung has a million things running through his mind; what does this mean for them? What happens when Minho goes back to school? What if he doesn’t get into JYPU, will they date long distance? Even if he does, will they date at all?   He doesn’t get to ask, instead interrupted by an ungodly bright set of headlights streaming through the rain as a tow-truck pulls up next to them.    “Are you the ones who need a tow?” the driver asks after rolling his window down. He looks tired and gruff, but has kind eyes and a wholesome smile.    “Yeah, my engine died or something. I don’t know the terms, I’m sorry.”   “I’m just here to tow you to the mechanic, they’ll tell you what happened in the morning. You two have someone coming to pick you up?” he asks.   “Oh- no, I didn’t realize… Shit, I’ll call an uber or something,” Minho says, scrambling for his phone.   “I can give you a lift to the shop, let’s just get this thing hooked up and then you can climb into the cab,” he says, pulling up in front of the car once Minho and Jisung make a clearing. They try to help him as much as they can, but he mostly just shoos them away when it’s clear that the boys have no idea what they’re doing. The ride to the local repair shop is relatively quiet, Minho and Jisung pressing close together in the back of the cab and shivering as their soaked suits cement onto their body. Ten minutes in, Minho lets his head drop onto Jisung’s shoulder, and it’s impossible to resist the urge to press his nose into the other boy’s hair and press a quiet kiss to his crown. The laugh Minho suppresses and breathes out through his nose is enough to make him want to do it again and again.   With the car dropped off, keys deposited into the repair shop's lockbox, and a ride home from Jisung’s mother (who seems almost as disappointed he missed prom as the couple themselves), they find themselves in Jisung’s driveway.    “Hey mom,” Jisung says, leaning from the back seat so he can perch himself on the center armrest. “I think I’m gonna go to Minho’s.”   “Don’t you want a change of clothes?”   “I’ll borrow his. Can I borrow yours?”    “You can borrow whatever my mom hasn’t tossed,” Minho replies with a laugh. “I’m sure I’ve got something.”   “Ok. Well, just come home in the morning, sweetie. Please take showers,” His mother says, giving him a quick pinch on the cheek.    “Yeah, will do. Love you!” Jisung says, hopping out of the car and running to Minho’s porch. His date runs after him, grabbing keys from his pocket to let them in as they shed their jackets and hold them outside the door to wring them as dry as possible.    “Mom!” Minho calls out, toeing off his shoes while Jisung follows. He finds his mother sitting on the living room couch, father knocked out on the recliner beside it. “Hi,” he whispers, trying not to wake the older man up, “I think Jisung is going to spend the night, ok?”   “Of course that’s fine, but why are you home?”   “Car broke down. I’m going to talk to the mechanic tomorrow.”   “How are you going to get back to school?”   “Magic carpet?” Minho tries. His mom laughs before bringing back a serious expression.   “I’m not driving you just because you didn’t get your normal maintenance done,” she scolds. “I’m too old.”   “I got my maintenance done! Can we talk tomorrow, our guest is soaking wet.”   “Jisung, why didn’t you tell him to get his maintenance done? This is your fault, too,” she says, smiling eyes giving away her strict act.    “I’m sorry, I thought since he was an adult he could handle his affairs. I see now that was foolish,” Jisung responds seriously, placing a hand on Minho’s shoulder and bowing deeply. “I’ll do better in the future.”   “Thank you. Ok, please stop leaking water all over my carpet now. Go shower!”   “Yes, mam!” Minho and Jisung call in unison before running up the stairs and into Minho’s childhood bedroom. Jisung runs in first, stopping just past the doorway to look around at the barren room.    “Woah.”   “Woah, what?” Minho asks, sliding his hands around Jisung’s waist and gently moving him forward, left cheek pressed to Jisung’s right as they meld together.    “Woah, it’s empty,” Jisung breathes out, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. Is this how Minho is in a relationship? Or whatever they’re in? Clingy and touchy and lovey-dovey in a way that’s going to make him lightheaded every time they’re close? “It’s not usually this empty, right? I’m not going crazy?”   “No, it wasn’t this empty over the summer cuz I had my stuff here. Now it’s all at the school apartment,” Minho says.    “You didn’t want to hang your dance team medals in the new apartment?” Jisung asks with a laugh, pointing to a hook with a few gold and silver awards hanging from it.   “And make my roommates jealous?”   “Exactly.”   “Maybe next year,” Minho says quietly. “You’re soaked. You should shower.”    The older boy steps away, leaving Jisung’s back cold and uncomfortable and overwhelmingly… empty. He comes back into the room a moment later, tossing a fluffy towel over Jisung’s head and taking the other for himself. Jisung watches in despair and Minho goes to his bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt, screeching when he starts to reach for the fly of his pants. “Hey! Pervert, I’m still in here, can you have a little shame?” Minho looks up, surprised, and drapes the towel over his shoulders.    “I thought you liked me for my body,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “What’s the problem?”   “The problem… I… You… You! You have no shame! Just because we… whatever. Doesn’t mean I want to see you naked.”   “Oh?”   “Well… Not yet, at least,” Jisung says, a flush coming to his cheeks. Minho cackles loudly at that, walking up to Jisung and pushing him towards the door after planting a quick peck on his cheek. “Hey, what are you doing?”   “Go shower and you don’t have to see me naked, but I’m not waiting here in soaking wet clothes while you do,” he chuckles.   “Fine.” Jisung walks down the hall to the familiar master bathroom, turning the water to scalding before stepping in and relishing in the warmth on his skin. Even the shower is different from what he remembers, his only choices for shampoo and conditioner floral-scented products that must belong to Minho’s mother or his fathers 3-in-1. He makes quick work of himself and towels off before realizing he doesn’t have a change of clothes, then sticks his head out the door.    “Minho!” he calls down the hall, trying to stay quiet enough not to wake the parents downstairs. “Can you bring me clothes?”   “Whaaaat?” he hears shouted out from the room.   “Clothes! I need clothes!”   “Oh, clothes! Coming,” Minho shouts out, coming out the door a few moments later. He chucks a set of clothing towards Jisung and retreats to his room, allowing the other to dress in peace.    It’s strange, Jisung thinks, seeing himself dressed in Minho’s old physical education tee shirt and a pair of shorts that must be just a bit too tight for the other to wear comfortably. This shirt used to hang off Minho’s scrawny shoulders, Jisung’s even more so, what with him being two years younger, but now it’s fitted and sits just right. They really have grown up.   When Minho takes over the shower, Jisung makes himself at home in his friend’s bed, like he’s done countless times before, and stares up at the ceiling. Little bits of adhesive remain from when glow-in-the-dark stars used to litter the room, and if he looks hard enough Jisung can almost swear he still sees some messy constellations grouped together.    “Hey.” Jisung is risen from his thoughts by the creaking of a door, the dip of the mattress, and Minho’s gentle voice. “Room for me?”   “It’s your bed,” Jisung says, smiling when he feels the heat of Minho’s body settled beside him. He turns to look at him, still a little startled by the proximity, but resists the urge to lean in. “So, the dates over I guess?”   “I guess so. It didn’t last that long,” Minho sighs.   “It didn’t. Was fun while it did, though.”   “I think we made the best of it.”   “Hey, are we… Am I still allowed to kiss you? Even if the date is over and the suits are off and everything?” Jisung asks hesitantly. Minho looks surprised at the question, but his expression softens quickly into something that gives Jisung comfort.   “Why? You think I only like you when you have a suit on?”   “No, er, I don’t know. What are we gonna do? Because you have to go back to school in like a day, and I don’t really know how to do this? Like, are we… what are we?”   “Minho and Jisung.”   “No, but-”   “I know what you mean,” Minho interrupts with a laugh. “I know, I’m sorry, you’re just really flustered I couldn’t help it. Are you asking if we should date?”   “I guess so? But, you’re leaving-”   “I’ll be gone for two weeks and then I’m back for the summer. We’ve been apart for far longer than that and I still had feelings for you, I don’t think that’s what’s going to make or break things.”   “Oh,” Jisung says, gulping at the honesty that Minho is still able to maintain even now. “Well, jeez. You sound like you’re in love with me or something.” Jisung tries to put on his greasiest smile, let him know it’s a joke, but Minho just looks at him blankly. “What… stop looking at me like that. You’re not in love with me, are you? Because then I’m an asshole for not noticing my best friend is in love with me-”   “Oh my god, please shut up,” Minho says, quieting Jisung with a soft kiss. “I didn’t say that.”   “Oh,” Jisung responds. He can’t help be a little disappointed by the answer, even though if Minho said yes he’s sure he would have been scared shitless. “Ok, sorry, getting ahead of myself.”   “But-”   “But?”   “But I don’t think it would be that hard. To be in love with you. If I let myself.”   Jisung feels the heat creep to his cheeks, up his neck, onto his ears. This isn’t their normal thing, it’s far too raw and tender, and he’s not sure what to say. “I see,” he hears himself squeak out before burying himself into his pillow. He feels Minho move, log rolling until he’s laid flat atop Jisung’s back with his mouth pressed into his neck. “Are you embarrassed?” the older boy whispers, breath tickling the baby hairs that lay there.   “Yes.”   “Why, are you in love with me?”   “Not yet. Maybe soon,” Jisung mumbles into the cushion.   “Should we recreate the last prom we spent together? To take the edge off?”   “Hmm?” Jisung hums in question, turning his head to the side so he can glance at Minho from his peripheral. It shouldn’t surprise him how close their faces are, but the feeling of his best friend’s lips pressing onto his cheek doesn’t seem like it’s going to lose it’s novelty any time soon. “You’re killing me with that.”   “With kissing?”   “Yes. What do you mean by ‘recreate last prom?’” Jisung asks, rolling onto his back beneath Minho so they lay chest to chest.   “Cheap rum and video games,” Minho responds, a mischievous look in his eye.   “You have a secret stash of cheap rum in your luggage?”   “I’m of age now, I don’t need a secret stash. I can just go downstairs and grab some,” Minho says proudly.    “Yeah, sure, if your mom wasn’t home or didn’t know I was here,” Jisung challenges. “You don’t have the balls to do that.”   “Wanna bet?”   “Absolutely. What do I get when I win?” Jisung asks. Minho looks thoughtfully to the side, lip between his teeth for a moment, before smiling big and bright.   “You get to be in a relationship with me.”   “And if I lose?” Jisung asks.   “You have to be in a relationship with me,” he responds.    “Well, these are big stakes. Go get it,” Jisung laughs, patting Minho on the butt before gently pushing him up. He watches fondly as Minho walks out the door, perched up on his elbows with his head tilted back as he tries to sort out his thoughts.    How did he end up here?   Minho likes him.   He likes Minho.   And they’ve somehow, in the span of one night, agreed on a relationship?   It’s all a lot to process. Before he can get too caught up in his thoughts, Minho returns with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a two-litre of Dr. Pepper in the other.    “Wow, you actually did it?” Jisung asks.   “He did not,” Jisung hears called out, sitting up straight when Mrs. Lee pushes past Minho and into the room with two glasses in hand. “My son is very handsome, but not very sneaky. You really thought he could do this?”   “No, I bet against him,” Jisung says, gulping down his fear.   “Well, you’re smart. Here’s the deal,” she says, putting the glasses down on Minho’s old desk before clapping. “If you’re going to drink in my house, there are rules.”   “We don’t have to-” Minho starts to say, only to be cut off.   “We’re past that point.”   “Ok.”   “Jisung, you get one drink. You will not tell your mother until you are in your mid thirties. You will drink water before you sleep. These are my conditions.”   “Yes mam’,” Jisung barks back.    “We can really just go without liquor, it’s not that big a deal,” Minho groans.   “That’s fine too, but Jisung is like my second son, so if he’s going to drink for the first time this is the best place to do it,” Mrs. Lee says. It makes Jisung burn with pride, even if the logic is a little bit off.   “I’ll be responsible, scout’s honor,” Jisung says, issuing his best salute.   “Thank you, Sungie,” Mrs. Lee responds with a grin. “Ok. I’m going to bed. Dad is still asleep downstairs, so if you go down there please be quiet.”   “Sure, mom,” Minho says quietly.   “Goodnight! Love you both!”   “Love you too!” Jisung answers cheerfully. Minho turns to him with a look of desperation, then to his mother.    “Love you too, mom. Goodnight.”   She leaves and Minho pours them drinks, staying faithful to one per person. Minho could have more, he’s under no rules, but the fun was more about sneaking around than the actual drinking itself. With permission the game is somewhat ruined.    “You two are ridiculous, by the way,” Minho says, arms wrapped around Jisung’s shoulders as they watch a movie, each halfway through their drinks.    “Hmm? Who?”   “You and my mother,” Minho laughs. Jisung settles into him more, back pressed against his chest as he sits between Minho’s legs.    “Our mother,” he giggles.    “Yeah, sure, our mother,” Minho says, placing a quick kiss, and then another, to the back of Jisung’s neck. It tickles, making Jisung laugh some more. He’s not drunk, just tipsy, but everything feels just a little more intense, just a little more than normal.    “It tickles,” he manages to get out between little pecks. “Get used to it, I got the liquor. You’re stuck with me now,” Minho says quietly. Jisung can feel the smile against his neck, feels the one plastered to his own lips as well, but suddenly something crosses his mind. This is good. Things feel good. But what happens if it all goes away?   “Hey, Minho,” Jisung says, leaning in the older boy’s hold to place his glass on the nightstand. He spins in his hold, sitting on his knees to face Minho head on.    “Jisung.”   “Have you thought about what happens if this… if we,” he says, pointing between the two of them, “don’t work? In a romantic way, I mean.”   “Jeez, Jisung, it’s been like three hours. Do we have to think about that?” Minho asks, leaning in for a kiss. Jisung returns it, almost lets himself get caught up, but the little voice in his head doesn’t let him.   “No, seriously,” he says, breaking away. “What happens?”   “Why are you asking this right now?”   “Well, for example. Your mom. Our families. We’re close, really close, she’s seriously like my second mom. I told her I wasn’t straight before my own mother. If we break up and get all nasty and hate each other, do I have to lose my second mom?” Jisung asks. “Does that make sense?”   “That won’t happen,” Minho says, jaw clenched firmly. “It could never.”   “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want that either,” Jisung says, putting on his most soothing voice. “But there’s no guarantee we’re going to be as seamless a couple as we are as friends. What if I’m a bad boyfriend?”   “Jisung, I have known you your entire life,” Minho starts. “And for the record, I don’t think you’ll be a bad boyfriend. But if, if you are, then we will figure it out. Regardless of the label, we are Minho and Jisung. And I want you to be my boyfriend. And if that doesn’t work, well, it will be something we tried our best at.”   “And then what would happen?”   “Then we would still be Minho and Jisung. We would be friends again, knowing we gave it a shot, and if there was some reason it didn’t work then at least we tried. I’m not going anywhere.”   “Oh,” Jisung says, the space behind his eyes burning. “Oh. Ok, I’m not either. Minho and Jisung,” he repeats.   “That’s us,” Minho says, a smile soft on his lips. He lays them down carefully after that, sensing that it’s time for the movie to be off and for them to get some rest. It’s been a long day, after all. Jisung spends the night tucked into Minho’s arms, foreheads pressed to foreheads, lips pressed to lips, hearts pressed to hearts as they fade into slumber.   The Day After Prom   Eighteen years of friendship and close proximity have been the perpetrators of many a sleepover between Jisung and Minho, but nothing could have quite prepared Jisung for the way his heart would race waking up wrapped up in his best friend like this. Best friend? Boyfriend?   “Hey, Minho,” Jisung whispers, wiggling in Minho’s arms to try to wake him gently. His eyelids flutter gently and nose scrunches cutely as he starts to come back to consciousness.    “Hmmm?”   “It’s morning.”   “Hmm? Oh, morning,” Minho repeats, shuffling Jisung closer into his hold and digging his nose into his hair. “Wait, it’s morning.”   “Yeah, morning,” Jisung giggles, pressing a short kiss to the column of Minho’s neck. It’s still a little bit embarrassing, but god is it going to be a fun new way to torment Minho and make him flush red.   “It’s morning, and you’re still…” Minho trails off, putting a hand on either of Jisung’s shoulders and pushing him back to take a look at his face.   “I’m still?”   “With me,” Minho says quietly. Jisung laughs and cups his face, squishing it into something dumb and mishhapen.    “You thought I’d change my mind? How could I deny this handsomeness?” he asks, moving his boyfriend’s cheeks around.    “I thought- stop that. I thought it may have been a dream or something.”   “No dream, like you said, we’re stuck together,” Jisung says, finally leaning in to give Minho a peck on the lips. “Even though your breath tastes like garbage.”   “It’s morning,” Minho protests, rolling over to sit up and get out of bed. “Let me brush my teeth.”   “You got a spare for me?” Jisung asks.   “You live like thirty seconds away, I’m not wasting a toothbrush on you,” Minho calls back. “I’ll be right back.”   Jisung stretches and gets himself out of bed, feeling his suit to find it still slightly wet and digging through Minho’s closet for an old hoodie to borrow. They’re mostly small and raggedy, but he finds one that’s the right size and whose only flaw is a ketchup stain on the front and pulls it on for the time being. “You’re stealing my clothing now?” Minho asks upon returning to the room.   “Nothing new, I’ve always stolen your clothing,” Jisung says smugly.    “Hmm, true. I have to go to the mechanic shop soon,” Minho says.   “Want me to come with?”   “You don’t have homework?”   “Not really, just studying. They went a little light on us for prom weekend,” Jisung responds.    “Ok. Why don’t you go home and change, we can borrow my mom’s car to drive and get breakfast and then go see if Nelson is really dead?”   “God I hope he isn’t,” Jisung says, placing a hand over his heart. “He’s far too young to die.”   “He’s almost as old as you,” Minho laughs.   “I’m too young to die too. And too pretty,” Jisung says, framing his face with his hands.   “Uh-huh,” Minho deadpans. “You’ll be prettier if you go brush your teeth and change.”   “On it,” Jisung says, pulling Minho in for one quick peck on the cheek and running out the door with his suit in hand. He checks his phone as he darts down the stairs, seeing it’s only about nine in the morning, and tries to keep quiet as he unlocks his front door. It’s warm today, skies blue without a cloud in sight, and the only thing he has to watch out for are the giant mud puddles that have been formed by last night's rain.    Inside he hears his father in the kitchen, pouring coffee by the sounds of things, and calls out a greeting before running upstairs. He hangs his suit and changes into his own clean clothing, then makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He’s glad he followed Mrs. Lee’s water drinking rule last night, the half-drink of alcohol he’d consumed not leaving a trace of itself as a hangover. In fact, looking in the mirror, he looks more alive than he ever has. There’s no question in his mind why.    When Jisung gets downstairs to chat with his parents, they’re both sitting at the kitchen table, a large envelope sat in front of them.    “Uh, good morning?” Jisung tries hesitantly, unsure what he’s done to deserve such a threatening stance this early.    “Good morning,” Jisung’s mother parrots, sliding the envelope towards him and gesturing to a chair. “Guess what showed up last night?”   “No way,” Jisung whispers to himself, taking a seat and looking over the paper. Embossed on the top is the JYP University emblem, addressed to one Han Jisung. “It’s thick.”   “That’s a good thing,” his father says, giving him an encouraging smile. “Could be admission papers.”   “Or the longest letter of rejection ever,” Jisung grimaces.   “If you were rejected, they’d have told you that a long time ago. You’re wait-listed, I think this can only be good,” his mother says firmly.    “You really think?”   “I do,” she confirms. Jisung picks the envelope up, weighing it in his hands. It’s heavy, too, and the paper is smooth and high-quality under his fingers. “I’m scared.”   “Don’t be scared, if it’s anything bad, at least you’ll finally know,” his father says. Jisung nods and tears the top, reaching in to pull the packet out before stopping himself.    This is it. If it says yes, he gets to go to his dream school, study away from home, be back with Minho. If it says anything else, he’s shit out of luck.    “I think,” Jisung says hesitantly, hoping he won’t step on any toes. “I just think maybe, since Minho goes there, he’ll be good… support? Do you mind if I don’t open these here? He opened his letter with me.”   “You want to open it with Minho?” Jisung’s mother repeats. Jisung nods meekly, putting the envelope back down. After last night, Minho deserves to know just as much as him.    “Yeah. Is that ok?”   “Well, can you do it soon? I want to know too, you’re my son!”    “I’ll do it now!” Jisung says, standing up from the table and grabbing the papers. “Right now. And I’ll let you know as soon as I do!”   “You’ve got this,” his father says. Jisung nods again, walking at a controlled pace towards his front door and stopping for nothing before darting outside and down the sidewalk, taking a slightly longer route to Minho’s porch to avoid the muddy lawn. He knocks on the door, relieved when Minho is the one to answer it and step outside.    “Hey, you… you don’t have shoes on again! Jesus, Jisung, I really-”   “Look what came,” Jisung interrupts, holding the packet in front of Minho’s face.    “What the- JYPU? What did they say? You got in?” Minho asks excitedly.   “I haven’t opened it yet.”   “Why the fuck not?”   “I wanted to open it with you,” Jisung says, a nervous grin taking over his face. “Please? I need help.”   “If you can’t open an envelope, I don’t see how you’ll succeed in college,” Minho says, eyebrows raised jokingly.   “Oh, come on. I can open an envelope-”   “Then open it, Jisung. It’s ok. We’ll be fine either way,” he says softly. Jisung inhales deeply and pulls the packet out of the envelope, handing the empty paper over to Minho. He flips the lettering towards himself, finally gaining the courage to look down and read.    “Dear Han Jisung. We are pleased to- OH MY GOD!”   “THEY ARE PLEASED TO WHAT?”   “We are pleased to tell you that a spot at the prestigious JYP University has opened up in your name should you choose to take it- Minho, oh my god! Oh my god!”    “I told you!” Minho shouts, closing the door all the way behind him and pulling Jisung into a hug. Jisung pulls away briefly to place the packet down on the stoop, then wraps his arms around Minho again.    “I know you told me, but oh my GOD, I got in!” Jisung shouts back, leaning back so he can look at Minho and leaning in to press their lips together without thinking twice. Minho smiles into it, lowering his grip on Jisung so he can lift him off the ground and walk them down the porch to move freely. Jisung laughs as he feels Minho spin them round, all while pressing thousands of tiny little kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He can’t suppress his whooping and laughter as he lets himself be smothered, only stopping it to give the same to Minho.    “We’re going to be in the same school,” he mumbles into his boyfriend’s lips.   “I know,” Minho mumbles back.   “No long distance.”   “We can have movie nights whenever we want. On my comfy couch.”   “Is that couch available to crash on?” Jisung asks.   “Yeah, but so is my bed,” Minho whispers.   “Hey, what’s all the screaming- Oh!” A shrill voice calls out, startling the two into pulling away.    “Mom!” Jisung gasps, quickly freeing himself from Minho’s hold. “Ah, hi! I got in!”   “Well that’s wonderful, dear! I told you it would be good news!” his mother calls out, walking closer towards them while staying on the sidewalk. “Anything else?”   “Oh, um-” Jisung stutters. He looks at the position he and Minho are in now, thinks of the one they were probably in when his mother first saw them. There’s really no use lying. “I think- Er, I know, uh-”   “I finally convinced Jisung to date me,” Minho cuts in.    “Oh good! This is incredible,” Mrs. Han cheers out, clapping and bouncing on her toes. “Finally, I can claim Minho as my third son!”   “We’re not engaged, mom!” Jisung cries out.   “Oh please, you will be. Minho, you let your mom know she owes me a bottle of wine. Actually, I’ll text her, don’t worry about it,” she says, retreating back into their house.    “Did my mother know you had a thing for me?” Jisung asks, looking at Minho in shock.    “I think she assumed as such,” Minho admits. “Actually, I know she did. She called me once to ask about it.”   “What? You’re kidding! When?”   “Right after you came out to her. She called and asked if I was the reason,” Minho says with a chuckle.   “But- but that was over a year and a half ago!”   “I know, baby,” Minho coos, kissing him on the lips sweetly. “Must have been mother’s intuition. She knew I’d be useless to anyone else.”   “I love you,” Jisung blurts out. “I mean, not like- we talked last night, so I don’t mean I’m in love with you, or not yet, or whatever. But I love you, as my best friend of eighteen years. I’m really glad we get to go to school together.”   There’s shock on Minho’s face and a blush crawling up his neck, but when he regains himself he smiles so wide his eyes become crescent moons, just like the one he’d laid his faith in three nights before. Jisung intends to hold onto the relationship as long as he possibly can.    “Well, as your best friend of eighteen years, I love you too. The first two without you were ever so boring. And as your boyfriend, I couldn’t be more excited to fall in love with you.”   “That’s cheesy.”   “It is. Go put some shoes on and come with me on our first breakfast date, then we’ll see what we can do about this car,” Minho laughs.   104 Days After Prom   104 days after Han Jisung’s senior prom, on his nineteenth birthday, he sits on a comfortable couch in a 2-bedroom college apartment, wrapped in the arms of Lee Minho. Maybe this is the start of their true new chapter, because as he looks into his boyfriend’s eyes, Han Jisung is undeniably in love.  

4:11pm T-minus three hours and fifty minutes: Neito makes the conscious decision to walk into the party, or rather, stalk straight to where Kendou and Shiozaki are, and tries to ignore the blood roaring in his ears. The amount of rational thoughts in his head right at that moment is to a good, clear zero and he feels like he should be worried about other things that aren’t Shinsou’s sudden, unwelcome presence but can’t quite remember what they were. And so onward he goes, fuelled by what suspiciously feels like pure, unfiltered teenage adrenaline. Tokage cautiously follows, ready to catch him if he decides to topple backwards or something.   “Well, don’t you look all nice and handsome today?” is the first thing Kendou teasingly says to him and for a second, Neito barely hears her. It takes another second for his brain to log back in after the Big-Shinsou-Shock and by then, he finds that she’s got him bent forwards and gathered in a hug that’s less of a head-lock than usual. He can’t immediately tell if he initiated it himself. That information is forever lost in the void. “Efforts were made, huh?” “Yeah. Happy birthday.” He doesn’t have a single clue why she seems to be teasing him in a tone that implies she knows something she doesn’t. Not that he can really focus on anything currently; all he really consciously finds in himself to do is pat the back of her head awkwardly before pulling back and taking a good look at her. She looks nice, girlier than she ever has and nicer than he ever will, sitting there surrounded by her friends in a peach pink dress and a teasing, bright smile. It’s almost hard to tell, looking at her in that moment, that her favourite hobby is actually periodically beating the shit out of him no less than three times a week. Give or take. “Efforts really were put in, I see,” Kendou seems to be teetering on the edge of straight-up laughing in his face. Neito almost says it as a knee-jerk reaction; a teasing you don’t look so bad yourself tonight, miss brute nearly makes it to the tip of his tongue before he catches it and shoves it back down his throat. It would make Kendou come for his throat for sure. He can just bully her later when she’s free to beat him half to death. He’s generous, really. She’s so lucky because all he says is, “You look really nice.” He shrugs with a smile—he hopes it isn’t more of a grimace—when Kendou thanks him, still with the same teasing lilt to her voice like she’s somehow making fun of him without being serious about it, and then he turns to Shiozaki who looks equally blinding in a white-dress. The pair of them are surrounded by so many girls, Neito feels like he’s looking straight into an explosion of colour. He tries very hard not to look any of them in the eyes, especially the girls from 1-A, because he’s not feeling emotionally stable enough to spare their feelings. Instead, he turns to Shiozaki with a bowed head. “Happy birthday, Shiozaki-san,” he says as politely as he can, putting both his hands together and bowing the way she usually does with his eyes trained somewhere on her lap. Shiozaki, bless her, bows back with no extra words other than a very dreamy, “Thank you, Monoma-san.” And just like that, Neito’s work in this particular corner is done, at least for a while. He straightens up and faintly wishes there was a way to avoid everyone at this party from this point on; there is something very unenjoyable about having to pretend he is eerily calm and serene while his blood pressure is surpassing human limits. Is it too late to bolt? “You guys have a good time,” he says in a tone that’s more clipped than he intends it to be, but really, he’s just working hard on not throwing up. With another nod to Shiozaki and a scathing look at Kendou who can’t keep her smirk down for some reason, he makes to walk off to the corner where he is to be shunned with the rest of the guys. He’s taken barely five steps off when one of the girls breaks into hysterical giggles and the rest follow, and suddenly they begin talking over each other. Neito, not interested and two seconds away from either dying or crying due to other very unrelated reasons, keeps walking. “Oh my god, was that really 1-B Monoma-,” “He just walked over-,” “So calm!” “Why was he not yelling!?”   Seriously fuck everyone in 1-A.   “It was kind of macho!” “Kendou, he gave you a hug-,” “None of the others-,” “It was cute!” “The rules, though-,” “We had rules?” “About the guys! It’s a woman-only event for the start of the-,” That’s Ashido from 1-A, that little shit. “I didn’t know what he wanted, he just ran over it was honestly kind of brave-,”   Ah, fucking hell. Women.   “Well, he’s allowed, him and Kendou-,” he hears Tokage begin sharply but she’s quickly drowned out. He adjusts his god-forsaken cardigan—seriously this thing just won’t stay on—and reminds himself to later thank her for defending him and also tell her off for not telling him there were rules about approaching the girls or something. Provided he’d just stalked over fuelled by pure impulse with the presence of Shinsou lighting an immediate fire under his ass, but how the hell was he meant to know he couldn’t just walk up to them? He wasn’t even really seeing anything in that moment. It was either walk into the party or run up the stairs, miss Kendou’s birthday-party and cry off the makeup Tokage had put very painstakingly put on him.   4:13pm T-minus three hours and forty-eight minutes: Mildly offended and swallowing the urge to go over and Ashido Mina from 1-A who seemed to have shit to say about him in his own abode, Neito walks over to the boys corner to be shunned with the rest of them. He resolutely tries to not even glance in the general direction he remembers Shinsou being. Awase seems very angry and is making lots of hand gestures at Tetsutetsu who looks sympathetic. This entire class is an embarrassment.   Neito isn’t sure why it doesn’t hit him right in that moment when he’s still a semi-respectable distance from the rest of the boys and there is still time to salvage his reputation and his pride. It’s most-likely his hyper-awareness of the fact that the universe hates him and of the fact that Shinsou somehow managed to end up here at a 1-B Birthday Party where he has no business being simply because God is playing a really bad game of Sims with Neito’s life. That nonsense has brought with it a kind of all-consuming nausea and rushing of blood straight to his brain that he’s fairly sure may prove fatal in other circumstances. But he is, like someone from 1-A had once put it, an annoying cockroach. He does not die easy. And so, maybe it’s because he’s too busy trying to keep it together while also trying not to leg it upstairs or maybe he’s just a bumbling idiot—seriously, he’s established this so it might be that. Maybe it’s just because two full days in Tokage’s company has him fucked up and he hasn’t quite picked up the pieces of his life from her sudden intrusion into every aspect of it. Whatever the case, Neito doesn’t quite realise that he has makeup on his face or rather doesn’t realise the gravity of that fact, not even when he’s close enough to the boys that he can sort of pick up on their conversations and the girls’ giggling is mostly faint. No one is paying much attention to him right at the moment of approach. Kuroiro, Kaibara and Tsuburaba are still huddled together and whispering, presumably hyping up the infamous you-know-who and ignoring the shitstorm brewing right in their side (and god, does Neito want to know so badly who that person is when he’s feeling less shitty). Rin, Shishida and Shoda seem to be talking to Awase, who has now gone from venting to Tetsutetsu to looking like he wants to physically rain the wrath of everything holy on— On…well. On Neito’s personal you-know-who. Neito resolutely continues to not look in that particular direction and keeps walking, unsure of whether his brain would actually explode if he snuck a glance. This week just doesn’t know how to end. “I’m just saying this is an insult to everything that happened! What are you not understanding?!” “Please keep your voice down, no one is saying-,” “To invite him here, especially after what he did to Shoda-kun even if we’re not taking into consideration what he did to Monoma-kun! How did Tokage-san even let him in? Like-,” “It’s really alright. I’m completely over it,” Shoda tries very feebly and gets flat-out ignored. Neito’s stomach lurches and he can swear he tastes bile for a split-second—god, he keeps forgetting about that sports festival mess. Paired with the numbness that seems to be creeping over his ears, and he has no idea what the hell that’s meant to signify, he almost thinks he feels a bit faint. That, and the fact that Tokage let him in- Of course, that’s nothing compared to the ice-cold feeling that engulfs him when Honenuki, being the first to notice his approach, locks eyes with him and subsequently makes a face. Not a bad one, just…a face. Neito racks his brain to think of why that might be and still his brain doesn’t realise, too busy trying to process the chaotic back-and-forth happening in front of him. With how much is going on, he’s not sure who he should look at. Definitely not at Honenuki, he consciously decides, who is now staring holes into the general vicinity of his face. Definitely not there. Maybe the wall? The wall seems safe. And so, Neito stands where he is, stares at the wall above the couch where Awase is continuing to preach at the loudest quiet-volume he can manage, which is not very quiet at all, and hopes someone other than Honenuki notices him soon because he’s not quite sure how to announce himself and Honenuki isn’t saying shit. “Not only that, but we do need to take into consideration what he did—I mean, have we really forgotten what he did to Monoma-kun? That was on Wednesday, I’m sure it’s still fresh in our-,”   Ah fuck, that mess.   “Well technically, he didn’t do anything to Monoma exactly, that was just-,” “Don’t defend him, Rin-kun!” Awase hisses—no really, he hisses like a very angry cat—and flails his arms around so aggressively, Shishida has to duck to avoid being smacked in the face. Neito doesn’t exactly blame Awase for being so worked up—he did get into a fight with Shinsou that no one asked him to get into and is currently undergoing detention doing god knows what—but the whole scenario is still dramatic and stupid and Neito hates teenagers more than any other demographic in the world. Did he even ask Awase to defend his honour even though he was kind of flattered it happened? No, he did not, not on Wednesday and definitely not now in the middle of a birthday party. Time and place. Time and place. Granted no one expected Shinsou to show up but isn’t this…this loud, idiotic argument that can honestly wait until tomorrow…isn’t this going too far? Neito’s entire being decides that his brain is way too mushy and overwhelmed by Shinsou’s appearance to deal with this nonsense. Suddenly, he understands the appeal Kendou sees in beating the shit out of him whenever he opens his mouth. Maybe he should do that. To Awase, not to himself. “I was there, I know what he did!” Awase is saying when Neito’s brain logs back on, seemingly having missed a sizeable chunk of the conversation. “And to invite him here which okay, I get no one knew about, but for Tokage-san to let him into a party, a safe space for us, shouldn’t she have known better? I mean, aren’t Monoma-kun and her…the two of them-,” The two of them. The two of them. The two of them? The two of them.   Ah fuck. So that’s what he’d been forgetting.   He is, in that moment, full-force with the memory of the disbelieving outrage Tokage and him had left behind and not stuck around to see that had somehow temporarily escaped his mind the second he had seen Shinsou. Neito has to physically tackle the urge to get on his knees and start praying to the higher power that has suddenly made his life ten times more hellish. Goddamn you Tokage. These people think—well of course, they would, but they genuinely think…and to think that that had slipped Neito’s mind for a second when he’d been fully prepared to deal with it all while getting ready…really, he deserves everything that comes at him if this is how he’s going to act because of nothing but a boy… “Shut up about that!” Rin exclaims; the argument is still going on in the background while Neito thinks and overthinks because the world doesn’t stop even when he needs a break to sort his thoughts out. He’s shocked and offended. “We all decided not to say anything about that!” “When did we do that!?” Monoma squints at the wall, wondering if he’s just gone permanently stupid or something. He should announce himself if there is a lull in the conversation he thinks, but then again, should he really have to? It’s a small miracle no one’s noticed him thus far with how big he is and standing less than two feet away from them. Is it his fault they’re blind and having the stupidest, most juvenile conversation he’s ever had the opportunity of hearing? Neito isn’t sure what he expects from his classmates, his stupid ragtag teenage companions who seem to share two braincells amongst each other on a given day, but this whole thing is dumb and the bar for their stupidity is literally in hell at this point. Sighing and threatening his cardigan with death if it slips down one more goddamn time, Neito gives up, nervously flexes his fingers and prepares to alert them to his presence before they all die of individual brain aneurysms. Depending on how put together he feels later, he might even clear up their stupid misunderstanding about him and Tokage but that all depends on whether his brain decides if it’s functional enough or not. The answer is no. The answer is always no. “No, no we did talk about that,” Kamakiri butts in right as Neito shuffles closer to the scene and Kaibara stops whispering to look directly at him. At least someone isn’t blind. As always, Kamakiri doesn’t seem to have any fear for his life, what with how he willingly attracts Awase’s attention onto himself when the other boy seems to be channelling the indignant fury of ten thousand suns. Neito sighs. “Did what?” “Decided not to bring it up in front of- why are you glaring at me?” “When?” “When?” Kamakiri seems thrown for only a second before he recovers. “Before the party started. You were there. Wait, what are you asking?” Neito sighs again, rubs the back of his head to discreetly assess the state of his brain—it’s a no-go but does he have a choice?—and defeatedly opens his mouth to announce himself, if for nothing than to put them out of their collective miseries that they seem to be swimming in solely because of him. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. He’s gone stupid, probably from being in their constant presence for months, and maybe it’s still not too late to just run and go lie down. Only Honenuki and Kaibara seem to have noticed him lurking near them stupidly, because everyone else is blind and idiotic, and if he booked it right now, who would realistically be able to stop him? He’s already wished Kendou, his brain feels like a pile of clouds and he is woefully unprepared to deal with…boys. Yeah. Maybe he really should go.   And to think they think he’s dating Tokage. Fuck, he can’t even entertain that thought.   As it turns out however, the universe decides—for him like always, which is very rude because he would like a choice in his own matters—right at the second the thought of escaping even vaguely crosses his mind that he has not quite suffered enough. And so, two things happen in quick succession. The first is Awase making a noise that is something of a cross between a squawk and a hiss. “I am asking-,” he starts, sounding more indignant than he realistically should to the point where Neito thinks that even he doesn’t know what exactly he’s pissed at. It’s all a bunch of misplaced anger.   The second thing is— The second thing is Honenuki. For god’s sake, Honenuki. Neito is about ready to flee, consequences be damned, if only temporarily to the bathroom so he can breathe properly when Honenuki opens his mouth and ruins it all.   “Monoma,” he abruptly blurts out and it’s hard to tell if he’s calling out to Neito or if he’s simply alerting the others to his presence; either way, he effectively manages to cut Awase off mid-sentence and everyone, who had been blind up until that moment, turns to look at Neito at the same time in near perfect harmony wearing expressions like they’ve never seen Neito before in their lives. Even Kuroiro and Tsuburaba stop whispering. Neito, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights even though he has quite literally made the decision to walk over here willingly, stupidly pauses where he is and makes the conscious decision to peel his gaze away from the wall and onto Rin who seems to be the safest option. Rin gawks at him. Neito, staying as still as possible to not look compromised, stares back and bravely resists the urge to curse when his cardigan slips down his shoulder in favour of pooling around the curve of his elbow. Again. “I-,” Slightly unnerved, Neito feebly starts with not a clue of what he wants to say when no one moves or speaks for a solid three seconds. As it turns out, he doesn’t need to worry about it, because the next second—as if they’ve been spurred into action by the sound of his voice—almost all the boys start talking over each other. Neito really ought to- “When’d you get here?” says Awase, sounding semi-incredulous and looking incredibly guilty as he slowly lowers himself down onto the couch from where he’d been standing on it to argue with everyone, shoes and all. “We were just-,” Rin sputters. “Swear you were just over there with the girls, how you move so quick-,” “Mans materialised.” “Wow, you look nice,” Tetsutetsu bellows, completely off topic as always. “On god, I didn’t even see him coming.” “No for real, I didn’t even realise you were there-,” “You made it! Wasn’t sure you were going to survive going over to the girls. Kamakiri-kun got thrown across half the room when he made his valiant attempt-,” And just like that, the conversation derails entirely. “No I didn’t, what the fuc- That was you.” “Lies,” Tsuburaba says breezily, waving a hand around. “Anyway, you’re so brave, Monoma-kun!” “Doesn’t he look nice!?” “Why are you lying in my name-,” “Monoma! You look really nice!” Tetsutetsu adds, as if he hasn’t been heard the first time and gets promptly drowned out. Neito suddenly has even less of a clue as to what the fuck is happening—does he ever?—but at some point, Rin reaches in to grab him by the wrist and he willingly lets himself be pulled along right into the center of the chaos. He has no choice anyway with how disoriented he feels, like he’s being mentally pulled in five different directions at once. “Thank you,” he manages to belatedly wheeze in Tetsutetsu’s general direction, who seems to be complimenting him every two seconds like he’s being paid to do it, and lets himself be deposited in the middle of the couch on his ass in a vaguely uncomfortable sitting position. At least he thinks he manages to say something. Whether the “thank you” actually makes it past his mouth is debatable at best. Not that anyone notices or even appears to care, what with how loud everyone is being as if the mere sight of his presence has shocked them into very loud motion so hard, they’re not sure how to stop. Neito isn’t even sure who is saying what anymore, but he thinks he catches undertones of guilt to Awase and Rin’s voices who are being the loudest. It’s almost as if they’re trying to overcompensatingly drown out everyone else with stupid nonsense—for whatever fucking reason—but are somehow managing to get drowned out themselves by Kamakiri and Tsuburaba who are now having the world’s stupidest back and forth. Neito can’t hear it. Neito can’t hear much really, overwhelmed and tired and Shinsou-compromised and wondering why the universe punishes him like this when he really can’t handle it. All he can do is settle down into the couch cushions and wait until everyone settles down so he can at least get a fucking word in without being talked over. Resolutely, he refuses to look to his left lest he catch sight of anything remotely resembling Shinsou in any capacity. He doesn’t think he is in the right mental space to deal with that. Not yet at least.   4:29pm T-minus three hours and thirty-two minutes: The very belated realisation that he is, in fact, wearing makeup hits directly after Neito falsely thinks he might actually survive the night. Honenuki seems to lose all sense of tact at least twice a month for whatever reason. These two occurrences are very mutually exclusive. A cause and effect, if you will. To be fair to Honenuki, he lasts a whole sixteen minutes without opening his mouth, even though the curiosity had to have been killing him. Neito, whose brain had barely started calming down, goes back to wanting to sink into a hole and dying right there.   The boys calm down and regain their heads quicker than Neito had thought they would. After a consistent two minutes of scream-talking, everyone goes back to doing what they were before Neito disturbed their peace. Rin, Shishida and Shoda pick up whatever conversation they were having before. Awase settles down and grumpily puts his earbuds in and Tetsutetsu takes it upon himself to annoy the living life of him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Kuroiro, Kaibara and Tsuburaba go back to whispering amongst themselves, while Kamakiri breaks off from the group to surgically attach himself to the snacks table. No one asks Neito any unnecessary questions and he is surprisingly left in peace after they forcibly sit him down and talk directly into his ears for a few minutes. All is well; it gives Neito time to calm his nerves and attempt to figure out exactly what he’s feeling and why—he comes up with jack shit, so he drops the matter entirely and just…tries not to think. Difficult, considering Shinsou is right there, but he’ll manage. Probably. After a few minutes of absolutely nothing and no one bothering him, he even allows himself to get a little comfortable and by the time Honenuki’s internal reasoning seems to say “fuck it” and die off, Neito has pulled out his phone and is currently looking at pictures of corgis as he usually does in his free time. God, he loves looking at corgis. It’s been his one coping mechanism since he was old enough to know that there is this thing called the internet and that you can look at Anything You Want on there. So, here he is. However, there is no denying that despite the fact that they seem to have settled down outwardly, there is a strange elephant in the room; a tension within the group is stretched taut and threatening to snap at any given moment that everyone, including Neito, seems to be collectively ignoring. He thinks he knows what it is, sure that they’re dying to ask about Tokage and his non-existent relationship with her, but he’s not absolutely positive and so he simply doesn’t bring it up. Why would he hack an axe into his own foot when everyone seems to be giving him a wide berth? It’s not like he wants to interact with people particularly in that moment. It’s hard enough, simply forcing himself to ignore Shinsou’s existence and maintaining his usual cool, unbothered exterior so Awase doesn’t fly off the handle again. God forbid he finds out that Neito is in fact very bothered by Shinsou being at this party. He might actually commit murder. And so, Neito sits where he is, is grateful everyone is keeping their mouths shut and tries to cling onto the rapidly dissipating remnants of his good mood, determined to make it through the night. He saw Shinsou, he knew the consequences, knew what hell the past week had rained on him, and still made the conscious decision to come and face it with bravery he knows he doesn’t possess. He’s here now. And he has corgi pictures. For a second, everything seems like it’ll be alright. Neito thinks he might actually survive and get good food and cake out of this torturous venture. And then Honenuki ruins his prospects for a second time that night. Here’s the thing about Honenuki: he’s whip-smart academically. Does really well on tests, got in on recommendations, helps out with homework if you ask, fights really good. That sort of thing. Neito is very grateful for his existence most of the time because he’s good at being a leader and keeping everyone chill. Very nice boy, if a little clueless sometimes. But here’s the other thing about Honenuki that makes up more of his personality than the aforementioned: he is so goddamn tactless. He is where situational awareness goes to die; has never read a room in his life. He says what he wants to say when he wants to say it, he does what he wants to do when he wants to do it and that’s just how it is. Neito doesn’t know if he’s just that confident in the things he says or does or if he’s genuinely oblivious. Either way, his power is feared throughout 1-B and most words that come out of his mouth are absolute adventures to witness. So, it’s only right that he be the one to break the false sense of peace. “So…Monoma-kun,” he starts very casually, twiddling his thumbs and Neito reluctantly peels his attention away from Corgi-In-The-Field-Number-55, instantly somewhat on his guard. Honenuki is looking at him with a faint sense of scrutiny in his eyes but he’s got a smile on his face—as much as his mouth allows him, anyway. Neito swallows and locks his phone without breaking eye-contact. “Yes?” Honenuki stares at him for a second, as if he’s contemplating things, before something in his eyes shifts. Fuck it, he seems to decide. “I was just wondering…,” “Yes?” Neito repeats, feeling himself sweat a little but surprisingly, there is no imminent freak out brewing as far as he can tell. He knows Honenuki is probably going to say something about Tokage and dating and yada-yada-yada, all things he can handle and answer adequately since there’s nothing to hide. Plus, the remnants of his good mood are still lingering somewhere in there, he hasn’t had the urge to stare at Shinsou in a bit and the corgis have helped immensely, so he’s more or less stable and ready- Honeuki reaches out and strokes a thumb over the bridge of his nose. Neito, who had unfortunately taken that moment to inhale, chokes on his own breath as it wheezes its way past his throat. The scattered conversations around them screech to a halt immediately. Eavesdropping, nosy assholes; not that Neito can care about that when he swears he feels his heart stop for a second before it starts back up ten times faster than before. Just absolutely thundering in his chest. He’s not upset. He’s not anxious. Okay, maybe he’s a little anxious but people have touched him before—obviously—and Tokage has put her hands on him so much over the weekend, he’s basically desensitised. It’s fine. Touching. Cool. Touching cool. That’s a sentiment. Yeah. Well, boys don’t touch him on the face if he can help it, never have if he doesn’t count certain incidents and probably never will, but that’s definitely a sentiment. Honenuki retracts his thumb and looks closely at it once before humming in…Neito doesn’t know what emotion that is…before lifting his thumb toward Neito who’s currently (unsuccessfully) trying to stop all the blood he has in his body from rushing to his face. Confused. That’s the emotion he’s feeling. Confused and maybe flustered. The silence around them is deafening. The girls stir up a racket on the far end of the room, oblivious. “I had a feeling you had something on your face,” Honenuki says, tone still casual like he hasn’t just done the equivalent of shooting Neito in the face at point-blank range. “What is that, man?” His thumb is still up, now closer to Neito’s face than before and he has to physically force his brain to pick up the pieces of his scattered sanity to even attempt to process what Honenuki wants him to see. It’s harder than it should be, but Neito manages to focus on the pad of the thumb that is now almost fully in his face; the pad of the thumb that has something pink smeared all over it. Neito furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he attempts to put a leash on his straying thought-process. No boy has ever touched him on the nose, never mind stroke down the bridge like that all tender-like, so he figures the response is normal but fucking hell. Is he panting? He can’t tell. He might be. The pink thumb hovers in front of him. Honenuki looks curious, the dickhead. “What…is what?” Neito’s voice comes out garbled when he bravely forces himself to say something, and for a second, he has no idea what he’s said. Honenuki, deciding not to help whatsoever, simply reaches in and strokes his face again but this time over the area of his right cheek. Neito blushes so fiercely, he feels almost light-headed. “What-,” “This pink stuff on your face!” Honenuki says matter-of-factly, promptly talking over Rin who tries to rise from the dead (conversation) to intervene. “It’s all over your cheeks, I’ve been looking at it for a bit now I can’t figure it out! What is it?” Neito, confusion now mixed with mild concern, raises his hands to his cheeks and covers them. He has no immediate idea what the fuck Honenuki means. The accursed thumb comes back to hover in front of his face, this time pinker than before. “See?” “Honenuki-kun, holy shit you can’t just-,” “Um,” Neito mumbles, rubbing lightly at his cheeks. The tips of his fingers also come back pink, and for one blissful moment, he is completely unaware and frankly kind of thrown as to what the hell it could be. “What the hell was that?” “Can you guys really not see- here look, there’s something on his face!” Honenuki holds his thumb up and Awase leans in to squint at it. Realisation hits Neito somewhat abruptly as the conversation picks up again, though this time centered around Honenuki’s…whatever the hell that was. No one pays attention to Neito who was also in the center of the bullshit and whose ears are currently burning with the force of a thousand suns as shame and embarrassment hurtles into him like a truck, along with realisation as to just what exactly Kendou had been teasing him about. His mind must’ve been real fucked up if he forgot about literal makeup on his face— For fuck’s sake, Tokage. In the commotion of well…everything, coupled with the fact that Neito has been working really hard for the past few minutes to ignore that Shinsou generally exists as a person, the whole “let-me-shove-you-into-a-closet-and-put-stuff-on-you-before-asking-first” thing somehow slipped his mind completely. As he sits there, both hands on his cheeks and face absolutely flaming, he realises that he doesn’t actually know why Tokage had done that. He needs to ask her later. He needs—   Well, he doesn’t feel as fucked up as he probably should be feeling considering a boy has just touched his face that has makeup on it. Sure, there’s a tight knot in his chest and he can’t find the last of his good mood anywhere, Honenuki’s stunt having successfully dissipated whatever was leftover. There’s anxiety and definite shame somewhere in there, he feels kind of cold and light-headed. But he’s not as fucked up about it as he should be. Something about that pisses him off. What, so now he can’t even find it in himself to be anxious properly? Disgusting. “It is kind of pink,” Awase is saying when Neito’s brain decides that now is not the time to fold in on itself and logs back on. He looks at Honenuki’s thumb contemplatively and then up at Neito, squinting slightly with his Shinsou-spite temporarily forgotten. “He does look kind of pink around the-,” He gestures vaguely to his own face. “Right? I’ve been looking for a while, I couldn’t figure out what it was!” Neito, who is being talked about like he isn’t sitting right there, scrambles to take a hold of the situation before it shoots in three different directions. This is the exact problem he has with almost everyone in 1-B. He loves them and considers them friends on good days, but they’re all so stupid. Half the time, he has no idea what the hell is happening. He takes a deep breath, vaguely aware of the fact that Shinsou is extremely near and can look over at any moment. He can’t embarrass himself more than he already has. He can’t let Honenuki of all people embarrass him. Unacceptable. Out of the question. “Oh, it is pink!” Tetsutetsu exclaims, holding Honenuki’s hand to peer at it closely. “Why’s it pink, Monoma?” “Guys,” Rin starts helplessly. Neito exhales and takes his hands away from his face. He’s been here multiple times, in the midst of stupidity he never asked for. He can deal. He will deal. “It’s makeup,” he says simply, keeping his voice as level as possible. Years of putting up fronts has made him absolutely shameless and when shit comes to shit, he can pretend he’s completely stable and not five seconds away from crying or screaming. Not that that has worked for him at all over the past week, considering everyone seems to be on his ass for everything, fuck Shinsou— But that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Neito has successfully managed to get the words out without wavering or showing a lick of emotion—all casual like—and now Honenuki, Awase and Tetsutetsu are staring at him in complete silence. His back is to everyone else but he doesn’t doubt they’re all gawking as well, the assholes. Neito swallows when no one says anything, feeling slightly nauseous. His fingers are still pink and a quick glance at them reminds him of the fact that his nails are still very blue. A double whammy if you will. That definitely makes him feel more fucked up than he did two seconds ago, he knows that much. “I think the pink thing is blush,” his voice doesn’t shake at all; he’s so talented. “I didn’t know it came off so easily.” Honenuki blinks slowly, staring at his thumb and then up at him as Tetsutetsu’s eyes and mouth go as wide as saucers. Awase is squished between them, looking kind of baffled. Behind him, Rin hisses something Neito doesn’t quite catch and Shoda laughs nervously. There’s a pit wide open in Neito’s stomach but he’s mostly in control. He’s got this. “Makeup?!” Tetsutetsu bellows, sounding even more awed than before. “Cool, I’ve never seen it up close! Can I touch?” “Uh-,” “So, that’s why you look so nice today! I told you!” “Yeah-,” “Why’re you wearing makeup?” Honenuki asks, cutting across Tetsutetsu who’s gearing up to say something else or maybe lunge in Neito’s general direction and the pit in Neito’s gut somehow widens. It’s reaching blackhole levels of bottomlessness. Still, Neito doesn’t let himself or his voice waver. He looks Honenuki straight in his beady, miserable eyes and valiantly gives nothing away. “I’m wearing makeup…,” he starts slowly, trailing off to take a deep breath and feeling extremely aware that everyone’s looking at him. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, because really, why is he wearing makeup, but the sentence is already half out of his mouth and he can’t swallow it back up. Therefore, in the process of attempting to get his degenerate classmates off his back and also trying not to spiral things down into a mess that would ruin this birthday party effectively beyond repair, he takes everything in stride, regrets nothing and says the first thing that comes to his head in what can only be described as blind panic. “Because Tokage put it on me.” The answering silence is deafening. For a second, Neito fears that the words have frozen everyone stupid around him. No one makes a sound and no one moves a muscle for the longest time; really, the only initial indication that he’s said anything at all in response to Honenuki’s question is Awase’s eyebrows shooting up into his headband and Honenuki’s eyes going wide, like he wasn’t quite expecting that response. Neito, through all the panic that he’s forcibly suppressing in favour of looking as cool as a cucumber, feels oddly pleased by that though he doesn’t know why. So pleased, in fact, that when no one responds, his traitorous mouth starts moving and spewing words before he can really comprehend what’s going on. “She also painted my nails Friday night,” and as if that’s not bad enough, Neito puts up the back of his hand next to his face, putting his dumb blue nails on display and straight into Honenuki’s line of vision to be scrutinised. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, rational-Neito screams and bangs against the confines of his hell flesh prison. Behind him, Shoda awkwardly clears his throat. Honenuki stares at him for another second before he seems to retrieve his vocal ability from where it’d obviously gotten lost from the shock horror of Neito’s revelations. “But…why?” Good question, Neito thinks helplessly as he puts his hand down and clenches it into a fist, his bravado and ice-coolness starting to waver the longer this cursed conversation drags on. Great question, in fact! Next question please. A sentiment he regrets even internally echoing because the next question, which comes from Awase—that traitor—is a clipped, trailed off, “Are you two…,” A pause. “…you know…,” Awase mutters like the words and the concept in itself is incomprehensible to him. Neito wholeheartedly agrees. “I don’t think we should-,” “No, it’s okay,” he blurts out, cutting off whatever Rin was starting to say as he takes another deep breath and wondering—in complete awe—how he is staring Honenuki straight in the face and keeping at least his exterior semi-calm. Not many have done this in the past and survived to tell the tale, not when the other boy is on his weekly tactlessness bullshit. He gulps and hopes he didn’t do it audibly; he doesn’t think he can take that humiliation. Rational-Neito slaps his panicked psyche in the face and gives up completely. “We aren’t…,” the idea of it is so ridiculous, him and Tokage dating, that he can’t quite bring himself to say the word “together” out-loud, lest he catch fire and die from the embarrassment of it all. “It’s not like that at all, like what you’re all…thinking,” is what he goes with instead, which is good enough considering he’s just spouting whatever nonsense is coming to his mind first. Not that it’s physically possible, but Neito swears everyone’s stares get ten times more pointed. “We just…sort of hung out on Friday, we’re barely even…well you know, friends. It’s…,” Is that a rude thing to say? Neito feels like that’s a rude thing to say but he can’t dwell on it. “She just put these things on me because…,” he doesn’t fucking know. “She’s been experimenting her…makeup and…nail-painting skills lately so when we were talking, the topic came up and I wasn’t opposed to it so now I’m her…guinea-pig of sorts.” Lies. Utter lies and filthy deception, but he manages to say it very matter-of-factly and he only stutters once, mildly. Neito lets out a breath and wonders if it’s still not too late to get up and run away, a prospect that now looks more appealing than staying at this sham of a party ever did. Honenuki lets out a drawn out, “huh,” and the look in his eyes tells Neito that he hasn’t bought a single word of all of his bullshit. Well, whatever. That’s not Neito’s fault. He tried his best, and although pulled out of his ass, his answer wasn’t all rooted in lies. She really does seem to be handling him like a guinea-pig; one she’s very handsy and friendly with. For what reason, he doesn’t know, though he’s not entirely opposed to it. If he himself doesn’t know then what can he possibly tell these assholes? “Well!” Tetsutetsu, whose simple-mindedness is currently a very welcome thing, claps his hands together loud enough that the sound effectively manages to rip through the space-time continuum and jumpstarts everyone back to life. “I knew in my heart! That, well,” he aggressively gestures and whacks Awase in the back of the head. “Ow-,” “Well, Tokage and Monoma? I knew that that was impossible. I always believed in ya, Neito!” Neito, unsure if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult, just shifts his gaze to stare at Tetsutetsu instead and discovers that not looking into the depths of Honenuki’s scrutinising eyes does wonders at sealing shut at least some of the gaping pit of anxiety in his gut. “Thanks,” he manages, still not sure how to respond. By the way Tetsutetsu beams at him, he figures he’s done something right. Add that to his list of accomplishments in holding himself together tonight while wanting to die—the list that keeps on growing; an alarming notion considering he hasn’t even really been downstairs that long. Seriously, someone give him an Oscar for his non-anxious-while-actually-anxious performances or something. “Well, for what it’s worth,” Honenuki starts slowly, right when Neito has started patting himself on the back under the false pretence that he’s out of the woods and has survived; his systems fail instantly. “Dating or not dating Tokage, I think you do look nice regardless.” Neito, surprised and thrown, looks at the other boy blankly. The depths of his eyes are still on scrutiny mode—like he’s trying to catch Neito out and force him into admitting his torrid affair with Tokage—but he seems more relaxed, like he’s gotten at least halfway satisfactory answers for the moment. Neito lets out a breath he didn’t even was stuck in his throat, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he has nothing to worry about in terms of Honenuki not believing him, because he isn’t dating Tokage at all. Who knew he had a talent for blatantly lying? “Thanks,” he repeats, chewing on his lip and unclenching his hand, a motion upon which he discovers that his nails had been digging uncomfortably into his palm the whole time and now it hurts. Honenuki looks at him for a second longer before he shrugs and just like that, the topic is more or less dropped At least for that moment.   After that, the general arc of the conversation slowly shifts away from him without many more words said about the makeup or Tokage in general—there is a point where Tetsutetsu asks him what Tokage is like as a friend, and whether her affections are as overwhelming as the rest of her personality and what exactly they bonded over because they’re so different as people (the answers to which are an honest “yes” and more floundering lying on Neito’s part respectively)—but that’s honestly as far as it goes. Honenuki says nothing more, Awase puts his earbuds back in after a few minutes and even Tetsutetsu seems to lose interest after he dog-walks Neito’s lying ability in circles for an uncomfortably long amount of time. The conversations that had died down before pick back up, and after giving it a few minutes to ensure that no one is going to bother him again, Neito tentatively begins to put the pieces of his sanity back into something remotely functional—and once that has been done, he, even more tentatively, goes back to his corgi pictures. No one says a thing. No one even really addresses him or looks at him. It’s relieving. Of course, he pointedly ignores the fact that the idiots a) probably still think he’s dating Tokage but are not pressing the issue since he’s obviously hiding their passionate relationship for reasons and b) are giving him a wide berth characteristic of the one they’ve been giving him since Monday so he doesn’t lose his entire head and kill them all or himself or something. If they want to think nonsense, that’s not on Neito. He has his own nonsense to worry about, one that starts with an S and ends with a U.   5:13pm T-minus two hours and forty-nine minutes: The urge to look over at Shinsou and just stare at him in all his glory hits Neito extremely randomly after an hour of ignoring his existence. This urge might be causally related to the fact that he’s starting to run out of corgi pictures but it doesn’t really matter because 1) this causal relationship cannot experimentally be proven and 2) the need to look over at Shinsou blows the pit in his stomach—that he had worked really hard to seal up—wide the fuck open.   However, he refrains for a multitude of reasons that are very objective and because Neito is very intelligent. The first one is the matter of his enormous pride that will absolutely be hurt if he undoes the heaping progress he has made in the past few days in getting Shinsou out of his head, just to look at him like a stupid, lovesick puppy. (This is a lie; he has made very little progress but he likes to delude himself into thinking he has.) That, coupled with the fact that now it’s been more or less confirmed that Shinsou does in fact have a girlfriend and the girl he hangs out with isn’t just a handsy friend keeps him at bay. He’s not sure how he’d react to staring at Shinsou in his entirety because he hasn’t begun to even fully process let alone unpack that fact yet for whatever reason. Would he die? Would he cry? Both at the same time. Probably. The second reason, and this one would fundamentally damn him more than a hit to his ego will, is the fact that Shinsou is sitting somewhere to his left, a little way away from the couch. From his vantage point, Neito can’t see him at all, meaning he would have to physically crane his neck over Honenuki, Awase and Tetsutetsu’s big heads just to get a glimpse of purple if he’s lucky. Does the thought of merely seeing Shinsou sitting and minding his business send a pathetic thrill down his spine? He will not admit to that. But does the thought of potentially getting caught looking in the process and sending Awase into a fit of disproportionate rage make his skin crawl well in advance? Yes. He will admit to that. Hence why, despite every cell in his body aching to say fuck it and just sneak a peek, Neito keeps his neck firmly where it is. When he decides that he cannot look at anymore corgi pictures, for they’re starting to repeat themselves, he just takes a deep breath and switches to the next best things: pandas. And so, he lets rational-Neito threaten the rest of him into staying put.   5:42pm T-minus two hours and nineteen minutes: Kamakiri, who effectively manages to eat himself into a food coma, staggers back to the couch and lays down almost directly at Neito’s feet. Neito, who is sitting there in his socks, has no choice but to use him as a foot-rest considering he cramps half-his leg room. Kamakiri does not mind. On another note, the panda pictures successfully put a handle on Neito’s disgusting longing, do much to close up the pit in his stomach and part of him wonders if he’s found an effective coping mechanism to deal with this silly, stupid crush.   The other part, that is intimately familiar with the shitbag that is his brain, knows he could never be that lucky. But hey, whatever works in the moment and prevents him from imploding in on himself, works. Right? Right.   6:01pm T-minus two hours: Neito’s mood takes a little bit of a nosedive when Rin and Shoda decide that they have ignored him long enough and try to involve him in their conversation…about the hero-study work internship things they’ve submitted forms for—that they very likely will not be getting accepted for anyway. Very fitting topic for a birthday party. Nothing like a grim reminder that those 1-A snot-nosed brats will likely be getting handpicked while 1-B rots and gains no experience to elevate Neito’s mood.   To Rin and Shoda’s credit, they steer the conversation into less murky waters immediately after the dark cloud pissing on Neito’s mood threatens to manifest itself and drown them all. Gloomily, he tries to salvage his mood by switching to kitten pictures, which is only half-way effective—but not before verbally shitting on 1-A a little for the aesthetic of it all.   6:23pm T-minus one hour and thirty-eight minutes: After nearly two hours of sitting in the same damn place, Neito discovers that his ass has quite literally fallen asleep. He contemplates using a pee-break as an excuse to stretch his legs and get the circulation flowing again, but fears, irrationally so, that he might attract to much attention to himself if he propels himself into actual movement. He’s been so blissfully ignored the whole evening—mostly—and ruining that holds absolutely no appeal. What if someone attempts to speak to him again? What if Honenuki decides he wants to revisit their stupid conversation from before? Or, and this is the worst, what if Shinsou also decides that he has to pee at the exact same time and they end up together in the bathroom? What would Neito do? What would Neito say?   Yeah, no. That’s a risk he’s not willing to take; what if he does run into Shinsou and the emotional impact of seeing him, or worse, having to talk to him is so severe that he hurtles straight into a panic attack or pees himself or something equally horrific. Bonus points for Shinsou not being single which is a fact he is blatantly ignoring at the moment. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to freak out in the moment specifically but who knows with his dumb, shitty brain? No pee-breaks. No moving. His ass will just have to wake itself up later.   6:44pm T-minus one hour and seventeen minutes: Animal pictures stop doing it for him. Neito—who is still being ignored and now is 1) starving and 2) has to pee really bad—fears that he’s going to spiral into overthinking about Shinsou and his girlfriend and feel all the emotions he doesn’t want to feel in public but then something hilariously wonderful happens that takes his mind off it all at least briefly: Todoroki Shouto shows up, looking supremely uncomfortable and with a blue women’s sweater slung over his arm.   Well, that isn’t to say that Todoroki Shouto manifests in the middle of their common area like some sort of freakish entity—though Neito wouldn’t put it past his demonic looking ass. It starts with a knock on their door, followed by their visitor-bell going off three times in quick succession like someone’s experimentally fucking with it. Shishida is bullied into going to check who it is—read: beaten brutally at rock-paper-scissors because all of them are lazy bastards who don’t want to move and the only solution is a RPS tournament to the death; the girls don’t even acknowledge the bell, the fucks. But when, half a minute later, he comes back in looking extremely confused with Todoroki Shouto in tow, everyone collectively regrets not going to check the door themselves. Neito somewhat included. See, Todoroki Shouto is regarded as a bit of an anomaly here in the 1-B parts. He’s intimidating, he’s rich, he’s almost ridiculously powerful—seriously, what was the fucking cheat code—and he has almost no mutual friends with any of them. No one really knows him, or anything about him past very basic information; even Neito knows the least about him out of all of the 1-A heathens, which simultaneously impresses and pisses him off at the same time because this means that he has almost no ammo to use against him in his 1-A trashing spiels. Or well, had—Todoroki failing his licensing exam was a delicious, surprising addition to his arsenal and he is forever grateful. But all of that is not what makes his sudden, unexpected appearance so, as aforementioned, hilariously wonderful. No, it’s the fact that the second Shishida moves his hulking form aside to reveal Todoroki standing awkwardly behind him—and wow, isn’t he tiny—Tsuburaba, of all people, gasps very fucking loudly and all but shoots to his feet, almost knocking himself over in the process. Shishida gapes at him, his mouth half-open where he’d been about to say something. The couch goes extremely silent as everyone’s heads turn to look at him instead of Todoroki with almost eerie synchronisation. Neito takes in Tsuburaba’s flushed, suddenly very sweaty looking face, then notes the way his chest is heaving as he looks, very wildly, first at Todoroki and then down at Kaibara and Kuroiro with sheer, unbridled panic in his gaze. And he wonders why all of those motions are so damn familiar. “Sit down!” Kuroiro hisses. Tsuburaba does not. “Um,” Shishida says after a few seconds of no one saying a thing, eyebrows furrowed in what looks like awkward confusion, and the sound of his voice seems to jerk Tsuburaba into motion enough that he collapses back into the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. Behind Shishida, Todoroki looks passively indifferent as he always does, though he bows briefly in their direction, as if in acknowledgement of their plebian selves; it makes Neito want to punch him for reasons unknown. “Sir Todoroki is here to drop off Miss Yaoyoruzu’s sweater for it is chilly outside and she forgot it in their dorms,” Shishida says casually like that isn’t the most batshit insane thing Neito has ever heard. It’s not that cold outside and the distance between their dorms is like, twenty feet. Bunch of prissy, delicate daisies, people in 1-A are. It seems that he isn’t alone in that sentiment because the second the words leave Shishida’s mouth, Neito feels Awase stiffen slightly in his periphery and feels very proud of him. Todoroki nods like the gentleman that he is, oblivious to Neito’s mounting annoyance that is slowly overruling his anxiety. Maybe that is his coping mechanism for this. Maybe he should keep a picture of everyone in 1-A in his wallet or something so his anger can deduct from his panic attack potential. He may feel things for Shinsou but he feels things for these motherfuckers. “You may go over there and give it to her, sir,” Shishida says with the politeness that Neito could never hope to possess. “Ok,” Todoroki says in the most clipped tone possible with the straightest face on planet earth. If Neito didn’t have his feet on Kamakiri and ran the risk of tripping over him and embarrassing himself, he thinks he would’ve lunged over to him and roundhouse kicked him. But the potential opportunity is taken from him when Todoroki starts making his way to the other end of the room, where the girls are sitting in a circle on the floor on comfy looking cushions, so engrossed in whatever they’re doing that they haven’t noticed his presence at all. Awful response time, really, if Todoroki was a threat. But Neito can’t say anything negative about them, because the second Todoroki’s back is turned to them, all of the boys scramble to position themselves in a way that will give them a good look at this sweater-swapping event. Neito is almost disappointed in them, himself the most because he is also actively staring, leaning over with his chest pressed to Honenuki’s back. They’re all primitive beasts that thrive on drama. Neito only finds small comfort in the fact that while everyone else may be staring for the gossip aspect of it all, he personally is staring for a chance to add to his fuck-1-A-arsenal.   The whole thing takes maybe two minutes, really. Todoroki gives her the sweater, she ooh-aahs a bit, they bow to each other a lot, then he bows to the girls a couple of times, shakes his head a whole lot, Ashido from 1-A shrieks at him to stay, an offer which he thankfully declines and then he leaves—after bowing awkwardly in their general direction once. The whole thing is frankly underwhelming—or rather, would be underwhelming, if it wasn’t for what happens as soon as the door has closed behind Todoroki and Shishida has come back to sit with them after politely escorting him out. Well, it’s not so much as what happens. It’s what’s said; or rather, two things that are said almost simultaneously: “What a bastard, stupid…fuckin’-,” is Awase’s intelligent contribution that is almost drowned out by whatever god-awful noise escapes Tsuburaba’s throat as he covers his face with his hands, seems to straight up heave and whispers “nooooooooooooooo-,” Not for the first time that evening, everything goes still and silent for a second as the words are processed and the two boys stared between; the stupor is only broken by Kaibara and Kuroiro sympathetically patting their friend on the back. And then all hell breaks loose.   6:50pm T-minus one hour and eleven minutes: Although a flurry of questions and a ton of talking-over-each-other arises from Awase and Tsuburaba’s uncharacteristic, misplaced reactions to…god knows what, the discussion goes absolutely nowhere. The second it begins, Awase, who had clearly not meant to say his part out loud, threatens to weld everyone’s—read: Honenuki’s, who has the most questions as always—dicks to their assholes if they even begin to muster the audacity to question him on anything. When the discussion veers its course into Tsuburaba’s personal business, Kaibara threatens to choke out anyone—read: again, Honenuki—who wants to talk any kind of shit or ask Tsuburaba any unnecessary questions and the topic is dropped and remains, at least for then, in a veil of suspense. Neito absentmindedly thinks back to that afternoon, to the conversation he had accidentally overheard with mentions of “you-know-who” who is apparently smart, powerful, smells good and is out of Tsuburaba’s league and reach entirely and wonders, nosily, if Tsuburaba could possibly be that fucking dumb.   Then again, he wouldn’t put anything past Tsuburaba at this point after all that he’s seen from him. Neito just expected this kind of heinous betrayal from someone like Tetsutetsu. Because surely…Tsuburaba—straight, perverted, ridiculous Tsuburaba—surely, surely he doesn’t have a…a…cru- Fuck, Neito can’t even say it.   (He doesn’t even begin to unpack Awase’s nonsense, he resolutely thinks after spending a solid ten minutes silently stewing it over in his head. He a) doesn’t know what it could mean, b) and if he does jump to conclusions, doesn’t like what it implies, c) a crush on Yaoyorozu Momo? Surely not. On Todoroki Shouto? Even less of a chance. Awase wouldn’t do that to him and d) doesn’t think he can take that much shock horror in one day.)   7:02pm T-minus fifty-nine minutes: The most underwhelming birthday party of all time, at least for the boys, reaches its climax when the girls finally decide to stop whatever they’ve been doing for the past three hours—really, what have they been doing all this time?—and bring the cakes out. Neito who, having denied himself all the luxuries of life due to sheer anxiety alone, is now starved, parched and in desperate need of the bathroom. Consequently, he isn’t ashamed of how quickly he abandons his cardigan on the couch and hobbles over to the snack table when everyone else also gets up, in pursuit of literally anything to eat. No shame in getting up and moving if everyone else is, too right? No attention attracted; all is well. He only faces slight disappointment when he realises that Kamakiri has annihilated nearly everything in his food-run earlier. Quickly recovering and adapting, however, Neito shoves a fistful of peanuts in his mouth and feels the souls of his childhood meal-etiquette teachers cringing.   “God, I need to take a piss,” Awase grumbles next to him as he pops an entire cookie into his mouth. Neito grunts in agreement, poking a straw through a mango juice box and barely holds himself back from inhaling it in its entirety without once thinking about how he’s consuming peak poor people food. His hunger levels have reached critical, what with the light breakfast he’d had, followed by barely anything for lunch. At this point, he could care less what he’s swallowing as long as it provides him sustenance. That, and a trip to the toilet. Neito’s doing fine. He’s barely even thought of Shinsou and his looming, sinister presence since the Todoroki debacle. This is great. And the mango juice slaps. “Jesus, fucking Christ, who ate all the fucking pastries?” Honenuki exclaims his dismay, coming up to the table right across from Neito looking like someone’s just shot his pet. “Guilty as charged,” Kamakiri says from somewhere to the left, sounding like he’s got his mouth stuffed again. “What- fucking all of them? I was looking forward to those!” “Could’ve just gotten up and eaten them while they were still there. First come, first serve baby.” “I was saving that for dinner! How could you eat all- how does that even happen?” “With my mouth, Juzo.” Neito, slurping peacefully on his juice box falls back from the table a bit when he senses the conversation taking a sharp, left turn into whiny argument territory. They truly are primitive beasts. All of them.   As semi-quiet as the common area had been for the past three hours, it is now twice as loud since everyone has left their designated corners and migrated to different parts of the room. The boys, starved and exhausted and sweaty from doing absolutely nothing, are camping out at the snack tables and shoving their faces. The girls, fully made up with not a hair out of place, are gathered around the middle table, giggling and joking around and generally just making the same amount of ruckus as before. Neito absentmindedly watches them, looking mostly at Tokage who is joking around boisterously and tries to keep his gaze clinically away from Shinsou’s girlfriend who is sticking mostly to Shiozaki. He slurps away extra hard at his juice box and wonders if he can maybe get away with drinking another. Yaoyorozu is cutting away at the tapes on one of the cake boxes with a knife with all the finesse of a toddler, insisting that she knows what she’s doing very loudly and very nervously while Yanagi very efficiently cuts open the other box in half the time and less the mess. Neito is very smug and very proud. Seriously, who doesn’t know how to open a cake box tape with a knife? Yanagi really showed her. You wouldn’t know how to do that either, rational-Neito reminds him. Neito drowns him out with a particularly loud slurp. “We should put the presents like so,” Komori is saying, gesturing her arms around in a way that tells Neito absolutely nothing. “And put the cakes in the middle. Looks good in the pictures.” “Does it?” Tokage asks, tilting her head sideways to consider Komori’s proposition. Neito silently watches, lowering the straw from his mouth in mild disappointment when nothing more comes up. “Oh yeah, you’re right that’s cool. Mina-chan, help me bring them.” “Alrightie!” Ashido exclaims, linking one arm through Tokage’s and the other through Komori’s and together, they skip off together to a table on the other side of the room. Neito isn’t sure if the pang of annoyance that suddenly churns in his gut has anything to do with the fact that Ashido is from 1-A and one of the worst offenders, or if it’s because Tokage is completely chill with her and he’s missed her company to some extent throughout the afternoon. Maybe none. Maybe both. It’s not as if he wants to talk to her so badly, he’ll stalk up to the girls and say hi to her or something. Well, whatever. Tetsutetsu practically lives in Kirishima’s room and Neito’s still cool with him. He’ll make his peace with Tokage hanging out with them, too. They’re barely even friends at this point and she’s been friends with those girls longer than she’s even acknowledged Neito’s general existence, so he supposes it’s alright. It’s not earth-shatteringly bad. Plus, he’s not even possessive over his friends; he doesn’t have many but he doesn’t stake claims. Probably. He’ll live. He’ll just say hi to her later. Or ask her why she put makeup on him. Hell, she’ll probably come up to him herself later. What the fuck are you even talking about at this point, he asks himself and comes up with no answers. Sniffing once, he crushes the juice box in his palm and throws it in the trash-bag tied to the side of the snack table as a makeshift bin. Rubbing at his eye tiredly, he slides back into his previous place next to Awase before anyone even notices he was gone.   7:05pm T-minus fifty-six minutes: The universe finally revokes its generosity and snatches away Neito’s false sense of security. In the middle of the room, the girls are decorating the cake table for the official cake-cutting. Neito is on his third juice box—lord does he need to use the bathroom even worse now he’s made a mistake—and listening to Awase rattle off nonsense facts about jellyfish that do not seem credible. All is well. And then Shinsou approaches the snack table from the left. Neito’s hard-earned afternoon streak of don’t-at-Shinsou-directly-he-has-a-girlfriend-you-will-cry-don’t-do-it is instantly shattered through no fault of his own. He, very stupidly and admittedly because he’d sort of pushed Shinsou’s general existence at this party to the back of his mind, looks up curiously to see who it is when he senses movement approaching and although, he instantly snaps his gaze back to the table, the damage is done. Arguably, it is made even worse by the fact that Shinsou looks a) like absolute sin and b) like he couldn’t care less about Neito.   All the thoughts, feelings and urges Neito had been bottling up the entire afternoon and thought he’d repressed enough to survive this party come bubbling back to the surface. It’s as if he hadn’t made any progress at all. It’s honestly pathetic, Neito thinks, how fast both him and Awase freeze up and go silent—though, obviously for completely different reasons. Awase’s reaction, as evident from the way his fists suddenly clench and his jaw suddenly sets into a hard line, is the descent into sheer anger. Neito’s is more: dear God, why, why, just stay by the wall, why are you doing this to me. Shinsou reaches out and grabs one of the last cupcakes. Neito, who thought staring at the table would be safe, gets a glimpse of his large, pale hand curling around the snack and his throat feels a little dry. Please, make him go away, please God, why, go away, shoo. It’s hardly a fair reaction in terms of rationality. Shinsou has stayed by the wall, on the floor no less, for three whole hours with nothing to keep him company but his phone and the earbuds that he’s got wrapped around his hand at the moment. No one offered him anything—hell, everyone’s still pretending he doesn’t exist—he didn’t bother anybody and Neito had a fairly normal afternoon with non-Shinsou problems—didn’t even look at him once!—so to expect the other boy to just sit by the wall and not move the whole party isn’t exactly fair. Sitting on the floor couldn’t have been all that comfortable; if his ass fell asleep on that plush couch, Shinsou’s entire anal bone structure must’ve been rearranged by now. God, they’re terrible fucking hosts what the fuck. Feeling slightly bad but still irrationally praying for Shinsou to get away lest he do something stupid, Neito finishes his juice box and nervously chucks it into the bag-bin. Shinsou, who evidently does not play by Neito’s rules and cannot read minds, does not move. Of course not. Neito heaves a sigh. “Awase,” he murmurs, half because he needs an excuse to escape and half because he can sense that Awase is about to fly off the handle and start something. “Can you come with me? I need to use the bathroom.” Not a lie. He’s already doing well. “Yeah, I need to go, too,” Awase grits out, fist still clenched and tone so angry, he makes peeing sound like a potential homicide event. Slightly concerned but taking it as a sign from the universe to dip nonetheless, Neito takes a leaf out of Ashido’s book, loops an arm around Awase’s and forcibly drags him from the table. God, he’s being ridiculous. It’s not like he hasn’t talked to Shinsou before, so the urge to run away and escape seems silly no matter how he tries to hack it. Sure, he’s fallen over in front of him, and sure Shinsou’s a little sarcastic and had called him “kid” and sure he’s way too tall even though he isn’t that physically tall at all, and sure the last time they’d interacted Shinsou had probably made fun of him because he thinks Neito is a silly little jester boy and he has a girlfriend, so that makes things ten times more awkward and- Okay, so running away from is a completely human response. God, how the fuck has Neito fucked up his chances with his several-month-long-crush this badly in the span of a week? He wants to bash his head into a wall. This party needs to end stat, pronto, fucking hell. What has he done to deserve this?   7:13pm   T-minus forty-eight minutes: Choosing Awase as his bathroom partner turns out to be a mistake because he spends the entire time dunking on Shinsou so hard, Neito can practically hear his ancestors taking bullets for him. These dunks include, “why did he even fucking come? He made no effort to hang out with us? He thinks he’s above us, does he? He has some nerve! And then to come and eat our food? Unfuckingbelievable. I’m tellin’ ya, he’s a rotten ass apple. How the fuck did he get a girlfriend and all the great guys in our class are single? Jesus. I bet she doesn’t know how he is because who in their right mind would-”and on and on he goes.   Neito, praying any higher power for forgiveness who is listening, quietly does his business and does not interrupt Awase’s raging to point out that since they’re the hosts, they should’ve put an effort to hang out with Shinsou instead. Also, the food is free to all. Someone could walk in right now, pop a doughnut in their mouth and run outside and they wouldn’t be held accountable. But Neito is a biased party. Keeping his mouth shut is very wise.   The cake table is ready and set up by the time they make their way back. Vlad-sensei has also shown up in their absence, awkwardly holding a little polaroid camera in one hand and a phone in the other. Neito can sense that Awase is still mad as hell, but he obviously can’t rant about how much he hates Shinsou and his entire bloodline in public, so he’s put a plug on it. Thank god for that. “There they are! I told you my son wouldn’t just leave the party!” Tokage chirps, ignoring Awase and bounding up to Neito to smack kisses on both his cheeks as soon as he nears the table where everyone is gathered. As usual, she gives him zero time to react or process. Someone who sounds suspiciously like Honenuki clears their throat loudly. It is followed immediately by a fainting smacking sound. “Ow-!” definitely Honenuki. Neito, thrown as always by the whirlwind that she is, and trying to prevent all the blood in his body from rushing to his face, awkwardly pats her on the shoulder. He’s not sure what it is about her attention that pleases him so much but he’s not opposed to the warm feeling it fills his chest with. Neito 1, Ashido 0. The warmth almost drowns out the immediate anxiety he feels when he realises that Tokage is doing this, and consequently putting him on the spot, in front of all these people. In front of Shinsou, who probably doesn’t care, but still. Well, whatever. Tokage grabs him by the arm and drags him to the middle of the…is it appropriate to call them a crowd? “Where’d you go? We almost started without you!” “Bathroom,” he says, trying to keep his voice level and casual. He’s not going to embarrass himself in front of everyone. Especially not during Kendou and Shiozaki’s big moment. “Right, right! Of course, you did! Good thing you’re here now!” “Yeah, I would’ve smacked the hell out of him if he missed it,” says Kendou. “Yeah, good thing,” Neito parrots, a pang of annoyance hitting him point blank in the chest when all the girls laugh, including the ones in 1-A. He doesn’t mind his friends in 1-B giggling at his expense but 1-A? Who the fuck allowed them? Getting too comfortable slandering him in his own household. Tokage lets go of his arm once he’s situated in the crowd, patting his head once before leaving to join the girls again. Neito doesn’t know if he’s relieved she’s gone or if he misses her already. Lord, this is stupid. She’s pushed him into a spot between Rin and Kamakiri, which isn’t bad all things considered. Neito doesn’t try to move or complain and resolutely, absolutely does not move his head lest he catch even a hint of purple. He’s held it together, thus far. He can hold it together a little more.   7:25pm   T-minus thirty-six: Neito hasn’t been to many birthday parties, and definitely hasn’t had official ones for himself all that much, so nothing in his experience has adequately prepared him for how loudly everyone bellows the birthday song. They sing it twice, once for Kendou and once for Shiozaki. The cakes are cut, wishes made, hugs given, all that wholesome stuff. Briefly, there’s a weird little spectacle of Kendou taking some cream on the tip of her finger and randomly deciding to chase Tetsutetsu and Tokage around the room who run away from her shrieking. It’s very telling that Tokage’s yelling is playful and Tetsutetsu seems genuinely horrified. Neito laughs with the rest of them until Kendou manages to smear cream on both their cheeks, abandons them as her victims and turns on him instead. He considers running but doesn’t because the thought of running and potentially tripping in front of Shinsou for the second time in the same week doesn’t sound appealing.   Hence why he ends up with a blob of cream on the tip of his nose, which Kendou completely forbids him from taking off for the birthday pictures that Vlad-sensei is so generously taking. In the end, he wounds up looking like a baby jackass anyway. Maybe he just should’ve run from her. Still, somewhere deep in his heart, he’s pleased. Very pleased, even though the non-1-B girls laughed at his expense, and even though he is aware that 1-A Ashido stares at him like he’s a specimen to be put in a museum when she thinks he isn’t looking. Fuck that. He’s still happy. Ish. Sort of. Not that he’d admit it. Now, if only this Shinsou thing would go away, Neito would be completely Gucci.   That night, Neito takes more pictures than he ever has before. He takes normal ones and then he gets bullied into taking silly ones, and even though he has no clue how to be silly, he still tries. He’s never had friends that have roped him into this sort of thing, so while the entire thing is ridiculous and foreign, Neito feels the remnants of his good mood surface at least a little. He takes a picture with Tokage, one with Kendou, one with Rin, Awase and Tetsutetsu one with the whole class and one alone, for which, Kendou puts more cake cream on his cheeks. (“If only we had birthday hats,” she sighs wistfully while fucking his face up and Neito is suddenly glad they didn’t have the foresight for that.)   Resolutely, he ignores Shinsou and his girlfriend and doesn’t look away from his friends. Not when Shinsou’s girlfriend takes a picture with Shiozaki. Not when she insists on taking a picture with Shinsou alone. Not when he catches a glimpse of purple out of the corner of his eye for any reason. Not when— Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Neito keeps his head down, moulds his face into a smile and keeps looking at his friends.   7:36pm T-minus twenty-five: Somewhere in the middle of the picture-taking session, Tsuburaba, whose eyes haven’t quite lost their wild shine since the Todoroki incident, puts his foot down about getting shunned with the boys for the rest of the night and begs for some entertainment. “They’re boring, I refuse to go back, do something fun with us,” are his exact words, to which the boys have no comeback because they’ve spent the entire afternoon boring each other and themselves. The girls, though reluctant, let the boys stay because Tsuburaba is nothing but not annoyingly persuasive. Neito has cleaned the cream off his cheeks, much to Kendou’s dismay who thought he looked rather cute, and has settled down on the floor in the girl’s section of the party. All the boys, very hyperaware of their boringness, do their walk of shame and are in the process of settling down here and there. Vlad-sensei hands out slices of cake and the dinner boxes Lunch-Rush has specifically prepared for the party—bless his little heart—and Neito’s starved stomach does the hula. At some point, his Shinsou senses perceive the other boy plopping down on the couch right literally directly in front of Neito. Neito, damned to look at Shinsou’s pant legs if he even remotely looks up and absolutely adamant on not looking at Shinsou’s face, finds interesting things to scrutinise in his rice and fish.   “So, what can we do for you, oh sagely king of wanting to be entertained by your personal jesters?” Komori asks sarcastically once everyone’s found a corner to lounge in. Neito’s ended up with Tokage on one side and the common area window on the other, which is a reasonably good position to be in. All he has to do is not tilt his head up too much and he’ll be fine. “Anything will be better than the shit I went through today,” Tsuburaba moans dramatically through a mouthful of rice, reclined against the wall. Neito reads a hidden Todoroki Shouto somewhere in there, but he might be insane. “Literally give me anything.” “Jesus, you guys broke him.” No, Todoroki Shouto did. But he doesn’t say it. “Not on purpose,” Rin says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “There’s only so much we can talk about for that long a time.” “Yeah, and what did you guys do that was so fun?” Honenuki says, immediately on the defensive. A bold move considering Tokage immediately scoffs; fucker loses before he even starts playing the game. “We played party games because that’s what you do at parties dumbass. Aren’t boys meant to have more fun than girls or something? Why are you all so boring and dull?” The girls ooh and Neito, who doesn’t have experience with this sort of thing but knows Tokage has just dunked on the entire male human race, minds his business and focuses on finishing his dinner so he can eat cake. He likes cake. “Bet we can beat you at any game!” Honenuki says, raising himself up on his knees to get in Tokage’s face and consequently digging his own grave. You’d think one of these days he’d actually learn. “Try it!” Komori chirps, gleefully rubbing her hands together and preparing to thrive on the chaos. Neito minds his business, knowing this will end in tears. “God, please let’s play a game,” says Tsuburaba, broken fundamentally. “Anything will do.”   7:39pm T-minus twenty-two minutes: A grand total of three minutes is wasted on deciding what game the girls will decimate Honenuki and his ancestors at. Board games are suggested and then discarded, Rin says no to Monopoly because that ruins lives and friendships, and it is at Ashido’s suggestion that a simple round of dare or dare is selected; a water bottle will be spun in the middle of a circle and the person on the end of the cap will be given a dare by the person on the bottom half of the bottle. The end goal is apparently seeing whether the boys or girls can come up with the spiciest dares. Neito’s not sure how truth or dare works exactly, let alone dare or dare but he doesn’t think it sounds legal. Or real.   Settling into one gigantic circle is one of the most hellish parts of setting up the game, and if the apparent, very vocally spoken rule wasn’t that everyone was obligated to play, Neito would politely excuse himself. He doesn’t though, he stays where he is and Shinsou doesn’t move from the couch he is currently sitting on by himself, so his current situation doesn’t improve. He’s not that daunted by silly teenager games though, so he’s not too bothered about that at least. Well, that and he can’t afford to be too bothered, at least externally, because he’d rather die than look like a pussy in front of anyone from 1-A. And so, he bravely eats his rice and keeps his head down. No one fucks with him that much. What’s the worst that could happen, really?   The first four dares are fine, go by quicker than Neito thinks they would and are honestly kind of silly. Tokage dares Kendou to sing some song Neito’s never heard, Kamakiri dares Pony to do as many push-ups as she can in a minute, Komori dares Ashido to do a tiny ballet routine—which she isn’t bad at, what the hell—and Fukidashi dares Tetsutetsu to play a recorder with his nose which Yaoyorozu so generously creates for him. The whole thing is so hysterically funny that even Neito laughs out loud, grateful that the noise is drowned out by everyone else’s more boisterous cackles. Starting on his slice of his cake, Neito is no longer starved or thirsty, nor does he have to go to the bathroom so his mood is generally pretty uplifted. He’s not happy by any means, since Shinsou is literally right there and he has a front row seat to his socked feet and cuffed up jean legs if he so desires to look, but he… Well, he’s not happy but he’s not feeling entirely shitty. Lulled into a semi-effective false sense of security and all that.   And ironically, or maybe infuriatingly or whatever is the word, the one that ruins this temporary sense of peace and calm…is Honenuki. Again.   7:45pm T-minus sixteen minutes: Perhaps it would be unfair to say that Honenuki snatches the rug of general human functioning from under Neito’s feet of his own accord. No, maybe Neito should choose to blame the water bottle and the physics of its spinning or however that works, because the first thing that goes wrong is that its cap lands on Neito and its end lands on Honenuki and they’re sitting so far apart that that should logistically be impossible but somehow it happens. Neito isn’t even aware it happens, engrossed in his cake and obsessed with how good it is, until people scream “Monoma!” and scare the hell out of him. Honenuki looks baffled at first and then stares down at the bottle like it’s made him the happiest man alive and Neito is suddenly ten times more on his guard than he usually would’ve been if the bottle had landed on literally anyone else. His guard only puts up an iron wall when Honenuki’s only vocal reaction is “Ah! Yay! I prepared a special dare on the off-chance I’d be picked!”   “Do some dumb shit and I swear I’ll gut you like a fish,” Komori warns. Neito, sensing that he’s going to lose all of his appetite in a few more minutes, shoves a huge chunk of cake into his mouth and bites down on it. Please god, just let me survive this party in one piece. Please. Please. Please. “Well,” Honenuki drawls, leaning back to recline against Shishida and looking extremely pleased with himself. “I will arguably say beforehand that my dare will be the spiciest. What was that you were saying about the boys being boring? Yeah?” he looks like he’s contemplating and Neito, tense and sadly rapidly losing interest in really good cake, puts the plate down on the floor in front of him and continues to beg and pray. “I’ll begin only if you’re ready to take back that obviously, false slanderous statement.” “Oh, just fucking get on with it,” Tokage snaps, throwing…something at his head that Neito can’t really identify. It narrowly misses him anyway so he supposes it doesn’t matter. Honenuki, looking very pleased with himself, sits back up and claps his hands together… Please, please god. Be something easy. I can do easy. …and utters the words that change the general course of Neito’s life from that point on. Not that he has any way of knowing it at the time but still. “Monoma-san,” he says mock seriously, pointing at Neito who is sitting very still to avoid jostling his racing heart and warily looking back at the other boy—breaking eye-contact at this point would be weakness. He hadn’t thought, when this dumb game began, that he’d even be in this stupid, teenage position but here he is. The universe just doesn’t like him at all. To avoid choking, he manages to swallow the remainder of the cake still in his mouth and prays to any higher power that might be listening. Honenuki grins. “I dare you to choose one person of your liking and give them a kiss on the lips!” Silence. Deafening silence. It seems, for a moment, that the entire universe has had the sounds of nature sucked out of it. Neito stares stupidly and tries to comprehend the words that have come out of Honenuki’s mouth as the world simultaneously freezes and tilts off its axis all at once. Kiss? Honenuki wants him to do what? Kiss a person? On the lips? He wants Neito to pick a person and kiss? Kiss them on the lips? But he’s never kissed anyone on the lips. He’s gotten kissed on the cheek by a boy when he was little, but that didn’t lead to anything good and that’s not a thought he needs to be having abort, okay that’s gone but he’s never kissed anyone, kissing is gross and wet probably, why on earth would he choose anyone to kiss- And just as quickly as everyone had been stupefied into silence, the room goes up in uproar before Neito has said a word, a chorus of oohs and holy shit Honenukis and that’s something I’d like to see (fuck you Ashido – rational-Neito) and there’s definitely Tokage’s shrill have you lost your damn mind but Neito hears nearly none of it with how his head has suddenly been submerged under water. He’s still looking at Honenuki though—not breaking eye-contact is crucial—but evidently, he feels as if he’s been struck dumb, like the other boy’s words were a physical force that knocked half of his speech-comprehension out of him. “Holy shit, can you do that?” “Do it, do it, do it!” Tsuburaba is chanting, crawling over Kamakiri to get to a higher vantage point. “I think we really should…ask Monoma-,” “Absolutely fucking not!” “Do it, do it, do it!” “And you girls call us boring? Look at how you’re acting!” “Do it, do it, do it!” Neito only briefly understands the intent behind this ridiculousness when Honenuki, in the midst of defending his obviously genius choice of a dare, discreetly flicks his head over in Tokage’s general direction like he’s trying to tell Neito something. Like he’s trying to encourage Neito to kiss her. Like he’s telling him it’s okay, I got you, go for it. Oh, Jesus H Christ. Neito had known Honenuki hadn’t entirely let the thing with him and Tokage go but had he known it would come back to bite him in the ass like this, he would’ve murdered Honenuki long before. Because see, he doesn’t want to kiss Tokage at all. There is nothing in the world that appeals to him less than that prospect. He likes her, he really does even though how fast their friendship is moving sort of freaks him out. But he doesn’t want to kiss her, not even to save his own ass or escape this situation. He doesn’t want to kiss anyone in this damn room, not one person except— Okay, not that thought, abort, abort, say something, anything, come on, come on. “I don’t know why you’re acting like it’s the end of the world. We’re all friends, and surely there must be someone…” Honenuki wiggles his eyebrows and Neito is very glad he’d had the foresight to swallow his cake beforehand because he definitely would’ve choked. “…that Monoma-kun wants to kiss!” “And if he doesn’t?” Tokage sounds absolutely freaked. And mad. An odd combination; Neito feels her completely. “Oh no, he definitely does!” Does? Does what? Want to kiss someone in this room? “Oh, and you know this how?” “We’re bros, I know everything!” A brave, bold sweeping statement. Well it’s not as if he’s wrong technically—about Neito wanting to kiss someone in the room, not the “bros” thing, seriously what is that?—but that doesn’t make this any less infuriating and annoying. Honenuki must think he’s invincible because Neito is going to gut him for this later, on god, and Honenuki thinks he won’t. Come on, come on, say something, anything will do. “Ha,” is what his vocal cords bust forth, which are now completely moving on autopilot and sheer will-power because Neito is not mentally present and refuses to be so for this. Really, he isn’t even sure he’s said anything until everyone stops trying to talk over each other and turns their full attention to him. He can sense Tokage staring at him in his peripheral vision next to him, and he thinks she might look concerned or whatever but he doesn’t look too hard. He’s already nauseous and annoyed enough as it is without the reminder that the people in this class think they need to worry about him and defend his honour like he’s a child. He discreetly clears his throat and keeps his gaze levelled at Honenuki, trying to very blatantly ignore the fact that Shinsou and people from 1-A are seeing all of this go down from a really great vantage point, which makes this ten times more embarrassing and god, he really should’ve fucking stayed in bed today. He can’t even begin to grasp the rumours those heathens are going to spread about him, they already think he’s completely mental— But that’s not the point right now. The point right now is that Neito has been in a lot of awkward, put-on-the-spot situations before, seriously that’s how he grew up, so this is nothing. He’s probably got this if he can ignore the nausea crawling up his throat because everyone’s looking at him. Honenuki needs to die. “Hey, you really don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? It’s just a stupid game,” Tokage says softly when he can’t bring himself to say something for a few more seconds, loud enough that he hears her but probably not so loud that everyone else does. The sentiment comforts him but it’s not what he needs to survive this situation because he’s still looking at Honenuki who is smugly staring back. Go ahead, he seems to be saying with his eyes. Kiss her, why don’t you? And god, does he hate smug bastards. They get him right in the petty. It’s this sense of growing pettiness and disbelief at Honenuki’s audacity, paired with the blind panic that is tearing a hole open in his sternum that Neito lets drive him from that point-forward. Auto-pilot has mostly never failed him before this. “It’s okay, Setsu,” he says without looking at her and is surprised at how level his voice comes out. You can’t even really tell he wants to crash through the window beside him and run and never stop. “I wasn’t silent because I was upset about the dare. I was silent because I couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of Honenuki’s…impudence.” Oh, so auto-pilot has chosen his arrogant, rich-boy, took-years-of-theatre-and-ballet-lessons persona. Alright, then. If that’s how it’s going to be, then who’s he to do anything but let it consume him for self-care purposes? Everyone else breaks out into peals of laughter, presumably at what he’s said, and it makes his anxiety subside and get worse at the same time. It’s very jarring. “He said impudence-,” “Wait, what does impudence mean?” “Oh, he’s good,” Ashido says, clapping her hands together gleefully and Neito is almost annoyed enough to break character and cry, but doesn’t. He can deal with that later. Probably. “That’s our Monoma-kun,” Awase says, sounding equal parts proud and equal parts concerned. Or something. Whatever, Neito isn’t here to read people’s emotions. He’s here to get himself out of his situation without giving up his first kiss in the middle of a primitive, teenage birthday party. And wouldn’t that be some shit? Just the idea of it makes Neito jelly in the legs. “Well, Monoma-san,” Honenuki says in a fake-pompous voice, still leaning back against Shishida and still looking smug as hell like Neito won’t annihilate him while crying at the same time. “I do believe this is only a game. Surely, my dare isn’t quite as impudent, as you said.” Neito, who isn’t used to other people playing along with his dumb theatrical games, is instantly thrown off but recovers quickly. He’s talked himself out of worse pickles. This is child’s play. Anxiety clogs his ears and cuts off at least sixty percent of his hearing. He laughs to compensate that loss, consciously keeping an edge of mocking disbelief to the sound, and when auto-pilot requires him to get to his feet dramatically, he does. He even throws out an arm and lord, he has no idea what he’s doing but he knows it looks great and just as insane as he usually has people believe he is. “It’s not your game that’s the problem,” he laughs, holding his lips in a pout and internally freaking out so hard, it’s a small miracle he’s not shaking like a leaf. “It’s the fact that you brought me down to your plebian level. Surely, you would know I don’t kiss just anyone.” Honenuki barks with laughter, as does everyone else like Neito’s just told a really funny joke. His throat feels cold with nausea, but he stays on his feet and keeps a smile on his face that he hopes looks mischievous and cool and not watery and shaky. “Fuck the game, keep doing this!” Tsuburaba says and Komori laughs. “Look, Tsubu-chan found his entertainment jesters!” Neito’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, but he keeps looking at Honenuki who looks like he’s having the time of his life. Good; at least one of them is. “Well, this pleb thinks, and this might just be conjecture,” he clicks his tongue and pretends to be deep in thought. “Well, I think your high and mighty self is scared of a little, harmless peck.” Half the room oohs and Honenuki grins. Neito’s systems screech to a halt momentarily before starting back up, ten times more frenzied than before. Well, what the fuck does he say to that? How does he recover? How does he counter the truth? Think, think, think. The only solution that he can sort of see is a) giving up, swallowing his pride and kissing Tokage and risk Honenuki thinking he was right, which is not ideal, b) running out without another word and risking everyone treating him like he’s fragile and losing his mind—more so than they already have been this week which would be a fucking nightmare or c) giving himself up completely to auto-pilot, which means risking saying some real dumb shit, but at least he wouldn’t be taking this bullshit lying down. God, all he wanted was to eat some cake which is now sitting at his feet, ignored. “Scared? Of a little kiss? You wish,” he says without thinking and with no conscious idea as to where he’s going to take this. Honenuki raises his eyebrows but he’s still smiling. Neito’s dumb internal system takes that as a challenge, as rational-Neito screams and begs him to reconsider. “Sure, you’re not projecting?” Everyone laughs as Neito wonders: what the fuck?! What the fuck does that even mean?! Honenuki looks at him for a second before he just falls back and laughs with everyone else. “Man, only you’d make a spectacle out of a fucking smooch dare,” he says breathlessly, wiping non-existent laughter tears from his eyes. Neito risks a glance down at Tokage while he’s busy doing that and sees her looking up at him with something like fondness and mild concern in her eyes. He grins drily at her and hopes she can’t see the panic in his eyes, since she has a track-record of being weirdly good at that. He doesn’t need someone defending him or offering him copouts. Not right now. If he can’t get himself out of this frankly stupid situation, then he’s truly lost it and he doesn’t want to have that realisation right now. He looks back down at Tokage and discreetly shakes his head just in case. “Look at you two, making my birthday party your own personal playground,” Kendou comments sarcastically, and for a second, Neito thinks she might whack them both but she looks amused enough so he figures it’s fine. Honenuki shakes his head, still laughing. “If he hadn’t tested me when I was perfectly fine minding my own business…,” Neito trails off, putting a hand to his forehead in what he hopes is a dramatic gesture but probably just looks like he’s trying to alleviate a bad headache. The longer this conversation draws out, the more he’s running out of retorts and his anxiety meter predicts that he’s maybe two minutes away from dry heaving in front of everyone. In front of Shinsou, who is still sitting there, watching this go down in silence. Oh god. The impending dry heave moves up to maybe t-minus thirty seconds. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kendou-san,” Honenuki says mockingly; if standing in one place wasn’t the only way Neito was keeping an anxiety attack at bay, he thinks he might’ve flown across the room and started throttling him. “I merely gave him a dare. I didn’t think he would be so terrified of a simple, friendly kiss.” “Bitch said “merely””, Kamakiri snorts, right at the same time as Rin starts a “Guys, maybe we should just drop this now-,” that gets promptly drowned out because no one likes Rin when he talks sense. Neito scoffs and lowers his hand. “It’s not that I’m terrified, it’s that kissing just anyone is not something many people do. As if you’d kiss anyone in this room if someone asked you to,” he needs to wrap this up and leave this room. His ears are starting to feel really hot and he can feel himself resorting to lame, junior high comebacks. Honenuki laughs. “I would, actually. Little friendly pecks don’t terrify me like they seem to terrify you, your highness.” Thrown again, Neito stares at him for a second and racks his auto-pilot arsenal for something, anything. Dry-heave is impending in like ten more seconds. He needs to leave. Maybe he should just run and worry about the consequences later. His brain grasps for straws. “My, my, your insistence on wanting me to kiss someone is a little concerning. Wanna see it so badly, do you? I didn’t take you for a voyeur.” Now, Honenuki looks thrown as the room erupts into laughter. The only people Neito can see who aren’t primitively enjoying his social demise are Rin, Shiozaki—who honestly looks horrified—Shoda, Shishida, Yaoyorozu and Kendou. He doesn’t dare look down at Tokage. Sneaking a glance at Shinsou is unthinkable. What kind of expression is he wearing, right now he wonders. Boredom? Disinterest? Or is he laughing at his expense, too? Is he smiling in his little, odd way? “He’s excellent!” Ashido exclaims as Neito tamps down a cough when the nausea rises up his throat. “That’s our Monoma-kun!” Neito swallows, watching with some degree of satisfaction when Honenuki doesn’t immediately reply, choosing to laugh instead. A part of him, the rational buried part that usually gets knocked aside from all the anxiety, knows that he doesn’t even need to be having this argument. No one would hold it against him if he just flat-out refused the dare, rather everyone would vehemently defend him, Honenuki would get whacked and the game would move on—if it even can at this point; Neito hopes he hasn’t ruined it for everyone. Yet, he stands where he is and holds his ground. It’s stupid. He’s so stupid. He does this every time; he stays in situations long enough that they turn so sour so as to murk him out of existence temporarily, purely because of his gigantic ego, and then wonders why his anxiety is so bad. “Ugh. You know what? Fine, but blame the bottle for ending up on us. I have no interest in wanting to see you kiss anybody,” is what Honenuki defensively counters with, and Neito is suddenly so surprised and relieved—having been gearing up to think of another retort—that he can’t quite conceal it. Until— “We’ll just call it a stalemate. It’s okay to be scared and not being able to do things, no one blames you. We’ll cancel the dare and move on.” Neito stares at him, his ego taking such a blow that he feels his consciousness physically concave. Honenuki’s stupid eyes filled with mirth, the sentiment of ~Got you, asshole~ radiating off of them so blatantly that Neito’s rational side is almost sad he’s getting baited into this. His petty, competitive side that is in charge of all his general social behaviour, however… “You think I’m genuinely saying no because I can’t do it?” Shut up, rational-Neito screams and gets jumped by the rest of Neito that is horrifically more impulsive. “Ooh, it’s getting spicy,” Tsuburaba says, who is now holding onto Ashido as the two of them inhale the drama. Neito almost smacks him—would if he could move. “Well, you’re saying no and making excuses because you’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of catching our plebian cooties. It’s completely okay to not want to do it,” Honenuki says mock-comfortingly and Neito almost hysterically laughs at how mad that makes him. “Poor little princely boy. It’s okay. Let’s cancel the dare, who’s turn is next?” Kendou puts a chunk of cake in her mouth. “I honest to god have no fucking clue what’s happening anymore.” Me neither, Neito thinks a little hysterically. “Where’s the bottle?” Honenuki says, looking away and reaching for the water bottle; just really laying it thick on the bait. “Whose turn was it?” “You think I can’t do it?” Neito ends up blurting out, and he inwardly cringes when his voice comes out a little high. The irony of the fact is not lost on him that no, he really can’t do it and he really should take this out that Honenuki is so sarcastically providing him with—but if he takes it, will he be Monoma Neito anymore? Or will be a pussy ass bitch who will end up indirectly admitting that something in this world scares him? The answer is evident even when his legs feel like they’re losing feeling rapidly by the second. Honenuki looks up at him, surprised though Neito can’t tell if it’s mocking or genuine. “I know you can’t. It’s okay.” Some asshole oohs. Neito’s ears ring. “Okay, cut it out this has gone on far-,” “A false, sweeping assumption if I’ve ever heard one.” Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. “You’ll prove me wrong, will you?” Honenuki drawls, eyes sparkling and Neito wants someone to murder him so he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty personally. Tokage happily would if he asks, but his ego doesn’t permit him that luxury; or even the very simple one of dropping this damn topic and leaving this damn room. “I think I might have to,” is what he says instead, cringing so hard his body feels like it’s going to fold. “Can’t have your plebian self think you’ve done something—thinking I’m scared, the nerve.” Please shut the fuck up. “This pleb is sorry for making these assumptions,” Honenuki grins wide, like he’s the cat that’s gotten the cream. “Pick someone then.” “Monoma,” Tokage says in a warning tone. Neito ignores her, playing with the cuff of his shirt with a hand that’s barely shaking, which is nothing short of miraculous considering he’s internally well on his way to sobbing. “Unbelievable that I have to lower myself to these…levels and catch plebian cooties just to defend my honour,” he says, swallowing what tastes ridiculously like bile. He’s gone and done it now. He’s made a stupid decision and for once, there’s no going back from it. Stupid idiot. Well done. “Truly a tragedy,” Honenuki agrees, not sounding sorry. “Monoma is actually really funny,” Ashido quips, as if Neito isn’t standing right there and the only thing that annoys him more than her comment is Tsuburaba immediately agreeing with a, “He is! He can be fun sometimes.” Sometimes? Neito is hilarious always. Look! He’s being a clown right now! “No better person to turn our birthdays into a circus,” Kendou mutters, like she’s read his mind. Okay, this is not the point. If his sanity and thought-process can stop being pulled in ten different directions at once, that would be great. Especially now. Thanks. Okay. Okay, where was he? He’s accidentally agreed to pick a person of his choice and kiss them on the mouth. Right, yeah very cool. Easy. Doable. Stupid idiot. Neito swallows. Okay, so he has many options here if he completely excludes Shinsou which he definitely will. This situation is bad enough without factoring him in, so that is not something he’s doing. Okay. Now, that that’s out of the way. Anxiety claws at his insides. “Frankly, I don’t want to kiss any of you here. No offence,” he says, keeping his voice casual and level as he plays with his cuff and keeps his gaze at his own wrist. He’s already displaying much bravado; he thinks actually gazing at all his potential…options might actually kill him. “We’re very offended,” Kaibara replies dryly. “Yeah, how dare you not want to kiss our beautiful selves,” Honenuki laughs and Neito pulls at his cuff button nervously. He’s been in many emotionally exhausting situations throughout his years (read: his entire goddamn life) but he thinks this, this pretending not to be losing it while having to stay in his dramatic persona, this takes the cake. He can’t even remember how he got here. He was just eating cake, for fuck’s sake. “Gee, Honenuki-san,” he starts, letting his mind wing it as he mentally goes down the list of people he can potentially kiss and not throw up on the spot. None of the girls, that’s for sure. Especially the ones from 1-A. “If you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so. Didn’t have to go this route. Now you’ve put us both on the spot.” The room goes silent for a second before it erupts. Neito, who a) isn’t fully sure what he’s said and b) wishes he could spare the brain power to listen to Honenuki sputtering and everyone losing their minds, docks almost everyone off. Rin is a safe option, but he would take it too seriously. Tetsutetsu would never shut the hell up about it. Awase is…Awase, and Neito likes him but not enough to give up his first kiss to him. Kaibara, Kuroiro, Tsuburaba, Fukidashi, Shishida, Shoda and Bondo aren’t even on the list. The most likely person is probably Kamakiri since he never makes things awkward, but his mouth is shaped all strange and he has literal blades coming out of his cheeks and Neito doesn’t want to deal with that. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and kiss Tokage. But then, Honenuki would never shut the fuck up about it. Or, a part of suggests says that is so emotionally exhausted, it might as well not exist, maybe he really should just say no and dip; no one would judge him for it— But they would think he’s weak and someone to be protected and advocated for, and leaving after talking so much shit and displaying such bravado…well, Neito’s ego can only take so many hits in one day. And well, he wouldn’t want to be weak, would he? He swallows thickly. “Well, if you don’t hurry up and get on with it, I’ll begin to think you’re all talk Monoma-san,” Honenuki, who takes a little while to recover from Neito’s dunk, looks genuinely attacked this time and Neito stares down at his own feet and tries to reorient his breathing. “He’s baiting ya,” Komori says breezily, as if Neito doesn’t know that. Still, he scoffs and looks at her with what he hopes is a playful expression in his eyes. “He’s not smart enough to bait me into anything.” The room erupts again and this time, Ashido and Tsuburaba have the audacity to actually clap a bit. Neito isn’t sure what he’s said but if it works, it works. “How many times can Honenuki get murdered in one night?” someone wonders, and Honenuki’s consequent defensive reply leads to more ruckus. “Guys, keep it down or Vlad-sensei’s gonna come break this up!” someone randomly says in the middle of it all. “Oh shit, yeah.” Neito takes a deep breath and steels himself. He’s talked too much shit. If he has to make himself supremely uncomfortable to protect his dignity, then so be it. Wouldn’t be the first time.   And then something wonderful happens. Okay, so maybe the word to describe it isn’t wonderful but in Neito’s anxiety-addled, grasping-at-straws mind that is telling him to either escape or get it the fuck over with, it is a very welcome development. See, Neito has been staring at his feet—particularly at the plate of cake—the whole time as he contemplates the risk assessment aspect of this very important kiss that he’s somehow agreed to because he’s an idiot. And while staring at his feet, he reaches the frankly helpless conclusion that it’s Tokage or no one. He trusts none of the boys in 1-B like that, and always runs a risk of giving himself away and them finding out that he likes…boys and that’s just not— Well, it’s not something he’s willing to deal with. Tokage is a great, safe option excluding Honenuki’s annoying nonsense because she’s been there for him more in two days than anyone else ever has, speaking emotionally. She’d likely be a good sport about it, if he was to pick her, and wouldn’t make it weird after. Hell, she’d even shut down Honenuki’s assumptions and then Neito would repress this memory and never think of this party ever again. Mildly annoyed that Honenuki is getting what he wants after all, Neito is about to shift his gaze to Tokage who is still sitting on the floor, hoping to catch her eye and doubly hoping she’d understand—when in his peripheral vision, he sees a hand shaking to his left. Or rather, someone flapping their hand around silently, the way people do when they’re trying to wordlessly get someone’s attention. Someone else says something or the other—Neito frankly doesn’t have the time to process or listen when his life is ending—and the room descends into chaos that isn’t focused on him. The hand continues awkwardly flapping. Neito, confused and a little intrigued, turns his gaze to it fully and almost immediately regrets it when he realises who this, big pale hand is attached to. Or rather, over whose knee it’s currently flapping because he’d rather neck himself than move his gaze two centimeters up and risk looking Shinsou straight in the face. He’s not feeling put-together enough for that, he doesn’t think, and really, he doesn’t need to look anyway; Shinsou isn’t flapping it for him because realistically, why on earth would Shinsou be calling for his attention when the spotlight is already so aggressively on him— And he’s looking right at Shinsou now, isn’t he? His eyes have moved without his consent, haven’t they? God fucking dammit. “Account for your sins!” someone exclaims, and everyone resolves into giggles. Which is good because now at least some of the attention is off Neito for the time-being; he has handled a lot of things today, but he doesn’t think he could handle an entire room gawking at him as he makes awkward eye-contact with Shinsou. Who knows what expressions are flitting across his face? Shinsou, attractive as ever, is leaning back into the couch with some of his hair falling out of the ridiculous(ly cute) updo he styles it in. The way Neito finds him already staring back the second their eyes meet tells him that yes, that…hand-flapping, really was for him. Neito’s internal systems completely fail as his heart starts thundering in his chest, half from anxiety and half from…whatever he feels when Shinsou does anything. All of today, all of his efforts, all of his running away—up in smoke because of one prolonged eye-contact. Ridiculous. Pathetic. To be fair, Shinsou is looking back at him with an expression that Neito could never hope to understand, socially inept as he is, and the longer they look at each other, the more his—very purple, wow—eyes soften. Framed by his incessant dark circles, it almost makes him look…fluffy in a way that makes Neito want to melt into a puddle and stay there. In a good way. Maybe. The tender-eye-contact-thing lasts maybe ten seconds, less if Neito’s being honest but the way Shinsou’s gaze sucks him in, enough that the sounds of the room actually fade away for a brief second—well, Neito could swear he stands there staring at him for a whole eternity. He sees, and this is so dramatic and he’ll smite himself for it later but he’s only being dramatic because he hasn’t looked at the other boy properly in days and he’s not feeling very well right now—but yes, he sees, in Shinsou’s eyes, a lifetime’s worth of emotions, almost like a kaleidoscope of colour and feeling—of course, Neito has never been good at reading people but he thinks, and he may be wrong, he sees something akin to understanding there, like Shinsou’s just reached some sort of conclusion. Very, very soft and gentle understanding if the look in his eyes and the relaxed set of his mouth is anything to go by. It makes Neito’s entire body feel dry. He doesn’t feel like that makes sense but it’s the only way to describe it. He feels parched; even more so when he realises that Shinsou initiated this—didn’t he!? Neito swears he did—by calling for his attention and oh god, now what the fuck does that mean? He is not made to feel any better when Shinsou says, “It’s okay. You can if you want to,” in a low tone that makes his voice sound extra gravelly and lord, Neito’s progress has just completely been dunked to square one didn’t it? Which frankly is the least of his worries at the moment, considering Shinsou has just spoken to him for the first time since Wednesday, quietly enough that his broken brain infers that the words were specifically for him, and Neito has no idea what the hell he means.   Neito doesn’t get the time to dwell on it for too long because it is right around then that everyone decides to pick on him again. The attention returning back to him solely sends a burst of paranoia down his spine and he immediately looks away from Shinsou to stare at his feet. Honestly everything was harrowing enough before; with this added layer of…bullshit, he thinks his perception and internal processes have snapped so fundamentally that he will never function again. “Pick someone already! You’re stalling!” Neito has nothing to say to Honenuki; he’s right, anyway. “Are we even still playing the game? What happened?” “There was a game?” “Oh wait, yeah!” “Holy shit, how long have we been doing this?” He stares down at his socks, at the plate of cake lying completely ignored beside it, at Tokage’s thighs where she’s sitting cross legged next to it, and prepares to just say no. He can’t do this. He thought he could, what with all the false bravado and shit talk he’s been dishing out for no reason instead of declining or asking for another dare like a normal person—wait, why hadn’t he done that?—but he’s dug himself into this big hole and the Shinsou thing has just completely rendered him useless and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. He has to say no. He’ll be weaker and more pathetic for it, will hate himself definitely but it’s better than giving up his first kiss to some person he doesn’t like because his ego wouldn’t let him say no. Because he can’t give it up to the person he actually wants to. “Just fucking pick someone!” “Who will you choose!” “I hope it’s me!” Neito wrinkles his nose and almost tells Tsuburaba to shut the fuck up. He hopes Kendou and Shiozaki had fun because this party is going to be repressed so far down in his memory, he’ll have a hard time discerning whether he actually attended it. “You know, you don’t have to,” Tokage softly reminds him again, soft enough that he knows it’s for his ears only. He doesn’t respond but he takes her advice to heart and looks up, mouth half open to tell Honenuki to stick it where the sun don’t shine, no one will judge him, they already think he’s fragile in some capacity anyway, let’s wrap up this shitty week in the same vein— But then, in his periphery, he sees Shinsou’s leg, his pale hand resting on his knee—which is the same hand that had been gesturing to him moments before—and he falters. And it is then that he fucks up. Or rather, his autopilot systems fuck up because Neito is consciously about to decline, really. But what comes out of his mouth courtesy of a) his broken brain to mouth filter and b) his Shinsou brainrot that has consumed him completely (again) is: “After giving it much thought, I’ve decided that kissing any of you from this class isn’t going to be spicy enough. Since that was, ah,” he adjusts his cuff and keeps speaking in a hollow, condescending tone that is level and completely calm. “Well, that was the point of this plebian game, wasn’t it?” “What?” Tokage asks immediately, bewildered beyond belief. What, Neito asks himself when the rest of his brain catches up to what he’s said, panic seizing his entire being. That was not the plan. Where exactly is he going with this? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “Oh?” Honenuki asks, grinning slowly but unsurely. Beside him, Rin is so white, he might as well be a ghost. “So, who have you decided to kiss?” See, Neito’s had this problem since he was young, this “wants to say something but ends up saying something else completely riding on auto-pilot, impulse and not wanting to show weakness” thing. He’s developed it as a direct by-product of his parents’…parenting but also, and this isn’t confirmed and he can’t prove it, but he thinks it might have something to do with his quirk. It hits at the worst of times, this weird full-body surge that completely takes over him in difficult spots, not unlike actual possession, though the degree of its severity really depends on the severity of the situation. Hell, it’s sort of kicked in several times in this past, crappy week alone. But it especially bonks him extra hard when his anxiety is so severe, the only thing holding him back from just crossing into the light is sheer willpower and some misplaced terror of appearing weak. Like now. Most times, this mechanism is life-saving. Today, Neito wishes he could shut himself down like a computer and never see the light of day again. He swallows and clenches his fists, trying not to nervously quiver. “I’ve decided to kiss someone who isn’t in this class.” “What?” Tokage asks, extremely warily. What, Neito asks himself at the exact same time. All of Kendou and Shiozaki’s female guests from support, business and general start murmuring and fidgeting immediately. Only Ashido and Yaoyorozu stay still, staring back at him in surprise; good, they know he’s never going to kiss them. Awesome. Not that he’s looking at them, anyway.   It’s okay. You can if you want to, Shinsou had said. Neito would be a fool not to utilise it. Wait, what exactly is he utilising again? His brain isn’t working.   Honenuki’s grin gives way to wary surprise, but it’s Awase who slowly asks, “What? Who?” Rin is going to pass out. “Monoma,” Tokage says warningly for the second time that evening. Neito clears his throat and ignores her again knowing damn well where this is going after his brain finally catches up to the rest of him and not liking one bit of it (a lie; some deep part of him is very, very pleased at what’s to come which is dumb as hell). He wants to blame what he’s about to do all on the auto-pilot, convinced he would never do something stupid, but he would in fact do something this stupid, and he can’t deny that some awake, rational part of him is completely involved in the fuckshit that is about to come out of his mouth; his dumb conversations with Shinsou on Tuesday are a direct testament to that. I’ll pay for your fruit-salad? My friends are inside, I’m waiting for them but I’m actually only here to talk to you? What the fuck was he thinking? He takes a deep breath. Rational-Neito finally dies an early death. “The ladies don’t need to worry; I won’t be kissing them. Rest assured.” The room immediately breaks out into mutters. Honenuki’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but Neito doesn’t let anyone interrupt. If he’s going to dig his own grave, he would rather he do it without someone cutting him off. “That being said,” at this point, he hooks both of his arms behind his back and moves slightly closer to the couch that Shinsou is sitting on. He keeps the expression on his face contemplative, just barely so, and looks at the spot Honenuki’s head. He also got public speaking lessons, okay? He’s utilising his useless education on his way to certain death. But first, to get a certain thing out of the way; no auto-pilot stupidity would allow him to not touch on that. God, he hates himself. He’s not even really all there. “I have not chosen a male for this kiss because I have an inclination towards boys,” he almost feels bad blatantly lying and deceiving with such an even voice but whatever. Halfway through the sentence, he realises he has absolutely no idea where to take the sentence he’s started aside from I have chosen him because I like him so much, I’m going to implode and die. But well, he can’t say that, so he hands the reins to his winging-it-department and the shit that smoothly starts coming out of his mouth is borderline hysterical. If he wasn’t in the situation personally, he’d actually find it funny. “Nor have I chosen him to make this dare extra spicy, although that would be an added factor. No, I have chosen him because there are people here, actually, that are holding hate and grudges in their hearts, some of it on my behalf. With this…,” Neito can’t find a good enough word so he skips over it, all casual like—and he does it so well, no one can tell that his throat has gone completely cold. He’s going to throw up. Wow, if he could stop swinging between being completely conscious in this horrible decision and handing it to auto-pilot and logging off, that would be great. He can’t even tell if he thinks this is a bad idea or an epically incredible one. He can’t tell what’s going on in there at all. All he knows is that he’s going to puke everywhere. “…with this kiss, if we may call it that, I hope to absolve the kissee,” is that a word? Fuck it. “Well, I hope to dissolve the person I have chosen…,” wait no. To his left, he hears Shinsou suck some air up his nose in what is probably meant to be a laugh. Neito immediately goes extremely red and derails. “I mean! I hope to dissolve at least my half of the grudge from the heart of the person…holding this grudge. I have no hate in my heart for the kissee, and I hope…,” Everyone is staring at him. Neito internally screams. What the fuck is he saying? “Monoma,” Tokage says slowly. He clears his throat and chances a look at Awase, who’s gone just as white as Rin and currently looks like he’s got a stick stuck in his throat. Neito wholeheartedly relates. “Anyway,” he straightens up, thanking the universe again that his voice at least isn’t shaking because his internals sure are. He really really can’t blame this one on the auto-pilot. Even that mechanism doesn’t make him this stupid. He sucks in a breath, and then he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in a long time. He smiles, in a casual smirky way that he hopes doesn’t look lecherous, and turns—not to Shinsou, but (and this is the part he hates the most) to Shinsou’s girlfriend who is sitting beside Shiozaki and who genuinely gapes at him when their eyes meet. His heart pounds in his ears and the dry heave countdown starts up all over again. She’s pretty he notes, in a blue dress that goes nicely with her long dark hair and big brown eyes. Neito, her polar opposite, suddenly feels doubly shit that Shinsou’s type seems to be everything he isn’t, but he’s gotten this far; if he fumbles it now because he’s constantly so fucking dramatic and sad about things, he might never forgive himself. He inhales. “May I borrow your boyfriend Shinsou-kun for one kiss?” The room goes so deathly silent, you could probably hear a pin drop. Shinsou’s girlfriend—Neito should really learn her name—looks back at him like he’s asked her to swallow glass. Neito’s heart pounds.   Shit. Shit. Wait shit. Back up. Pause. She’s Shiozaki’s friend. Like, god-fearing Shiozaki. If she’s Shiozaki’s friend, then is she like her too; god-fearing, super religious, really conservative? And he’s fucking asked her to kiss her fucking boyfriend? The rest of his faculties that he had casually side-lined suddenly catch up to all he’s said in the past few minutes and jerk back into motion like an old car kickstarting with wheezing noises. Wait a second. Hold on, hold on. Wait. No, really wait. Wait, what has he been doing this whole time? Pause. The universe, selfishly, keeps going.   Neito is two steps away, from running out, locking himself in the first room that has a lockable door, crying and then dropping out of UA as the gravity of all the nonsense he’s said after being baited into it by Honenuki of all people hits him hard—when Shinsou’s girlfriend’s face crinkles…with laughter. It’s a loud, tinkly noise and peal after peal comes out of her mouth as she looks back at him with her face all red, like he’s just told her the funniest joke. Neito, unsure of how he should be reacting to this situation and really relieved that he didn’t accidentally make her cry, wings it and starts slowly laughing with her. “Oh my god,” she says through what Neito can only describe as hiccupping giggles, wiping actual tears from her eyes. But hey, at least she doesn’t look pissed or murderous, or worse, sad and uncomfortable on the verge of exorcising him or something. Frankly, she looks like she’s just been given the secret to the world’s answers—if the answers were really fucking funny. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t do analogies. “Oh my,” she wheezes, and this prompts Ashido and Tsuburaba into laughter, and from there it’s a crumbling, slippery slope. “That actually might be the most adventurous thing he’ll ever do.” What the fuck does that mean, Neito thinks hysterically as he starts laughing—and regrets it when his laugh starts descending into the wild, untamed, psychotic version. Great, now almost everyone is giggling. Well, except Awase. Probably. Neito can’t hear him in the chaos but he isn’t really looking at him so he can’t be sure. He would be more concerned if he was laughing at the prospect of Neito willingly choosing to land a kiss on his archenemy—wait does he even know who this girl’s boyfriend is? Oh shit, wait. “Oh my god, he’s great,” Ashido is crying, holding Tsuburaba. “I’ll never talk shit about him again.” Neito’s eye, despite everything, twitches. “Go ahead,” Shinsou’s girlfriend—seriously, what is her name—says, and all the girls except Shiozaki gasp and ooh for some reason. Shiozaki just looks dumbfounded. “You have my blessing. But don’t break him too much! I still need him!” Neito—who is so high-strung and afraid of fucking this up that her statement doesn’t even hurt him (then, anyway)—risks a glance at Awase who is looking at him with a mix of confusion and horrified realisation dawning on his face. It would be funny if thinking about the consequences of what he’s about to do wasn’t so scary. The best part? He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. Even better? He has even less of a clue how he got here in the first place. He just remembers talking shit, being so anxious his body folded and now he is somehow here, and people are laughing. Next to Awase, Honenuki looks like he’s swallowed something extremely bitter. Neito gulps thickly, avoids looking down at Tokage because he cannot handle whatever expression she has on her face, he just knows he wouldn’t be able to, and turns to look at Shinsou. The man of the hour. The man himself. He’s still sitting on the couch, leaning against the back and the expression in his eyes hasn’t changed at all. Still that soft understanding, though now—and Neito could absolutely be wrong—it’s mixed with some amusement. His heart pounds. God, he’s so attractive. “And you?” immediately he regrets speaking, because while his voice has stayed level and nice throughout this debacle, it chooses this moment to slip into breathless territory. This, of course, is made worse by the fact that Shinsou’s eyebrows and lips quirk up very subtly, like—and again, Neito could be very wrong—he’s encouraging him to go on.   It’s okay. You can if you want to.   “Do you consent to this kiss to…,” he sucks in a breath, fearing it’s going to fail him. “…to restore peace and resolve grudges? No hard feelings or anything if you don’t!” Shinsou huffs in a burst of air through his nose, which Neito is now sure is something of a laugh. His anxiety shoots up and lessens at the same time. He’s made him laugh. “Sure,” he says in his deep, drawly voice like he couldn’t care less but the expressions on his face are telling Neito something else entirely. Is he hallucinating? Probably not. “Whatever.”   Sure, whatever. Okay. Okay. Neito’s got this. Totally. He could not tell you if you paid him how he’s gotten to this exact moment, this here, with him dramatically walking the 0.5-foot distance to Shinsou who hasn’t moved an inch—but well, he’s here. The worst part of it is that he doesn’t even know if he regrets it or not. He’ll worry about that after—and he knows he’ll regret it immensely, even if some sick, affection-deprived part of him is silently very pleased; because on the off-chance that he doesn’t actually manage to repress the memories of this horrific party, this is going to provide him enough anxiety-inducing material to last him a lifetime. But then again. This opportunity is never going to come back again, so he might as well. Right? Right? Rational-Neito, dead, provides him no answers to make him feel better.   8:01pm Neito has thought about kissing Shinsou a lot, particularly in the early stages of his crush. He’s obviously never kissed or been kissed before, so he doesn’t know how it goes exactly or how it even feels, but in his imagination, it goes well. Shinsou is kind and gentle and loving, and lets Neito take his time and all of that cheesy stuff. The Shinsou in front of him, however, sitting on the couch as Neito stands over him and tries to slow down his beating heart—well, in-real-life Shinsou is looking up at him with mirth in his eyes, along with that weird, fucked up understanding that Neito still hasn’t comprehended the meaning of. Their bodies are as far apart as they possibly can be, not to mention the entire audience that is watching them with bated breath (one of whom is Shinsou’s very amused, giggling girlfriend which is just plain weird), and there is not a single romantic thing that is evident in the situation. Neito inhales, having a hard time looking Shinsou in the face but not being able to look anywhere else and for the first time since this debacle starting, he realises that he really has no idea how kissing works.   Does he lean in? Will Shinsou lean in? Will they both lean in and meet each other halfway? Does he open his mouth? Closed sounds better. Honenuki kept saying peck, not a full makeout—Neito doesn’t know how to do that anyway, and that wouldn’t be fair to Shinsou’s girlfriend at all—but is he meant to… Should he tilt his head a certain way or should he just go in for it? Has he ever seen kissing videos before? He can’t remember watching anything quite as degenerate as that, he’s not an animal, so this is just fantastic. Shinsou isn’t helping; he’s just sitting there, waiting for Neito to do something. But like, what the fuck is he meant to do? Granted, it is his dare and he has chosen Shinsou for…peace-keeping (seriously, what the fuck was he thinking when he said that) so technically he should be initiating, but his systems have frozen and all he can do is look down on Shinsou and think very consciously about breathing because he fears he might stop. This is, of course, made ten times more awkward when the only thought his broken brain supplies in lieu of help that he desperately begs for is give him a very quick play by play to the last time they interacted with each other at Ground Ten. Shinsou had made fun of him, according to some, called him fruit-salad and then spent the next two school-days not acknowledging his existence at all. Neito falters. It doesn’t make sense, after all that, for Shinsou so easily to have said it’s okay, you can if you want to (Neito isn’t even sure if he’s read it in the same way it was meant) and agree to kiss him or look at him the way he’s looking at him right now. Especially considering how much Neito had embarrassed himself in front of him the whole week. Doubly because Neito’s friend had landed him in detention duty for no reason. This shouldn’t be happening. What did Shinsou exactly mean by it’s okay, you can if you want to? Was he giving consent for Neito to choose him? Or did he mean something else? Is this just Shinsou making fun of him? Wait a second, he needs to back up and— Shinsou quirks his eyebrows up at him, the understanding in his eyes replaced with what Neito is reading as mild concern and an endless chasm of…patience? Patience, yeah. It makes him look so soft and approachable, as opposed to all the other times, that Neito’s nerves become less frazzled immediately. Huh. That’s something to ponder for another day. “Well,” he hears himself say even though he hasn’t really meant to say anything at all. He definitely also does not mean to stick out his right hand toward Shinsou, but he does anyway. Hail auto-pilot. “Here’s to rectifying the bad note on which we left off. I know you weren’t making fun of me that time, so let’s resolve this here.” His entire body cringes because he definitely should’ve thought about that more, especially when he hears Awase let out this wheezing, wounded sound. Even more when he realises that the girls have not stopped giggling and the boys are deathly quiet. Externally, however, he stays cool and impassive. Awesome. He turns his head in Awase’s general direction, not quite looking at anyone because he can only do much to uphold his persona and whatever expressions all of the boys in his class are wearing are for sure going to fracture right through it. He’s made it this far. He can’t cry now. He takes a deep breath. “And here,” he says, hoping Awase knows he’s being addressed. Honestly, he probably does. “Here is to letting go of hatred and grudges. With my gesture of good-will, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive…,” he tries to say Shinsou and finds that he can’t. Yay. “…forgive him.” Shinsou does that thing again, when his breath whooshes out of him in what is meant to be a laugh and Neito’s heart melts as his eyes seek him out immediately—a strange feeling when it’s also thundering in his chest. He’s only a little relieved when Shinsou decides not to comment on his stupidity and wordlessly put his hand in Neito’s. All the progress, all the running away from him, all dissolved. Because of one stupid game and one even stupider decision. Fuck Honenuki for this. Neito is going to annihilate him in training, this is— The hand Shinsou puts in his, he absently notes, is the same one that he had briefly held on Monday when he’d fell. Goodness, their dynamic is a mess, can he back up and just please— “This is going to be very awkward for you when I tell you that I was, in fact, kind of making fun of you.” “Huh?” Neito says, shook by the hand-holding barely in the process of…processing the meaning of the sentence before Shinsou grins—toothily, and god, Neito can’t bring himself to regret any of this even though he knows he will—and then he tugs on Neito’s hand. It’s hard enough that Neito, skinny twig that he is, goes falling forward and everyone in the room straight-up gasps. And it is then, with Neito not even having enough time to close his eyes properly, that Shinsou grabs his shoulder to steady him with his free-hand and kisses him full on the mouth— And Neito experiences the biggest system shutdown he never has before.   The kiss is close-mouthed, surprisingly dry and lasts maybe five or six seconds in real-time. To Neito, however, it feels like an entire lifetime. He’s always heard of how intimate kissing can be, that when you meet the person that is yours to keep, you just know; there’s meant to be electricity, fireworks, tingles, all that stuff. A burst of colours does go off behind Neito’s eyelids, but that has more to do with an anxiety response than some rom-com stuff. His throat closes up, embarrassingly so, nausea rises to the surface like a tidal wave and his hands, that have grabbed onto both of Shinsou’s shoulders at some point, clench into fists in the fabric of his shirt as he tries not to hurtle into a full shutdown. It’s sad, actually very upsetting, that Neito is so stressed through the whole experience, he can’t even bring himself to enjoy it. Toward the end of it, though, Shinsou tilts his head just slightly and slots their lips at a different angle and Neito—who will never admit to a very embarrassing, very tiny sound escaping him at that very moment—hasn’t even begun reeling from that when, just like that, the other boy pulls back. Neito’s eyes shoot open immediately, his entire being suddenly very hyper-aware that he’s leaning over Shinsou with both hands bunched into his shirt, that Shinsou’s still got a hand curled loosely over his shoulder, that they’re both looking at each other—though Neito is staring blankly, and Shinsou’s got fifteen different emotions running through his eyes. Neito does not have the brainpower to unpack all of them. But with the understanding and realisation he’s already sort of discerned (and maybe mislabelled), he thinks he sees one look flit briefly across Shinsou’s face—this one, Neito thinks, signifies that he’s just had some sort of revelation. It makes him look beautiful. As soon as that thought hits, he lets go of Shinsou’s shoulders as if he’s just been burned, lest he winds up doing what actually he wants to do, and that is: kiss him some more. He can’t do that. He can’t. He can’t, this is already— Shinsou smiles softly at him and Neito’s heart completely swoops. Vaguely, and he can’t be completely sure because of how the sound of his own heart is thundering in his ears and anxiety is clogging all of his available systems, he thinks he hears the room erupt into thunderous noise around him.   Neito has never given much thought to the concept of his first kiss, but he has thought about how it would be if he were to kiss Shinsou for the first time—an embarrassingly amount of times actually. It was never something that was attainable or achievable, so he’d filed it away with all those secret things he longed for but would never say. But of all the possible scenarios he had thought up regarding this never-to-happen-first-kiss-with-Shinsou, none of them and absolutely none of them involved Ashido screaming “he did it for the peace! Give this man a peace prize!” at the top of her lungs at any point. The laughter, incoherent screaming and hooting was also never something Neito had thought to include in his fantasies and yet—   Shinsou looks at him for one more beat before carefully removing his hand from Neito’s shoulder, who immediately and very pathetically feels the loss of warmth and longs. Although he’s holding it together, very barely, he can feel a quiver pick up in one of his hands and his legs definitely feel like mush and he can’t quite remember how he got here but he’s just kissed Shinsou and everyone’s screaming about it and Awase is raging in the background and suddenly, as the sounds of the room hit him at once, it all becomes very overwhelming and he needs to leave, right now, now, now, now, before he loses the ability to think entirely and that is definitely his nausea returning, he’s going to puke— “Y’all see that shit!” Tsubaraba screams, particularly loudly and it’s so startlingly high-volume that Neito backs away from Shinsou with a little bit of a gasp that sounds dramatic but that he really hasn’t produced on purpose. Shinsou is still looking at him and he can hear his girlfriend giggling hysterically in the background and oh god, what has he just done? Well, well, well, if it isn’t the direct consequences of his poorly thought out actions. He needs to leave. Right now. He never should’ve said yes, never should’ve gone along with Honenuki’s stupid game, or just…hell, just kissed someone else in class instead of fucking Shinsou who is…who is looking at him with mild concern and still that soft fucking look in his eye and it makes Neito choke up more than he already is because he’s misinterpreting that look for tenderness, he’s misinterpreted everything, oh god, this— “Hey,” Shinsou says, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and that is what spurs Neito into motion, the realisation that his persona, his stupid little façade, is finally starting to crack and oh god he’s tearing up and Shinsou can see. Abruptly and admittedly very blindly, Neito turns on his heel and prepares to speed-walk away from the scene that has gotten ten times louder, though he has no idea why. He needs to get somewhere where he can get this…all of what he’s feeling out of his system, he needs to breathe and he needs to cry and he needs to think and he’s never fucked up like this in his life, he’s done so well, so so well since June, hasn’t even breathed on Shinsou wrong and now he’s gone and fucked it all up for his own selfishness and he—   He takes two steps, maybe three before he ends up putting his foot, sock and all, right into his abandoned plate of cake that had lain forgotten and bore witness to the whole fiasco from a direct vantage point. He actually only realises this fact hours after the fact when he’s in bed. At the time that this happens, he doesn’t even process he’s stepped in anything at all. It would be bad enough if he’d realised this fact as soon as his foot touched it because isn’t that humiliating as fuck; but he’s not functioning, he’s barely even breathing and so he somehow, even after stepping into something that he knows isn’t the floor, the need to get away is so strong that he attempts to keep walking. And the thing is, that when you try and keep walking after you have stepped sock-deep in literal cream, it is very hard to keep your balance most times. So, sometimes, if you’re very unlucky and on top of that, do not know what you’re doing or where you’re going, you go hurtling forward. In non-decorative terms, what Neito means is that you fucking fall over. You know, for the second time in less than a week. Neito swiftly realises one thing as his brain only finally processes the fact that he is, actually, falling forward very fast when his nose is barely three inches away from the rough green carpet of the common area: this time there is no Shinsou who is going to catch him. And forward he goes. And hard he hits his entire face against the floor.   The room goes extremely quiet before it goes absolutely ballistic.

He is an intriguing blend of simplicity and complexity a recipe to be loved,  but never revealed  -Dean Jackson  The dull thud and thwack of fists hitting the sandbag echoed through the gym. Tape tore off Viktor's hands in pieces as he landed blow after blow, his mind blank as his body operated on muscle memory alone. After spending training and missions with all his senses on high alert and every synapse in his brain firing at full capacity, it felt good to turn it all off and just let his body work. Most of the occupants in the gym had left earlier into the night. That was good. Viktor liked privacy, but the quiet of it all unnerved him. It set his teeth on edge and wound his muscles into tight, taut strings sensitive as a mousetrap. He waited for the moment it would all fall apart, but nothing had so far. Nothing for two days actually and it terrified him because Viktor never realized how loud the silence could become until now. Turns out, silence was a deafening little devil that taunted you to the core. He should be used to this though. Silence was a strong presence in Viktor's life. "Oi Viktor! Are you seriously still at it, asshole?!" Yuri yelled while entering the gym, his voice snapping Viktor back to reality. Back from the blankness of the workout, his raw knuckles started screaming. "Sorry..." he said, flexing his hands. Nothing broken, just bruised. He'd gotten off easy today. "I just got distracted." "Whatever. It's nearly morning and we have shit to do today." "Morning?" Yuri scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yes and your damn phone was getting calls all night from your stupid boss." Blood began to clot Viktor's hand as he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while the two walked towards the room. Unsurprisingly, Yuri was right. One glance around the gym showed he was alone and must have been for a long time depending how fucked up his hand appeared. He must have gotten pretty frustrated. Again, another unsurprising thing due to the recent circumstances that had occurred. "Look..." Viktor blinked at Yuri, somewhat shocked at the shy tone the usual brash man used. "I know you really aren't keen on getting rejected, nonetheless blue balled, but you need to focus. That other Yuuri isn't helping either. Our goal is to catch Eros and ask about the iPad. Semenov should be our primary target, not your love life." They were in the hallway now and Viktor was fiddling with the room key. "I know perfectly well what I'm doing Yuri." He paused and unlocked the door, slipping inside with his partner close behind. "I just- It's weird. Every time I see Eros or Yuuri I get this strange sense of déjà vu, especially after the gala." "Yeah, well the gala was two days ago and you've been moping ever since. You haven't even shown up to your stupid "job" because your fuckin' artist has been avoiding you like the plague." Ouch. That actually hurt and Viktor was certain Yuri could see him wince. He sighed. "I don't know what happened between you two, but you let it distract you. Semenov was right there Viktor. Hell, even Eros was perusable if we tried." "Yes, but that's your problem, Yurio." Viktor grinned like a mad man when Yuri practically hissed at the name. It was almost like putting a cat in cold water or putting some ice near a flame. Nonetheless, Viktor continued as Yuri gathered the laundry in the corner. "Pursuing Eros would not have only blown our cover to Georgi, but Nikolay. Chris and I talked yesterday about your name fluke and we really need for you to expand your horizons. More acting work, less combat. Also, do you ever go out? Like, do you have a friend who can handle you when you're on your period?" "Fuck you! I'm not some chick, you old shit!" Viktor held a hand to his chest, sighing dramatically. "You're right, "Goldilocks". But ah, what a pretty girl you would be~" "I'd be a prettier girl than you, that's for damn sure." There was a bit of shuffling before Yuri extracted the two bow ties from the infamous night and walked towards the mahogany desk that held the agency's laptop. Quickly, he grabbed a wire and plugged the films in, typing a few kew words and facing away from Viktor's curious gaze. "You know Yuuri was dressed really nice at the gala." Oh god not this again. Yuri rolled his eyes. "He looked so beautiful with that outfit and his eyes were almost glowing and the lips! Ugh, Yuri I think I'm in love." "Just shut up already. First, it was Eros, then it was Yuuri. Are you purposely trying to find uninterested guys?" Yuri was at Viktor's side with gauze and antiseptic before he could blink. Sometimes Viktor swore that man was faster than he was. "It's not purposeful. Maybe I just enjoy a challenge." "Well you're stupid and so is that." Yuri returned back to the computer and a second later, Chris appeared on the screen looking absolutely giddy. 'Agent 24 and 47! How are you both this morning?' "Forever will my mornings stay awful if I have to deal with this pinning idiot." Yuri gestured to Viktor who currently pouted at him while nursing his hand. Chris snorted, 'Vitya pinning? Impossible.' "Well..." 'Oh my god, Viktor are you serious?!' On the other side of the screen, Chris glanced around frantically and leaned into the camera as if the closer proximity would help at keeping quiet. 'Is it Eros again?' "No." "Yes." Both Russians glared and spoke simultaneously. Yuri frowned, "Viktor's dumbass has a kink for getting rejected I think. The artist at his base told him off then Eros keeps blue balling him." 'Tsk tsk, Viktor. I thought you were better then that.' Chris gave a laugh, his eyes alighting in excitement when a notification popped up on the screen. 'Aha! Speaking of Eros...' Chris hit a few keys and a grainy black and white still of a brunette man wearing dark rimmed glasses filled the screen. Yuri sucked in a breath as Viktor froze. "Holy shit..." The agency's computer ran facial recognition software across a hacked network of strategically-placed security cameras spread throughout the world. The software compares faces caught on tape with any captured images in the files marked "active", "missing", or "whereabouts unknown". If a possible identification is made (a 96% probability of a match is required to trigger the system), the image is flagged and a notification is sent to the user. This image, taken at Saint Petersburg International Airport, was showing a 99% probability of belonging to Eros. 'Your cameras on the bow ties I provided gave a clear shot of Eros in action. We ran a scan and this is the closest civilian that matched the description. The scenario works well too, seeing as how the cameras were hacked and the iPad went missing. Whoever this is, it's the closest thing we have to gathering intel on Eros's whereabouts.' "Is that your stupid artist? Wait, that's Beka's friend!" Chris raised an eyebrow. 'Who's Beka?' "None of your damn business. The point is, that's Viktor's stupid little crush." 'Is this true, Vitya?' Shaking his head, Viktor forced himself to focus on the task at hand. There was no proof that Yuuri was Eros and he needed to avoid jumping to conclusions. He needed to focus on the evidence. Evidence was solid, concrete, reliable. Evidence does not lie. It was not subject to whims and emotions - it merely is or isn't. If justice is his overarching goal, evidence is the trail that leads him there. Speaking clearly, Viktor replied, "It's a possibility, but there's nothing solid. We don't have enough proof on Yuuri to claim anything yet, but we at least have a lead." 'Wonderful! Blue, Nico, Mishi, and I will skim over the codings used to hack the security footage, so hopefully we'll have a clearer view next time.' Chris grinned, rolling back in his chair, revealing several woman in the back that gave a nod and assuring smile. One in particular, a short girl beside the sketch artist, hummed approvingly at the image. 'I know he's a bad guy, but has bad ever looked that good?' 'Blue!' The one dubbed in the back-supposedly named Mishi hissed. 'We're professionals! Act like it.' 'I swear to god y'all are the biggest dorks I've ever met.' Nicole grounded, pointing a pencil at them. Chris included within the mix all gave a gasp. Chris scoffed. 'Well excuse me Nicole for admiring a beautiful creation. You of all people should know how important it is to appreciate the fine arts.' Somewhere in the back, Chris's boyfriend walked by carrying some strange device and paused behind the camera. 'Excuse me?' It took three seconds flat for a flustered Chris to bid good luck at the secret agents and yell at the giggling girl intelligence trio while signing off with a laughing boyfriend in the back. ~ Georgi was an idiot. Technically speaking, Georgi wasn't really that stupid. In fact, the entrepreneur was quite intelligent. Maybe it was his actions that were so idiotic. Yes, that's it. Y'see, Georgi hoped to redeem his disastrously crashed gala by holding a bidding war within a museum. It wasn't anything spectacular, but basically a dumb event for a few rich snobs to flash and buy their fancy new toys-consisting of: cars, family heirlooms, and precious artifacts. Georgi even trained his newest surplus of security guards to recognize the rough description of Eros if another incident was to occur, but despite the entirety of Georgi's "Take 2", Viktor saw it completely absurd. If anything, he considered it to be a "who could be the biggest showoff" deal. So once again, Viktor sat in the passenger seat of the car, Yuri driving in that always wonderful Saint Petersburg bumper to bumper traffic. The car came to a pause before a small café that Viktor had grabbed coffee from before meeting Yuuri that night, his mind wandered to him. Where was Yuuri anyways? Had Viktor done something wrong? Was it because Yuuri was actually Eros? No, not Yuuri. Not that sweet, beautiful, seductive- Viktor frowned, then passed one last glance to the cafe, his mind jolting to alert. There he was... he was certain of it. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Yuri said in confusion as Viktor forced his seatbelt off and ran into the traffic, crossing the street. Ignoring Yuri was far easier than it ever had been since his mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. He stumbled passed the halted cars around him, his gaze never leaving Yuuri as he walked into the café. He was certain it was him, this time it really would be. The radiance of those bewitching eyes far too familiar to him to not be recognized. It may have been a few days since he had last seen him, but the memory of Yuuri's influence the few nights before had remained perfectly intact within the confines of Viktor's mind. "Yuuri!" He called, pushing through the cafe door breathlessly. The anxiety that rushed his veins as the brunette turned, became far too much for him to handle. There they were... those chocolate hued eyes that had vexed him so, that hesitant smile which had haunted his dreams, it was all here. Yuuri tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Alexei?" The smile faltered slightly, but still crossed his face-matching Yuuri's in the amount of enthusiasm they shared at each others presence. "Yeah." He laughed as Yuuri stepped to him, awkwardly fidgeting underneath Viktor's scrutiny. "Sorry about missing work." Yuuri sighed, a hand lifted to his forehead in thought now. "Things have gotten busy for me and..."Yuuri paused taking in Viktor's disheveled appearance. Yuuri's thoughts cursed to himself at how attractive he found him. He was in a black suit, silver fringe adorned in the same fashion as when they had danced... Those dashing blue eyes dominating his sense of control over himself. "I ..." Yuuri laughed, shaking his head nervously now. "I paint privately. I don't really like to do it in front of others.." Viktor laughed to himself. Who would ever think this adorable flustered man to be capable of such atrocious acts that Eros committed on the daily? Of course, sugar and everything nice came with a bit of spice and Viktor was well aware how Yuuri's personality could change within an instance. Although... "Are you... do you have somewhere to be?" Yuuri turned to his right grabbing his coffee from the table and sipping it. "Georgi's place maybe?" Viktor looked down at himself, oh, that's right... work. "I don't want to keep you." As Yuuri tried to step passed him, Viktor repositioned himself in front of him, a hand on his arm. "Technically, yes, I have somewhere to be but... you denied me last time..." he paused as Yuuri's eyes narrowed in confusion. "... I'm not leaving until you give me your number." Yuuri rolled his eyes in a playful demeanor, taking Viktor's phone from his possession and programming his number into it. "To be accurate, no, I didn't 'deny' you, I'm just not a sucker for your stupid pickup lines." He laughed returning him his phone, admiring the smile that overcame him as he stared down at his name in his contacts. "Besides, you didn't exactly ask. You just stood there... looking dumbfounded." Ah, there's that spice. "Okie dokie." Following Yuuri as he exited the cafe and continued down the sidewalk, he said, "So... how's your little friend?" "Yurio?" "Oh, right, him." Yuuri laughed. It brought Viktor a small amount of comfort that he had already tried to take an interest in their relationship status. "Uh... well he's fine." Viktor perked up as Yuuri halted by the curb. "Where are you going?" "Somewhere else." "I'll take you." "No you're going to be late, just..." Yuuri stepped closer to the curb waving down a taxi. Placing a hand against the center of Yuuri's back, Viktor lead him to the taxi, holding the door open for him then looked to the driver. "Keep him safe." Pausing with a deep inhale, blue eyes found brown once more. "Have dinner with me." "Is that a request or demand?" Yuuri laughed. "Which ever makes you agree." Yuuri smiled. "No... I can't." That pain in Viktor's chest suddenly returned with severe sharpness. "I'm trying to situate things and...plan for the Take 2 thing Georgi has up." He turned to the driver. "Can you take me t-" "Hold on." Viktor shouted to the driver, bringing him to a halt once more. He looked back to Yuuri, eyes narrowing over him. The amount of frustration he felt at Yuuri's hesitancy with him was slowly destroying him. "Have one drink with me." "No." He lowered his head to rest on the door with a sigh. "Why give me your number if you have no intentions of agreeing to see me?" Yuuri hummed for a moment then cleared his throat to return his disappointed attention to Viktor's, he said, "Fine..." Viktor's excitement suddenly returned. "Dinner?" "No." "Then what?" Looking at the time, Yuuri became anxious. "Just... text me, I really have to go. I'll see you tonight for part 2, right?" Viktor grinned like a child who was told they won an entire candy store. "Absolutely." ~ Exclusive events always brought out the who's who of Saint Petersburg's high society in droves, and tonight was no exception. They filtered about the room like bejeweled hummingbirds, thin flutes of expensive champagne clutched in their manicured hands. As always, many of the women in attendance had pulled out all the stops in the accessories department. Too bad Eros wasn't in the market for a piece of audaciously expensive jewelry. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight Yuuri had his eye on a bigger score. The museum was previewing their new gem and mineral exhibit featuring some of the most valuable stones in the world. Sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds were displayed about the room, each gem high on clarity and perfectly cut and set. Each would fetch a fortune on the black market. But Yuuri had his sights set on something more exquisite than a simple emerald or diamond. He was after something he'd only read about, something some in his profession believed to be the sparkly equivalent of the Loch Ness monster. Directly in the middle of the room, surrounded by overly-perfumed people gesticulating excitedly, sat the Queen's Ruby. The sole purpose as to why he was a thief. There's a long story about it. How that cursed rock led to this, the vein of his existence, the reason why he did the things he did. It could be summed up in a gist, but the main point he wanted the rock was not only for the cash, but to keep that precious item from the likes of a certain man's greedy hands. Roughly the size of a man's fist and deeper red than arterial blood, the Queen's Ruby was valued at close to $20 million. It was part of an anonymous private collection and hadn't been displayed publicly in over fifty years. Even from this distance, it was everything Yuuri imagined and more. If his operation went well, the ruby would be out of the country by morning. Blending into the outskirts of the crowd, Yuuri pulled out his phone and somewhat pretended to text while taking discreet pictures of the cameras lining the ceiling and the positioning of each of the jewelry cases.  Phichit didn't even know about this heist. It was so sudden, but needed to be done. It needed to stay away from him.  Due to its rarity as an exhibit, the Queen's Ruby was subject to intense international and domestic press coverage, making it a target for every thief and hustler for a hundred miles. In turn, the security in the wing would be increased by at least thirty percent. Of the seven guards in the room, Yuuri pegged three as temporary hires - the temps always gave themselves away with their nervous glances and uneasy fidgeting. He'd wager on another two temps in the security control room in addition to the regular staff. Yuuri mentally catalogued the room as he took pictures - there were six visible cameras. Judging by the layout of the space, these cameras weren't large or powerful enough to capture the whole room without significant blind spots, meaning there had to be at least four cameras he couldn't see. No problem, he could cover that. The room also contained a focused light motion sensor system built into the walls. When enabled, this system created a complicated web of infrared beams crisscrossing the room. The alarm would be triggered if anything blocked a beam from meeting its designated light receptor. It would take precision, patience, and damn good gymnastics to clear the web without breaking any of the beams. His fingers itched. This would be a challenge. Eros loved a good challenge. "No interest in the exhibit?" The voice came from his right. It was easy, playful. Yuuri was somewhat surprised by the attention, considering he'd opted for a regular dark suit and crisp tie. But tonight was not about catching the eye of another mark. Turning to the owner of the voice, his excuses died on his lips. Yuuri was face to face with none other than a gorgeous faced Alexei. Broad shoulders and narrow hips draped in a smartly tailored dark grey suit, a blue-grey silk tie chosen to highlight his electric blue eyes, a pair of silver Tiffany cufflinks at his wrists. Expensive without being flashy, elegance without pretense. Old money to his very core. It was a look Yuuri liked. "On the contrary. I have quite an eye for beautiful things." Their eyes met as he rechecked his phone. With the pictures of the room, it would play on the computer, which would automatically overlay them onto a blueprint of the building using a program Phichit wrote. Within an hour, Yuuri would have an interactive map of the room, including ductwork and security systems. "We have that in common," he drawled. There was nothing subtle in the way his eyes roamed Yuuri's curves. Honestly, Yuuri hadn't planned on running into Alexei despite the earlier claim, but there was something about this man that screamed challenging. And Eros did love his challenges. Unbeknownst to Yuuri, Viktor shared a similar thought. "Join me for a drink?" ~ Drinks in hand, they made their way to an empty exhibit room containing several uncut gems from around the world. Yuuri took pleasure in knowing he could take every stone in this room tonight if he wanted. It would be easy. But he'd never done things easy. "I'd ask if you come to these things before, but I had the pleasure from last time to see..."Viktor spoke, his right hand settling at the small of Yuuri's back as they walked slowly around the room. "I'd ask if you know everyone in Saint Petersburg, but I'm pretty sure you'd answer me with some line about always remembering people like me," Yuuri quipped. "What makes you think it would be a line?" he asked, smiling. It surprised Yuuri. According to every gossip site Phichit read, a man like Alexei was a womanizer with more looks than brains who loved three things: Parties, booze, and women. He'd be immature, self-absorbed, and a borderline alcoholic at the verge of going to jail. Surprisingly, he didn't act like that at all. Quite the opposite this entire evening. "What happened there?" Yuuri asked, nodding toward a bandage across the knuckles of Viktor's left hand. "I - have you ever gone biking before?" he asked. Yuuri tried not to notice how blue his eyes were, how high his cheekbones. He was handsome in that classic way - square, rugged, masculine; all chin and cheekbone, closely shaved skin and tantalizingly plump lips. The light scent of his expensive cologne teasingly brushed his nose. He smelled male, virile, sexy. "I thought they made you wear gloves." "I'm not one to follow the rules. Much to my own detriment." In a dark corner, they stopped in front of a large geode teeming with amethyst. A single spotlight illuminated the rock, allowing the untamed gems to shimmer like the city at night. Setting his drink down, Yuuri grabbed his hand and ran his thumb lightly over the bandages. "You're a rebel," Yuuri spoke, voice low, playful, reverberating with sex. "Am I?" Viktor asked, his voice dropping from the cheerful, smooth tones he'd been using into something rougher. He was in Yuuri's personal space, backing him against the wall. His full lips closed over brilliantly white, perfectly straight teeth. It was usually part of the con. Tonight the lust on Viktor's lips tasted real."And you?" "Now, I'm a good boy," Yuuri said, implying everything but. His back hit the wall and his hands flew to Viktor's chest. He hummed and ran his hands across him and down his arms. "Maybe you can show me just how good bad can be." Their lips met. He tasted clean, with no trace of alcohol on his tongue. Normally a kiss from a mark was something to be endured. Tonight it was something to be enjoyed, savored, and catalogued in Viktor's memory. The way Yuuri kissed made him almost willing to give him anything. Suddenly, Viktor wished things were different, wished they were normal people who met the way normal people meet - in a bar, at a coffee shop - somewhere where national security wasn't more important than his hands on his body. Deja vu set Viktor off balance, but did wonders for Yuuri. The way he made his heart pound, made Yuuri's knees weak, the way Alexei gripped his shoulders as he pinned him against the wall with his hips... "Leave with me," Viktor murmured as he pulled Yuuri flush against him. There was something different in his voice, something dark. Something eerily familiar. "I-" Yuuri gasped as he gently nipped the flesh of his neck. Yuuri tried to tease him and push him away like he would with any other person. He couldn't. He didn't want to leave his arms. Viktor's fingers trailed lightly along his spine as Yuuri shuddered against him. He hadn't felt desire like this in a long time. Not since- "Alexei? Are you in here?" Georgi's voice rang out from the doorway. They broke apart and their eyes locked. Viktor's eyes teemed with intelligence, with lust, even a little rage. This was not some average playboy. He was someone else, someone different. Someone familiar. "Yeah, Georgi. I'm here," he called out as he broke eye contact. Yuuri turned to leave, but he caught his arm. "Where-?" "Don't." Picking up his glass, Yuuri walked past Georgi with his head held high and hips agonizingly swaying. Once he was out of sight, Yuuri wiped his champagne glass clean of fingerprints, set it on a table, and walked into the night. ~ If there was one constant Viktor could rely on, it was that all plans involving a certain brunette would go awry. Upon seeing Yuuri use his phone at the museum, he decided to utilize experimental technology from Chris to clone his cellphone. The program worked up to 6 feet away; he could have stood a reasonable distance from Yuuri and let the tech do its work. Instead, he spoke to him. He flirted with him. He kissed him. It'd gone too far; pushing Yuuri against the wall, his fingernails lightly dragging along his tie and down his arms. Yuuri made his blood burn with those soft, pliable lips; his mouth tasting of sweet strawberry champagne, his body warm against his. Such a stupid thing for him to do, but god he honestly wouldn't regret it. When they'd pulled apart, he watched confusion flicker across his features as Yuuri stared into his open face. Yuuri recognized him. He didn't know who he recognized, he couldn't place him, but he saw him for what he really was. That was dangerous. Irritated, Viktor ran faster towards the abandoned party zone. There was no doubt Eros would appear tonight. Winding roads and thickets of old growth trees gave way to the amber street lights before the museum. He needed to focus. There was no question that Eros would attempt to take the Queen's Ruby tonight. Viktor needed to detain him and ask about the iPad. Nothing else mattered beside this mission. ~ With the grace of a ballet dancer, Eros carefully twisted his body around the motion sensor beams. Undetectable to the naked eye, the beams burned red through the enhanced lenses of the newly altered mask. Even with the slow, precise movements required to navigate the infrared beams, this was easier than expected. At this pace, he'd have the ruby and be back in his hotel in approximately 27 minutes. With a final twist of his hips, Yuuri reached the Queen's Ruby. Like the other gems in the room, it was softly illuminated to enhance its beauty. Yuuri's brow furrowed. Something was off, it wasn't refracting the light properly. Suddenly, the motion sensor beams surrounding him shut off. Cold began to spread across his shoulders. This wasn't right. "Stop right there." Yuuri's eyes bulged at the voice as gooseflesh broke out along the back of his neck. Him. Why the hell was he here? "Well, well. You came to visit me playboy? I'm flattered," he purred as he turned to face him. "Have you missed me, handsome?" "You tripped the silent alarm." Viktor boldly spoke, crossing his arms. "And I snuck in because of my boss needing me to retrieve something for him." he lied. "Uh no, I don't trip silent alarms. Besides, that's impossible in this room." Viktor cocked his head to the side as he studied Eros and frowned. "I overheard a call on the police scanner about a silent alarm at this address." That was a lie also, but the thought struck him. The cold that had settled in Yuuri's spine wrapped itself around his throat. This was all wrong and they both knew it. "Wait..." Eros crouched down to examine the stone. "Wha-" "It's fake." Viktor froze. "See how the light isn't refracting properly on the left side? And the color is off?" Viktor examined the case as Eros talked. "These flaws wouldn't have been noticeable had this case been lighted properly." "How do you mean?" "The lights are only coming from the sides. In a typical gem case, the lights are positioned at the top, bottom, and the sides. It enhances the cut and clarity. And the sparkle, of course." "Someone's already been here. The security sensors for the glass have been eaten through." Viktor pointed to a barely noticeable gap in the discreetly hidden wires. Internally, Yuuri was screaming. He knew he should've told Phichit about the heist, but due to the circumstances on this case relating back to a certain dark memory...he knew the Thailand hackey would've pressed strongly against his choices. Yuuri was alone. Eros was trapped and confused and vulnerable. The sound of glass shattering drew their attention. A small black ball fell from the broken skylight. A grenade. "Down!" Viktor yelled as he grabbed Yuuri securely around the waist and jumped to the side. It only took a few seconds before the world went white. ~ Reality was fuzzy. Everything was blurred with soft-focus edges, like a photo filter or impressionist painting. Large gruff hands smelling of motor oil bruised the flesh on Yuuri's upper arms as they pulled him off the floor and forced him to kneel. An explosion, they'd been knocked back. They. Alexei. The museum. The ruby. Yuuri's thoughts cleared. Had he lost consciousness? For how long? Five figures repelled through the broken skylight as the sound of police sirens howling through the streets grew closer. Out of the corner of his masked eye he saw Alexei had been captured, too. Two nervous men gripped him tightly, their eyes darting between him and a man clad in a maroon suit. He repelled gracefully down from the broken skylight, a condescending smirk adorned. Steely sapphire eyes that gave him a cold, unflappable air. Him. "JJ." Eros growled. He ignored him. A man handed JJ the ruby. Smiling wickedly, he examined it slowly, turning it carefully in his hands. Eyes narrowing, his smile fell. "Where is it?" he demanded, kneeing Viktor in the gut. "Or do you have it?" He whirled to face Eros. "And here I thought we could be friends," Yuuri quipped sarcastically. JJ punched him in the stomach. "Its fake. Someone beat both of us to the ruby." Yuuri was hurt, but not too hurt to taunt the terrorist. "Fool! You know nothing!" JJ snarled as he backhanded him across the face. He could hear the police sirens were close now. "Kill them." JJ dropped the ruby and climbed back up the ladder dangling from the skylight. The men moved toward them. Seeing his opportunity, Viktor freed himself and took out the two men holding him. Taking advantage of the surprising distraction, Eros slipped through his captor's grip and took him out with a well-placed leg sweep. Free and outnumbered, Viktor and Eros glanced at each other. Without speaking, but completely in agreement, they began to move. He went high when Yuuri went low, he went left when he went right. The men took punches and kicks, caught unprepared by their synchronicity. It surprised them, too - the sheer ease of their teamwork, the awareness of the other, the grace with which they fought together. In no time the men lay scattered around the floor like discarded dolls. They stared at each other for a moment before Eros spun on his heel. "Keep the decoy. I'm going after him." Viktor was slightly surprised by the determination in which Eros spoke. Apparently, there was more to the eye then a troubled thief. He paused, admiring those brown eyes concealed behind the dark mask. Those bewitching god damn eyes. "What are you?" Viktor asked. Eros glanced at him fully, busying himself at the same time by glancing at the retreating ladder. "Better yet, Who are you?" In a split second, Yuuri leapt impressively high and latched onto the ladder, looking back down at Viktor as the helicopter slowly raised into the air. "If I wanted you to know who I was, I wouldn't wear the mask." Before Viktor could even respond, he continued, looking thoughtfully confused at him. "And maybe I should be the one asking who's who." The helicopter took off just as Viktor was about to respond. Silence.    Hello peeps! If you enjoy my trashy stories, then feel free to find me on my tumblr at the link below!  MY TUMBLR  Shout out to nerdqueensblogbitch on tumblr for this BEAUTIFUL Eros Fanart CHECK HER OUT GUIS Also because I'm unorganized garbage, here's a review to my new story coming out soon! :New Story Details   

“Raya, by the dragons, after buying all these things, you’re still not done?” “That’s what shopping is supposed to be, dep la. You promised you won’t complain. You lost in our bet!” Namaari growled under her breath as she followed Raya further into the bustling market of Talon, carrying a couple of bayong filed with various purchases. Months after the Druun was vanquished, the two warrior women had grown closer after they have set their differences aside. The Fang princess was the first to apologize for betraying the princess of Heart and Raya forgave her, saying that they should just move on and look forward to that world where they can finally be friends. Of course, it was no easy task to just erase the guilt Namaari had been carrying ever since that fateful day, but after months of Raya’s reassuring gestures and words (and some help from old friends and a certain magical dragon), the princess of Fang gradually learned to forgive herself as well while establishing a strong bond with the others. Even more so a stronger one with Raya. Having spent a lot of time with Namaari does things to Raya. With their lands now reunited into one as Kumandra, the princesses had every reason to be together whether it was to sit alongside their parents, Chief Benja and Chief Virana, during a council meeting of the united lands or to spar to keep their combat skills sharpened all the time. Raya was relieved that the lighthearted teasing was still there, the constant challenge between them. Be it with words, blades or other actions, Namaari had never disappointed in delivering. She had always been Raya’s equal and vice versa. It was an agreed spoken fact between them. However, there was one matter Raya would never let Namaari know; she would rather be turned to stone again by the Druun if it were to be exposed. During all that time, the princess of Heart had grown so fond of her rival-friend… So fond that she had started to feel things for her. Raya’s cheeks would be tinged in pink whenever Namaari teases her, but she would come back with a witty remark of her own to deflect that. She would rather keep her lips shut rather than admit she had been eyeing the Fang princess from head to toe; her strong build, those muscular arms, that hairstyle, her grace whenever she moved in and out of battle, the way she leads her people… Raya adored… no, loved everything about Namaari. But she decided to take it to her grave, afraid that her friend will see her differently if she were to admit the truth. Namaari does not see her anything more than a best friend, a sparring partner and a fellow princess. But she still saw a gentler, caring side of the warrior princess, something she never thought would see in Namaari. She would rather love this woman from afar rather than lose her completely. It hurts, but it will have to do. The thought made Raya smile weakly when she was shaken out of her reverie with a gentle nudge on her side. “You spaced out all of a sudden. Are you alright, dep la?” A worried expression crossed Namaari’s features, making Raya realize she stopped in the middle of the market, the people passing by her and giving her weird looks for staring into nothing. “Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just needed to remember what else I need.” “Beginning to be forgetful now? My, are we getting old, Raya? Maybe you should make use of a list next time.” The tease brought a smile to Raya’s lips and she answered with a grin, “Oh, so there will be a next time? Awww, thank you, Namaari. I knew I could count on you as a shopping buddy! I will be sure to drag you along again for shopping, this time in Tail.” They both chuckled for a while and went on their shopping. Namaari decided to get a few items of her own, maybe a couple things which she knows her mother will like; Raya willingly followed her and waited for her companion. She was done anyway, and she will take anything that will allow her to spend more time with Namaari. Her eyes wandered about the stalls when something caught her attention, her feet automatically moving towards the stand where several girls crowded around it. The multitude of females were quickly dispersed after they seemed to have gotten their purchase until Raya was finally in front and came face to face with an old woman in the traditional Talon clothes but with several jewelry around her neck and rings on her fingers. She gave the Heart princess a smile and gestured toward the items she had on her stall counter, a crystal ball, a pack of cards and a multitude of vials filled with swirling liquids of different colors. “Interested in a reading, perhaps? Your fortune be predicted? Or maybe my best-selling product, a gayuma?” “A what?” “Gayuma, my dear. A love potion. To make someone fall madly in love with you.” The woman took out a small vial with a pinkish fluid in it, the contents seem to twinkle under the light of the lanterns. Raya raised an eyebrow and was skeptical right off the bat. How can some suspicious pink liquid in a little bottle make someone fall in love in a snap? She looked over her shoulder to check Namaari, who was still perusing wares in another store, meaning she had minutes to spare. Looking back to the old female, she stepped forward and asked, “Oh yeah? And what’s your proof that this actually works and it’s not a scam?” She would then be interrupted by three girls who were squealing when they approached the woman’s stall, almost bumping into the princess if she was not able to sidestep. Raya almost growled and had the thought of telling them off but held back her tongue when they spoke. “We need more of your gayuma, ma’am! My love Binh is becoming more and more affectionate of me and I want it to keep going!” “Khang finally spoke to me after I used it!” “Give me 3 bottles, so I won’t run out quickly!” Lacing her fingers together, the wizened stall owner gave the girls a small smile as she held up a hand and said, “My dears, you don’t need more. One bottle is enough to get your love going.” While it seemed like a reasonable answer, the girls insisted they still need it. Her smile disappearing, the woman pushed upon the counter a vial for each of the girls before saying their thanks and running off to who knows where. “Wait, they didn’t pay you??” “I forgot to mention it’s free, yes?” Confused, Raya tried to make sense of the situation. Those were three evidences that this love potion worked and yet this woman was not asking for a single jade piece for it? She wondered if there was something more to this other than the promise of your love being returned by the person you desire. Her thoughts flew back to Namaari… Will this love potion make the Fang Princess fall in love with her too? “Here, child. Your expression says it all. Maybe this will help you. Just pour it in one of your beloved’s drink, make them finish every drop. By the time they wake, their heart will only beat for you.” The stall owner presented Raya with a small vial which she took in her hand. It was so small it can fit inside her palm and her eyes shone as she stared at the swirling pink potion inside. “I- Thank you…” “Raya! There you are, I’ve wondered where you wandered off to.” Namaari came over to her side and Raya quickly pocketed the gayuma to hide it from her friend. Her cheeks were immediately tinged with red, the Heart princess fidgeting with her vest a little as she tried to come up with a response. The princess of Fang raised a brow as she waited before her companion finally spoke. “I got bored so I went window shopping some more. Are you done?” “Yeah, I am. Look, I’m famished. I could use a bite of the local cuisine here. Why don’t we find a place where we can eat?” Raya’s stomach softly grumbled; the mention of food reminded her that she too needed to eat. It had been a while since she last dined there in Talon so stopping for a quick meal would not be too bad. “Yeah, sure. I’m good with that, I’m hungry too. Let’s go.” As they walked off from the area, Raya looked over her shoulder to check on the store owner who gave her the love potion. The woman was smiling gently at her before taking the deck of cards and shuffling it in her hand. Maybe she should test this gayuma right away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After finding a local restaurant recommended by a Talon native, the two princesses placed their purchases down and listened to the waiter mention their specialties one by one. Raya let Namaari choose for her and went with two bowls of tom yum and added sliced mangoes for their dessert. As they waited, they were given fresh kalamansi juice to wash their throats. “I’m just going to wash my hands. Watch the bags, dep la.” Namaari stood up and left Raya alone in their table. The princess of Heart eyed her companion’s drink and pulled it towards her before taking out the gayuma and emptying it into the Fang’s princess beverage. It turned the liquid pink for a few seconds before it went back to its original color. She pushed it back to its original spot and breathed out, at least the tricky part was done. All she had to do now was watch and wait until it was consumed. It was not long before Namaari came back to her seat and grabbed her drink. She raised her glass and took a few sips of it and Raya looked at her intently as she too began to drink, blinking and quickly looking away when the Fang princess placed it down. “So, I saw you were checking out fortuneteller’s stall. Did you get something from her?” Raya almost spat out her drink. Clearing her throat, she looked at her friend and several thoughts began to fly in and out of her head. Oh, toi… “Nah, she offered a reading but I couldn’t be bothered to listen to her ramble about uncertain events.” Raya managed to say with a confident tone. She felt her cheeks go warm and she swore she might have blushed a few shades of pink then. Swirling her finger around the rim of her glass, Namaari observed Raya and chuckled. “Hmm, I thought you’d be getting something to get somebody’s attention.” She drank from her glass again and continued with a smirk now playing upon those lips, “Raya, one of the skilled warriors of Kumandra, is actually a failure in love? How shocking.” That look just disarms Raya each time and she had to look away to hide her reddened cheeks. She wished she had her salakot upon her head now, so she can cover her embarrassment… and she even wished she can punch Namaari’s pretty mug (but can she really?). Instead, she thrust her palm right in the Fang princess’s face as if to block her view. Namaari just started to laugh when Raya tried to come back with something of her own. “You seem so confident that you can charm anyone, Namaari.” “Of course, I can.” “I’ll believe it when I see it.” “Is that a challenge, dep la? Consider it accepted.” In the back of her mind, Raya was worried Namaari would go for someone else. But she pushed away the idea of her best friend going for anyone else after this day, knowing that the love potion will do its thing sooner or later. She raised her glass and smirked, “Very well. I’ll drink to that.” Their glasses clinked together for a toast and as agreement before their food finally arrived. They were soon feasting on the delicious meal and sharing stories, enjoying each other’s company until everything was consumed. Raya’s eyes checked Namaari’s glass one last time and saw that it was empty. Well then… We’ll see if it will really work… and I do hope so, by the dragons. Months may have passed since the unification of Kumandra but delegations were still necessary to keep the bonds and trust between the lands strong. Representatives and their aide often come over to neighboring nations to spend a week or so in land hosting the meet, ironing out details on the overall economy, trading between lands and other important matters. Most of it would be boring talks to Raya, but as the daughter of the Heart chief, she needs to get used to this. Namaari had been more involved with duties ever since she was a child because of her mother, but despite the familiarity in these situations, even the fierce Fang warrior princess share the same sentiments at times with Raya. Both of them agree that they would rather be out fighting for their lands to maintain the peace in Kumandra. The two teens often glance at each other over meetings, a silent understanding that says Yeah, I’m bored as hell too. What they can also agree on was that each delegation was like a chance for a sleepover. Luxurious private chambers are prepared for the guests and the two princesses take the chance to sneak into each other’s bedrooms at night to chat and talk about more light topics they could not possibly bring up earlier during the day. Of course, they would soon sneak back to rest and repeat the process all over again once the sun has risen over the horizon. After the shopping in Talon, the two teenagers immediately went back to Heart where an “unofficial” delegation was happening between Heart and Fang. One could say it was more casual compared to the Kumandra meetings, since it only involved the two lands and Chief Benja and Chief Virana had become quite good allies over the past months. Learning their respective culture was mostly the aim with a dab of trading on the side since Fang had always been interested in Heart’s textile, rice and palm sugar, and Heart with Fang’s jewelry, seafood and chilis. It had been nighttime when the girls arrived and they were greeted by their parents. After formal greetings and warm hugs, Raya decided to call it a day and immediately went up to her room to rest while Namaari stayed behind with her mother for a while. She cast her mother a knowing look before she lightly bowed to Benja and said, “Chief Benja, I heard that you’re very good in cooking any Heart dish, is it true?” “I’m no expert but I know my way around the kitchen and most ingredients, princess.” “It might be too much to ask but my little morning mist here had been curious about Heart’s cuisine and it would be an honor to learn some dishes from the Chief himself. Do watch out, Benja; she might blow up the kitchen.” Virana said jokingly with a chuckle. Benja smiled as well and placed his hands together to form a circle, the universal Kumandra gesture. “It would be a great pleasure to impart knowledge to you. I’ll try my best to be a good teacher and we can start anytime you like.” Namaari also smiled at returned the gesture before rubbing her chin in thought. She looked at both Virana and Benja before deciding, “Actually, can we start tomorrow morning?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sunlight poured through the curtains in Raya’s room, urging the female to wake from her beauty sleep. Lightly groaning, she pulled the covers over her head to invite a few more minutes of shuteye; the pull of the soft bed too tempting to just leave behind. She was still too sleepy she did not hear her door open then close once more as a person came in. The curtains were soon drawn open to allow the full light of the day into the room before this person sat by the edge of the bed and lightly shook Raya awake. “Rise and shine, dep la. Time to wake up.” Namaari’s voice was soothing, more gentle than usual as she nudged the lump under the sheets. She smiled as Raya stirred under the covers and groaned softly from being pulled out from her sleep. “Noooo… five more minutes.” “Five more minutes and your food will turn cold. Come on, get up.” Wait, what? Food? Raya must have heard it wrong; what does Namaari mean by food? Pulling down the blankets, she peeked to look at her friend who now had a tray of warm food in hand. It might have been the cobwebs of sleep still clinging to her brain that Heart princess had barely processed the sight before her. Rubbing her eyes, she wondered if she was still dreaming but after blinking several times, she was sure this was all real. “Are you done? It would be a shame if the taste went bad because you didn’t eat this right away.” “Huh? What? Oh, uh… thanks, Namaari.” Fang’s princess placed the tray before Raya once she sat up and the other girl’s mouth instantly watered at the sight of the food. While it was considered a simple meal, the scent that wafted from it was heavenly. A bowl of hot lugaw, a sticky rice gruel with bits of chicken and garlic, was the centerpiece of the set. Three pieces of what Raya can safely assume as kaya toast with a very generous spread of coconut jam on each one is included as well as a soft-boiled egg. She took another inhale and the rich aroma of barako coffee hit her senses. Raya was still in awe as she gratefully accepted the cup of coffee from Namaari. “Here. Your Ba says you like your coffee in the morning. Two sugars, right?” “I-Yes, right. Thank you, dep la. This is really nice of you. The staff usually serve breakfast in the dining hall; you didn’t have to…” “…But I want to. Besides, it’s nice to have breakfast in bed every once in a while, don’t you think?” Namaari gave Raya a quick wink before she pulled out her own kaya toast and started to eat as well. The long-haired girl blushed and decided to dig in. The lugaw and toast was perfect and she ate it heartily without another word. “This is really good. I could eat this every morning.” After finishing her meal, the princess of Heart was taking small careful sips of her coffee while the Fang princess drank her own teh tarik after putting away the tray. There was this peaceful atmosphere between them as they just sat there on Raya’s bed, enjoying each other’s quiet company while listening to the birds chirping outside. “I’m glad my cooking passed your standards. Your Ba is a good mentor.” “Yeah, he is… wait. Y-you made this? He taught you? When?” “Just this morning, and yes, he was kind enough to teach me cook the food you like. I wanted to do something nice for you.” That time, Raya remembered the love potion she slipped in Namaari’s drink yesterday and she wondered if this was some sort of sign it was working. No, this could just be a fluke, right? There was still that confident streak that the short-haired princess had but she was… sweeter today? She can only grip her cup of coffee tighter and stare when Namaari drew closer to her. Raya blushed red when her companion brushed her fingertips along the Heart princess’s cheek, those brown eyes looking almost lovingly at her. As if she was petrified by the Druun, Raya froze as her breath was stolen from her then almost went after Namaari’s touch as soon as she pulled back her hand. “Hmm… If I knew sooner food would make you this quiet, maybe I would’ve been feeding you a lot way back.” In that one blink of an eye, the moment was over between them. Namaari laughed as she took the empty cup from the confused girl and stood while taking the tray as well to leave. Raya blushed even more as she huffed while throwing her pillows at Namaari, screaming, “You are the worst, binturi! Food isn’t the only thing on my mind all the time!” Skillfully dodging each thrown pillow at her while balancing the tray of dishes, the Fang princess continued to laugh until there was nothing left for Raya to throw. She smiled warmly at her friend and asked, “I’m kidding, but it did make you get up, right?” Raya had her arms crossed and was pouting, the irritation slowly fading when she looked at the smile of the girl across her room. How can she stay angry at that smile? Exhaling a sigh, she stood up and said, “I guess it did. Thank you again… for that delicious breakfast.” “You’re welcome. Now, get dressed. We’re already fifteen minutes late for the meeting with our parents.” “What?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Like the wind that sweeps across the land during the wet monsoon, Raya swiftly ran to the bathroom to prepare for the day while Namaari walks out with laughing once again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Despite their tardiness, Chiefs Benja and Virana forgave the two teenagers this time and continued their discussion about the upcoming Full Moon Harvest festival. It used to be celebrated separately by the five lands in the past but now that they are united as one, the celebration will be bigger and will require more help; Fang and Heart volunteered to be the first to co-host the event which was decided to last for three days. Planning would come with challenges but with four heads brainstorming for it, it would be easier, especially when they already agree on a lot of things. Having spent the entire morning ironing out details and sending out messengers and scouts to begin the initial preparations, the chiefs and princesses decided to take a break during midday, with Chief Benja and Raya ushering Chief Virana and Namaari to their garden dining area. Several dishes were served and waiting for them and they immediately sat down to eat, their place surrounded by five towering trees that had its branches joined together, serving as the area’s natural roof. The ground was mostly untouched, save for the circular marble slab that had the table and chairs. Flowing translucent curtains of white and blue danced from branches where they strategically hung to serve as a barrier from nature. Just outside the dining area was a clearing that can be used as a stage for the entertainment of those eating. As they ate, they exchanged friendly banters and other things that were not politically-related. Raya was glad that Heart and Fang were on really good terms now; she never expected to see a soft-hearted side to Chief Virana whom she first saw as an overly strict woman. She is strict, yes, and it confirmed Raya’s thought of whom Namaari took after, but the silver-haired woman was also intelligent, wise and kind when it comes to her people… and surprisingly playful like her father. It was not too long ago that she discovered that Virana and Benja had been doing small, harmless wagers with a couple of jade pieces or a bottle of their land’s finest alcohol as prizes for winning. “Now I’ve just remembered something, have you two thought of who you will be taking to the festival? There will be a dance on the last night of the event, isn’t that right, morning mist?” “Why, yes. I am rather curious myself. Who will be your companions, dewdrop?” Raya stopped her chewing and turned her eyes to the adults who raised the questions to them out of the blue. Namaari stayed quiet while her best friend just cleared her throat at the mention of the topic. The dance was said to the be the highlight of the festival and couples and hopeful singles attend it with their partners wishing to receive the blessings of the dragons. The unfortunate thing was, Raya was too busy before to even think of forming a romantic bond with anyone. She was too busy roaming the lands and saving the world from Druun to consider someone… Well, she does consider one and that person was sitting across the table from where she was, but as if she had the courage to ask Namaari right now to go with her. As if the Fang princess even thought of looking her way and feeling something for her… She slowly drank from her cup, not noticing that her best friend had stood up from her seat. “I would love to take Raya to the festival, if that would be fine with you both, mother and Chief Benja.” Namaari’s bold declaration made Raya’s spit out her drink to the side. Coughing and hitting her chest, she turned her eyes at her fellow princess then towards Virana and Benja. Both of the chiefs seem… happy, and almost look like they were holding back their laughter from Raya’s reaction. Clearing his throat, Chief Benja spoke first, “I would be more than fine with it, Namaari. Just make sure to take care of her.” “Same here. I have no complaints. Just behave, you two.” “Thank you, and I promise, I will take ca-” “Uhm, hello? I’m right here! Will none of you ask if I am okay with this?” Raya waved her hand in the air to catch the three’s attention. Namaari had a smile curled upon her lips and asked her, “Then let me ask you now, dep la. Will you come with me to the festival?” “N- Ye- Wait, what are you doing?” “I’m asking you out, Raya. Unless you already have somebody else accompanying you?” “No, there’s no one else! But still-!” Raya’s cheeks were so red that time and she wished that the earth would just swallow her whole that moment. Namaari sauntered over to the Heart princess’s side of the table and asked again, “Still what? Come now, I just need your answer: will you go out with me? Yes or no?” I never expected the love potion’s effect to be this… strong! Namaari has already been straight forward before but I never thought she’d go as boldly as this! I’m not prepared for this. And why, for the love of all the dragons, does Ba and Chief Virana not even say anything?! “I- I- I’ll go out with you…” “Wonderful. I’m glad y-” “…if you can beat me in one round of hand-to-hand.” Raya declared as she stood up and looked directly at Namaari. Their eyes met and both had fire burning in them. Their faces were so close and the tension was thick in the air, but the Fang princess was not backing down. It was seen on her expression that she was enjoying this. “Oooh, playing hard to get, dep la? You know I love a good challenge.” The two chiefs looked at each other with a smile. Benja chuckled and Virana held up her hand to address both the girls, “Not until the food you ate has gone down. No fighting until then, now sit down, kittens.” “Don’t make Chief Virana say it twice, girls. Sit and let’s finish our meal then you can go spar. I’ll have the attendants prepare the area too.” Raya sat down right away while Namaari walked back to her spot and sat down. During the whole time, Fang’s princess looked at her former rival who fidgeted and uncontrollably blushed. It was not like she did not like the attention but she was not ready for how overwhelming it can be. The love potion worked but maybe it was working way too fast for her, but not for Namaari since she was under its control. She acted so naturally, letting her charm do its work. About an hour had passed and the stage was set for the two warrior princesses. Chiefs Benja and Virana were the main audience while the soldiers and attendants were invited to join as well. Bets were placed among the palace people; even the chiefs set their own little wager. “Five jade pieces my morning mist will win this one.” “Raise you ten my dewdrop will make it hard for her to win.” “Hmm, deal.” As for the two combatants, Raya and Namaari were warming up for their fight. It was not like they have never done this before; this was actually a normal routine for the two of them, only difference was there was something on the line this time. “If I win, you’ll be my date during the festival. Is there anything you’d like if you win? Well, as if you’ll do anyway…” Namaari offered with a smirk on her face. Raya pouted as she fixed her armband, glaring at the other female. She never thought of it before; what would she want if she won? Of course, she wants Namaari but technically, she already has her, right? Thanks to the potion, her beloved only has eyes on her but what else does she want? Somehow, she felt that this was not right but she shrugged it off for now and the two stepped up the sparring area. Getting into defensive stances, the two began sizing up each other as they carefully stepped around the ring. “Oh, you’ll soon be eating my dust and regretting those words. If I win, you’ll do whatever I ask of you until the end of the festival.” “Sounds fair. I’m ready when you are.” “Let’s go, dep la.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Their fight was close to reaching an hour and fatigue was beginning to set in both combatants, but none of them showed any signs of yielding. Their movements have slowed significantly after exchanging hard punches and kicks and their breathing was now heavy and loud. Sweat rolled down their faces and dotted their skins as the mid-day sun shone down on the princesses. Raya’s foot skidded to a halt on the ground after she had just blocked a kick from Namaari’s right leg aimed for her side. Pushing it off, she threw a punch for her opponent’s face with her right fist but the other woman dodged it before hopping back a good distance from her. All throughout the fight, they were both smiling at each other, clearly enjoying this activity and how they seemed to move gracefully whenever they maneuvered around each one. Even those watching can agree that they princesses look like they were performing a dance only the two of them know. It was mesmerizing yet also intense right from the start and it seemed that the dance was slowly coming to a halt. The only question was who will be the first to yield. “Mnh, it seems that you’re going to win this one, Benja.” Virana says before drinking from her water glass, her eyes still focused on the girls and their intricate dance. The Chief of Heart chuckles as he lightly tapped the arm rest of his seat, amused by the sight. “Oh? Backing out on our bet already, Virana?” “I just know it. Both are determined, but Raya wants the win more. Namaari’s just playing with her now, just like a serlot would to its toy. She is just waiting for the right moment. Bet you fifteen jade pieces it will be over in three moves.” “Five moves. You got a deal.” Meanwhile, the princesses had been talking amongst themselves as well, their exchange a bit more hurried and tired as their energies were slowly being drained by exhaustion. Namaari was still smirking as she skillfully evaded each of Raya’s punches and catches one before their arms went into a lock and the two were looking eye to eye. One. “You’re pretty when you’re this hyped to beat me.” “S-shut up, binturi!” “Aww, am I distracting you?” Namaari sent a kick towards Raya but she blocked it with a kick of her own, which soon became a race on who can remove the other’s balance first. It soon halted when their feet locked together in a draw and the Fang princess quickly lodged herself off the lock. Two. “Honestly, you are one heck of a distraction. I’ll have to admit, I am liking the view.” “You like what you see, Raya? You are a treat yourself, y’know.” Raya’s eyes swept over Namaari longingly, every aspect of her was a spectacle to the long-haired female. In the back of her mind, she had daydreamed before that those strong arms were wrapped around her in a loving hug embrace as she buried her face against the crook of the other princess’s neck. She had always wanted to run her hands through that sleek hair of hers, to mess it up as she tastes those lips. It took off Raya’s mind off the fight for a moment and she had barely a second to react to a roundhouse kick aimed at her head. Luckily, she was quick to catch it and used the momentum against Namaari to twist her leg in the aim to knock her off balance. It worked and she was soon on her back, with Raya quickly pinning her down on both her wrists. Their eyes locked and the world ceased to exist around them both as they looked deeply at each other. The moment was soon shattered when Namaari’s tired chuckle escaped her lips and muttered, “I yield. You win, Raya.” Three. That admission of defeat signaled for wagers to be paid and a number of the spectators clapped at the remarkable match they just witnessed. Even the chiefs were impressed and Virana held out her hand as Benja placed the agreed jade pieces in her palm. Their daughters have truly shown their skill in fighting today. “Settle your bets, kittens, then do wash up after. That’s enough for today.” “Impressive fight, you two. Go clean up, Chief Virana and I will be the ones to finish the rest of the planning.” Raya helped Namaari sit up and they brushed off the dirt on their clothes, bidding the adults goodbye for now as they walked back to the meeting room. They were given towels and water to drink by the attendants and rested in the middle of the sparring area. As she drank her water gratefully, Raya can feel Namaari’s gaze on her and as expected, she was being watched. “What?” “You fought well today. I should remind myself to not go easy on you next time.” “Oh please! Just admit you lost. Now you will have to do whatever I say.” Namaari moved closer to Raya that their shoulders were almost touching. Looking at the victor, she tilted her head and asked, “A bet is a bet and you won. What do you want me to do now?” Raya swallowed a lump and breathed easy. At least now she can control Namaari and her advances with their bet and take it one step at a time, giving her the chance to figure out everything and whether this emotion Namaari feels is genuine or fabricated. “Come with me to the festival, dep la.” “You could’ve just said yes earlier. And the answer is yes, it will be a pleasure to go with you there.” “And miss out on a bigger prize? No way.” They laughed and talked a little more until they decided they have rested enough. They stood up and began to walk to their respective rooms. Namaari was courteous enough to walk Raya to her room and as soon as the two arrived, the former guardian leaned against the closed doors for a while. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you again later at dinner?” “I’ll be there. You sure you don’t need help scrubbing your back?” Fang’s princess placed her hand against the door and leaned in close to whisper in Raya’s ear, “I’ll make sure to clean up every inch of you, if you want.” Raya turned red up to the tips of her ears before she went into flee mode. Quickly yanking the door knob open, she slipped away from Namaari who almost fell from leaning against the now open door. Good thing she was able to catch herself as soon as Raya slammed it shut and laughed as she heard her best friend’s voice from the inside. “No, thank you! Stop teasing me, binturi!” She soon walked towards her own bed chambers, whistling a happy tune. At least she got what she wanted as well; she was going with Raya to the festival and that was good enough for her. Fang and Heart wasted no time in preparing for Kumandra’s Full Moon Harvest festival. Having decided to allocate a large area of land between their kingdoms, Chief Benja and Chief Virana sent in their workers to begin setting up the huge venue. Scouts and guards from both kingdoms make sure the perimeter was secure and no troublemaker dared to get in the way. With the chiefs being the overall in charge people, they needed to stay put where the delegation was set which made them task their daughters as those overseeing the workers on the field. The duo would often ride back and forth the lands on their rides; Raya on Tuktuk and Namaari on her serlot named Khun. It was tiring work, but the girls were more than happy to take it on. It was a good chance for Raya, since she gets to be with Namaari a lot, and she feels that her friend felt the same as well. With each day that passed, Namaari only seemed to be more determined to charm Raya, which pretty much confirmed the Heart guardian’s assumptions that her companion was indeed under the spell of the love potion. It made her think back to the time when she purchased the gayuma, that only one vial was needed. Yep, who would have thought that one small vial can pack a whole punch when it comes to bewitching someone. I feel divided about this… Does the love potion actually make the person who took it feel genuine love for the one who gave it to them? Or is it all just… fake? Raya was filling her waterskin when she had that thought. She and Namaari had camped near a river to rest when they were out to check the entire festival perimeter. Riding their mounts should have made it easier but the weather was too hot and the poor creatures needed to pause for the meantime. Turning back, she went to join the others under the cool shade of a huge Narra tree; Tuktuk and Khun were curled up beside one another taking a nap while Namaari sat on the ground, leaning against the trunk studying a map. Her expression was that of focus but also thoughtful, the princess’s brow almost scrunched up as if something was bothering her. Raya sat down beside her traveling buddy and tried to take a gander at the map as well. “Looks like something’s bothering you, Princess Undercut. What’s up?” “I’ve scouted almost the entirety of Kumandra my whole life but I can’t recall this path going to the Vihn Hang springs in Heart territory.” “Oh, really? Let me see.” Namaari laid the map down so the two of them can analyze it together. The festival perimeter pushes through said Vihn Hang springs and from the looks of the path on the map, they had to pass through a thicket of trees before they can reach the springs. The look of confusion on the Fang princess’s face shows that she has not gone down that way before. Luckily, the two princesses can travel together and check the area since the forest path was not far from where they were that time; they can go on foot if they chose to. “We have time. Why don’t we let our mounts rest and we can just come back later here? We can walk to the springs, it’s not that far after all.” “Hmm. Alright, let’s get our gear and we’ll be off.” After instructing Tuktuk and Khun to wait for them at that spot, the two teenagers set off and passed through the first line of trees. Namaari led the way with map in hand, insisting that she had been to the springs in the past but Raya doubted that since the other female just told her earlier that she had not gone down this route before. Still, she trusted her friend and followed her, eyeing a large, moss-covered rock along the trail which she can use as a marker. They went deeper into the thicket, expecting to get to their destination in no time. However, almost an hour had passed, Vihn Hang springs was still nowhere in sight and the Heart princess was growing impatient. Namaari was gripping the map tighter and was grumbling under her breath, continuing to push through the way they ‘should’ be taking. Unfortunately, she was leading Raya back to the same rock they saw before… for multiple times already. “We’ve passed that rock like five times now.” Raya said as she pointed at the same moss-covered boulder. Namaari paused in her steps after that sentence, her brow wrinkling in frustration as she held the map closer. One could almost swear she almost had it to her nose that time. “We’re just taking a detour.” Shaking her head and smirking, Raya stepped forward, leaned her arm upon Namaari’s shoulder and came close to her companion to she can check the map herself. They were lost, she was sure of it and she decided to help out. “Sure, dep la. Let me take a look.” She held one side of the map so that they were sharing it now, her eyes scanning the lines scrawled on the worn parchment. Seeing the part where Namaari had been interpreting and following for the last hour, Raya did a mental jog of where they came from, the turns they did and where they ended up until she finally figured out why they had been going around in circles. “Hah, knew it! You took a wrong turn here.” The dragon gem guardian smiled triumphantly as she pointed to the Fang princess the correct route, letting her forefinger slide along the map before tapping it. Namaari was speechless that time and Raya assumed that her friend was way too proud to admit she made a mistake. “Hey, no shame in admitting it. Just say you’re lost and I’ll guide you, princess…” She turned her head to face Namaari, only to realize she was staring at Raya and their faces were so close that time. The taller girl was silent, her cat-like eyes locked into Raya’s intently. Slowly, she removed her hand on the still-silent princess’s shoulder but was unable to tear her gaze away from those warm, brown eyes. It was Namaari who moved first, slowly leaning in close to Raya, eliminating the space between them to the point they can feel and hear each other breathe. The shorter princess’s cheeks immediately blushed at the proximity, unable to break away from this spell Namaari had woven over her with those captivating eyes of her. She had starting to lean in close too, she could feel the other princess’s warm breath on her lips now… Oh toi… “Who’s lost now, dep la?” Once again, her sly best friend broke the brief magic that was cast upon the two of them. Unable to hide her embarrassment, Raya stumbled back and stomped off, tempted to pull her cloak over her head so she would not have to deal with Namaari, who was softly chuckling. “Ugh, you’re infuriating, binturi! I hope you get lost!” “Hey, I was kidding. Come on now! Raya!” Raya quickly trudged down the path to the springs, leaving behind her companion who ran after her. She wondered if the love potion was wearing off or teasing her was ultimately Namaari’s task in life; either way, she needed to get away and compose herself, her thoughts running wild at what could have happened if things went differently. Dragons, she was so close! Oh toi, what was I thinking? I- She- We almost kissed! Her feet carried her forward and her ears soon caught the sound of water not far ahead but her mind was too distracted she was not able to sense that her travelling partner was closing in on her. Finally, she made it at the bank of the springs, halting in her steps because there was nowhere to go. Taking advantage of the situation, Namaari was able to catch her by wrapping her arms around Raya’s torso and pulling her close to her body before leaning in close to whisper in the Heart princess’s ear. “Got you, finally. Now will you stop and listen?” “Wh-wha? Let me go, Namaari!” Raya’s blushing came back tenfold as she thrashed and kicked in Namaari’s hold. Try as she might, the stronger woman held on tightly, keeping her trapped so she tried to hit the other teen with the back of her closed fist. Hoping it would make the Fang princess let go, Raya swung her arm back and struck Namaari at the side of her face. That blow was hard enough to put the taller girl in a daze but her hold around the long-haired princess did not loosen one bit. Having lost her balance, Fang’s princess teetered into the water, bringing along with her the princess of Heart, the two of them making a huge splash in the water. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Raya was grumbling under her breath as she wrung her vest tightly of water after that fall into the spring waters. She had taken off her shoes as she sat there by the bank and groaned before she fell onto the ground with a dull thump. She closed her eyes, her brow still wrinkled while thinking how she always falls for Namaari’s charms. When she recalled that moment earlier when they almost kissed, Raya suddenly curled up and covered her face with her hands and let out a muffled shriek. “Hey… dep la. A-are you alright?” Peeking through her fingers, Namaari was standing over her, concern etched all over the taller girl’s features. Raya sat up faster than one could blink, surprising her companion at the sudden energy she had. She sat down beside Raya and tucked her still wet hair behind her ear, clearing her throat as she shyly glanced at the long-haired woman then flicked a pebble into the spring. “I’m sorry about earlier. I stepped out of line, I made you uncomfortable. I’ll stop; I do apologize once again.” Namaari was about to push herself up to stand but Raya grabbed her wrist to stop her. They looked at each other, the silence between them tense. The taller woman was waiting for Raya but she seemed to have difficulty finding the words. Namaari tried to gently pull away but she felt Raya’s hold tighten around her wrist so she chose to sit back down and wait. “It’s not that you made me uncomfortable, I’m just not used to this.” “What do you mean?” A sigh left Raya’s lips as she began fiddling with her hands. She never thought it would come to this but she might as well tell Namaari the truth about what she feels. She glanced sideways to look at the princess of Fang then bit her lip, knowing she was risking what she has with this woman… but perhaps with the love potion working, maybe this would not be too bad? “During the past years, I was too busy traveling around the land to even think of anything romantic. Even if I did stop and look around, no one had caught my eye… unlike you did. But I have no idea how to approach this. It’s overwhelming… but it’s nice at the same time.” Namaari was quiet as she listened to Raya attentively and it made Heart’s princess fumble with her arm bands even more as she tried to think of what can she say next. Looking at the short-haired girl’s eyes had her unable to speak but she has to admit things now or she might lose this chance forever. Who knew baring yourself to the person you like was this hard; the uncertainty of the outcome made it even scarier and Raya was not even sure if things will turn out well. She had not said a word for a couple of minutes which led to Namaari taking her hand in hers. Caressing the top of her hand with her thumb, the Fang warrior smiled at the dragon gem guardian warmly before she spoke. “I guess I got too aggressive and did not consider your take on this. Raya, I want to do this right, if you’ll let me.” “You want to?” “Yes. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I like you, Raya. I don’t want to mess things up again with you.” Things have fixed themselves in a way Raya did not expect it to, which was a huge surprised and relief. Namaari always had this mystery about her when it came to a lot of matters but she did not expect the Fang princess to be this straightforward, especially when it comes to the most unlikely subject between the two of them: romance. While they share the same passion when it comes to fighting and protecting those close to them and their people, the two princesses will always be polar opposites of one another. They often clash but complement each other; the two of them a perfect example of why opposites attract. But that time, Raya was once more hit with the thought that this attraction Namaari has with her might just be the love potion talking… and that hurt. However, she will take that for now and try to make the most of this effect. “Let’s take things slow for now and we’ll see how things take off from there. I want to be able to take it all in so I can reciprocate it back to you… properly.” “Yes, of course. We’ll go at your pace, dep la. How do you and the people in Heart refer to it… ligawan?” The word Namaari used astonished Raya; how did she know that term for courtship in their land? It was not exactly a tradition but couples usually woo each other as part of getting to know their potential partners while strengthening their bond. A rare few that go through the ligawan stage do not push through with the relationship because they realized they do not match, but most of the time, couples end up being happy together. The princess of Heart wondered how the other woman knew of this and just concluded that Namaari had picked it up during her regular visits in Heart. She was bound to learn a thing or two during her stay. She blushed at the thought of being courted and nodded, “Yeah, that’s about right. You… We can do that if you want.” “I want to. Whatever it takes to win you over, I’ll do it.” After giving it a reassuring squeeze, Namaari raised Raya’s hand to her lips to give it a soft kiss. It made the long-haired teenager blush so red to see her friend this romantic. Love potion or not, it was really nice to see this usually serious girl be affectionate sometimes; while Raya liked Namaari as what she is that time, this was a wonderful bonus to the already good package. “Okay. Let’s do that. Uhm… so are we good now that we’ve seen the spring? Can we go back to Tuktuk and Khan now so we can change out of these wet clothes?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Neither of them mentioned to their parents what had happened during their little expedition; they simply reported their findings and went off as usual. They focused instead on the other preparations, lending their hand whenever they can. As for courting Raya, Namaari had agreed to be subtle in doing it though the look of confusion on how she would be able to do that was evident on her face. Raya had more faith in her that she made it a challenge, giving her friend a boost in her confidence. As the festival drew nearer, the workers had been doing their jobs non-stop and it was projected that everything will be done a day early, which will give everyone a chance to rest before the big opening. With most of the tasks done, Raya had some free time and was given the job to oversee the erection of the last few dragon statues while Namaari, not wanting to be idle, has volunteered to lend a hand to the people. Sisu had the chance to visit her two favorite princesses and gave them warm hugs before they each took their spots. The dragon, despite her playfulness, had noticed something between the two warrior princesses, especially Namaari who she noted was rather well-mannered around Raya when normally, the two would either be trying to outdo the other or just teasing one another. Thinking she will need to dive into this more, she agreed to join Raya from one of the watch posts and helped themselves to a basket of rambutan. The dragon, currently in her human form, had been observing Raya at the corner of her eye. The Heart princess had her chin propped up on her hand as she looked at the workers over a ledge, but it seems that her gaze was focused solely on the Fang princess who was leading the group. Smirking, she went near Raya as she began peeling herself a rambutan to eat. “So… when were ya gonna tell me you had a crush on Namaari?” Raya straightened up from her spot and a blush started to creep up on her cheeks, which Sisu did not miss. She grinned wide as she continued to peel the fruit in her hands as the dragon gem guardian tried to be overly defensive of what was said to her. “What? Me? Crush on- wha… ridiculous! Pssh, I don’t have a crush on-” “Look.” Sisu looked towards the direction of the workers as she took a bite of fruit. “…Namaari.” The Fang princess and the workers were ready to erect the statue, gripping several ropes. With everyone in place, Namaari nodded and called out the order for everyone to get ready. “On the count of three! One, two… heave!” With the simultaneous pull of the princess and almost a hundred men, the dragon statue slowly rose from the ground. Another group pushed the large stone sculpture with several wood timber to help those pulling it up. As they worked, Raya’s eyes trailed down Namaari’s back, her muscles flexing with each pull she made on the rope she held. Sisu chuckled as she observed the long-haired girl pretty much ogle at the sight before them. Soon, the statue was standing in its place and cheers echoed in the area. Namaari smiled as she let go of the rope and dusted her hands off. Peeking through her disheveled hair, she huffed and said, “Alright, it’s up. That’s the last of the statues. Good work, all of you!” She tucked her hair behind her ear, her smile only growing wider as the workers celebrated and passed around gourds of rice wine. Turning down the offer of alcohol, Fang’s princess got herself some water instead. Raya was rendered silent all throughout that period and Sisu nudged her to make her come out of her reverie. “Mmhmm, you sure about that?” A soft whimper escaped Raya’s lips and she groaned, hiding her blushing face with her hands. She can never hide it anymore and there was no use in denying it. Sisu pats her back and said, “Oh, it’s okay, girl! You should just tell Namaari how you feel and it’ll be all fine.” “She already knows, Sisu. But I don’t think she likes me back.” “Wait, what? How can you be sure? She’s so giving you the lovey dovey eyes before you parted earlier… and I know you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it! She’s calling you dep la a lot of times too! Raya?” The princess of Heart sat down and rubbed the back of her neck, her lips turned down and she looked at Sisu. Pursing her lips for a second, she soon said, “It’s all because of a gayuma, Sisu. Namaari feels nothing for me but fabricated feelings from a love potion.” Raya clasped her hands together and bowed her head, letting out a forced laugh, “But hey, it’s better than nothing, right?” “Raya, are you sure this love potion is really the reason why Namaari is acting like this? Maybe she likes you too, y’know? You should talk to her about it.” “Talk to me about what?” Namaari had just joined Raya and Sisu from their watch post and the long-haired princess was quick to stand up and grab a towel so she herself can wipe off the sweat from the taller girl. Namaari greeted Sisu with the polite Kumandran hand gesture while bowing when the shorter princess spoke, “Talk to you about the last night of the festival. We’re still going together, right?” “Yes, we are definitely going. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Raya smiled as she started to gently wipe Namaari’s forehead with the towel and the Fang princess returned it, appreciating the gesture. As the two teenagers stood there, the dragon rubbed her chin and as if trying to analyze the scene before her. She felt both the girls’ inner emotions since dragons can be sensitive to what humans feel. Raya was clearly attracted to Namaari but she felt something different altogether when she focused on the taller princess. She would have said something but her siblings had told her not to meddle with human affairs. Such a strong emotion bottled up for so long. These two should really talk or else… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The first day of the festival finally came and people from all corners of Kumandra flocked to the prepared grounds to partake in the celebration. All the lands were given places to sell and trade their products instead of having to travel all the way to each kingdom, which was convenient for everyone. Everyone was also loving the food and entertainment for each land was given the opportunity to shine and their culture be showcased for all to see. Guards from Heart and Fang along with volunteer soldiers from Spine, Talon and Tail make sure things were also in order. “You both did a wonderful job, Chief Benja and Chief Virana. Everyone is having a good time in this first unified Full Moon harvest festival.” The chief of Talon praised the two leaders and this was agreed upon by the chiefs of Spine and Tail as well. The leaders had gathered in the built housing complex that afternoon of the first day. “Please, this would not be possible if not for your help as well. We just hosted it, but we made this possible as Kumandra.” Chief Benja said as he gestured to all the chiefs as they sat around the table sharing tea and coffee along with snacks like com nam, kluai-thot, nagasari, luk chin ping and kutsinta. “We are truly grateful for your help. I do hope this continues on for many years to come.” Chief Virana added with the circular gesture with her hands while bowing her head to the others. Smiling, the others also did the gesture as a sign that they too wish that this will become the new tradition for their lands. Soon, the heads of the lands exchanged light-hearted stories, their friendship slowly being forged as they shared food and drink. Raya sighed as she watched from behind one of the columns, her arms crossed as she observed her Ba and the other chiefs having a good time. It was her father’s dream to have this peace with the other lands and up until now, she was still trying to get used to it. Her mind had been so preoccupied she was not caught unaware of Namaari sneaking up behind her to wrap her strong arms around the smaller teenager. Raya almost jumped but the Fang princess was quick to calm her down by whispering in her ear. “Easy, it’s just me, dep la.” “Dragons, don’t sneak up on me like that, Namaari. I could’ve punched you.” “You’re getting rusty then; your guard was down… But I’m not here to lecture you about that. Will you come with me for a while?” Namaari had kept her embrace around Raya, smiling against the other princess’s hair which had the scent of sampaguitas. The taller woman could not help but inhale it once before placing a chaste kiss on Raya’s exposed right shoulder, who wore a sabai that time. Raya blushed and shivered a little, relieved that no one was there to see them. She nodded and asked, “I’ll go with you… but where are you taking me?” “You’ll see.” Letting go of the smaller woman, Namaari gently took Raya’s hand and led her out of the housing complex. They passed by several people who have recognized them as royalty, greeting and bowing to the them. They did exchange some pleasantries to be polite but did not stop that long. Heart’s princess was growing even more curious until they arrived in front of a tent that was pitched far from the crowds. Two guards kept watch and parted the flaps for the princesses. The interior of the tent was decorated with rich fabrics and had a dining setup for two people. Namaari led Raya inside and only let go once they were by the table. The taller teenager immediately pulled out a chair for Heart’s princess to sit on, who thanked her and sat down. Noticing the other chair was far from where she was, she pointed to the spot near her and said, “Bring your chair closer, dep la. I’m not going to bite you.” “As you wish, princess.” Hm, I guess the reward for beating her is still on the table. Raya thought as Namaari obeyed and brought her chair closer then sat down. They were now almost side by side and dishes were soon brought in for them. Raya realized that most of them were her favorites, along with some food from the other lands that she enjoyed. “I gotta say, impressive selection here. I love them all. How did you-” “Let’s just say I tend to observe you more closely than you think… or maybe I just asked the right people. I also heard having a meal together is a good way to bond during ligawan.” Fang’s warrior princess winked at Raya as she served each dish for the other girl. Raya blushed, letting her companion fill her plate with food before she gratefully accepted it. She noticed that while Namaari did this, she was humming softly which was something new to Raya. “I didn’t know you were well-versed in music.” Raya noted as she took a bite from her food. To her, Namaari’s focus was on combat and strategies, this was her impression of the other princess. Hearing her for the first time piqued her curiosity and made her want to hear more. “I’m no expert in it, I’ll be honest. Mother had assigned a music teacher for me when I was ten; I learned a couple of instruments and the proper notes for a few songs, but that’s it. I’m more interested in fighting and weapons. Blades all the way, remember?” Raya chuckled as she remembered that line. While the events after it were not that pleasant to recall, their initial chat did confirm that Fang’s princess was like her, a warrior through and through. But still, the princess of Heart’s curiosity got the best of her and wished to prod the other female about it. “I want to hear you then.” “Raya, I’m not that good.” “You don’t need to be perfect… I just want to hear you do music. Sing, play something, anything. Please? For me? Remember our bet?” Raya waited eagerly as Namaari gave it a thought. A faint dusting of pink colored the short-haired woman’s cheeks as she tried to think. Eventually, she sighed out and nodded with a slight wrinkle on her brow, “Very well. Give me until the last day of the festival to prepare something. I am out of practice after all. I’m sure you’ll make fun of me after it.” “I won’t. You have my word.” They soon began to eat and have a nice chat, relishing the privacy they got that time. Raya enjoyed every minute with Namaari that time and almost forgot her concern of this all not being real… because to her, it all felt genuine. It must truly be a strong love potion that she was being fooled as well. They spent the rest of the day together and Raya hoped it will never end. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Raya was left on her own when the second day of the festival dawned. She thought she would be able to spend more time with Namaari but she had to attend to some important matters regarding Fang with Virana. The taller female did promise that she will join her in the afternoon once she was finished. While it was a disappointing turn of events, Raya decided to check the market at the festival to keep herself preoccupied. Going there turned out to be a good decision; Raya was reunited with her other friends from the other lands and had the time to catch up. Tong formally introduced the teenager to his family, Little Noi and the ongis pretended to pickpocket the princess again to catch her attention and she was able to taste Boun’s infamous congee again. It almost took her mind off Namaari until the owner of the Shrimporium asked about the other princess’s whereabouts. After giving the boy that disappointing answer, Boun simply accepted it and told Raya to just say hi to Namaari for him and that she was free to swing by if she got hungry. By the time she parted ways with her friends, the sun was almost setting and it meant that Raya would be able to see Namaari soon. Wanting to surprise her friend, she went through several stands to find the perfect gift for the other princess. She wished she had someone she can ask that time but she wanted to choose by herself; she even uttered a mental prayer to the dragons to give her a sign and as if they heard her prayers, Raya’s eyes fell upon something she knew Namaari will like. She went forward towards the stall and examined the item nestled on the cushion of black satin. It was an earring similar to Namaari’s, only the accessory was done in silver and the delicate tassels were attached to the ear climber by a piece adorned with three aquamarine gems. The stones shone with the colors of Heart and the silver reminded Raya of Fang’s colors, which she felt was a fitting gift so Namaari will remember her always. She immediately paid for the earring upfront and had it wrapped in a silken cloth. Her heart fluttered inside her chest as she clutched the gift and proceeded to find Namaari; however, a familiar face had Raya pause in her steps. “So, how are things going, Princess? Did the gayuma work?” The old woman from the stall back in Talon where she got the love potion was there in front of her, smiling gently while holding onto her cane and a bag of items she purchased in the festival. Raya did not know what possessed her but her instant reaction was to run to the old lady and bow to her while holding up the Kumandran gesture. “Lola, can we talk?” It was probably fate playing tricks on her but Raya reminded herself to thank whatever higher power there is to for bringing the old woman right in front of her that moment. Her sudden sprint towards her almost scared the aged female but she soon calmed down when the princess politely asked for a minute of her time. Fortunately, the woman from Talon was not in a hurry to leave and willingly accepted Raya’s invitation to talk over tea. The teenager led her to a nearby stall that served food and beverages, asking if she wanted anything aside from her drink. “Oh, just the tea is fine, my dear. But I wouldn’t say no to some mangoes.” Raya was about to get up and order a plate of the fruit when the old woman’s appearance changed to that of a younger female who had a close resemblance to Sisu’s human form, only this one had a darker violet hair tied back in a high messy ponytail and a more mature face. The princess had to keep herself from reacting too much and making a loud noise, clamping her hands over her mouth and practically depositing herself onto the seat in front of the now young person. “Wh-what the heck just happened? Who are you?” “I’m very sorry I lied to you when it comes to my appearance. This isn’t my true form either… but perhaps Sisu mentioned before the name Pranee to you?” Pranee, as Raya remembered, was Sisu’s older dragon sister who has the ability to shapeshift. The teenager had not seen the dragon’s power up close until now and apparently Pranee was able to shapeshift to a human and can choose how old or young she can be. She was still shocked but Raya was able to quickly give respect to the dragon with the circular hand gesture and say, “Yes, Praneedatu, she mentioned you to me when we were collecting the gem pieces. I can’t believe you, a dragon, would be mingling with us.” “Well, Sisu had been talking about you and Namaari so much I had to see for myself. I had to go undercover and sell gayuma so I won’t be detected!” Raya suddenly waved her arms for a second and put a finger to her lips as if to shush Pranee, and right on cue, a waiter placed a pot of tea and two cups for them. As soon as the man was out of earshot, Heart’s princess muttered in a low voice to Pranee, “About that… I want to talk to you about the love potion you gave me back at Talon.” “Why are you whispering? But sure, what about it?” Raya took the pot of tea and poured some for them both. Pushing one cup towards Pranee, the princess sighed before nursing the warmed ceramicware in her hands. The dragon took the cup gratefully and blew at it, looking at the girl while sensing the whirling emotions in her. “I want you to reverse the effects of the gayuma. I don’t want it to affect Namaari anymore.” Pranee raised a thin brow and sipped her drink, brightening up at the rich taste of it upon her tongue and the fact that Raya actually used it on the Fang princess. A soft squeal escaped the dragon’s lips as she placed her cup down then went giddy in her seat. “Oh really, you did? Wow, Namaari? So Sisu was right about you two being in love with each other? Wow!” “Wait, no, no. We’re not… I mean, she’s not in love with me. Well, in a way she is because of the love potion. That’s why I want you to lift the spell from her.” Raya’s hands were moving around so much as she explained to the point Pranee almost had a hard time holding back her giggles. The dragon was amused to see how flustered Raya was while talking, which confirmed that the princess’s feelings for the other teenager were bursting over the top. “Why would you want to reverse the effects? Don’t you like that she loves you now?” “I do! I mean, I like that she likes me now…” The blush on Raya’s cheeks turned even redder from the thought which made Pranee grin toothily. “But I want her to feel something for me genuinely. Not something that a love potion fabricated. I don’t want that for her.” The dragon nodded and understood her but it faltered when Raya’s expression turned to gloom. “Are you really sure you want to lift the spell? You don’t seem happy about this decision of yours.” “It’s just… I don’t know what I’ll do… if I find out she doesn’t feel the same for me.” These were the times when Pranee wished her brother Pengu was present that moment. The oldest of them always had wisdom at hand and she could use some right now. However, she knew she had to try her best to comfort the troubled princess. Reaching out to lightly pat the back of Raya’s hand, the dragon gave the teenager a calm smile. “Raya… There was no love potion in the first place.” “What do you mean? It was glowing and the effects of it…” Pranee pulled out from her robes a small vial of the gayuma and lightly shook it, the glowing liquid inside swirling around for Raya to see. She popped off the cork and drank the contents which made Raya even more confused. “Nothing but spring water, rose essence and a touch of Amba’s glow magic to make it fancy.” “Amba? Spring water? What is all this? What are you saying, Pranee?” “Raya, the love potion does nothing; it’s just water… It just gave you the boost show your feelings which you have been hiding from her. All this time, Namaari had been pursuing you and showing you how she truly feels for you.” Those words echoed repeatedly inside Raya’s mind and it seemed to have stopped time for her. A part of her wanted to believe but another screamed that the Fang princess might be playing with her. It was not like she did not trust Namaari, she actually puts her faith in her and would gamble her life for her. But the uncertainty of going beyond being friends was what scares Raya. The what if’s flew inside her head and plagued the good things that could entail it. Pranee sensed the turmoil and grabbed Raya’s hand to hopefully ground her. The princess was red in the face, her jaw almost hanging, the dragon had to snap her fingers in front of the teen’s eyes. Breaking out of her trance, the princess blinked and held her face in her hands, feeling the hotness of her cheeks from blushing. “You should really talk to Namaari about this. You look out of it.” “Maybe I should talk to… Oh, toi… Namaari. We were supposed to meet up once she was done with her Fang-related duties! I’m late, I’m so late I have to go!” Raya panicked when she realized how much time has passed and waved to a server so she can pay up. Pranee was just pouring herself another cup of tea and pulled an almost sad face that their chat was over but she knew that letting her go would be for the best of the two princesses. “You go ahead, I can pay for this.” “But I thought dragons don’t have-” “Hey, I managed to collect a bag of jade from people who insist on paying for my gayuma; paying for this is nothing. However, seeing you happy with your beloved? Priceless. Now, go to her, Raya. You shouldn’t keep a princess waiting.” Pranee shooed her off as she carefully sipped her tea with a smile. She even placed said bag of jade on the table to reassure Raya of her spoken words. Raya gave Pranee a grateful, wide smile and mouthed ‘thank you’. She was about to leave when they were soon surrounded by a group of rugged thugs. Their leader started cracking his knuckles and muttered in a rough, menacing voice, “Hand over the jade pieces and no one gets hurt.” The others smirked and held out daggers to threaten them even more. “I guess attaining peace in Kumandra will take a while.” Raya smirked as she flipped her hair back and went into a defensive stance. Pranee sat there worried for the princess but the teenager winked at the dragon confidently. Oh toi… Namaari isn’t going to be happy about my tardiness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Namaari paced around as she waited for Raya by the bank of the canal. She had been there for almost an hour but there was no sign of the Heart princess anywhere. While the Fang princess knew that her friend can take care of herself, she could not help but feel worried that something happened to her. It was almost like the uneasy feeling she had for Raya when they were still enemies; the gnawing concern that something bad might have happened to the girl while she was all alone in the wilderness looking for Sisu. Come on, Namaari, stop worrying. Maybe she just got caught up with something and lost track of time. It’s not like troublemakers will even try to do anything right now. The guards will surely be alerted if anyone tried to disturb the peace. The more she worried, the more negative ideas came to Namaari’s head and she growled lowly when the thought of someone hurting Raya came to her. Her hands clenched into fists and her teeth grinded against each other thinking of punishing whoever might have hurt the princess of Heart. Her Raya. Dragons, look at you. You’re acting possessive of her. You already almost scared her off by being too aggressive. Calm down, Namaari. She wanted to take it slow, so we take it slow. But you have to tell her soon… Though I’ll really kill anyone who tou- “Namaari, I’m so sorry I’m late!” Fang’s princess whipped her head towards the direction of the voice she was more than familiar with. All her qualms were lifted when she saw Raya running towards her and instinctively, her own feet moved to meet with the dragon gem guardian. Without thinking, Namaari pulled Raya into an embrace, surprising the shorter girl but not minding the contact one bit. It took the taller girl a couple of minutes before she pulled back from the hug, her face showing relief but it immediately scrunched up into a snarl when she saw Raya’s dirtied clothes and face. Namaari’s blood boiled even more when she saw a cut on the other princess’s cheek. “Who did this to you? What happened, dep la?” Namaari demanded in a serious tone that dripped with venom as she gingerly touched the cheek that was cleanly nicked with a knife. She would have marched off and had the mind to report this to her mother and Chief Benja but Raya was quick to hold her back by grabbing her arm. “Whoa, calm down! I’m alright; I just took care of the binturis who tried to rob a person in the market area of the festival. The soldiers in the vicinity took them in and are taken care of.” “They ought to be punished for even thinking of attacking the princess of Heart! This is unforgivable, I will go and take matters into my own-” “Namaari! Listen. Calm down, dep la.” Raya grabbed Namaari by the sides of her face to make the taller girl look at her. Those usually warm browns were now flashing with a fiery hatred in them and the hardened expression was enough to scare away anyone, but not the gem guardian who knew she had to calm the teenager down. It took Namaari a few minutes to let her anger ebb away and be able to actually stop and hear out Raya. “I’m cancelling our plans for tonight and tomorrow. Let’s get you to Heart, it’s the nearest.” It did not cross Raya’s mind to say no to what Namaari said; she did need to fix herself up and barely looked presentable anymore. As soon as the Fang princess summoned her serlot, they quickly hopped onto the animal and rode towards the direction of Raya’s home. The princess of Heart was settled in front of the taller woman, allowing Raya to lean against Namaari’s form as they rode out of the festival grounds. In turn, Namaari’s arm was securely wrapped around Raya’s middle which would guarantee that she would not be falling off anytime. Being this close to Namaari made Raya blush and she thanked the dragons that the night made it hard to see that. Fang’s princess was quiet as she beckoned her serlot to run faster and only looked straight ahead, the other girl saw when she observed at her companion. By the time they got back to the Heart palace, it was generally quiet given that most of the people are at the festival. The guards that were left bowed to the two princesses and did not ask questions as they made their way into Raya’s room. “Go clean up and change, please. I’ll be back later with something for your wound.” That sentence spoken by Namaari sounded like a polite request, calm and less forceful compared earlier. Raya knew her friend just needed time to clear her head, knowing the taller princess’s behavior by now. She nodded and immediately began to remove her clothes before Namaari, who flinched and quickly turned around to leave and retrieve what she needed to get from her own assigned room in the palace. Raya was still blushing as she stripped, bathed and changed into comfortable night clothes, considering that their plans on spending the night enjoying the festival was already thrown out the window. I guess it’ll be an early night for the two of us. Raya sighed as she leaned against the balcony of her room, looking out towards the expanse of Heart and at the faint lights of the festival further out. The full moon bathed everything in a soft bluish light and gave her room a little more illumination other than the lamps that hung above the ceiling and at the walls. She closed her eyes as the cool night wind gently blew into her sleeping quarters and tousled with her damp hair. The princess reopened them again when she heard a soft knock on her door. She immediately went to open it and outside was Namaari, who had changed into her own sleeping attire as well and carried a small round silver container. “Mind if I join you?” “You know you’re always welcome in my room, dep la. Come in.” The long-haired girl stepped aside to let the princess in, who entered the room and did not hesitate to take Raya by the hand and lead her to her bed. Closing the door behind them, Raya complied and followed Namaari and they sat by the side of her bed, face to face. As Namaari unscrewed the lid of the container, Raya sighed and began to explain to her friend what had happened. “A group of cocky binturis tried to demand jade pieces from an innocent customer in a tea shop. That customer happens to be Pranee in her human form. Ow…” Namaari used her fingers to gently apply a salve for cuts on Raya’s cheek, faltering when the dragon ‘s name was mentioned. Raising a brow, she asked, “What was Praneedatu doing there? What were you doing with her?” “I was talking to her about, er… a love potion.” Raya blushed even more and looked away from Namaari when she said this. There was no use hiding the truth from her now. If she wanted the real thing, she had to be honest herself and she wanted to know about the Fang princess’s intentions that time. Namaari’s brow was raised that time and the urge to laugh bubbled up in her but she held it back and tried to understand. “Love… potion? Uh, what for? Aren’t you a bit too old to believe in those things?” “I know, I know. Call me a hopeless romantic but people say it works and I wanted to try it on someone. I want this person to like… no, love me back.” Now that triggered something else within the Fang princess because she thought that they were actually starting something more than friendship. Was there another person Raya was seeing? Did she lie about it before? A mixture of jealousy, hurt and anger stirred inside Namaari and her grip on the salve container tightened though she remained silent as Raya went on. “However, Pranee told me that the gayuma did nothing, but this person has shown me that she likes me as well… If Pranee didn’t tell me this, maybe up until now I would have believed that it was because of the love potion’s effects.” “So… who was this person you used this gayuma on, Raya?” Hearing that this person was female gave the taller female a little hope and her tone was soft, almost longing. Heart’s princess swallowed a lump and gathered up her courage, knowing it was now or never. Removing the container in Namaari’s hold, she held the Fang princess’s hand in her own before bringing it up to her lips to give Namaari’s knuckles a few soft kisses. Both their cheeks bloomed pink as they now looked into each other’s eyes. “I used it on you, dep la. I wanted you to feel the same way I do. Namaari, I…” “I love you, Raya.” This time, it was Naamari’s turn to hold Raya’s face, her thumb lightly stroking her uninjured cheek. Their foreheads touched as the short-haired princess whispered to the other in a voice only they can hear, “I have always loved you, dep la. I have tried my best to keep it under wraps because I was afraid you still hate me for what I’ve done before. But you gave me another chance, and it gave me the hope that maybe we can be become friends… and perhaps, even more.” Raya felt like a huge weight was lifted off of her and she suddenly hugged Namaari tightly, nuzzling against the crook of the princess’s neck. She closed her eyes as she held on the Fang princess and she was held in those strong arms lovingly. Namaari kissed the top of Raya’s head and leaned her cheek against her friend’s crown. “I love you too, Namaari. I didn’t mean to use a gayuma on you. I just wanted to… y’know.” “Silly Raya… you don’t need to use anything on me so I can love you.” Namaari urged Raya to look at her, tilting up her chin so that they were face to face once more. Brushing a thumb over those soft lips, Fang’s princess added, her lips curling up into a smile, “You already charmed me right from the start… and did I do well in the challenge you struck with me before at Talon?” You seem so confident that you can charm anyone, Namaari. Of course, I can. I’ll believe it when I see it. Is that a challenge, dep la? Consider it accepted. “Challenge well done, indeed.” Unable to hold herself back, Raya slowly leaned in and met Namaari’s lips in a kiss. It was soft and chaste, a first for them both. It ended quickly but Namaari was not letting Raya go that easily. She captured those lips again, savoring the warmth and feel of the princess’s mouth on hers. A sigh escaped the lips of the dragon gem guardian as she moved closer, pressing her body more against the Fang warrior’s frame and circling her arms around the other’s neck. Namaari was all too happy to wrap her own arms around Raya’s waist to keep her from moving away. Their kiss deepened and hands began to roam slowly and nervously; with Namaari’s lips straying lower to pepper Raya’s jawline and neck with soft kisses. The long-haired woman got far too heated and slid onto her companion’s lap before pushing her down onto the bed. By then, Raya was straddling Namaari’s waist and had her pinned by her wrists as they stared at each other once more, parted mouths struggling to gulp in air and only a few inches apart. “Mmm, someone’s getting excited, and here I thought you wanted to take it slow, dep la.” Namaari smirked as she looked up at the flustered teenager above her. She often saw Raya as someone who wants to takes charge, like her, but she does not mind if Heart’s princess took the reins once in a while. “But go ahead; do whatever you want with me. I won’t bite… much.” Namaari purred that those sentences in Raya’s ear softly before giving it a light nibble, causing Raya to shiver and sit up while holding her hands to her cheeks that were so red that time. “Ugh, you threw me off there, binturi! I’m inexperienced when it comes to this kind of situation, okay?” Namaari chuckled while also sitting up to embrace Raya tightly. She ran her hand down the silky dark tresses and kissed her nose, grinning as she looked at the shorter girl’s pout. “And who says I am? It’s alright. We have a lot of time to learn about… each other, don’t we?” Raya gulped as Namaari placed her forefinger on her lips then ran it down from her neck to her covered chest. This was true, for tonight was just the beginning of something new for them both and they have all the time in the world to spend it together. Soon, Raya smiled and kissed her lover again before returning the hug. “You’re right… but you still owe me that one song you promised before.” Raya muttered against Namaari’s neck as she held onto the taller woman while they lay in the bed together. “You still haven’t forgotten about that, huh? Are you really sure you want to hear that?” “Yes, and you can’t change my mind.” Knowing she will not get away from their deal, the princess of Fang just laughed softly and held her lover’s hand, kissing it as she looked into those deep brown eyes. “Very well. Tomorrow, you’ll have your song, dep la. You have my word.” Raya smiled widely and held onto Namaari even more after that. They cuddled, exchanged kisses and touches until the dragon gem guardian felt her lids grow heavy and yawned. Seeing that her lover was tired, the Fang warrior carefully started to move away so Raya can have her beauty rest. However, the girl pulled her in and Namaari fell back into the bed beside Raya. “Who says you can go? Stay with me, Namaari, please.” Without the need to say another word, Namaari opened up her arms once more for Raya who happily clung onto her again. After getting into a comfortable position, they eventually fell asleep together, having the most peaceful rest after a very long time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “No, Namaari was not in her room last night. She was in Raya’s bedroom.” “So, our daughters slept together after the festival? Wrapped up in each other’s arms?” The chiefs of Heart and Fang had been talking about their daughters over breakfast the next day. They were absent during the fireworks display and only had confirmation about their whereabouts when an attendant told Chief Benja that the two princesses went back to the palace early and were seen together in Raya’s private quarters, sleeping entangled in a close embrace. The two princesses have yet to come down for their morning meal. Chief Virana sipped her coffee and had a thoughtful look before speaking again to Chief Benja, “What is the tradition like here in Heart when it comes to pursuing the person you like, Benja? I wish to be enlightened more about it.” “Did you mean to ask if Namaari has been courting Raya? Your daughter seems to be doing everything to win her over.” Benja replied with a knowing smile. “It’s just that I’m glad your daughter has given my morning mist another chance to make things right, even if it should be me who should take the blame. Seeing Raya and Namaari finally becoming more than good friends had me finally believing that there is hope for a better future.” “Virana, we are Kumandra now. The past may be hard to forget but if we do not let go of it, we will never have the chance to move on and begin a new chapter. All is forgiven, my friend. I just hope your daughter will take care of my dewdrop, yes?” “I’ll make sure of it, my friend. You have the word of Fang’s Chief.” Raya and Namaari appeared in the dining hall just as Chief Virana said those words. The two were all smiles as they chatted, hands clasped together as they walked towards the table and only letting go when they had to take their places beside their parents. Chiefs Benja and Virana observed the teenagers as they quietly ate and stole glances at each other, almost buckling in to their giggles when they noticed the blush on both the princesses’ cheeks. It was Chief Benja who broke the silence first when they were finishing up their meal. “Namaari, the items you asked for before, they just arrived this morning and I had it delivered to your room. I think you’ll love the craftmanship done on them.” “Really? That’s wonderful. Thank you, Chief Benja. I’ll go and check them after my breakfast.” Raya perked up and was about to open her mouth when Namaari stopped her, “No, dep la. You can’t ask or see what those are. It’ll ruin the surprise.” “What? No fair! I can’t believe you’re in cahoots with her, Ba!” “Actually, even Chief Virana helped out too, dewdrop, so there’s three of us working together.” Raya’s jaw dropped at this revelation and she slumped back in her chair, crossing her arms together. The chiefs only laughed as Namaari finished her meal quickly and excused herself so she can go to her room. The dragon gem guardian pushed herself off from the chair but her father was quick to wag his finger at her. Raya simply surrendered to the idea that her and Namaari’s courtship has been made official since their parents now know, but it was a relief that the chiefs were willing to support them in their budding relationship. By now, the three of them were almost finished with their meal. With the princess unoccupied that moment, Virana looked at Benja and nodded at the man before turning to the disgruntled princess. “Raya, my dear. Will you join me later in seeing to the serlot kittens that Namaari and I have gifted Heart?” “Serlot kittens? I- of course!” The idea perked up the girl and Benja gave a faint nod of thanks to the silver-haired woman. The small creatures were a successful distraction for the princess of Heart and Virana watched her amusedly as the felines flocked over to the girl, asking for pets and vying for her attention when they arrived at the stables later that day. Raya had a lap full of the kittens and was stroking their soft fur while the Fang chief had one on hers and another clinging onto her shoulder. “Who would have thought those large fearsome beasts you ride on could be this cute when they’re little. If only they could just stay like this forever.” Raya said as she raised one up high and nuzzled against it. “Ah, but they can still be a handful at this age and their teeth…” “Ow!” “…can cause a considerable amount of pain.” Raya almost dropped the kitten she was holding after the furball playfully nipped at her finger. She placed it back down with its siblings on her lap and just stroked their fur for now when she asked the older woman, her head bowed down, “Chief Virana, are you alright with me… liking Namaari?” “Why wouldn’t I be fine with it? I should be the one asking you if it is alright for my daughter to pursue you, my dear.” The princess looked up at the usually serious chief who continued to speak, “I have seen the way she looks at you, Raya, and I would be a horrible parent if I have forbidden her from acknowledging those emotions. I did warn her that you might not feel the same…” “But I do. I have felt this long before the Druun had been blasted away. I guess a part of me has always been wishing, hoping that one day, we can become really good friends. I consider myself lucky because I got more than what I asked for.” Raya blushed faintly at the thought of Namaari loving her and that look made Virana smile. The chief knew she can trust the princess with her daughter and they would make a good couple once things finally work out between them. “I’m very glad for both of you. I know you two will make each other happy, my evening rain.” Virana reached out her hand and stroked Raya’s hair gently with a smile, as if she was her own child. The princess carefully placed the kittens down and gave the older woman a warm hug. At first, the chief was stunned but soon exhaled a relieved sigh before returning it and patting the girl’s back. The two women continued their chat and played some more with the kittens until Namaari sought them out. Bowing respectfully and giving the universal Kumandra sign to her mother and the princess, she said, “Mother, can I speak with Raya for a while?” Raya eyed the decently sized bag her lover had strapped on her back, thinking it must be one of the items she had requested to her father before. “Of course. She’s all yours. I’ll have to speak to Chief Benja regarding this last day of the festival. Have fun, you two.” As soon as Chief Virana left them alone, Raya quickly grabbed Namaari by the hand and almost made the other princess stumble over. Clutching the strap around her frame, the taller girl called out to the other, “Slow down! Where are we going?” “We’re gonna take a quick detour to my room then we can go wherever you want.” Namaari said no more after that and she patiently waited for Raya outside her room as the girl retrieved something from her drawer. Heart’s princess clutched her gift wrapped in silken cloth and slid it in one of her pockets before rejoining her lover outside. Wrapping her arms around one of the taller woman’s own, she asked, “Okay, we can go. So will I be treated to your song now?” “Not here. Come, dep la, let’s go somewhere we can be alone together.” The two princesses walked past the corridors and went out of the palace to proceed to the gardens of Heart. They were surrounded by several trees and shrubs of flowers that were in full bloom that time, the petals softly falling all around them as a gentle breeze whistled through the area. The taller of the two females led the other to the large white stone situated in the middle of the garden, climbing up above it before they sat upon its flat top surface. Luckily, the weather was perfect and the trees provided shade for them. Once they were settled, Namaari placed down the bag she had with her and pulled out from it her instrument, a guitar with stylized patterns upon its body and neck. The Fang princess positioned her fingers along the fret board and strummed a few notes to check its tune, adjusting the strings as needed as Raya watched her excitedly. “Have you ever sung to anyone before? Your mother, maybe?” “No. Mother may have allowed me to take lessons but I didn’t have the confidence to perform for her. You will be my first audience.” Raya blushed at that thought and she bit her lower lip to hold down the grin threatening to blow up from her face. Namaari was soon done tuning and she breathed out once before she began to pluck at the strings to start the song. Raya was rendered silent at how skilled Namaari was while playing the guitar; she was mesmerized by the music she made and to think she was only beginning. The long-haired princess felt her heart skip a beat once the Fang warrior opened her mouth to sing, letting out a rich, full voice. Kau adalah puisi hati (You are the poem of my heart) Di kala rindu tak bertepi (At times of endless longing) Kuingin kau ada (I want you to be there) Saat ku membuka mata (When I open my eyes) Hingga 'ku menutupnya kembali (Till I close them again) From that moment, everything ceased to exist around them; Raya only saw herself and Namaari that time, in that world where only they and the music lived. There were no nations, no Kumandra, no Heart, Fang, Talon, Spine or Tail, nothing; just the two of them together. She found herself leaning forward more towards her lover who continued on with the song. Kau sirnahkan kabut kelabu (You dispel the gloomy fog) Di sabana pencarianku (In the savanna of my quest) Bagai embun pagi (Like the morning dew) Kau lepaskan dahaga kemarau hati (You quench the thirst in the drought of my heart) Namaari was focused on looking at the strings before but she soon raised her eyes to look right into Raya’s warm chocolate pools, singing the chorus for the female before her, her emotions being poured into each note and pluck of the strings. Kaulah lukisan pagi (You are the morning painting) Yang ku kembar untuk senjaku (That I draw for my evenings) Kaulah selaksana bunga (You are ten thousand flowers) Yang warnai musim semiku (That give color to my springs) Dikala hati ini gundah (Whenever my heart is anxious) Kau membuatnya menjadi cerah (You brighten it) Kaulah matahariku (You are my sun) Dan kaulah samudra (And you are my ocean) Tempat hatiku bermuara (Where my heart settles) All of Raya’s attention was on Namaari and she gave her best to give the princess of Heart a memorable memory of that time. She continued to sing her serenade to her beloved, weaving the love she felt into the words she sang and Raya heard it all. If the Fang princess was aiming to charm her, then Namaari had already captured Raya’s heart entirely. The song was gradually coming to its end and soon, Fang’s princess closed her eyes as she plucked the final notes and sung the last few lines of the lyrics. Kaulah matahariku (You are my sun) Dan kaulah samudra (And you are my ocean) Tempat hatiku bermuara (Where my heart settles) Tempat hatiku bermuara (Where my heart settles) The guitar strings resounded its last notes before Namaari placed her palm over them to muffle the sound. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart pounded inside her chest nervously as she waited for Raya to say something. Apparently, the other princess was unable to form the correct words to say that time because of how much she loved the performance she was treated to. She cannot help but smile while biting her lip as her emotions went beyond the normal level of giddiness. “Namaari… That was incredible. From now on, you’re going to sing to me every single day.” “I think it will be a while before I can muster up the courage to sing again… I hope you enjoyed it.” “I enjoyed it… I love it. I really want to hear you sing again; how about another one right now, please?” “Don’t push it, dep la.” They laughed together and savored the view when Raya remembered she had to give something to Namaari. She pulled out the wrapped cloth from her pocket and presented it to her lover, surprising the girl. Unwrapping the smooth fabric, Namaari’s eyes widened when she saw the silver earring and her face instantly turned beet red. It was now her turn to be rendered silent and judging by the gasp she just let out that second, Raya felt she made the right choice. “Raya, I… Are you sure about this?” “A ‘thank you’ will suffice, and you’re welcome. Here, let me.” Raya beckoned Namaari closer and she removed the earring the Fang princess wore. Putting it away, the dragon gem guardian then carefully put her gift on her lover’s ear, letting the silver tassels finally hang freely once it was in place. The precious stones on it glimmered in the light as Namaari tucked her hair behind her other ear, her cheeks still tinged with red. The princess of Heart assumed that she did a good thing but from her lover’s shy reaction, she wondered if there was something else that made her act this way. “You always get this flustered when receiving gifts?” “Dep la, do you have any idea what you did just now? Do you know anything about Fang’s traditions when it comes to gifting jewelry?” The other princess suddenly felt nervous when Namaari asked those questions. Did she somehow accidentally insult the other female because of her own cluelessness? Though she thought that it was all harmless since gifts are always welcome and she merely wanted to give something to her lover. She swallowed and just shook her head, regretting not knowing anything about Fang and their culture. She was about to open her mouth to apologize just in case when Namaari silenced her with a finger placed softly upon her lips. Raya blinked and obeyed Namaari, though she was anxious of what will happen next and she hated the feeling. The Fang warrior put away the guitar first before sliding a hand inside the pocket of her pants then bringing out a gold armband in the shape of a dragon. The work done on the piece was exceptional, down to the details and the gems embedded on it as part of its design. Namaari took Raya’s hand in her own before using her other to brush along the length of the long-haired girl’s arm, pausing to touch the armband Raya currently wore. “In Fang tradition, when you give a person any jewelry that replaces their old one, you are offering your full devotion to that person as their lover and partner… and if they allowed you to put the jewelry on them, it means they accept your proposal.” Oh… OH. I didn’t know that but thank the dragons it’s a good thing! I just asked Namaari to be my partner… and she accepted. She accepted! Wait, so is she going to- “May I?” Now Raya’s turn to blush came that time as Namaari presented the armband to her and she quickly nodded without hesitation. Carefully tugging down the girl’s arm piece, the warrior slid it off and placed it aside along with her old earring then gradually slipped her gift along Raya’s arm until it was in the place of her old one. It was a perfect fit and shone like Namaari’s earring as small rays of light that escaped through the canopy of leaves hit its golden surface. Namaari held up Raya’s hand and kissed the back of it as a smile grew upon her lips. “I guess we’re officially together now?” “I haven’t said anything yet regarding your panliligaw. I still have to decide.” Raya grinned as she tried to tease the princess of Fang, whose smile faded and eyebrow twitched. “Maybe if you sing for me again, I would be convinced to say yes.” Namaari growled and suddenly pulled Raya close to her frame, wrapping her arm around the shorter female’s waist before she leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Or I should just bring you to bed and make you sing my name… maybe even scream it to the heavens.” “Dragons, don’t give me ideas, binturi! That’s not fair!” Raya blushed at that indecent suggestion and tried to hit Namaari’s chest with her fists, though they were mostly weak and did not aim to hurt the woman. The taller of the two princesses chuckled and kisses her lover on the cheek before nuzzling her. “I’m kidding. There’s a chance for that next time.” “I’ll get you next time alright. You’re lucky I fell for you, dep la.” “Very lucky indeed. I love you, Raya.” “You’re such a charmer. I love you too, Namaari.” Raya held Namaari’s face in her hands and pressed their lips together in a kiss while Namaari’s hold on her tightened as she pulled her lover close. They eventually pulled away and smiled at each other, unaware that Chiefs Benja and Virana watched them from afar. The chief of Heart rubbed his chin thoughtfully while the chief of Fang just smiled contentedly at the sight that just unfolded before them. They soon began to walk side by side back to the palace, with the male still thinking of ideas as he said, “Maybe I should start talking to Raya about wedding preparations already…” “It’s a little too early for that, Benja. Let them enjoy this moment first, but I’ll bet that we’ll be hearing wedding chants soon enough.” Virana supplied as her smile only grew, ideas for the princesses’ union now also invading her mind by now, thanks to the Heart chief. “I guess you’re right. I’m just wondering where the ceremony should take place since we’re talking about Fang and Heart becoming more than just allies once our daughters get married.” “Ever considered dressing them up in ao dai? Fang has some very skilled tailors who make the best wedding dresses that are sought after by the other lands.” “Oh, do tell.” ~~~~~~~~~~ END ~~~~~~~~~~

~*~ Will woke up as the sun shone in through the window and blinked the sleep from his eyes. Last night had been hard. He'd actually got up the nerve to talk to Nico, even sat next him at the campfire, and afterwards, he and Nico took a walk around the canoe lake, stargazing and talking about how different Camp Half-Blood would be once the Olympians made good on their promise to Percy. When Will had brought up Percy Jackson, how much he admired him and how surprised he had been when Percy refused the offer of godhood, Nico gave him a rare smile, and then looked out wistfully across the lake. "Yeah. He's something all right." The statement had settled in Will's stomach like indigestion. He still wasn't sure why, though now that Hades had a cabin, he hoped he'd have a chance to figure Nico out. He'd said goodnight after Nico had walked him back to Cabin Seven. He'd patted Nico's arm and thanked him for doing the burial rites on the fallen heroes, but especially Michael. The simple touch sent a shiver running up his arm and throughout his body until the sensation settled in his stomach and transformed into a warm glow that lit up his smile. He wasn't sure what it was that passed over Nico's eyes at the touch, but he hoped it might have been the start to a new friendship. "You'll do well as head counselor," Nico told him. "You've got what it takes to lead." And then he'd left. Will wasn't an idiot. He knew what was happening to him in regards to Nico. He recalled seeing Nico in New York, striding up Fifth Avenue, leading an army of the dead, a Hell Hound at his heels and his father, the god of the dead himself bringing up the rear. Will was crushing hard. As he watched Nico disappear into the dark, he'd thought that he wasn't worthy of Nico's notice; he'd never led a quest. He was a healer, a medic, back-up. Pulling himself from his musings, he watched his siblings starting to stir. They'd look to him now that Michael was gone, and that idea was going to take some getting used to. ~*~ "What do you mean he's gone?" Will asked, trying to keep the hurt from showing in his voice. Chiron passed him a basket of freshly laundered bandages, and then turned to look at him, leaving off taking an inventory of the infirmary stock. "He has never officially signed on as a camper. I had hoped that the addition of a cabin for his father would change that, but even Dionysus insists that the choice must be one he makes for himself. Mr. Di Angelo is a troubled young man, in many ways." He stopped and stroked his beard. "But I hold onto the hope that he will find his way in his own time." Will's eyes prickled and he turned away from Chiron as he folded the bandages, not wanting to share his grief with his mentor, at least, not until he understood it better. He could play it off, if anyone asked, as being related to Michael's death; they'd understand that. Apollo wasn't the only cabin to suffer casualties. He swallowed the bitter taste of guilt in his mouth for feeling worse about Nico leaving camp than for losing his brother. It seemed he was a little troubled too. "Chiron," Percy called from the doorway. Will looked up and Percy spotted him. "Solace!" He strode into the room and Will turned to face him, surprised when Percy held out his hand to shake. Will clasped Percy's hand, and then Percy pulled him forward and embraced him warmly. Will was more than a little star struck, but he smacked Percy's back as Percy did the same. "Thanks so much for saving Annabeth, man. I owe you big time," Percy said, his voice thick with emotion. When Will pulled away after Percy seemed to get himself back under control, he smiled. "You're welcome." "Was there something you wanted from me?" Chiron asked, reminding them of his presence. Percy's eyes lit up, and then he looked Will up and down as if appraising him. "Yeah. I got a message from Hermes, the list of all his kids still out in the world. There were more than the few he'd mentioned on Olympus, but I figured we'd start with the ones closest to thirteen. You know …" He looked at Will again, his eyes sincere. "If Will's up for it, he'd be my first choice to help organize the satyrs and bring the new kids to camp." Chiron turned to Will, his head tilted as if waiting for him to accept the nomination or not. And Will found himself with more than enough work to keep from dwelling on his losses and, he hoped, to get a grip on his emotions. ~*~ Will and Glenn, a newly appointed searcher found Cecil almost the moment they arrived in Janesville, Wisconsin. Will stepped off the bus and before he had a chance to even look around, a running blur of color smacked into him, throwing him backwards on top of Glenn, knocking the wind from his lungs, and leaving them sprawled on the steps of the bus. He grabbed the boy lying on top of him and held him fast, wheezing as he regained his breath while the boy struggled to free himself. "Sorry, sorry, I – I swear it was an accident. I gotta go, please. Quick. They're after me." "Wait a second," Glenn said, giving Will a push as the driver barked at them to either get off the bus or get back on. "Will. It's him; he's the one." Will kept his grip on the boy as he got to his feet and Glenn paid the driver their additional fare. "It's okay," Will said, trying to sound soothing. "We're here to help." He released him when the boy nodded, and they climbed the stairs as the door closed behind them. As the bus pulled away from the curb, Will saw two police officers running past on the sidewalk as if in pursuit of a criminal and the boy dropped face down on the aisle floor. Thankfully, they were the only passengers. Will took the seat opposite Glenn, and they exchanged a look across the aisle as if to say: What sort of trouble are we bringing back to camp? "Is it safe?" the boy asked, looking up at Will. He was short and lean with sharp almost elfish features. His wild brown hair stuck up in a tuft at the back and he had brown eyes that seemed too big for his face. He made Will think of Peter Pan. "Yeah," Will said and patted the seat next to him. The boy jumped off the floor and into the seat as if he was one big spring. "I'm Will Solace." He pointed at Glenn. "That's Glenn. What's your name?" "Cecil," the boy answered simply. "How far does this bus go?" ~*~ Cecil, it turned out, had the cops set on him by his 'foster parents', who, by Cecil's description, Will guessed were a pair of monsters adapting to modern life, blending in with the system and feeding off the charges dumped in their lap. He'd heard similar tales often enough. On their trek up Half-Blood Hill, Cecil stopped short after Will told him a little about himself. Will stopped too and looked back at him. "No way," Cecil said, his lips turning up on one side. "There is no way you're only twelve. That's how old I am. Dude, what do they feed you at this camp?" He slumped to exaggerate their height difference and Will couldn't help but laugh. Glenn danced nervously on his fake feet, gesturing for them to keep going. "Come on. We're almost to the border. You can talk all you want after we cross it." Will snapped back to serious mode in an instant, recalling the numerous monster attacks that seemed to happen the closer to safety a demigod got. "He's right. We can talk more when we get there." They climbed the rest of the hill without incident and without speaking. It's true that being a demigod ages a person faster than just about anything else, and after three and half years as a year-round camper, Will had trouble believing he was only twelve too. ~*~ Will fell into his roles as lead camper in the Apollo cabin, the senior healer after Chiron, and the guy who tried to make new campers feel welcome. He tried to buddy people up and helped the quiet ones find a niche so they wouldn't run off thinking nobody liked them. Nico di Angelo was his greatest what-if and never far from his mind. Lou Ellen had been claimed by her mother while Will was off with Glenn to bring Cecil to camp, and it only took a couple of weeks before the three were seldom seen apart. Cecil and Lou Ellen wrested the whole story about Will's infatuation with the mysterious son of Hades out of him and offered an ear whenever he needed to talk about it. His dreams of late provided a lot to talk about. He'd never had prophetic dreams before, but Nico had been appearing in his nightmares with alarming frequency after Jason, Piper, and Leo returned from their quest to free Hera. -- Nico stepped from the shadows of a black poplar, the sky a purple haze, the air sulfurus. He stood stock still and looked out over what appeared to be a quarry of tall stones, though it was hard to see clearly through the tendrils of mist clinging to them. He turned back and started to walk, silently picking his way between the rocks, stopping every so often to peer at individual ones … and they seemed to peer back. They weren't rocks, they were souls, and the land he crossed was Asphodel. The atmosphere changed the deeper in he walked, the mist thicker, lower to the ground and heavy with dread. It brought with it visions of blood coagulating, slogging in open wounds, pooling into pure despair and a force beckoned, pulling Nico toward it. It held a magnetism of malignancy too powerful to resist. His shoes skidded, losing traction as a chasm of inky blackness appeared and sucked him into its depths. He fell sightless, his mouth open in a silent scream. -- Will dragged in a breath, his throat searing as if he'd swallowed fire, tasting metal on his tongue. He drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them, and praying to Apollo, to Hades, to Hecate, and even to Hermes that it was only a nightmare as tears tracked his cheeks. ~*~ Will hadn't seen Nico di Angelo in person in almost two years, but even in the dark, even from behind, even though he was dressed in a tropical shirt, he knew him. He gestured for Lou Ellen and Cecil to stay quiet, then looked out over the Roman camp, following the path of Nico's eyes, and then stepped forward. "Nico?" ~*~ He was bone tired a couple of days after the war. So tired that the hours of sleep he managed didn't help much, but something drew him from his precious few hours free from the infirmary, the sun perhaps? After working long into the night it sucked to be an Apollo camper at daybreak in the summer months. He threw his blankets off himself and pulled on a pair of jeans, a clean surgeon's shirt and slipped into his flip flops. He sighed as he shuffled to the bathroom, memories cropping up that he didn't want to revisit. He'd longed for Nico di Angelo to come back, and then when he had, he'd been on the brink of fading, more far gone Will suspects than Nico realized. When Will had asked Hedge about Nico after Melli's delivery, the look Hedge gave him told him that he didn't have any time to waste. If he was going to convince Nico to stay at camp, to try and befriend him, he had to be clever about it. That was why he had weaseled his way onto the battlefield. It wasn't nerves from delivering a baby or even the fear of endangering his own life. The weight of his feelings terrified him and made him wonder how real they were and how much they may have been embellished by his own fantasy. The connection he'd felt after the battle of Manhattan had been real and Nico wasn't the sort that took walks and looked at the stars with just anybody. Will would have been thrilled to just have had that much, but when Nico insisted on walking him back to his cabin … that had felt a lot like a date. Sure, they had only been twelve years old, but with the fate of the world riding on their shoulders, their lives fragile and so often cut short … Nico must have realized, must have sensed … "Stupid," he said to his reflection, holding himself up with his hands on the sink. "You're so stupid, Will." He knew he wasn't off the mark as far as Nico's preference for guys, but the way his eyes had lit up at the mention of Percy Jackson. That was where his heart had been two years ago when they had walked together. He recalled the other night, coming across Nico on the battlefield, the darkness he'd sensed in him, the despair. Nico had been ready to go kamikaze on the Romans and probably would have if Will hadn't spoken up. Percy Jackson. Will understood the attraction. If he had a chance in Hades with Percy and Nico wasn't an option, he'd totally go for it, but Percy was so taken with Annabeth, he'd be a fool to even think it. Nico was nowhere close to a fool either, and it broke Will's heart to think that a hopeless crush could drive Nico into not valuing his life. He'd flirted with Nico as they planned to sabotage the onagers, testing the waters a little at first and had thought he'd picked right back up on the thread from so long ago. Nico hadn't told him off. He'd grumbled about accepting Will's help, but he had accepted it, and then he'd dropped the bomb that he wasn't staying. He'd already made up his mind. Even so … even after the last thing they did together was watch Octavian launch himself into oblivion … Will wondered if there might be a glimmer of a chance to convince Nico otherwise. Nico and the Roman praetor had hugged before the whole camp, a symbol of unity, Nico representing the Greeks, representing Camp Half-Blood. Nico didn't need to make it official, he belonged at camp. Will looked his reflection in the eye again. "If you would go for it if there was a chance with Percy Jackson, with no Nico in the picture, then why wouldn't you go for it when there's Nico and no chance with Percy. Nico wins out both ways, but you have to stop being cowardly and tell him you want him to stay." Determined, Will headed out to the porch of his cabin and spotted Nico across the green wrapped up in Jason Grace's arms. Another impossible dream. He set his face with a stern expression, not willing to shy away from his feelings again and waved until Nico noticed him. And then he pointed at the ground and sent the message. You. Here. Now. ~*~ After a year, Will thought he reached his breaking point. He was so far gone for Nico di Angelo, it killed him to have to keep it inside. They grew close after he had called Nico out and forced him to spend time in the infirmary, but Nico made it clear, not in regards to Will specifically, but in general that he wasn't interested in dating flat out. Will pushed Nico when he knew Nico needed a push, but the reaction Nico had had when Will had brought up the subject of love interests let him know that the subject was taboo and pushing the issue would drive Nico away. Instead, he went out of his way to not mention it, and he and Nico ended up in a sort of not-relationship. They acted pretty much like any other couple, only without labels and without physical intimacy. Lou Ellen and Cecil had started a bet between themselves as to when Will and Nico would finally announce they were dating until Will told them to knock it off. He'd thought he'd be fine with things going as they were until a couple of months before camp started its summer session and Nico started teasing him in Italian. The sound of Nico's native tongue melted Will into a pile of mush every single time, and Nico laughed and refused to translate what he said, like he got off on Will's suffering. No. That wasn't true, because Will begged him to do it again and again and Nico was only obliging him. They sat next to each other on the edge of the dock on an April evening, dangling their legs and watching the sunset and Will told himself this would be the last time he'd ask. He'd requested a private quest from Chiron that would take him away for several months and hopefully help him gain some clarity. "Talk Italian to me," Will said, setting his hand on top of Nico's on the deck, one of the touches Nico never seemed to mind. Nico looked at him sideways, shrewdly, one dark eyebrow raised. "Why?" Will gave his best impression of puppy dog eyes and pouted his lower lip. "Because I like it. It's a beautiful language. Oh c'mon …" He nudged Nico with his elbow. "You know you want to. You love to tease me with the fact I don't understand. Go ahead and tell me I smell like one of Butch Walker's gym socks. I bet even that would sound beautiful in Italian." Nico chuckled. "Hai un profumo fantastico." Will turned his head to the side. "Fantastico?" He met Nico's eyes. "You think Butch's socks smell fantastic?" Nico didn't answer that question. He didn't break the eye contact either. "Mi fai venire voglia di essere una persona migliore." Will closed his eyes and smiled, letting the soft words caress his eardrums. He leaned closer, tilting his head as if being closer would allow him to hear better. "More?" He heard Nico sigh and opened his eyes again. "You don't have to if you don't …" "Non te lo direi mai se riuscissi a capirmi, ma mi fai venire voglia di cantare. Adoro i tuoi capelli e come brillano al sole, e se fossi una persona migliore ti direi che ti amo." Will thought his soul might leave his body. All he wanted to do was to lean in the last couple of inches and press their lips together. He didn't. Instead, he squeezed Nico's hand. Would this be the last time they ever sat together like this? He looked out at the lake, suddenly sad. "Why did you request a quest, Will and not tell me about it?" Will's eyes grew wide. The question threw him off course. "How did you …" "I can blend in with the shadows and I knew something was bothering you." "You spied on me." Will blew out his breath, his sails flattened. Nico nodded. He didn't say anything else, didn't make any motion to leave. He just sat there, waiting. The words were on the tip of Will's tongue, so beyond ready to come out and yet frozen by fear. He thought back over all the good times they'd had and a few of the bad. Nico hadn't had a real freakout in a very long time, and Will would be leaving himself. He didn't have much to lose and he had faith Nico wouldn't fall off the face of the Earth if he heard the truth, not like before. He took another deep breath and let it out, then looked Nico in the eyes again. "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified you'll leave if I tell you." Saying the words made Will feel like he just dropped about a hundred pounds he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. And Nico wasn't freaking out. He wasn't even acting all that surprised. "Non fare lo scemo. Sono pazzo di te," he said instead and closed the distance between them, brushing Will's lips with his. Will held onto the back of Nico's head with one hand, his mind threatening to give out. He broke the kiss, barely, still close enough to pick it right back up and whispered: "What does that mean?" "Don't be an idiot. I'm mad about you," Nico answered, and faster than a snake, slipped out of Will's grip, flipping their positions, and pushed him onto his back on the deck, then slotted himself on top and kissed him within an inch of his life. When they broke apart, they rolled onto their sides facing each other. "I'm coming along … on the quest …" Nico said. "If you'll have me. I already volunteered and got Chiron's okay." Will smirked and made a show of thinking about whether that would be acceptable or not. "I suppose you could come along, but you have to agree to talk to me in Italian at least once a day … and …" He continued over Nico's attempt at interrupting. "… and you have to translate what you say." Nico smiled, showing his teeth. "Is that right?" He held up a hand and started ticking off his fingers. "I said you smell fantastic. That you make me want to be a better person. You make me want to sing. I love the way your hair glows in the sun and …" He swallowed, then kept going, "and that I love you." Will Solace had no response to give. He melted into a puddle of mush and Nico took full advantage of his silence. The End

Shortly after Christen leaves, Megan crashes back into the room full of energy and is surprised to see Tobin sitting still on her bed. “Yo, Tobs, you good?” “Yeah, man, Chris came over,” Tobin looks up to meet Megan’s eyes, a grin spreading wide across her face. “Nice! Did you hook up? Was she good? Not gonna lie, she seems kinda uptight from what you’ve said.” Megan starts to ramble but Tobin cuts her off, “Hey, she’s great, don’t be a bitch.” “Sorry, dude! Was just wondering. You guys had a good time though?” “We did, mostly we watched the Office so it was destined to be good.” “That’s all? You seem in a pretty good mood just for watching a show you’ve seen a billion times.” Tobin’s smile turns to a smirk. “I mean, we kissed a little bit.” “Yes! Get it Tobs,” Megan’s enthusiasm filling the room. “I’m happy for you, are you gonna ask her out?” “Well, I’m definitely going to try.”   Julie is sitting on her bed with her laptop resting on her knees and her headphones in when Christen walks back into their room. She stands just inside the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet, debating whether she should wait for Julie to look up on her own or go get her attention. In the time she spends attempting to make that decision, Julie makes it for her and says, “So,” with a drawn out pause, “you’re glowing. Gonna tell me what happened? Or torture me with waiting?” “Jules, it was so good,” Christen responds, the excitement in her voice clearly coming through. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Tobin is so sweet,” Christen responds, blushing when she realizes just how smitten she is. “Tell me everything!” “Well, we watched the Office and then we kissed and then we watched more and cuddled. And I think she likes me as much as I like her.” “Chris, I know she does,” Julie says with a laugh. “There’s no way she’d be able to handle your crazy study habits if she didn’t.” “I guess you’re right, I’m pretty bad, aren’t I?” “You are, so it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Julie jokes. “Oh, shut up,” Christen rolls her eyes. “I think you should go tell Syd, she’ll kill me if she kinds out I knew for longer than her.” “Do I have to? She’s just gonna gloat and be so annoying!” “Yes. Now get to it, she’s gonna be so excited, let her have this.” “You’re right, you’re right,” Julie looks at her, “I’m going, I’m going.”   The next morning at breakfast, Sydney still could not contain herself. She kept looking over at Christen and breaking out into laughter. Ali, on the other hand, was behaving herself and she and Julie were doing their best to keep Sydney in line. Christen felt too good to let it bother her though, so she laughed along with Syd and let her friends carry on a conversation without her. Absentmindedly, her eyes track back and forth across the dining hall. She realizes that she’s looking for, or at least hoping to catch a glimpse of, Tobin. She is less surprised by this than she used to be. Tobin has been consuming a lot of her thoughts lately. But thinking about about her feels too good to be bothersome and she momentarily forgets to chastise herself about the potential ramifications of being distracted. As they’re getting ready to go, Ali nudges Christen’s shoulder to get her attention. “You look really happy, Press. I’m happy for you.” “Thanks, Al. I am happy, it feels really good.” They part ways as Ali heads to class with Julie and Syd follows Chris to the library. “Sorry if my excitement is bothering you,” Sydney offers, “I just really like being right.” “I know, Syd, me too.”   When Tobin gets to class on Wednesday morning, she has two cups of coffee in hand and a smile on her face. Christen is sitting in her seat with her head buried in her planner like it always is and Tobin is grateful that this class she was planning to hate has so pleasantly surprised her. She spends the class trying to pay attention but mostly sneaking glances at Christen out of the corner of her eye, working up the courage to ask her on a date. As class comes to an end Christen pulls out her phone to a Facebook notification from her sister which she opens to see a video of kids getting puppies for Christmas. Tobin is there, waiting for her like usual, so she starts to gush over the adorable dogs and sweet kids whose excitement about the puppies she rivals. They’ve made it almost all the way to her next class when Christen finally looks up to see Tobin looking at her with a dopey grin, “What?” “You’re cute when you ramble.” Christen gazes up at Tobin through her eyelashes as a blush spreads across her cheeks. They stand outside of the building looking at each other. Christen knows she needs to go inside but she can’t help feeling that Tobin is going to say something. So, she waits. The anticipation is building and Chris is starting to get anxious both about what Tobin is thinking and that she might be late for class. Finally, Tobin reaches out and grabs her hand. With a deep breath, she clears her throat and asks “Chris, will you go on a date with me?” “Really?” Chris asks, as the anxiousness dissolves into joy. “Yes, really,” Tobin pleads, hoping for an answer. Christen takes the rare opportunity to pull Tobin’s leg and responds, “Let me think about it,” with her forefinger tapping her chin. Tobin, rather shocked, can barely get out a, “Wait, what?” before Christen puts her out of her misery. “I’m pretty sure it’s my turn to ask you out on a date. I mean you have already taken me out for pizza and coffee. So no, I will not go on a date with you. Will you go on one with me?” Stunned, Tobin’s eyes widen and she takes a second to recover and then pulls Christen into a hug. “I’d love to! You really had me scared for a second there Chris. If you’d said no that would’ve been even more embarrassing than when I fell in front of you and Julie. Now go to class! I’d feel terrible if you were late because of me.” They both laugh and Christen drags her feet, hesitant to let go of Tobin, “I’m going, I’m going.”   Before she knows it, her class is over. Christen looks down to see that she has barely taken any notes and isn’t even totally sure what the lecture was about. Most surprising, is that she also doesn’t really care. She knows that whatever the professor was going on about is not nearly as interesting as Tobin and their upcoming date. As she gets up to leave, she takes out her phone to text Julie since she was too flustered at the start of class to do so. So, I have news. Excuse me??? What sort of news?Good news?Is it bad? What the fuck Press. You can’t leave me hanging like this. I’m gonna call you. Jules, that was too funny. RelaxGood news for sureMeet me at home in 10?? You’re lucky I love youFineBetter be worth it I promise it is ;) Julie gets back to their room just as Chris is putting her stuff down. “Press, you have exactly zero seconds to get talking, my walk back was torture!” “Well…Tobin and I are going on a date!” “Like, for real? Tell me everything!” “She said, ‘Chris, will you go on a date with me,’ and I said I’d think about it because you know she used to stress me out so much so I thought it would be good pay back but then she looked so confused and sad so I said that I wanted to ask her on a date because we’ve already gone out for pizza and coffee that she’s paid for, which you know, are the two foods I like best and she was so cute and surprised and…” Christen stops all of a sudden and Julie’s face shrinks from glee to concern, “You good, Press?” “No, Jules, I’m screwed. Now I have to plan a date to take Tobin on, what the fuck am I gonna do?” “Can you chill out for like 5 minutes and let yourself be happy? We’ll think of something, don’t worry about it. I’m sure Syd will be more than happy to help.” Letting out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, Christen mumbles, “I guess you’re right.” “I know I am, now give me a hug! I’m proud of you!” “Thanks, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”   Three days and verging on countless freak-outs later, Christen runs her straightener through her hair again even though it’s been as straight as it gets for the past twenty minutes. Syd is sitting on the counter watching her while Ali and Julie pull out different outfit options. Christen has exactly two hours until she’s supposed to meet Tobin in the lobby of the dorm and she isn’t sure if she’ll still be able to breathe by then. Sydney’s foot kicks against her knee, “Dude, you’ve already gone on at least two dates. And made out. For the love of God, please tell me you’re not nervous about whether or not she likes you.” Christen looks up trying to show that she knows she’s being ridiculous and just can’t help it. “I mean, I know she likes me now, but like, what if I picked a terrible date and it ruins everything.” “Okay, since we both know you’re being illogical, I’ll be nice. The only thing that could possible ruin tonight is you not enjoying yourself. Tobin will have a good time because she’ll be spending time with you. Which, for some reason, is something she actually wants to do. So let yourself have this, you’re so close to actually loosening up. I’m not sure why, but I believe in you so the least you could do is believe in yourself since you know I love being right.” Christen sets the straightener down to look at Syd, “I really appreciate it Syd but you know it’s not that simple, right? Like you said, we both know I’m being illogical but it’s not like I can turn my brain off. I really wish I could but I can’t. I’m anxious, I worry, that just who I am and I know it’s annoying which just makes it worse.” She looks down as her eyes brim with tears. Julie pokes her head in to the bath room, sensing that the conversation took a deeper turn than Syd was prepared for, “Hey, hey, it’s not annoying, we just want you to be happy. If that means I have to constantly badger you with compliments, then I’m more than happy to do that.” “Thanks guys, I’m lucky to have you. Thanks for putting up with me.” Christen gets up and give Julie a hug, “What did you and Ali decide I’m wearing?” Julie pulls her back into the room and shoves her some hangers with a fitted shirt from Ali’s closet, a cardigan from Christen’s and Sydney’s tightest pair of jeans. Christen pulls on the outfit and twirls around, her friends clapping happily and gushing over her. Then Ali and Syd pull her back into the bathroom to do her makeup. Julie puts on music and dances around behind them so they all see her being silly in the mirror. Before they know it, it’s time to go downstairs. With one foot out the door, Christen turns back to her friends for one last reassurance and they look her over. “You look great, she’s gonna love it,” Julie reminds her as Syd enthusiastically yells, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” before lovingly shoving her out the door.   Tobin, perhaps for the first time in her life was more than one minute early for something. She had been sitting and bouncing her leg in the lobby of the dorm for the past twenty minutes, too jittery to pay attention to anything on her phone. Megan had helped her get ready but since neither of them knew the plan, there wasn’t much they could do to prepare. When Tobin got tired of pacing around their room, she came downstairs and had been trying (and failing) to pass the time ever since. Now, when she looks up to see Christen standing in front of her, her breath catches in her throat and she’s glad she’s sitting down. She takes a second to collect herself and then gets up to make her way over to her. “Wow, you look beautiful,” she breaths out hoping that Christen catches her sincerity. Christen’s cheeks blush a deep red which Tobin finds incredibly charming so she leans in to plant a gently kiss on her cheek and then takes her hand and leads her toward the door. Finally regaining her casual demeanor, she asks, “So, where are we off to, boss?” Christen is distracted by Tobin’s hand holding hers and it takes her more than a few seconds to realize that Tobin asked her something. “What? Oh, where are we going? The subway.” “Seriously, that’s all I get?” Reminding herself of everything her friends had been telling her for the past few hours, she takes a chance and looks at Tobin with pleading eyes, “Don’t you trust me that it’ll be worth it?” “Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know,” Tobin responds as she swings their hands between them. “I guess that’s fair. If you don’t like it, then I’ll tell you the next one ahead of time.” After a short pause, she starts to backtrack, “wait that’s dumb. If you don’t like this date, you wouldn’t go on another one with me. Maybe I should tell…” “Chris, look at me,” Tobin moves them over to the edge of the sidewalk and waits until Christen’s gaze meets hers. “I promise, I will always want to go on another date with you. And no matter what you planned, I know I’m gonna love it and we’re gonna have fun. Sorry for stressing you out.” Christen does her best to take Tobin at her word and leans into Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin wraps her arm around Christen and leads her back toward the train. “Will you at least tell me if we’re going uptown or downtown?” Tobin says with a laugh. “Downtown, like super downtown.” Tobin leans over to whisper in her ear, “Sounds good to me, I hope the train is crowded so I have an excuse to hold you.” Christen shivers in response to Tobin’s breath on her ear, “I mean, if you’re cold that’s a good enough excuse for me,” Tobin adds with a wink.   Forty minutes and a good deal of crowded train snuggling later, Christen leads Tobin into the Whitney and pulls the tickets up on her phone. “Is this okay? Have you been here a million times?” “Chris, it’s perfect. I’ve only been once and it was years ago, I swear I’ve been meaning to come back.” “Really?” “Really, really,” Tobin says with a smile. “Good. Well, it’s only 1:10 and our tickets aren’t until 1:30, are you okay poking around the shop or do you wanna go somewhere else or?” “Gift shop’s fine, I’m definitely gonna need to buy something to remember this by so taking a look at what they have couldn’t hurt,” and she pulls Christen in that direction. Tobin flirts with Christen shamelessly the whole time they’re in the shop, never once letting go of her hand no matter how long Christen stares at one little thing on a shelf and Christen has no choice but to relax into Tobin’s inviting warmth. She stops having to work as hard to quite the voice in her head telling her that Tobin doesn’t want to be there because of how often Tobin reaffirms her excitement out loud. When it’s finally time for them to head into the museum, Christen almost starts to feel like they’re a real couple, not two college kids on their first official date and she lets herself lean in to the excitement. Very quickly, they come to realize that they do museums completely differently. Tobin is more interested in the design. She constantly looks around to see how the other people take in the art and how the space and the art interact. Christen focuses on the art with an intense concentration trying to understand exactly what she thinks the artist would have wanted her to. By the third piece Christen is looking at, Tobin starts to get antsy so she gives up and decides since this date is for Tobin that they can do it her way.   Almost two hours later, Christen tugs at Tobin’s arm, “Tobin, I’m tired, can we please sit for a sec?” “Yeah, sure, babe. There’s a bench right there.” “I changed my mind.” “What? About being tired?” Tobin looks at her confused. “No. About not liking it when you call me babe. I like it now. You should do it again.” Relief spreads across Tobin’s features as she realizes what Christen is talking about, “Oh, I didn’t even notice, but I’m happy to be at your service, babe.” Christen sits on the bench pulling Tobin with her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Do you wanna stay for a while longer or how would you feel about grabbing a snack from Chelsea Market and then taking a walk on the High Line? I know it’s so typical tourist but it’s nice out and I know you like food and outside and…” Tobin cuts her off again and puts her hand on Christen’s thigh, “Babe, like I said, as long as I’m with you, I’m good. And like you said, I like food and being outside. So trust yourself, you’re doing great. But, we do have to go back to the gift shop first!” Back at the gift shop, Tobin waits until Christen’s nose is buried in a book before she sneaks away to buy postcards of the pieces Christen had liked best. She pays quickly and stuff them in her pocket before heading back over to Christen and resting her head on her shoulder. “I’m ready to go when you are, babe.”   Armed with an assortment of little doughnuts and fresh coffee, they walk along the park and enjoying the view. They find a bench and Christen reaches in the bag to grab a doughnut and pops it all in her mouth at once. Tobin can’t help but smile at how adorable she looks with her cheeks full of dough and sugar dusting her lips. “Hey Chris, can I take a picture of you?” A bit confused, Christen nods and rushes to swallow but Tobin catches her before she can and the candid photo makes both of them laugh. Once full, and reenergized from both the sugar and caffeine, they continue their walk hand in hand. Christen thinks back to just a few weeks ago when she and Tobin were on their way to pizza and how badly she had wanted to hold her hand then. The fact that she got to do so without worrying now made her heart flutter in her chest and a smile spread across her face. “Whatchya thinking bout buttercup?” Tobin asks, noticing her expression. “You,” she answers honestly. “Good, ‘cause you’re on my mind too.”

The walk through the stairs and halls of the apartment building was made mostly in silence, several feet of distance between the pair just in case anyone saw them, in case anyone thought to look twice at two men who didn’t actually live together heading towards the same rooms so late at night. But the minute the door was shut and locked behind them, everything changed. “Shit.” Tony breathed a laugh when Bucky was suddenly all over him, big hands destroying his careful hair style, yanking his shirt out his trousers, fingers scrabbling at his waist to get to skin. “Think I might die if I don’t get you naked soon.” Bucky mumbled against a kiss, the words slurred with the alcohol, sharpened by the undercurrent of desire moving between them. “Feels like I’ve been waiting forever for you, Tony.” “We’ve only known each other three days.” Tony tipped his head back when Bucky started trailing hot kisses down his throat, heading for his collar bone. “How could you be waiting forever?” “You gonna be sassy w’me right now?” Bucky dug his teeth into Tony’s shoulder and Tony shrieked. “Right now when I’m try’na get handsy with ya?” “I’m just asking.” Tony wove his fingers into Bucky’s thick hair when the soldier started worrying a bruise at the base of his neck. “I’m just–ah– just thinking that since– fuck– um–” “Sugar.” Bucky abandoned Tony’s neck to lay a searing kiss on his lips. “I must be doin’ something wrong if you’re still talking.” “I talk constantly.” Tony countered, pulling Bucky back for a second kiss. “Not much shuts me up, but if you’d like to try gagging me–” “Tony!” “–I’m just saying it’s something we could talk about!” “But if I gag you–” another kiss, Bucky’s hand on the back of Tony’s neck, the other low on his hips. “I can’t kiss you, an’ that might be my favorite.” “Soldier, if kissing me is your favorite part of all this, you are in for a hell of a surprise when the clothes come off.” Bucky laughed out loud and started pulling Tony towards the bedroom, tugging at the buttons on his jacket as he went, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the dresser. “So tell me.” Tony followed suit, yanking his shirt up and over his shoulders, marveling over not feeling self conscious about any scars for the first time in years. “If you’re this good at this sort of thing why was our first kiss so spectacularly terrible?” He ripped his belt off and flung it towards the corner, pausing with his hands at his zip fly while he waited for Bucky to answer. “I uh–” Bucky was half undressed as well, his button down hanging open and loose over his shoulders, pants riding low on his hips and doing a terrible job of disguising just how badly he wanted Tony. “I uh– I was nervous.” he said a little sheepishly. “Why?” Tony peeled his zipper down, smirking when Bucky’s blue eyes dropped to watch. “Why would you be nervous when I was practically a sure thing?” “A sure thing?” Bucky bit at his lip, which was completely adorable and also hilariously shy considering how hard he was straining at his pants. “Yeah?” “Yeah, Bucky bear.” Tony kicked his shoes then his socks off. “Apparently all it takes to get me in bed is a pair of baby blues and a killer smile. So why were you nervous?” “Tony, I–” Bucky blew out a deep breath. “Being like me– or or like you? Means I gotta hide a lot, you know? I gotta be careful that no one sees me, and I gotta take whatever I can get and that means I have to settle for –” a vague motion. “– for a few minutes here and there, for being with someone and seeing them out with their girl the next morning, for bringing someone to bed and knowing they’ll be sneaking out in the middle of the night.” Tony frowned, but he didn’t say anything, nodding for Bucky to continue. “Th’chance to be sweet with ya, and flirt and kiss like this?” Bucky shrugged. “I don’t ever get that Tony. I don’t get to spend a whole evening with a fella I like, I don’t get to wake up in the morning and see them and hold them close again. But with you, I might actually get it, so I’m nervous.” “But I might not be here in the morning.” Tony argued and Bucky’s eyes widened, flashing with hurt. “Tony–” “Cause if your big ass snores, I’m gonna sleep out on that couch, you hear?” “Well.” Obviously relieved, Bucky reached out to snatch Tony close, bringing him right up against his body. “Good thing I don’t snore then, huh?” “I do though.” Tony grinned. “Sorry in advance.” “Sweet thing, I’m not sorry at all.” Bucky cupped Tony’s face between both of his hands and lay a tiny, chaste kiss on his nose. “You can snore all you want and I won’t kick you out of bed.” “You were warned.” Tony said snarkily and this time the kiss between them was much less chaste. “So why don’t you take my pants and off and –ooph!” He huffed in surprise when Bucky lifted him right off the ground, right into his arms, and lay him out across the bed, wasting no time in shucking his pants and clambering up the mattress to stretch over on top of Tony. “Well, hello there.” Tony grinned and opened his legs so Bucky was laying harder against him. “Bout time we ended up here. Damn, you feel good, Buck.” “Tony.” Bucky’s breath was hot in his ear, his lips whisper soft down his neck. “What do you mean about time? I thought we’ve only known each other for three days.” “Are you going to throw everything I say back at me!” Tony laughed when Bucky tickled lightly over his ribs. “I had a valid point!” “A valid point?” Bucky sat onto his knees just long enough to pull Tony’s pants down to his knees and off his ankles. “I’m try’na be sweet and tell ya it feels like I’ve been waiting a long time for you and you tell me that can’t be true ‘cause we’ve only known each other a few days?” “All I meant was–” Then Tony’s back arched, hands digging into the sheets when Bucky ran a confident hand up his cock, palming the length through his briefs. “Ah fuck–fuck–” “C’mere and touch me, honey.” Bucky pleaded, voice rough and desperate. “Please.” Tony jerked up to crush their mouths together, reaching low to get his fingers around as much of Bucky as he could, letting the thick cock jump and pulse in his hand, and Bucky seemed to sag a little, leaning into the touch as best he could without stopping his own exploration of Tony’s body. He wasn’t ready to let Tony’s mouth go, nibbling and licking across beer soaked lips, laughing quietly every time their noses bumped, moaning when Tony pulled at his hair with one hand, the other still working over his cock. “I love kissing you.” Tony muttered and Bucky grinned and tried to push even closer, coaxing Tony to lay back down so they were lined up from toes to shoulders, Tony’s fingers digging into his hips to encourage Bucky to move against him. “How do you want to do this?” Tony finally managed more than a handful of words when Bucky went back to his neck, doing his damnedest to leave bruises and love bites everywhere he could, purposefully marking above the collar so Tony would have no way to hide them. “Any which way ya want.” Bucky drawled and Tony shivered over that ridiculous Brooklyn accent that somehow was the sexiest thing he had ever heard. “I want ya anyway ya want me, Tony. How do’ya want me, baby doll?” Well shit, who would have thought being called baby doll would be so hot? Bucky glanced down between their bodies when Tony’s hips lifted helplessly, grinding their cocks together with a quiet gasp. “You like when I call you baby doll?” he asked with a grin that was nothing short of wicked, and Tony grabbed at Bucky’s ass, grinding against him more purposefully. “You tell me, soldier. Think it’s pretty obvious how easy I am for that Brooklyn accent.” “Stevie’s got a bit’a Brooklyn too.” Bucky nipped a sharp bite onto Tony’s ear as he teased, “You gonna fall into bed with him this easy too?” “Really?” Tony started pushing Bucky’s briefs down his thighs until he could feel how hot Bucky was, could run his fingers through the wiry curls at the base of the thick cock.  . “You gonna ask that, Brooklyn? Shouldn’t your plan to be to wreck me well enough that I can’t even imagine anyone else in bed with me?” “That what ya want? Want me to wreck ya, Tony?” “Holy–” Tony’s eyes snapped shut when Bucky’s hand slid up his thigh, beneath the hem of his underwear, around to squeeze at his ass, heading down the cleft between his cheeks to his entrance. “Bucky–” “This what you want, sugar?” Bucky breathed. “Or have I finally figured out a way to shut ya up?” “Yes.” Tony said over a groan. “Yes, definitely, but also, no to the second thing because I’m pretty sure I’m going to talk non stop until you–” Bucky’s fingers found Tony’s entrance, pressing at his hole coaxingly and Tony shut up abruptly. A long kiss, Bucky obviously laughing over Tony’s sudden silence, Tony making a soft sort of whimper as Bucky’s hand left his cock and traveled up to rest over his heart, then around to his hair to hold him still as they lingered over the embrace. “Don’t think I can wait long enough to get inside ya, sweet thing.” Bucky whispered. “This time let’s just do it like this, huh?” “Bold of you to assume you’d be inside of me.” Tony snarked, but it came out more breathless than he intended as he alternated between thrusting up to rub against Bucky, and shoving back to increase the pressure between his legs. “But I have to agree. We should definitely just–” He outright yelled when Bucky’s mouth landed hot and wet over the head of his cock, tonguing at him through his briefs. “Yeah?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, his hands hooked in Tony’s waist band, waiting for permission before undressing him the rest of the way. “S’alright like this?” “Oh hell yeah.” Tony licked at his lips. “But um, why don’t you let me go first? Because I’m basically useless after an orgasm, and I would hate to miss out on–” a downward glance. “– all of that.” “You’re ridiculous, Tony.” “Are you complaining?” “Nope.” “I didn’t think so. Assume the position, Brooklyn.” ******************* ******************* It was hours later, after Tony had blown Bucky’s mind with his lack of a gag reflex and after Bucky had left Tony a shaking mess with how well he used his tongue, that the door to the apartment creaked as it opened, then shut with a bang. Tony was the one to wake up, easing out from beneath Bucky’s arm and slipping out of bed, feeling around for his pants before creeping out to the living room. “Steve?” he whispered, and the blonde looked up from the fridge. “It’s like three am, where have you been?” “Tony.” Steve took a long drink of his water, eyeing Tony’s shirtless state. “You and Buck–” “Uh, yep.” Tony scratched at his hair self consciously. “Yep, seems like it. Where have you been, though? I know you weren’t home when we– you know. But you’re just now getting home? What’s going on?” “I just went for a walk.” Steve shrugged, and when Tony stared at him, he amended, “A long walk. I was trying to give you guys time and I needed time to process it all.” “Process it all.” Tony repeated, and finally his brain woke up, everything coming back to him in a rush. The Stark Expo is the night Steve gets accepted into the Army. “They accepted you.” he whispered, and the grin that split Steve’s face was almost too big for his tiny frame. “You made it in?” Steve only nodded, too overwhelmed to even answer. “I told you.” Tony didn’t hesitate, reaching out and dragging Steve into a hug. “Damn it, Steve, what did I tell you?” “They’re gonna give me a chance.” Steve whispered, wrapping both his thin arms around Tony’s waist and squeezing him back. “I can’t even believe it.” “I knew you’d make it.” Tony swallowed an unexpected burst of emotion. “Steve you’re gonna be awesome. This is going to change your life.” “Yeah.” Steve finally pulled away, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand. “Yeah. This should be good.” “Do you want me to wake Bucky up and–” “No.” The blonde shook his head quickly. “No, I’m not gonna tell Buck.” “That’s a terrible idea.” Tony said flatly. “You need to tell him.” “Why? So he can stress about me while he’s off fighting?” Steve took another drink, waiting until his voice steadied before adding. “So he can tell me I told you so when they kick me out of boot camp? When I fail?” “No. So he can celebrate with you when you make it. Why would you think–” “I want to be the one to tell him I made it.” Steve interrupted. “I want to be able to show him that I can do it, I want him to be surprised. Our whole life, Bucky’s been pushing me to succeed and this is the first thing he’s tried to talk me out of. Don’t tell him, alright? I want to do this without him pushing me through it, you know?” “Alright.” Tony cracked a grin when Steve flushed in pleasure. “Proud of you, Steve.” “Thanks Tony.” Steve finished his water and motioned back towards the bedroom. “You guys done or should I stay out here on the couch for a minute?” “Yikes.” Tony laughed awkwardly. “No, we’re done. We won’t keep you up.” “G’night Tony.” Steve patted his shoulder and headed towards his room. Tony waited for the door to close before drinking a glass of water himself and taking a quick trip to the bathroom. When he got back to the bedroom, Bucky was sitting up in bed staring at him with something careful and fragile in his eyes. “You alright?” Tony stopped a few steps from the bed. “Buck?” “Thought maybe I was snoring.” Bucky said shortly, and he didn’t have to ask why’d you leave, because it was written all over his face. “Steve came home.” Tony explained, keeping his voice soft as the tension washed out of Bucky’s body. “You weren’t snoring, Brooklyn. I told you that was the only deal breaker, only reason I wouldn’t be here, yeah?” “Come back then.” Bucky held out his hand and Tony shimmied out of his pants to crawl back under the covers. “There, that’s better.” They settled back into bed together, Tony’s head on Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky holding him close. “How’s Stevie?” “Said he went for a walk to give us some time.” Tony snorted and Bucky hid his smile in Tony’s hair. “Wanted to know if we were done or if he should sleep on the couch.” “Just for that we should keep him awake.” Bucky started trailing light fingers down Tony’s stomach. “Huh?” “Yeah, soldier?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Down for another round?” “I wouldn’t say I’m down for another round.” Bucky lay back in the pillows and rolled Tony on top of him, lifting against him purposefully. “But I’m up for another one.” “Brooklyn.” Tony smothered a quiet laugh into a kiss, rolling his hips languidly, just enough to make Bucky’s breath catch. “You have something to make things slippery or do I need to use my mouth again?” “I’m tempted to make you use your mouth again.” Bucky sucked Tony’s bottom lip between his teeth. “But yeah, I got something for us to use.” Tony said a silent prayer of thanks that he wasn’t even thirty in this timeline as his body responded with all the gusto of his younger years when Bucky caught both of them in a suddenly slick palm, stroking them together slowly. Urging Tony down for a longer kiss, Bucky shifted so Tony was lying between his thighs, so they could thrust and push against each other and into his tight grip. “S’good, Bucky.” Tony panted, and Bucky closed his eyes, focusing on how good Tony felt above him, against him, how perfectly they moved together in the dark. “Ah sweet thing, you’re so good….” **************** **************** “What did you mean when you said it felt like you’d been waiting forever for me?” Tony said later, as they lay together and tried to settle down, the combined mess of both their come cooling in between their bodies, Bucky’s hands stroking lazily down Tony’s back to squeeze and knead at his ass before moving back up. “You gonna make fun’a me again?” Bucky challenged, and Tony buried his face in Bucky’s neck so he wouldn’t let out an entirely un-sexy, completely unmanly giggle. “Nah, tell me. I’m serious. Been thinking about what you meant for hours now.” “You ain’t been thinkin’ about it.” Bucky yawned, and despite Tony’s protest over the mess, he pulled him down to lay against his chest. “Or else I was doing something wrong, yeah?” “You definitely weren’t doing anything wrong.” Tony agreed, lapping a drop of sweat at Bucky’s collarbone, making the soldier shiver beneath him. “But tell me what you meant anyway.” “I dunno exactly.” Bucky started slowly. “I just felt like when we met, like I already knew you. Like you and I were s’posed to meet right then for some reason. You believe in past lives and all that?” “…I’ve never really put any thought into it.” “Me neither.” Bucky shrugged. “But when I met ya it felt like maybe we’d already met. Maybe a past life, maybe you just look like someone I see all the time, I dunno what it is, Tony, but it felt right.” “It felt like,” he hesitated now, the steady heartbeat picking up beneath Tony’s ear. “Felt like whatever time we needed to get t’know each other, whatever time it would take for us t’like each other… it all just fell away. All that time just fell away and I was ready to be with you.” Oh. Oh shit.   “S’that dumb to say?” Bucky frowned when Tony didn’t say anything. “Didn’t mean to make anything awkward, maybe I’m just worked up over leaving, or maybe it’s just—” Tony silenced him with a sweet kiss, coming back again and again to touch their lips together. “Feels like time falls away?” he whispered and Bucky nodded. “Yeah, yeah I know what you mean.” “Tony.” Bucky rolled them, cradling Tony close so they didn’t fall off the bed. “Is it weird to ask you to be my fella after only a few days? Maybe to write me an’ that sort of thing?  I know we can’t be like this out where anyone can see, but it sure would be nice to know you’re waitin’ for me to come home.” “I can do that.” Tony fit his fingers into Bucky’s hair, letting the dark strands fall over Bucky’s forehead and into his eyes. “I can do that.” “Yeah?” Bucky pushed their foreheads together. “You can stay here, live in my room, look out for Stevie for me. I’ll send the money home so you won’t need to work or nothing, send it to the bank or something, what do you think?” “I think I could keep your bed warm.” Tony teased, but the kiss Bucky gave him was anything but teasing, fingers curling possessively into Tony’s side. “I’m ‘bout gone on you, sweet thing.” “I’m about gone on you too, soldier.” ********************** ********************** “Good morning.” Tony was bleary eyed the next morning, and Steve passed with a cup of coffee without commenting on the ridiculous state of Tony’s hair, or the fact that he had tiredly slipped into a pair of Bucky’s pants and not his own. “Bucky had to leave already.” he said quietly. “Yeah, I know.” Tony rubbed at his eyes as he slumped in the chair, taking a grateful sip of what would probably be the last cup of caffeinated coffee in the house for a while. Bucky had kissed him goodbye before he left, looking handsome and put together in his uniform, but the hand on Tony’s cheek had been trembling, Bucky only half as confident about shipping out to war as he pretended to be. “You alright?” Steve pressed, sipping at his own decaf cup. “I know you two got really close after only a few days so–” “I’m fine.” Tony waved him off and put his head on the table. “I’m fine. We did get close, but it’s–” “He really likes you.” Steve interrupted. “This might have just been a hook up for you, but Bucky really likes you. He told me it seems like he’s known you forever, like he was just waiting to find you. Do you feel anything like that for him?” “Steve–” “Do you?” “Alright, you want to know what I feel?” Tony sat back up, further destroying his already messed up hair with a careless hand. “I feel like a week ago, I never would have thought I’d be friends with you and sort of head over heels for your roommate. A week ago, I figured I would take my relationship with my girlfriend as far as it could go and then try not to be too sad when she inevitably left me–” “–she?!” “–nope. Don’t do that. That’s a discussion for another time.” Tony shook his head. “A week ago I was pretty positive that my life in– in California– was spiraling, that I was spiraling, and I didn’t know how to change it and then all the sudden here I am in Brooklyn and you and I are hanging out, and Bucky and I are–” he cleared his throat. “– whatever we are doing.” “And regardless of everything that’s happened and how surprised I am by it all.” Tony spread his hands helplessly. “Steve, this might be the happiest I’ve been ever. Ever. That’s what I feel.” “Oh.” Steve blinked at him. “I didn’t expect that.” “I didn’t expect it either.” Tony muttered, rubbing over his chest as his heart started hurting. It was true. He missed Rhodey, he missed Pepper enough to make him ache, but he knew that it made Rhodey sick that Tony wasn’t happy, hadn’t been happy in years. He knew his life with Pepper would end because they already struggled with his long term depression, with his recklessness, with his nightmares and trauma and PTSD from Afghanistan. It was only a matter of time before they ended, whether it was amicably or not. He knew all that. And even though Tony knew that his and Bucky’s story wouldn’t have a happily ever after, it was a while away still, they had plenty of time before Bucky fell, time to be happy together, because what would it hurt to be in love before the inevitable happened? He knew Steve would survive the ice, and he knew that thanks to the nuke, the Avengers had won the battle for New York. He knew the future would survive without him. And Tony knew that if he was given the choice, he would stay right here in the past. “I’m happy.” he repeated. “And I’m at peace with ending up in Brooklyn and what’s happening with Bucky and I– I’m not going anywhere Steve. Not if I can help it.” “Good.” Steve finally grinned. “I might not be into you like Bucky is, but it does feel like you fit right in with us, like we’ve always been friends. I’m glad you’re sticking around.” “Thanks.” Tony grinned right back, internally screaming over Captain America being happy to be friends with him. “So let’s talk about you, huh?” “Right.” Steve blew out a deep breath. “I’m supposed to be at boot camp at the end of the week. But uh, I was thinking maybe you could go with me?” “How the hell would we manage that?” Tony frowned. “I can’t do a push up to save my life, Steve. I’ll stick out worse than you.” “Thanks for that.” Steve flicked a bread crumb at him. “I dunno how to make it happen, but we should try, huh? I’d like you there for support.” “Support.” Tony echoed, knowing damn well that Steve would last a week before they pulled him for the super soldier program, that in less than three weeks time, Steve’s life would change completely. “We’ll figure it out, Steve. Even if I’m mopping floors in the mess hall, I’ll figure it out.” “Appreciate it, Tony.” Steve put his cup in the sink. “I’m heading to get some more sleep.” “Out walking too late?” Tony called, and Steve tapped the wall as he walked by. “You and Bucky aren’t as quiet as you think you are!” “Damn.” Tony chuckled as he finished his coffee. “Cap coming back with the sass.” 

Luther bought a minivan.   Holy shit. Klaus is going to piss himself laughing because holy shit, Luther bought a minivan.   “Why,” Diego demands, crossing his arms and staring broodingly at Luther.   “It seemed easier,” Luther says, going ridiculously defensive of his shiny new soccer mom car. “There’s six of us now, we wouldn’t fit in a car.”   “Seven,” Klaus corrects him, you know, for the sake of fairness and to see the frowny look on Luther’s face. “Ben is calling shotgun.”   “No, I’m not,” Ben glares from where he’s leaning against the back of Vanya’s armchair.   Luther squirms, glancing around the room in that awkward way he always get when Ben is brought up. “Seven, yes. We’ll talk about seat arrangements later,” he decides in his best diplomatic voice. “But see? We’d need at least two cars and sometimes that’s not very practical.”   “Seat arrangements,” Five repeats incredulous, scoffs with all the might of a bratty teenager. It’s great. “What, did you buy a seat booster for me too?”   “A seat booster,” Luther echoes pensively, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him before but it’s worth some serious thinking now.   Vanya meets his eyes and Klaus winks at her, nodding at Five’s horrified face at the prospect. “It’s called sarcasm, idiot,” he’s saying, finger pointed threatening at Luther. Klaus looks at Vanya again and they snicker under Allison’s half-heartedly scolding stare, too amused herself to be properly disapproving.   Diego, on the other hand, has mastered the Disapproving Stare down to a fine art. It does make him look a little crossed in the eyes when he tries to focus it on the five of them at once, though.   “Can you give me one reason,” he says, shaking his knife in the air for emphasis, “just one reason why it would be relevant for us not to take two cars?”   “Well,” Luther looks around for support, as if any of them would ever interrupt such an entertaining evening. “What if we have to go to the same place?”   “Yes, Diego, what if,” Klaus drawls, with as serious a face as he can manage, “think about the environment, the Ozone layer.”   “I will stab you,” Diego glares.   “Okay, that wasn’t a very good example,” Allison intervenes, probably sensing this might escalate if lets them, “but I’m sure there are more,” she says and pauses, because she, too, can’t think of why on Earth they would need a minivan.   “Road trips,” Klaus suggests.   “Carrying large, heavy things,” offers Vanya with a shrug. Klaus bets she’s thinking of a piano.   “Performing minor surgeries while on the move,” adds Five, apparently willing to give it a try as long as it appeases his murderous intents.   Luther vaguely gestures them, raising one eyebrow at Diego. “That’s three reasons.”   Diego’s eye twitch. “Seriously?”   “You did say one reason, Diego,” Allison grins mischievously.   “Look. Why don’t we all just go take a look? It’s parked right by the gates,” Luther tries again, putting on his best Reasonable Adult voice. “It’s not so bad, really.”   They all share a look with varying degrees of long-suffering resignation, but that mostly means let’s go humor the crazy person.   “I bet it’s one of those with wooden stripes from the 90s,” Vanya comments with a smile as she passes Klaus by the couch. She pauses when she notices he's still lying down, glancing back at him,  “aren’t you coming? You make funnier comments, come on.”   Klaus freezes, and Ben turns fully to him, smiling gleefully sarcastic. “Yes, Klaus. Aren’t you coming?”   “Nah,” he waves her off, ignoring Ben’s stupid, vengeful comments. That’s what he gets, isn’t it? Instead of Carper, the Friendly Ghost, there’s Ben, the Vengefully Sarcastic Spectre. “I think I’m good. We really don’t need to be there to watch Luther have his mid-life crisis, now do we?”   She eyes the pillows propping his feet up with suspicion, narrowing her eyes probably at the fact Klaus is wearing socks in the house for once in his life. “Are you okay?”   “What, of course, never been better– peachy.”   “Just tell her you broke your ankle, Klaus,” Ben huffs, coming to stand beside Vanya with his arms crossed like this is some sort of intervention. The absolute snitch, Ben so would have told on him if he could. “You needed a cast. And crutches.”   “It’s not broken, it’s just twisted, Jesus Christ,” Klaus snaps at him, sitting up a little and wincing when the movement jostles his ankle.   “What’s not broken?” Vanya frowns, and when Allison pokes her head back in to see what was taking them so long, she says, “I think Klaus broke his leg. Or twisted it, I’m not sure.”   “Klaus broke his leg?” Five asks, suddenly appearing in front of them. Which is great, really. Why don’t they just call the rest of the clowns?   “I did not!” Klaus insists, even though Allison is already calling Diego and Luther back and Vanya is discussing with Five the merits of modern medicine. “Hey, hey, assholes! It’s not broken, it’s just twisted. I fell off the bed and twisted my ankle, we don’t need a family meeting to discuss that!”   “How the fuck did you fall off the bed to break your leg?” Diego demands, Luther trailing after him.   “I was trying to hang more fairy lights to the ceiling,” Klaus sighs, sinking back to his seat and resigning himself to the torture. “I slipped. End of story. But hey, Luther bought a minivan! That sounds way more interesting, let’s go back to that!”   “Why were you hanging more lights in your room?” Luther pulls a face, seeming totally bewildered by the idea.   “Oh, you know. The aesthetic. It’s the irony, really.”   Ben groans, throwing his hands up. “Why don’t you just tell them about the nightmares?”   “I’m handling it,” he says shortly, unwilling to get into the same argument again in front of the others.   “You’re handling shit. Let me see that,” Diego says, not truly asking, batting Klaus’ hands away as he tries to pull his pant leg up. “Yup. This looks broken. We gotta take him to the ER.”   To be fair, Klaus will admit it looks bad. His ankle is a little swollen and purple, and maybe it hurts when the wind blows, but that doesn’t mean he needs to see a doctor. “What? No, I’ll ask Mom to bandage it later, it’ll be fine.”   “Shut up,” Diego barks, glaring, “how did you get down those stairs with this ankle?”   “Determination and a healthy dose of spite.”   “You’re a dumbass,” he decides, nodding like that’s a conclusion he had reached long ago but it was nice to have confirmation. “Get up, we’re leaving.”   Ben grins, the asshole.   “No– hey, have a little care would you?” Klaus flinches as Diego helps him up, definitely rougher than necessary. “I’m in severe pain here.”   Diego swings his arm around his shoulder, holding enough of his weight so Klaus can limp without feeling like his leg is on fire. “I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor,” he deadpans, turning to Luther. “I guess, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ll take the goddamn minivan.”   They all move with surprising speed, piling up on the minivan like a completely unnecessary trip to ER suddenly turned into a family event. Joy. Klaus is sure the doctor and nurses will really appreciate their special brand of mess. Luther is driving, with Five riding shotgun, while Allison, Vanya, and Diego take the first row, leaving the last seats for Klaus to prop his leg up. Ben leans in from the luggage compartment.   “Is everyone with their seatbelts on?” Luther asks, waiting for their verbal confirmation. Klaus says yes and ties two seatbelts in a neat little bow. “Good. Five, change places with Diego or one of the girls.”   “What? Why?” Five startles, probably thinking he was safe from the seat booster.   “I don’t think you’re tall enough to be in the passenger seat yet,” Luther apologizes in that awkward way of his, “now change.”   “Can’t we just get on with this kidnapping?” Klaus calls from the back.   “I’m not starting the car until Five trades place with someone.”   “Luther,” Allison, ever the voice of reason, pipes in, “Klaus needs to go to the ER, so can’t we just–”   “It’s just a broken ankle, he’s not dying. He can wait until Five is safely buckled up in the back.”   “You’re being ridiculous,” Five tells him, flatly.   “No, safety first,” Luther stands his ground, waiting it out, and rolls his eyes when Five flips him off. “Really? Very mature, what are you, five?”   It’s not intended to be a  pun, Klaus can tell because Luther has the world’s most underdeveloped sense of humor, but Five still makes the world’s saltiest offended face, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters before teleporting out of the van.   To Luther’s utter despair, Diego drags himself to the passenger seat, throwing himself into the seat and slamming the door closed. In the first row, Vanya passes Five a book to placate him.   The minivan starts with less fuss than originally thought, and maybe it’s just that Luther drives like an old person, but his ankle is hardly ever jostled. Klaus is sure the ER is going to kick them out in ten minutes flat, but hey, he did suggest a road trip, right?

Thorin sat on a rock twisting a cord of leather in his hands aimlessly. He had found sleep difficult that night and so had relieved Nori early from his time on watch. The evening had been filled with much to give fodder to his active mind but adding more to ponder was certainly not helping his state of rest. Thorin knew what was truly keeping him awake and he was reluctant to examine it further for his feelings have been growing in strength and frequency. The chief occupant of his thoughts was of course, the girl, Sara Miller. The girl who had joined the company just over two months ago as no more than a mere nuisance, had grown to be something else entirely. True, he had only allowed her to join them because of Gandalf's threat to abandon the quest, and in the beginning Thorin had been determined to ignore her; hoping that giving her the cold shoulder would send her scampering back to where she came from. The Valar could keep their girl, he did not want her. At first the company had followed his lead in the matter, save for his nephews who had always been strong willed and unruly, but then as the days turned into weeks the others too had begun to warm to her. First and most surprising Dwalin, followed by Bofur, and then one by one they had all fallen under her sway, and Thorin had despaired of ever being rid of her. When Oin had brought the news that the girl was pregnant, Thorin was sure that he now had a way to be shot of her, but that encounter had not ended as he had intended. The next few days of silence had been promising though. But then, Sara Miller had done something he could no longer ignore, something that forever altered his perception of her. She had risked her own life to save Fili and Kili. After diving into the river after them and making it possible to extract them from the angry water, she had also brought Fili back into the world of the living. Thorin had realized then that perhaps Gandalf had been right about this girl sent by the Valar. Had she not been there that day, the Kings line of Durin would have ended with him, for he had never intended to produce an heir, but instead to pass the throne to Fili when the time came. He had begun to watch this girl from another world more carefully after the incident by the river, and he no longer looked for ways to be rid of her. She had grown closer to his nephews and to the others as well, and as time went on, she even seemed to draw the hobbit into the group with the help of Bofur. Bofur that meddlesome dwarf. Thorin rubbed a large hand over his face remembering the events of the night they had been captured by the trolls. He reached into a small pouch he kept on his belt and rummaged until he found what he desired and withdrew his hand. He opened a small tin and let the object inside drop into his palm. The silver teardrop shaped sweet rolled back and forth in his hand glinting at him in the moonlight. He was not sure why he had not simply eaten it, but he felt for some reason a reluctance to consume the small thing. Perhaps the name held him at bay. Who named a sweet a kiss? It seemed too intimate a name for something eaten so casually. Sighing he tucked it away again. He was altogether aware that his feelings regarding Sara had grown and shifted from outright nuisance, to grudging gratitude, to concern and curiosity, and now this. He turned to look back at the girl who lay tucked snugly between his nephews. Bofur's accusation of jealousy from the other night came to his mind and he ground his teeth unconsciously. Ever since he had found Sara that night in Elrond's kitchens, he had found himself no longer avoiding her as he had been before. Instead he had been almost seeking out opportunities to be around her. He had been aware of the way her eyes followed him in the passing days, especially when he was with the boy Estel. At first he thought she watched the boy, but as the days went on he had caught her eyes on him when he was alone aswell. He had been particularly conscious of her attentions during the spar with Elrohir and his keen ears had not missed her tiny gasps and breaths which he found pleasing to the ear but altogether very distracting. Indeed, had his opponent been Elladan, he feared he may not have fared quite so well. He had to admit he had been somewhat preoccupied and he knew he owed his victory more to the elf's agitated state of mind more than anything else. Bless Balin for insisting they switch partners. Sara had not been the only one with wandering eyes. He observed her doings more and more as the days passed and he was not entirely sure that his scrutiny went unnoticed. Kili could be annoyingly observant at times. His nephews notice, however, had been nothing compared to the Lady Galadriel's probing. When she had come to dinner that last night, Thorin had been leery of her, though he was not sure why. He had been shocked and irritated to find a voice that could only be hers echoing in his mind. The white lady had been particularly interested in Sara and Thorin had been hard put to drive thoughts of the girl from his mind during dinner so as not to give away any hint of her origins. He had been relieved to finally leave the table and follow Lord Elrond and Gandalf out of the dining hall to inspect the map. He only hoped the others of the company had schooled their thoughts as well, but apparently it had mattered little in the long run as Gandalf had revealed Sara's story to the council anyway. Thorin felt that Lord Elrond and Lady Galadreil could be trusted to keep the girl's secrets to themselves for elves had always put much store in the will of the Valar, but it sat ill with Thorin that the White Wizard too should possess Sara's secrets. He had seen the way the wizard had looked at Sara when he finally found them in the gardens and the wizard had looked anything but wise or benevolent as he held the girl in his painful grip. Recalling the encounter made Thorin's blood boil. He remembered the small crescent cuts on Sara's arm. He had insisted that Oin tend to her after their assent from The Hidden Valley and the healer had assured him she would be fine as the cuts were not deep nor serious. Thorin's fists clenched involuntarily and he looked at his hands when he heard a pop. The leather cords in his hands had snapped. Sighing heavily he let them fall to the ground at his feet. His mind wandered to the other events of that night and inexorably he found his thoughts turning again to the moments that he and Sara had shared behind the curtain after Estel's departure. She had been pressed so close to him, standing on his toes, bringing her level with him. He had never before allowed himself to study her face so openly, but as she stood almost nose-to-nose with him he had to admit she was very pleasing to look at, and he would be a liar if he said he had not enjoyed her small frame in his arms as she flushed under his gaze. He had not wanted to concede it at the time but in retrospect he could now accept the truth; in that moment as they hid behind the curtains, he had desired the girl Sara Miller. He had entreated her to call him by his given name and when she had done so there in that quiet space he had been achingly close to giving into his desire for her. Thankfully her words had called him back to reason, allowing him to shake the spell, or so he had thought, for it became clear as they traveled in the days after, that she would not be so easily disregarded. He had tried for several days now to come up with reasons why he should simply forget the girl; why he should smother the feelings he knew were growing in him. But though his mind knew it was unwise, he could not, and admittedly, would not, stifle his waxing desire to have her in his arms once again. The training from the other day had almost done him in. It havd been Kili's idea to send Thorin to capture Sara while he and Fili distracted the others, and it had surprised Thorin how readily he had agreed to this plan, though he did not miss Kili's subtle gratification. When Sara had used her trick to flip him into the snow and then taunted him for falling into her trap, it was all he could do not to reach out for her and drag her down into the snow beside him. Thankfully she had been just out of reach. This however, did not stop him from chasing her down and when he had caught her, he reveled in holding her tightly against him... that is until she had slipped from him once again. He had fallen for another of her tricks, and so easily. She made it very difficult for him to think clearly. Thorin let out a long breath and leaned forward, his hands in his hair as his mind swirled around in circles, his thoughts and emotions battling for dominance. Sara's eyes snapped open, her heart racing as the faint sting of panic ebbed and the sneering face of the white orc faded. Though she could not see very well in the gloom she could feel Kili pressed close to her left side, his forehead brushing her shoulder. Fili was on her other side his hand resting on her arm. Slowly the events of the day returned to her consciousness and her hand found the familiar weight of her necklace under her shirt, bringing her a sense of stability. Sitting up carefully, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The only person she could see who was awake was Thorin on watch, but he was near the edge of the ledge, his back to her, sitting on a rock. She was a bit surprised when the screen lit up, for her battery was much lower then she last remembered. She pulled up the word file and looking around to see those nearby were asleep she began to read. There were small differences in the book and the events she had lived through. She snorted at the descriptions of the dwarves as they arrived at Bilbo's house. Kili was most definitely not a blond, but she was supposed that these little differences meant nothing. There was no mention of a girl joining the quest, but she was not overly surprised. She did however, recognize the song that the dwarves sang in the book as the one that Thorin and the others had sung the night Fili and Kili had first pulled out their fiddles. It was a shame that all the instruments had been lost with the ponies. She had almost finished the first chapter when her battery expired and her screen went black. She sighed, at least the book had confirmed the death of Azog before her phone had died. Gingerly she got up to put her phone in the box Bifur and Bofur had given her. As she was zipping her pack closed once again Thorin's voice reached her. "You should be resting," he said quietly, not turning to face her as he spoke. "There are still many hours till dawn." Sara looked up and quietly made her way over and around the others in the dim light of the stars and the thin sliver of a moon. She came to stand at the edge looking out over the mountains, shivering slightly as the wind whipped around her. "With your poor night vision you should not stand so close to the edge," he admonished. "Come away." She took several steps away from the cliff's edge coming closer to him. "Why are you not sleeping?" he asked gently. "You were overtired today." "I have not been sleeping well lately," she replied softly. "My brain won't shut up at night and even my dreams are…" she trailed off. "I can imagine you have lots to think over," he said. She snorted softly. "That's a nice way to say my mind feels like it is home to a hive of bees," she replied, crouching to drag her fingers through the dirt. "What about you? Weren't you on watch last night? Why are you up?" He grunted noncommittally. "It would seem sleep is elusive to us both." They were quiet for a few minutes and Sara sat down in the dirt cross-legged gathering small pebbles into her hand. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She turned to look behind her when she heard Fili give a particularly loud snore. She tried to suppress her snicker. "Has he always been so loud?" she asked, looking to Thorin. "Yes," was his immediate answer. She turned and watched Kili role closer to Fili grabbing his arm in his sleep. "And Kili," she asked. "Has he always been so … clingy?" "Thorin chuckled softly. "Yes, he's always been, as you call it, clingy. His bed seldom saw him sleep through the night as a child." She looked around at the others in camp. Ori was tucked between Dori and Nori; Bilbo was beside Bofur who were sandwiched between Bombur and Bifur; Oin and Gloin sat back to back leaning on the side of one of the ponies and Balin leaned against Dwalin who was resting his back against the other pony. "Do dwarves often sleep in family groups like this, or just when it's cold?" she asked gesturing behind her. "It is not uncommon to sleep with one's kin," he said reaching for the leather cords on the ground at his feet. "Dwarves treasure their kin." She let out a long breath and began to rather forcefully flick pebbles over the cliff. "Does something trouble you?" he asked, noticing the particular vehemence she used to empty her hand of the apparently offensively pebbles. It was a moment before she answered. "I guess I'm jealous," she said finally. "Of what do you have to be jealous?" he asked curious. She looked up at him and he saw a familiar glint of silver fall over her left shoulder. "This," she said waving at the group behind her. "You have family." "Have you forgotten my nephew's earlier words to you so soon?" he asked, turning to her. "No," she said looking at him. "But…" "If you do not believe his conviction," continued Thorin over her. "Perhaps you should check behind your left ear," he said pointing. Confused she lifted her hand to her hair and her eyes widened when she found a small braid hanging from just behind her left ear. She pulled the braid forward and was surprised to find a bead clamped on the end. "Is this one of Fili's beads?" she asked examining the silver thing but not being able to see details in the dark. Thorin nodded gravely. "You understand its significance?" he asked. "Yes, I do," she replied. "The others told me about it." She sat thinking and it was quiet for many long minutes. "Does this bother you?" she asked finally as she tugged at the braid. He could not hide his sigh. "I do not oppose the bond you have formed with my nephew's," he rumbled. "They genuinely care for you and it pleases me to see them happy." He was twisting the leather cords in his hands again. "What I challenge is your place in my family and the title that would afford you," he said, not looking at her. "My people would find it difficult to accept a human as their princess." She nodded thinking. It was quiet for a moment until she spoke again. "You know, despite my name, I don't want to be a princess," she said. "What do you mean despite your name?" he asked confused. "Do you know what my name means?" she asked looking up at him grinning slightly. "I have never heard of anyone being called by such a name until I met you," he admitted turning to face her fully now. "What significance does your name hold?" "Well on Earth, Sara means princess," she said smiling at him now. "Kind of stupid really, princesses are not supposed to be left on doorsteps." "But they are often told of in great stories," he countered. She snorted softly. "I suppose you're right," she said. "At least Mr. Disney would agree with you." "Who is this Mr. Disney?" asked Thorin smirking. Sara chuckled slightly. "He's a very famous storyteller in my… well back on Earth," she said. "Lots of his best stories are all about princesses." She was quiet for a moment. "It still has not really sunk in that I'm probably from your world," she said stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands. "I don't know if it ever will." "What if you should find them?" asked Thorin after a moment. She looked up at him confused. "Who?" she asked. "If you should find your family would you feel as though you belong in Middle-earth," he clarified. She thought for awhile before she spoke. "It's hard to say," she finally replied. "I grew up my whole life on Earth, and there are so many things I would miss, the least of them being pizza, but I don't really have anything or anyone to go back to." She sighed sitting up straight again. "I will have lost my college scholarship and my apartment is probably leased out to someone else by now. Who knows what they did with all my stuff. My few friends probably think I'm dead in a cave somewhere. No one will really be missing me, at least not for long. I had no boyfriend to speak of. Not even a pet." She looked at him now. "Sounds pretty pathetic doesn't it?" He was quiet for a few seconds before her replied. "It sounds … lonely," he said quietly meeting her gaze. Her eyes fell to the ground her cheeks faintly flushed. "If you found your kin," he asked. "Would you stay here in Middle Earth?" "I don't know that I have a choice," she replied. "If you are right and I am from Dale or wherever, I don't think that the Valar will send me back to Earth." There was silence for a moment and she drew in a long breath. "But given the choice," she continued quietly. "I think I would stay. Even if I didn't find my family. I would miss Fili, Kili, and Bilbo too much to leave." "Only them?" he asked watching her closely. She looked up at him. "Well no, I would miss all of them. Even you," she grinned. "Though I doubt you would miss me." "Why would you assume that?" he asked a bit taken aback. She raised an eyebrow at him. "You have hardly kept it a secret how much you didn't want me to come along," she said. He sighed heavily. "Perhaps when you first joined the company," he admitted. "However," he said after a pause. "Many things have changed since then." She looked up at him a bit surprised and he cleared his throat looking away from her quickly. "Like what?" she asked carefully. There was a soft snort from behind them and they turned to see Dwalin standing behind them. Thorin inclined his head to his friend, perhaps a bit relieved, and Dwalin came to stand beside Sara's other side. "You should be asleep," chided Dwalin, pulling her hood over her head when he saw a shiver crawl up her spine as the wind picked up. "I was," she defended. "But…" she trailed off. "Dreams again lass?" he asked. She nodded. Thorin studied her intently. "Well that, and I think Kili has stolen my spot," she said turning to look to where the princes lay. "Surely ya don't need help taking yer spot back from him," he snorted. "Yer feisty enough to face any dwarf lass, let alone ones that are completely smitten with ya." "I suppose you're right," she conceited smiling at him. "As for the dreams," he said digging in a small pouch at his waist. "Put this under your tongue before you lay down and it may help." He held out his hand to her and she took what felt like a leaf of some sort. "Now go on," said the warrior helping her to her feet and sending her on her way. "I don't like those dark circles under yer eyes." "All right," she said brushing herself off. "You win." Thorin stood and watched her return to Fili and Kili. She nudged Kili, and grumbling softly, he made room for her between he and Fili. She lay down again pulled the blanket up to her ears as Kili rolled back towards her, resting his head on her shoulder. Dwalin stood studying Thorin for a long while until they could hear Sara's breathing even out. "Bofur is right," said Dwalin quietly. "Jealousy is a bad look on you." "I do not envy her the place between my nephews," said Thorin turning away. "I know," said Dwalin. "You envy them their place beside her." "Watch your next words carefully," warned Thorin scowling at Dwalin who folded his arms across his chest and stared down the king. "Can ya honestly tell me you have no interest in the girl?" asked the warrior skeptically. Thorin was silent. "I thought not." Thorin looked at him balefully. "Ya best figure out yer own mind soon," warned the warrior. "I'll not see her harmed by yer indecision." It was silent for several minutes and then Thorin sighed. "Even if I should harbor such feelings for her," said Thorin quietly. "It is an impossibility." Dwalin snorted. "I've never known ya to admit to anything being beyond yer capability," scoffed the warrior. "And I fail to see why this should be any different. It's plain to any who care to look that the lass likes ya. If a lout like Bofur and yer own nephew can spot it, surely you can. And ya need not fear the Valar whisking her away now. She belongs here." Dwalin paused to let Thorin think before he added, "She could belong to you if ya had the good sense to persuade her of it." Thorin contemplated his words for several moments and then shook his head. "Our people would never accept a human for their Queen should anything come of it," he said unfolding his arms and sitting on the rock again. "Do ya not still intend to pass the throne to Fili?" asked Dwalin. Thorin looked up at him a bit startled. "Of course I do." "Then I fail to see why she should ever need to be Queen." "Fili is not yet ready," said Thorin simply. "He may be more ready than you realize," countered Dwalin. "He has matured much since the onset of the quest, though you may have been too distracted to notice. Have you any other objections?" asked the warrior smirking. "Two," said Thorin. "I can't afford the distraction currently, and even if I could, there is still Fili's offer of heart sister to contend with. I cannot cort her if she is legally my niece." Dwalin chuckled. "Now yer just making excuses," he accused. "I have no doubt ya will trounce Fili when the time comes, though it would not hurt ya to train more," he said seriously. "Fili was getting pointers from Elladan during our stay with the elves. He means to have his way." Thorin raised an eyebrow at the warrior. "As for yer state of mind," continued Dwalin. "My friend, I feel honor-bound to inform ya that I have never before seen ya so abstracted in all the years I have known ya. Getting it all out in the open is only bound to improve yer concentration, not hinder it further." Thorin sighed running a hand over his face and into his hair. "Perhaps you are right on that count," he said. "I do find it incredibly difficult to think clearly when she is around. I fail to see how that could get any worse." "Of course I'm right," scoffed Dwalin. "On that and every other point." Thorin just shook his head. Dwalin came to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Rest, think it over. I shall take the watch for now." "Very well," said Thorin rising. "I will think about it, though I make no promises." "You don't have to," said Dwalin as Thorin found his bedroll. "I know you well enough to by now."

Doctor Harrison entered room 324 at precisely one minute after six to find both occupants sound asleep. She smiled at the sight of the blonde passed out with her head resting atop her arms that were folded on the bed beside Emily’s hip. She knew that it had been a long night for the young Agent, making sure that she woke Emily every hour, and she was loathe to disturb her if she didn’t have to, so she quietly rounded the bed to check on her patient. “Good morning,” she whispered, as she placed a soft hand on the brunette’s shoulder. “Jayj?” Emily mumbled sleepily. “It’s Doctor Harrison, Emily,” she corrected, as she patiently waited for the brunette to come around.  When one sleep-filled brown eye opened to focus on her, she smiled reassuringly.  “How are you feeling?” “Okay,” Emily rasped. “Good. The nurses informed me that Agent Jareau took good care of you last night,” she observed, knowing that the brunette’s response to the statement would indicate whether or not her confabulation had eased. Emily nodded. “JJ…” Her voice trailed off as the events of the last day flashed through her mind. “Oh. My. God,” she murmured, as she remembered repeatedly telling JJ that she loved her. “I take it from the look of abject horror on your face that your memory has returned,” Doctor Harrison drawled as she scribbled a few notes onto Emily’s discharge paperwork. “Oh fuck,” Emily groaned softly. “It wasn’t that bad,” the doctor reassured her. “Really.” “I kissed her.” Like, really kissed her. “Is that a bad thing?” Doctor Harrison couldn’t help but ask as she made a few more notes on Emily’s chart. Emily’s eyes widened as another memory of the previous day hit her. I felt her up. I… “Oh no. Did I say something about kids and us being married?” “Actually-” Doctor Harrison clicked her pen shut and slipped it back into her pocket, “-that was how we first realized that your head injury was more serious than we’d originally thought.” Emily groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “You have got to be kidding me.” “Agent Jareau knew what was happening,” Doctor Harrison reassured her patient.  “She knew and understood that you were suffering through a bit of amnesia. I honestly don’t think you have anything to be concerned about.” Yeah, right. “But I do love her,” Emily whispered, almost to herself. Doctor Harrison nodded thoughtfully. She was ninety-nine percent sure that the blonde returned those affections; but she knew that it wasn't her place to share, so she instead changed the subject back to the matters at hand. She was a neurosurgeon, not a couple’s counselor, after all. “Okay. Well, you still have a serious grade three concussion that you need to keep on top of. I want you to check in with your regular doctor in a few days, and I’m restricting your activities, work included, until you are completely recovered.” “How long will that be?” “Your concussion symptoms will hopefully disappear in the next few days, though you might still get dizzy after exerting yourself for a few more weeks. Your fractures should be healed within a month.” “I’m out for a month?” Knowing how much law enforcement personnel hated being kept from the field, Doctor Harrison nodded and quickly added, “But, as soon as your concussion symptoms ease, you’ll be released for desk duty. So, as long as there are no lingering symptoms, you could hypothetically be back within a week.” Emily sighed and closed her eyes. And the morning just keeps getting better, she thought dourly. “Wha…” JJ’s soft, sleep filled voice broke the silence that had descended upon the room. “Oh,” she mumbled as she spotted the redheaded Attending standing on the opposite side of the bed from her.  “Doctor Harrison, is it six already?” she asked, as she sat up and ran a sleepy hand through her hair, smoothing it away from her face. “About a quarter after, actually.  Did you get any sleep last night?” “A little,” JJ said as she looked up at Emily.  “How you feeling, Em?” Emily pursed her lips and turned her face toward the window, away from JJ. “Fine,” she responded curtly. JJ frowned and looked up at Emily’s doctor who was watching Emily carefully.  “Confabulation is gone,” Doctor Harrison explained quietly. “Oh,” JJ drawled. She immediately looked back toward Emily and she felt her heart seize in her chest when she saw that the brunette was staring blankly out the window, effectively keeping her and the rest of the world at bay. “I see.” Doctor Harrison looked from her patient to JJ, who was wearing a look of absolute heartbreak, and frowned. “Well, there’s nothing else for me to do here. I will let the nurses know that you are free to go. Thanks again for your help up here Agent Jareau. Agent Prentiss, good luck with your recovery.” “Thank you, doctor,” Emily said in a clipped, professionally detached voice. “Good luck,” Doctor Harrison replied, looking JJ straight in the eye as she offered the soft words of encouragement, before she quickly exited the room to inform the nurses that her patient was being released.  JJ watched the door ominously shut behind the retreating doctor, the quiet, barely perceptible snick of metal catching shooting through her heart like a shotgun blast. Now it was time to face the music. Time to admit to Emily why she had chosen to stay with her, even with the false memories the brunette had been projecting onto their reality. “Emily, I…” she started and stopped, her voice no louder than a breath as uncertainty and fear tore through her. She wanted Emily, had wanted her for so long, and this, this messed up confrontation in a generic hospital room was where her life would be decided. But Emily never gave her the chance to say anything. “You should call Hotch and let him know that I am being released." The brunette pushed herself up off her pillows.  She needed to at least get into a pair of jeans for the flight home. How she was going to do that was another matter altogether, but she knew she needed to get moving. Knew that she needed to get out of this hospital room and away from JJ until she could rebuild her walls to protect her heart. JJ watched Emily climb slowly out of bed and felt the strangest sense of déjà vu.  “Em,” she protested the brunette’s movement softly.  “Do you need help?” “No, thank you, JJ,” Emily murmured, completely unaware of how her use of JJ’s nickname, rather than her given name, brought tears to the younger woman’s eyes. “I can do it. Why don’t you call Hotch and the guys so we can get out of here. I just want to go home.” JJ sucked her lower lip between her teeth and remained frozen beside the bed as she watched Emily shuffle toward their bags. She wanted to run across the room, gather the older woman in her arms, and confess her secret longing for the brunette. But she could feel Emily’s walls pushing at her, keeping her away almost as if they were a tangible barrier to the older woman’s heart that had, only hours before, been hers to hold and cherish.  And now… now Emily wouldn’t even meet her eyes. Emily couldn’t even stand to look at her. It was almost as if everything she wanted to have with the brunette was destroyed before it could even be brought to life. She watched Emily stop in front of the bags and stare at them as if she were trying to make her clothes magically appear in her hands. “Do you want me to pull out some clothes for you?” she offered in a soft, hesitant voice. Emily’s head dropped to her chest at the pain she could hear in JJ’s voice. She felt tears begin to build as she realized how much she was hurting the other woman by essentially refusing to acknowledge her, but she didn’t know what else to do. She felt raw, open, and exposed, and her first instinct was to protect herself and, ultimately, her heart. And that meant she needed to keep the world, and everyone in it, at arm’s length. She needed to keep herself separate, but she could let JJ in enough to allow her to help, to try and slowly rebuild the easy familiarity that they used to share. She nodded, wavering slightly where she stood as the movement brought on a mild wave of vertigo. “Could you get me some clean clothes for the day? Jeans, a shirt, and maybe some clean socks and underwear?” she whispered. “Of course,” JJ murmured.  She crossed to the bags in three quick strides and crouched down in front of them. She quickly found the requested items, and she felt her heart break a little more as she looked up from her crouched position beside their suitcases to see familiar walls erected in Emily’s dark, emotionless eyes.  “Here,” she whispered as she held out the clothes. Emily’s breath caught in her throat at the pain and uncertainty she could see clouding JJ’s normally clear blue eyes.  “Thanks,” she muttered, as she took the offered clothes and turned carefully toward the bathroom.  “I’m just going to go get changed.  I’ll be right back,” she murmured without so much as a glance in JJ’s direction as she made her way slowly toward the safety of the small en suite bathroom. +++/+++\+++ Emily stared out the window of the team’s private jet as it taxied down the deserted, secluded runway of the small private airport in preparation for take-off.  She knew JJ was sitting on the couch behind her, more than likely shooting wounded looks her way, but she couldn't gather up the courage to turn around and face the understandably sullen blonde. She was absolutely mortified by her behavior from the day before. Horrified that she had not only let apparently all her walls down around the blonde, but had also shared her secret dreams of marriage and children with her as well.  Her life was well and truly fucked up at the moment. “Hey,” Morgan drawled as he dropped into an empty seat opposite her. “How’s it going, princess?” She glared at him. “If you knew what was going on, why the hell didn’t you try and get her away from me?” she asked in a small, tired voice. He was her partner, he was supposed to have her back no matter what. “She wouldn’t leave,” he argued quietly, glancing over Emily’s shoulder to where he could see JJ reclined on one of the couches at the back of the plane talking on her phone. Emily glowered at him menacingly. “You should have made her leave.” That way I wouldn’t have fucking stripped right in front of her. Or kissed her. Or felt her up. ‘Cause that was yet another fine moment that will be forever etched into my memory. “Yeah right,” he laughed. “Have you ever tried to make Jareau do something she didn’t want to do? Not happening, Prentiss, and you know it. Besides, you’d already told her all about the kiddos and you two being married when I’d offered to stay with you, and she shot me down so fast my head was spinning. She wanted to stay with you Emily, that right there should tell you something.” Emily frowned. “Like what?” “Like you’re being an idiot ignoring her and sitting all by yourself pouting. You need to pull your head out of your ass and grow a pair, partner.” “Hey!” “Well, you do,” he argued. “You need to nut up and talk to her. She obviously knows that you at least are attracted to her – and she didn’t run away. Hell, she got next-to-no sleep making sure that you didn’t slip into a coma, and how do you thank her? You ignore her completely. I may be confused on the big ol’ lesbian dating guide, but I know for a fact that straight women don’t like to be ignored after they’ve gone out of their way to help you out.” “I can’t lose her Derek,” Emily sighed. “She’s my best friend. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “That would be why you need to talk to her. Because, if she does, you’re shooting yourself in the foot here by ignoring her.” +++/+++\+++ “Right, Pen.” JJ leaned back in her seat as she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the headache that she could feel building. “Nothing. No ‘good morning’, no ‘thank you for sitting with me all night’, nothing. I was expecting her to retreat back behind her walls and everything, but this is ridiculous, even for her.” “Well now, gumdrop, we all knew this would happen. I personally think it’s a good sign that she got on the plane with you guys and didn’t just pull out that black AmEx we know she has and buy herself a plane ticket home on a commercial flight.” “Not helping Pen,” JJ sighed. “Just give her some time, peanut,” Garcia offered gently. “Let her get over her embarrassment – because you know she has to be mortally embarrassed about it all – and maybe you’ll be able to get her to talk to you once you are back home and away from the guys.” “What if she doesn’t?” Garcia sighed and felt her heart break a little at the obvious pain in her friend’s voice. “Then we’ll work together to come up with a plan B.” JJ smiled at her friend’s loyalty. She could always count on Penelope to have her back, no matter how harebrained or hopeless the endeavor.  “And if that doesn’t work?” she asked in a small, soft voice. Garcia could hear the pain and longing in her friend’s voice, and she felt her heart break a little for her. “I’ll go buy a two by four.” JJ laughed in spite of herself. “That was bad, Pen. Real bad.” “But it got you to laugh,” Penelope replied, her smile clearly evident in her tone.  “What if she doesn’t really feel that way toward me?” Back in her dark office Penelope pursed her lips thoughtfully as she thought through some of the looks that she had caught Emily giving JJ when the brunette thought no one had been looking. Those looks, those long, lingering looks, said just as much as words ever could. “I don’t think that’s the real issue here. Get some sleep my blue-eyed girl, you sound like you’re exhausted. I’ll be waiting for you guys when you get back to the ol’ homestead.” +++/+++\+++ Garcia was waiting for the team as they dragged themselves out of the elevator. She immediately noticed that the group was lacking its usual estrogen component, and was instantly curious as to what had happened to her girls. She nodded hello to both Hotch and Rossi, smiled sweetly at Reid, which got the expected blush of embarrassment from the quirky genius, and when she caught sight of Derek she gave him her best ‘come hither’ look before turning on her heel and heading back to her office. She knew he would follow. “Hey Baby Girl,” Morgan sighed as he closed the door to Garcia’s office behind him. He leaned back against the door and appraised the pink haired hacker carefully, knowing from the look that she had shot him when they all walked in that she wanted information. Not wasting any time on pleasantries, she got right to the point. “Where are JJ and Little Miss Grouchy Pants?” “Probably halfway to DC by now. Hotch muttered something about not allowing a marriage spat tear the team apart before he told JJ to take Prentiss home and then to get some sleep. She’s dead on her feet after waking up every hour on the hour last night with Emily.” “Is our dark and brooding profiler still dark and brooding?” Morgan chuckled. “You know it, baby girl.” Penelope threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “What is her problem?” He studied Garcia carefully. While he had his suspicions and knew that Penelope had hers, they had never actually sat down and discussed their friends’ preferences before. “Full disclosure?” “Maximum secrecy… yeah, yeah, the usual,” Garcia drawled, waving her left hand in a small, circular motion in front of herself. “Now, spill it, hot stuff.” Morgan ran a tired hand over his head and appraised the expectant looking woman in front of him. He knew that if she said she would keep this exchange secret that she would, the woman knew more secrets than the rest of them combined, but it still felt strange for him to be the one to effectively out his very private friend. “What do you know of Emily’s… um… preferences?” Garcia smiled and leaned back in her chair, a large, rather pleased smile tipping her lips. “Well, let’s see… I know she thought she and Jayj were married with kids, and I’ve seen those long, lingering, lustful looks she gives my blue-eyed girl when she thinks nobody is watching her – so I’m willing to bet that her preferences, as you called them, tend to lean toward blonde, blue-eyed women.” Morgan smiled and nodded.  “Should have known that you’d seen something,” he muttered. “They don’t call me the Oracle of Quantico for nothing,” Penelope quipped. “So, am I right? Does Emily have a thing for JJ?” He nodded. “She doesn’t just have ‘a thing’-” he used his fingers to make little air-quotes around the phrase, “-she flat out wants her. Has, for quite a while.” I think she may even be in love with her, he thought to himself. Pen grinned and gave a small, victorious fist pump. “And JJ wants Emily. So why is tall, dark, and Butchy McFabulous giving my blue-eyed girl the cold shoulder?” Derek frowned, his brow furrowing thoughtfully as he considered Garcia’s words. “Do you really think Prentiss is butch?” “Focus!” Penelope snapped her fingers at him. “Right, sorry,” he apologized, completely startled by Garcia’s antics. “She’s embarrassed. Scared that JJ doesn’t feel the same way. Hell, neither of us even knew if JJ was into women.” Garcia nodded. “And you call yourselves profilers. Have you not seen the equally longing looks that JJ’s been giving our brown-eyed girl for the last, like… forever?” +++/+++\+++ JJ sighed as she pulled to a stop in front of Emily’s building in downtown Washington DC. The ride up from Quantico had been silent, full of heavy silence and quick, furtive glances, and she was tired of it. Tired of being ignored. Tired of being shut out.  After only a scant few hours with Emily without all of her infamous walls and compartments she knew she was hooked, knew that she wanted more time with the complex brunette just like that – and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how to get the other woman to open up to her. She had tried initiating conversation at a couple different points during the drive only to be shut down with quick, one-word answers or a noncommittal grunt. She finally gave up when Emily complained of the sun and the movement making her dizzy and said that she was going to close her eyes for a bit. “Thanks for the ride,” Emily muttered, as she pushed herself up out of JJ’s car. She wavered slightly as her balance was slow to catch up with her desire to run away and she closed her eyes in defeat when she heard JJ’s door open. Knew it would be too much to hope she didn’t see that. JJ watched Emily tense as she slammed her door shut with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, but dammit – she was pissed. After everything that had happened between them in the hospital room she felt she had, at the very least, earned a little more than a ‘thanks for the ride’ for her efforts. “This is bullshit,” JJ muttered as she stalked around to the back of the car and pulled Emily’s bag from the trunk. She dropped it to the pavement and yanked up the handle before she turned to Emily who was standing with one hand still on the roof of the car, the other up at her head shielding her eye from the bright, early afternoon sun. Her broken cheek was too swollen to allow her to wear her sunglasses and JJ was sure that the sunlight was playing havoc on the older woman’s headache. “You ready?” she asked as she came to a stop beside the stubborn brunette. “I can do it Jayj, you don’t have to walk me to my door,” Emily argued weakly. “Uh huh, sure,” JJ drawled sarcastically.  “I’m not asking. I’m telling you that I am walking you up to your condo. Now, can you do it by yourself or do you want to hold onto my shoulder for support?” “I can do it,” Emily grunted as she stepped hesitantly away from the car. After a couple of shaky steps where she was sure she was going to fall over, she finally regained her equilibrium and began moving with a bit more purpose. JJ rolled her eyes and walked over to shut Emily’s door, again not missing the way the brunette tensed at the loud noise.  She beeped the car locked from her key ring and followed a few steps behind Emily, watching the older woman carefully for any sign that she wasn’t going to be able to complete the trip on her own. Emily pushed the elevator call button, swaying slightly as she took a small step backwards to wait, and could not help but let out a small sigh of relief when the elevator opened in front of her. She immediately went to the back wall to lean against the handrail that ran around the car at waist-height, thankful for the small amount of support that it offered. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal and offered JJ a small smile as the blonde entered the car as well. She flinched at the hurt, the anger, the frustration she could see swirling in JJ’s eyes, and her heart broke with the knowledge she that she was the reason for all of it. Well done, Prentiss, she silently chastised herself. Why don’t you treat her like shit a just little bit more? Surely there’s something else you can do to make her hate you. JJ tried to force herself to smile back at Emily before she turned and punched the button for the brunette’s floor, but she knew that she had failed miserably – she just wasn’t in the mood to smile. She was too hurt, too upset, and altogether too pissed-off to offer a genuine, comforting smile. The ride up was silent, save for the quiet pings from the elevator as the car passed each floor, and when the doors whooshed open she stepped to the side, placed a protective arm over the door so that it wouldn’t close on Emily, and indicated with a tilt of her head that the brunette was to exit first. She followed Emily to her door and stood patiently by while the brunette fought to fit her electronic key in the lock. She knew any offer of assistance that she made would be instantly rebuffed, so she didn’t push. She was, however, going to push once they were inside. She was done being ignored.

This was supposed to be a good week. A great week. A story you would tell for years to come. The thieves guild would sing your praises for centuries. You had managed to find a dragon’s hoard. That the dragon had been nowhere to be seen wasn’t of any consequence. You had snuck in, filled several bags full of the finest treasures you had ever seen; and been able to make it all the way back to town without getting incinerated. You were rich! Even after you had paid your dues to the guild, you had more than enough to live comfortably the rest of your days. But why live comfortably when you could live extravagantly? Obscenely? There hadn’t been any talk of dragon attacks for years. You bet the dragon that had left the hoard behind had been slain long ago, or died of old age. And since no one else knew exactly where the hoard was in the twisting labyrinth of the mountain cavern? It was all yours. And that was why, mere days after you had become one of the richest people in the city, you were setting out again to increase your already substantial fortune. You hiked your way up the mountain, bags dangling off you. You had left your mule at the mountain base, no reason to risk the animal twisting an ankle on the steep, barely there mountain path. The journey by food took a few hours, but you knew the payoff was going to be great. You were tired by the time you reached the small crevice opening. The squeeze in was a touch claustrophobic, but this was the only way you knew. As long as you moved slowly, and were careful that your bag didn’t snag on any jutting rocks you would be fine. Soon enough, the crevice opened up into a larger, dimly lit cavern. And there, just feet away, was the faint twinkle of gold and jewels. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you sashayed forward, dropped to your knees, and began stuffing handfuls of loot into your bags. You were so caught up in your work, you barely noticed the ground start to shake beneath you. You stilled. The last thing you needed was a cave in sealing you in here. A deep chuckle rumbled through the air. Correction. The last thing you needed was to be trapped in here with whatever was making that noise. You abandoned your bag as you began to rapidly shuffle toward the exit. But the exit was no longer there. The wall had moved. “And where do you think you’re going, little thief?” The voice boomed in the enclosed space. You squeaked in fear, your hands scrambling along the wall, trying to find any trace of opening you could squeeze yourself into. Your hands met with rough, jagged stone. A frantic flail caused your hand to hit something different; something hard, but very smooth. Scales. Dred filled you as your fingers confirmed what your subconscious already knew. The opening was gone because something had moved in front of it. Or, rather, someone. The dragon was home. There was a scraping sound, and the scales under your hands undulated. Light burst into the cavern as the beast breathed fire. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for heat and pain. None came, however. You slowly cracked your eyes open. The cavern was now lit by several oil braisers you had not previously seen in the dark. You couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the glittering hoard. It was even larger and more decadent than you had previously thought. But gold and jewels weren’t the only things glistening. Smooth, black, iridescent scales shone in the fire light. You were completely surrounded by a large, muscular tail. Your eyes followed the line of the tail up, up, up… You started to hyperventilate. This thing was huge! Bigger than any beast you had ever seen! Probably larger than any building you had ever seen! And it’s gigantic glowing red eyes were staring right. At. You. “Getting a little handsy, aren’t we; Precious? We’ve only just met, after all.” The dragon’s grin showed off a mouth of jagged teeth, each one bigger than your head. Once you processed his words, you jerked your hands away from his tail, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your whole body shook. At least you were still alive, for now. The dragon didn’t seem to be angry. Maybe you could still get out of this? You cleared your throat, as the dragon cocked his head. It took a few tries before you were able to speak. You cringed as your voice came out in a squeak. “I humbly beg a thousand pardons, exalted one! I didn’t know this wondrous treasure belonged to one as great and powerful as you.” Your knees almost buckled as he threw back his head and laughed. “That was clear the first time you dared to sneak into my hoard.” “You… You were there?” You whispered. “Of course. I rarely leave my hoard. Consider yourself skilled, little thief, you almost didn’t wake me that time. But seeing you scuttle about like a pleased little squirrel is one of the most amusing things I’ve seen in many years. I was just going to let you have your prize in exchange for the entertainment. But now? After you were so bold as to come back again? Well, Precious, you simply are too much. So I’ve decided. You’re going to repay me for that treasure, you stole.” You stuttered in your haste to reply. “Of course! Whatever you wish, noble one! If you’d just move your wondrous tail, I’ll go and bring back as much as I can. I am only a thief, yes, but I could bring you every jewel I find! Anything you wish!” You’re cut off by the dragon’s rumbling chuckle. “You are good with your pretty words and compliments. Oh yes, with a little training, you shall be quite exquisite, I’m sure.” He turned his massive head, looking over his hoard. With surprising delicacy, a taloned foot picked through the piles until he found what it was looking for. It was a surprisingly simple looking necklace- a leather string attached to what might be bone carved into the crude shape of a dragon. A few runes you didn’t recognize littered the surface. He turned his gaze back to you holding out the necklace. “You will put this on. It shows that you belong to me.”   You had no other choice. Reluctantly, you grab the necklace and slip it over your head. The pendant feels surprisingly warm as it rests just above your breasts. “Now,” he said, “as for what I want from you.” He stretched languidly, fully extending his wings behind him. The black scales were offset with iridescent orange. You’d say he was beautiful if you didn’t fear getting snapped up at any instant. Though… Wasn’t he bigger a moment ago? It was getting hard to concentrate. You were feeling so hot, and your skin was starting to itch. You struggled to pay attention as the dragon continued to speak. “I am Bakugou. Though you’re welcome to keep calling me Exalted One, or My Lord. I like that. And it’s quite clever of you to offer to bring the treasure back to me. But, little one, I have no intention of letting you leave my home anytime soon.” The room was spinning. You sank to your knees and then fully sat on the floor. It was so hot! Your breath came in gasping loud pants. You unbutton a couple buttons on your shirt, but it didn’t help. You were so, itchy. Your head started to throb.   “I have more than enough gold and jewels.” Bakugou continued. “I have no need for whatever trinkets you could manage to bring me. But what I haven’t had in a very long time, is companionship.” He brought his head close to you. Through your haze of heat and pain you were now certain. He was decidedly smaller, now only a little bigger than a large horse. It took several tries for you to squeak out “Companionship?” Bakugou grinned, flashing his shining teeth. “Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve met another of my kind. I might be the last one left. And you, well, you’re going to help be with that. Bold, clever, cunning; all excellent traits for a mate. We’ll make handsome broods together.” You shook your head. “I can’t! We can’t! I’m a human! There’s no way!” You squeezed your eyes shut as he threw back his hand and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, Treasure. I’ve taken care of that.” “What?” Hands that weren’t yours were tugging at your pants. Your eyes snapped open as your clothing was torn from your body with a growl. There was a man in front of you. No. There was a dragon? He was taller than any man you had met. Strong, handsome features accentuated by black horns that curled around his ears. Huge orange and black wings sprouted from his back. He had a long, muscular black tail. And he was completely naked, and seemed intent on making you the same way. “What? No! Stop!” You weakly protested and tried to bat his hands away. It did no good. Your body felt so weak. It was like a fire was growing in your belly. The itching was growing worse, though the pain was dulling.   “We need to get these things off you before you tear out of them. The changes will be speeding up soon.” The dragon… man? Bakugou tugged your boots off, and this time you didn’t even move to stop him. Your shirt was next, ripped to rags as his talons tore it off you, leaving you only in your smallclothes. He grinned a feral grin and ran a finger along your cloth covered slit. “Soaked already. You’re going to be just perfect.” “Wait. Changes? What are you doing to me?” You whimpered and clutched at your belly. It felt so hot. So empty. A gush of fluid left you and for a moment you thought you had wet yourself before you realized it was slick. “This little charm,” Bakugou tapped the necklace you had forgotten about. “This is turning you into my perfect little mate. Your right, Precious. A dragon couldn’t have a brood with a human. But you’re not going to be human anymore.” His large hand ran up and down your leg soothingly as his fingers continued to rub your cloth covered pussy. “Doesn’t it feel good? Your horns are coming in beautifully. And your wings are almost as lovely as mine. But let’s get this off you before your tail comes it.” With a simple slash of his talons, you were now bare before him. “Tail?” You mumbled, turning your head and twisting your body. Sure enough, you could see the beginnings of a smooth scale covered tail beginning to form. And… huh. You did have wings. They were small compared to Bakugou’s but there they were. You tried to get your fuzzy mind to focus. You were able to give them a little flutter. They felt right. Good even. Why? Why were you feeling so good? But hot. And empty. So empty. You needed… You needed… Your eyes locked onto the male in front of you. You needed to mate. You keened and held out your arms to him. He laughed. “That heat starting to hit you hard, little one?” He scooped you up into his arms and began walking further into the cave. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you take care of all that frustration. Just let me get us somewhere more comfortable.” It didn’t take love before he laid you down in what looked somewhat like a nest. There were cushions and fur and silks. You barely noticed. All you cared about was the throbbing need between your legs. Instinct guided you as you scrambled to get on all fours, head down, ass raised. You whined, turning your head to look behind you, pleading without words. Bakugou knelt behind. “So eager. So wet and ready for me. You going to be a good girl?” You nodded quickly. You’d be a good girl. You’d be the best girl if he would just fill you up. He put a hand on each of your ass cheeks and spread you open, groaning as the sight. “You’re so wet for me, Treasure. So ready.” He ran his surprisingly long tongue through your fold and you moaned loudly, pushing back against his face. He gave a few more licks before pulling away with a sigh. “Next time. I promise next time. But right now, we both need something else.” Bakugou gripped his cock, giving it a few strokes as he lined himself up. It was like nothing you’d ever seen before. The head was flared, with a sort of bumpy ridge around it. Ridges that continued all the way down to the base. It was huge. It was thick. It should scare you. You shouldn’t want it. But there was nothing you wanted more than to be stuffed full of it right now. “Please?” You whimpered. It seemed like the only word you could manage to say. “Please?” “Good girl.” He lined up and slammed into you. You cried out. It didn’t hurt. It felt amazing. You’d never felt so good in your life. Your tail whipped from side to side before Bakugou grabbed it. With a growl, he used your tail as leverage as he began to trust into you roughly. Each snap of his hips justled your whole body. Your slick was running down your thighs, dripping from you and staining the silk below you. All you could do was mindlessly rock your hips back, never quite finding the right rhythm. You moaned and gasped, all your words stolen from your brain. Your thoughts were only of how you were being stretched. Being filled. And you needed to be filled with his cum. You needed to be bred. Your body shuddered. Yes. Bred. BRED. Your hips moved faster as you tried to encourage Bakugou to do the same. He groaned and smirked. “You want something, Precious?” You whined, nodded as you continued to piston your hips. Bakugou grinned, and gripped you firmly, forcing you to still your movements. You cried out in protest. He tsked. “Words, Treasure. What do you need?” You whimper. Words were so hard. You could barely think. You jolted as long fingers reached up and tweaked your nipple. Bakugou tugged and rolled it between his fingers. “I won’t know unless you tell me, Mate.” Mate. The word thrilled you and you moaned. Words were a struggle, but you managed to pant out at last “Mate me! Breed me! Please, Bakugou, please!” With a snarl, he slammed into you again. The pace was brutal. Each thrust squelched obscenely, your cunt soaked from your slick and his precum. He placed a hand on your back, shoving your face into the nest and giving himself an angle to thrust even deeper. Soon he was panting, close himself. He reached down and harshly teased your clit. You came with a shout, and your walls clamped down around his cock. He came with a roar, his hot seed pouring into your womb. There was so much, you finally felt full, bloated with it, even. You crooned and wobbled, feeling tired and weak now that it was over. Bakugou kept his cock inside you as he turned you both on your sides. You could feel his grin pressed against your neck as he rested a large hand against your slightly swollen belly. “Rest now, Treasure.” You’d normally protest. But you were so tired… Your eyes drifted shut, and soon you were asleep. You woke hours later, jolting upright. You were confused, but at last felt coherent. But you felt so strange. Your wings fluttered. Your tail twitched. You groaned as you began to remember what had happened. A dragon. You had been turned into some sort or dragon! Bakugou was nowhere to be seen. Maybe you could get out of here and find someone to reverse this curse! You tried to get to your feet, only to fall back down. Your body felt so heavy. You looked down and gasped in horror. Your belly was large, swollen and heavy. You looked several months pregnant. Your hands flew to your belly, poking and rubbing, trying to figure out what was wrong with you. There was slight movement as when you poked. Something was in there. Something heavy. A lot of somethings, it felt like. “I see our eggs are coming along nicely.” You jumped, looking around you frantically. Bakugou walked towards you, carrying a try of food that he set in front of you, before sitting next to you, a large hand coming and rubbing your belly as he smirked, clearly proud of himself. “Eggs?” You whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. “Of course.” He rumbled. “Going to be a nice large brood by the look of you. Doesn’t usually progress this quickly. Must have to do with the magic for your change. Looks like we won’t have long with just us here.” His hand continued to rub soothing circles as your brain scrambled to process this. Eggs. You were full of dragon eyes. The necklace you still wore warmed, and you felt your panic begin to lessen. This was okay. This felt good. It was natural. You were well bred and had a big, strong, handsome mate to look after you and your brood. You snuggled up against Bakugou, sighing in contentment. Yes, this was perfect. You rubbed your belly with a smile. You couldn’t wait to lay your brood. It’s been a learning experience, you thought moodily as you rubbed your swollen belly. You’d been trapped in the dragon, Bakugou’s lair for a month now. It’s not like you could leave anyways. Even without how the amulet had altered your body, there was no way you could escape with the heavy clutch of eggs currently residing in your womb. You had wondered if removing the amulet would reverse its effects on you, but you didn’t dare find out until these eggs were out of you. You tried not to think about that too hard. Partly because you didn’t want to guess the number or size of the eggs that resided within you, and partly because you didn’t want the amulet to react. It had taken a week after your capture for you to begin to figure out the pattern. Every time you felt extreme negative emotions, the amulet warmed, and your thoughts became calm and fuzzy. Unnerved about your new tail and wings? Warmth from the amulet that seemed to invade your brain. Your thoughts had gone from frustration to calm. Being a dragon was natural. It was easy to control your tail and wings. They were a part of you after all, and it felt so good. Yeah, it had taken longer than you’d like to admit to figure out that the amulet could affect your mindset as well as your body, though unlike the physical changes, the fuzzy feeling of the forced mental calm didn’t last long, thankfully. So it was just a matter of staying relatively relaxed and trying to figure out what to do about your situation. Honestly, things weren’t that bad. Yes, you had been changed into a dragon. Yes, you apparently were going to be mother to some hatchlings. And yes, for now you were still trapped in this cavern. But you were surrounded by more comforts and opulence than you had ever dreamed of before. Your nest was lined with finer fabrics than you’d find in palaces. You had been concerned that Bakugou would expect you to eat raw rabbits whole, but had been pleasantly surprised when he had served you delicate, deliciously cooked meals. You had asked him where he had gotten it, and he had beamed with pride before sweeping you into his arms and carrying you to the kitchen to show off one of his favorite parts of his hoard. He had put you down in a comfortable chair while he walked around the room, pulling out small containers of exotic spices and explaining which were his favorite. That was another thing you were coming to terms with. This dragon, this Bakugou was… not entirely what you expected. He could change his size at will, but often remained smaller and with more human features. You asked him why and he had answered “Because my mate prefers it.” He had a foul temper. When he was in a mood he would snarl and huff, smoke billowing from his nostrils. Yet, he never took his temper out on you. At most he would snap at you a little that he wasn’t in the mood for your questions. He would huff his way out of the cavern, navigating the maze of passages you hadn’t had the chance to explore yet. But when he would return hours later, he would come and curl himself around you, murmuring an apology. He was arrogant and boastful, but generous. Proud, but clingy. He seemed to always want to touch you. Not just for pleasure, but you would pull you into his lap and simply hold you, eyes closed and his nose in your hair. He seemed… Very lonely. You really didn’t know how to feel about him. Well, you thought as you watched him approach you with a tray of food to nibble on, you supposed you had some time to figure that out.~~~~~~~~~~~~ You woke from your slumber to discomfort. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it until a second contraction rippled through you. Oh. “Oh fuck.” You hadn’t thought you had spoken that last bit aloud until you felt stirring behind you. “Treasure?” Bakugou’s sleep rough voice asked, as he tried to wrap an arm around you. You hissed a breath, batting him away. He sat up more with a grumble, ready to scold you until he got a good look at you. His eyes darted from your pained face, to your awkward position, to your belly and back again. His eyes widened. “Oh.” He whispered, sitting up to rest on his heels. You whimpered at him. “I’m not ready for this.” “I don’t think the eggs care, Precious.” He murmured as he brushed a stay hair from your face. “It will be alright. I’m right here. Let me and the amulet help.” You hardly hesitated before nodding. Bakugou helped you sit while he rearranged the cushions and blankets of the nest. “They’ll get ruined.” You protest weakly. “They’re just things.” He replied curtly. “They can be replaced. My mate’s comfort is more important.” Your heart fluttered, but the next wave of pain didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Soon, Bakugou was easing you back onto the pillows. You only half paid attention to him gently encouraging to get in whatever position felt right. You started to disrobe and he quickly helped you until you were bare. The contractions were coming faster, but with them was also coming the warm fuzzy brained feeling of the amulet working to calm you. For once you welcomed the feeling. The pain became a background noise to the rest of the sensations you were experiencing. Yes, your thoughts whispered to you. This was good. You finally got to lay the clutch you and your mate had been waiting for. You made a noise that was more moan than groan as another contraction pulsed through you. Bakugou smirked, rubbing your leg in a soothing manner.“There, Treasure. That’s my good girl. Don’t fight it.” You nodded, slightly dazed. You absolutely weren’t going to fight this. You weren’t scared anymore. And the pain, while still there, was being overshadowed by how good and right this felt. You keened and held your arms out for your mate. He chuckled softly before leaning down to kiss you. The kiss started heated, a desperate meeting of tongues, teeth bumping until you found a rhythm. Slowly Bakugou gentled the kiss, moving slower, and more tenderly. He eased and nipped at your lip before pulling away. You tried to chase his lips, but he put a hand on your shoulder. “Let me check how you’re doing, Precious. I need to take care of you.” You whined, too gone for words, but nodded. He ran a hand down you, tweaking a nipple and causing your whole body to jerk. His hands continued down, down, until he reached your most sensitive area. He stroked the area around your clit and you gasped, hips shuddering. It had never felt so intense. So intense it burned. So good, but also much too much. You wanted to lean into it and hump his hand like a shameless whore, but you wanted to pull away for his touch that was too intense and too much. It was so hot and and tense and painful and so fucking amazing. His large, firm hand on your hip stilled your movements. You stared at him with wide eyes and begged. “Please! Please, I need…” “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.” He looked at you as he carefully brushed his fingers over your sex. “You’ll be ready soon, Treasure. And then our eggs will be here, isn’t that wonderful?” You nodded, panting. It was wonderful. Your fuzzy mind couldn’t think of anything more wonderful at the moment. He smiled down at you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before turning back to the task at hand. His fingers stroked your puffy lips, each touch almost burning with intensity. “Gonna make this good for you, Precious,” he murmured as he ran a single finger over your clit. You gasped, jolting. He stroked again with a smirk as you whimpered. “Have a few more minutes, so let’s get you nice and relaxed.” You moaned as he got to work, gently rubbing your opening while tweaking your nipples. It was too much and not enough. All you could do was moan and croon at your mate, such a good mate, taking such good care of you. Your mind felt warm and fuzzy and you were happy to give into the feelings and emotions. You raised your hips to rub more firmly against Bakugou’s hand, and he let you, increasing his own pace and pressure until you were shaking and panting. He kept his pace steady. Your hand shot out to grab his free hand, and he intertwined your fingers. “That’s it, Precious. Let go.” And so you did, with a gasp and a shudder. Bakugou’s touch stayed steady through your orgasm, his fingers not leaving you until you collapsed back into the nest, panting. He brushed his mouth to yours before he pulled back and maneuvered you into spreading your legs. He touched gently and you sucked in a breath with a hiss. The pain was more intense now, mixing with the pleasurable feelings equally. Bakugou kissed your knee. “It’s time for our eggs. You need to start pushing, Treasure. You can do it.” You weren’t half as confident as he seemed to be, but the tightening of your abdomen rather clearly indicated that you weren’t going to get much choice in the matter. You groaned as you felt the eggs shift inside you. It was so strange, but at the same time felt right. Your belly squeezed, and as it did you pushed. You gasped and moaned, half in pain, half in pleasure. You had never been stretched like this before, and you had only just begun. Your hands gripped the blankets underneath you, as you pushed again with a whine. The fuzziness in your brain helped cut the pain, but it did nothing to ease the pure intensity. Your nerves were singing. All it would take is just one touch… And Bakugou was more than happy to provide that touch. He thumbed over your clit and you saw stars. You screamed as you came, the tightening of your muscles pushing the egg down further. There was no relief, the curve of the egg nudging against your g spot. You moaned as you tried to gather more energy to push again. Your mate wasn’t helping matters, as his hands roamed your body. The touch was meant to comfort, and it did, but it was also arousing you more by the second. You squirmed, not sure if you wanted to lean into the sensation or pull away. You couldn’t focus enough to make up your mind as you were once again consumed with the need to push. And so push again you did, the egg sliding further down. “I can see it, Treasure. Just a few more pushes and it will be out. You’re doing so well for me. Such a good mate.” Bakugou crooned, stroking over your opening where the egg was just starting to peek out. You whined, blood rushing to your cheeks as you nodded weakly. Your breath was coming in ragged gasps as you tried to collect yourself for the last few pushes. Your next push rang another orgasm out of you as the largest part of the egg slid past your g spot. Your opening was stretched tighter than it ever had been. Bakugou crooned encouragement. And then with one more push, there it was. In a daze you marveled at the egg your mate cradled in his hands. Orange and gold, larger than you had anticipated. Bakugou gently tucked it into the other side of the nest. “You did so well, Precious. Look at what you made.” “What we made.” You murmured back. You were rewarded by seeing a flush creep up your mate’s neck until his ears were bright red. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the egg a few minutes more before turning back towards you. “We’re not done yet, Treasure. Need to get the rest of that clutch out of you.” You groaned, staring down at your still large belly, feeling as eggs continued to shift inside you, making their way down. It was going to be a long night. But as you gazed at your mate, you didn’t think it was just the amulet that was making you feel like everything would be alright. The second egg came quicker than the first, and the third quicker than the second. You were grateful, because even though the last few were easier, you still were exhausted and covered with sweat by the end. Though some of that might have also been the orgasms that had continuously been rung from your overstimulated body. The warm fuzzy feeling of the amulet was starting to fade, and you were rapidly becoming aware of just how tired and sore you were. You turned your head to watch as Bakugou gathered and tended to the eggs. There were five total, all similar, with just enough variation in color to tell them apart. He had moved them to a new area, building up a nest with sand. You could tell he was telling you why, but you were too tired to pay attention to the words he was saying. Instead you let the drone of his low voice lull you to sleep. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The following days had been… strange. Or maybe strange in how they weren’t strange. Bakugou had cared for you and the eggs while you healed, which had only taken a few days. He spent much more time in his full dragon form, curled protectively around you and the nest of eggs. He hardly let you get up, so you spent a lot of time talking. He explained what he knew about what the eggs needed. The warmth of a dragon’s body, the occasional flames of the fire, gentle turning, and so much more. You asked how he knew so much, and he told you about how things used to be. How the area used to be home to a large flight of dragons that had protected the land and its inhabitants. He talked about his mother, who was larger and fiercer than himself, his father who was calmer but could grumble like the thunder in the sky when he chose. He told stories about the trouble he and his friends used to get into, and how the older dragons used to chew them out. For the most part, you simply listened, but eventually one question had to be asked. “Then… What happened?” You asked quietly. “Why were you here alone?” Bakugou was silent for a time. Just when you thought he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke again. “There were some dragons who were… destructive. We didn’t take the treat seriously until it was too late. The humans had been turned against dragonkind. Though they were smaller, they were clever. They came after us with weapons and magic in great force. They weren’t interested in anything we tried to tell them. For a while we tried to hold our ground, to keep our land. It didn’t work. I was injured badly in the fights and fled into the caverns to recover. By the time I was healed, everyone was gone. Humans, dragons, everyone. Nothing left but scorched earth. I chose to wait here, to see if anyone would return, but no one ever has. Now, there’s only me.” Your heart ached for him and the weary loneliness in his voice. You curled up against him and for the first time while clear headed, pressed a few soft kisses to the parts of him you could reach. He gave a surprised huff before nuzzling you with his large head. The two of you were quiet the rest of the evening, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You had a problem. You had found the way out. You hadn’t even been looking for it. Not really. You had been walking the caverns while Bakugou had slept, curled around your eggs. There wasn’t much else to do. You had read his small collection of books, and you knew better than to set foot in his kitchen without him. So, you had crept out to explore a bit. You had wandered aimlessly, mentally keeping track of your turns. A smell you couldn’t quite place had wafted through the air, and you had followed the scent, not really thinking. You weren’t expecting to round a corner and suddenly be greeted with sunshine, rustling grass, tall trees, and delicate wildflowers. You were out. For the first time in months, you were out. A laugh escaped you before you clamped a hand over your mouth to prevent making more noise. You were out! And the dragon who had kept you here was still slumbering, unaware that you were out. You looked around wildly. The area wasn’t anything you had seen before. But that didn’t matter much. If you could just figure out what direction was what, you could… You could… Your thoughts stalled and you reached up to fiddle with the comfortable weight of the amulet around your neck. For the first time, you reached up and slipped the leather strap over your head. It dangled from your fingers heavily. You wanted to be absolutely certain that your next few thoughts were your own.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bakugou awoke slowly, with a small inkling that something wasn’t right. He blinked slowly, looking around before he began stretching. He didn’t want to injure his mate or their eggs, after all. His mate was not in their nest, which wasn’t unusual. He nosed the eggs, rumbling out a low pleased sound. His eggs. If his friends could only see him now… He blew out a low stream of fire, making sure each egg was nice and toasty warm before he stretched and shifted into his smaller and more human form. He glanced around the cavern, frowning when he could not immediately spot his mate. He had grown used to finding her reading. He made a mental note to see if he could sneak into the city and procure more books for her. His mate deserved spoiling after all. And right now, he was going to spoil her with some food. If he could figure out where she had gotten to, that is. Bakugou poked his head into the kitchen, nothing. He checked the bathing chambers, without success. His brow furrowed as he went and poked around the silks and furs or the hoard, checking to see if she had curled up somewhere. “Treasure?” he called quietly at first. He raised his volume as his search continued to be fruitless, his panic rising. “Y/N? ANSWER ME!” He was met only with his own echo. Surely she couldn’t have… Not after all this time. He thought they were… He thought… With a roar, he surged out of the cavern, growing as he raced forward. He guts twisted as his thoughts swirled. Not again. He couldn’t be alone again. Please, he… Bakugou violently shoved those thoughts down, trying his best to only focus on his rage. He was going to find her. He was going to drag her back and chain her to the fucking wall if he had to. She is HIS and she would damn well learn that! Bakugou burst out into the sunlight, growling as he took ragged breaths. He needed to catch her scent, to find the little fool before some humans did. He swung his enormous head from side to side and suddenly stilled. There you were. You were sprawled out, asleep on a rock. You were laying on your stomach, your wings stretched out, soaking up the sun. The amulet lay on the rock beside you. Bakugou cautiously moved closer. The tremors of the ground caused you to stir, and you fluttered your wings before you stretched, sitting up with a yawn. You blinked up at the massive dragon towering over you and smiled softly. “Hello, Love. I’m sorry I worried you, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You reached out your arms to him, making grabbing motions. Bakugou didn’t hesitate a second before shrinking and changing just enough so that he could swing you into his arms, holding you tightly enough that it was just on the edge of being painful. You hugged him in return, nuzzling his neck and pressing kisses there. The two of you would need to have a long conversation later, curled against each other. But for now, it was time for your mate to take you home.

~ In retrospect, Nicky should have guessed the walls would be this thin. It's not like the hotel was expensive, not if they could afford to get separate rooms. Of course, by then, Nicky had been in a car with Joe for more than a week, and he was rapidly losing grip on his sanity. He'd have sold a kidney to get a night where he didn't have to think about Joe sleeping so close to him that Nicky could reach out and touch each freckle on his nose. After dinner, Joe had suggested they go out, but Nicky's running on three hours of sleep, and he needs a break, so he begged off. Someone had come stumbling through Joe's door well before midnight, and Nicky wondered if things were just slow in the clubs that night. That was before the noises started. Just a moan, at first, so quiet that Nicky might have imagined it. That's what he'd told himself as he pulled the blanket over his head. And so what if it was real? Probably just Joe having a dream.  What, then, would Nicky's explanation be for the dull thud, low groan, and answering chuckle that came right after that? The realization, when it hit Nicky, had felt like a bucket of cold water to the face. On the other side of that thin wall, Joe was getting his cock sucked. So here he is, standing next to his bed, staring at the wall like he might burn a hole through it with his mind. There's another thud, harder this time, and Nicky is sure that was Joe's head hitting the wall, thrown back with a moan that makes all the hair on Nicky's neck stand on end. He can feel himself leaning forward, drifting toward the sound. Digging his toes into the thin carpet, Nicky tries to glue himself in place. Flames burst over Nicky's cheeks as he hears Joe moan again, sounding nothing like any porn Nicky's ever seen. That noise was real, someone has worked Joe's cock until he's lost in passion, and that person wasn't Nicky. His fingernails dig into his palms. Does Joe not know how thin these walls are? He has to. Has to.  Dragging his hands down his face, Nicky can feel the heat of his blush. It backfires; closing his eyes only makes it easier for him to picture everything that must be happening. Joe must be standing right there; he must have thrown his head back. Is the other man kneeling in front of him? The carpet under Nicky's feet is rough, threadbare, and probably filthy. Would he be willing to kneel on it for this long? Nicky's been lying to himself for years, sometimes it's even worked, but right now, the truth might as well be sitting on his bed staring at him. If it meant having Joe, hot and heavy on his tongue? Nicky would kneel on broken glass. 'Don't move. Don't move a muscle,' he thinks, because Nicky's so hard right now that the shift of cloth across his cock might be more than he can take, and he really doesn't want to deal with laundry. Joe says something, and Nicky finds himself leaning toward the wall again. It's instinct. For years he's been hanging on Joe's every word, listening to his sharp-witted political rants and his long, rambling opinions about books and science. Not paying attention when Joe talks? Impossible. Nicky strains to make out what he's saying in that honey-slick voice. 'Nicky, no! What kind of friend would eavesdrop on a moment like this? It's private, between Joe and whoever that other voice is. If Joe wanted me to know what's happening, he would be doing it in here where I could see.' Letting that thought into your head was a terrible idea, Nicky. Because now? Now it's all too easy to picture Joe in here, against this wall, with Nicky at his feet. It would be Nicky staring up at him, Nicky tugging Joe's jeans and briefs down, and Nicky freeing Joe's cock so he can kiss up the length of it. Joe starts speaking again, and this time he's loud enough for Nicky to make out every word. "Eyes on me, yeah? Let me see how your mouth looks stretched around me. Good. Yes, lick it, get it good and wet." Before he can remind himself not to, Nicky blinks and lets that picture come back to him, the one of him on his knees, staring up at Joe, his lips around Joe's cock, and all those beautiful words Joe is saying are only for him. "Just like—fuck." Joe calls out then moans, low and throaty. Nicky's cock pulses against the fabric of his pants, and he can feel where the tip is wet and leaking. "Look at you, baby. So good—Yes, just like that!" Tomorrow morning, Nicky will have to look Joe in the eye and have a normal conversation with him. He's going to have to pretend that he has no idea what Joe sounds like when he's all fucked out, no idea how deep Joe's voice gets when he's praising the way someone sucks his cock. 'How the fuck am I supposed to do that?' Nicky thinks. That voice is going to be in the back of Nicky's head for every conversation he and Joe have. Ever. Arousal zips along Nicky's veins, running out to the tips of his fingers and the top of his head. "Fuck, baby—making me feel so good—" Nicky digs his fingernails into his palms again, bites his tongue, anything to take his mind off that sound. Joe is usually so eloquent; even his rambles are composed; this is nothing like that. Instead, he's babbling nonsense, and Nicky can't not listen. What would it feel like to be digging his fingernails into Joe's thighs right now? To be gripping his ass and pulling him closer, choking himself on Joe's cock. If Joe were talking to Nicky that way, would he take Joe's hand, press it to his scalp, and use his eyes to say, "Hold my head, pull my hair, anything. Anything for you." Joe must be getting closer because his language is getting dirtier and less coherent. "Gonna fuck your—God, like that—Fuck!" What would those words sound like with Joes' fingers twined into Nicky's hair? Would they be even filthier with Joe's cock pushing into his throat? "Fucking perfect for me. Good, so good. Look at you—so hot—I need—fuck, your mouth, please can I—" The moment Joe comes is unmistakable. Something thumps into the wall so hard Nicky worries it will drive a hole clear through to this room. It sounds like Joe's orgasm is being wrung out of him, squeezed up his spine, and forced past his lips with a heavy grunt and a sound of pure, uninhibited pleasure. Nicky has to lock his knees not to fall to the floor. His teeth are buried in his lip, every sound he wants to make trapped behind his tongue like a pacing wolf. If Joe were his, would he brush Nicky's hair from his forehead? Would he smile down at Nicky, blissed out and soft-eyed? Perhaps Nicky would be able to see the sheen of sweat on Joe's neck or bury his face against Joe's thigh. He would keep Joe in his mouth as long as Joe would let him, happy just to have that taste on his tongue. Through the wall, Joe laughs, low and happy, and a deep voice answers him too quietly for Nicky to hear. After that? Nothing. Nicky's mind is spinning nightmares of Joe taking this man to bed, begging this man to fuck him, kissing this man deep enough to lick the taste of himself from this man's mouth. He can't stay here for that. Fuck! He's hard, and he's frustrated, and he's so, so tired of pretending like Joe isn't everything he wants. Nicky stands in the shower until the water goes cold, then spends the rest of the night with his back against the bathroom door with his phone playing white noise through his earbuds and his book in his hand. He doesn't get much reading done. “Good morning, Nicolò.” Joe drops into the seat opposite him at the breakfast table, and Nicky thinks about strangling him. He wonders if a judge would find the crime justified if he tells them exactly how infuriatingly chipper Joe sounds right now. Refusing to rise to the bait, Nicky mumbles a greeting into his coffee. “For a man who went to bed early last night, you’re looking pretty miserable today. Trouble sleeping?” Mid-sip, Nicky chokes on his coffee, setting off a coughing fit. Is it possible, he wonders, for him to blush so hard his ears spontaneously combust? “Nevermind,” Joe says. The rest of breakfast passes in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts. Joe is probably using his brainpower to solve world hunger; Nicky is staring at the livid bruise on Joe’s collarbone and wondering what shape it would be if Nicky’s mouth had been the one to put it there. It’s not even nine in the morning, and this day is already terrible. Though, of course, it’s not. Instead, it’s as wonderful as every other day with Joe. They see some of the sights, try some of the foods, and at least once, Joe makes Nicky laugh so hard his drink comes out his nose. Because he’s Nicky’s best friend, first and foremost, and that’s enough. It has to be. Joe points to landmarks and talks about seeing them for the first time with his family, how the whole city had seemed impossibly large to him. “It wasn’t any bigger than home, but it was unknown, and that was enough.” He glances to the side, frowning slightly. “I’m pretty sure my sister threw up in that fountain.” Nicky chokes. That night, again, Nicky begs off going out with Joe. He’s got earplugs, and if he gets a head start, he can be fast asleep by the time Joe gets home. This is a foolproof plan. Apparently, Nicky is an exceptional brand of fool because here he is again, staring at his wall, listening to Joe get laid, and mentally composing a very stern one-star review of these earplugs. It starts, as if it were custom-designed to fuck with Nicky, with the other guy talking. He’s louder than the guy from the night before, and Nicky can make out every word. “What do you want, baby? Just tell me. You wanna fuck me?” Joe laughs, but Nicky can’t make out his answer. “Yeah,” the stranger says. “I’ll make it good for you.” Nicky wants to punch a hole through something. Far too many things hit the wall as they’re getting undressed. When Joe left the hotel, he was wearing that blue t-shirt Nicky loves. Is it on the floor right now? Or is it pushed up under his arms as this guy, whoever he is, rubs all over Joe’s chest? Something the guy does or says makes Joe groan. Maybe it was his mouth kissing all those spots Nicky stared at the last time he and Joe were at a beach. The spots Nicky mentally marked as the ones he should dream about kissing later. Is this nobody from a club kissing them instead? Nicky’s hand is clenching and unclenching at his side. Why do they have to be doing this right up against the wall? You’d prefer it if they got in that cheap bed with the loud springs so you could hear the headboard slam against the wall as Joe got off with someone who isn’t you? Of course not. Fuck off. Shameless, Joe moans, “So good, I love that.” “I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw you in the club,” the stranger says. “Your body looks amazing in that shirt, made me want to take it off so I could get my mouth on you. Wanted to kiss you here.” The stranger takes Joe’s moan as his cue to continue. “Wanted to suck these gorgeous pecs, maybe get my teeth around your nipples.” Joe laughs, low and throaty, and Nicky can hear the clang of metal and a tiny thump as Joe undoes his belt. Are his jeans on the floor? Or are they still rucked around his thighs as he strokes himself? “Turn around,” the guy says, “Put your hands on the wall.” Nicky can’t quite decipher Joe’s answer; he must be facing the other way, talking to the man behind him. Whatever he says, the stranger likes it. He chuckles and purrs, “Mmm. Yes, Daddy. So demanding.” “And don’t ever say that again,” Joe says, clear as a bell. The guy laughs, and somehow that hurts more than anything else. Somehow, that’s what sends Nicky sagging forward until his forehead is resting against the wall. That it should be filled with laughter and joy is only fitting because it’s something Joe is doing, but Nicky had never imagined Joe being funny in bed. It seems like a terrible oversight now. For a minute, there’s nothing, no sound, and Nicky is left listening to only the thump of his pulse in his ears. How long has he been hard? When Joe speaks again, it sounds like he’s talking directly to Nicky. “Did you find something interesting? I thought you might have guessed before now, especially since I had to dance with it in.” Nicky misses the stranger’s answer because he’s busy gripping his balls trying not to come, screaming, right that second, at the image of Joe’s long, lovely artist’s fingers pushing a plug into his ass. He sends up a few grateful prayers for how much this prepping ahead of time will shorten Nicky’s torment. “No, leave it in. Wanna feel it in me while you fuck your cock against mine. Come here, let me get my arms around your neck.” A second later, there’s a heavy thump against the wall, followed by a smaller one. When Joe moans again, it’s so close. He’s—He’s up against the wall. This guy lifted Joe and shoved him against the wall, and now they’re grinding together as Joe getting fuck drunk ten centimeters from Nicky’s face. Are Joe’s legs wrapped around him? Are the lean, corded muscles of his back and arms flexing as he holds himself up? Nicky imagines the tendons flexing in Joe’s forearms as he grips, holding tight, his ass dimpling over and over as he struggles to thrust against this stranger. “Fuck, your ass is even better than I’d hoped,” the guy groans. “Yeah? Been wanting to get your hands on that? Wanting to grab it and—Yeah, just like that. Harder!” Joe sounds Ike he’s so close. Like like he’s speaking right into Nicky’s ear. Scrambling backward to keep from coming all over the peeling paint, Nicky hits something on the nightstand, and it goes thudding to the floor. All noise next door ceases. The guy murmurs a question Nicky can’t make out, but Joe’s answer is perfectly clear. He laughs, low and throaty, and says, “It’s okay, I’m sure they can’t hear us.” A pause, probably for kissing, and Nicky aches thinking of those kisses. Then the dull thump of Joe’s ass and head against the wall, the sound of them both moaning, it all starts again. “Wanna fuck you,” the guy says. “Wanna fuck this pretty ass.” “I bet you do. I bet you’ve been dreaming about being in a hole as tight as mine. You’d get your cock up against it and feel me nearly suck you in.” Another heavy thud against the wall. “Mm, that was good. Just like that but harder.” The thumping gets louder, and Nicky wonders what evil spirit he pissed off. “I’d take your cock so deep. I love getting it as deep as I can, feeling it stretch me. I’d want to feel it for days.” The more filth Joe spews, the more the guy whines and Nicky wants to scream. Joe is kind and compassionate and a good friend. He wouldn’t do this on purpose, would he? No. He wouldn’t be over there winding Nicky up just because he knows Nicky can hear him. He can’t know that Nicky’s been desperate for his touch for years. Somehow, Nicky’s crept closer to the wall again, and it’s cool against his heat-flushed forehead. To his credit, Nicky doesn’t start stroking himself until it’s clear the other guy is getting close. “Gonna come. Oh god, I’m gonna—“ “Good, I want that. Get me messy. Shit, I’m—“ The guy is grunting, high and reedy, and just as this stranger shouts, Nicky feels himself tip over the edge. He could pretend he does it with any grace, but he doesn’t. “Fuck. Joe!” Nicky growls, coming all over one hand as the other slaps against the wall for support. He blinks and hears Joe, groaning like it’s being pulled up from his toes, then another loud smack of something hitting the wall. Joe’s hand, it has to be, bracing himself as he comes. Nicky slides his hand down, stopping where he heard the slap from the other side. Though he couldn’t say why, Nicky is sure that Joe’s hand is directly opposite his, that were it not for the wall, their fingers would be twined together. Stumbling backward again, this time Nicky makes it as far as the en-suite where he wipes himself clean and tries to convince himself he wasn’t loud enough for Joe to hear. In the morning, Nicky's 'let me get down to breakfast early, so I don't have to see him' instinct runs right into Joe's 'I fucked to exhaustion last night, and now I'm starving' instinct. It's the most awkward, uncomfortable moment of Nicky's life, pulling his door closed only to look up and see Joe, having just exited his own room, staring back.  "Nicky. Hey. I didn't realize your room was so close." "Who would have guessed, eh?" Nicky knows he sounds inane, but he can see Joe doing the math in his head, tallying up all the things Nicky must have heard. "Sorry if I made too much noise coming in last night." There are so many things Nicky could say, words that might hurt or sting, reassure or soothe. Instead, he chooses to tell an enormous lie. "I passed out before midnight, so I didn't hear a thing." Joe blinks, and the anxious look falls from his face. "I'll try to keep it down tonight, yeah? Or maybe I'll just stay in." "As long as you're good to do the driving tomorrow, that's all that matters to me." Is the smile on Nicky's face easy and carefree? He hopes like hell it is, or he's biting his tongue for no good reason at all.  Coffee settles the last of Nicky's irritation, and their merry band enjoys a day of wandering the streets and looking into every old building on Joe's list, no matter how boring. ("It's not boring, Nicky. It's a historical landmark."  "It's boring, Joe. Trust me on this. It's the bare room above a cafe currently advertising a lunch special that includes sprouted grain bread. I don't care who spent six months here four hundred years ago. It's boring." Joe huffs until their next stop, where Nicky allows as how, okay, yes, given that it has furniture and boasts some notorious past residents, this one isn't boring. Then Joe talks about architecture for almost an hour, and Nicky questions so many of his choices.) After dinner, Nicky stretches extravagantly and announces he's turning in early. "So many interesting buildings today!" Joe kicks him under the table and tells him to enjoy his book. "Are you going out?" "No, I'll probably just go over the maps for tomorrow and make an early night of it." Sure. To his credit, Joe doesn't leave the hotel that night. He does, however, pick up a guy in the hotel lounge and invite him up for a look at Joe's etchings. Nicky hears Joe's door slam open just after midnight and reassures himself that at least it can't be worse than last night. He's seldom been so wrong. The deeper of the two voices, the one who isn't Joe, says, "You want to--" and Nicky can't make out the rest of the words. He can make out Joe's answer. "Maybe you should do the work." The guy laughs, and Nicky realizes that he's about to have to hear Joe getting fucked by someone else's cock. This is so, so much worse than last night. In most of his life, Joe is funny, but not loud. He's enthusiastic but not exactly chatty. He tends to wait for just the right time to make just the right remark. Why then, must Joe fuck like he's narrating a sex documentary? It's worse tonight than the other two nights combined. Nicky is struggling to believe that he isn't doing this on purpose. Abandoning any sense of self-restraint, Nicky climbs out of bed, puts his ear against the wall, and pulls his cock out of his boxers. Joe sounds like he has his mouth against Nicky's ear. "Just like--yeah. No, I don't need--enough with the fingers, just give it to me, make me feel it!" Nicky's slept with enough partners to know that size doesn't make up for technique, but that doesn't stop him from having a brief moment of smug victory, knowing that no matter how many fingers are involved first, when Nicky fucks someone, they feel it. He doesn't often get that far; it's true. Even partners who say, "No really, I'm a size queen," tend to be daunted by what Nicky brings to the table. Lately, he's concentrated on improving his technique at things that aren't penetration and waiting as long as he can before letting the cat out of the bag. So to speak. Especially when he really likes someone. And he really likes Joe. He really likes Joe. "Like that?" the guy asks. "Listen to me," Joe says, and Nicky swallows hard. "You're going to spread me open, feel how ready I am for you, and then you're going to give it to me just the way I want. Just the way you've wanted to. Aren't you?" Lower this time, like it's only for Nicky on the other side of the wall. "Just the way you've wanted to for days." That fucker. Nicky grabs his jeans and pulls them on like the building is on fire. Thank god his phone and room key are still in the pocket. At first, the only response to Nicky's fist thumping against Joe's door is a muffled, "One second!" "Nicky," Joe says as he opens the door, nonchalant in the way only a man wearing nothing but scarlet red briefs and a backward baseball cap can be. "To what do I owe--" "Just the way I've wanted to?" Joe adjusts himself in his underwear. "Yes," he breathes. Nicky can see Joe's pulse in his throat. "Hey," the stranger standing behind Joe says. "We were in the middle of--" "Get. Out." Sure, it's not his place to be ordering around Joe's company, but before Nicky can backtrack, Joe chimes in. "The bartender said he thought your ass looked amazing and asked if you were single. If you get down there before closing, you've got a chance." He grumbles, but as soon as his jeans are on, he's gone. "Maybe I was enjoying that," Joe says. He's smirking. What possesses Nicky, he'll never know. "Maybe I didn't feel like listening to you accept second best for the third night in a row." "Nicky." "Were you enjoying that?" "Not as much as I'm going to enjoy this." Joe grabs the waistband of Nicky's jeans and pulls him into the room. "Take your hat off." "I like my hat." "I hate your hat, but more importantly, it's going to fall off in bed anyway." "What if I don't want to do this in bed?" "Trust me; no one wants to be on their feet that long." Joe's eyes go wide. "Oh, this is going to be fun." He tosses his cap onto a chair and backs Nicky up against the closed door. "Was I right? Have you been thinking about this for days?" "What do you think?" Digging his teeth into his lower lip, Joe smirks. "I think now I understand why you almost knocked your coffee into your lap two days ago." "Did you—" "Months, Nicky. I have been dreaming of having you in my bed for months. And I've been actively fantasizing about it for—" he checks his wrist, where he's not wearing a watch "—almost fifteen hours now." He leans in, resting his forehead against Nicky's. "Hey," he says, and it's barely more than a whisper. "Hey." "Kiss me." Nicky falls into the kiss like he's diving off a cliff, losing himself in a flurry of groping hands, panting breaths, and the tug of teeth on lips. "You were right. I've been thinking about this for days." "Show me," Joe says, flopping back onto his pillow, his limbs spread across the white sheets. It feels like hours before Nicky finally gets Joe's underwear off and throws it across the room. Hours of deep, longing kisses. Hours of Joe arching under his touch, moaning as Nicky kisses the curve of each muscle and jut of each bone. He drags his hands up and down Joe's legs for as long as he wants to, learning the shape of them. Joe deserves to be learned. There will never be enough kisses to properly blanket Joe's cock, but Nicky tries. He laps his way up the shaft, noses at the base of it, and kisses the crease of Joe's hip and groin. "Nicky." Joe cups his chin, and Nicky turns into the touch, kissing Joe's palm. Tilting Nicky's face up, he says, "I love feeling your mouth on me, but I want to feel you everywhere." Nodding, Nicky drops kisses up his forearm, across his shoulders. Six kisses are placed with such precision that Joe can't help but notice. "What are—" "Freckles. Those are the freckles I've seen for so long, and I've always wanted to kiss them." Joe's voice is little more than breath. "I believe you." There is devotion in the way Nicky touches him, reverence for the shape of his wrists, and adoration for the rise of his chest. "I would love to lay here and let you explore for hours, but I have plans for you." "Do you?" Nicky kisses Joe's nipple, swiping his tongue across it. Clutching his hair, Joe pulls him closer. "I do. The first plan is for you to do that some more while I explain the rest of the plans." Nicky grins against Joe's skin, sucking and licking. And listening, always listening. "What don't you like?" Joe asks. Nicky gives him the list, it's pretty standard, and Joe isn't surprised by any of it. "And if I told you that of all the things I've done this week, I still haven't gotten to do my favorite, what would you say then?" Switching sides, Nicky tugs at Joe's other nipple with his teeth. "I'd say I've been hearing your noises for days, and all I've wanted is for you to make those same noises for me. Whatever it takes. Tell me. Joe, please." Fingers rake through Nicky's hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. "So eager, I like that. All I've wanted all day is to come with you inside me. Your tongue, your fingers, your cock, all of it. I want you filling me every possible way." Nicky grinds his hips down into the bed, grateful that he's got his jeans on still. "I even got myself nice and clean before I went downstairs tonight." Nicky could ask why, if Joe wanted him so badly, he was willing to take some stranger instead, but he decides, on balance, he doesn't give a shit. He's the one who's here now, he's the one with his hands and teeth and mouth on Joe, and he doesn't care how he got here or who was here before. "Look how big your eyes are. You like that idea, don't you?" Nicky nods. "Good." Joe starts arranging pillows, but just before he rolls onto his front, Nicky stops him with a hand on his hip. "I just need—" he bends and kisses the shaft of Joe's cock, flushed dark against the sheets. "Nicky." Joe's voice is so fond. "I'm just rolling over. I'm not shipping it off to boarding school." Shrugging, Nicky refuses to apologize for his enthusiasm. Joe grabs the lube from the bedside table and tosses it to him before flopping onto his belly, his hips lifted by the pillow and wriggling a little as if he knows precisely how enticing a picture he makes. "So I've been settling for second best for days, have I?" He grins at Nicky. "Go ahead, show me." If Nicky had the slightest question about what he should do, for how long, or if he was doing it right, he needn't have worried. "Let me feel your mouth. Want you to get me ready for your fingers." Under Nicky's tongue, Joe howls and moans, praising him and asking for more, harder, faster. "Good, so good. Love how you lick me and get me so wet and soft for you. Now, fuck me with your pretty tongue, sweetheart." Gripping the meat of Joe's ass in his palms, digging his fingers in to spread Joe wide, Nicky fucks his tongue into Joe's hole over and over, listening to Joe's moans, tracking what makes him get louder, what makes him lose his words entirely and just groan. "Oh, yes, just like that. Giving me just what I need like you were made for me. Fuck!" Joe pushes back against Nicky's face, and he feels his nose grind against Joe's tailbone. "Fingers. Nicky, give me your fingers. I need them filling me, fucking me." Nicky dips two spit-slick fingers into Joe's soft hole, and he bucks so hard he nearly throws Nicky off the bed. He gets louder and more insistent when he wants another, telling Nicky how much lube to use, how to twist as he pushes in, how to run his thumb around the rim on the outside. When Nicky gets it just right, Joe howls and Nicky has to fight not to come just from hearing it. "I love being full like this. Love it so much, fuck you're so good. I love being stretched just a little more than I'm ready for, want to still feel it tomorrow." Nicky pulls out, then pushes back in with four fingers instead of three, and Joe's moan is muffled, like he's got his face in the pillows or his fist in his mouth. "Deeper, get it—yeah, like that. You're so perfect for me." When Joe's moans quiet a bit, Nicky ducks his head in, licking around where his fingers are pushing in, and Joe keens into his fist. "You know what I'm doing right now, Nicky? I'm fucking myself against this pillow and thinking about how good your cock is going to feel inside me." Nicky tries not to wince. Not tonight. That's too soon. He curls his thumb into the other four fingers, fucking Joe with them and hoping that he'll be so full, so overwhelmed, that he won't realize Nicky is stalling. Besides, Nicky loves it like this the first time. When Joe asks what he has to do to get Nicky to fuck him, there's no point in being dishonest. "Please. Let me give you what you want without being distracted by what I want. I love your sounds and the way you're moving against me; you have the most perfect ass, and I'm—" He's what? He's worshipping it, but he knows that's too much for the first night, even if it's true. "Please," he says again, kissing the curve of Joe's ass. Joe hums, happy, and wriggles around Nicky's fingers. "Go on then, show me how special I am to you, Nicky." He reaches back with one hand, and Nicky takes it with his clean one, squeezing gently. He dribbles a bit more lube onto his fingers, stretching Joe even wider with one hand while he strokes Joe's balls with the other. He worms his way up under Joe's body to thumb the head of his cock and never stops talking about how gorgeous Joe is, the way his back looks in the light, covered in a sheen of sweat and bunching with every roll of Joe's hips. Over and over, Nicky says how much he's wanted this, how he's ached to hear Joe fall apart like this for longer than he can remember. When his fingers brush that spot inside Joe, it's all over. "I'm—Fuck—Nicky!" His hole is like a vise around Nicky's fingers, clenching down with every pulse of his cock against the sheets. The strangled sound of Joe's voice, the heat of him around Nicky's fingers, has Nicky chasing his own release. The back of his neck feels like it's on fire. Joe's skin, the dark hairs dusted across his ass, are soft under Nicky's lips. Against his cock, the rough weave of denim is just the right side of too much as he fucks himself against it, grinding into the sensation and licking the salt from Joe's skin. He lets go, finally, with a startled gasp and the rush of electricity hurtling along his nerves. These jeans are going to be disgusting, but it's entirely worth it. When most of the aftershocks have passed, Nicky slips his fingers free, heart twisting when Joe moans, plaintive and sad at the empty feeling they leave behind. Each knob of Joe's spine feels precious as Nicky kisses his way up them. He drags his nose across the back of Joe's neck. "Are you good for a minute?" Joe nods, every muscle lax but for his smile. It's still there, that smile, waiting for Nicky when he comes back with freshly brushed teeth, a full glass of water, and a warm, wet washcloth. Lazy and sweet, Joe lets himself be wiped clean, kissed, and coddled. "Wait," he finally says, his voice a little muzzy. "What about—" "Not an issue." "But you didn't—" "Yes, I did." He almost laughs at Joe's adorably confused face. "Do you have any idea how hot you are when you come?" Adorably confused fades into soft and sweet as Joe smiles at him and opens his arms. "Come here?" Gladly, helplessly, Nicky falls into that embrace. He tucks his nose into the curve of Joe's neck and sighs, happier than he knows how to say. One of Joe's hands rests on Nicky's head, fingers idly toying with his hair. Nicky kisses all the skin he can reach without moving his head and whispers. "Sleep now. More later." If Joe wonders why Nicky still has his jeans on, he's asleep before he can ask. Slipping a note under Joe's hand — 'Gone for food, back soon, don't start anything without me— Nicky ducks into his room and roots around in his bag until he finds his favorite pajama pants and a hoodie that mostly doesn't have any holes in it. Mostly. The sum of Joe's movement while Nicky was gone amounts to burying his face further into the pillow and getting a good start on an impressive puddle of drool. He wakes up, barely when Nicky sits on the bed. "'S that coffee?" Joe clutches the cup with greedy fingers. "It's just you and me now, sweetheart. You're everything I need." "Are you talking to me or the coffee?" Joe blinks. "Sure." That wasn't an answer, but honestly, Nicky wasn't expecting one. He grins and kisses Joe's sleepy smile. "I brought breakfast, too.'" Nicky sits cross-legged on the bed, passing Joe bits of pastry while they talk about what the rest of the trip holds. Brushing the crumbs from his hands, Nicky reaches for his orange juice. "What about today?" he asks. "Today's original plan was to get an early start and get to the standing stones before the crowds get bad, but I think a better plan is for us to call for a late check-out and for you to fuck me stupid." It's perfectly timed. Nicky chokes, sputters, and spits an entire mouthful of juice down the front of his hoodie. "You? Are a little shit." "True," Joe says, raising his coffee cup in a makeshift toast. "But I'm a little shit with a perfect ass. You said so yourself." Nicky grumbles the entire time he's stripping off his hoodie and swabbing the juice from his chest and arms. Fortunately, Joe doesn't believe a word of it. "You have to admit," Joe says as Nicky wanders back from the toilet, "it's not a bad plan for th—" His words just. Stop. "Joe?" Nicky gets only confused blinking in response. "Joe!" "Nicky, I'm—do you know how thin those pajama bottoms are?" Shit. Nicky looks down, and the thin, drapey fabric is clinging to every line of his lower body. No running from it now. "Is that...?" "Yes?" "Oh. Oh my God, Nicky." "Listen. It's fine, Joe. If you never want to, it's fine." "Wh—" Nicky holds his hand up, staring at the floor. "I will completely understand, and I won't take it personally. I'm used to partners balking at the reality, and I don't blame them. We can do so many other things, and all of them are better than you agreeing to something you think you want and then gritting your teeth through it just to avoid hurting my feelings. If—" "Stop! Nicky. What the fuck are you talking about?" "I'm talking about how despite, what porn would have you believe, there is such a thing as 'too big.'" "Why don't you let me decide that, hmm?" He waits until Nicky is meeting his eyes again. "Can I see?" Sighing, Nicky tugs the drawstring until the knot slips free and his pajama bottoms puddle around his feet. He stares at his ankles for a while, waiting for a sound, a question, anything. Eventually, he looks up, expecting to see that same disappointed confusion he's used to seeing on the faces of people who've seen him nude. Joe is. Joe is not disappointed. If his saucer-wide eyes and the way his tongue keeps darting out to wet his lower lip are to be believed, he's very, very interested. "I'm going to need a much bigger plug." What? "What?" "Come here." Joe looks up, meeting Nicky's stare, and pats the bed. "Come. Here." Stepping out of the pool of fabric around his ankles, Nicky climbs onto the bed, stretching out beside Joe. "Can I?" The panic is starting to wear off, and Nicky can feel parts of his body start to take an interest in the proceedings. Joe's voice sounds a little desperate as he watches Nicky start to harden. "Can I please?" Nicky checks, but there's no fear on Joe's face, no reservation, just an open, eager hunger. "Okay. Yeah. If you want." There's something smartass right on the tip of Joe's tongue; Nicky can almost hear it, but rather than let it out, Joe smiles at him. "It's going to be okay, babe. I promise." When his fingers circle Nicky's shaft and barely touch, a slightly hysterical giggle burbles out of Joe's throat. He arranges himself so his head is resting on Nicky's thigh, then glances up at him. "Stop me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? It would break my heart to hurt you." Smiling, Nicky nods and strokes Joe's cheekbone with his thumb. Joe, for his part, looks exactly like someone who'd written off all hope of wonder in his life only to find his Hogwarts acceptance letter in the post. He's lavishing affection on Nicky's cock, soft, sweet kisses, and gentle licks. Nicky is too turned on to be embarrassed by the display. His size has ruined relationships in the past. His love life is littered with people who said they could handle it, couldn't, and then resented him for their own guilt and insecurity. But here is this man Nicky's completely gone for, has been for years, and he's just rubbing his face on it like it's a kitten. Things seem to be going well, but Nicky's still tense, his shoulders creeping up around his ears and his neck muscles in knots. When Joe kisses the wet, pink head, Nicky jerks like he's been shocked, covering his eyes with his hand. The rushing in his ears fades, and the murmuring he's been hearing becomes Joe's voice, so quiet Nicky can barely hear it. As Joe's words finally take shape in Nicky's ear, he snaps his mouth shut on a laugh. "Don't listen to him," Joe says like he's gentling a skittish horse. "I like you just the way you are, and I think we're going to be very good friends." Nicky looks down, just to be sure, but no, Joe's not talking to Nicky. "Baby, it can't answer you." Joe looks up at him, stern-faced. "Hush," he scolds. We're getting to know each other." Nicky's bark of laugher is so loud, he startles himself. Joe's voice drops again as his attention returns to the matter at hand. "Other people might think you're scary, but I know better. It just takes patience, doesn't it? We're going to be just fine." Nicky laughs until tears are rolling down his temples and into his hair. Joe's right; whatever else happens, even if the rest of the things they try today are a complete bust, it's going to be okay. He's starting to lose himself in the fuzzy warmth of the moment when Joe slips his mouth over the tip, and Nicky nearly swallows his tongue. Head thrown back, tears in his eyes, Nicky gasps as he feels that warm, clever tongue for the first time. Joe has as much as he can in his mouth while his grip skates up and down the shaft. He's jerking Nicky off onto his tongue, and it feels so good Nicky wants to cry. It's been at least a year since the last time someone tried to do this for him, and even that devolved into the other party sighing like it was a burden and telling Nicky all the things he'd need to do to pay them back. More often, people bolted. Not Joe. He's holding Nickys' cock in one hand and his balls with the other, mouthing along the shaft and tracing the veins with his tongue. When Joe pushes up, so the head is covered, then slips his tongue between Nicky's cock and foreskin, tracing circles and kissing the shiny pink tip, pulling at the skin with his lips, Nicky wails. It pierces the air as he arches off the bed, hands scrabbling at the sheets, trying not to grab Joe's head and fuck deep into that perfect mouth. Sensing Nicky is close to his limit, Joe pulls off and rests his head on Nicky's thigh. He kisses a patch of skin and smiles. "So you thought I'd, what? Run? Ghost you while we're in a foreign country? Suffer and guilt you for it later?" "Maybe." It sounds stupid when Joe says it aloud, but that's the voice Nicky's been hearing in his head for years. "You wouldn't have been the first." "Oh, Nicky. How many things do you suppose you can be wrong about in just a couple of hours?" "Many. Apparently." "Whereas I am an expert in what I like and want. So, rather than trying to read my mind, why don't you let me handle the decisions from here, eh?" Nicky folds his hands behind his head, smiling at Joe. "And what should I do?" "Whatever I tell you." Somehow, even with his spit-slick cock still pulsing against his belly and the memory of Joe's hole around his tongue, Nicky manages to blush at that remark. "Nothing makes me feel as good as being filled," Joe says. "Overfilled, even. From the first cock I ever had inside me, I've loved that. I need you to fuck me, Nicky." Glassy-eyed, Nicky nods. "I can do that. We can go slow and work our way there. I can finger you some more tonight, and then after we're back home, we can—Ow!" Rubbing his temple, Nicky looks around him for the culprit. "Did you just throw lube at me?" "Your noble spirit is one of the things I like best about you, Nicolò, but your listening skills need work. Fuck. Me." "But—" "Now." "Not—" "Okay, not now, but soon. Right after you've given me all those lovely fingers again and stretched me out nice and wide." He kisses Nicky's belly, worries one of Nicky's nipples with his teeth, and says into Nicky's ear, "Not too wide, though. I fucking love feeling the stretch for days after. Please, Nicky." When it seems like Nicky might still be hesitating, Joe adds, "Are you telling me you don't want to see this—" he grips Nicky's cock, squeezing gently "—fucking into what you insist is a perfect ass?" "Jesus, Joe." Back on his belly, head pillowed on his arms, Joe looks like a more thoroughly debauched version of himself the night before. "Oh wait, hand me the—" he gestures toward the bedside table. Confused, Nicky passes the phone to him. The front desk is very understanding about extending the reservation for Joe's room. He looks back over his shoulder at Nicky. "You have five minutes to get your stuff in a bag and get back in here, or I'm starting without you." It takes less than three. Plus another thirty seconds to go back and get his charging cable. "I'm still loose from last night, but I bet if you made me come right away, I'd be even more relaxed for everything else." He laughs at Nicky's expression and rolls onto his back. "You have the most amazing smile. I've been dying to know what it looks like wrapped around me." Nicky's listening skills seem to be improving. He dribbles lube over his fingers, slipping them into Joe's ass while he sucks the head of Joe's cock. If Joe fucks like he's narrating a sex documentary, he gets head like he's conducting an orchestra, with plenty of precise directions and enthusiastic responses. Nicky knows he's good in bed; that's never been a problem as long as he could get that far, in part because he pays attention. He takes care to listen to what Joe says, to learn Joe's wants and sensitive spots, because they are definitely doing this again. Sooner than Nicky expects, Joe's grip on his shoulder gets tight and he bucks, hissing as his cock jerks and pulses. Nicky moans, swallowing everything Joe gives him. He was right. An orgasm does make Joe much more pliant and easy as Nicky stretches him around three and then four and then five fingers bunched together. Every new angle makes Joe groan, but never with that snap of pain. Nicky's considering switching hands when Joe says, "I'm ready." "Are you—" "I appreciate your concern, but yes. I'm very, very sure." Nicky fishes in his shower bag until he finds a handful of condoms. Two of them haven't expired yet, excellent. "How do you—" "There are companies that make them in specialty sizes." "I'm happy you packed them, even if you thought you'd never use them." Nicky shrugs as he rolls the condom on. "Hope springs eternal." He kneels on the bed, one hand on Joe's chest. "I just want to say again—" "Shh." Joe tugs at his arm until Nicky is stretched above him, snug in the splayed-wide cradle of Joe's hips. "It's just that you don't have to—" "Nicky." Reaching down, Joe positions the head of Nicky's cock so it's pressing against his soft, stretched hole. "We can just—" Joe pinches one of Nicky's nipples, twisting it as he says, "Why is your cock not inside me yet?" "I'm-- Nevermind," Nicky says. He drops his hips enough to press the tip into Joe, and fuck, he's so hot inside. Even this little bit. "Joe. Fuck. I'm." Nicky squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate, trying to keep rocking in, over and over, pushing a little deeper each time rather than sinking himself, all at once, into all that impossibly tight heat. "Oh, Joe. I'm--oh god. Oh." Opening his eyes, Nicky sees Joe staring up at him. "Your face. I want to remember your face right now." Nicky grits his teeth, rolling his head on his neck, trying to gather his wits. "Please, does it feel--fuck, Joe, tell me if you're okay." He's been holding so still for so long, but just then, Nicky's toe slips against the sheet, shifting his hips and driving his cock further into Joe. Arching his back, Joe goes silent for a heartbeat, then sobs, his fingers digging into Nicky's shoulders. Nicky freezes. "Joe?" Nothing. "Joe!" When they open, Joe's eyes are nearly black, and it feels like they're staring into Nicky's heart. Every muscle in his body is tense like he might burst apart in a spray of shards if Joe bucked his hips up even a little. Joe reaches up to cup Nicky's cheek. "Hey." It's a little slurred but heartfelt and so achingly sweet it makes Nicky want to hold him for hours. "If you don't stop worrying and rail me into this mattress, I'll throw you over, climb on, and do it myself. How's that for okay?" He pats Nicky's face twice, each time hard enough for it to nearly count as a slap. Nicky drops his head until it's resting against Joe's. He takes a second to steal a kiss before saying, "Okay," with the barest huff of a laugh. "Okay. I get it." "Do you?" Clutching the back of Nicky's neck, Joe holds him there, looking into his eyes and using one heel to drive Nicky's hips forward. Joe's "Fuck," goes on for at least a second. "Every time you go deeper, I feel you stretching my hole again. It's perfect. God, Nicky, it's perfect." Hesitant but hopeful, Nicky slicks more lube over the part of him that's not buried inside Joe and sinks down even more.  It takes... a while. Nicky's not watching the clock, or he'd start to get paranoid about being too slow or too fast. Instead, he's watching Joe's face, stopping whenever his eyebrows pinch together, or he hisses, "Just.. one second." Once Nicky is halfway in, he asks, "Can I move more?" "Yes, Nicky, please!" A few experimental strokes later, Nicky's rocking his hips down, fucking more than half his length into Joe, who is moaning and wriggling under Nicky's weight. That would have been enough. That would have been more than enough, but Joe reaches down to feel where they're joined together and says, "You've been holding out on me." "I can't—" He yelps as Joe hooks a heel under his knee and rolls them, doing his best to keep Nicky inside him. "I said I'd do it. Did you think I was joking?" Nicky's wanted to kiss that smirk every time he's seen it for the last six months. This time he does. The kiss turns filthy and slick, and Nicky finds himself gasping into Joe's mouth as Joe fucks himself down onto Nicky relentlessly. It's overwhelming and more than Nicky's had for so long. "That's good, Nicky, perfect, just like—more, yes!" Nicky's thighs are trembling, still trying to accept that Joe wants him to fuck deeper into his sweet, hungry ass, when Joe clenches down and winks. Shaking as his vision goes white for a second, Nicky chokes out, "Baby—" "Yeah?" "You feel so good. It's—so good. Baby, please!" It's everything Nicky can do not to come right this second. He tastes blood at the spot where his teeth have dug into his lower lip, but he doesn't stop moving. He doesn't even realize that Joe's taken his entire length until Joe sits up, wrapping a hand around his cock and grinding his ass into Nicky's hips. "It is good, isn't it? And we're only going to get better." Fuck, Joe is bouncing on him now. "We're going to get so good that you can make me come just from feeling you inside me, fucking me. I won't even need my hand." That hand. The one that's lazily stroking his shaft as Joe drops down onto Nicky again and again. With every stroke, Joe twists his wrist, his forearm flexing and his fingers tightening. It’s mesmerizing. Pleasure, pure and bright, thrums in Nicky’s veins. The idea of Joe falling apart, making himself a come-streaked mess just from feeling Nicky fuck him, is too much. Gripping Joe's hips, Nicky clenches his teeth and pumps into him. "Baby, I can't—" "Go ahead." "You—" "No, sweetheart," Joe traces Nicky's lower lip. "Not this time. This time I want to wait until I feel you getting thicker and pulsing inside me. When you're finished, and your cock is all sensitive? That's when I want to come around you." "Jesus, Joe!" He laughs, and that's the last thing Nicky hears before his climax tightens his belly and steals his breath. By the time Nicky comes back to himself, his hair is tingling, and Joe is moaning, gripping his cock just below the flushed purple head and stroking like he's trying to win a race. "Good, that's just what—I'm—"When Joe comes, his entire body clenches, his already tight hole getting even tighter. That alone would have been enough to overwhelm Nicky, but combining it with the hot splash of Joe's come against his belly makes Nicky sob and dig his fingers into Joe's ass. In the silence that follows, it's Joe who speaks first, dropping down until he's close enough to kiss Nicky and saying, "That was just what I needed," before sealing their mouths together. Sighing, Nicky strokes his tongue across Joe's, runs his hands up and down Joe's thighs. "Hold on," he says, just before he gathers Joe to his chest, hauling him up until Nickys cock slips free. In the space of a blink, his fingers have replaced it, but Joe still moans and grumbles. "I was enjoying that." "That was going to change in a few seconds. Try and remember the last time you left a really big toy in for too long and then had to pull it out after you'd gotten extra sensitive." Joe hisses. "Exactly. Besides, this is nice, too." Joe's head is tucked under Nicky's chin, and his back is warm beneath Nicky's hand. "Going to be sticky in a minute." "It's already sticky," Nicky says. "Going to be itchy in a minute." "You have a point." As before, Nicky comes back with water and a warm, wet cloth to clean them both. Joe, having gotten the bossiness fucked out of him, at least for the moment, is content to be pampered and cared for, drinking most of the water and sighing extravagantly, as Nicky wipes away the mess. Back in bed, Nicky lets his mind drift for a while, happy to think about nothing at all until he hears Joe talking. Facing Nicky's feet, head resting on his belly, Joe's words are barely above a whisper. Nicky tugs at his curls. "What are you doing, Joe?" "Little Nicky and I are—" "No." "Don't you want us to get along?" "I will kill you, Joe. I swear to God. I don't care how magical your ass is." The laughter in his voice renders any threat meaningless. "Have I told you how pretty you are?" Joe coos. "Stop talking to my dick.” "He can't keep us apart, baby—" "I will put it away!" Joe kisses the shaft, patting it. "He's so mean." Apparently, this is something Nicky's just going to have to learn to live with. Hopefully, for a very, very long time.

“Enter”   The tone was frosty, much like his reception was likely to be. Alec took a deep breath and was about to reach with a semi shaky hand to open the doors when Isabelle grabbed at his shaking hand with her own and held on tight. He looked at her questioningly, his attention grabbed.   She smiled reassuringly with a pale face, as though she was the one about to face the guillotine. Alec refrained from looking to his empty other side, the side where his brother, his precious parabatai should be stood by his side at this moment. It should be three of them stood there, they were stronger as a trio, he attempted to expel the thought. Jace was gone and that was something he had to just get over. He had Isabelle and that alone meant all the world to him.   Once she had heard what had happened, her jaw had tightened, her shoulders had squared and she had simply refused to listen to reason that he was going to face their parents alone, that this was one fight he was ready to deal with.   She wasn’t going to let him stand alone.   “Ready big bro?” she whispered,   Alec rolled his shoulders and refrained from sighing in pleasure when they cracked. At once there was a release of pressure and he knew that alongside his sister he was finally ready to face his parents. As much as he had had been ready to do it alone, he was glad that he didn’t have to.   She stepped forward and pushed their parent’s office door open with her free hand, leading the two of them in. Their pale hands still linked together in solidarity. Their parents were stood apart, their mother was stood in front of the large central desk, it was clear that before they had knocked she had been leaning across it, pointing at whatever the two of them had been looking at.   Their father was behind the desk, he looked grossly unhappy, not that he would ever say anything if he was. His eyes brightened when he saw his daughter but then seemed confused when he remembered the situation that they were in and who they had called to come and see them.   Maryse’s eyes were glued to their joint hands and stance of solidarity.   “Isabelle, is there a reason that you’re here?” she asked calmly, looking her daughter in the eye as she crossed her arms across her ample chest. Izzy tightened her grip on Alec’s hand betraying her nerves to him but outwardly it didn’t portray.   “For Alec,” she replied nonchalantly.   Maryse’s lips tightened at the manner of her daughter’s tone. Robert went for the peace maker, good cop role, “Isabelle, there is no need for you to be worried, we’re just concerned about your brother and –“   “-Magnus is an honourable man,” Isabelle spoke over him, “and Alec likes men, that isn’t going to change. Don’t you want him to be happy? Don’t you want us to be happy? We don’t choose who we love.” She continued, hazel eyes burning with the passion of her words.   Alec stood like an ice statue, they’d already lost this conversation, he could feel it.   There were two ways it was going to go: bad or worse than bad.   Maryse laughed bitterly, “Don’t be naïve, he is several hundreds of years old, you don’t know him to know who he is. He is and always will be a Downworlder.” She paused and changed courses after receiving a warning look from her husband and an outraged look from her daughter, “Of course we do want your brother to be happy and if that isn’t with the Branwell girl then fine. If he says he likes men then not ideal but we can deal, strong partnerships can still be made,”   Alec was frustrated, it was always about duty and partnerships. It was like he was a tool for them to use to better their stance as a family. Because he was the eldest he was the piece they used to do their bidding. They didn’t care about him as a person or even as a son.   What about what he wanted?   Isabelle snorted and stepped forward into an aggressive stance, letting go of Alec’s hand as she shook a finger at her mother, “Listen to yourself! Even as a so called Downworlder Magnus has more honour in his left toe than you have in your whole body!” she bit out enraged.   Her outburst sparked Maryse, like mother like daughter. After all, whilst opposites attracted, likes repelled. Maryse and Isabelle Lightwood were cut from the same cloth and were exceedingly likeminded when it came to their personality.   “Regardless of the way you feel, do not forget who you are talking to!” she bristled as she took stepped forward to take a more offensive position, “I am not only your mother but the head of this institute and I won’t be spoken to like the common trash you hang out with,”   Izzy momentarily recoiled as though stunned her mother could land such low blows to her own child, Alec on the other hand was used to being spoken to in such light. Whilst he and his mother generally seemed to have a good relationship in the past, it was only as long as he did as he was told.   The words flew harsh and cold when he stepped out or line – or – more correctly when Jace and Izzy stepped out of line and he hadn’t been quick enough to fix or cover their tracks before the whispers got back to their parent’s ears.   Robert moved around the table and gently rested his arms on Maryse’s shoulders as though massaging them to calm her down. The Lightwood women had always been particularly volatile, “Let’s just take a moment, Maryse I understand that you’re upset and I too must say that I don’t understand where Alec is coming from. However our difficult isn’t with Isabelle,”   Maryse scoffed, as disgusted as she was with Alec, he was her preferred child - of these two anyways - obviously Jace was the golden child. She would always have difficulty with Isabelle, partly for making the same mistakes she did as a young Shadowhunter, and refusing to listen to the wisdom that Maryse had tried to pass on to her, knowing - or at least assuming she knew - how the road was going to end.   “She isn’t without fault, if she had learnt way back when to keep her legs shut perhaps Alec would have had more success in keeping the three of them out of trouble,” she snapped, Alec seemed to melt from his frozen statue.   He had let it slide previously, but he wasn’t going to let it slide again.   Especially not when Izzy was standing there defending him whilst he stood like a lemon.   “Don’t talk about her like that! How can you stand there and talk about your daughter like that,” Alec demanded furiously, unfolding his slumped shoulders and standing to his full height. He didn’t know what image he was portraying but both his parents seemed taken aback … literally. They leant away from him and gave disbelieving looks like they couldn't quite be sure that their eldest hadn't been swapped with a shapeshifter.   Maryse however, was too used to lording over her children, to stand for them attempting a coup and recovered fairly rapidly.   “I will talk to you both however I wish, you are both of my bloodline, of my body and of my resources. Your duties are as I tell you! I allowed you to get away with so much as long as you played by the rules, the law is hard but it is the law and that is how it has always been. You are my children but first you are my Shadowhunters, I have raised you as my parents raised me, as their parents raised them. You are warriors, not silly little mundanes. I will not tolerate this foolish behaviour! Not now, not when the stakes are this high!”   Three sets of eyes looked at her in shock at the outburst, Maryse was not one to shout. There was no doubt that the pressure that they must have both been under was formidable but for her to lose, the stern battle axe persona that she usually portrayed was unusual, to say the least.   Alec couldn’t help it, he laughed.   Three sets of eyes shot to him next, but rather than shock they were almost alarmed, as though he had lost some screws and had finally gone mad. There was absolutely nothing funny about what Maryse had shouted at them and that was exactly why he laughed. He laughed to stop from crying, it was so remarkably sad and infuriating that she honestly felt that way.   “…You’re pathetic,” he croaked, voice husky from barked laughter, the silence was deafening, he reached up with a shaking hand to wipe away a stray tear of fake mirth, “I don’t know what’s more ridiculous that you honestly see us as tools of war before your children. Or that you honestly think that you can control us forever through fear and bullying,”   he was an enlightened man,   Maryse’s face darkened, “How dare you! You think you’re so knowledgeable but you’re just a child. You know nothing about what is going on here! You don’t know what we’ve sacrificed for you!” she seethed, she threw her arm out to push Robert away and stalked towards her son with intent.   It was like a red mist had overcome her.   Alec didn’t give two shits, he was on a roll for once. He was done being the punching bag. If he was going down, he was at least going to make sure that he had his word and he gave them a message to take home when the day was done.   “I know that you were in the circle with the very man back to kill us all, you still share his hate for Downworlders. You haven’t sacrificed a single thing for us unless it’s got you in a better position.” He turned to look at his father’s blanched face, “And you, for shame! As always you stand back and let her treat us like this. Secretly the good guy behind her back with your little gifts, is this how you’ve dealt with her lying back to further the Lightwood name in Idris? How else would ex Circle members be valued as anything but scum?”   He never saw it coming,   Maryse herself couldn’t actually pinpoint when the thought transferred to action,   Izzy gasped so sharply she almost choked on it,   Robert’s eyes widened comically wide and he lunged forward for his wife,   The doors blew open like an explosive device had been strapped to them, the hinges, door frame and walls holding them were left in tatters.   A very fucking angry Warlock stalked in.       Now he wasn’t saying the blast was akin to a nuclear weapon if one was dropped upon some doors, but when he says he blew the bloody doors off. He meant he blew the bloody doors off. Such was his rage that, he didn’t just burst the doors open as he had thought he would when he waved his hands at them. He motherfucking smashed those bad boys off their hinges, they’d never be getting doors back on there – hell – he’d left craters in the walls let alone just blown the doors off. So no, he hadn’t quite dropped a nuclear bomb on the doors but he’d done the equivalent of it – if – there was such a thing.   No one messed with his Nephilim.   No one.   Maryse and Robert had their Shadowhunter toys at the ready, they must have thought they were being invaded.   In a way they were, by a really freaking pissed off Warlock,   With a thoughtless swish of his hand, like swatting an annoying fly, their toys were just that. He hoped whomever he swapped them with was at least responsible but at that moment he didn’t give a single damn. Once track mind and that.   He spared Isabelle a glance, the horror stricken look barely covered by the pure relief at his arrive – he usually loved being fashionably late - an unfortunate thing in this instance. Isabelle had warned him of the meeting and her concerns and he'd been unable to shake the bad feeling and made himself available.  Whilst Isabelle was looking rather relieved at his presence she wasn’t quite able to mask the unease at the raw power crackling around the room.   Sparks of electric blue, appearing and disappearing sporadically around the room like sparks of electricity.   He gracefully dropped to his knees besides his dear Shadowhunter, his eyes covered by his hair and his almost bloodless hands covering a red smarting cheek.   A slender tanned hand reached out gently to touch near ice cold – and yet clammy – skin, and was not deterred when Alec flinched back from the contact. When laser like feline yellow green eyes narrowed in their direction with nothing but pure destructive intent Maryse and Robert shifted anxiously and looked ready to bolt.   They were no fools, but that gaze seemed to transfix them to the spot, whether through menace or via magic, they wouldn't be fleeing any time soon.   “Darling,” Magnus spoke slowly and clearly, as he tried again to encourage Alec to raise his face and meet his eyes. Make sure his darling was tracking, and was still with them in the moment. It was ridiculous to think it had been just a couple of hours since they had been making out and necking, having the time of their lives in such a bleak time.   Alec slowly raised his head but kept his eyes fixed on the floor, Magnus’ heart broke a little more for him.   Alexander Lightwood deserved so much more than than the hand he'd been dealt,   “Darling … Alexander. It’s going to be okay, you’re safe now,” he didn’t change the tone of his voice, he didn’t stop to look at what Isabelle or anything else in the room was doing. Alec, made an odd strangled noise and sniffed slightly before he looked up to meet with Magnus’ own feline eyes.   The two would have probably gaped at each other and their eyes would have protruded five miles from their bodies if it were a cartoon. Alec had never seen Magnus’ Warlock mark, his un-glamoured feline eyes so close up before and Magnus.   Magnus had not known that Alec had heterochromia also?   He was looking at one dazzling blue eye and one eye ... one eye the colour of rich spun sugar, golden honey or the very brilliant hazel that his younger sister possessed. That very eye was also bloodied, with signs of a subconjunctival hemorrhage, a burst vein in his eye. Magnus felt his blood boil and a lamp on the central desk shattered making Isabelle jump, and the Lightwood parents blanch further.   “Get out!” Magnus growled, Maryse looked offended and for a moment, Magnus dared her to say something so that he could pulverize her. Robert looked from his son to his daughter and nodded briefly at the warlock before shepherding his wife out.   Magnus always knew he was the better parent, for all he appeared to have undergone a personality bypass.   Alec muttered something quietly that drew Magnus’ attention back to him, “Sorry darling, I missed that, what did you say?” he asked soothingly, carefully grasping the nape of Alec’s bent head. Isabelle was still standing a good distance from the two of them watching.   Odd, but Magnus wasn’t in the frame of mind to explore it.   It wouldn’t be the first time; his powers had intimidated people he cared about.   “Max, someone needs to get Max,” Alec repeated slowly, his voice still shaken with shock and the trauma of the situation. Magnus met Isabelle’s eyes and she, also quite shaken steeled herself and nodded, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” she exchanged a significant look with Magnus, expecting him to take care of Alec before she hurried out the room.   “Can you stand?” Magnus asked, moving his gripe to Alec’s arm ready to assist as needed, Alec nodded but seemed reluctant to move, he bit his bottom lip as though in deep thought before looking up at Magnus again, Magnus could read the conflict in those eyes,   “Can you do something for me?” he asked, he seemed wary of asking.   “Anything, you only have to ask darling,” Magnus replied earnestly.   “Can you get us out of here discreetly?” he begun, he held his hand up when Magnus opened his mouth to confirm without first hearing the reason why, “I-I …. I need to, I need to get my glasses and I might need some help getting the other contact lens out,” he finished, his cheeks warming slightly, peeking a look at the Warlock through his fringe.   No one except, Izzy, Jace and Max knew about his ailed vision, whilst most wouldn’t consider it a big deal. It felt like a leap of faith for him to trust Magnus with it.   Magnus’ eyes widened a fraction and he blinked rapidly,   “Oh…”   How it all made sense now, swearing he could see flashes of hazel when he looked into Alexander’s eyes from odd angles, thinking he’d suddenly had heterochromia when actually it was probably more likely that his mother – Magnus was going to turn her into a toad – had slapped the lens clean out his eye. He hadn’t come across a Shadowhunter with ailing eyes for many many years.   His little cherub just got more and more intriguing. The idea of him with some glasses, Magnus’ eyes almost rolled back into his head at the thought. Oh the unlocked potential, this was something he couldn’t wait to explore further.   “Absolutely, darling,” he purred, “absolutely.”

He was always so snippy and arrogant, seemingly looking down at you at times because of the clan you belonged to. It was sometimes hard to believe he was related to Hashirama. They were polar opposites.    However, you couldn't stop your mind and body from reacting... positively when his hand accidentally touched yours at a conference. The lone pen that was left for use because everyone else had taken one already, becoming problematic.   Yes, he was the Hokage's brother, but honestly, fuck him. You could careless.   "Excuse me." Your voice quiet, but nasty. Eyes as cold as his as he pierces your own.    "No. Excuse me." His fingers taking one end as yours quickly takes the other. You scowled.   "Ladies first."   His eyes narrowed. "Pardon me, I hadn't realized you were one." He's really trying you, challenging you in front of your peers.   Everyone is watching, the one's closest to you both hearing your quiet conversation. Hashirama frowns, as his words slow for a moment, watching his brother almost play tug of war with a pen. Unfortunately, the first Hokage missed the rare opportunity to see a small smile crawl up the usually stoic Uchiha's face.   Nothing brought Madara as much pleasure as Tobirama having a bad time.   "Let go! I had my hand on it first!" You aren't whispering anymore. The man across from you tugs it so harsh that you almost lose your grip before you cover more of it with your hand, you lean over the table more. Tobirama isn't prepared when you pull on it harder than he had. He growls as it comes apart.    You stand up victorious, twirling the writing half between your fingers. You celebrate your victory alone though. The other adults in the room unimpressed. Tobirama flicks the cover away, before leaning back and folding his arms.   "Sit down, you look like a idiot." He says, lowly. You give him a nasty look, before slowly sitting back down. A smirk returning as you start to use the pen.   "You both do."   Tobirama's eyes snap to the haughty Uchiha sitting near his brother, who is not afraid to glare right back. Hashirama sighs, he hopes everyone had atleast been paying alittle attention because he didn't want to go over that long document again.       After some questions from several Clan leaders, it is finally time to go. "You are all dismissed!" Hashirama shouts, happily, putting his Hokage hat on. The Senju's attention immediately going to Madara's receding back as he exits. He doesn't notice his brother lingering behind while trying to catch up with his friend.   You prepare your notes in a neat fashion before you get up, ignoring the feeling of being watched.   You calmly walk towards the door, the last behind those leaving before your name is sternly called.   "Hm?" You hum, disinterested as you face Tobirama. He of course looks as disgruntled as ever. "The meeting is over, you know. Or are you as dumb as that fur--"   His finger jabbing you roughly in the chest is what shuts you up. You rub the sore spot, scorn in your eyes.   "You will respect me if you wish to keep coming to these meetings." He warns, "I can have you replaced."   "You really are petty... if you'd go through all that...over a pen.."    "It's not about the pen!" He says, raising his voice. You shrink back slightly. "Your attitude towards me needs to be, and will be cordial."   "Me, be cordial? Towards you?" You ask, words dripping with sarcasm, and the laugh that echoes throughout the room are marinated with it. "Hah. Hah. Hah. Haahh. You really are a joke."   You cut your eyes away from his scarlet ones, as sharp and dangerous as ever. You don't fail to see the his clenching fists and despite your brave facade, you pick up your feet faster to leave the room. However, you don't get very far. Your arm is bruisingly grabbed and you are sharply pulled back and pushed onto the front of the long conference table. You hiss in pain at how the edge digs into your lower back. The bruising grip on your body doubles, his large, calloused hand holding down your wrists as you try to flail against him.   "What the fuck, Tobirama!?" You shout in his face, however he doesn't flinch or move an inch. You find it hard to glare back as he looks at you maliciously. His seething, silence makes you grow more nervous along with how close his body is to ours. "What?"   There's a slight twitch of his brow that you only catch because you're just both staring at each other. Before you know it, his lips are painfully brought down on your own, teeth clicking. You feel the stinging pain and taste something metallic. It could possibly be your blood or his, but you don't really care.    A low growl comes from Tobirama, his grip loosens alittle. You wriggle your hands free, and he doesn't pull away when you grab the scuff of fur lining his neck, pulling and anchoring him close. A hand fists into your hair and the other gropes your thigh, fingers an inch from your behind. The kiss is heated, rough, and more so than anything, sloppy.   You end up breaking it first, needing air. Tobirama holds his own, recovering fast, although he still looked like he was fighting with himself on whether or not he should slam you into a wall and hate-fuck you.   "...Maybe," Pant "I-if you," Pant "fuck me," Pant "right-- I'll be...alot more cordial..." You suggest, coyly between breathes.    Even though he's initiated it, he looks apprehensive, eyes flashing to the door with guilt. "I--we shouldn't.."   "Oh no, no, no. We gotta." You reason, leaning in just to kiss him again, a heated moan hardly muffled. He seems suspicious, his own mouth not right away responsive. One hand lets go of his fur collar in the exchange of grabbing his hard dick though his pants. Tobirama grunts in surprise and arousal as you palm him. Those sharp eyes of his seem even more clouded before they close and he seems to throw all care away to the wind.   This has been a long time coming, you muse as the clothed erection in your hand stands at full attention. A certain quite vulnerable Senju wrapped around your finger for the time being has made your day. Tobirama's greedy mouth finds yours again and before you know it he's lifted you up on the table and is in between your legs that you don't hesitate to open. He breaks the kiss slightly only to speak against your swollen lips. "We need to make this quick..."   You smirk. "That's fine with me. I'm sure this won't take too long." You teased, meanly. The man in front of you scowled, not very pleased at to what you might of been implying. You peck his lips, grinning. "I won't blame you though. I happen to possess the best pussy within all the 5 Great Shinobi Nations."   The Senju gave you the blankest stare he could muster before telling you to just shut up. "I don't understand how you even got your position....you fool..."   You laughed, pulling him closer by tightening your legs around his waist. "I'm really strong! I could probably kick your ass." You were definitely flying past your nest there but of course you did not care. Tobirama was starting to get really pissed off again.   "...Shut up."   "...Make me."   And he made you shut up too. His mouth pressed against yours with force. You returned it, eagerly. Your fingers quickly undoing his pants, going right for his erect appendage. You reveled at his restrained reaction, the hitch in his breath. You bunched up your skirt; you were glad you decided to wear something with easy access. The cool surface of the table against your skin made you shiver.    Tobirama's pants were shifted down low enough so that he could enter you and if anyone happened to burst in or something you both could get yourselves together possibly in time. What a scandal it would be if you two were caught.    Next were his underwear, you were hoping it would be something you could tease him about but no, they were plain black boxers. And finally the thing you've been aching waiting for.   Tobirama held back a groan as you candidly fisted his dick. The thick, throbbing treasure trove in your hand finally at your mercy. "Wow," you purred, stroking him once, twice, and by the third time he couldn't help but buck into your hand.   "S-stop playing with me, woman...!" He literally growled. A warning you would soon not forget.    "What? Ready to cum already? Geez, maybe you should let me train you on--" You couldn't get much more out, muted once again by the Senju's mouth. Tobirama nipped harshly at your bottom lip, intending for it to hurt. You jolted in pain, releasing him from your grasp. Tobirama's tongue running over the wound stung, making you whimper. The noise alone making his dick throb.    Before you knew it the weight of his cock was leaning against your damp slit. The shinobi wasted to time with prepping you or pushing himself inside. He figured with all that big talk, you could handle some pain. To his mild surprise you were in no immediate discomfort, moaning wantonly straight into his mouth. Your hips almost immediately, desperately trying to buck up against him.   He was having none of that.   Your heart skipped a beat when you were swiftly picked up from conference table. Tobirama pressed you up against the nearby wall, his hips pumping into you with force, like he was holding nothing back. His breath was ragged, red eyes lidded and clouded as he watched your heated expression.    He smirked, almost grinning. "This...this is what you wanted, right..?" He didn't need you to answer verbally; the way you seemed to grab onto him like your life depended on it was all the answer he needed.   Did he just ask you something? You couldn't concentrate on anything else besides what you were feeling. All you knew is that you were about to be a hypocrite; you were already close. A hand left the soft patch of fur on his clothing just to race to where you were conjoined, the action alone making the man above you groan your name.   Tobirama sighed as you tightened around him, the sight of you touching yourself too much for him. His blunt finger nails burned crescent shapes into your skin; he needed to pull out soon. However, you seemed to have other plans.   "Y/n....I'm going to--"    "Inside. Do it inside...!" You begged. "It's fine!"   Tobirama was of course not so lost in his own chase for release to make such a risky decision, but as your muscles cramped around him and your legs unbelievably anchored around his waist was he held hostage to your desire for him to ultimately, undisputedly creampie you.   Tobirama groaned loudly as he emptied his seed inside you; one of the best feelings he's ever felt. He would regret this. He knew he would.     After the moment, your hazed minds cleared and with that a hasty disband. Tobirama would have flat out pushed you off and dropped you if he was as mad as he were earlier. But he wasn't. He quickly fixed himself and pulled up his pants.   You smiled, sliding your panties up moist thighs, before fixing your skirt. Tobirama's eyes trained on the area as he realized in entirety what he's just done. Your chipper voice makes his sharp eyes look up at your face.   "Am I glowing? I feel like I'm glowing." You grin and laugh, and he can't understand why. And then he's annoyed with you again.   "What!?" He says incredulously. How are you not worried? Its possible you'll get pregnant.   Your laughter dies down as he fusses at you about how careless you're being. You wave him off, when you start to walk past him, he grabs your wrist, except gentler this time.   "Y/n." He says firmly. "If anything, I'll take full responsibility." He meant that. It would be disgraceful otherwise and the idea of having children with you didn't seem too bad. You were from the same village. He could tolerate your brash personality for the sake of his children.   You looked back at him with wide eyes, shocked. You shouldn't really be shocked though....he is Hashirama's brother after all.   You smile at him sheepishly, almost sad. "No, don't worry. Really. Nothing's going to happen. I'm barren."   Barren?   Tobirama lips formed a straight line, he let go of your wrist. And its safe to say you missed the warmth of his hand already.    You turned away, you believed it was time to finally make your exit. You've said enough to him today.   However, it seemed he just couldn't get enough of you.     "We're having another meeting again next week. Afterwards perhaps you'd liked to join me for tea?"   You couldn't believe it. But you didn't turn back and continued towards the door. "Sure. Until next time."   Tobirama wistfully watch you go, wondering.

He was asleep, yet he fiercely held onto you. It took a few minutes before you gathered enough willpower to try and wiggle out of his arms, moving as little as possible to avoid waking him. You would love to fall asleep in his arms but you weren’t ready to let go of him again so you fought your urge to sleep and got off the bed. You couldn’t help but stare lovingly at him in his deep sleep. His breathing regular, his hair covering part of his face, and his creamy pale skin almost blending with his white sheets. He looked like an angel. After staring at him for what didn’t feel it was long enough, you left his bedroom. You went ahead and used the restroom, cleaned up, put your clothes back on, and walked around his apartment. You found his fan letters in a box by a small bookcase. You looked at the books in it and saw it was mostly scripts and theater plays. It brought a smile to your face. You found an electronic keyboard piano in a corner with a pretty worn out music sheet notebook. You picked it up and looked at a sequence of notes scribbled on the sheet. Well, you couldn’t read music, that was for sure, but all the eraser marks on the page hinted that whatever was written there was written by him. You turned the page around and a page fell out. Well, maybe not a page, just a piece of paper that had been hiding between the sheets. You pick it up to put it back in the notebook when you noticed his handwriting.   Take a chance, stay by my side I could not condone losing you I cannot love you halfway, nor be loved Take a chance, I must know   Time stops when your love shines You complete everything You take my pain away You make me lose myself   My body without your soul is A ghost that fades at nightfall You complete everything   You wondered if it was a poem or maybe lyrics to a song. You complete everything... Why don’t you just pull at my heartstrings, Zen? Even if it wasn’t something he wrote for you, these few words encompassed what you felt. Incomplete without him. You touched the keys of the keyboard. It was turned off so they didn’t make a sound but you ran your fingers through them anyways, wondering how many times Zen had sat in very chair, playing the piano, perfecting his music. A sound dragged you out of your thoughts when - “MC!” you heard Zen call out, as he stumbled out of his room, frantically looking for you. He stood in the hallway, as completely naked as you had left him in bed. “I’m here” you answered, getting up from the piano stool. It wasn’t obvious where you were from his angle as the bookcase covered probably half of you. When you stood up, however, his eyes found you and you saw him breathe in a sigh of relief. He turned around and went back into his room. You got up to follow after him. By the time you reached his room he had pulled up his running shorts which he had been wearing before your lovemaking. When he saw you he rushed to hold you, pulling your head against his chest. “I thought you were gone again” he whispered. “I didn’t fall asleep” you said “I was scared to” “I’m glad you’re still here.” he said, laying a kiss on the top of your head. “Would you like to take a shower with me?” he asked. You nodded. He guided you to the bathroom and opened the shower, letting the water run before stepping in. “It takes a minute to heat up” he said as he turned to grab a couple of clean towers from the cabinet overhead, placing them on the hook by the shower door. He turned around and smiled, placing his hands on the edge of your shirt. He pulled the fabric up and you lifted your arms, letting your top slide off. You had not bothered to put your bra back on after lovemaking so this left your breast exposed. He squatted and lowered your shorts, taking your underwear down with them and left them around your ankles, motioning you to step out of them. You complied. He stood again, turned around, and reached out to the water with his arm. “I like the water pretty hot. Is that ok with you?” he asked. “Hot is fine” you said, admiring the muscles in his arms just from him stretching over to reach the water. “After you, Princess” he said, smiling in your direction. His eyes traveled around your naked body and his smiled only widened further. You felt a flush to your cheeks. God, you felt so average compared to him. It wasn’t being naked that embarrassed you, he had already seen you naked. It was just… him, standing there in nothing but shorts, and looking like the most perfect man in the history of creation made you feel so... average and frankly, rather unsuitable. You walked past him and stepped in the shower, letting the water run through your body, trying to wash away your insecurities. He took his shorts off and stepped in the shower right behind you. He was so much taller than you that he could lean over you and steal all the water from the shower, which inexplicably made you laugh. “Hey!” you complained, laughing at the situation. He laughed with you.. The shower head had a hose and could be moved from its locked position on the wall so you took it off its hook and aimed it at his head, the water running on his more comfortably. He rinsed his face and looked down at you, his wear hair dripping over his forehead. He looked beautiful.  “If you just wanted some water, you just had to ask” you said, still holding the shower head. “I wanted to share babe” he said, turning his back towards you and getting the rest of his hair wet while you still held the shower head over him. You aimed the water to wherever he was still dry but looking at his wide back you couldn’t help your eyes travelling down to his buttocks. You couldn’t help but to find yourself admiring him again, biting your lower lip. He is so damn perfect. You didn’t notice when he grabbed the body wash and turned around with a loofah. “Put the shower back on the hook and come here, I want to wash you” he said. You obliged. He started on your shoulders and your neck, gently rubbing the foamy sponge over your skin. He covered your arms and lifted them, getting your armpits and the sides of your torso. He ran the loofah over your chest but when he got to your breasts he just put the foam on his hand and washed them gently. It made you hold your breath for a second but he continued with the loofah, going down your abdomen and down to your legs. By now he was squatting in the shower, lifting one of your legs, to wash them and then the other. He did the same thing with your sex, washing it gently with his hand and some body wash. When he rubbed between your folds you couldn’t help but squirm a little,  making him smile. But he continued, rubbing your thighs, turning you around to wash your back after moving your hair out of the way, washing your buttocks gently. Then he grabbed the shower head and moved it around your body, rinsing off all the body wash. “God, you’re so beautiful” he said, while admiring your body, catching you by surprise. The shower may not wash away your insecurities, but Zen’s words definitely helped. “I was just thinking you’re the beautiful one” you said, taking the sponge from him. “Your turn” you added, smiling at him. You rinsed the sponge and added body wash again, making it foam. You started on his backs and applied pressure, rubbing every inch of it. You went to his flanks and wrapped your arm around him, reaching his abs but really, you were rubbing your breasts against his back. You noticed him taking breaths deeper than he was before, as if trying to control himself. You couldn’t keep the smirk off your face. You went down to his legs and then motioned him to turn around. When he did, you couldn’t help but notice he was hard again. You looked at his erect member and took your hand to it, soothing it with long strokes. You saw him close his eyes and moan. You laved his groin with the shower head and placed it back in its hook, all while still languidly caressing his manhood. You took advantage of his eyes still being closed to press your body against his, tantalizing him, letting his arousal slide between your legs. Before he had a chance to react, you entwined your lips to his, getting lost in a long, deep kiss. It was impossible to describe, it consumed and sated you at the same time. Zen ran his hands through your back, exploring and immersing in every inch of your wet skin. Not a minute later he had you pressed against the wall of the shower, holding one of your legs with his forearm while plunging into you, You succumbed, yet again, to his ravishing provokations, his urge; inciting in you quivering sensation that you had only ever experienced with him before. Soon after, both of you had reached your climax while the water still slid down your bodies.   Once you regained your composure, you washed each other’s hair and rinsed off. Zen wrapped the clean towel around you and rubbed your arms to warm you off as it immediately felt chilly out of the hot steam of the shower. You both got dressed and he had you sit on a stool in his bathroom while he blow dried your hair. “I don’t want you to get a cold my baby lamb” he said playfully. You couldn’t help but to giggle at his remark. “Baby lamb? Is that because you’re a wolf?” you asked lightheartedly. “That’s…” he said leaning close to your ear “...exactly right” he whispered, before planting a kiss on your neck and continuing to blow dry your hair. Moments like this made your heart flutter with love. Such a simple thing but it made you soar. Nothing could ever compare to this feeling. You talked about silly, mundane things and the time flew by. You cooked food together and fed each other while kisses, caresses, and whispers of love floated in the air whenever your eyes crossed. But even then there was an ache in your heart that coated with a sour undertone every time you looked at him. You did your best not to let it show but there was this melancholy to his eyes that no matter how many times you kissed him or you professed your love for him just wouldn’t disappear. Trying to put these thoughts out of your head you asked him about the piano. After some persuasion, he agreed to play something for you. He started with some basic stuff, songs you’d heard countless times before. He was wonderful. His singing was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard and just staring at him play made you forget anything that was wrong. Any looming sense of dread you had vanish, if only for a few minutes. He moved the pages on his music notebook and the paper came out with the handwritten lyrics. He chuckled when he saw it but made no motion to comment on it. “Did you write it?” you asked him, referring to the lyrics. “I did” he said. “You read it? It is not complete” he added. “I started writing this before I met you… but the last part I wrote when you were gone“ he stared at it in thought. “Do you want to hear it?” he offered. You nodded. He opened the previous page of his music notebook and position his hands on the keys. He paused for a second, as if stringing the music in his head before laying it out to you. “It sounds better on a grand piano” he added before starting “I wrote most of it using the theater’s piano”. Then he began. It was a soft melody, full of light-toned keys that mixed well together. It wasn’t upbeat, in fact, it was very much a melancholic song… or maybe it was just how he was playing it. He sang the lyrics you had read, his eyes closed when he his the higher notes and he did so beautifully. Then he added a verse you hadn’t read before.   Even apart, I still love you just as much The yearning of this love still beats today I see in your eyes this fire won’t fade This fire is still there. You complete everything.

Rebecca kisses Ted beneath the mistletoe, a gentle, chaste thing while Keeley and Roy and half of AFC Richmond let out cheers and a chorus of Deck the Halls. It’s brief, but Rebecca still has time to let her eyes flutter close, suck in an anticipatory breath, and really think about the fact that this is Ted Lasso pressing soft, warm lips against hers. She doesn’t quite kiss him back—doesn’t have time to do so, doesn’t even realize she wants to kiss him back—but her hand goes to his cheek to cradle it gently, her nose nuzzles against his, and she feels his hand settle at her hip as he leans into her, into the kiss.   When she opens her eyes, Ted is there in front of her and somehow she sees him differently—maybe it’s the string of twinkling lights or the buzz and warmth of the Yuletide drinks. He grins at her and taps her hip before slipping away, murmuring, “Run,” nodding over her shoulder to where Keeley is beelining towards them. When she looks back, he’s gone and then Keeley is there with an all-knowing look and a slap to her arm, “You sly bitch,” she teases, eyes dark and mischievous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   Rebecca looks down the hallway, catches a glimpse of khakis disappearing around the corner and says distractedly, “I didn’t know.”   But they don’t talk about it—there isn’t time. Richmond has a double-header before the holiday, they keep missing each other with Biscuits with the Boss (she finds little pink boxes and hastily scribbled notes of We gotta start meeting like this), and then Ted is texting Pip pip and cheerio and he’s gone back to Kansas for a week. On Christmas Day, her phone pings with a text message notification from Ted and she scrambles to open it. It’s a family picture—Ted and Michelle and Henry on a porch swing wearing ridiculous sweaters embroidered with reindeers and flashing lights—and a message from Ted that reads Happy Holidays!   Rebecca tilts her head at the picture and squints, tries to imagine herself in Michelle’s place—the woman who would don hideous holiday jumpers, take on the mantle of coach’s wife, and wear Ted Lasso’s ring in return. It’s a sinking sort of disappointment in her gut when she can’t quite see it, something that may be jealousy that’s hard to swallow. She hates the way her chest feels warm and tight. She tosses the phone aside, can’t bring herself to respond, and lays back down into her pillows, alone, with a huff.    “Fuck.”   (Before she falls asleep, she thinks about the way everything had faded away into nothing when Ted kissed her.)   This is the last thing she needs.   ______   Ted flies back into town on New Year’s Eve and arrives at Roy and Keeley’s (which Keeley was proud to tell Rebecca, taking her arm and leaning her head against her bicep, looking dreamy, “It’s our place, Rebecca.” Rebecca had kissed the top of her friends head and smiled warmly at her. “I’m so happy for you, love.”).   She sees him before he sees her and she takes in the purple, dark bags beneath his eyes and the way his khakis are wrinkled and his hair is sticking up every which way, like he tossed and turned on the plane, unable to sleep. But he’s affable and awake enough in the endearing Ted Lasso way of his, hugging Keeley tightly and ignoring Roy’s gruff handshake for an only marginally-less tight hug.   Part of her wants to ask what happened in Kansas, what did that photo mean? Do matching sweaters and a holiday card-esque text message mean reconciliation for he and Michelle? And, ever lingering in the back of her mind, what did that mean for Ted’s future here in Richmond?   (Did a single mistletoe-prompted kiss entitle her to ask?)   But then she sees Ted stumble into the kitchen, legs still adjusting from air to land, and she can see the way he clenches his hand into a fist, stuffing it into his pockets, and looks at the looming crowd with apprehension. The party is loud, the music thumping and the people enthusiastic, lights strobing and catching on holographic decorations welcoming the New Year.   She crosses to him before she can think of doing anything else, hands him a flute of champagne and takes his hand with a quick, “Follow me.”   He looks at her, relieved, and trots along behind her, following without question. “Oh, yes, ma’am.”   Outside on the patio, the air is cool on their face and the sound of the party fades away. Ted finds his place beside her on the garden bench, tips his champagne flute against hers before taking a healthy sip. “Thanks for the search and rescue,” he tells her, nudging his shoulder against hers.   “Seemed like you needed it. You could have just skipped the party,” she reminds him, eyebrow arched and a touch exasperated. “Or flown back later, we could have survived one more day without you.”   (That, she thinks, is not exactly true. But the thought of confessing how many times she picked up the phone to text or call because her office felt too quiet or because she couldn’t hear him through her open office window was too pathetic even for her to consider.)   Ted huffs. “I struggle enough with my time zones as it is. Last thing I needed was to leave one country in one year and arrive in another country another year, no sireebob.” He shifts beside her, turning to face her, giving her a soft, warm smile. “C’mon, it’s just you and me out here. You can say you’re ecstatic to have me back. Didn’t you miss me?”   Her eyes search his, trying to ascertain if there are hidden layers and meanings behind his question, behind the way his knee is settled and pressed against hers, the way his eyes flick to her mouth and his hand tightens on the stem of his drink. But she is exhausted—has spent every night the last week analyzing every text and conversation, the photograph of he and his family, has lived and relived the mistletoe kiss.   She’s tired of games, especially with Ted. She chooses honesty.   “Yes,” she says softly, eyes flicking to her hands. “I missed you.”   He takes her hand, squeezing gently. “Well, it’s nice to be missed.” A beat of silence and then, “I missed you, too. I, uh, texted you a few times but didn’t hear from you much. You doin’ okay?”   Fuck.   There are drafts of messages she meant to send but didn’t stashed on her phone. Messages that say she still thinks about that too-brief kiss, thinks maybe that spark wasn’t the mulled cider after all and might have been him—them. There are messages—written in the throes of jealousy--that say she’s terrified of losing him to a childhood love that may not ever fully let him go; that it doesn’t matter how much she may be falling for him, there’s always going to be something—someone—pulling him away from her. And then there are the messages that are the simplest and the hardest, the ones that say she misses him, that she can’t wait to have him home, teasing messages that demand biscuit back-ups for these times away from one another.   Instead she swallows and tugs her hand free of his and gives him a bright, false smile. “I’m fine. Just busy with the club this time of year.”   Her voice sounds unnaturally high and while it may have been enough of a lie to fool most, it’s not enough for Ted Lasso who has seen through to the heart of her since those early days of Spice Girl confessions and shared gala hugs.   “Rebecca,” he starts with a frown. But then the windows to the house are being thrown open and a countdown chorus begins, streamers being tossed about and poppers going off.   Five.   “Ted,” she says, desperately. “It’s nothing, really. I am just busy.”   Four.   He looks at her, really looks at her, and takes her hand again, doesn’t let her escape.   Three.   “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right?” he asks, anxiety and uncertainty tinging his voice.   Two.   This time, the lie falls off her tongue a little easier. “I promise.”   One.   Ted startles as the house explodes into cheers, looking back over his shoulder at the streamers and spilled champagne and couples pressing chaste kisses to each other’s lips. When he turns back, Rebecca is there, her lips against his just as brief and tender as their mistletoe kiss, just as electric.   “Happy New Year, Ted,” she whispers, wiping her thumb along his bottom lip to catch the stickiness of her lipstick. His eyes look dazed at the contact and he sways forward, eyes dropping to her mouth again in a way that makes her feel hot all over.   “Happy New Year, Rebecca.” His hand slides over her knee as he stands, puts distance between them. Maybe it’s selfish, but if this is the last chance—the only chance—she has at tasting him one last time, she’s happy she’s taken it.   She tries not to think about next New Year’s, about where Ted will be, about who he will be with; instead, she focuses on his mussed hair and dark eyes and easy, soft smile, the callused hand extended to her to pull her up off the patio bench.   “Better get inside and make sure the kids aren’t going to burn the house down.”   (Ted and Rebecca kiss their friends on the cheek, hug them tightly and wish them a happy New Year before politely declining to stay for the extended party. She doesn’t offer him a ride—is afraid of what she may do if she does—and instead touches his arm softly and wishes him a good night and a welcome home.   It’s easier this way, she tells herself. It’s easier to not talk about it.)   ______   Instead of talking about it, they talk about other things. Biscuits with the Boss begins to feel like an extended series of first dates. Ted brings her biscuits and settles in his chair and then the couch where she joins him as he presses for details about Nora (“She’s become quite the fashionista, actually. I’m taking her shopping next weekend. Sass has forbidden me from buying her heels, but…”), her favorite movie (“The Princess Bride,” she answers sheepishly, cheeks flushed pink. Ted grins, eyes light and dancing. He inscribes ‘As You Wish’ into her biscuit box the next morning and she laughs it off, tries not to read too much into it), and the song she puts on when she’s sad (“Depends what kind of sad,” she says, thinking the question over. “I suppose sometimes I just want silence.” Ted looked rather serious at that. “Sometimes the silence is worse.”).   He swindles her out of flying on the jet, says she should ride with the team because she’s part of the team. When he gets her on the bus, he grabs her arm like an over-eager primary school student and declares her his bus buddy, dragging her into the bench seat at the front of the bust across the aisle from Nate and Beard.   They win the match—something they’re becoming rather accustomed to—but she can see the game took a lot out of him and they’ve a long way back home. “Ted,” she says, hand hovering over his knee for a moment before settling. “You look dead on your feet. Let me help.”   And he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t care who may be watching, will chalk it up to exhaustion later if anyone asks, and immediately drops his head onto her shoulder.   “That’s it,” she tells him, leaning her head against his, reaching up to smooth his hair back from his head. She starts only when his hand joins hers atop his knee, thumb stroking softly over her knuckles.   It feels akin to rubbing absentmindedly to a beloved childhood stuffed toy or blanket, and she smiles into his hair, quite content to be Ted Lasso’s teddy bear.   It’s these moments that all feel inconsequential individually but monumental together, like she’s falling and falling and falling and won’t stop until her heart shatters or Ted catches her.   _______   They’ve won the whole fucking thing, just as he promised. They’ve celebrated and done the press tour and Ted’s never had his picture taken so many times. His team is happy—Roy wears a coach’s jacket with pride and Jamie pulled in the highest number of team assists for the season and a shiny trophy sits in the AFC Richmond clubhouse.   He did it.   But there’s a question of what’s next. There’s a contract offer on his desk with Rebecca’s loopy signature on it and a little post-it flag indicating where he should sign to agree to another three years here with the Greyhounds.   The off-season means the pitch is empty, grass freshly mown and the sun is shining. He walks to the center and toes off his shoes and drops to the ground, spread-eagle, and just breathes, trying to not break into hysterical laughter.   He did it.   A shadow crosses his face and he opens his eyes, squinting up to find Rebecca staring down at him, an amused smile playing at her lips.   “Is this the secret to your success, Coach Lasso?” she asks teasingly. “One with the grass, hm?”   “Oh yeah, me and the grass had a deal if they tripped up the opposition I’d slip it a little extra fertilizer. Real shady biz.”   Her laughter warms him more than the sunshine and he pats the patch of grass beside him. “Wanna join me in negotiations?”   There’s a knee-jerk expectation from him to expect her to say no and leave him to it, but this version of Rebecca—silly and ambitious and competitive and beautiful—is a version he’s still getting to know. A person he wants to know.   Her heels join his sneakers and then she’s lowering herself beside him, her toes nudging his, their pinkies brushing in the grass.   “You haven’t returned the contract offer,” she speaks into the clouds, eyes shut. There’s a question there, he knows.   “Thinkin’ about it. Pros and cons and reading the fine print. Making sure you didn’t sneak anything past my middle-aged eyes.”   She huffs a laugh and then silence descends on them. Inside her chest, her heart is beating a ferocious, hammering beat. She thinks about mistletoe kisses and New Year’s Eve kisses and As You Wish and everything in-between and waits. She thinks maybe—just maybe—she’s done being scared.   “I don’t want to make a decision for the wrong reasons,” he tells her, eyes still closed. It’s easier to do this—say things—if he doesn’t have to look at her. He can hide for a little while.   He hears Rebecca shift in the grass, her hand brushing his in a way that feels more deliberate than accidental.   “Thing is, I love these boys. I love what we’re building here, you and me. And I think we can really make something of it. I-I want to stay, but—“   “But?”   He inhales slowly, exhales. He thinks of pub nights and teaching Rebecca how to throw a dart, his hand warm over hers and her surprised laughter in his ears; thinks of the pair of them ducking out of team celebrations early because neither of them are twenty anymore and a quiet dinner and a glass of wine suits them just fine; he thinks of quiet elevator rides with his heart in his throat and the courage to ask her join him for a nightcap; thinks of her arms wound tight around his neck while he spins her around with champagne pouring over them as a crowd of thousands erupts in cheers and the announcers blare over the sound system: They’ve done it! Ted Lasso and the Richmond Greyhounds have done it!   He thinks of how she’s so deep beneath his skin and in his heart and head, he doesn’t know how to operate without her.   He rolls over in the grass to face her, pushes himself up onto his elbow and smooshes his cheek into his fist to hold himself up. She opens her eyes and squints at him, sun and shadow in equal measure crisscrossing over her face.   “Rebecca, if I sign those papers, if I stick around as coach, would that stop—I mean, is this—Are you and me—“   “Ted,” she says lightly, the tips of her fingers pressing against his wrist and lingering like a weighted anchor. “One has no bearing on the other.”   “You get what I’m saying, though, right?”   “You haven’t actually said anything,” she teases. And it’s that—the teasing—that makes him breathe fully again because that’s the thing: he hasn’t said anything, not out loud.   But she knows. She knows in the same way she knew to bring him across the pond, in the way that she knew to follow him outside that karaoke bar, in the way that she delivers American cereal to his doorstep every Saturday and keeps ground coffee next to her tea bags and paid for Mae’s subscription to ESPN so he could watch the Kansas City Chiefs for Monday Night Football.   “I want more for us next season,” he tells her in that same jovial but determined voice in which he’d promised her a trophy. This time he wants to go further with AFC Richmond and he wants it with Rebecca at his side, not just his boss but a partner in every way.   “Well, I’m not writing myself in as a contract perk, if that’s what you’re asking.”   Her fingertips glide over his hand and tickle into the hair at his temples, scratching slightly in a way that makes him want to arch back like a cat.   “Rebecca—”   She takes her chance, just needs this one insecurity and fear smoothed away by his reassurances. “Are you staying, Ted? Here, with me?”   Ted searches her face, understanding filling in the gaps of confusion of the last six months where it had felt like they were coming together then drifting apart, never fully on the same page. “Is that what you’ve been worried about?” he asks   “Would you think less of me if it was?” Rebecca strokes her fingers over his cheek, lets herself go and fall and hopes that he will catch her. “I’ve been hurt enough. I didn’t want to let myself love you if you were just going to go.”   His heart aches for her and he wants to wrap her up in his arms and shield her from any other hurts. “I’m not saying it would be easy, not with Henry, but this place has started to feel like home, like a place I can build a life.” He turns his face into her hand, places a soft kiss to her palm before returning his gaze to hers. “A life alongside you, if you’ll have me.”   Instead of answering, she guides his head down to hers, her mouth pressing to his in a kiss that is soft and chaste. Her lips are sun-warmed and sticky with lipstick and he sighs against her, tangles his free hand in her hair to guide her mouth against his, groaning a little when her tongue flicks against his, teasing him. If they thought the brief touches and kisses at Christmas and New Year’s were something to stay awake over, they’ll never sleep after this kiss. Not when there’s no audience and no miscommunication about their intention, not when her teeth sink into his bottom lip, tongue soothing the sting, making him hiss. He rolls his body against hers more fully, can feel his pants tightening and the urge to settle atop her and mark her as his—maybe latch his mouth to her neck and suck until she’s squirming beneath him and her pretty pale skin is red and purple.   He pulls away because if he doesn’t he’s got a feeling the grass and Nate won’t forgive him for what they’ll do to the pitch. He drops his forehead to hers, brushes their noses together as they catch their breath. Her eyes are a sharp, bright grey-blue and he’s not sure he’s seen anything as beautiful as Rebecca Welton on the verge of coming apart right here on this pitch that they’ve worked so hard to build.   He kisses her again—because he can, because she wants him to—and he realizes he doesn’t have to wait for another holiday ever again. They can do this whenever they want.   “That wasn’t a ploy to lock me in for another three years, right?”   He grins at her, can feel his eyes crinkling with happiness and relief. He strokes her hair and smooths the flyaway frizz from her forehead.   “Mm,” she hums lazily, a lioness in the sun, and reaches up to kiss him gently, her palms drifting over his chest and belly. “I’m saving that for next season.”   (This time, when Ted Lasso signs a stack of papers, his jawline smudged with red lipstick and his hair mussed, it is because he is staying; because someone wants him.)

Waking up in the dark room the only sound is heavy regular breathing coming from her side. The whole long blurry night flashing clear for a moment in her still sleeping head, she had sex, she could feel the moist aftermath dampening the fur in her groin and rump area around her tail base. Taking a moment to replay the night in her head, grabbing her knees and pulling them in she lays and thinks. Her night started off normal, she had gone out to the Human city, to enjoy the luxuries human habitation always afforded. Being a canine fur she was easily accepted into Human areas and even some Elfin ones. Born and raised by Foxkin she never had all the luxury of human technology. Being raised by Foxkin, she had a mundane childhood, well cared for and well fed, she still wanted more for as long as she could remember. Foxkin are a simple animal folk, keeping to nature and basic needs. Foxkin shy and skittish by nature, DarkAngel was nothing like them. DarkAngel was raised by Foxkin yes, but she was not one of them. Her mother had been but she was stolen and captured by demons. Taken deep into the shadows of Equine the demon's home world, she was ravaged and made into a slave and plaything. Abused and beaten she eventually wound up pregnant with child. Knowing she would be tortured or killed she begged and pleaded until a sympathetic harem slave using some stolen magic took and sent the unborn child which was thankfully near her birthing day, far off to the forests of Furegon where the Foxkin lived after moving to hide from further raids. Now all grown up she moved away from the forests and into the suburbs bordering the Human city known as Birth Valley, the site of the first Human colony and the Human's largest city on Furegon. Being so close to humans fascinated her, most Animal-kin stayed away from human populated areas, well most except the Mousekin. They seemed to love the Humans and their technology. Mice were the first Animal-kin race the Humans encountered when they came to Furegon. Making a deal for tech for labor, the human's instantly had a work force army of labor and thus the Mousekin were thrown centuries ahead in their technologic evolution. The Humans brought with them their companion race, the Canines. Long ago they saw fit to genetically evolve their pet companions becoming a loved sub species of their original pets. DarkAngel being sired by a demon and born from a Foxkin, she had the slender build of a fox but the bulk and power of darkness of her demonic roots. She was covered in a charcoal black fur with white chest and mask highlights, additionally she bore the white socks of Foxkin. She was almost always mistaken for a Human Canine in Human cities and she liked it like that. Far too many people took notice of a Foxkin if they did go to a Human city. Her night started off as it was expected to, she went to a Human recreation area. These areas are places of wonder even to Humans, all sorts of pleasures are to be had, movies, music, art even temporal projections. Temporal projections, a new form of entertainment where one can view the past, You can't do anything but you can view any moment in the available areas. DarkAngel was walking out from a new movie she just enjoyed very much so, when she ran into HIM. Dark red fur, strong arms, a bright smile and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Standing 5'2" his wide pink ears twitching and looking up into her own vivid purple ones. Standing there looking at each other he clears his throat and begins, "hello" he chirps and then mews, smiling. That was the beginning of her wild night. Taken with the genuine smile and those endlessly deep blue eyes, She could do nothing but nod when asked to join him in a walk. "My name is Nelwin" he offered and perked his large ears toward her seeking a reply. "DarkAngel" she managed, Nelwin was a blood red Mousekin, wearing a matching red cap and t-shirt which was obviously human made. They walked in silence for a short time, Nelwin hopping and mewing here and there, his pink tail whipping to and fro. DarkAngel walked and managed small talk as they wandered the busy city streets full of Humans and Mousekin with some other animal races peppered here and there. She was wearing her usual, a purple skirt not too short but enough to make even Human males turn their heads, her top was a tight fitting tube top, to show off her ample breasts. Movement pulls her back to her current situation then it stops as they settle back down, his breathing becoming regular again. Again her thoughts go back but this time to further on alone and in her home. Kissing his large incisors and ticklish twitching whiskers, the feel of his strong arms around her, his strong paw cupping her full breast through her top, the feeling of her own excitement as his paw feels her nipple through the fabric. Kissing back letting her tongue play with his, he sucks hers a moment before nibbling her lower lip, Her memories of the heated moment reigniting the fire inside her. Life and situations have always kept DarkAngel from a mate and the stigma of having a demonic parent had always kept her a lonely single girl when with the Foxkin. After moving away she reveled in the outside world and the people who didn't know her or her past, taking great delight in sex and all its pleasures, provided they didn't want to know her. Her mind flicked back to the moment in the night, to when her tight top was raised and taken over her head, casually flung without care to the floor. Then there were those deep blue eyes looking back at her, from Nelwin's carefree child like smile. With slow deliberate movement he moved forward and took her large full breasts in his strong paws kneading them softly, her fur sliding through his paws. At the same moment leaning in for a hard passionate kiss, DarkAngel gasped, then and now she could feel her tingle of excitement she had felt then. Nelwin's paws rolled DarkAngel's full and very erect nipples in his fingers, giving them a tweak as he nibbled her neck. Without being aware of herself doing it, she let out a shudder and moan, her tail moving involuntarily. Nibbling on her neck, her large breasts in paw, Nelwin moved his nibbles and attentions to her breasts, stopping to mew and look up at her flushed face, her vivid purple eyes watching back. Slipping her erect nipple into his eager maw he suckles wetly and with small smacking noises, his other paw gently tugging on the other. Moaning and arching her back she gently caresses Nelwin's ears as he greedily nurses her breast. DarkAngel could feel her excitement growing and had always loved having her breasts suckled and played with. Then again DarkAngel always liked to be in control, she nibbled and licked Nelwin's large ears making him shudder and stop. "Your turn Hon" DarkAngel whispered and with a quick move and using some strength flips Nelwin over and on his back, her on top, her large breasts hanging down over him. Nelwin could only squeak and mew, his large ears folding back as DarkAngel's larger form dominated the situation. Holding him down with one paw, she slid her other down his thick shaggy furred chest to his maleness semi hard in his sheath. Pushing back the male sheath and exposing his thickening member, Nelwin raised his head and mewed his blue eyes wide. "Oh don't worry mousie, hurting you is the last thing on my mind." Taking his large member for a mouse, into her paw she slowly let it slide in her palm, which she had always loved, feeling in control and the hard warmth in her paw, though her actions had only made him fully erect now and even bigger in her paw and to her surprise. With as much want as the subdued mouse under her she moved and quickly took a large portion of the grown erect mouse cock into her mouth, loving the musky salty taste. Unable to control himself Nelwin arched his back offering himself more as he moaned long and squeaked, his pink think tail whipping around. Taking his large member deep as she could letting it go into her throat, she caressed his large male balls in his red fuzzy sac, sliding his member out so she would breath and keep an eye on Nelwin's expressions which was panting and flushed wish a wide smile right now. Slowly and deliberately she began licking his cock from base at his sheath to the thick head at the tip, which made Nelwin moan and squeak. Movement in bed stole her back to reality, her own breathing noticeably faster. She could feel her wetness, she was exciting herself going over the nights activities. Soon the sleeping Nelwin's movements stopped and he fell back into his deep slumber. Without thinking about it she was back in her thoughts, DarkAngel straddling over Nelwin's large erect cock, glistening with wetness from her oral assault. Looking down at Nelwin, his face full of love and flushed with lust and want, with as much need as hers, Nelwin arched his hips up and entered her fiery slit, she was tight and yet so hot and receiving of his invading member. DarkAngel yelped lightly as he entered, filling and opening her sex up to him, relaxing her muscles and letting her weight push him deeper inside. They both sat a moment enjoying the feeling of the other, slowly she raised sliding his large member almost all the way out, her tail lazily wagging side to side. Down again taking the large mouse cock deep back in making Nelwin mew and moan which made her smile darkly. DarkAngel loved being in control, to make a man weak and aching to serve her. On more then one occasion she slept with a lucky Human male or woman when the mood struck her. On one occasion a foolish man tried to take control and got rough, she promptly dislocated his shoulder showing a glimpse of her demonic strengths. Tonight though, she was in control and loving it, faster and slicker their sex went on for a few intense minutes. DarkAngel had reached her first of many orgasms which set Nelwin off, his large member throbbing deep inside DarkAngel, letting spurts of his pre cum make her already wet sex splash down and around Nelwin's throbbing member. DarkAngel had another few orgasms though small were there as Nelwin filled her with his seed, in long plentiful spurts from his large member, flooding them both in a sticky musky mess matting their furs. Thinking he could rest a moment, Nelwin lay there panting with DarkAngel, but she had different plans. Moving herself off his spent member was heaven the way he felt sliding out and the flood of his musky seed gushing out, which was always a part she loved. Nelwin was watching his mouth agape, loving the view. After a long lazy moment she dismounted him and moved her muzzle above the spent musky member, the fur matted down with the wet sex, taking the member in paw, which made Nelwin mew questioning. Sucking hard and deep, DarkAngel began lustfully and greedily nursing on Nelwin's member. Moans and squeaks are all that he could muster, his paws clenching fists of her black long hair, his tail whipping around. Soon his spent member thickened and hardened in its full size, making it hard to mouth completely from his size and thickness. Considering keeping on suckling the large member until her maw was filled with his hot musk, she fought it though she really wouldn't mind. Sucking hard and letting it pop from her lips with a audible pop, she looked down at the flushed and panting mouse, "Now I want you to Fuck Me, in the ass." DarkAngel barked, ordering the shocked but smiling mouse. Moving off and taking a all fours classic doggy style position, with no hesitation and like a obedient mouse he positioned himself behind her, her tail moving to the side inviting him. DarkAngel's own musk mixed with his own filled his senses, her wet opening pink and flushed, the fur short and thin enough to see her skin in her private areas. Taking his hard thick member in his paw, he first quickly entered DarkAngel's sex to wet himself, a light moan and shudder was returned from her, then taking his fleshy knob and positioning at DarkAngel's quivering Tail hole. Thrusting forward carefully he pushed his large cock head into her eager rear and tight ring, DarkAngel feeling his caution, she pushed back driving him deeper into her tail hole. Taking both paws, and gripping pawfuls of thick fur, he pulls his member out fully making DarkAngel look back at him as he drives himself back in to the hilt, this makes DarkAngel drop her ears and moan, her tail raising up more as if begging for more. In and out the pace quickens, DarkAngel letting pants and low yips which drive Nelwin on faster and harder. Slick sex sounds fill the room though both hardly notice, DarkAngel was lost in the ecstasy of the rear invasion and Nelwin was enjoying her heat and tight tail hole just as much. Stopping after a deep hard thrust, Nelwin could feel his own climax dangerously near and was wanting to make this last when DarkAngel who was impatient clenched up hard around his sensitive member, making him almost lose control that moment and then when he felt her hot insides caress him inside as if was a paw with amazing control, then Nelwin squeaked and lost it. Which made DarkAngel very happy, she loved breaking a males self control. With slow spent thrusts Nelwin filled DarkAngel's welcoming tail hole which spasms and clenched around his fading member, as if milking him. Pulling out his spent member, her anus wide a moment then winking closed he sat back on his haunches, her tail hole dribbling his seed within. DarkAngel could remember crawling and cuddling with this red mouse, though now that she thought about it, she had never seen a red Mousekin till now. She lay there in bed the sheets partially covering her, her legs tucked up and into her chest, her arms cradling them. She could smell the sex in the air, even now she could smell her own excitement remembering her sexual encounter, her sex wet and hot with desire, her loose tail hole and that feeling of gas which is a air bubble from recent sex. "Heck even a pink skinned Human could smell me" She thought to herself. Humans as all Animal-kin on Furegon know have worthless noses when scent was concerned. "Oh to Hell with it!" DarkAngel barked and rolled over, to a now awake Nelwin with a big grin across his mousey face. ~END

“If you whisper, they can’t hear you. But if you make a mistake, if you trip and fall as you whisper the secrets, their secrets, they turn and look. They don’t expect you to think, to know. To breathe into the night sky and just feel, with your whole heart, your whole soul. Dreams only come to those who wish for something more, beyond them. Fantastical delusions that spin around their minds like cotton puffs, weaving a world where you don’t have to exist. Where you don’t have to cry. Where everything's fine, where you’re just a firebender, and don’t have voices in your head or yearn for the skies, where Mother isn’t gone and your father thinks you’re actually good enough. Silly Zuko. You’re nothing to him. - “The world didn’t use to be like this.” Something curled and crawled into his ear, rasping stories that no one dares utter now. No. That’s not true. The Nation fought good and true. The Nation loves us, loves me. Father loves me. (Deep inside, a mind apart from his own always rages and chokes back tears when his teacher teaches Zuko more ‘facts’ about his great nation’s history. The Air Nomads had never had any armies. They had been defenceless. And now? They were all dead. Aren’t I dead? Where am I? Gyatso? Why is it so coldcoldcoldcold ? Zuko screamed.) - When Zuko had been born, the Fire Sages had looked at him, at his exhausted mother, and pronounced him a firebender to the impatient Fire Prince Ozai. Zuko had glittering gold eyes, that burned with him while he cried. A firebender indeed. The new prince was returned to his mother and father and the Fire Sages went on their way. But wait, something wasn’t right. If Ozai had looked, if Ursa had glanced at that group of old, old men, maybe one of them would have seen the fire in their eyes. Those eyes had seen it all, and the oldest of them had even been at Fire Lord Azulon’s birth. He had seen him grow, seen his innocent eyes burn into those of a deadly monster, killing men, women and children until the dye in his clothes weren’t the only reason his clothes were red. He was tired of the bloodshed. Tired of seeing the age limit for joining the army go lower and lower, until mere children walked into those red rivers and heard those screams. Maybe one day that Fire Sage might tell the others what he had seen in those young one’s eyes. The blue spark that had spiralled round and round the newborn’s pupils, the strange echo that followed his first cries. Maybe one day he might march to the throne room and confess of his sin of dishonesty, toward the crown and his nation, confess his traitorous act. But until the screams, the deaths, the blood stopped, that day would never come. When that man died a mere two years later, his secret died with him. After all, he was Kaja’s son. - Ursa woke to the smell of burning cloth. The smoke glided up her nose in a lazy assault of her senses, and after her mind abandoned the drowsy in her eyes, she sat up in alarm. In the corner of her hearing, whimpers came to her ears. Zuko? She rushed out of bed and threw open the door to her small son’s room. There he was, the centre of the smoke, curled into himself in a big King-sized bed, his face wet with tears even as he clenched his eyes in his sleep. And with a start, Ursa realized. Her baby was having a nightmare. With a distressed sigh, Ursa reached out to shake him gently. Hiss- A small cry aroused from her lips, one she couldn’t quite keep silent. Since when had touching Zuko burned her? Her cry had caused her son to shift in his sleep, and drowsily open his eyes. Ursa quickly moved to reassure him, prepared to open her arms and hug him, love him- “Ta Min? Is that you? Ta Min, where are we?” That voice.. This was not Zuko. The voice which spoke from her son’s mouth was gravelly and so very weary. Alarm surrounded her son’s features as this spirit used his face, stretched and wore his muscles. Her son (was it?) grasped her arm fearfully, forcefully, with the strength his tiny arms shouldn’t have. His eyes looked deep into her eyes, older then any she’d ever seen. The desperation that counted the spirit’s tone spoke deep tones to her, begging her to understand the urgency of this imagined situation. “We have to leave, Ta Min. We have to go to the Palace. You don’t know what Sozin is planning, he tried to kill me last night! The volcano, the lava, I couldn’t stop it! He left me, my old friend, my- my..” A cry of despair and Zuko (or rather Roku) fell back to sleep. That night, with Ozai sleeping by her side, Ursa griped herself tightly, until her fingers were red with pressure and her figure was curled into herself. And then, silently (she mustn't wake Ozai, quiet, quiet ) she cried.  (If Ozai, that vile monster with demons in his gullet and rage in his heart, had woken up on that dreadful night, if he had leaned into his wife and listened closely, closely, maybe he would have heard her cries. Maybe, just maybe, he would have asked the cause. And maybe, just maybe, Ursa would have told him. Told him that their son was the Avatar, that she had just held her grandfather in her hands and listened to him speak through their son’s mouth. Maybe, if Ozai had been lucky, if he had been a decent man, Ursa would have trusted him, as a wife, and as a mother. But Ozai was the monster that hid underneath her children’s beds at night, the cause of the cruelty behind Azula’s eyes, and the desperation behind Zuko’s. So Ursa just cried. For herself, for her children, for Zuko And Ozai, slept on.) - “After a long, harsh battle with our great Firelord Azulon, Avatar Wei’s forces retreated cowardly into the Northern Water Tribe’s encampments, and with great tactical strength, Firelord Azulon pursued him.” Wrong. (It was cold. Paralyzing, chilling ice surrounded him. It was dark. Where was Mommy? There was noise outside, cracks and thumps. He could hear Uncle Aki outside. He wanted to go to Uncle, his head hurt. There were voices, he didn’t like them, could Mommy make them go away? Maybe he should ask Uncle? “Where is the Avatar, savage? Tell me, maybe I won’t burn your entire city to the ground! Maybe-” What was that crack? “I’ll let-” More grunting, was that his uncle? “You live!” “Never!” The cracking of something hitting the floor of the igloo they were in. Wei peaked his head out of the box to take a peek. The ice was red, the snow was red, where was Uncle, where was Mommy, make the voices stop whispering, make the bad men go away, stop, stop, stop! “Something’s in there, Commander.” “Open it.” The lifting of the lid of the icebox his uncle had told him to hid in. Quick! Grab the corners, push them down, don’t let the bad men find you! “We found him!” Wei screamed.) Zuko raised his hand. His head, pounded and pounded, his whole body, electric. He had to ask.  He had to know . “How old was Avatar Wei when he died?” The tutor pursed her lips. “That, Prince Zuko, was never specified in Prince Azulon’s war texts. I would suggest you ask him yourself.” A nervous smile. She knew, all the scholars did. No one spoke of the missing scroll, that lay deep in the vaults for no one to find. That spoke of the real battle that day. That told of the disposing of Avatar Wei’s body, the wiping out of the Northern Water Tribe with no Avatar left to protect them. (After class, Zuko had excused himself to the restroom, his stomach rolling. He knew, just as she did, the real age of that ‘unconquerable foe’ of Firelord Azulon. Knew the true story of that battle which brought so much honour to the Fire Nation. Zuko couldn’t see what honour could be wrought from the death of a child barely four summers old.) - “Name the most recent full-cycle of ‘Fire-Air-Water-Earth’ Avatars, up to the present day.” Avatar Roku, the Air Nomad, Avatar Wei, and then Avatar Dingxiang. (“His name was Aang.”) - “Fire is fueled by anger, and rage. Your inner flame is a show of your passion for our great Nation. Fire is death, and destruction.” ( Green, blue, yellow, arcs of fire surrounded him. He was on a dragon, the wind in his hair. Peace filled the clouds, and silence hummed its own happy tune. Gently, his arms let go of the dragon’s fur and, slowly, gracefully traced another arc. A circle of fire burst from his palm. His dragon, powerful and strong, roared, the noise echoing into the rippling fire. How could death and destruction be so beautiful?) - Zuko loved flying. The air underneath his glider, bending and spirilling to his will, curling both lazily and with such excitement it gave him a rush. He loved the feeling of being in control of his every action, loved talking with his dearest friend. Gyatso. (Friend, father, mentor, jokester. It all blurred.) “I know not what to do with Sozin, Gyatso.” He was in an Air Temple, leaning against a stone-cold window, his brow troubled. Next to him, Gyatso, robbed in traditional Air Nomad garments, stood. Outside, the night sky, sown with stars that radiated deep cloths of beauty, shown. “Sozin was your dear friend for the better part of two decades, Roku. The kind of connection does not seem for naught. Appeal to him, you may still end this quarrel tastefully.” A bitter sigh. “I fear your Nomadic advice is not applicable to this situation, Gyatso. Something tells me that a simple discussion will not resolve this. Something deeper than broken kinship is at work here.” (Something darker was poisoning Sozin’s heart. A lust for power, for blood, soaked his organs and decayed his arteries, replaced every cell in his body, until the man Roku knew, the man who had laughed and quarreled with him, was not the man who left his burnt husk on the volcano that night.) Faraway in the stables, underneath the temple, a sky bison roared. And Zuko (Roku?) woke up. - (He was Prince Zuko, son of Prince Ozai and Lady Ursa, a firebender. He hated Air Nomads, and all their customs. The sky bisons were furry wastes for space, the pacifist routes they followed solved no one’s problems. He was glad they were all gone. He was. None of that was true.) - “You must know the pain of losing your only son!” Azula always lies. (This time though, Zuko knew she wasn’t lying.) Father was going to kill him. Lu Ten was dead, Uncle Iroh was a coward, and he was going to die. His eyes shut tight. Mother would fix this. He wouldn’t die. Father wouldn’t kill his only son! He loved him! Later, Zuko would think and wonder if he had noticed part of himself wasn’t even a little bit surprised by his father’s plans. - Mother was gone. (Like Gyatso, and Uncle Aki, and all the Air Nomads, all gone, all dead .) All he could do was curl up underneath the covers, and wish himself to not be so cold .

There was something to be said for waking up beside the person who made you feel the most grounded. There was also something to be said for sleeping beside someone in a small dorm bed. Warmth completely surrounded Neil down from his chest to his legs. He could feel the sunlight streaming through the window behind his closed eyelids, the weight next to him a solid presence. Slowly without moving, he opened his eyes to the sight of Andrew asleep, face not too far from his own.  Lips quirking, Neil remembered why they were in bed in the middle of the day in the first place. With Neil waking up gasping for air the past few nights and in subsequence, waking up Andrew in the next bed over – Neil refused to sleep in the same bed as Andrew when he woke up thrashing in the darkness – Neil’s days were hazy at best and Andrew wasn’t much better. Simply put, they were exhausted. So when Neil had the rest of the day off after his morning class until practice in the evening, Andrew had given him a look as he gestured to follow and lead the way to their dorms. Neil was hesitant when Andrew followed him onto his bed instead of moving to his own. Even though they had gradually started getting used to the extra weight of each other in bed and even though it was daytime with light streaming through the window, he was still wary of the risk of waking up violently with Andrew beside him. ‘Yes or no, Neil? Andrew asked as he knelt on the bed, body further away than Neil liked. He knew if he said no then Andrew would back off. The thing was – he didn’t want to say no. He also knew that Andrew was aware of his own limitations and he trusted him enough to draw them when needed. Neil tiredly nodded his assent, as he gestured for Andrew to come closer but Andrew stayed out of reach as he waited. As soon as Neil held a hand out, with the words ‘yes’ on his tongue, only then did Andrew settle next to him as he burrowed his face into his pillow, drifting off. Looking at Andrew, Neil felt something warm unfurl inside his chest. Andrew was rested with his back against the wall, fingers curled into fists underneath his pillow, the heat of his leg beside Neil’s.  Other than that, their bodies weren’t touching. Gaze roaming over Andrew’s face, Neil thought of how rare a sight it was to catch Andrew asleep. Andrew would usually wake up before him, whether it be because of sudden movements or noise. Seeing Andrew this peaceful sent a sharp pang through Neil’s chest. He knew how far Andrew had come, he was here. Neil knew it was no use ruminating over things he couldn’t change. It didn’t mean it hurt any less to think about what Andrew had gone through. Neil took a few more minutes to himself, just looking at Andrew, knowing as soon as he moved it would be over. He was right. As soon as he shifted slightly, leg beginning to turn numb from staying still too long, Andrew’s eyes flashed open with alarm before smoothing over blankly as soon as he registered that it was Neil beside him. Neil knew not to take offence to Andrew’s immediate reaction to having someone beside him upon waking up. He knew that it took Andrew a long time to be comfortable with this and even though Neil would never say it to Andrew, he was proud of him. “Morning,” Neil said, as he looked out to glance out the window, “Or should I say afternoon?” Andrew stared at Neil, taking in Neil’s smile and flicking it when it grew larger at Andrew’s unresponsiveness. “If you shut up, maybe I can fall the fuck back asleep.” Andrew finally replied, glaring at Neil from under his lashes as he burrowed his head further into his pillow. Laughing, Neil knocked his knee against Andrews, tutting, “No, no, practice starts soon, if you fall back asleep it’s just gonna make it harder for you to wake up.” Raising his head slightly, Andrew gave him a blank look, “Did I ask?” Neil pushed his head closer to Andrew’s till they were sharing the same pillow, hands clasped underneath his head, propping his chin up as he watched Andrew; who had his eyes closed again. Feeling Neil move closer, Andrew opened one eye to stare at him. “Stop that.” Andrew demanded. “What?” Neil asked curiously, raising a brow. “You’re being annoying for someone who barely slept the past 3 nights.”   Pressing his lips together as he turned his face towards the ceiling, Neil felt his good mood evaporate at the reminder. He didn’t want to think about that, not now. Not with Andrew. “What did he want?” Andrew questioned. Andrew wanted to know why Ichirou Moriyama had paid Neil a little visit three days ago. Sighing, Neil turned his head sideways back to Andrew’s, “Same old. Threats, warnings, intimidation…” he trailed off. Eyes focused on his, Andrew vowed, “I won’t let him them touch you.” Not having a response for that, Neil angled his head up and nudged his nose against Andrew’s as they locked eyes. Up close he could notice all the different shades and flecks of color that made up the warm hazel in Andrew’s eyes. Neil loved those eyes. Loved the way Andrew didn’t need to speak for Neil to know what he was saying, loved the way they hardened with determination during a game, loved the way they’d track his movements across a room; and especially loved the way they would connect with Neil’s own, wanting and burning and fierce.   “Kiss me.” Neil whispered, eyes locked with Andrew’s a bare few inches apart. Lifting one hand from underneath his pillow, Andrew carded it through Neil’s hair, catching an absent curl as he brought Neil’s lips to meet his. Neil’s lips parted underneath Andrew’s as he kissed back and sunk his head more comfortably into his pillow with Andrew’s hand cradling the side of his face. Kissing Andrew felt like freedom. Felt like living. Felt like something he never wanted to lose. Andrew’s hand caught in Neil’s hair and tightened slightly as he moved closer to Neil, tilting his head for better access which in turn caused Neil to hum in appreciation before pulling back minutely. Neil lifted a hand and looked to Andrew, asking for permission and Andrew licked his lips, red and shiny from kissing, and nodded as he answered, “Just my hair.” Neil felt warmth wash over him as he placed his hand in Andrew’s hair, soft and mussed from his pillow, and began to softly card his fingers through as Andrew’s eyes drifted shut.  Neil thought how life couldn’t feel much better than it did in this very moment, even with the imminent threat of the remaining Moriyama over his head. He’d take anything Andrew had to offer. The trust Andrew placed in him made Neil feel a whole range of emotions bundled up into one, which he tried to convey through his kisses, his touches, his actions. Neil knew words would never mean as much to Andrew after so many broken promises. Would never hold as much weight as actions and loyalty, and Neil, Neil would do anything to make sure he never broke that trust.   Lost in his own thoughts, Neil didn’t notice Andrew’s eyes had opened. “Cut it out.” Andrew said. Neil snapped out of his musing as he took in Andrew’s words and quickly made to pull his hand from Andrew’s hair but Andrew caught his wrist and held him there. “No I mean- stop thinking so hard.” He demanded. Relaxing, Neil rolled his eyes as he flopped onto his back, wrist still in Andrew’s hold. Andrew’s eyes narrowed, but he let go of Neil’s wrist in favor of reaching up to cradle Neil’s face in his hands. Unblinkingly staring into Andrew’s eyes, Neil held his breathe as he felt fingertips lightly ghost over his cheeks, his scars, his old burns. Tracing up and down the ridges of burnt flesh and puckered skin, even two years after its creation; it was still an ugly thing. But Andrew made Neil forget all about his insecurity when he was this close. Neil’s breathing hitched when Andrew’s fingers trekked their way down to his lips, thumb stroking across the jut of his bottom lip. In the two years since Neil had come to Palmetto, his relationship with Andrew had ventured beyond kissing and fumbling under each other’s clothes. It took them a long time to even get to that stage, where Andrew would feel comfortable being vulnerable in front of Neil, and after being with him for this long, Neil was mindful that not every day was a good one for Andrew. Neil captured Andrew’s hand with both of his own and turned his head to the side as he brought Andrew’s hands up to his lips, leaving a kiss on the inside of his thumb before resting it against his cheek.   “So you have a hand fetish now too?” Andrew surmised. Neil’s eyes widened, taken aback. Composing himself, Neil scoffed, “What do you mean by ‘too’?” “Well,” – Andrew sounded almost teasing even while maintaining his disinterested expression, which made Neil feel just a little giddy inside – “There’s my neck for one.” Rolling his eyes at the mention of Andrew’s neck, which he could never seem to let go after all these years, Neil declared, “You can pretend you have a problem with that, but I know that you like it. I like that you like it.” Neil watched Andrew’s eyes darken by the time he finished speaking, glancing down at his lips in a way that made Neil feel smug. Andrew’s eyes suddenly flashed up to Neil’s, catching his amused expression and wiping it off his face with a kiss so biting that if Neil wasn’t already lying down, well. Let’s just say it would’ve swept him off his feet. Grinning into the kiss, Neil grabbed at Andrew’s shirt sleeve and carded his other hand through Andrew’s hair, twisting blonde hair between his fingers. Breathing harshly, Andrew broke the kiss and bumped his forehead against Neil’s. As they stared at one another, Neil could see something brewing in Andrew’s eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.” Neil closed his eyes. “You hear me?” Andrew continued. Opening his eyes to meet Andrew’s serious ones, Neil nodded in acknowledgment. “I hear you.” “Good,” Andrew concluded, “Now move your ass, don’t want to be late for practice do you?” He added derisively as he waited for Neil to get off the bed before he followed. Once they were both standing up, Andrew pocketing his cigarettes while Neil grabbed their keys, Neil came to a stop in front of Andrew. Andrew looked up searchingly as Neil gathered up his words. Eyes blanking as Neil spoke, but the hand on his wrist was warm and solid, telling him everything that was left unsaid. “I won’t let anyone hurt you either.”

There was a slight throbbing in Jim’s neck as he regained consciousness. Looking around he felt a mix of anger and sadness as he realized that he was no longer on board the Enterprise. Spock had sent him away.  “Computer: where am I?” He asked. “Location, Delta Vega. Class M planet. Unsafe. There is a Starfleet outpost 14 kilometers to the northwest. Remain in your pod until retrieved by Starfleet authorities,” the monotonous computer voice responded. Ignoring the computer’s warning Jim managed to open his escape pod, only to find himself in a deep hole surrounded by walls of ice and snow. Grabbing the emergency kit he began scaling the wall in front of him, the cold biting at his bare hands. As he finally managed to climb out of the hole Jim looked around seeing nothing but vast stretches of white in every direction. Seeing no other option Jim donned the jacket and boots from the emergency kit and started off towards the Starfleet outpost. After what seemed like hours in the near white-out conditions Jim pulled out a small recorder and began speaking into it, “Stardate 2258.42. Acting Captain Spock has marooned me on Delta Vega, in what I believe to be a violation of Security Protocol 49.09 governing the treatment of prisoners aboard a star…” Jim stopped his narration when he noticed a sound off in the distance slightly masked by the howling wind. Peering through the almost blinding snow he saw that there was an enormous shape thundering towards him. As it came into view Jim saw it was a large quadrupedal beast with fangs and white fur.  With primal fear coursing through his body Jim did his best to sprint away from the beast, but it was quickly gaining on him. Losing his footing was the worst possible thing that could happen, but on a planet covered in ice and snow, there was nothing Jim could do to prevent it. Just as the beast was about to catch him the ground beneath it opened up and an even larger, more terrifying monster with red, slimy skin appeared.  It had the furry monster clamped between its jaws. As he lay on the ground Jim was utterly terrified. Scrambling to his feet the blond was about to run when the beast turned back to him with a deafening roar. Running was the only thing he could do. No matter what he did the beast was closing in on him, even after falling down a mountain of snow. It continued to follow him into a cave, crashing through pillars of ice. Stumbling once again Jim prepared to meet his end as the creature’s spindly tongue wrapped around his leg, trying to pull him into its mouth. He was almost done for when a tall figure rushed to his aid waving a flaming torch. Jim stared in amazement as the beast fled in terror. As the figure carrying the torch turned to look at him Jim saw that it was an older Vulcan who had saved him. And as their eyes met there was something startlingly familiar about his chocolate gaze. “James T. Kirk,” the Vulcan addressed him by name.  “Excuse me?” Jim asked, confused as to how this stranger knew his name. “How did you find me?” “How do you know my name?” “I have been and always shall be your T’hy’la.” Jim was stunned. Only Spock called him T’hy’la. Jim hardened his tone slightly as he addressed this strange Vulcan, “Look I don’t know you.” “I am Spock,” came a definitive reply. “Bullshit,” the blond declared despite seeing that the warm brown eyes staring at him were identical to those of his soulmate.  The Vulcan didn’t speak again until they had made it back to a small encampment that had been set up deeper inside the cave, “It is pleasing to see you again T’hy’la. Especially after the events of today.” Jim still felt slightly uncomfortable because his soulmate was supposed to be the only one who called him that, “Sir, I appreciate what you did for me today, but my Spock is just a few years older than me. You just can’t be him.” “Then this should prove it to you,” he replied pulling up his sleeve just enough to reveal a slightly tarnished soulet.  Taking a step forward Jim looked down at the thin band to read the name inscribed there: James Tiberius Kirk. Jim looked up in wonderment at this older version of his soulmate. He wanted to deny it, but the warm brown eyes staring back at him and the soulet with his name on it left no room for doubt or argument. This was Spock. “How?” He asked still reeling from this new development. “All will be explained,” elder Spock replied. “But, Jim, I must know. Why are you here?” Anger clouded over Jim’s features as he spoke, his voice filled with contempt, “You marooned me here for mutiny.” “Mutiny,” the Vulcan mimicked in surprise. “You are not the captain?” “No, no. You’re the captain. Pike was taken hostage.” “By Nero.” “What do you know about him?” The blond asked hoping to find some answers. “He is a particularly troubled Romulan,” came a response as Spock stood, making his way over to where Jim was now standing. “Please, allow me.It will be easier.” “Woah, woah. What are you doing?” Jim exclaimed, warry of the hand coming towards his face. “Our minds, one and together,” was the only response before elder Spock’s voice filled his head along with visions of what seemed to be the past. “One hundred twenty-nine years from now, a star will explode and threaten to destroy the galaxy. That is where I am from, Jim, the future.  “A star went supernova, consuming everything in its path. I promised the Romulans that I would save their planet. We outfitted our fastest ship. Using red matter I would create a black hole which would absorb the exploding star. I was en route, when the unthinkable happened. The supernova destroyed Romulus. I had little time. I had to extract the red matter and shoot it into the supernova. As I began my return trip I was intercepted. “He called himself Nero, last of the Romulan empire. In my attempt to escape, both of us were pulled into the black hole. Nero went through first. He was the first to arrive. Nero and his crew spent the next 25 years awaiting my arrival. But what was years for Nero was only seconds for me. I went through the black hole. Nero was waiting for me. He held me responsible for the loss of his world. He captured my vessel and spared my life, for one reason. So that I would know his pain. He beamed me here so that I could observe his vengeance. As he was helpless to save his planet, I was helpless to save mine. Billions of lives lost because of me, Jim. Because I had failed.” Jim was panting heavily as tears ran down his face, when Spock pulled his hand away, “Forgive me. Emotional transference is an effect of the mind-meld.” “Going back in time you changed all our lives,” Jim announced breathily as he was filled with a mix of anger and understanding. Anger at the fact that his destiny had been changed because of a misunderstanding, but understanding at the fact that this was not elder Spock’s fault. “Jim we must go. There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here.” “Wait,” Jim called out, wanting at least some good news in all of this chaos. “Where you come from, did I know my father?” “Yes. You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become captain of the Enterprise.”    “Captain?” “A ship we must return you to as soon as possible.” With that final statement, Spock headed off towards the cave entrance leaving Jim to follow him.   On the Enterprise Spock sat in the captain’s chair watching the stars fly by as they made their way to the to the Laurentian System to meet up with the rest of Starfleet. The Vulcan’s thoughts drifted between his t’hy’la and the battle to come. Part of him questioned if he had made the right choice sending Jim away, while the other part was happy that his mate was out of harm’s way.  His thoughts were interrupted by the presence of Dr.McCoy, “You wanted to see me?” “Yes, Doctor,” he answered. “I am aware that James Kirk is a friend of yours. I recognize that supporting me as you did must have been difficult.” “Is that a thank-you?” The older man asked slightly irritated. “I am simply acknowledging your difficulties.” “Permission to speak freely, Sir.” “I welcome it.” “Do you?” He remarked, his irritation more evident now. “Okay, then. Are you out of your Vulcan mind? Are you making the logical choice sending Kirk away? Probably. But the right one? You know back home we got a saying, ‘If you’re gonna ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don’t leave your prized stallion in the stable.’” “A curious metaphor, Doctor, as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential.” “My god, man, you could at least act like it was a hard decision.” This rattled Spock slightly, at the time it hadn’t occurred to him how easy it had been for him to send Jim away, “On the contrary, Doctor, this decision has more of an impact on me than you can comprehend.” “Oh really? And what impact is that?” Spock lifted up his left arm so that it was in the doctor’s line of sight as he pushed back the sleeve revealing his soulet.  Understanding filed McCoy’s face as he read the name there, “You’re soulmates. Then why on earth did you send him away?” “Because despite our relationship I could not have him questioning my authority.” “Spock,” McCoy sighed, feeling sympathy for the Vulcan. “If you didn’t already know, Jim is very passionate when he believes in something. As the person who lived with him for the past three years, I can attest to this. He was fighting you because he believed it was the right thing to do. And there’s something else you should know about Jim.” “And that would be?” Spock queried, concerned about this new information. “Jim’s been through a lot in his life, more than someone should ever have to go through, and because of this, he doesn’t trust easily. So, if we make it out of this I can’t guarantee what effect it’s going to have on your relationship.” “Thank you, Doctor. I will take that under advisement,” he acknowledged, hoping his thoughtlessness had not cost him his T’hy’la.

Before we head into the banquet we are coached by Effie. She explains that all this, the party, the food, the people, is for us. How we should be grateful. She goes on to say it's our day to shine and hers as well. Peeta holds my hand walking in. There are lights of all sorts of colors flickering and moving. People are spitting fire and eating flames. We approach a crowd of Capital citizens all done up crazy with their colors and hair. The crowd parts for Peeta and I. People are smiling and congratulating us. They grab my hands and pat me on the back. I hold Peeta's hand tight. The close contact makes my skin crawl. I want to brush them off me. In fact, I'd like to do more, but I don't, I'm on camera. All I want is to get back on that train alive with Peeta right by my side. The crowd breaks and I see him. President Snow, standing in the clearing. I nearly stop dead in my tracks, if it wasn't for Peeta's steady arm wrapped around my waist. I hate this man, as well as fear him. He is a snake on two legs that is ready to slip himself around my family, threatening to take their very existence from me. He extends his hand to Peeta to shake. I can't speak, can't think. They're too close. The mouse under the cats nose. When Snow turns to me I am smiling. I won't let him see my fear. He holds both his hands out to me and I shakily take them. He kisses the top of each of my hands. Looking me in the face. My eyes ask what my lips cannot. To answer my silent question, his grip hardens and I can feel my fingers being crushed. He's smiling when he shakes his head lightly. The hairs on my neck stand straight up. I can feel the blood drain from my face. No! I have failed. Not only did I fail but I had made him angry "I wanted to welcome our newest Victors to my home. I'm not one for parties but, I couldn't miss the chance to see the newest piece to our collection again. Congratulations on your engagement." He announces in a booming voice. I am stuck. His hands never let go throughout his little speech. Peeta notices and his jaw tightens as he stands helpless. There is nothing he can do. The pain in my hand is proof we failed. Proof we are doomed. The music starts and the cameras roll over to the musicians. Cinna's words flashes through my thoughts. 'Oh but that's where you're wrong Katniss. They are entirely yours. You'll understand soon enough.' My dress was not made for twirling I remind myself, but to scare and shock. I feel the anger build deep in me. My hand grips Snows hands back tightly, and I stare him dead in the eyes. I know what Cinna means now. I know he wanted me to decide for myself. If I wanted to participate in this rebellion. Cinna understands how dangerous this will be, and needed me to officially decide. I want in. If they are going to kill me, let it be with my mouth full of spite. I stand up straight. If they want me, then I'm there. "Do what you have to do then," I say through my teeth. He let's go quickly asif my hands where a hot pan. As soon as he lets go Peeta grabs my waist pulling me away, but I never remove my eyes from Snow. "Katniss, stop," Peeta whispers, into my ear. I want to push Peeta to the side and run at Snow, but I know it wouldn't end well. He says nothing, only stares back at me. Peeta pulls me into the crowd. The people around us are pleased to see us giving us room to watch the music. Peeta is holding both of my hands and softly petting them, trying to soothe me. But the attempt is wasted. I can still feel Snow on my hands, see his puffy red lips. Nausea creeps from my stomach. My face is red and I feel the pain in my spine again. I am furious. Peeta is brushing my arm now trying his best to do what he can to calm me. I look around for Cinna. I want him to know what I've decided. "Katniss, Love? Would you like something to drink?" Peeta asks in a even voice. There's no doubt he's trying his best to get my mind out of its internal spiral. I nod because I know if I say anything it'll come out harshly. I won't take it out on him. When we reach a table there is an array of choices. Everything from water to liquor. He reaches for a water and hands it to me. I set it down reaching for the wine. "No, Katniss," Peeta says. Grabbing the wine glass from my hand. "Give it to me," I say slow. I know I'm being stubborn but I don't care. He shakes his head while handing over the glass. I gulp it without hesitation. It's sweet and I reach to grab another. "Not so fast," Peeta stops me. "Let's eat a little and then we'll come back" He pauses for some time then says. "We'll figure something out-," At that moment Effie walks up to us. With a pair of yellow hair, green eyed twins. "Oh Katniss, I wanted you to meet Terra and Clerra. It's funny because I can't tell who's whom." The twins along with Effie laughs "Nice to meet you Girl on fire. We wear your pin in our hair tonight." They say and wave their hands to their hair. "Nice to meet you," I say fast. "Effie, where's Haymitch?" Peeta takes the words out my mouth. "Having too much fun in the garden," She says quickly. Peeta lets me go. I feel needles in my feet and my heart jumps. "Peeta, no," I reach out for him. Panicking. "I'll be right back Katniss, I'm going to get Haymitch," "Peeta, please don't," I grip him closer. I won't let him out of my sight. He looks to Effie, and she huffs. "Alright Terra,Clerra, it was nice seeing you two again. Have a good night ladies," She dismisses them. When they are out of sight she looks at us. "What's happened?" She asks. "Effie, we need Haymitch. We'll all talk when we have the chance," Peeta is looking around for the others. Effie is talking to herself about getting promoted when she walks off. I turn and grab another drink, and pass it to Peeta. "I need to keep a clear head," He says. "Peeta, if they were going to kill us here they would've done it already. Drink with me," He looks for a moment contemplating whether or not it's a good idea. When he takes the glass he chucks it back. "Well, if I'm gonna drink, I might as well catch up," he says pulling me close. He makes sure I eat, coaxing me to take another bite. But the wine has my undivided attention. The feelings dare to bubble to the surface. Drowning them seems to be the only solution at the moment, and after a while everything seems lighter and easier to handle. I'm swimming in my head though I'm not alone. Peeta is wrapped around me telling jokes and laughing. When we finally see Haymitch he's being carried by two avoxes to the couch near us. "Oh great. He's out before the lights." I'm laughing. Hanging on to Peeta. He grabs another wine glass and raises it to toast. I do the same. "To doing everything wrong." We clink and drink. Throughout the night I dismiss every Capital that comes up to me. I'm not playing for the cameras anymore. Some time after we see the others. Our prep teams seem to be watching us closely. They are not the usual chatter boxes they are, instead they are calm and alert. But, where is Cinna? He's missing from his normal place next to Portia. My fuzziness turns into dizziness, and I feel sick again. In the back of my mind I don't want to tell Peeta. I want to keep the fun going. Making fun of the people here was the best part. But I can't risk being sick in front of Effie. I'm sure shes had enough of it from Haymitch, Effie will probably lose it. "Peeta, I'm gonna be sick," I tell him. He grabs my hand and we half walk, half stumble to the restroom. We reach the stalls when I feel I can't hold it in anymore and I almost don't make it. Peeta's rubbing my back, passing me tissues and telling me everything's okay. When I'm done, I'm able to rinse my mouth at the sinks. I look up in the mirror. I can see Peeta behind me looking into the eyes of my reflection. His hands caress around my waist. His chest to my back. I let my head fall back on to his shoulder. His face is in my neck kissing and licking. I push my bottom out against him. Our days of torment are at an end what's the point of holding back. If today's my last night then it should be with Peeta. I turn looking him in the eyes. We're both intoxicated. My lips kiss his. Sloppy but still enticing. When I feel his tongue I am set ablaze. My hands knot in his hair. My fingers have longed for him too long. He deepens the kiss picking me up, setting me on the sink. I spread my legs letting him in. He pulls me closer. My dress is in the way, stopping Peeta from getting as close as we'd like. "No! no! This is completely unacceptable!" Effie pulls us apart. "It's time to go. I can't stand another minute of this." She's mad. Separating us, she looks appalled. She grabs both our hands walking us out of the bathroom. "You're lucky no one saw you two. Completely no manners. Going at it in the restroom like wild animals. Who knows what I would have walked into if I waited a bit longer?" Peeta chuckles. Our prep teams our waiting for us at the door. Cinna is back and he winks at me. I wink back. We are back on the train by one in the morning. We're all tired. The day has taken so much out of us. I walk back to Peeta's room, slipping my shoes off, and trying to undo my hair. I almost mad at Cinna for making it so hard to do when I feel Peeta's hands come to the rescue. My hair falls wild and kinked around my face. Peeta moves to the buttons on my dress. When my dress is off, I feel freed. His fingers roam my back, his lips on my shoulder. He's still fully clothed, and I change that hastily. I have to stop for a minute as Peeta's sways and has to hold onto me for support. Eventually, he's in just his briefs "Oh boy, Katniss we really made a mess of things," He says rubbing his face. "I don't want to think about that now," I say. I lead him to the bed. He flops onto it, resting his eyes. I climb upon him, straddling him. I know he's tired but I need him. Putting no time to waste, I pull him free. He's soft. I know how to change that. I lick and kiss at his ear. Running my hands over his stomach. He's mine and always will be. I think to myself. In seconds he's hard. And I get to see him fully now. The room is dimly lit from the small lamp by his bed and warm. Lit just enough so I can see all of him. I move to take off my underwear. And when I'm back straddling him again he makes an effort to look at me. He tries to sit up, and I push him down. His hands go to my hips, then up my belly and back down to my waist. I remove my bra exposing my breasts to him. "Oh Katniss. You never know what you do to me," He's says. I drag my fingers down his chest touching his nipple, feeling his stomach. Peeta looks so handsome. His hair is wild and his face relaxed. I bring my lips to his. His fingers lace into my hair hardening the kiss making it wet. I move to his neck and suck hard. He cries out. His hands move to my rear and pulling me close. "You're mine," I whisper into his neck. He groans at me. Moving his hand forward until he reaches my lips. My body is ignited. is skilled hands know what to do. His lips find my ear and he kisses at the base of it. He bucks his hips rubbing his shaft a long my clitoris. I moan into his ear, and I feel him twitch. My mind is spinning. I have to stop to compose myself. I can't move too fast or I'll be in the bathroom again. We don't wait long because I'm positioning him. I wet him with myself, like he did our first night together. Peeta nods in approval. When I take him I flinch still not quite used to him. The pain lasts only for a second, and then I'm feeling the stirrings again. Deep in my chest I feel a pang. I want more, I want to live in his arms. I want his voice, his smell, his emotion. I come to an overall conclusion, I want his love. I can't say I love him in return but I can accept his love. He doesn't just please me, He makes love to me. Every kiss, touch, thrust, was out of care. I feel invincible with him. He is most definitely my life source and my fuel to keep fighting. Without him there would be no girl on fire. I'd be dead long before that reaping, along with my sister and mother. I ride him in gratitude. My savior. Always mine. I feel ashamed for ever feeling for another. His eyes have always been on me. Always longed for me. "You look incredible." He moans. I flush. Quickening my pace he's holding me tight. I'm so close to my end when he yells out bucking, meeting my hips. I go harder trying to get there. I wanna be with him. Then he's stopping me. "K-Katniss hold on." He is trying to hold me still. "No," I bring myself down. He sits up stopping me altogether. He flips me into my back. "Peeta, please," I grab at him to push back in. "I can't just right now. I need some time," I think how unfair this is. But it's not long before he opens my legs, sliding a finger in me and it's back. I'm close again. He adds another. Pumping me. I'm shocked completely when he brings his lips to me, tasting me. I'm practically moaning at the top of my lungs. My fingers are in his hair. Trying my best to hold him. When I'm at my peak I can't yell. I can't breathe. I am stuck in the pleasure of his tongue. When I'm able to voice anything I don't. Peeta's looking up at me smiling. "Happy?" He asks me. I nod. My mind is blown. Who would've thought you can do that. Why haven't we done that earlier. He wipes his mouth onto the sheet. My stomach cringes. I have to look away in embarrassment. "Is the taste bad?" I ask mortified. "No but it tastes much different than I'd expected it to taste. It's sort of tastes like strawberries." My cheeks are hot. And I move my hands to cover my face. He moves up to me and pulls my hand away from my face. "here, taste." He says bringing his lips to mine. I hesitate. Feeling uncomfortable, but give into the curiosity, I lean in. He is right. It sort of does. He laughs as he moves away. "If you could only see your face right now. I swear it's priceless." He says, moving to lay next to me. I'm embarrassed pulling the sheet to my chest, pushing him away. "I didn't mean to tease you," He pulls me to him. I push on him again. "Where did you even learned to do that?" I say mad. "Well, for the record, I didn't really know what I was doing. I mostly was just winging it. My brothers sort of taught me. Rye is a bit involved with the ladies at home. There was a time my father once got a shipment of melons. I remember my brothers joking around one day. Who ever got all the seeds in their mouth was the best at pleasuring girls with their...mouth." He laughs at the memory. "I didn't do it. Half way into Rye's demonstration my mother walked in. And well... we got the beating of a lifetime. I was 13 at the time. Growing up with older brothers the topic was a little hard to miss." I'm smiling at the story. Stupid boys, trying to corrupt my Peeta. I kiss his lips. Tomorrow we'll be home. Not safe but at least among people I love and trust.

Shawn was bored. He was at the office by himself, with no sign of any clients or cases to keep him occupied. Gus was at his other job, Lassiter was at work, and Henry…well, he had agreed to have dinner with Henry the next night. There was no reason to overdo the father/son time. He pulled out his phone and called Gus. "You need to meet me at the Psych office right away!" he said as soon as Gus picked up. "Why? Do we have a case?" Shawn considered lying, but knew that if he did, Gus would be pissed and his boredom problem would only temporarily be solved. "No," he admitted, "no case. But you need to come anyway. I'm thinking of rearranging the furniture, and I need your input." "You're not going to rearrange the furniture," Gus said confidently. "How do you know? I think the chop suey in here is bad." There was a moment of silence from Gus's end for a moment, before he said "You mean feng shui, not chop suey. Maybe you need to go get some lunch." "I do need some lunch," Shawn agreed, "and chop suey sounds pretty good. But I still need your help with the office. If you don't come, I'm going to move your desk out onto the sidewalk." "That would require you to move my desk all by yourself," Gus said, "and that would mean actual physical labor on your part, so I'm not too worried." Shawn made a face at the phone and hung up. He'd show Gus! After lunch, of course. Obviously he would need his strength if he was going to start moving desks around. He walked to the tiny, hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant down at the corner for lunch, flipping idly through the newspaper as he ate in search of anything that he might potentially turn into a case, but nothing caught his eye, so he went back to the office and pushed half-heartedly at Gus's desk before deciding that it was too heavy to take out to the sidewalk by himself, so instead he took Gus's stapler, tape dispenser, appointment book, pens, and stress ball and deposited them on the bench outside of the office. That would show him. Inside again, he pulled out his phone and texted Lassiter: "At Psych office alone. Dying of boredom. Save me!" which he hoped would appeal to Lassie's hero complex. Unfortunately, the text he received back a few minutes later was a terse "Working", which made Shawn wonder if he should give up on the office and go down to the police station. He turned on the police scanner to listen for interesting crime scenes that Lassiter and Juliet might be investigating, but heard nothing aside from routine traffic stops and a report of vandalism at one of the high schools, which meant Lassie was probably doing paperwork or in a meeting or something equally dull. So he gave into inertia and started playing Fruit Ninja on his phone, and became so absorbed that he was startled when the front door opened a little while later. He looked up to see Lassiter come in. "Why are there office supplies on the bench out front?" "I'm punishing Gus. Hey, I thought you were working," he said, coming around to sit on the edge of his desk. "How could I work when I knew that you were in danger of imminent death?" Lassiter asked dryly as he came to stand in front of Shawn. "My hero," Shawn said with a grin, grabbing Lassiter's tie to pull him in closer. "Where's Guster?" "Out pushing drugs on unsuspecting doctors," Shawn murmured, placing delicate kisses along Lassiter's jaw. "Do you have to go back to the station any time soon?" "No. We wrapped the case we were working on. I'm on call if something comes up, but otherwise I have the afternoon off." "Excellent," Shawn said happily. "I know exactly what we can spend the day doing." "Oh?" Lassiter said, slipping a hand under Shawn's shirt and leaning forward to kiss him. "I have some ideas about that myself. What did you have in mind?" Shawn kissed him back enthusiastically, then, much to Lassiter's surprise, pushed him away. "Laser tag! I have free passes. I was going to go with Gus, but he's being a workaholic marmoset, so I thought we could go." "Laser tag?" Lassiter asked uncertainly. "Don't tell me you've never been, Lass! You get to shoot things, but there's no paperwork or internal affairs investigation afterwards! You'll love it, I promise." "Oookay. You really want to play laser tag with me?" "Well, yeah. Gus is great at strategy, but he closes his eyes every time he shoots, so it's always easy to beat him. I was hoping you might provide a little more of a challenge. That way it will be more fun when I take you down." Lassiter frowned indignantly. "What makes you think you could beat me? Don't forget Spencer, I hold the department record for marksmanship." "Oh believe me, I know. It's hot," Shawn said appreciatively. "But I hold the Santa Barbara County Laser Tag Championship Award for players over the age of 21. So I guess we'll see who's the best." "I guess we will," Lassiter agreed, his competitive streak piquing his interest in the game. "I still can't believe that you've never told me that you can shoot like that," Lassiter said. He looked a little shellshocked. They were walking back into the Psych office, where Shawn had asked Lassiter to bring him so that he could pick up his bike. Shawn had won at laser tag of course, mostly because Lassiter had been expecting him to goof around during the game like he did with so many other things, not realizing that Shawn was deadly serious when it came to shooting people with harmless lights. Even so, Lassiter had done what Shawn had hoped and provided him more of a challenge than Gus usually did, and more importantly, Lassiter had had fun. It was an element sorely lacking in Lassie's life, Shawn felt. "You wouldn't have believed me without proof," Shawn pointed out. "Yeah, but…whatever. Next time, Spencer, I'll know what to expect, and I'll kick your ass." "Admit it, you think it's hot that I'm that good with a gun." "It was a plastic gun, not a real one, so I admit nothing." "I'm just as good with the real thing," Shawn assured him. "I'll have to see it to believe it." "I'd say we should go to the gun range one day, but I'm afraid you would molest me right there in the building while I was wearing the ugly glasses and earmuffs, because you would find me soooo irresistible." "Somehow, I think I'd be able to restrain myself," Lassiter said, rolling his eyes. "I doubt it," Shawn sniffed, "but on the other hand…" he pushed Lassiter against the wall and pressed right up against him, right where he wanted to be, "maybe I'm the one who would get so turned on that I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself." "Nothing new about that," Lassiter muttered, but pulled Shawn in for a kiss, his hands trailing down Shawn's back to his ass, making Shawn moan into his mouth. Distantly, behind him, he heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by the clatter of something falling to the floor and a gasp. Dread curling into his chest, he lifted his head to see Gus standing there, his mouth hanging open in shock. "Shawn? Shawn! What the hell are you doing?!" "I…" for quite possibly the first time in his life, Shawn was at a loss for words. "Gus, I…" Gus turned and walked back into the lobby, pacing back and forth. Shawn followed, after giving a quick, despairing look in Lassiter's direction. Lassiter sank down onto the edge of Gus's desk, feeling unable to move. Shawn looked more terrified now than he ever had staring down the barrel of some psycho's gun. "Is this some kind of joke?" Gus asked, and Lassiter tensed, because if Shawn did brush this off as a joke, he thought he might walk out and not come back. "Joke? I…no. No joke, Gus. No one's wearing a funny hat or a fake nose or anything. I mean, what would be the punchline?" "Then what is it, Shawn? Are you and Lassiter…are you…I thought you liked girls, Shawn! Have you been lying to me about that all this time?" "No! I love girls! They're all soft and they smell good and they have pretty hair! What's not to like? I just…sometimes, I like guys too. It's not a big deal, Gus." "Not a big deal?! I thought we were best friends, Shawn! Best. Friends. I didn't think we had secrets like that from each other. I know you lie to everyone else, but I didn't think you lied to me." "I'm sorry, Gus. Just let me explain, okay?" Shawn sounded helpless. Lassiter squeezed his hands into fists, forcing himself not to jump into the middle of things. Gus shook his head. "I can't with you right now, Shawn," he said, his voice cracking with emotion, and he turned and walked out the front door. Shawn didn't try to go after him; he slumped against the wall, not looking at Lassiter. After a few minutes, Lassiter got up and went out to him. Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes. "That could have gone better," he said weakly. "Give him some time to get used to the idea. It's going to be okay, Shawn. He's just upset because it came as a shock." "Since when are you such an optimist?" "Since when are you not?" Lassiter countered. "Come on, let's go to my place. We can order something to eat from that Thai restaurant near my house that you like, and I'll even let you choose what movie we watch." "Nah," Shawn said, backing away from Lassiter and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I think I want to be alone right now." "Shawn," Lassiter started to say, but Shawn shook his head. "I'm fine, Lassie, I'm just not going to be any fun tonight. I'll call you later." "Fine," Lassiter said, easing towards the door, a hollow feeling in his chest. He paused in the doorway, turning to see Shawn sitting on the edge of Gus's desk, staring at the phone in his hand. "He'll get over it, Shawn. He was just surprised." "Yeah," Shawn said. "Later, Lassie." Not wanting to go home alone and brood, Lassiter went back to the station to work for a few more hours. He wondered if this was it, if Guster finding out was the thing that would send Shawn fleeing away from this weird, unstable relationship. He got his answer later that night when he arrived home and found Shawn sitting on his front steps. "Hi," he said, surprised. "I didn't think I would see you tonight." Shawn stood up, and without saying a word, pulled Lassiter into a hard, desperate kiss. After a minute, Lassiter broke away. "Shawn, what are you...?" "Nope," Shawn said flatly, "No discussing this tonight. Just...help me take my mind off of it, okay?" Lassiter thought about refusing, at least until after they had actually talked about what had happened and what it might mean for the future, but he was reminded of the night of the Yang case, when Shawn had come to him and asked something similar. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, "I can do that." When Lassiter woke up the next morning, he was surprised to find that Shawn was still in bed with him, curled up against him with an outstretched hand on Lassiter's chest. He had been quieter than normal the night before, and once in the middle of the night Lassiter had awoken to find Shawn checking his phone for any sign of a message, then dropping it onto the floor and burying his face against the pillow in resignation. It made him angry with Guster, to see Shawn so upset over this, but then he would remember that it was all Shawn's fault for keeping secrets, even if Lassiter could understand the insecurity and fear that led to Shawn keeping this particular secret. Now, he sighed in his sleep and squirmed closer to Lassiter, who felt an odd little stutter in his heart at having Shawn, who always, always disappeared in the middle of the night, still in his bed as the first rays of daylight started to creep into the room. Hesitantly, not wanting to wake him, he shifted even closer to Shawn, in what Lassiter absolutely refused to think of as snuggling. He closed his eyes and started drifting back into sleep, drinking in Shawn's warmth. His phone rang. "Shit," he swore, reaching for it on the nightstand, at the same time that Shawn mumbled "Is that mine? Is it…" "No," Lassiter said, and felt Shawn sink back down into the bed. There had been an early morning robbery at an all-night diner, and after telling the officer on duty that he was on his way, Lassiter sighed and sat up. "Stay as long as you want," he told Shawn, "just be sure to lock up when you leave." He half-expected Shawn to get out of bed as well, follow him to the crime scene, insist that "the spirits" had timed it so that he would be there to hear the call come in and that it was his destiny to solve the case, but Shawn remained a lump under the blankets, not asleep anymore but making no move to get up. He started to walk away to get dressed, but paused and turned back to the bed. "You can stay," he said again, "but don't touch any of my guns. Or my laptop. And keep out of my desk. And if you finish off the peanut butter, it will be your responsibility to buy me more." "So it's cool if I take down that awesome Civil War sword and play pirate with it?" "No! No touching any weaponry. Got it, Spencer?" "Yeah, Lassie," Shawn said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I understand." Still, he made no move to get out of the bed, or ask questions about where Lassiter was going. It was unnerving to have Spencer display a complete lack of curiosity about the case. After he was dressed, Lassiter came and stood by the bed again. He didn't think Shawn was actually asleep, but he was doing a good job of feigning it, lying still and quiet. He bit back the instinct to say something comforting about how Guster was sure to contact him today; the man was made of marshmallow, he wouldn't hold out on Shawn for long. But Shawn knew Guster far better than Lassiter did, so he had to know this as well. It was apparently of little enough consolation to him at the moment, judging from how quiet, how un-Shawnlike, he had been since the day before. Lassiter had always assumed that not having Spencer run off at the mouth constantly would be a relief, but he found that he didn't like it very much; without his trademark brashness, Shawn seemed deflated somehow. It made Lassiter feel helpless, and wasn't that a terrifying realization, to know that Shawn's happiness mattered so much to him? He shook his head, and without saying anything else to Shawn, left for his crime scene.

  Kim Rok Soo is wondering. Really. "Why is he sleeping on the couch when there's a big, comfortable bed right here?" Kim Rok Soo frowned after seeing that the redhead decided to sleep on the couch instead of the big fluffy bed.   Oh well, it's up to the person how they want to sleep, they can also sleep on the floor if that's more comfortable for them. Kim Rok soo waited for a few minutes before he flew towards him, checking if the redhead was asleep.  "It must be cold since it's night, he should've taken the blanket if he wanted to sleep on the couch." Kim Rok Soo whispered while floating above Cale's head 'I don't know if souls can touch anything, but it's a good experiment' Kim Rok Soo flew towards the bed and looked at the wilfully 'Since I'm staying in his room, I might as well help him in some way'    Kim Rok Soo 'touched' the blanket and attempted to 'grab' it.   Keyword: attempted     "Damn it" Kim Rok Soo grumbled as he plopped down on the bed. He doesn't even have hands, how is he supposed to grab the blanket? He just bumped his round body on it and nothing even happened. aren't there supposed to be a hand popping out of nowhere like in those fantasy novels? Damn "haa" He sighed and gave up on trying to lift the blanket which he can't even hold for dear life   "I feel bad for staying here without doing anything in return" Kim Rok Soo said as he looked at the window   The novel said that there are two Religions in Roan. The Sun God and the God of Death.  Kim Rok Soo floated towards the Window and looked at the moon. The Sun God blessed the Royal Family of Roan, the Crossman Family. And the God of Death is the one who deals with, if still not obvious, Death. Surely, the one who can help him the most right now is definitely someone who rules over Death and deals with Souls.   'I guess I have to somehow find a way to go to that God's temple' Kim Rok Soo thought, if not, then I'll just have to meet the crazy priestess that the God cares for.   The problem now is; How do I go to the God of Death's Temple? Resting is not a problem, I can stay on a tree or someone's roof and stay there for the time being. Food is not a concern either, since I haven't felt hungry ever since I came here. Then there arises the real focus and matter of the problem. Which way is the temple? Even if resting and eating are not a problem, leaving without proper direction is not a very good idea.  "haa, living as an entity that was never even mentioned in the novel is really hard" another sigh left Kim Rok Soo's lips. I think I'd rather just transmigrate as an extra than live like this. Kim Rok Soo felt the cold wind fanning his round luminous body.  "Let's just get this over with and go back to where I came from" he said and flew out of the room           It's been three days since he received the Soul Bead from the priest of the God of Death, and he must say, it did work well. So well that ever since he wore it, the ghost had stopped bothering him. it has been three days as well since the last time he had felt someone watching him or a certain something messing around his room. Honestly, it felt nice.   And so here he goes, drinking his day away, minding his and other people's business, eating chicken while spouting harsh nonsense towards the poor store owner "Your chicken taste like shit as always" Cale said and tossed the poor chicken wings to the plate on the table "I-I apologize Young Master, but this lowly commoner can't possibly make the same food that the Young Master eats in his home" the store owner bowed, fearing that the young noble might throw bottles at him and activate his daily tantrum. "Damn, what in the fuck is this?!" the redhead noble, once again, cursed at the store owner after tasting how shitty the drink was "You call this alcohol? This can pass as someone's piss" Cale grumbled again and threw the bottle down the floor "I apologize young master" the owner bowed again  "Hey! You better serve me something edible next time! Not this fucking waste of space of thing you called food!" Cale said then stood up and left the store, making everyone in it sigh in relief No one said anything, no one dared. It has always been like this years ago, and everyone has already gotten used to this. Thus, the only thing they can do is to stay silent and wait for the young master to leave or be fetched by his servants   "Haa, today is supposed to be a great day. Just to be ruined by a damn chicken" Cale grumbled and ruffled his hair.                                                                                                                                                                                            He stopped walking and looked up at the sky. "Time to go home, I guess" Cale said and change the direction he was walking towards to. This is not the usual time he would go home, but seeing the cloudy sky, there's a high possibility that it will rain. It's also a bit windy, so it's a bit cold outside. "I have to tell Ron to prepare a hot bath for me" He said again while stretching his arms upwards while still walking   He was about to take another step when he felt a warm breeze of wind pass by him. It was just a short fleeting moment, but it was a warm feeling, unlike the cold wind that was starting to get stronger as time pass by.  'Well, it's just the wind, let's just go home and eat something'         Kim Rok Soo is lost. Well, not really lost, he can still go back to the Henituse County since he can remember the road pretty well, but he can say that he's lost because he doesn't know where to go and where to stay for the whole day and night. Seeing the weather, it's obvious that there will be a storm later. It's dangerous to stay outside in this kind of weather. And of course, especially for a floating ball like him. He'll probably end up being flown from side to side because of the wind. "It's already hard enough to fly right now because of the wind. It will be harder if the storm already hits' And with no other choice left, Kim Rok Soo decided to go back to his trusted place. The Henituse County.   It has only been a few days ever since he left the County, but here he is now, going back to his starting point. He's not complaining though Although it will take him some time to go back since he had gone too far away from the Castle. That is why he's very thankful that he doesn't feel tired and all he just have to do is float. "I hope the redhead kid doesn't mind me staying in his room again" Rok Soo whispered to himself and hoped that he doesn't get caught by the Assassin-Butler.  

Izuku lost his mother when he was 6. His father had abandoned them only a few weeks before. Both Izuku and his mother had been abused by him, ever since Izuku was diagnosed as quirkless. Even at such a young age, he knew his mother hadn't been taking it well. They both suffered for two years under his control, becoming the unwilling participants in his demonstrations of his quirk, fire breathing. But to think that she'd snapped after he'd abandoned them both....only leaving a sloppily written letter in his wake, simply saying,'Im leaving. Get rid of the brat if you know what's best for you,Inko'. Izuku's mother never discarded him though, at least not directly,rather choosing to discard her life and discard him in the process. So in a matter of weeks, he'd lost both of his parents, and was now the government's problem. They almost immediately placed him into a foster home, when they could find one that would take him. But, due to his quirkless status, which was becoming increasingly more rare with each new generation, now with only a few quirkless children speckled across the entire planet, he knew he wouldn't be treated well. The kids at school had begun to torment him, including his former best friend, 'Kacchan', or Katsuki Bakugou, and others he would've considered friends before he'd been told he was quirkless, even though they had been tormenting him already, well before his diagnosis. In fact, the entire class had been somewhat rude to him before he'd been diagnosed, but it escalated severely as soon as he was. While the teachers used to make an effort to stop the other kids, they didn't even attempt it now. They hadn't attempted it even once in the last two years. And now he'd have to suffer even more. ---------------------------------------------------- As soon as Izuku stepped foot into the Igarashi household, he knew he wasn't really wanted. They already had a child there, Tatsuya, who when told he would have to share a room with Izuku, grumbled,"Why do I have to share a room with it? Something as horrid as that shouldn't even be allowed in our house. It's a monster!!" Izuku just stood there as the older boy practically begged and pleaded for them to kick the quirkless child out. Izuku hoped that his new parents response would reassure him. It didn't matter if his new brother didn't love him, as long as his new parents loved him he'd be- "Look, Tatsuya. We don't particularly want it either, but the government gives us money as long as we house it. Just deal with it for now and if it tries anything, it won't be here much longer." His new mother coldly stated, turning her head to glare at the quirkless boy who hunched his shoulders and suddenly seemed to find the ground much more interesting than the conversation between his new foster family. ...They hadn't been his new foster family for long. Tatsuya had quickly figured out that he could practically blame the weather on Izuku and his parents would believe every word. They'd soon decided that he was much more trouble when he was worth, and when they found that they wouldn't get more money for taking care of him even though he was worthl- quirkless, they gave up on him. It took a while to find a new placement, but finally, they did. And so, after only a few months, a six year-old Izuku was going into his second foster home. ---------------------------------------------------- As soon as Izuku stepped foot in the Tsukamoto household, he wished he was back with the Igarashi's. Sure, they all despised him, but at least they actually gave him the minimum amount of attention possible. The Tsukamoto's just ignored him completely. There wasn't even another child to talk to, so he was just isolated in his room all day, watching the clock on his wall tick by until it was one of the scheduled times he was allowed out of his tiny prison, either to grab a few pieces of bread or maybe even a whole sandwich if he was lucky, or to go to the bathroom. Only a month into his stay there, however, he accidentally knocked over a vase during one of his outings to the kitchen, and that was the end of that. ---------------------------------------------------- As soon as Izuku stepped foot in the Mochizuki  household, he knew something was wrong. The woman who greeted him at the door seemed...nervous. Izuku didn't know why, until later that day, when Yoichi, Shizuka-san's husband, came home. He recognized the smell of alcohol from Hisashi and his eyes widened. He couldn't do this again, not so soon, he couldn't- Shizuka-san apologized over and over again to Izuku as she helped him apply some gauze. Sh told him how she had always wanted a family of her own, but couldn't conceive, so she decided to adopt. She told him that she knew she shouldn't have adopted while she was still with her husband, but she couldn't wait any longer. She told him that she wanted a child so bad, and that she wasn't going to wait until she had the courage to divorce Yoichi. ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku wished  Shizuka -san had just waited. He loved Shizuka-san, he really did. But if she had only waited a few more months for him... he knew he probably would have been out of whatever other placement he would've had by then, and then he could have stayed with Shizuka-san forever and he would've had a great life with her. But Shizuka-san hadn't waited. And he had to deal with the consequences for it. He sobbed into her chest and she stroked his fluffy green curls. She was attempting to keep a brave smile on her face for the distressed boy, but the way her lip wobbled showed that she was trying not to cry as well. "I...I-" "Shhhh, Izuku....It's alright... It's all fine....." "N-no... h-he'll hurt m-me a-again....W-w-when you're not h-here, he'll-" "He won't hurt you again, Izuku.  You won't touch you in that way again. I'll protect you." "Y-you promise, Shi-san?" Izuku choked out, unable to manage her full name in his current state. "I promise." ---------------------------------------------------- Shizuka -san hadn't kept her promise. While she was out, the man had gotten to him again. He had attempted to barricade himself in his room, but Yoichi was strong. It wasn't as if a chair in front of a door would stop him from bursting in and getting... handsy with Izuku again. So here Izuku was, packing up and sobbing out his goodbye's to Shizuka-san as she wiped away her tears. She had deemed herself unfit to be a parent, horrified that her husband had his way with the young boy once more. Izuku could tell she wanted to scream, cry, and tell him over and over how sorry and guilty she felt. But all she did was hug Izuku and wish him luck. She told him that fourth times the charm (though he was sure it was meant to be the third), and that his next foster family would be the one. And if it wasn't, she would come for him. ---------------------------------------------------- As soon as Izuku stepped into the Hayashi household, he realised that Shizuka -san had lied to him once more, at least about the first part. It was all the same. The man was significantly less handsy with Izuku, which he was grateful for, but that relief was soon lost when he realized the woman was abusive towards him as well.  He swore that the government was just giving him any placement they could find for the quirkless child, not even bothering to do the minimum amount of background checks when it came to him.  Sometimes, they had nice days, where they'd just leave Izuku to his own devices.He liked those days. Most of the time, however, their fathomless rage was let out on Izuku. If either of them had a bad day at work? They'd take it out on him. If either of them had something even remotely bad happen to them? They'd take it out on him. If he even made one mistake, they yell and scream at him for what seemed like hours until they were satisfied. And that was the best of it. Most people would deem the abuse to be the worst part, when they'd throw bottles at him and hit him and choke him if he dared to make a peep, but Izuku hated the closet the most. Most normal people would think that it would be a nice break away from all the abuse and screaming, but to Izuku it was just a never-ending darkness that swallowed him up. He was used to the company, whether good or bad, so when it was silent, he couldn't take it. Sure, when the two were at work, he was alone, but he knew when they were coming back. When he was in the closest, it could be a few hours or it could be a few days until he'd see the light again. His classmates didn't question him when he didn't come to school for a few days. The only difference was that they'd be taking out multiple days worth of aggression onto him. And so would his foster parents, even though they were the ones who had put him into the closet in the first place. After half a year, however, the husband was arrested for drunk driving, and he took the person in the passenger seat, his wife,down with him, saying that she had driven a bit that night too. It was safe to say that Izuku was going to need a new placement. ---------------------------------------------------- As soon as  Izuku entered and exited his next few foster homes, he began to think that no one could ever want him.  Shizuka-san wanted him, but he hadn't seen her in the past four years. H was worried that Yoichi had done something to her, but he couldn't find out. He decided to risk asking his current set of fosters if they'd heard anything about Shizuka-san, even though every time he'd asked one of his previous set of fosters, it hadn't ended well. He knew that if this went wrong, they would send him to an orphanage (the group homes were already bad enough), but he needed to know if Shizuka-san was okay. He was lucky that they were in a good mood that day, but by the end of their conversation, he wished that they had just kept what they knew secret.They told him that a lady had asked about him at the beginning of his time with them, but they told her that he had a permanent placement now. So she took in some other kid. Izuku couldn't believe it. Shizuka-san had come for him, and they had lied to her. Did they feel bad for Shizuka-san? Wanting such a worthless child? Or did they really want him? No. Nobody ever really wanted him. Shizuka-san never really wanted him. She just thought she did. H was just a burden. So on the eve of his 10th birthday, he decided to free his current foster parents of their burden. ---------------------------------------------------- As Izuku's worn red trainers scuffed against the dark streets of Mustafu,only being lit by the occasional lamp-post he smiled to himself, gripping the straps of his hole-filled,backpack harder.He wouldn't be a burden to anybody if he ran away, but... if they had to look for him, then he'd be even more of a burden. He looked up to the rooftops, and an idea popped into his mind. If he died, then they'd be free of both the burden of finding him and the burden of dealing with him. And he'd be free of the burden of life itself. As he climbed up the fire escape of an apartment building, he stood in awe of the view. Sure, a bad area of an industrial city wouldn't seem so fantastic to a normal person, but to the ten-year old Izuku, or at least he was sure it was his birthday now, it was a glorious sight compared to the pure darkness of the closet or a lone spider-lily laying across a slur-covered desk. He stood there for a while, reveling in the cool breeze against his scar-covered skin. He told himself so stop being selfish, and prepared to lean forward and let death envelop him in it's grasp, but an ear-piercing scream snapped him back to reality. He jumped off the ledge and back onto the rooftop, running across it to peak into the alley where the fire-escape he had climbed up lay. A man with some kind of mutant type quirk was pinning a woman to the wall. Izuku knew what this was. He'd known what this was since he was seven. He couldn't let another person suffered like he did. He quietly and carefully slid down one of the ladders of the fire escape, now positioned a few feet above the man. He jumped off the fire escape and kicked the man in the head, knocking him out almost immediately. The woman was frozen in fear but soon realized that she was safe. She thanked the boy profusely,who just shrugged and mumbled out an apology. The woman looked at him in confusion, not knowing why the mystery boy was apologizing, but before she could ask, a raven-haired man with a grey scarf around his neck rounded the corner. Izuku's eyes widened. Eraserhead. A pro hero.A pro that would question why he was standing next to an unconscious man and an obviously confused lady. Izuku quickly scurried off, leaving the poor woman and her unconscious tormentor in his wake. Unbeknownst to both him and Eraserhead at the time, this was the day, or night, when a new vigilante was born. The exact moment hadn't come yet, but it soon would. ---------------------------------------------------- Eraserhead sighed as he questioned the distressed woman. He wanted to chase after the small figure who'd ran, but it was surprisingly fast and he couldn't exactly leave the poor woman alone.  He decided to ask the woman who the figure was. "Ah, i-it was a y-young boy, p-probably s-seven or e-eight at the o-oldest?B-but e-eight might b-be a s-stretch....he j-jumped f-from the fire e-escape and k-kicked the g-guy in the f-face.... H-he... said.....s-sorry to me, a-after I t-thanked him....I don't k-know why he a-apologized to m-me after he s-saved me..."She stuttered to Eraserhead, eyes shifting to the unconscious criminal every now and then in fear, even though he was in quirk-suppressant cuffs and the police, who he guessed one of the apartment buildings tenants had called, were about to put him in their car. He sighed once again. This could end up being a new vigilante and he honestly wasn't bothered to take up another vigilante case. He just decided to assume it was a one time thing and let the kid off for his act of vigilantism. He didn't want to possibly ruin a seven year old kid's life. He thanked her, sent her on her way, and walked up to Tsukauchi, who greeted him,"Hey, Eraserhead. Nice work with this guy. Are you finished questioning the victim? Is she injured?" "No, she's fine, just a bit distressed. And, I wasn't the one who dealt with this guy." "Oh? Who did?" "According to her, some kid jumped from the fire escape and knocked the guy out with a kick. When she thanked him, he said sorry to her. I actually saw the kid when I came to deal with the situation, but he ran away before I could catch sight of any distinguishing features." "Did she say how old he was?" "She said around seven,maybe eight at the oldest, but she said eight might be a stretch, so I decided we should probably just leave it be. It's not as if a child that young would want to be a vigilante." ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku wanted to be a vigilante. He had ran from the scene, but he decided to run back to check on the lady. He swore that he wouldn't let anything happen to that lady, right? What if another guy had come along, knocked out Eraserhead, and was now doing stuff to her as he was running away like a coward? He couldn't just let that happen! He was also still on an adrenaline rush from saving her and was not thinking straight at all. When he arrived back at the scene, he saw Eraserhead talking to a detective, the woman seemingly having left, to Izuku's relief. He overheard the conversation between the two men. "According to her, some kid jumped from the fire escape and knocked the guy out with a kick. When she thanked him, he said sorry to her. I actually saw the kid when I came to deal with the situation, but he ran away before I could catch sight of any distinguishing features." Eraserhead sighed to the detective, who gave the underground hero a worried look,"Did she say how old he was?" Izuku had to hold back his laughter at the underground hero's reply,"She said around seven,maybe eight at the oldest, but she said eight might be a stretch, so I decided we should probably just leave it be. It's not as if a child that young would want to be a vigilante." Eight was a stretch? Izuku almost wanted to come out from the corner he was hiding behind and outright tell them he was ten, but even though Eraserhead said to leave it be, he didn't know if it was just because he didn't mind the small child's heroic act, because he was presumably seven, or because they couldn't find him. Izuku didn't want to risk either of the latter possibilities. But something else Eraserhead had said struck Izuku as interesting. A vigilante? Was that what people that kid things like that were called? Vigilantes? As much as Izuku didn't want to admit it, saving that lady felt good, even if it meant that he had to knock a man out to do it. And it wasn't exactly like Izuku could go to a hero school now, he was on the run. It wasn't as if they'd accept him either, since he was quirkless. Maybe he could still be a hero, just in his own way...  The voice telling him to just kill himself already and stop being delusional was still looming in the back of his mind, but he told himself that he'd still do it, but it could wait.  It replied that he was being a coward.  He just shot back that he could at least do something somewhat useful with the time he had left. He still had time to kill himself. If he could just save one person between now and the time he finally did jump off a roof, that was enough for him. And at this exact moment, Izuku decided. He wanted to be a vigilante. ---------------------------------------------------- Alias? Who tf knows! Izuku sighed as he downed a bottle of water after training. He used to fill up a whole bunch of water bottles in the convenience store bathroom, but he finally figured out how to build a water purifier using materials he'd found while he was training at Dagboah Municipal Beach, which was also where he lived at the moment. Sure, sleeping among a bunch of trash on a hard mattress that has a bunch of loose springs digging into his back wasn't the best, but it wasn't exactly the worst either. Because now he wasn't a burden, and having that weight lifted off his shoulders was well worth having to deal with loose springs and trash. They'd looked for him for about three days before giving up, but honestly, he should've expected that. There was no reason for them to continue looking for a burden like him. Hey, maybe his vigilante name should be Inutile? No, that was stupid. He had to think of something actually.... impactful? No, no... He wouldn't be able to come up with something like that. He'd just settle for good. That was probably the best he could do. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of vigilante names anyway. He had been training for the past five months or so,doing battle training (swinging around a stick), physical training (cleaning up the beach as he searched for support item parts), and rescue training (doing small things to help around the community),all while teaching himself normal stuff, such as history, science and math, while also teaching himself not-so-normal stuff, such as how to build support items and how to pick locks. Sure, it might be a crime to pick the lock of a restaurant's dumpster, but it was all going to the dump anyway. He might as well get some use out of the food they threw away. He'd managed to build a baton. It wasn't very well made, and it definitely wasn't made out of the best materials, but it was something. The voice in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn't be proud of something like this, but he told it to shut up. It had been getting louder and louder every single day, and he just wanted some time away from it, so he blocked it out. He knew when he allowed it to speak again, when he decided to listen to it once more, it would be an absolute trainwreck, but for now, he wasn't going to listen. He needed to focus, because tonight, he was going to patrol for the first time. He'd made a make-shift vigilante outfit, and as much as he didn't want to admit it.... It was totally inspired by All Might. He'd added bunny-like ears to his only hoodie by cutting some of the torso off the overly baggy article of clothing. During his rescue training, it had just stayed as a regular hoodie while he attempted to teach himself how to sew, but now it had a bit of flair. He had been upset that he couldn't really wear his hoodie anymore, seeing as it would connect him to his vigilante persona, but he could probably find one amongst the trash in Dagboah. He'd just need to patch it up a bit. He'd found a hole-filled white shirt among the trash once,had washed it at a cheap laundromat along with the rest of his clothes when he finally found enough loose change to pay the 200 yen fee, and had cut it up to make a smile on a dark gray mask he definitely had not shop-lifted. His mask had been his staple since the beginning of his rescue training, but very few people recognised him from it since he only did random odd jobs and not taking down criminals, like the inspiration for his mask (and now his hoodie). All Might had been his idol since he first saw him on TV when he was three. He would watch his debut video on loop during his computer time when he was still with his Inko and Hisashi. He was kind of embarrassed that he'd gone all in on the All Might fan-boy thing, but he had bigger issues to think about. He'd need to find something more warm to put underneath his hoodie, but for now he had been wearing just a black crew neck tee. He had also been wearing his only pair of shoes, which were bright red sneakers. If he hadn't gone with the ears on his hoodie or the smile on his mask, his shoes would definitely be his most eye-catching feature....other than the literal weapon he was carrying around. He donned his vigilante costume as the street lamps came on, ready to go out for his first real patrol, and the first time that he wouldn't listen to the constantly berating voice in the back of his head. ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku wandered the streets of Mustafu, sighing. He thought as he was in the more run-down area of Mustafu, he'd have run into a multitude of criminals by now, especially as most crimes around the area occured at night.Obviously, he was glad his town wasn't overrun with crime, but how would get a chance to prove he could be useful if there wasn't any criminals to fight? He could only be useful if he could save people. He spoke too soon. The next alley-way he peeked into had two men there, one obviously much more distressed than the other, clutching a wad of money. The other man was shouting something, though the only thing Izuku could make out was 'not enough'. Ah. Drug deal gone wrong. The distressed man didn't bring enough cash and now he was screwed. Well, unless Izuku had anything to say about it. Or, whatever the hell his vigilante alias was going to be. He knew that despite the distressed man seemingly occupying the other man's complete concentration,there was the possibility that at any moment the other man (or mad man, which seemed to be a suitable nickname) might see Izuku out of the corner of his eye. So what did Izuku decide to be the best course of action? Running at the mad-man and bopping him on the head as hard as possible with his baton. Unfortunately, it didn't work as well as he'd hoped. Turns out that attacking the head wasn't a guaranteed win. The man turned his head to glare at Izuku and snarled,"Brat. You'll regret that." Izuku flinched as the muted voice began filling his head again,beginning to tell him that he was going to die useless,that he couldn't even be useful by killing himself and making somebody else do the work for him, but he almost immediately blocked it out once more. He couldn't allow the voice to distract him now, when the man in front of him could very easily crush his skull. The distressed man's wide eyes darted between Izuku and mad-man before he dashed off. Mad-man turned for a moment, obviously considering running after distressed man. As terrified as Izuku was, he couldn't let mad-man do that. He couldn't let him just kill the distressed man. If anybody had to die tonight, it would be Izuku, but he was useless,and he couldn't do anything right, because he was worthless and weak and couldn't even make up for it with a q- And there came the voice again. Izuku blocked it out once again, deciding that if it broke through he'd just have to deal with it. Even though Izuku had been extremely confident in the fact that whacking criminals in the head would be greatly effective and would guarantee that he would win the fight, he decided to study other things in case that his small amount of doubt was justified. One thing he'd studied was a fun thing called pressure points. If used wrong, he could end up killing this man, but it was either him and distressed man, or just mad-man. This was insane. He could end up killing a man during his debut. Then he'd just be a villain, not a vigilante. And how would he be able to deal with the fact that he'd murdered a man? That he'd taken a life, despite their twisted morals or their violent tendencies. He wouldn't be able to handle the guilt. But he had to go through with it. It was his only choice, other than running. And Izuku wasn't going to run. He used a trashcan next to him as leverage, and then jumped up. Before mad-man could turn back around to see Izuku, he delivered a swift chop to one of mad-man's pressure points. The criminal fell with a thud. Izuku stood there for a moment, before walking over to mad-man. He reached a hand under the man's chest, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to flip him over, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief once he felt the man's heartbeat. He pulls out a bag of zip-ties, a wad of post-it notes, and a pen.He zip-tied the man's wrists and ankles together, so if he awoke while the police were arriving, he wouldn't be able to escape. He tries his best to push the man up against the alley wall, barely managing, which led the voice to break through a bit. Attempting to ignore the tiny whisper that would most likely soon grow into the loud, surprisingly familiar voice it had adapted into more recently, he began to write on the post-it note before sticking it on the drug dealer's chest and hopping off. "This was my debut! Pretty nice job, if I do say so myself! I don't have a name yet, but I'll just give you my motto for now! Memento Mori! <3 - Japan's newest Vigilante~" ---------------------------------------------------- Shouta sighed as he read the note, taking a picture to send to Tsukauchi before pocketing it and wrapping the villain, who was tied up with zip-ties of all things, in his capture weapon. He didn't know what quirk the man had, but it definitely wasn't going to be contained within zip-ties. Sure, his capture weapon wasn't the best either, certainly not to the level of quirk cancelling cuffs, but it would do much more to restrain the villain than a few pieces of flimsy plastic. At least, that's what he thought. Over the next few days, though most of the villains were unconscious, very few were awake, and still bound by the 'flimsy pieces of plastic'. He assumed that those who were still bound had just committed a small crime such as stealing a handbag. Once, he guessed that the vigilante had seen him use his capture scarf rather than trusting the zip-ties would keep the criminal secure when they woke up once more.Because the next criminal he found that the vigilante had dealt with had been kept awake.She was a gang member, of all things, one that had been reigning terror over Mustafu for the past year or so with the rest of her gang.Yet she hadn't been able to escape the vicious strength of the zip-ties, just like the others.The post-it notes on the woman's forehead made it very obvious that the vigilante seemed to think that zip-ties were enough to keep the woman secure, and in this case, he was right. The note the unnamed vigilante had left had been so long that he had to leave multiple post-its, one of the woman's forehead and one on her nose.From the way she was growling, Eraser assumed she wasn't a fan of the vigilante's post-it placement. "You seemed to think that the zip-ties weren't enough,Eraser! It made me really sad. Zip-ties are all I can afford to help you guys capture villains and criminals!! I thought about doubling the amount I used on this lady's wrists and ankles, but that would be inhumane! It would be super, DUPER uncomfy! They may be criminals, but that doesn't mean they deserve to be treated like that! Anyway, don't mistrust the power of zip-ties, okay, Eraser? ^w^ - Alias? Who tf knows!" As he ripped off the post-it notes and pocketed them, he brought out one of the old one's the vigilante had written, which just had the vigilante's strange signature on it. He crossed out the signature with a pen and writ under it: "I'm not carrying a villain. It's not that I don't trust your...zip-ties, but my capture weapon makes transportation easier. Even if you'd somehow found quirk-cancelling cuffs to use, as long as the villain couldn't stand, the capture weapon would be vital. - Eraserhead" He didn't want to indulge in the vigilante's strange little gimmick,and knew he shouldn't, but from the way the vigilante wrote, he suspected them to be a child... or a man-child. It wasn't as if these replies to the vigilante would become frequent. It was just a one-time thing to reassure the vigilante. ---------------------------------------------------- Replies from Eraserhead became a frequent thing that Izuku looked forward to. If he returned a while later to a spot he'd left a villain for the man, he would find a post-it note. At least Izuku knew the man was reading the notes now. Izuku honestly thought the man had just been pocketing them and dropping them off at the station for them to read. But now he had the reassurance that the man wasn't ignoring him! He had yet to bump into Eraserhead since his tenth birthday, but he guessed that he should be glad. Despite the fact that he really liked the underground hero, and would do almost anything to meet him,one of the few things he wouldn't do was risk his life by running into him as a vigilante. He knew that being a vigilante was illegal, so if he ran into Eraserhead, the man would arrest him on sight, at least if he knew what the boy looked like. Technically, it wasn't illegal for Izuku, as he didn't have a quirk, and he couldn't be arrested for using something non-existent. But Eraser didn't know that. He mostly acted in self-defense if there was even the slightest possibility of winning without making the first attack. But Eraser didn't know that. He despised the fact that he couldn't use this hobby (though it had become more of a lifestyle for him) as an excuse to meet heroes, but he decided it was for the best. Meeting a few heroes wouldn't matter in the long run, no matter how cool they are. Not when he was planning to kill himself in July. It was about two months till then, being May now. He was quite proud of what he'd done since December, since his true debut, but he knew it wasn't enough. The voice knew it wasn't enough. He'd recently figured out who the voice resembled more and more with each passing day. It was Kacchan. Izuku didn't know why. At least, he didn't want to know why. But he had the slightest hunch. He had always idolised All Might, but the idol who had been in his life, practically since birth, was Kacchan. He'd known the other boy for ten years. He'd only known All Might for seven,technically three as he hadn't been able to catch much about the Symbol of Peace since he was thrown into the system, only recently being able to begin to catch up with everything All Might had done over the years. He'd known all Kacchan had done over the years, since he had a front row seat. He'd been the victim of most of it since he was four, and before that had done it with him, or had at least been there to see it. Kacchan was amazing. He had an incredible quirk and had a deep well of confidence that Izuku could only dream of having. He...teased Izuku for being quirkless, like everybody else. But Kacchan was the one most involved in it. He told Izuku to kill himself once. That was when the voice started appearing. The voice used to be quite subtle.Still there, but not particularly strong nor loud. But now that Kacchan wasn't there, he guessed the voice decided to stand in for Kacchan, rather than just be a low hum that stuck in his mind. It was now shouting at him constantly, tearing him apart. But Izuku didn't mind. Because in a way, he still had Kacchan. So he listened to the voice. He had to block it out when he was doing vigilante work, sure. He couldn't really afford the distraction during those times. But he was glad to take whatever the voice had built up over that time. Because Kacchan was the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had. And now that the voice took the place of Kacchan, it was the closest thing he had to a friend. ---------------------------------------------------- Both Shouta and Tsukauchi sat across from one of the criminals their mysterious vigilante had captured. She was one of the few the boy had left conscious. All those who were found unconscious usually didn't remember any features of the vigilante they had encountered, so those who were conscious were their best hope. The most they'd gotten from those who were conscious so far was that the vigilante was short and that they were grinning. The drug dealer that had been a part of the vigilante's debut obviously knew more than he let on, but he refused to answer any of their questions. They'd gotten lucky with this woman. "We have reason to believe that a certain vigilante was the one who caught you. Can you give us any details about them?" Tsukauchi started, and the woman in front of the two gave them a cheshire grin. "I'd love to. That brat has been causing a bunch of problems for me and my...associates, so I'll be glad to take him down." "You mean your gang."Shouta corrected. The woman just glared at him before continuing,"He's tiny. He wears this cropped green hoodie with crappy rabbit ears on them and a mask with a smile on it. He also has these really ugly red sneakers." True. Tsukauchi signaled to Shouta. "Is that all? Did you catch his voice, anything?" Shouta continued the officer's line of questioning for him. "No, as far as I can tell, he avoids speaking if he can help it, at least loud enough to hear. He mumbles a lot, but it's muffled by the mask. Though, honestly, you probably wouldn't be able to decipher it without the mask. One of my associates, who gave me most of this information, say it's like his mouth is going a mile a minute under that mask."She cackled,"My own encounter with him was very brief, so I didn't get to experience his muttering myself." True. Tsukauchi signalled once again. Shouta didn't particularly like the fact that it sounded as if one of her 'associates' had escaped the vigilantes grasp, but he might end up finding the villain himself, so he was fine with it. Despite what the vigilante was doing being illegal, he didn't particularly want the vigilante to get hurt.He was still a civilian, after all. Hopefully, the escaped villain would discourage the vigilante from continuing his work, or at least deter him a little. Though so far, It didn't seem like that was the case. ---------------------------------------------------- His most recent failure only fired up Izuku more. He only had a month and a half more till the day he was to give up being a vigilante, and his own life, for the good of Mustafu and the world in general. But, even with such a short amount of time left, he still wanted to spend it being somewhat useful, despite what Kacchan's voice screamed at him in his mind. He couldn't spend what little time he had left in this world feeling sorry for himself over something like letting a villain escape. Sure, he fretted over it for a while, but he told himself he'd find the villain again. He had to. As he strolled around in his uniform that night,questioning if he could really do this, mostly due to the Kacchan-like voice in his head screaming profanities and slurs at him,he suddenly caught sight of something. A small twinkle that darted inside an alley. A jewelry thief? He quickly had to silence Kacchan's voice so he could concentrate, much to his dismay. He didn't particularly enjoy not having the comfort of Kacchan while he was doing such dangerous and fear-inducing work, but what he felt didn't matter, as long as he was saving people. He darted after the sparkle, and allowed it to guide him throughout the twist and turns of the alleyway. At some point, they must've gotten closer to the streets, as the alley began to be lit up a bit more, possibly by the street lights. Lucky for Izuku, the end of the alleyway was blocked by a chain link fence, leaving whoever he was chasing unable to escape him before he caught up. He stared at the criminal and his eyes widened. It was the man who he had failed to capture. He was holding a handbag that was bejeweled with fake rhinestones. The man himself had a crow quirk,a mutation, so Izuku guessed the shine of the rhinestones under the streetlights must've caught his attention. Izuku stared at the criminal before gripping his baton tighter. He wasn't going to allow this guy to escape again. He couldn't. But he wasn't exactly anticipating what would happen next. The crow began sending his feathers to attack Izuku, which cut through the air like arrows. Izuku could barely dodge them, one cutting his shoulder and leaving a deep gash. He had to hold back his wince. He'd need to bandage that later. Izuku spoke before he could stop himself,"You have two quirks? Is your appearance a secondary mutation caused by your emitter quirk? Why didn't you use your quirk in our last ba-" A second feather cutting his leg was what brought Izuku back to his senses.He couldn't exactly analyze a criminal mid-battle. He'd just ask Eraser for all the info on the guys quirk using post-it notes! A capture weapon quickly wrapped around the crow criminal. Izuku looked up above, and there he was. Eraserhead. Oh shit. The man hopped down and glared at Izuku, a subtle confused expression on his face. Ah. he attempted to use his quirk on Izuku. That was a waste. Especially since he could have used it on the villain that just attempted to send a feather through his skull. Which the underground hero caught. Eraserhead turned his head to glare at the villain, and nodded slightly with a 'hm'. He turned back to Izuku, who was currently fan-boying far too hard, seemingly about to talk to him, when a panting woman appeared, obviously having run there. When she noticed the handbag, her eyes went wide. She quickly picked it up and turned to look at her saviours, though she obviously wouldn't recognise either of them. "You're Rabbit, right? You're famous around here! Thank you for helping me!" The woman beamed and Izuku deadpanned for a moment. Before beginning to scream internally. While on the inside he was dying of both embarrassment and excitement, he just nervously chuckled a "You're welcome" and left it at that. The woman left after thanking him once more. Eraserhead turned to the boy, "So, you have an alias now? Or are you a different, short, grinning vigilante who wears red sneakers?" "Yup! Im Rabbit!" Izuku quickly accepted the alias. He wasn't exactly thinking straight, still freaking out about being 'famous around here', and ended up rejecting the alias he had decided on earlier that day, "Do you like it, Eraser?" "Why are you asking me? I'm going to be the one asking the questions down at the station. We're taking you in, Rabbit." "Don't think so, but it was lovely to meet you Eraser! I gotta go patch up, bye-bye now!" Izuku grinned underneath his mask before beginning to run. Eraser began to chase after him, but with the crow-man in the grasp of his capture scarf, he was finding it hard to keep up with the nimble vigilante. When Izuku, or 'Rabbit', finally lost the man, he sighed in relief before running back down to the beach. He flopped onto his mattress, not even bothering to change out of his vigilante uniform... before realising he probably should incase he was found while he was sleeping. He changed into something less suspicious, and bandaged the wounds he had almost completely forgotten about during his escape, until he noticed the bloody stains on his uniform.Izuku flopped onto the mattress once again, ready to just sleep for the rest of his life, however short that may be. Rabbit. He liked that. He was Rabbit. And he would do his best to protect the citizens who had assigned him that very name. ---------------------------------------------------- The vigilante and the boy Shouta was having a good patrol so far. He had only started an hour ago, so he may be jinxing the rest of it, but so far he had apprehended three criminals, and not one of them was from Rabbit, which was a relief. He hoped the vigilante was just taking a night off or something. It was quite a nice night, surprisingly cool for July. Maybe the vigilante was taking the time to just enjoy it.Though, if his patrol kept going well, maybe he should hope Rabbit was out and about tonight. Maybe he could apprehend the vigilante. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Because his good patrol was flipped on its head when he noticed something on a rooftop. He squinted his eyes to try and make out what was up there. A child. He dashed over as fast as he could, hoping he wouldn't be too late. The small form began to fall, and Shouta just barely caught the boy with his capture weapon. He walked closer and let the boy down from his capture weapon, ready to catch him if he were to fall, most likely having gone unconscious from his suicide attempt. However, the boy stood straight. Shouta was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but stopped in his tracks when the boy looked up at him with dull green eyes. “Why did you save me, Eraserhead?” He muttered in a monotone voice. Shouta was taken aback by the fact that the boy knew who he was, but ignored it for now. The boy looked to be around eight or maybe nine years old, though he decided to confirm it with the child, “How old are you kid?” “I just turned eleven a moment ago.” The boy muttered once more, wearing a poker face. Okay, older than Shouta thought.He decided to ask another question,”What’s your name?” “I don’t think you need to know that,Erase- sir.” The kid corrected himself, seemingly wanting to be more polite. Well, that went nowhere. He wanted to continue making conversation with the green-haired boy to calm them both down, but the boy seemed nonchalant about what had just occurred. Was such a young child really gone that far? He didn’t really want to question the boy about this immediately, but he needed to decide if he should take the boy down to the station, “ Why did you jump?” “A burden such as me has no place in Japan, let alone the world. I wanted to help, and I thought jumping would work. I tried to do the same last year, but I got distracted.” The boy replied, his voice still monotone. Shouta sighed,” Kid, I think I might have to take you down to the statio-” “That isn’t necessary, sir. Just pretend like this never occurred. There is no reason to trouble yourself with a burden like me.” “Sorry kid, but I have to take you down, especially now that you’ve said that.” “I’d rather not go to the police, sir.” He continued to oppose Shouta, who grumbled, “At least let me walk you home.” “That is not necessary either, I will be perfectly fine on my own.” The boy continued to push. “You just tried to commit suicide. How can I trust you to be fine? If you’re not going to the police, I need to at least go with you to tell your guardians about this-” Before Shouta could finish, the boy had begun a mad dash away from the underground hero. He began to chase after the child, but he was surprisingly nimble for a kid his age, especially one so short. He gave up when the child was out of sight, and just continued on with his patrol. He just hoped he wouldn’t wake up in the morning to find out on the news that a small, green-haired boy at the age of eleven had committed suicide. ---------------------------------------------------- It was a year before he met the boy again. Exactly a year. Rabbit had been giving him the runaround for the past couple of nights and it was taking a toll on his already terrible sleep schedule. Hizashi had almost convinced him to take the night off, but he couldn’t give up on a chance to catch Rabbit. The Vigilante had been active for a year and a half. He usually would have caught them by now. Surprisingly, the vigilante hadn’t appeared at all that night, at last for now. But he noticed somebody else. On the same building as last year, on the same day, at the same time, there was a small figure. Shouta hoped it wasn’t the same child, but the circumstances told him that it was. As the small figure stepped off the ledge, the underground hero jumped into action once more. He walked over to the figure who was wrapped in his capture scarf, and sure enough, it was the same small, freckled boy as last year, his fluffy green hair just as much of a tangled mess as it was before. He let the boy go and once again, he stood perfectly fine. He began to walk off and Shouta followed him. “You know I really have to take you to the station this time, right?”Shouta asked the boy as they strolled. He was ready to run if the boy decided to do so himself, just like he had last year. “You don’t have to, Eraserhead. You could just leave me alone.” The boy replied. “You know I can’t do that, kid.” “Don’t just assume that I know things. A burden like me isn’t particularly knowledgeable, especially in your field of work.” “Just the fact that you know who I am makes you seem pretty knowledgeable.” “Sir, please do not lie to me. I am perfectly aware of what I am and how I seem to be in the eyes of others. It’s always the same.” The boy shot back, a small bit of anger in his usually calm and collected tone. The boy began to run once again, and Shouta was unable to catch him, once again.  When did he become so bad at his job that a twelve year old could outrun him? ---------------------------------------------------- The very next year, the exact same thing happened again. It had only happened three times, but Shouta was already getting tired of this. It was always at midnight on July 15th, on top of the exact same apartment complex each time. He’d jump and Shouta would catch him, and then they’d have a fruitless conversation afterward. He was lucky that Rabbit didn’t seem to patrol on that particular day, his one day off each year as far as Shouta knew. “Seriously, what is your name kid?” Shouta decided to ask the boy once again. “You may not remember, but I have already told you that such information is not necessary.” The boy responded, looking up at him with those lifeless green eyes of his. They seemed to get duller each time Shouta saw him. “What is necessary information?” “It depends on the situation. In this situation, my name is not necessary.” The boy replied. “I’d prefer to call you something other than just ‘the boy’.” The boy was silent for a moment, before speaking once more,”My family name is Midoriya. I won’t tell you my given name though. Midoriya is all you’ll get.” “Nice to meet you, Midoriya.” “Though it has been nice to meet you as well, I’m not particularly fond of the circumstances. I’d prefer not to see you again next year, Eraserhead. Please do not postpone my death any longer. It is benefiting nobody.” Midoriya muttered, and Shouta sighed as he watched the boy run away from the third time, not even bothering to chase after the thirteen year old. He knew he wouldn’t be able to catch Midoriya. ---------------------------------------------------- Shouta sighed. This was getting absolutely ridiculous. He attempted to jump again. Same time, same place. He grumbled as he walked with the boy, ready to grab his capture weapon. The child was surely going to run off for the fourth time, and he wanted to get this over with. He didn’t want to continue saving this child every year for the rest of his life.  Midoriya was the one who started the conversation this time,” I thought I told you to stop..” “Kid, it’s really not worth it to kill yourself. Trust me.” “Why should I, Eraserhead?! Why should I trust you?” Midoriya’s voice cracked slightly, tears pricking his eyes. It was the most emotion he’d shown for two years. Shouta waited for the boy to continue. “I want to die, Eraserhead. There’s no reason for me to live. It’s the only way I can redeem myself. I can’t do it by being a hero, so just let me die,please….” “Redeem yours-” Midoriya began to run again before Shouta could finish, and before he could even think of using his capture weapon. The boy was out of sight quickly. He was much faster than the first time they’d met, Shouta would give him that. But he couldn’t really help but sigh. He decided that he despised July 15th. For that day meant that if he was even a fraction of a second late, this small child would lose his life. Sure, his job was always like that, but despite the fact that Shouta barely knew this kid, that lifeless look in his eyes made Shouta want to protect him. He wouldn’t let Midoriya die. He’d make sure of it. And if he got the chance, he’d show him that he’s not a burden, even though Shouta didn’t know the circumstances. ---------------------------------------------------- SO this next part is completely new because Izu had the wrong age- I forgot he is currently 16 in canon so he would be 15 now- so ye, enjoy this new part that probably wont work as well because it was kinda just shoved in here ;-; - Author-chan 💕💕💕 ---------------------------------------------------- The last time he’d seen Midoriya for now was when the child would have just turned fifteen. He was getting sick of this. The day he despised had arrived once more. July 15th. As Shouta's scarf shot out to Midoriya's rescue, the boy immediately wriggled out, landed safely on the ground, and then ran to the fire escape to attempt the jump again. Shouta hadn't been expecting that, yet he was still quick enough to bound the boy with his scarf once again, but tighter this time so the boy couldn't escape. He pulled the boy closer, and when Midoriya finally seemed to calm down, he released the boy from his bindings.  As the child began to stomp off, Shouta followed him, only to hear a couple of sniffles come from the tiny child. "Hey kid, are-" "How many times do I have to tell you to stop saving me?! I need to die! I have to die!! Yet you won't let me! Why? Why? Why?!" Tears welled up in the child's lifeless eyes, and Shouta wanted to hold the boy close, but he couldn't. The kid obviously needed to get his feelings out. "If I don't kill myself, I'll never have done anything useful with my life! The only useful thing I can do with my life is die!! So then I can redeem myself! My reason for existing is to be a burden, so I don't want to exist anymore! I never wanted to be a burden, Eraserhead! I just wanted to be useful! I just wanted to be a hero! But I can't be useful! I can't be a hero! Because all I am is a burden! That's all I am, and all I ever will be!" The boy was out of sight before Shouta could even process what had just happened. That's all I am, and all I ever will be? Shouta sighed. This child was an enigma. Not a burden, like the child thought he was, but certainly an enigma. ---------------------------------------------------- So, idk if y'all are confused about this or not b u t- Izu has light in his eyes because he can actually enjoy himself without listening to the voice in his head/Kacchan. But when he's not Rabbit,since he's being pushed down constantly and being told to kill himself, his will to live being crushed once again in the process - Author-chan 💕💕💕 ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku sighed as he pulled off his voice changer (which he had decided to make after he met Eraserhead as Izuku for the first time- he couldn’t have the man recognize him out of costume due to his voice) and slipped his hoodie over his head. His patrol that night had been fruitless. Kacchan told him it would be, and even if he did find somebody, he'd probably fail them. He knew Kacchan was right. Kacchan was always right.He should’ve just stayed at the beach and messed with some of his support items. He’d seen Eraserhead though! He was still mad at the man for the previous night, but he couldn’t exactly blame it. He didn’t really know that ‘Midoriya’ was the vigilante he despised. Though, he guessed Eraserhead didn’t despise him as much as Izuku thought he did. Eraserhead had been sitting on a roof, obviously having a slow night himself. Izuku walked up next to him and also sat down, swinging his legs off the side of the building. They sat there for a while before Eraserhead began to talk. “You know I could arrest you at any moment, right?” Izuku just responded with a hum. “So why are you sitting here with me?” “Cuz I felt like it~” Izuku singsonged. “Do you feel like getting arrested as well?” “Hmmmm….now that I think about it...no, not really.” “So leave.” “What, is the great Eraserhead really just going to let a vigilante go? You’ve been after me for four and a half years, Eraser, I thought you’d be jumping at the chance.” “Well, apparently I’m not skilled enough at my job to bring a couple kids in.” Izuku knew what he meant by that, but he decided to push anyway,”A couple of kids? Damn, didn’t know there were more vigilantes my age! Ooooooh, maybe I might meet them on patrol!” “God no, if there were more child vigilantes like you I’d quit. You’re bad enough. No, it’s something else.” “Ooooooo, spill ‘raser! I wanna hear alllllll about it!! Your job is super interesting!” “My work isn’t for your enjoyment. And never call me ‘raser again.” “Don’t count on it, ‘raser!” “...If I tell you, will you stop calling me ‘raser?” “Uh, no. But I will stop annoying you for the rest of the night!” “....fair deal. Okay, so… there’s this kid. I’ve stopped him from killing himself four times already. His eyes... there's no light in them." Izuku was utterly confused. His eyes weren't lifeless...were they? He didn't think they were.  "...What do you mean?" "He just looks so dead inside. A child so young shouldn't…. Be like that, you know? He should just be.. I don't know, enjoying his school years and making the most of his childhood. Not attempting to commit suicide anually as soon as it's his birthday." "Sorry for butting in but...when does this happen?" "Always on July 15th. Same time, same place." Ah, so it was Izuku. Not some other kid that Eraserhead was also stopping from committing susicide every year on their birthday. He wished it was just an impossible coincidence, but such a thing was just that. Impossible. “Damn, ‘raser...that’s uh…. I don’t know what that is.” Izuku thought for a moment, unsure of what to say,”Is this the only time you see that kid? When he’s trying to kill himself?” “Yeah...I should try to dig into him, but I don’t know his n-” Eraserhead stopped for a moment, and Izuku knew exactly why. Eraserhead had realised that he had his family name. And his appearance. And that it was pretty fucking obvious that the boy lived in Mustafu. “..You alright there, ‘raser? Didn’t die on me, didja?” Izuku joked, trying to calm his nerves about the situation. The man just stood up. “I’ve got to go. I can’t just sit around while I have work to do.” “You’re really not gonna arrest me, ‘raser? Wow, you really are garbage at your job.” “I thought you weren’t going to annoy me?” “You really should know by now not to trust vigilantes, ‘raser.” Eraserhead left then. Izuku stayed on the rooftop for a while, contemplating how screwed he might be, but he returned home to the beach when he realised that another hero might find him on the rooftop and capture him. He sighed as he pulled his halter over his head, which was a more recent addition to his vigilante costume that was much warmer than a black crew neck, and was a nice contrast to his hoodie, being olive green and skintight rather than bronze green and baggy. He ended up using the black crew neck to sleep in instead.  He recently found another hoodie in the dump. He had ended up shop-lifting another bronze green one when he had become skilled enough at it to do so, but this one was a dark grey, similar to his mask. It was a bit holey, but he’d managed to stitch and patch it up. Now he could go around at night as Izuku!....Or just live in the hoodie. That was a better idea. At least it would stop people from asking if he was Rabbit because all they knew was that he wore a bronze green hoodie and a mask, which was also what Izuku wore in public (though it was a black mask. He’d never wear his voice changer as Izuku). Sure, he was Rabbit, but they didn’t need to know that! Izuku attempted to fill his head with more nonsense that had occurred since he became Rabbit, but his mind kept circling back to Eraserhead and how he could possibly look up his file. And then find out the Midoriya he’d been saving was a burden of a foster kid who ran away from his most recent home and hadn’t been seen since the day before his tenth birthday. He didn’t want Eraserhead to hate him as Izuku, but maybe if he did hate him, now he would no longer stop him from killing himself. Izuku didn’t even consider the possibility that Eraserhead may end up seeking him out and giving him back the government. He wouldn’t become a burden to them again. He couldn’t. ---------------------------------------------------- Sgsdhklasjbvllqk- Next bit should be titled ‘How tf do I differentiate this part from my other fanfic’ ;-; This is gonna hurttttttt - Author-chan 💕💕💕 ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku wasn’t having a good day. A good day was an extraordinarily rare thing for him though, so it was more like...He wasn’t having a fine day. In fact, it was one of the worst days of his life, and that was a feat to behold. It had started out good! During his patrol that night, he’d stopped a drug ring! Sure, anybody could do that, as Kacchan had told him when he got back to the beach, and he wasn’t special, but at least they had been stopped! He’d woken up to it being a lovely, warm day, which was expected for July, but still a nice surprise. He decided that he should go and walk around Mustafu a bit, so he slipped on a t-shirt he’d found in the dump that literally said t-shirt on it (he didn’t know why anybody would throw such a thing away - it was hilarious!) and tied his rabbit hoodie around his waist, in case the weather turned on him. Sure, somebody may end up noticing the hoodie, but he could just say he was a rabbit fanboy! Even if the weather turned on him, it certainly wouldn't be too cold since it was summer, so he preferred to grab his rabbit hoodie rather than one of his massive, baggy ones that practically draped over his small frame. He put on his mask and pocketed his rabbit one, also as a ‘just in case’ (sometimes he stumbled upon crime while he was out and about in the day, so he’d put the mask on and jump in - it was making him consider during daytime patrols as well),threw his backpack over his shoulders, and set off, allowing his feet (and Kacchan) to guide him. On his way to wherever he was being guided to, he had witnessed the debut of a new hero called Mt.Lady! But she had stolen the credit of another hero called Kamui Woods, who Izuku quite liked. He knew all of the guys special moves off by heart, though that was mostly because he played hero videos in the background while he was making support items.He continued on his way, wondering where he was being guided. He wasn’t expecting to be guided to Aldera Junior High. Sure, he knew that this was the school Kacchan planned to go to, and he’d seen the boy walking around Mustafu in the uniform (which is usually why he wore hoodies around), but he wasn’t sure why the voice in his head, that was only in the place of Kacchan (though it was just like Kacchan - he knew everything), would bring him to the real Kacchan. Was it bored of him already…? Was it bringing him to Kacchan because it didn’t want to deal with him anymore? He couldn’t be a burden on Kacchan! And Aunt Mitsuki! And Uncle Masaru! He didn’t want to be a burden on anybody! He turned around, tears pricking his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that some sort of sludge monster had appeared behind him, slowly approaching him throughout his mini freakout. And now, it was right in front of his face. “Ahhh, a medium sized invisibility cloak! You’ll do nicely~”The sludge monster gave him a grin before shoving a tendril of slime down his throat. He slowly began to drag Izuku closer to the sewer he had come out of. Izuku attempted to struggle against the villain, do anything he could to escape, but he was completely powerless against the villain.  "Don't worry~ I'm just going to take over your body!" He laughed,before continuing,"Calm down. It'll only hurt for about 45 seconds. You'll feel better soon~ Don't make this harder for the both of us!~" Izuku suddenly realised. He was about to die at the hands of this villain. He quickly began to claw and the sludge, but that only earned another laugh from his captor,"Grab all you want, my body's made out of fluid~ Thanks for the help!~ You're a real hero to me, kid~ I didn't know he was in the city. I gotta get out of here fast before he tracks me down...." The villain muttered as he continued suffocating Izuku. Kacchan was right. He would die useless.  The real Kacchan was also right. We would never be a h- In front of him, the freckled boy could hear a sewer lid fly off, his eyes flickering from open and closed and leaving his vision as an unreliable source of information. He just hoped that whoever the ‘he’ was that the villain was talking about had just appeared, as whoever the sludge quirked man had mentioned was obviously a hero of some sort. If it was Endeavour, he’d rather just die here and now. "HAVE NO FEAR, YOU'RE SAFE. NOW THAT I AM HERE, THAT IS!" The voice shouted. Whoever the person was, they were loud. Extremely loud. But at least Izuku could cross out Endeavour. The man would never say such comforting words. "TEXAS....SMASH!" The stranger screamed. The phrase was quite familiar to Izuku, and he suddenly began to recognise the voice. "I can't.... hold together.." The villian cried as his hold on Izuku was ripped away from him, along with his body as it splattered everywhere. The freckled boy slowly opened his eyes, his vision wavering, but he just about make out a tan man punching the villian. He had blonde hair that spiked up at the front like rabbit ears, and was an absolute giant. Izuku recognised him as his and Kacchan's idol pretty much since they were born. "Is that... All Might..?" He questioned to himself, but he couldn't dwell on it as he finally slipped into unconsciousness for good.... Or at least for a while. ---------------------------------------------------- "..ey.. hey.. wake up...HEY!! Uh! Though we lost you there!" All Might yelled as usual as Izuku began to awaken. He opened his eyes to be greeted by All Might’s face in...well..his face. Izuku immediately began to scream. All Might rose up with a billowing laugh as Izuku scuttled backwards, panicking like any hero fanboy would when they met their biggest idol,”Ah...ah..y-you….” “Well, at least it looks like you're moving around all right!Sorry about that back there. I didn't mean to make you get caught up in my justice-ing. Usually, I pay more attention to keeping bystanders safe. But it turns out this cities sewer system is pretty difficult to navigate.HAHAHA!!!" The man smiled his ever-so famous smile as Izuku just stuttered over and over.  "Anyways, you were a big help, young man! Thanks to you, I've capture the evildoer!" The man proudly showed Izuku the soda bottles in his jean pockets, which contained the slime villain that had almost murdered the freckled boy earlier. Izuku ignored that fact though. He couldn’t believe All Might was here! Was he going insane? That had to be it, right?!But...just in case… “Holy crap. I gotta get an autograph. I gotta have a pen around here somewhere….”Izuku mumbled aloud, throwing his backpack off his shoulder and rummaging around in it, bringing out a pen and a notebook, both most certainly obtained legally,”Yes! Please, All Might, sign my notebook!” Izuku pleaded as he flicked to where he remembered writing his notes on Mount Lady. He flicked to the page after and gaped,”Y-you already signed it?!O-oh my god! Thank you so much!” He was extremely glad, but Kacchan reminded him how he would die in a year, or much sooner if he had his way and Izuku wasn’t such a coward. Maybe he could give it to some kid before he killed himself. If they were as big of an All Might fan as he is, then they would be sure to appreciate and take care of it. "I gotta take this guy to the police so they can take care of him. Stay out of trouble. See you around!" All might saluted the small boy before beginning to stretch, preparing for take off.Just before the man took off, Izuku made a last second decision. All Might looked back to see the green-haired child clutching onto his leg, and immediately began to freak out,”Hey, hey, hey! What do you think you're doing? Let go!I love my fans but this is too much!" All might spluttered as he tried to knock him off, not realising how idiotic that was until Izuku brought it to his attention,“You do realise that if I let go now, I will die,right?” The man seemed surprised. Izuku took this as sudden realisation, but it was actually more the child’s quick personality change,"Oh, that's a good point!" All Might realised as Izuku mentally face-palmed, his hands too busy clutching onto the man’s leg. “You could let go now.” Katsuki whispered in his mind, “Look at yourself, clutching onto All Might’s leg. I thought you didn't want to be a burden, Deku? Why are you being a burden?” “I just have something I need to ask you. It’s far too important for me to move on without knowing the answer. I have been wondering about it since I was small.”The boy suddenly stopped fanboying and spoke in a monotone, as if he wasn’t dangling from a man’s leg far-too-many feet in the air. "Okay, okay, I get it! Just keep your eyes and mouth shut!" All might sighed, and Izuku just nodded in reply, firmly shutting his mouth. All he could do now was wait and ignore Kacchan’s attempts to make him let go. Even if Kacchan was always right, right now wasn’t the time for that. ---------------------------------------------------- When the two landed on the nearest rooftop (which happened to be eight stories, despite there being a much shorter one right next-door), Izuku let go of All Might’s leg. The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, but began to talk,"Not a very smart move. Bang on the door for a while, someone will let you in." All might pointed to the door on the left bottom corner of the building, "Now I have to go, see you on the flip side!" He saluted once again as he prepared to take off...once again. “But sir, I-” "No, I don't have any time." All Might rejected him, just like everybody else had done. But you deserve that,Deku. You deserve to be rejected. Don’t burden him with your shit. He doesn’t have to know. “But I want t-” It doesn’t matter what you want, stupid Deku. Are you really going to be a burden again? Is that what you want? If that’s it, then go ahead. Just don’t blame me when you fuck it up. “N-no, i don’t wanna be a burden, I just-” If you don’t want to be a burden, then let him go, dumbass. Stop wasting his time. Your stupid ass question doesn’t matter anyway. You could never be a h- “COULD I EVER BE A HERO LIKE YOU?!” Izuku screamed to block out Kacchan’s voice, screwing his eyes shut tight and angling his head towards the floor. He couldn’t let bear to see the look on All Might’s face after this, so he took all the chances he got to counter that,”EVEN THOUGH I'M JUST AN AVERAGE NOBODY WITHOUT ANY POWERS, COULD I EVER HOPE TO BE JUST AS GREAT AS YOU ARE SOME DAY?!” Izuku waited a while, but didn’t hear any answer. He raised his head and decided to peak through one eye. A skeletal figure was in All Might’s place. ---------------------------------------------------- “Hey guys, remember that weird quirkless kid? What was his name again?” “We called him Deku, but I don’t remember his real name. Katsuki, you knew him for years, right? What was that kid’s name?” “Stop bringing up Izuku, dumbasses. The past is the past.” “Ohhhhhhh,Izuku! That was his name. Damn, now that i think about it, I think this is this the first time you’ve ever called him by his n-” “Shut the fuck up, idiot!” Katsuki let off a few sparks in an attempt to intimidate his two lackeys. It seemed to work, until he realized the real reason why they froze up. “Perfect. I like a skinsuit with some fire!~” A voice behind Katsuki cackled. ---------------------------------------------------- “Excuse me, but who are you?”Izuku asked in a cautious tone. This could be a villain with a transformation quirk. Maybe they knew Izuku was Rabbit and had noticed how his costume resembled All Might? They were smart, he’d give them that. They’re not smart, you’re just the idiot who modeled your costume after the man. It's obvious you idolise him,dumbass Deku, of course they’re gonna turn that against you.  After he didn’t receive a response immediately, he asked once again,”You are obviously not All Might, so what is your true identity?” "I assure you, young man, I am All Mi-" The skeleton was suddenly interrupted by spitting up his own blood. It was gross, but Izuku made sure to keep his poker face.He couldn’t show any signs of weakness to the villain. How do you know it’s not All Might? You don’t trust him? I thought he was your idol? Dumbass, I'm always right, and I say that’s All Might. “But Kacchan-” bUt KaChAn. Do you really want to be a burden? Don’t waste his time! He’s a pro hero, he doesn’t have the time to answer all your questions. You obviously can’t be a hero anyways- “If you are All Might, please, answer my question. Answer it, and I’ll leave you alone.Please” Now you’re blackmailing him? “Kacchan,how am I-” Who would want to be cursed with your presence, Deku? Yo- Kacchan’s voice was cut off by All Might’s answer,”Pro heroes are always having to risk their lives. Some villains just can't be bitten without powers. So no, I honestly don't think you can be a hero without a quirk." Izuku didn’t respond, and All Might continued to talk as he began to walk towards the door that led to the staircase,”If you want to help people, there's plenty of other ways to do it. You can become a police officer. They get crap because the heroes capture most of the villains, but it's a fine profession."All Might began walking away, opening the door to leave, but looking back to deliver one final blow. "It's not bad to have a dream young man, just... make sure your dreams are obtainable, realistic, understand?" And with that, All Might closed the door and left the green haired boy alone, only kept company by his own thoughts, and Kacchan’s voice screaming at him that not even All Might believed he could be a hero. He could almost hear the other boy’s explosions. After a while, Izuku suddenly realized.  Those explosions weren’t just in his head. ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku began running towards the scene, but Kacchan’s voice caused him to slow down. What’s the point, Deku? All might said you couldn’t be a hero. What more do you need? There’s no point taking notes on hero fights anymore. Kacchan was right. But…. even if he couldn’t be a hero, he could still be a vigilante! Before Kacchan could even protest Izuku, the boy had ducked into an alleyway and pulled on his rabbit mask, before throwing on his hoodie. Blocking out Kacchan’s voice, he ran back out of the alleyway and into the Tatooin Shopping District, where… The sludge villain from before was on an absolute ramage, but now he had...fire? “But didn’t All Might capture him….?” Obviously you made him drop the bottles, dumbass Deku. At least he thought he blocked out Kacchan’s voice. Izuku sighed in frustration. He guessed he just felt too shitty to be strong enough to ignore Kacchan completely right now. He just hoped he could still concentrate in some manner so he could save whoever was trapped inside the monster, given the conversation going on beside him. "Why aren't the hero's doing anything?" A man asked the person next to him. “Seems like the villain caught a middle schooler with an explosion quirk. Most of the heroes' quirks aren’t compatible with the flames, so they can’t go in to save him.”He replied. You hear that, Deku? Not even the heroes can beat this guy. You can’t do shit. Izuku almost believed Kacchan for a second, but then he caught a glimpse of who was actually trapped within the sludge villain. The real Kacchan. Before Izuku could think of a plan, he was already running into the midst of the rampage, despite the yells of Pro Heroes from behind him. He also heard a couple of shouts of recognition from a few people in the crowd, which may or may not have made him blush under his mask. But that didn’t matter right now. Izuku threw his backpack off his shoulder and reached into it. He grabbed his notebook and threw it at the monster’s eye. It yelped in pain and loosened its grip on Kacchan, who lurched forward and had a small coughing fit. Izuku dropped his bag back on the ground as he was running so he could have both hands to pull Kacchan out of the villain’s grasp. The blonde boy continued to cough as Izuku put him on his back and began to run towards the heroes, grabbing his bag on the way. He deposited Kacchan into Kamui Wood’s arms, before hissing,” Get him to a hospital. You bastards should all be ashamed. ” Izuku turned back around to deal with the villain, but All Might was already performing a Detroit Smash. Izuku just grumbled as he ran away before the heroes had a chance to recognize him, mostly due to some of the crowd still cheering for him. After what had just occurred… Izuku decided that he no longer liked heroes. ---------------------------------------------------- I'm sorry that that bit was a kinda underwhelming y’all- That bit was such a goddamn pain xdhdfhdjk - Author-chan 💕💕💕 ---------------------------------------------------- Katsuki was confused. Everything was going so fast today. He had been reminded of Izuku by his asshole lackeys, then captured by a dumbass sludge villain, saved by a vigilante while the pro heroes just stood there, and questioned by the police. The most alarming part was the vigilante. He had thrown a notebook into the villains eye, and Katsuki had noticed what was written on the cover. Hero Analysis for the future: 13. Katsuki ended up doing some research on the vigilante, who was apparently named Rabbit, according to some of the extras in the crowd.  There wasn't many clear pictures of the vigilante, but he found one. The vigilante had green eyes,barely visible green curls (he'd had to zoom in to notice them) and a costume that was very obviously inspired by All Might. Katsuki had no doubt about it. Rabbit was Izuku. But wasn't Izuku dead? Or at least missing? Had he been this vigilante for four years?  And why did he run away in the first place? ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku was on the same rooftop he had sat on with Eraserhead on the 16th. It was another quiet night, but Izuku was glad about that. He really didn’t have the strength to fight right now. He’d used the last of it during his second encounter with the sludge villain earlier. Eraserhead seemed to be having a quiet night as well, because he sat down next to the vigilante a while after. They sat in silence once again for a while, but soon, Eraserhead decided to start up a conversation. "Your mask resembles All Might's smile. Is that because he's your idol or something?" “Is this revenge for still annoying you a few nights ago, even when I said I wouldn’t?” “...Maybe.” Izuku bit his lip, before sighing,"All Might isn't really my idol anymore... But I still wanna save people with a smile. I wanna do what he never did for me. And what he'll never do for any of these people either. I can't really smile anymore, but I can pretend to. I'll pretend for them. That's all I can do. Pretend I'm something I'm not. Pretend I'm not just a weak, worthless Deku.... I'll pretend for them because the heroes won't even pretend to care. No offense, Eraser, but I'm not particularly fond of heroes." "Why do you hate heroes?" The man questioned the boy further. "Now, now, Eraser! I can't spill everything in one go! What do you take me for? I can't go handing out free interrogations! Maybe another day, but for now, I bid you farewell." The boy gave Eraserhead a somewhat polite smile under his mask, before bowing. When he rose up once more, he slid down the pipe on the buildings side and hopped away, leaving Eraserhead in the dust. ---------------------------------------------------- A couple of nights later, they found themselves sitting next to each other once more. Once again, Eraserhead was the one to start up the conversation,” Why are you a vigilante?” “Are you really so bored that you want to hear my goddamn life story or something?” “It’s just been something I’ve been wondering about for a couple of years. I thought I should finally ask, since there’s nothing else to talk about.” Izuku didn’t really know why he trusted the man, but sighed and decided to tell him anyway,” I…. I’ve been in the foster care system since I was six. My bastard of a dad left and my mom decided to kill herself a few weeks after. Was thrown around the foster system till I was ten and ran away.” “Why did you run away?” He wanted to tell him about how he was being a burden, but he couldn’t take any chances concerning Eraserhead connecting Rabbit and Izuku Midoriya, “Let’s just say… my foster families weren’t…. the nicest people.” Izuku grumbled, “ I deserved it though. They didn’t accept me, so I ran to not..trouble them with my presence anymore. I didn't want them to keep having to suffer because they had me around. I decided that the only way I could be useful to the world was if I became a vigilante, as I obviously couldn't become a hero.” “Why can’t you become a hero? And I thought you hated heroes….?” “It's… complicated.” Izuku muttered as he stood up and began to walk away,” And….not all heroes are bad. You’re pretty alright.” He finished before jumping off the roof and sliding down his new best friend, the building's pipe. ---------------------------------------------------- Shouta was sitting with Rabbit. He was about to ask him another question, since it seemed to be something they did now. But Rabbit began to talk before he could even think about what he should ask. "I always thought...that All Might was going to save me. That one day, I'd be getting beaten by dad, and All Might would burst through the door and punch him into next week, like,bam, pow!"Rabbit demonstrated by punching the air in front of him, before his hand returned to clutching the edge of the roof,"When my dad left, I hoped that maybe All Might caught him. That he'd saved me. But I knew that wasn't true. And when my mom killed herself... I thought.. if All Might really had caught my dad.... Then maybe he hadn't saved me. Because even though my dad abused both me and my mom.... He made her happy. I hoped when I went into the system...I could be happy. And that went soooooo well, didn't it....." Rabbit sighed, frowning under his mask, though Shouta could barely tell,"I wanted him to save me. But he never did. I suffered for so. long. But he was never going to save me. Nobody was going to save me. So I saved myself. Heroes don't care about stopping rape, or drug deals, or saving little kids who are being abused. All they care about is money and fame. The other day, I had to save a middle schooler because the heroes apparently didn't have compatible quirks. Most heroes are absolute bullshit. Except you and a select few, obviously.” "What made you decide to tell me this, Rabbit?" Shouta asked the boy, who shrugged. "You said you wanted to know why I hate heroes. So there you are." Rabbit got up before jumping off, as he always did. The name Rabbit was fitting, he’d give the vigilante that. ---------------------------------------------------- A couple of weeks later, Shouta and Rabbit were sitting on the rooftop once again. It was practically routine now. On quiet nights, Shouta would ask Rabbit a question and Rabbit would answer. But sometimes, Rabbit would butt in. This was another one of those nights. “Hey, Rabbit-” "You can call me Deku if you want. We're close enough by now, aren't we, Eraser?" "Is that your name?" "No, it's a nickname. It was actually gonna be my vigilante name, but I'm glad the public came up with one for me first. It didn't come to mind that the person who gave me the nickname would figure out my identity pretty damn quick. I guess in a sense, the people I saved also saved me. If they hadn't given me the name Rabbit, I'd probably be rotting away in juvie right now, or the system again." "It's a nickname? So it's related to your real name?" "Don't get your hopes up, Eraser. Even if you figure out my real name, you won't know my family name, and I bet there's a bunch of kids with my name out there." "But probably not that many in the system." "Oh wow, Eraser. I'm soooooo scared!" "You're being sarcastic, but I don't think you should've trusted me with your nickname that is most likely almost the same as your name, knowing kids. The latest you could've gotten this nickname is like, what, ten? Ten year olds aren't the smartest when it comes to nicknames." "Nah, I think it was fine to trust you." "Why would that be, Rabbit?" "Because I don't think you're smart enough to figure it out!" "Is that a challenge?" "Depends how you see it, Eraser." The boy visibly smirked under his mask before jumping up and sliding down the building on a pipe that ran down its side, something he had become quite skilled at over the years, another thing Shouta would give the vigilante. Shouta decided to skip out on his little meetup with Rabbit that night. Rather than spending the quiet night with the vigilante, he went to the station and tried to find Midoriya’s file. Given that he was quite sure the boy lived in mustafu, it only took Shouta a couple of minutes to find him.   Name:Midoriya,Izuku DOB:15.7.21XX Age:15 (Last seen when he was 9) Generation:5th Mother:Deceased (Died when child was six) Father:Estranged (Left when child was six) Quirk: Quirkless Status:Missing (Presumed dead) Previously in the system Foster homes:17 Most recent/Current Foster Home:The Furukawa’s   There wasn’t much information about the boy himself past that, though there were a multitude of incident reports of the boy’s wrong doings, which Shouta decided to look through another day, given how many there were. The boy had a large amount of photos though. From six to nine, there was the same amount of photos as foster homes the boy had been through. The boy’s expression in the first picture made him seem an excitable and happy child, but with each picture his expression became more and more barren, the boy increasingly becoming void of emotion.   Quite a few of the pictures had the boy covered in burns, yet there were no incident reports confirming that the boy had been bullied or abused as far as Shouta could tell. Only ones about him being the perpetrator of the abuse and/or bullying.   Shouta sighed. He'd certainly come across something special. His file barely provided any positive insight on the child.   But one thing caught Shouta's attention.   'Quirk: Quirkless'   Ah. That was why the boy referred to himself as a burden. Because he was probably treated as one ever since his diagnosis.   Shouta bit his lip for a moment, before putting his head in his hands and sighing.    If you have a weak or villainous quirk, or maybe no quirk at all like Midoriya, you were practically screwed. That's just how it is,and how it always would be.The discrimination would only get worse with each generation. Shouta sighed once again.   Society could be the worst sometimes.    ----------------------------------------------------   It is 1AM and insomnia is a bitch so I'm writing and uh- I suddenly realised that Izuku is younger than he’s meant to be. SO YE LET’S JUST PRETEND THAT IZUKU IS TOTALLY 15- Bad writing, I know, I'm sorry. I've gone back to the previous chapter and fixed it. Also the slime villain attack happened in July rather than April just so Izu has a bunch of shit hit him at once :) As you know, Im very nice - Author-chan 💕💕💕   ----------------------------------------------------   “Why’d you skip out on me yesterday, ‘raser? I waited ages for you!” Izuku pouted under his mask. He had been a bit sulky for most of the day because the man had left him waiting on the rooftop, even though it was one of the quietest nights they’d had in the while. Usually, they had an hour or so to sit together before the criminals in the area began to roam once again, but the entire night had been crime-free yesterday. What possibly could have kept him so busy the entire night that he couldn’t even sit with Izuku for five minutes?   “I was looking for Midoriya’s file.”   Oh. Shit.   “Well, at least tell me next time. I don’t have the time to just sit here, you know?”   “Oh? And what's so important that limits the amount of time you have to just relax? You don’t have to be a vigilante, but you choose to. If you chose to spend that time relaxing,like a normal child, then maybe you would have the time to sit and wait for me, or sit and chat with me for longer than we already do.” “Is this your way of trying to convince me to stop being a vigilante.”Izuku didn’t even bother phrasing it as a question. He already knew the answer.   “...yes.”   “Well, it’s not working. And anyway, you have a job, ‘raser. You can’t just sit here talking to me all the time when you could be saving people.” “So you want to stop having our chats?”   “...no.”   “That’s what I thought.”   The two sat there for a while, but Izuku suddenly started feeling like a hypocrite, seeing as he previously said he didn’t ‘have the time to just sit here’,so he blurted out,”Why don’t you ever arrest me? You know, when we’re just sitting together. The last four years you’ve been so hellbent on catching me, but now you seem to not even care about that anymore. Did you suddenly get bad at your job or something?”   “Well… you’re not doing anything illegal when you’re just sitting and talking to me.” “....what.” Eraserhead sighed,”Look, kid. As much of a brat you may be, you don’t deserve over four years worth of ‘acts of vigilantism’ on your record, whoever’s record that may be. If I happen to catch you while you’re committing one of those acts of vigilantism, that’s your own fault. But right now, you’re just a kid who needs some serious mental help, or at least somebody to talk to. Which is what I'm here for, at least during those moments where I'm not meant to be taking you down to the station."   “I was about to say thank you but then you practically said Im broken so now Im saying fuck you, ‘raser. And then I'm saying thank you.”   “You’re welcome, Deku.”   ----------------------------------------------------   Katsuki was not expecting to be on a midnight stroll and hear his childhood best friend’s victim’s nickname.   But here he was.   On a midnight stroll.   Hearing ‘You’re welcome, Deku.’ coming from the top of an apartment building.   The ash-blond boy spotted a fire-escape on the side of said building and began to dash over, before climbing it’s ladders two rungs at a time.   He heard the same voice who mentioned Izuku’s nickname grumble out, “Rabbit, somebody’s coming.”   Katsuki was right. Rabbit was Izuku. And Izuku was letting this bastard call him Deku.   He reached the top of the fire escape and jumped onto the roof to be greeted by Izuku and some hobo with a white scarf on.   “DEKU! You shitty nerd! Where the fuck have you been the past five years?!”Katsuki yelled. He didn’t miss how the boy’s emerald eyes gained a glint of fear, but he was too pissed to be bothered about that right now.   “K-Kacc-”   “Shut the fuck up, Deku! Do you know how fucking worried I was when you just up and disapeared?! I thought you were dead! I thought you listened to my fucking advice! But here you are, hanging out with some fucking hobo who’s also calling you Deku! What, is anybody you’ve known for five fucking seconds allowed to call you that now?!”   “Kacchan, I-”   “Tell me why the fuck you left or I’ll reveal your identity to this bastard!” Katsuki threatened and the smaller boy seemed to collapse in on himself.   The hobo began to talk rather than Izuku,”I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t threaten Rabbit. Nor call me a bastard.”   Katsuki scoffed,”I see it as a pretty fucking accurate description of ya, asshat.”   The hobo nudged Izuku and when he didn’t respond, the older man raised an eyebrow at Katsuki.   “Jeez, what the hell did you do to him, other than threaten him? Usually if somebody said something like that, he’d either be shouting at them or delivering an idiotic comeback…” The hobo sighed before nudging the paling Izuku a few more times, still getting no response.   Katsuki still hadn't been exactly sure if he’d won or lost when the hobo wrapped his scarf around Izuku and began jumping across the rooftops.   What.   All Katsuki could do was yell out "DEKUUUUUUU!" but it obviously fell to deaf ears.   ----------------------------------------------------   So, uh, I couldn’t exactly write much more as that part was in Katsuki’s perspective, but as soon as they were a block or so away from Katsuki, Izu snapped out of it, wiggled out of the scarf and ran away,as he's used to the scarf from when he's Midoriya and not Rabbit - Author-chan 💕💕💕   ----------------------------------------------------   “So, are you going to tell me what that was the other night?”   “No, definitely not. I never, ever wanna talk about how much Kacchan scares me.”   “Ah, alright then.”   “We can talk about something else though, if ya want to.” “Ok then, here’s a conversation topic. Why the fuck are you so short?"   "I'm not short, you're just tall as fuck."   "Rabbit, I have fifteen and sixteen year olds for students. You're like, what, fifteen yourself? You should be maybe an inch or so shorter than the average height of my students, but you're a good deal shorter than that."   "Don't shit on me cause I'm short! Ain't my fucking fault!"   Eraserhead smirked slightly,”You know, from your notes, you seemed like a pretty alright kid,but now I've realized that you're just a brat."   "And from your notes, you seemed like you had at least one considerate bone in your body, but now I've realized that you're actually just an ass."   Eraserhead gave him a smack to the head, but Izuku just laughed, knowing it wasn’t out of spite.   They sat there for a little while, and as much as Izuku despised wasting time, he had to admit that sitting with Eraserhead was surprisingly nice. Kacchan’s voice dimmed to a whisper, but that at least gave Izuku the opportunity to just take in the sights and sounds of Mustafu, even if he liked the comfort of his childhood friend’s voice. Sure, Kacchan was terrifying in person, but Izuku could handle the boy’s insults and slurs  playful banter in his head.   In his head.   “Hey, you know the other night, before Kacchan came?”   Eraserhead simply gave a hum in response,”You said that I'm a kid who 'needs some serious mental help'.... Do you really think I'm broken, 'raser?"   The man bit his lip and Izuku's eyes widened.   Even your idol thinks you're broken.   You're broken you're broken you're broken you're broken you're broken you're broken you're broken you're broken you're-   "Not broken. Just… cracked, you know? And you might shatter, sure, but even if you shatter, you- we can still piece you back together. As long as you don't let yourself be grinded into dust."   They both sat in silence for a while… before Izuku burst out into a fit of laughter, crying as he did so.   "O-oh 'raser, you can be so cheesy- you'd never think it by looking at you, but then you pull shit like this-"   Eraserhead seemed as if he was about to retort back, so Izuku was quick to continue,"But, even so…. Thanks. You… didn't have to say that."   "You're welcome, Deku."   ----------------------------------------------------   "So, 'raser…. I have a… um.. hypothetical question. Like, totally out of the blue, not relating to anybody in particular at all."   "Shoot."   Izuku didn't exactly want to 'shoot'. He'd spent ages mulling over the fact of asking the question. He was apprehensive about it, but it was something he felt he needed a second opinion on.   "Do you think….If I was a quirkless person, I could become a hero?"   Eraserhead answered almost immediately, barely even thinking about it,"Of course. I practically fight quirkless. If I thought you couldn't be, then I’d be a hypocrite. Why do you ask? Do you think you couldn't be a hero if you were quirkless?"   Because you can't.   "No, no! I'm actually super glad you think the quirkless can be heroes….I was honestly expecting a totally different answer."   "...are you sure this question is completely hypothetical?" Eraserhead raised an eyebrow at him.   "Of course. I was just…. interested in your opinion."   "You could've just asked if I thought a quirkless person could be a hero. Didn't have to make it a whole big deal about it."   "O-oh, shut up 'raser!!" Izuku shot back, pouting, though obviously Eraserhead wouldn't be able to see.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta found that Rabbit was just like Izuku Midoriya. An enigma.   He originally thought that Rabbit was the epitome of cockiness and confidence,and sure he was a little cracked, as Shouta had told the boy a few nights later, but nowhere near the 'shattered’ aspect.   When he had to drag the frozen child away from 'Kacchan', or whatever the hot-headed boy's real name was, he realised the child may be closer to shattered than he thought.   So he told the boy that if he shattered, he'd help piece him back together.   But, honestly, Shouta didn't know how to do that.   For one, the child was still a wanted vigilante. You couldn't exactly just put a criminal in therapy without them getting arrested. And since Shouta didn't know the boy's true identity, there wasn't really much he could do.   All he could do was continue his chats with the vigilante, but anybody would tell you that Shouta isn't exactly the 'comforting' type. And he didn't really know enough about the boy's situation to do anything. All he knew is that the boy was put through the system, and ran away when he was 10.All he had mentioned other than that was that his foster families weren't the 'nicest people', and that they 'didn't accept him, so he freed them of his presence'.   Shouta didn't know what to make of Rabbit. All he knew was that the kid needed help.   And though he would still try his hardest to help Midoriya, he'd make sure Rabbit got the help he needed too.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku had to admit, Eraserhead definitely wasn't like any other hero. He believed most heroes to be selfish assholes who only cared about money and fame, but Eraserhead was the exact opposite. He stuck to the shadows and preferred not to be in the spotlight, so he didn’t seem to care for the money and fame side of the business, which Izuku respected him for.   Sure, Eraserhead could be a bit of an ass, but in a good way. It wasn’t as if he was causing tons of property damage and wasn’t showing any compassion towards those caught in the crossfire, like a certain fiery hero.   Eraserhead just preferred to stick to logic and reason, and therefore be a stick in the mud, but he could also be an ass in a fun way. Usually by complete accident, but still.   He was nice to talk to though. It was...surprisingly comforting.   You could be spending that time training.   The man may not know how to be comforting, like, at all, but just his presence was more than enough.   What if somebody is in trouble right now. You can't waste your time just sitting here.   Even if they didn't talk, it still gave Izuku the strength to keep going. He wouldn't let himself die by another's hands.   They're just ridding the world of a burden.   He would die on his own terms. So he could do at least one useful thing in his life.   But you've been wasting time on that roof.   He wouldn't die until he could be useful!   Somebody could be dead because of you.   He wouldn't-   Your mother died because of you.   H-he... wouldn't-   Shizuka-san almost died because of you. Didn't you hear her fighting with Yoichi outside your door? And losing? If you hadn't been so weak, she wouldn't have had to suffer.   He…   Every single second you waste, somebody could be dying. And it would be all.   Wait...   Your.   No!   Fault.   ...   So many people could be dead because of him.   And it was all his fault….   He knows this.   Because Kacchan is always right. Izuku was tired.   He hadn't slept in three days.   But you have to keep going.   If he wasted time sleeping, people would die. It would be all his fault.   At least if he died from overworking himself, he was doing something useful.   But it still isn't enough.   But it still wasn't enough.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was exhausted.   He hasn't slept in 5 days.   Everything was almost a blur as he put his all into fighting and capturing each and every villain or criminal that came his way.   But his all wasn't enough.   You're making mistakes.   Because he hadn't slept.   That's no excuse.   That was no excuse.   You have to keep going.   He had to keep going.Until it was finally enough.   But it would never be enough.   ----------------------------------------------------   Had it been a week already? Izuku couldn't tell.   Eraserhead could tell though.   "Where have you been, Rabbit?" The man asked Izuku. He hadn't seen Eraserhead since his revelation. Since Kacchan had revealed the truth to him.   "Busy. Not right now, Eraserhead." He grumbled out and went to run off, but the man caught his wrist.   "Hey! Get off me, Eraserhead!" Izuku growled at the man, who gave him a frown.   "There's barely any crime tonight. There are other heroes in the area taking care of it. Why don't you just rest for one night? All I've heard about for the past week and a half" Oh. It had been longer than a week," is that there's been non-stop Rabbit sightings. You're going to catch the attention of the more popular heroes, who will not hesitate to arrest you on the spot." The man glared at him.   "I don't care, Eraserhead! I'm not going to let people die because I wasn't there!" Izuku shot back at the man.   "...what?"   "My mom killed herself because I wasn't there for her! And my only good foster parent almost died trying to protect me from her own husband! Every. Single. Day. Because I was too weak to protect myself! I have to be strong… and I have to be there for those who have nobody! I need to be the light in their life that they'll never have! I need to be able to smile in the face of danger one day, without having to use this mask to do it! You say there's other heroes in the area? They're not here to protect these guys! They're after me! I'm the only person here who cares about these guys-"   "I care about them, Deku."   "No, nobody does, only I care about them, I-"   "Who do you think was protecting the area before you came along, Deku?"   Izuku didn't answer him, but he knew the answer. Eraserhead knew that he knew.   "It was me. It was hard, on my own, so sure, I appreciate your help, but I know how hard this area can be sometimes. And I can tell you haven't gotten any sleep since you started pushing yourself to the brim constantly. Go get some rest, Deku, because if you keep protecting these people, sure, it won't be them who die, but it'll be you."   "I don't care if I d-"   "These people won't die, Deku, I'll make sure of it. And I'll make sure you won't die either. You're technically one of these people as well. Don't kill yourself to save these people."   Izuku bit his lip. He had already tried to kill himself for far less, but Eraserhead didn’t exactly know that. Eraserhead also had a good point. He didn’t want to admit it, but the man did have a good point. If Eraserhead was there, then nobody    Before Kacchan had the chance to intervene (Kacchan’s voice had been granted talking privileges during his patrols as he was the only person who kept Izuku on the right path), Izuku nodded, “If you’re gonna keep bitching about me taking care of myself, then fine, I will.”   “Glad you finally decided to actually take care of yourself.” Eraserhead grumbled at the boy who began to yawn. He’d been stifling them because they made him just want to pass out in the alleyway he was in, but he was distracted by the hobo-like man.   “Why are you following me, ‘raser?” Izuku asked about a block away from Dagboah. He had noticed the man a while ago but he had decided to give him the befinet of the doubt until now.   “To make sure you actually get home safe.”   “You don’t need to ‘make sure I get home safe’, ‘raser. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.” Izuku muttered as he continued to walk, too tired to bother breaking out into a sprint now that he’d bothered to acknowledge his current condition.   “Surprised you're not running away.” “Surprised you’re back to being an ass. Where’s that nice ‘raser from a second ago that actually gave a shit about me?”   “I do give a shit about you. I’m making sure you get home safe.” “You’re trying to find out where I live.”   “...no.” “See, ‘raser? I know you well. Keep patrolling, you said you were gonna protect these people, right?” “Yup. I’m protecting one of them right now.”   “Damn it, ‘raser. I don’t need protection.”   “You haven’t slept in a week and a half. You’re not even running away from me right now. Of course you need protection.”   “How can you tell how long it’s been since I last slept?”   “Considering the facts that me, of all people, should know the signs of sleep deprivation, and that you’ve been seen during the day recently, which I assume is when you’d sleep, yeah, I don’t think you’ve slept. Though that brings up another question. You said you ran away, right? So you don’t go to school? Do you still bother to keep up with your education?”   “Pffffft, of course I keep up with my education. I know how to build support items, lock pick, shop lift-”   “Deku-”   “Kidding, ‘raser, kidding! I also know history, science, math, english, etc. I can teach myself, you know? Don’t need some dumb teacher.”He muttered teacher as if they were one of the most disgusting things to ever exist,because to him, they were,”Been fine for over five years doing it.”   “The fact that you said also is worrying.”   “That was the effect I desired.”Izuku cockily grinned beneath his mask.   They stopped at Dagboah Municipal Beach. As they walked down the steps to the junk-littered shore front, Eraserhead looked confused. But as they approached Izuku’s tiny clothing pile, mattress, and support item box, the man realised.   “Holy shit. You live here.”   Izuku began to laugh,”Duh! What else did you expect, dumbass? Ah yes, a kid who ran away is going to be living in some luxury apartment in the rich part of Mustafu! Yeah, no.”   “So...how long have you been living on the beach?”   “Almost five years. Slept in alleyways for a while till I found this place. Nobody comes here. It’s safe….”The boy muttered in reply.   “A junk littered beach isn’t safe, Deku. Any of these piles could collapse onto you at any moment.”   “But they haven’t.   “But they could.” “But they won’t. Look, ‘raser. I’ve been doing this for five years. I can tell if one of the piles is getting a bit unstable. If they are, I just try to stabilise em or move to a different part of the beach. It’s fine, ‘raser. I’m fine.”   “If you say so…” Eraserhead murmured. The man probably knew he wasn’t going to win this one. If Izuku gave in, there was no chance of it happening again on the same night. But it didn’t mean the man wasn’t going to try again with a different topic,”I know why you need to know the other stuff, but why do you need to know how to pick locks?”   “Oh my god ‘raser, can’t you just leave me alone?!” Izuku groaned.   “Never.”   “Fine, dumbass. I pick the locks of restaurant dumpsters. If they’re just gonna throw the food away anyways, might as well eat it.” “That’s disgusting.” “It’s practical.” “No, it’s not.You’ll get sick.” “But I haven’t yet.”   “That’s what we call a miracle, but it won’t last forever.”   “Will too. It’s lasted five years, of course it’ll last forever.”   “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”   “No. You’ll never win this argument. My reasoning is sound.” ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku’s reasoning didn’t turn out to be very sound, because he got sick.   He guessed the not sleeping combined with trash food worked against him somehow.   But he wasn’t going to let some sickness stop him from doing his job.   He may let an Eraser stop him though.   He just had to hope that luck would be on his side tonight, other than the being sick thing. If he ran into Eraserhead, he’d be screwed.   Luck didn’t turn out to be a team player.   “You’re sick, Rabbit.”Came the man’s tired voice from behind him after Izuku sneezed. “Am not.” The boy snivelled. “Yes you are. You shouldn’t be out.” “Should be. Gotta protect everyone.”   “By getting them sick too?”   “Nope. Got mask on. They be fine.”   “You won’t be fine.” “Am always fine.”   “You always say that, but you never are. Go home- Or uh, go to...your beach.” “Thanks for the advice, but *sniff* don’t need to. I’ll be fine.” Izuku began to walk away, but face-planted onto the floor.   “You’re not fine.” “Am not fine.”   Eraserhead sighed behind him, and before Izuku could question the underground hero, he’d been lifted into the air and onto the man’s back.   “What you doing, ‘raser?” Izuku growled at the man, but did not hesitate to grab onto him for dear life.   “I’m taking you to my apartment.” “No you ain’t.” “Yes I am.”   “Don’t trust you enough for that. And you shunt trust me with your address.”   Eraserhead was silent for a moment,before nodding,”Yeah, true.” ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta didn’t particularly want to just bring Rabbit to Dagboah, but he didn’t have much choice. The most he knew about Rabbit’s trauma for now was that he didn’t particularly like loud people, like the ‘Kacchan’ from before.   His husband was the epitome of ‘loud’.   He got to the small hidden-away area Rabbit had made in the trash and frowned as he looked around it once more.   The mattress had springs sticking out and had clearly been used for far longer than any mattress should be used.   The clothes were clean, but very clearly stitched up. It was obvious that the boy’s vigilante costume was his most acceptable outfit by far, and that is an outstanding accomplishment, given how the costume looks.   There wasn’t much else, other than a sewing kit ,a first aid kit, and the box of support items from before, mostly stick-like objects, batons. He guessed those were the rejects of the vigilantes’ weapon.   He laid the kid down on the bare mattress. No blankets or anything. Crap.   It was currently November. The kid must’ve been freezing every winter for five years. It hurt Shouta. He had tried to help Rabbit a lot through-out the past couple of months since their conversation about Izuku being ‘broken, not shattered’ through just being there for him, but it was nowhere near enough.   He put the small boy down on the mattress (he was small because he was malnourished, Shouta now realised), “Hey, I need to head to my apartment to get you some stuff. Don’t move, alright?”   “Far as I know, can’t move at all.”Rabbit grunted in response.   Shouta quickly set off to his and Hizashi’s apartment. He should be on patrol right now, but Rabbit was more important at the moment.   He walked in and immediately went for the hallway closet.   “What’re you doing home already, Sho?” Hizashi asked worriedly from the living room Shouta had dashed through, “I thought your patrol lasted until 2AM tonight?”   “It does, but this brat I know is sick because he’s an absolute idiot, and now I have to make sure he doesn’t die.” Shouta grumbled back.   “Why didn’t you just bring him here?” Hizashi questioned him once again.   “He’s scared of loud people.” Shouta replied once more as he just decided to grab an armful of blankets from the closet and steal a pillow from their bed.He could always grab another one at the store after he’d dealt with Rabbit.He didn’t want to make the kid wait longer than he had to. He picked up a jelly packet on his way out of the apartment as well. He didn’t have any ‘real food’ (he was still mad at Hizashi for saying that his jelly packets weren’t real food), but this would have to do for now.   When he arrived back at Dagboah, Rabbit was exactly as he was before Shouta had left. The man just sighed.   “I didn’t mean remain in that exact position, Rabbit. I meant just..don’t get up,”   “You said not move. I just did what ya said.”The boy quickly defended himself. Shouta sighed once more,that wasn’t exactly what he said but he probably shouldn’t give Rabbit a japanese lesson right now,” Well, I need you to lift your head real quick.” Shouta asked the boy. When the child did just that, Shouta put the pillow under his head before laying the myriad of blankets on top of him.   “Think even if I weren’t sick I wouldn’t be able to move. This your way of capturing me?” Rabbit asked, raising an eyebrow.   “No. This is just what my husband Hizashi does to me whenever i'm sick.” Shouta sighed back. How many times had he sighed in the last minute?   Rabbit seemed to tense up when Shouta mentioned Hizashi, but the man decided not to push it for now.   “I got you one of these, too.” Shouta placed the jelly packet on Izuku’s chest,” So, yeah, you might wanna get up to drink that.” “Okay, but turn around. Have to take my mask off to drink and don’t want you seeing ma face.” The boy requested. Shouta obliged, since it only made sense, given that the boy was a vigilante.   When the boy was finished, Shouta practically forced him to sleep. It took until he threatened to get Midnight to come for the boy to finally give in.   The man sighed as he read the multitude of notifications he had received from Hizashi.   RadioRebel Shouta, what's going on? How's the kid? Are you both okay? Please respond. I'm worried.   PencilTopper I'm fine. Kid is asleep right now. I checked his forehead, he's got a fever. He practically lives off trash so I'm not surprised. He lives in it too. I'm thinking about just giving him the blankets I brought. I've already decided to give him the damn pillow.   RadioRebel Awwwww, Shouta, you're so nice! He lives off and in trash? That's horrible. No child should have to live like that. Maybe we should start bringing him food or something every now and then? So he's not only eating trash…?   Shouta bit his lip. It did sound like a good idea, and that was a rare thing for Hizashi. How could he pass up this opportunity?   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku soon began routinely finding plastic containers full of food placed next to his mattress. He didn't question how, who, or why, and just ate it. He had a couple of theories in mind anyway.   ----------------------------------------------------   OKAY Y'ALL. There's ya fluff for once :3  Author-chan 💕💕💕   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was scared.   Izuku was sitting in the office of one of the smartest beings in the world.   The very office he was in was the principal's office of one of the most renowned schools in all of Japan.   He was sitting in the principal's office of UA, in front of Nezu.   Oh shit.   "So, you're Izuku Midoriya. You are attempting to get into our general studies course, correct?" The chimera had a calm smile on his face, yet a glint of malice in his eyes. Izuku would say he knew that all too well, but this malice was strangely different. He couldn't figure out the dog-mouse-bear's intent.   Izuku just offered a nod, his poker face still remaining.   "Well. It's nice to meet you, but it seems that you are a runaway. You are technically a part of the foster system, correct?"   Izuku nodded once again. He was going to fake his details, but he wouldn't risk lying to the smartest animal in the world.   "I also see that you are quirkless."   Izuku nodded a third time at the mammal.   "Not very talkative, are you? Well, that makes sense, given your status in our society. You were probably seen as a subspecies, like I was. Though our situations were most likely very different, we were both treated in the same manner. Like we were worth less than everybody else just because of the lack of a quirk, or even having one. The human race is a strange one, but I feel a small connection with you, Midoriya-kun. Though I should turn you in, I'm not particularly fond of the government myself, so I'll allow you go to free, and also go to UA. It would be a grave mistake to give up a mind as great as yours, given your entrance exam scores." The mammal had a shit eating grin on his face.   Izuku was silent for only moment more while his eyes widened,"A-are you ser-serious?" He hated that he stuttered. He thought he'd gotten over that problem, given his confidence when he was Rabbit and the few conversations he'd had with Eraserhead as Izuku.   "Why wouldn't I be serious? This is quite the serious conversation we are having, after all."   Izuku bowed and muttered a quiet "Th-thank you".   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was terrified.   He was standing Infront of the UA. Sure, he'd come here a few times, from his original deal with Nezu to receiving a complimentary uniform from the man, but it was still surreal to Izuku.   His first few classes had been 'eh' for the most part. His classmates still didn't know he was quirkless, so it was a good start. They didn't talk to him (he'd heard one person call him 'creepy'),but Izuku was fine with that. Izuku wasn't particularly fond of people anyway.   So,when it came to lunch, Izuku couldn't handle the rush of students. He decided to go out to the back of the school to eat his lunch,which had been left beside his mattress once again; he still couldn't handle all of the food and either ended up saving it or giving it to others.   He didn't expect to find another person sitting against the wall at the back of the school, eating his lunch in silence.   Izuku stood there for about a minute, contemplating if he should intrude, before the purple haired boy spoke up," You can sit down you know. You don't have to just continue standing there."   Izuku immediately snapped out of it and hastily took a seat near the boy. He couldn't just sit right next to the mystery boy, obviously. They were complete strangers.   The purple haired boy was quite handsome though.   Izuku snapped out of it once again. No, he wasn't gay. Not even bi. He was straight. Extraordinarily straight. He had been told many times he wasn't supposed to like guys, and that it only made him more useless.   Yoichi didn't seem to mind when he found out.   Izuku shook his head. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about that.   "Are….you alright." The purple haired boy asked...well, not ask, he practically demanded an answer from Izuku,"And who even are you."   "O-oh! I'm Iz-Izuku!" He quickly spat out.   "Izuku…..is that all." The other boy seemed to expect him to finish off his name.   "I-I do-don't go b-by my la-last name…" Izuku stuttered further.   "Well… if you're Izuku, then I'm Hitoshi."   "Ju-just Hitoshi….?"   "If I only get your first name, you only get mine."   "Th-thats...f-fair…."   The two boys sat there for a while, just eating their lunch, until Hitoshi spoke again,"So, why are you back here." The boy demanded another answer for him, and Izuku complied.   "I-I co-couldn't handle...th-the c-crowds…."   "Makes sense. They're insane. Both the hero course and general studies course together makes for quite the annoyance." Hitoshi muttered.   "W-which co-course are you in, H-Hito-kun?"    Hitoshi seemed surprised at the sudden nickname, but didn't question it, he didn't really seem to like any sort of questions, as long as it was he who asked them,"I'm in the hero course. I don't know which course you are in."   "O-oh, I-im in gen-general studies, o-obviously…."   "It isn't that obvious." Hitoshi shrugged.   It would be if you really knew the bastard.   If you really knew me, you'd be disgusted. You'd agree that a burden like me could never be a hero. I wouldn't even be able to beat the weakest of people.   "W-well…. It would be."   "How would it be obvious."   "I-its per-personal…. Th-though y-you'll probably...he-hear about it w-when.. t-the others f-find out…."   "I'd rather hear it from you. Rumors are always over exaggerated."   Oh.   Hitoshi wanted to know.   Tell him. Tell him how useless you are, Deku.   He deserves to know. It's only right.   "I'm quirkless." He scrunched up his eyes as he spoke, preparing for Hitoshi to push him away.   "Oh."   Oh? Just oh?   "Ju-just….oh?"   "Yeah. Why would you being quirkless go around as a rumor. Being quirkless is fine, quirks are kind of a pain in the ass to be honest."   "H-huh? I-I always th-thought quirks w-were a-amazing…."   "Not really. People get discriminated for both their quirk and lack of one. You probably had it pretty bad, but people with weak or villianous quirks would've gone through just as much."   Exactly. I don't deserve to feel bad. Others have gone through just as much as me.   And you don't see them bitching about it, do you, Deku?    Izuku didn't deserve to feel bad. Hitoshi said being quirkless was fine. Maybe he should listen to the purple-haired boy.    ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi was wrong.   Being quirkless wasn't fine.   He shouldn't have listened to the other boy.   In fifth period, the teacher (Present Mic; Izuku totally wasn't fanboying)decided it would be fun to go around and ask about everybody's quirks.   When it came to Izuku, he decided to tell them he was quirkless. It was UA, wasn't it? Maybe they'd all be as accepting as Hitoshi.   "Ew, a quirkless? At UA?"   Ew….? Hitoshi didn't say anything like that….   "Do you think it's infectious?"   I'm not infectious! Being quirkless isn't a disease!   "Stay away from it!"   Why?!   "Can't believe we have a mistake in our class."   A mistake….   "He's gonna be such a burden. As soon as people find out we have a quirkless in our class, our reputation is gonna go down the drain."   Burden.   Burden .   Burden.   Izuku was right. He was a burden. A quirkless mistake.   He regretted his decision to tell his class about him being quirkless, because he was now isolated.   He was just a subspecies. A mistake. One that's slowly been going extinct over the years, each and every generation having less and less mistakes appearing as the new human race was perfected.   He only had three months until he'd aid in the extinction of the quirkless.   He could only hope that this time he would succeed.   But for now, he needed a way to cure the pain he would most likely be feeling for the next three years.   You deserve that pain.   Izuku had stopped cutting when he ran away from his seventeenth foster home.   Izuku began cutting again when he went back to school.   ----------------------------------------------------   That little bit felt a bit forced to me but it wouldn’t be A:R if it weren’t angsty :) Y’all will get a fluff only chapter at some point. Just not any time soon (at least in the main fic-) - Author-chan 💕💕💕   ----------------------------------------------------   "Do you have Kacchan in your class?"    "I think that's a nickname, not their real name."   "O-oh! R-right! His n-name is Ka-katsuki Bakugo!" Izuku ignored how weird the other boy's full name sounded coming out of his mouth.   Hitoshi raised an eyebrow at him,"Bakugo. The person you know in my class is Bakugo. Yeah, no, I can't imagine you two ever having a single conversation."   "W-well, I k-knew him w-when I was l-little…. I-I haven't….s-spoke to him...i-in a while th-though…."    Liar. The rooftop incident, remember?   I could barely spit anything out though. I couldn't even call him Kacchan. All I could do was stutter my ass off.   Hitoshi nodded,"He seems like the sort of person who would've abandoned you as soon as he found out you were quirkless."   Izuku gave the other boy a nod of his own," Y-yeah, te-technically h-he did… b-but, I s-still saw h-him often!"   I have the scars to prove it.   Hitoshi only nodded. He guessed that the boy knew Izuku didn't want to talk about it further. Or he was just bored of the topic. Either way, Izuku appreciated him for it.   "Th-this is nice…." Izuku muttered. Hitoshi only gave him a look that asked him to elaborate further. Over the last few days, he'd figured out that Hitoshi didn't particularly like asking questions with his voice, and if he had to, he wouldn't phrase it that way.   "Pe-people don't r-really… ac-accept me o-often….s-so it's p-pretty n-nice to h-have somebody… t-to talk to…."   Eraserhead should be enough for you. Stop being selfish.   Hitoshi bit his lip, seeming to contemplate something.   He's getting ready to ditch you, Deku. You shouldn't have told him that, dumbass. Now he hates you cause he found out how much of a clingy bastard you are. You're so fucking worthless. Maybe it's good if he ditches you. You're wasting his goddamn time. He's a hero course student, while you're just a lowly general studies course student, because you could never be a-   "My quirk is brainwashing. If I ask somebody a question and they respond, I can brainwash them. That's why I avoid asking you questions….I'm not really accepted by people often as well, so it's nice to have you to talk to."   What?   "That's SO COOL, HITO-KUN!!" Izuku exclaimed in excitement,"You could do so much with that!! You could brainwash a villain so they'd stop fighting you, you could easily stop hostage situations, or suicides" Don't stop me though, one person is annoying enough, "you could-"   "Stop, Izuku.” Hitoshi chuckled,”You’re muttering”   The curly-haired boy had already had a couple of muttering sprees over the past few days,“A-ah, s-sorry!” Izuku put his head in his hands.   “It’s fine. Thanks, Izu.”   “Izu?”Izuku looked up at the other boy.   “Yeah, a nickname. Like how you call me Hito-kun.”   “I-I like it…” Izuku murmured, “Thank you, Hito-kun….”   “You thank me for everything.”   “D-do not!” Izuku puffed his cheeks in a pout.   “You do! And another thing, the only times I ever hear you speak without stuttering is when you’re on one of your muttering sprees, fanboying over the heroes who taught you that day. You’re such a fanboy.” Hitoshi teased.   “Hito-kun! Stop it!”   Izuku realized at that moment that he’d done something he never thought possible.    He’d made a friend.   He was enough for Hitoshi.   And even though he knew in the end that he still had to go through with ridding the world of the burden that was Izuku Midoriya, he was glad that he had lived a little while longer.   Because he was finally enough for someone. “A trip? The hero course is going on a damn trip? ”   “Yes, we’re going to the USJ to do some training in the afternoon.” “Dude, I don’t think you should be training at Universal Studios Japan right now-”   “It’s the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, at least that’s what Thirteen calls it. It’s an isolated training ground on the UA campus built for rescue training, not a theme park.” “Okay, ignoring the fact that you know Thirteen, do you really think you should be going to an isolated training ground right now, even if it's still on UA campus? Like, didn’t you just have a break-in earlier today?”   “It was just the press. It was all fine in the end.”   “Somebody disintegrated the UA barrier. I don’t think even the press would go that far. I have a bad feeling, ‘raser.”   “It’s going to be alright, Rabbit. It’s not as if a villain will be able to break into UA. Rat Satan makes sure of that.” Izuku decided to ignore his bad feeling for a moment. He had to ask how the hell Eraserhead had come up with the nickname ‘Rat Satan’ for Nezu.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku decided to call in sick the next day. He was still going to UA that day though. Well, Rabbit was. The boy had clad himself in his vigilante uniform and used his student ID to get into the school. He was worried about Nezu figuring him out, but now wasn’t the time to worry about himself. Both Hitoshi and Eraserhead could be in trouble. The only two people who give a damn about him. Kacchan wouldn’t be in trouble, he would be able to beat any villain, but still! He needed to help them in some way! He had to be useful!!   Izuku quickly located the bus's location and opened the trunk before slipping inside. Sure, he could clutch onto the underside like any good vigilante would, but Izuku wasn't that talented.   You’re wrong about this   You’re wrong about this   You’re wrong about this.   The voices in his head were fighting against him, telling him how much of an idiotic Deku he was being. How he was just going to waste the hero courses time. Waste Hitoshi’s time. Waste Eraserhead’s time. Waste my time.   But Izuku had to be sure. He couldn’t let down the people he loves. Because they were all he had.   If they got hurt, he didn’t know what he would do.   ----------------------------------------------------   As Izuku snuck into the USJ, he couldn’t believe his olive green eyes. He shouldn’t have been surprised at how vast and extravagant the USJ was, given how that was practically the definition of both UA and it’s motto, but it still shocked him. He watched as the space hero (he was seeing Thirteen in person! ) gave a speech to the students of Class 1A from one of the bushes next to the entrance of the USJ.Izuku attempted to guess each of the students quirks based on their costumes, at least if they had emitter quirks and not obvious ones like the boy with a tail or the girl with earphone jacks hanging from her ears, or the person who was literally invisible.     Though, while he was brooding about being unable to write a new entry in his notebook about the hero’s quirk (an explanation of how it worked straight from the man himself!), he didn’t fail to notice the purple vortex that was slowly growing in front of the fountain. When it had grown quite a bit, a multitude of people began to emerge from it. Villains.   As they continued to emerge, two particular figures caught Izuku’s attention. A guy with pale-blue hair who Izuku decided to dub ‘Handjob’, given the fact that he was covered in hands. If they were fake or actual human hands, well, Izuku didn’t want to know. The other one that caught Izuku’s eye was a large, muscular, void-black figure covered in bright red surgery scars. It had a beak and two eyeballs nestled on top of its visible brain. Izuku felt like he wanted to throw up, but now wasn’t the time for that.   "HUDDLE UP AND DON'T MOVE! THIRTEEN!! PROTECT THE STUDENTS!" Came a familiar voice. Eraserhead.   "Woah, are there faux villains too?!"   "It's like the entrance exam all over again! Are they battle robots as well?"   "Don't move. Those are real villains!!" Eraserhead replied, pulling down his goggles.   Wait. He wasn’t going to-   As Eraserhead set off to fight the villains, despite a few protests from the students and Thirteen himself, Izuku jumped out from the bush and dashed into the fray.   “Who’s that?”   “Are they a villain too?”   “No,look, they’re helping Aizawa-sensei fight the villains!”   “Deku?!”   “Are they a vigilante?”   Izuku ignored the comments from the students, but when he had fended off quite a few of the villains, one of the peculiar people, or whatever they were, he had noticed earlier seemed to notice him too.   "It's you!!" Hand-job snarled,"You're the one that keeps taking down all the NPCs we've been recruiting!"   "Huh, go figure. Which ones were yours? That gang from when I was ten? That drug ring from when I was twelve? Oh wait, there was also that drug ring from when I was eleven....And that one from when I just turned fourteen- Oh damn, I've taken down a lot of drug rings-"   "They were all mine, Rabbit." The man child spat his vigilante alias as if it were the most disgusting thing to ever exist,”They were my league's financial supply and you took them all down! I had to settle for these low level NPCs!!   "Wow, your underlings must have been super weak if a literal child could take em down, huh? If these are even weaker, then this’ll be a piece of cake! Wow, you must be having a pretty bad time right now." Izuku smirked under his mask, before fiddling with his voice changer for a moment,"Hiya, I'm Hand-job and I'm so bad at being a villain that even a child could destroy my operation successfully! Wow, I really am a failure, huh?"   He heard a snicker from one of the students behind him, and Izuku counted that as a win. He was trying his darnedest to make the situation just a little bit better for those students, after all. Izuku didn’t mind that his comments would probably get him killed. No, scratch that, would most definitely get him killed.Hand-job had a murderous glint in his eyes and a mist man hurriedly tried to subdue him,"Tomura Shigaraki, we are only here to kill All M-"   "Shut up, Kurogiri! Even if this isn't his brat, a dead kid is sure to catch All Might's attention and have him come running here! He can't have any of his precious hero students dying, just like this mistake will!"   Izuku's eyes widened for a moment, the insult leaving a little puncture that allowed Kacchan's voice to slip through, however quiet it may be. Despite the real Kacchan being there as well, he still listened to the voice in his head. To him, right now, that was the closest thing he had to the real Kacchan.   Izuku didn’t notice Shigaraki launching at him.   Izuku did notice Eraserhead jumping in front of him.   Izuku couldn't do anything but watch as the man's elbow began to disintegrate in front of him. He looked around, looking for any sort of help, but Thirteen was busy and most of the students had disappeared to who-knows-where.   What if the villains killed them because you got distracted.You might have let over half a class of promising heroes die today because you couldn't pay attention. And now Eraserhead is dying in front of you. And you're just watching. Because you are too much of a coward to help. You really are usele-   "RABBIT!"   The pain was excruciating. It felt as if his body was on fire as the arm he had attempted to block Shigaraki's attacks with began to disintegrate before his eyes as the man clutched onto it.   But he didn't regret it as he stared into Shigaraki's blood-shot eyes.   He had a glint of malice in those ruby red eyes of his. People always say that the eyes are the window to the soul.   That was true for Izuku too.   "Nomu!" Shigaraki smirked,"Deal with the hobo!" The black bird monster immediately launched out of sight, but Izuku was too focused on the extreme amount of pain he was experiencing to take his eyes off of Shigaraki," I heard these two are quite close from my master. How fun will it be for them to watch each other die? Don't worry Rabbit, I'll kill you slowly so you can watch Eraserhead suffer!"   Wait.   No.   No!   He couldn't, he-   Shigaraki used his free hand to force Izuku's head to turn.    The 'Nomu' was pummeling Eraserhead repeatedly with an extraordinary amount of strength.   Izuku wanted to scream.   Izuku wanted to cry out, shout for help, anything.   But he couldn't.   All he could do was be forced to watch as Shigaraki began to disintegrate his left arm next, his right arm not being in irreparable shape,but bad enough that he definitely wouldn't be able to treat it on his own. And from the amount of blood he could feel running down his arm, he would most definitely suffer from severe blood loss.   As he watched Eraserhead suffer, not even caring about Shigaraki half disintegrating his limbs, he felt tears welling up in his eyes.   The Nomu lifted the bloody and beaten Eraserhead at Shigaraki's command. The man's limbs were awkwardly twisting and his suit was soaked in blood.   "You see that, Rabbit? That's what's left of your good ol' Eraserhead. Is it painful, Rabbit? Seeing this person you care about so much in so much pain? You must be feeling a lot less cocky then you were earlier." Shigaraki teased as he went to start disintegrating Izuku's left leg, already having done his right.   "Oh, Eraserhead. You just don't quit, do you?" Shigaraki spat as he pulled his hand away from Izuku's left leg, though it didn't make much difference, given that his quirk wasn't working.   The blue haired man let go of Izuku and the boy just fell forward. Practically all he could hear was white-noise as he attempted to get up, but to no avail. He heard a faint crash, and a few familiar voices, but he couldn't stay awake for much longer.   Even though he attempted to use all of his willpower to stay awake, he didn't have much of that.   Izuku Midoriya was sleepy.   So he let the black abyss of his nightmares claim him.   ----------------------------------------------------   As Izuku opened his eyes, he realized he was no longer inside the USJ. He tried to get up, but his whole body screamed at him in pain.    "Ah, probably shouldn't do that." A voice came. Izuku turned his head and saw Recovery Girl next to him.    "H-h-how….w-why..?" Even with the confidence he usually had in his Rabbit costume, the boy couldn't help but stutter.   "Aizawa informed me about you. He told me if I ever see a boy in a green rabbit hoodie with a grey smile mask on, to treat him immediately and not ask any questions. So I'll do just that.You are free to ask me questions though." Recovery Girl answered him,"Also, you may still be experiencing a bit of pain. That villian did quite a bit of damage to you, so I couldn't heal all of your injuries at the same time. You didn't have that much energy, either. I'm sorry."   "I-I-It's g-good...i-its...fine…. T-though… u-u-um…I-I have...a q-question…. h-how i-i-is e-e-everybody w-who was…. I-i-involved?"   "You and Aizawa were the only two with major injuries. He's mostly been healed up though, he has a cast for his arm and a few other injuries bandaged. A couple of the students were injured, but it was all minor. All Might and the other heroes arrived before everybody got too hurt." The woman replied.   Aizawa and the students got hurt because you were a coward, Deku.   They got hurt because I couldn't do anything. I was too weak.   You're so useless, Deku.   "I'll be back in a moment, I have to check on another patient." The woman spoke once again before departing into another section of the office.   Izuku didn't waste the opportunity to run.Even if it was painful, he could deal with it if it meant there was less chance of him ending up in jail.Even if Eraserhead trusted her, he still couldn't trust her.    He couldn't trust anybody. Hitoshi and Eraserhead were the only two he could trust. He couldn't trouble Kacchan with his problems.   You shouldn't trouble them with your problems, either. Both Eraserhead and Hitoshi got hurt today because you were too weak. You're not good enough for them, Deku. You never were, and you never will be. You're just a sad little quirkless, hoping somebody will accept you. But why should they? Nobody wants a burden.   So why should they want you?   ----------------------------------------------------   Recovery Girl must have informed Eraserhead about how he had escaped, because he was cornered by the man in an alleyway, cast and all.   "Why did you run, Rabbit? Recovery Girl was just trying to help you. She's safe." The man began to speak.   "No. Nobody's safe, Eraser. Nothing is truly safe."   "Of course, but there are some things that are safe-"   "The USJ was supposed to be safe. But you almost died today, Eraser."   "But I didn't-"   "But you could have!"   "But I didn't!"   "YOU ALMOST DID! DO YOU KNOW HOW CLOSE YOU WERE TO DYING, ERASER?! CAUSE I DO! I WAS RIGHT THERE, WATCHING! I SAW THAT BASTARD DISINTEGRATE YOUR FUCKING ELBOW! I WATCHED AS YOU ALMOST BLED OUT! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WHEN I ALMOST SAW THE ONE PERSON WHO ACTUALLY GIVES A SHIT ABOUT ME DIE?! MY MOM DIED, ERASERHEAD! AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE FUCK MY DAD IS! THE ONLY OTHER PERSON WHO EVER CARED OUT ME ALMOST DIED TOO! CAUSE I WAS TOO WEAK! AND NOW I WAS TOO WEAK TO SAVE YOU! THE ONLY REASON YOU'RE ALIVE RIGHT NOW IS BECAUSE ALL MIGHT CAME TO YOUR RESCUE!”   "You almost died too-"   "SURE, BUT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF I DIE! GOD, DO YOU EVER LISTEN TO ME?! I TOLD YOU I HAD A BAD FEELING ABOUT THE USJ TRIP, BUT YOU WENT ANYWAY! AND LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED! VILLAINS ATTACKED AND YOU ALMOST DIED! HOW MANY TIMES TO I HAVE TO REITERATE THAT UNTIL MY POINT FINALLY PENETRATES YOUR THICK ASS SKULL?!"   "Heroes are always having to risk their lives to save others."   "YEAH, AND THEN THEY HURT THE PEOPLE CLOSEST TO THEM! HOW DO YOU THINK I FELT, ERASER?! HAVING TO SEE YOU ALL BLOODIED UP AND STILL TRYING TO SAVE ME FROM SHIGARAKI? IT WAS FUCKING HORRIFYING! I SAW MY MOTHER'S COLD, DEAD BODY, DANGLING BY A ROPE ON HER CEILING FAN! I THOUGHT I'D HAVE TO SEE YOU LIKE THAT TOO, BEING DANGLED BY THAT NOMU AS IT STARED AT ME WITH THOSE LIFELESS EYES, JUST LIKE YOU WOULD BE DOING!" Izuku couldn't help but cry, years and years of built up emotion all flooding out at once. He quickly shut the flood gates again. He couldn't cry right now. He still had to convince Eraserhead.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta was confused.   He was confused at the fact that Rabbit was shouting at him.   He was confused at the fact that Rabbit was even mad at him in the first place.   He was still confused about the fact that Rabbit had practically predicted the USJ incident occurring in the first place.   But past all that confusion, there was one thing he knew.   Rabbit had finally shattered.   "I never knew you had to go through that."   "Because you barely know me at all!"   "Rabbit,kid, I've known you for five years-"   "No you haven't, Eraser."   "What?"   "Nobody's known me that long, except maybe him... No, Eraser, you haven't known me for five years.You've been trying to kill me, capture me,or a combination of both, for over four years. You've only really known me for less than a year. And honestly, you shouldn't really know me. Your job is to catch villains and also catch me. My job is to do the first part of your job, but better. Let's just stick to our jobs, alright, Eraser?"   "But Deku-"   "No 'bUt dEkU', Eraser! I don't need anybody pretending to care about me. And even if you do, that's just worse. That just means I'll hurt you when I'm gone, and I don't want that. So it's better if you just....don't care."   "What do you mean 'when you're gone'?"   "See ya never, Eraser."   "Tell me what you mea-"   But it was too late. Rabbit had already hopped off as he always did. And for all Shouta knew, it could be for the last time.   ----------------------------------------------------   THIS NEXT PART WAS WRITTEN BY DAWN870!! THEIR LINKS ARE IN BOTH THE BEGINNING AND END NOTES!! THEY WRITE WAY BETTER ANGST THAN ME AND THEIR FICS ARE Y E S SO YE GO CHECK THEM OUT THEY ARE AWESOME!! - Author-chan 💕💕💕   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku crouched in the shadows of an alley, struggling to breathe. The boy could hear his own desperate panting, but it wasn’t enough. Fat tears rolled down his face. He covered his mouth so no sound slipped out.    Had he really just said that? Had he really just slipped up that badly? Now Eraserhead was going to find out Midoriya and Rabbit were the same person, and he would hate Izuku for the rest of his life.    Worthless, worthless, deku ! Kacchan’s voice screamed inside his head.   Nails dug into his skin as he choked back another sob. He couldn’t even control his own emotions. How was he ever supposed to amount to anything? Why should he even continue to live ?    He wondered, idly, if he should break the tradition of trying to kill himself on his birthday and just get it done now. It would save Eraserhead and Hitoshi some trouble. Casting his eyes to the skyline, his hope was dashed. It was so far up, and Izuku was just so tired .   How pathetic.   You can’t even do a single fucking selfless thing. You keep wasting space and air, and cling to your pathetic life like you mean something. You’re useless. You’re quirkless. You’re pathetic, and selfish, and horrid. You’ll never be worth the dirt you stand on. And yet, you keep living like the roaches in the trash you scavenge.    “St- stop. Pl- pl- please, sto- stop,” Izuku pleaded to the empty air. There was no answer.    Izuku really was selfish, wasn’t he? Because despite his absolute worthlessness, he still wanted a hero to save him.   Kacchan was right.   He should save everyone the trouble.   But he was just so sleepy .   The world faded to black in front of Izuku’s tear-soaked eyes.   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi hadn't seen Izuku since the USJ incident, and that caused the hero course student great distress. All he could think about was if the villains had gotten to his friend.   Had they been upset about their loss to the heroes and that vigilante, and taken Izuku as compensation? But why would villains only attack one student and not multiple? What if they had and Hitoshi hadn't realized? No, the school would have alerted the other students if that was the case. They wouldn't bat an eye if it was only  a quirkless who went missing. That was just how their society worked.   But, Hitoshi noticed a familiar mop of green hair while he was being dragged through the halls to lunch by Iida and Uraraka (Uraraka decided she was sick of his brooding and attempted to be friends with him. It wasn't going well for either of them so far). It had to have been Izuku. Hitoshi broke out of Uraraka's grasp and grabbed the boy's wrist, even though Iida was quick to reprimand him for his actions. The boy turned around with a look of fear on his face and it was only extenuated when he saw who was clutching his wrist.   "Izu! Where have you been? I was worried sick-"   "H-Hito-kun...I-I... d-d-don't k-know if w-we...c-can be... fr-friends..anymore..."Izuku cut him off, stuttering more than usual.   Hitoshi's eyes widened,"What do you mean? Did...I do something wrong...?"   Izuku was quick to correct him,"N-no! Y-y-you're perfect...a-and that's e-exactly w-w-why we... c-can't be fr-friends.... I-I'm not e-e-even g-good enough to b-be in th-the same r-r-room...as s-somebody as a-a-amazing as y-you.... I-I'm sorry, Hito-kun!!" Tears welled up in the smaller boy's eyes as he ripped himself from Hitoshi's grasp and sped down the hall.   Hitoshi could barely process what had just occurred as Uraraka grabbed his hand and began to lead him to the cafeteria once again. Izuku had moved out of his crevice among the trash of Dagboah and into an old abandoned warehouse a day or so after his fight with Eraserhead. He couldn't have the man finding him, especially due to the fact that Eraserhead might soon find out that Izuku Midoriya and Rabbit were connected, so he had to leave his home of five years. It hurt, sure, but it was for both his and Eraserhead's safety.   Not that my safety should matter anyway.   He already missed Hitoshi and it had barely been twenty-four hours since he had ended his relationship with the boy.   You’re so weak, Deku. You can’t even handle a fucking day without those idiots in your life.    Izuku bit his lip as he mended his costume (The laundromat manager hadn't even asked him why it was covered in blood and torn. She'd seen it in worse conditions). He couldn't stand to keep looking at it. With each stitch he felt the phantom pain of his skin flaking off as Shigaraki slowly disintegrated each of his limbs. He had completely put off mending it because of that, choosing to train instead,but he knew he had to do it at some point.   But even though he had to do it, he couldn't bear to look at his beloved hoodie anymore. He jumped up, grabbed his yellow backpack and ran out of the warehouse. Where he was running, he didn't know, but when he past a particular graveyard, he knew.   He walked over to his own grave. He didn't know who requested for it to be built, but it was nice to know that somebody gave a shit about him. Every now and then, a red spider-lily was placed there. As much as he had despised the flower in his past, he couldn't deny how pretty it was.   Izuku picked it up by the severed stem and walked a few graves down,before placing it in front of another grave.   The grave of his mother.   He shifted uncomfortably as he stared at it. He couldn't believe she'd been dead for almost a decade.   He also couldn't believe her death still hurt him after that long. He barely remembered the woman.   All he had from her was the yellow backpack he was clutching.   The memory of her smile.   The memory of her body.   The memory of the Nomu dangling E-   No. This wasn't about Eraserhead. This was about his mom.   He knelt down in front of the stone slab engraved with his mother's name and just continued to stare at it, unsure of what to say.   Izuku never really spoke to his mom. He just came to pay his respects every now and then. But he felt like he needed to talk to her this time.   Because, other than Kacchan,she was now the only person he could talk to.   "H-hey mom…." Izuku began to whisper, "I-It's been a wh-while… H-how are you d-doing up th-there? I-I'm not do-doing very w-well…. Ever si-since I was di-diagnosed, I ha-haven't been do-doing very w-well… Es-especially after you…. I can't bl-blame you f-f-for doing what y-you did… I've b-been trying to d-do the s-s-same since I was t-t-ten, but…." He wiped a tear away with his sleeve, "I-It's been so hard wi-without you, y-you know? I-I can't do an-anything u-useful and its suffocating . It's like I'm drowning in a sea of my own u-uselessness and all I c-can do is w-wait it out un-until I draw my last b-breath…. I…I….. I w-wish you were h-here. To tell me t-that it's n-not bad to be qu-quirkless, because th-the space is j-just used for other th-things that make me us-useful. T-that I could use to be a hero.Even though I'd know you were lying. Even though I'd know the real truth because I have to face it every day of my life, it would still help me. So much. I-I know its se-selfish b-but i can't help i-it…. I-I know i should be able to he-help it, but i just can't! I've been giving my all for the sake of others my entire life, can't I just be selfish for once?! I shouldn't be, I know I shouldn't be! I couldn't protect Eraserhead and Hitoshi! I was too weak! I should be spending all my time training, working to get better, and if I'm still not good enough, I can free the world of this waste of space on my birthday, but…. It just hurts… so bad ….. I have nothing to live for, nobody at all. I know I don't deserve anything, or anybody, but I want to have something to live for! Aren't I allowed to have wants sometimes?! Kacchan says I shouldn't have wants, that I'm not allowed to have wants, but I need wants sometimes!! If it's a need, then shouldn't I get wants?! I know me keeping my life is a want in itself for Kacchan, but I….I….." Izuku put his head in his hands, "I-I need to listen to K-Kacchan, he's so p-perfect while I'm n-nothing… he's su-superior, I should l-listen, b-but…. I don't wa-want to, mom! I-I can't an-anymore… I ca-can't do this anymore!! I-I wa-want to die!! Pl-please tell me, sh-should I go th-through with it?! Wa-was it a good ch-choice for you?! Are you h-happy now?! Pl-please tell me if you’re h-happy!! I just w-wanna be happy!! I just wanna be able to be happy…."    As Izuku paid his respects before shakily standing up and walking back to the warehouse, he had to listen to Kacchan berating him.   I deserve it. I decided to be selfish and look where it got me. Nowhere. I could have spent that time training or mending my costume so I could finally go out into the world again.   Izuku didn’t get any sleep that night due to Kacchan’s voice. But he knew he deserved it. It was his fault for berating Kacchan in the first place. Kacchan deserved to get his revenge.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta had two enigmas in his life.   One, who he hadn’t seen for over a week, was Rabbit, the mysterious vigilante who had Shouta running in circles for five years.   The other, a boy that Shouta probably wouldn’t see until July 15th, as per usual, was Midoriya, the suicidal teen with lifeless emerald eyes who left Shouta hurting at the end of each of their interactions.   What were you meant to do when you found out those enigmas were the same person?   What Shouta did was run straight to Nezu.   He had been informing Rat Satan about both boys ever since he’d met them. He wondered how the chimera had never figured out that the boys were actually the same boy, but Shouta had a sneaking suspicion the rat did know. He just wanted to see if Shouta could figure it out on his own.   He sat in front of UA’s principal with his arms crossed, which was practically one of the only things he could do with one of them in a cast,”So, Nezu. I’ve had a breakthrough on both the Midoriya case and the Rabbit case.”   The mammal took a sip of his tea as he grinned widely, “Oh? Do tell, Eraser.”   “They’re the same person. Rabbit and I had an…. argument, and he spilled a couple of secrets. I finally looked through all of the incidents on Midoriya’s file, along with all of his foster homes, and… a lot of the things written matched with certain things I’ve heard from Rabbit over the past year. I’ve been attempting to find him but he has completely disappeared. The most I can do is wait until July fifteenth to see him once again.”   “Interesting.” Nezu muttered, yet he still wore that shit-eating grin on his face.   “I just can’t believe I never noticed it over five years….”Shouta sighed, putting his head in his only free hand, “I could’ve saved this kid so much pain if I had just noticed it earlier. He wouldn’t have had to shatter if it weren't for me. The USJ fucked that kid up, Nezu. He’s been through so much shit but I could tell…. The USJ was the last straw. If I’d only been strong enough to fight that Nomu, then I’d still be there for him. He wouldn’t be in pieces right now.”   “You cannot blame yourself, Aizawa. I’m sure Midoriya-kun doesn’t blame you, and would not wish for you to be feeling such anguish right now.”   “How would you know how he’s feeling, Nezu?” Shouta glared at the rat. He knew the man was his boss, but he couldn’t help it.   “I feel a kinship with Midoriya-kun. We both faced discrimination due to the absence or presence of a quirk. We’ve spoken, actually. He is quite the interesting individual.”   “Wait, so do you know where Deku is?” Shouta’s eyes widened at the prospect of it.   Nezu didn’t exactly answer that question, rather choosing to say,” That is Midoriya-kun’s personal business. If he doesn't wish to see you, then you shouldn’t push him to, especially if he’s ‘shattered’, as you call it. Wait for him to come to you. Don’t actively seek him out. Sure, if you happen to come across him, attempt to reconcile. He needs some sort of support. But you can’t exactly coerce him into accepting it.If he comes to you, then you know that he actually wants the help. The best you can do is wait for that to happen, if it does at all.”   Shouta despised Rat Satan’s answer, but he didn’t deny that the rat was wise. When he didn’t know what to do, the best solution was to come to Nezu for an answer. And he had gotten one. He might as well just follow the mammal’s directions. After all, anything else would just be selfish. He’d only be doing it to make himself feel better. And Shouta didn’t want to risk that.   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi wasn’t happy.   Sure, he had other friends now. Sure, he had only known Izuku for a week.   But he couldn’t deny that there was just something missing.    Obviously, the missing thing was Izuku, since the broccoli look-alike was the only thing that had disappeared from his life recently. But why did he miss him so much?   He’d lost a multitude of friends when his quirk came in, but he didn’t care about it then. Why did he care about losing one friend now?   He realised after a while that it was because he had finally found somebody he could relate to. He never usually had anybody he could talk to with such ease. He was still having trouble talking to Uraraka and Iida. But Izuku was easy to talk to. Especially when the boy did the most of the talking. Hitoshi could just spend his lunches listening to Izuku’s rambling about what he’d learned that day, both in his lesson and about the hero who was teaching him. He would even contribute every now and then, though he mostly just stuck to active-listening.   With Uraraka and Iida, he mostly just drowned out their conversations. It was nice that they had attempted to include him in their friendship, but Hitoshi just couldn’t find a way to talk to them. These two people that had almost everything going for them, and him, a husk of the boy he once was with a villainous quirk to boot. He was sure they only included them because of their heroic personalities (they were hero course students after all), not because they particularly gave a shit about him as a person. They had tried to do the same with Todoroki, but the bi-coloured boy had just walked away. Hitoshi wished he could just do that too. He probably would have. But he needed some sort of semblance of a relationship in his life.    What was the point though? He couldn’t even hold a conversation with the two of them. He should just tell them the truth. Lying to them was just selfish.    But Hitoshi couldn’t help being selfish, just this once. He couldn’t be friends with Izuku again, he respected the boy and his decision, as much as it hurt. But his classmates wanted to include him, right….?   So he’d indulge. Just this once. He’d be selfish. Because he needed to be selfish right now. Izuku had been training non-stop for the past two weeks. The UA sports festival was only in a couple of days’ time. He'd gone on less patrols recently, to both avoid Eraserhead and so he would have more time to train. He preferred to not have to look for criminals all night and waste time he could have spent training. Sure, the experience was good, but it wasn't worth it in the end.   Izuku decided that he'd practically already failed at being useful as a vigilante, so winning the UA sports festival was his last chance. If he failed, then he would finally be able to die on July fifteenth. Eraserhead wouldn't try to help him now. He obviously knew Izuku was quirkless now. Why would he care about him anymore?   He already assumed that Eraserhead wasn’t interested in him anymore. He guessed the man was angry with him for his outburst, which Izuku understood. It wasn’t good to let your emotions out. They would only upset other people. You just had to box them up and store them away, leave them unknown to the rest of the world. That was all he could really do.    Kacchan didn’t really like it when Izuku cried. He didn’t like it when Izuku was angry, or happy, or fearful, or whenever he felt anything.   Useful people don’t let their fucking emotions hold them back. You can’t afford to feel shit, Deku. Your quirklessness already puts you at a massive ass disadvantage. If you’re gonna attempt to be useful for once in your damn life, you might as well shut out all your fucking emotions.   This is why he had to listen to Kacchan. Kacchan was always right. If he had just obeyed, he wouldn’t have yelled at Eraserhead. How could he do that to the poor man? Izuku had seen what he had just been through, and then he decided to pull a stunt like that?!   Im such a dumbass. ‘Raser didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to protect his students. My feelings don’t matter. He told me himself that heroes are always risking their lives,I had no right to judge him for just doing his job.   Izuku slid down the warehouse walls as he slapped himself across the face. He couldn’t let this distract him right now. He began whispering encouragement to himself, “S-stay calm, y-you can d-do this ri-right now…. Y-you on-only have a fe-few days un-until t-the last ch-chance at re-redemption yo-you’ll ever get...J-just keep tr-training, Iz-Izuku…. It-it’s not as i-if you have an-any worth other than that.”   Whether it was the lack of decent food lately, the overwork, or just the fact that he couldn’t breathe right, he couldn’t get to his feet. His whole body trembled with exhaustion.   Useless, you can’t even do the one thing you need to do. This will make you almost worth something, and you can’t even do that.    “I-I’m trying!!I-I can’t Ka-kacchan, I just ca-can’t!!” Izuku cried out, struggling to breathe as each breath hitched in his throat and tears clung to the corners of his eyes.   You have to. You may as well just lay down and die now if you refuse to be worth anything. Did you just realise that your dumb ass should’ve listened to me this whole time? You can’t give up on that already, Deku.    “I-I know, a-and I’m sorry, b...but…”   Don’t apologise, just keep training, idiot. You’ve already got your life, what else do you need? One want is enough. You want more sleep? I bet you can get a ton of sleep if you finally manage to jump off that apartment building without the hobo saving your worthless ass.    As the tears began to drip down his cheeks, Kacchan’s voice only got louder in his head.   Dumbass!! You gotta learn to stop crying so fucking much! God, are you so used to crying that sadness is your neutral emotion now?! Keep that poker face you give to the hobo each year. Tears aren’t gonna help you gain even the tiniest bit of worth. How the fuck would you even get past one round in the Sports Festival when you can’t even control your own emotions?!   Izuku wanted to respond, but his words decided to get hitched along with his breath. All he could do was sob as Kacchan only got angrier with him.   He knew he deserved it, so why did it hurt so much?! Why couldn’t he stop crying? What was wrong with him?!    Izuku couldn’t believe himself right now. Kacchan was right, he might as well just get it all over with already. So why couldn’t he just stand?! He was wasting precious time, he could be training, studying, building support items! He didn’t have the time to rest! If he got his three hours now, his schedule would become a complete mess! And then he’d have to waste even more precious time fixing it again! What if he slept for too long? He had school, he’d end up being late and then the teachers would realise how useless he is. He couldn’t be expelled right before the Sports Festival!   Legs trembling, he forced himself up. Every step caused him a spike of pain .   Izuku couldn’t afford to care right now though. He had training to do.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta knew that he shouldn’t be selfish, but he was finding it really hard not to be.   The Sports Festival was tomorrow and he still hadn’t seen his problem child once. He knew Rat Satan told him to not get involved, but he was finding it really hard not to. He went on as many patrols as he possibly could to try and catch a glimpse of the boy (Nezu had said if he saw Deku he could try and talk to him after all), but his attempts were in vain.    He couldn’t help but worry about the kid, seeing as it had been over two weeks and there was still no sign of him. What if he was dead in a ditch somewhere and Shouta would never even know? He hated the thought of it, but he couldn’t get it out of his head, along with a myriad of other scenarios. He didn’t want to assure the worst for the small boy, but given how little self preservation and worth the boy had, he couldn’t doubt that those possibilities were very likely.   He knew he should trust the kid, but it just wasn’t that easy to do. He’d seen that child shatter, right in front of his eyes, and without a pillar of support he would never have the stability to put himself back together. He needed somebody to be that pillar. And Shouta wanted to be exactly that. But how was he meant to when he couldn’t even find the boy in the first place?   Shouta sighed. He’d look for Deku tomorrow. But for now, he just had to focus on making sure the Sports Festival went well.    ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was the epitome of nervousness. Being a part of a cluster of two hundred and twenty students wasn’t fun, especially as all he could hear were the screams of the crowd and the bitter jabs the other students were taking at the hero course students.    He got excited when Midnight walked on stage, but a quick reminder from Kacchan made him revert back to the poker face he had been holding before. Speaking of Kacchan...he was the student representative for that year.   Because of course he was.   “The Athlete’s oath….” Kacchan began to speak,”Make no mistake about it. I’m gonna take first place!!”   Roars of protest emerged from the sea of students, from both the other classes and class A itself.   “DON’T GET COCKY, CLASS A!!”   “WHY MUST YOU SHOW CONTEMPT FOR THE DIGNITY OF THIS EVENT!!”   “YOU DIRTY BASTARD!” “YOU’LL ALL MAKE GREAT STEPPING STONES, I’D SAY!” Kacchan retorted, which only angered the crowd further. As he stepped down from the stage, Izuku could hear how people shot insults at him. Izuku wanted to comfort him, but Kacchan was strong! And Izuku couldn’t afford to distract him. Izuku could tell the boy pushing himself.   “NOW, WITHOUT ANY DELAY, LET’S GET THE FIRST EVENT STARTED!!” Midnight looked to the board behind her,”THESE ARE THE QUALIFIERS! IT’S IN THIS STAGE THAT SO MANY ARE SENT HOME CRYING EVERY YEAR! AND THE FATEFUL FIRST EVENT THIS YEAR IS…..”She raised her hand to gesture to the board as something appeared on it.   “AN OBSTACLE COURSE! IT’S A RACE BETWEEN EVERY MEMBER OF ALL ELEVEN CLASSES! THE COURSE IS A FOUR KILOMETER LAP AROUND THE STADIUM ITSELF! OUR SCHOOLS PREACHES FREEDOM IN ALL THINGS, SO AS LONG AS YOU DON’T GO OFF COURSE, ANYTHING IS FAIR GAME!!”   “RACERS, TO YOUR POSITIONS!!” Midnight directed as the cluster of students all gathered behind the starting gate.   I’ll prove that I can be useful for once in my life! I’ll win this, and then maybe I’ll be good enough to be acquaintances with Hitoshi!!   “ANDDDDDD…..START!!” Midnight yelled. Izuku didn’t even have the time to pick his feet up off the ground as he was jostled forward by the rest of the students trying to rush ahead. He noticed immediately that with how narrow the corridor into the course was, that it was the first obstacle.   A bi-coloured boy seemed to notice this too. As soon as he exited the corridor, he froze the floor and most of the other students with it, only a few ones being able to escape his wrath. Izuku remembered Hitoshi mentioning this boy. Todoroki. He had a quirk that allowed him to use ice with his right side and fire with his left, but so far the class has apparently not seen a single demonstration of his left side. Izuku hoped that it was just because it wouldn’t be useful in classes, but given the other person he knew called Todoroki, it could always be more than that.   But Izuku couldn't focus on that right now. He had to break through the ice and through this obstacle course.   "Yo, Eraser! Are you ready for our live coverage and commentary?!"   "Not voluntarily…."   And also figure out how to not let Eraserhead spot him.   Sure, he didn't think the man was interested in him as a friend anymore, but he was still a criminal. Eraserhead would take him in the second he appeared on screen.   As each person used their quirk in a unique way to get ahead, Izuku was sure he was going to lose.   But then he saw the giant robots.   Now Izuku was sure he was going to die.   "EVERY OBSTACLE COURSE NEEDS OBSTACLES!"Present Mic yelled into his mic,"STARTING WITH…. THE FIRST BARRIER, ROBO INFERNO!!"   Todoroki didn't seem bothered by the massive hunks of metal, however. He simply froze them and rushed on ahead.   "HE STOPPED EM!" One student yelled out,"WE CAN GET THROUGH THAT GAP!"   "Bad idea. I froze them in pretty unstable positions" Todoroki replied, before continuing to run ahead,"so they'd fall."   "CLASS 1A'S TODOROKI!! BUSTING THROUGH AND SABOTAGING THE OTHERS IN ONE MOVE!! THIS GUY'S COLD!! AMAZING!! HE'S WAY AHEAD OF THE PACK!! ALMOST FEELS…. UNFAIR!" Present Mic continues to commentate, no sign of Eraserhead making an announcement to notify everybody that a wanted vigilante was running through the course.    “You really don’t need me here, do you?”   Ah, there was Eraserhead. Luck still seemed to be on Izukus side though as the man didn’t seem to have noticed him yet.   Two boys had gotten stuck under the robots as they crashed to the ground. They both survived, luckily, but complained due to the similarity of their quirks. Izuku didn’t really get what they meant. Just having a quirk at all was amazing, and there were quite a few differences that made them just as unique as anybody else.   Though of course a quirkless bastard like you would think that, Deku.   “DOWN LOW DIDN’T WORK FOR CLASS 1-A’S BAKUGO, SO HE TOOK THE HIGH ROAD!! CLEVER!”   Wait….   Izuku looked up to see a familiar figure with spiky blonde hair, propelling himself upwards using his explosions.   “Ka-Kacchan….” Izuku whispered, before shaking his head. No, he could worry about Kacchan noticing him later. Right now he was more interested in how he would beat these robots. Though the other students seemed to have been doing that for him.   “THE CURRENT LEADERS OF THE PACK ARE OVERWHELMINGLY FROM CLASS A!!” Present Mic yelled into his mic once again, but Izuku wasn’t focused on him. Rather,he was focused on the armour plate that one of the robots had dropped. He hauled it up and began to smash through the robots along with those from the hero course, also using he plate as a shield from any stray pieces of metal that came his way.   “THOUGH IT SEEMS AS IF THE OTHER COURSES ARE MAKING A COMEBACK!! WELL DONE TO BOTH THE SUPPORT COURSE AND GENERAL STUDIES!!”   Izuku looked ahead of him to see a girl completely decked out in support items, swinging across a massive pit that only had tightropes to assist you.   “SO THE FIRST BARRIER WAS A PIECE OF CAKE?! HOW ABOUT THE SECOND?! FALL AND YOU’RE OUT!!” Izuku didn’t want to think about if Present Mic was only mentioning ‘out’ as in ‘out of the competition’, “YOU GOTTA CRAWL ACROSS IF YOU WANNA MAKE IT!! THIS ISSSSSSS...THE FALL!!”   Izuku shimmied his way across the tightrope, still clutching onto the armour plate. He had no clues concerning the next barrier, so as far as Izuku knew, he’d probably need it. Even if it slowed him down right now, he was willing to take the chance of it having all sorts of uses.   “THE TRUTH IS, WE’VE GOT ALL TYPES TRYNA MAKE IT BIG HERE TODAY, ERASERHEAD!” “Please stop trying to involve me.”   “MEANWHILE, THE LEADERS OF THE PACK MOVE ON UNDAUNTED!! THEY KEEP BREAKING AHEAD WHILE THE REST OF THE PACK IS ALL BUNCHED UP! OUR RACERS DON’T KNOW HOW MANY WILL GET TO MOVE ON, SO ALL THEY CAN DO IS AIM FOR FIRST PLACE!! SPEAKING OF FIRST PLACE, SEEMS LIKE OUR LEADER HAS REACHED THE FINAL BARRIER!! THAT IS TO SAY…..”  Izuku stared at the obstacle a few yards ahead of him in shock, “THIS MINEFIELD!! IT’S A DEADLY AFGHAN CARPET!! A QUICK GLANCE IS ENOUGH TO REVEAL THE MINES’ LOCATIONS!! SO KEEP BOTH EYES OPEN AND WATCH YOUR STEP!! OH, I SHOULD ALSO MENTION…. OUR MINES DON’T PACK A DEADLY PUNCH, BUTTTTTT…. THEY’RE LOUD AND FLASHY ENOUGH THAT YOU MIGHT NEED A CHANGE OF UNDERWEAR WHEN IT’S ALL OVER!”   Ah. So the next obstacle was meant to put the lead at a disadvantage.   It was a good thing that Izuku was last, for once in his life.   He looked ahead to see Kacchan’s explosions blocking his vision of who was ahead, but Present Mic quickly cleared up what was going on for Izuku, “WE HAVE A NEW LEADER!! GET EXCITED, MASS MEDIA!! YOU GUYS LOVE THIS SORTA TURN AROUND!! BUT THE REST ARE CATCHING UP! WITH BAKUGO AND TODOROKI BATTLING EACH OTHER FOR FIRST, CAN THEY HOLD ON TO THEIR LEAD?!”   He decided to analyze the obstacle so he could see what the best course of action would be, “S-so, the mi-mines are the t-t-type that blow up wh-when stepped o-on! Th-they’re only strong e-enough to t-toss us ar-around a bit, b-but if you’re th-thrown off c-course, you c-coould cause a chain re-reaction and lo-lose a lot of time! B-better to slow down and av-avoid them if it means not taking d-damage! Though it's n-not like the leaders can afford to get c-careless either. There are more mines at front, and trying to slow down others is a guaranteed loss… Just focus!! Which spots are the people back here avoiding? It’s the entrance where people are most on guard!! So that means…” He stuck the armour plate into the ground, “Anti-personnel mines should only be 14-5cm down, I can dig ‘em up with this!!”   “BAKUGO AND TODOROKI ARE IN THE LEAD!! THEY’RE ABOUT TO CROSS THE FINISH LINE….. EH? WHAT’S THIS?! A NEW CONTENDER FOR FIRST PLACE IS IN HOT PURSUIT… AND HE’S PASSED THEM!! IZUKU MIDORIYA, FROM GENERAL STUDIES!” As Izuku freaked out about how the hell he was meant to land now and how both Eraserhead and Kacchan knew he was here, he heard two voices that gave him reason for his latter worries.   “HOLY SHIT IS THAT MY PROBLEM CHILD-”   “DEKU!! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!!”   “U-UH, TH-THANK YOU FOR THAT INTERESTING ADDITION, ERASERHEAD!! OR SHOULD I CALL YOU ERASERDAD?” “Don’t call me that.” “ANYWAY, OUR FORMER LEADERS HAVE CALLED CEASE-FIRE TO CHASE DOWN MIDORIYA!! WHEN A COMMON ENEMY APPEARS, PEOPLE STOP FIGHTING!! ACTUALLY, THEY’RE STILL FIGHTING, JUST NOT EACH OTHER!”   “What’re you even trying to say…..?”   “D-dang it, I-I ne-need to do s-something…. I-If I lose t-time on th-this landing, p-passing them a-again w-will be im-impossible!! I n-need to w-win!! Th-this is my o-one ch-chance to prove I c-can be us-useful!! W-while I-im still ah-ahead, i-if p-passing them ag-again is po-possible…. I’ll ta-take any risk!!”    Izuku tightened his grip on a rope he had unhooked from the fall and placed onto the armour plate so he could shimmy across one of the other tightropes, or to just drag it along if he needed to. It was becoming far more useful now. He used all the strength he had to smash the scrap metal against the ground.   “AND MIDORIYA BLOWS OFF THE COMPETITION WITH NO TIME TO LOSE!! WHO COULD HAVE PREDICTED SUCH AN INCREDIBLE TURN OF EVENTS SO EARLY ON?! THE ONE WHO MADE IT BACK TO THE STADIUM FIRST ISSSSSS….” Izuku was greeted by a cheering crowd, “NONE OTHER THAN IZUKU MIDORIYA FROM GENERAL STUDIES!!”   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta wanted to just believe it was a coincidence when he heard Deku’s name for the first time. But a fourth mention of the boy and the close-up of his face on the stadium’s screen just confirmed it.   His problem child went to UA and had just won the first round of the UA Sports Festival.   He wasn’t dead.   Shouta was relieved, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to down a whole pot of coffee right now due to his stress being a whole lot stronger than his relief.   “Dang it, Deku…. What the hell am I gonna do with you..?” He muttered under his breath with a chuckle.   Hizashi had heard him though, “Sooooooo, what’s this about Midoriya being your ‘problem child’, Sho?~”    His husband was lucky their mics were muted right now.   “You know that ‘thing’ I’ve been working on for the past five years and didn’t tell you anything about? And then that other thing I’ve been working on for just one?” “Yeah. I just thought you were blowing your own husband off and kept using the same excuse every time. Then, when you thought it wasn’t believable anymore, you just added a second thing on top.”   “Of course not, idiot. There were two cases that I took on for personal reasons, and given the circumstances of them both, I didn’t want to bother telling you about them. It wouldn’t be fair to the people involved and you had your own stuff, but…. You probably have already gathered this, but Rabbit and I weren’t always ‘friends’. He was a wanted vigilante, so I had to capture him. At first, figuring out his identity was just so I could arrest him, but this year he began confiding in me about certain things and it became more ‘trying to find out this vigilantes identity so I can get him some therapy’. I had already been doing the same for another child, Midoriya, who I saw every year due to a certain….event,so I figured I might as well try to help Rabbit too. Found out a few weeks ago that they’re the same person. Knowing a certain detail about Deku” That he isn’t afraid of death, “I was worried for him… he got hurt bad at the USJ, you know? Even though Recovery Girl healed him, he had no energy at all. He could’ve just died in an alleyway or a ditch or something and I never would have known. I can’t believe Rat Satan never told me that Deku goes to UA…. Though he did tell me not to seek him out. He probably knew I’d do exactly that if I knew Deku was a student here…..”   “At least you know he’s fine now, right?” Hizashi offered him a warm smile.   “Yeah….” Shouta turned his head to look back down at the stadium, “But he won’t be for long if Bakugo manages to get near him….”   “The top forty two from this qualifying round will move on!” Kayama announced after the rankings had appeared on screen, “But for those of you who placed lower, don’t worry! We’ve still got another way for you to show your stuff!! For now though, this is where the main section of the Sports Festival really begins!! The Press Corp’s gonna be jumping out of their seats, so give it all you’ve got! Now, on to the second event!! I already know what it is, of course…. Dying in suspense?! Next is…..”   “THIS!! A CAVALRY BATTLE!! Participants will, on their own, form teams of two to four members each and get into a horse-and-rider formation! The rules are fundamentally the same as those of a normal calvary battle - snag your opponents’ while guarding your own - but with one exception!! Each of you have been assigned a point value based on your ranking in the last event!” Shouta guessed some of the student’s began to practically explain the event for her, because she snapped,” I’m just about to explain it, SO JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!! Ahem, anyway, your points shall all be combined with the rest of your team, so your total value will depend on the team's members!! Your individual values start at five, and rise up by another five as you go up the ranks! So the student who took forty second place is worth five points, forty one is worth ten, etc! But, our first place participant is worth…. TEN MILLION POINTS!!”   As all forty one students turned to look at Deku, Shouta knew that is was pretty much official at this point.   His kid was completely and utterly screwed.   ---------------------------------------------------- “ Ten…..million… points?! ” Izuku whispered as everybody’s gaze shifted onto him.   Their gazes pierced through his poker face as it slowly began to slip. He quickly put it back in place as Midnight continued to explain the Cavalry Battle, but even if the students attention was now on her, he still felt as if they were all looking at him.   “The match will last fifteen minutes. Each team’s points are determined by its members. The rider will wear a headband displaying the total number of points! Until the match ends, you’ll all compete to grab each other’s points and maintain the ones you have. Any headbands you grab must be worn around the neck or higher. But the more headbands you’ve got, the harder they’ll be to manage! Most importantly, even if your headband is taken, and even if your horse formation is broken, it's not over till it’s over!!”   The other students began to talk as Midnight kept explaining the rules, “Quirks are allowed, so it’ll be a brutal battle! However, it’s still a cavalry battle! Maliciously attacking another team with the intent of making them fall will get you a red card! And that means you’re out of the game! You’ve got fifteen minutes! Time to form your teams!”   Only fifteen minutes?! Fifteen minutes wasn’t even enough time for Izuku to work up the courage to talk to somebody, let alone talk to three people and convince them all to be on a team with him! Some people obviously found it much easier than Izuku did, however, as the support-item covered girl bounded up to him, “Hey, Mr. First Place!!” She grinned, “You sure do stand out! I can’t believe a shortie like you won the first round without using your quirk! Hmmmm, maybe I could make ya a support item so you’re a bit taller….. But first, ya gotta team up with me, Mr. First Place!!”   “Y-you wa-wanna team u-up with m-me ….?” Izuku asked. He had to make sure he had heard the girl right. She reminded him of somebody he used to talk to.   “Of course I do! I’m Mei Hatsume from the Support Course, and you’re gonna be my ticket to the industry bigshots recognising my genius!”Ah. She wanted to use him for his first place title. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been used before. “Joining with you inevitably means I’ll be right in the spotlight, which will give my babies the perfect chance to shine!” He didn’t question her choice of words, he also treated his own support items in that manner (though he would never admit it) “But don’t worry, this isn’t only advantageous to me! In the Support Course, we develop equipment to make heroes quirks easier to use!”   Izuk bit his lip,“I-I don’t re-really n-need an-anything to en-enhance m-my q-quirk, i-it’s ki-kinda useless on m-me…”   “Oh you’re quirkless?”   “H-how did y-you-”   “That’s even better!! If there’s no flashy quirk in the way, they have no choice but to look at my babies!I’ve got plenty of my babies here, and I’m one hundred percent sure you’ll find one or two that’ll suit you and your fighting style!” Hatsume suddenly pulled a myriad of support items out of nowhere.   “W-woah!! Yo-you have s-so many co-cool su-support items! N-none of mi-mine could e-ever be that co-complex!” Izuku gasped as he looked through them.   “Wait, you build support items too? Are you in the Support Course like me? I thought you were some Hero Course student?” She raised an eyebrow at him.   “O-oh, I’m no-not in ei-either ac-actually!! I’m a ge-general st-studies stu-student!”   “Awwww, dang it! I wish you were in Support! I like ya, Mr.First Place!”   “I-I’m actually tr-trying for the h-hero course, bu-but- W-wait, is th-that Buster H-hero Air Jet’s pa-pack?! Woah, it lo-looks e-exactly like h-his!!”   “I’m surprised you noticed! Yeah, it was modelled after his!You have a good eye! But not as good as mine!” She gave him another grin, “My quirk allows me to zoom in up to five kilometres! It’s really useful when working on my babies!!”   “W-wow, that’s so c-” “U-Um, excuse me...Midoriya, was it?” A voice came from behind him. Izuku turned around to see a girl with shoulder length brown hair and pink cheeks, “I don’t really have anybody to team up with, so uh…. Is it alright if I join yours?”   “O-oh, uh ye-yeah!!” Izuku gave her a far too enthusiastic nod, “W-we’ll be gl-glad to have y-you o-on our te-team, u-uh….”   “Oh! I’m Ochaco Uraraka, from the hero course! My quirk is Zero Gravity! I can make anything weightless if I touch it, but if I over-use it I get sick…” The girl explained with a smile.   “O-oh, th-that’s a re-really cool qu-quirk!!” He gave her a false smile in return, “H-hey, um, Ura-Uraraka-san…. D-do you kn-know anybody e-else who do-doesn’t have an-anybody to t-team up wi-with i-in your cl-class? I s-saw how a l-lot of st-students qu-quirks w-worked during t-the ob-obstacle course, a-and…” He explained one of the students he had seen with a quirk he thought would be quite beneficial to their team.   “Oh, yeah, I think he’s still free! He’s over there! Go ask him if he wants to join our team!” She pointed over to the boy in question.   “A-ah, al-alright….” Izuku mumbled, before working up the courage to go and speak to him, or at least attempting to.   ----------------------------------------------------   “Your fifteen minutes are up. Time to get started!” Midnight announced, “Formed your teams? Made your plans? Too bad if you haven’t! Here we go,the countdown to this brutal battle royale!”   “Three!” “Two!” “One!”   “ START! ”   As soon as the battle started, people immediately came running at Midoriya and his team. Oh shit.   “Incoming attacks right off the bat…. There are two teams. The fate of those who are pursuing us….make your choice, Midoirya!” Tokoyami demanded.   “U-uh… run!” Izuku replied. His teammates attempted to do just that, but the ground suddenly lost its density and their feet sunk into it.   They others looked to him for guidance on what to do next. Though the pressure was unbearable, he pushed through it, “T-turn aw-away for a mo-moment! A-and make su-sure to h-hang on!!” He pressed a button and the replica of Air Jet’s pack propelled Izuku and his team upwards. A girl with earphone-jacks for earlobes attempted to attack them, but Tokoyami stopped her with Dark Shadow, congratulating the quirk after it succeeded at defending them, “Well done, Dark Shadow. Be sure to cover our blind spots.”   “Th-thank you a-as well, To-Tokoyami-kun!! W-we were la-lacking a li-little d-defensive power, bu-but now th-that we h-have you, w-we’re covered at mi-mid-range from ev-every direction!! I s-saw you in a-action a li-little in the ob-obstacle c-course, but I di-didn't know y-you were this g-good!!”   “You’re the one who chose me.” Was the simple reply the bird-headed boy gave him. Izuku released the button, and they began to fall.   “We’re landing!” Uraraka informed the others as a pair of boots Hatsume had given the other girl activated, stopping them with a burst of air just before they hit the ground.   “How do you like my babies?! Cute, aren’t they?!”   “Y-yeah, and re-really useful t-too!! They’re m-making us co-completely mobile! Th-thank you, H-Hatsume-san!!”   “ Only cuz I floated all of you…. ” Uraraka murmured.   “Y-yup, yo-you’re quirk is a-amazing, Ur-Uraraka-san!! Th-thank you for fl-floating us!!” Izuku comforted the girl as they began running again.   “WELL, BARELY TWO MINUTES HAVE PASSED, BUT THE BATTLEFIELD’S ALREADY CHAOTIC!! WITH EVERYONE SCRAMBLING FOR HEADBANDS, IT’S NOT JUST THE TEN MILLION OUT THERE! THOSE OTHER HIGH RANKERS ARE WORTH A SHOT AS WELL!”   “Scramble, he says….? No, this is a one sided massacre !” Izuku spun his head to see a boy running at them, his six conjoined arms creating a tent-like shape on his back. Izuku attempted to see if there was anything he was hiding in there, but it was too dark.   “Huh? Shoji is all alone? But this is a Cavalry Battle!” Uraraka exclaimed as Tokoyami grumbled,”We must keep our distance! Fighting multiple foes is a bad idea!”   However, when they attempted to take off once again, Uraraka informed them of something, “Guys, I’m stuck!”   Izuku looked down at her boot to see a barely visible purple ball stuck to the bottom of it, “I-itt’s some ki-kind of sticky b-ball...i-is that s-somebody’s quirk?”   “But the only person with that kind of quirk is Mineta, and he’s not-”   “In here, Tokoyami!~” A voice called from inside of the tent on the six-armed boy’s back. A head emerged, a short boy with more of those sticky purple balls for hair. As Izuku contemplated if they were even allowed to do that, a tongue shot out of the tent. Izuku barely dodged it before making the ultimate decision of activating the air jet pack, though he knew that there could be consequences.   “Nooooooo! My baby got ripped apart!” Hatsume cried.   “I-I’m sorry, Ha-Hatsume-san!! B-but we ma-managed to g-get away!” Izuku attempted to reassure her, turning his head to give her a smile, however false it may have been. However, something caught his eye.   “K-kacchan….”Izuku’s eyes widened, paling as the boy glared back at him.   “Getting pretty full of yourself, huh, you bastard!”   “T-Toko-yami!” Izuku managed to stutter out, and the bird-headed boy directed Dark Shadow to defend against one of Kacchan’s explosions before it hit their team.   “What the hell-” Kacchan started, but a piece of tape came out of nowhere and dragged him back down to the field.   “BOTH THE DOGGEDLY PURSUED FIRST PLACE TEAM AND ITS DETERMINED PURSUERS FROM CLASS A ARE NOTHING TO SNEEZE AT!”   As they landed, Izuku noticed that Kacchan seemed to be preoccupied with another team. It gave Izuku a bit of hope that they could still win this, “H-hey, guys! I do-don’t th-think it’ll b-be t-to evade-” Yet, while he was speaking words of encouragement, Izuku noticed a team other than Mineta’s in front of them, consisting of a smirking blonde, a blue-haired boy wearing glasses, a girl with her midnight black hair pulled into a ponytail, and Todoroki.   “LOOKS LIKE THIS MATCH IS HALF OVER ALREADY!”   The bi-coloured boy stared daggers at Izuku, “We’re coming for you, Team Midoriya.”   “Looks like this won’t end without a fight. Everyone is really gunning for you, Midoriya.”   “We’re ha-halfway th-through, so w-we’ve gotta ke-keep m-moving! B-but there a-are multiple te-teams incoming!!” Izuku was freaking out a little as Todoroki gave orders to his teammates, and the six-armed boy folded out his arms, preparing to attack while revealing the two people on his back.   Suddenly, a wave of electricity covered the playing field. Todoroki’s team had some sort of sheet (he guessed it was insulated) and Dark Shadow took the damage for his team, but almost all of the other teams were electrocuted, getting frozen by Tododroki immediately after. Izuku’s team was just barely able to avoid being hit by the ice due to Hatsume’s hover boots.   “WHAT’S THIS NOW?! TODOROKI’S TAKEN OUT A HERD OF CAVALRY TEAMS WITH ONE FIERCE ATTACK!”   “He must have recalled how many competitors managed to dodge his ice during the obstacle course, so he had Kaminari shock them beforehand to ensure they would not be able to avoid his attack this time.” Eraserhead murmured into his mic. “NICE PLAY-BY-PLAY!”   Izuku attempted to take off again after dodging the ice, hoping to avoid it a little longer, but he noticed something,”H-Hatsume!! Th-the packs on th-the fritz!!” “My baby! I guess there’s room for improvement….”   “They’re too strong! We’ll never get away!” Uraraka cried, but Tokoyami shook his head.   “I’ll create a diversion.” The boy sent out Dark Shadow to attack, but a piece of metal appeared out of nowhere and blocked it.   Izuku suddenly realised what the ponytail girl’s quirk was, “O-Oh! Sh-she must ha-have some kind o-of creation qu-quirk, r-right? That’ll b-be annoying to de-deal with….”   “No. Kaminari, the boy who electrocuted everyone, is the real problem here. If he’d used even a slightly stronger attack, he would have wrecked my armour.” Tokoyami reminded Izuku.   “O-oh right. Yo-you informed u-us about yo-your weakness to li-light… do th-they know ab-bout it?”   “Most likely not. The only one I ever told about my weakness was a boy in my class called Koda, but he doesn’t talk much.” Izuku gave him a fairly confident nod,“O-okay!A-as long as th-they don’t kn-know, we ca-can fake th-them out!”   ----------------------------------------------------   “ONLY ABOUT A MINUTE LEFT!! TODOROKI MADE HIS OWN LITTLE ARENA AND WAS PRIMED TO SNATCH THE TEN MILLION IN AN INSTANT! OR SO WE THOUGHT! BUT MIDORIYA’S MANAGED TO EVADE TODOROKI INSIDE THIS SMALL SPACE FOR FIVE WHOLE MINUTES NOW!” Present Mic yelled as Izuku was barely able to dodge another attempt to grab his headband.   They had practically just been going in circles at this point, but as long as they kept the ten million, Izuku was fine with that. They just had to survive one more minute before they won.   Izuku prepared himself to dodge Todoroki yet again, but he realised their team had stopped and were talking. They were making a strategy.   “O-Okay…. G-guys, they’re pl-planning s-something… H-Hatsume-san, can you z-zoom in a-and see wh-who’s talking th-the most? I-It’s probably th-their plan.” “Roger that, Mr. First Place!” She nodded. While she did that, he turned to face Uraraka, “U-Uraraka-san, do y-you know th-the quirk of th-the blue h-haired g-guy?”   “That’s Iida, his quirk is engine! It’s a speed-based quirk that makes him have engines in his calves, if you couldn’t guess that from the name.   “Well, it’s speedy himself who’s talking the most! Can you infer anything from that, Mr. First Place?”   “H-He’s most li-likely planning t-to do s-some big ul-ultimate move th-that will en-enhance their m-mobility a t-ton. I-It’ll be hard t-to dodge i-if that i-is their pl-plan, but th-then a-again, if I-I’m correct, th-that means we kn-know their strategy. W-we should k-keep running f-for now wh-while using d-dark sh-shadow to k-keep an e-eye on them, just l-like before! I-it can a-alert us if Iida-kun is d-doing anything o-out of th-the ordinary with h-his quirk!”   His team agreed and they set off once again. A few seconds later, Izuku was beginning to doubt that the other team was even coming for them anymore, but he heard a help from Dark Shadow behind him,”They’re approaching!”   Izuku didn’t even take the time to reply, instead just swerving out of the way. The other team almost passed them completely without being able to grasp the headband, but Izuku froze when he noticed something on Todoroki’s arm.   Fire. The boy was using his fire. Izuku’s head flooded with memories of Hisashi. He felt the phantom pain of molten skin sliding down his back like wax. Memories of Hideo pinning him to the wall as Taiyo burned closed any wounds the former had given Izuku, not hesitating to burn him if he squirmed even a little.   It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it-   “Midoriya! The headband! It’s gone!” Izuku snapped out of his haze due to Uraraka’s voice. He reached a hand up to his curls, and sure enough, the headband was gone. He looked over to see the other team had slowed.   “WHAT A REVERSAL! TODOROKI’S GOT THE TEN MILLION AND MIDORIYA’S PLUMMETED DOWN TO ZERO!”   “A-after them!” Izuku yelled, but Tokoyami shook his head, “No, I can’t attack as long as Kaminari’s there ! Going after someone else’s points is our best be-”   “W-we can’t!! Th-the point di-difference is t-too wide o-of a g-gap, we wo-won’t have en-enough time! W-we have to g-go after them!”   Tokoyami seemed hesitant, but due to the fact that they had no time to argue right now, he nodded in agreement.They all began running after Todoroki and his team, as Present Mic announced there were only twenty seconds left of the match. As they got nearer, Izuku noticed Todoroki had turned the headbands inside-out to hide their point values, but he was sure the ten million would be at top. Todoroki attempted to defend against Izuku, managing to freeze his arm, but Izuku didn’t care as he ripped the top headband from around Todoroki’s neck.   “TEN! NINE! EIGHT!” Izuku unclenched his fist to look at the headband he’d grabbed.   “SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!” His relatively celebratory expression turned into one of horror as he read the point value.   “FOUR!”   Seventy.   “THREE!” Izuku had grabbed the wrong headband.   “TWO!”   And now his team would despise him.   “ONE!”   He’d failed them.   “TIMES UP!” Because you’re just a worthless Deku..   “LET’S SEE WHO THE TOP FOUR TEAMS WERE!”   You knew you’d never be able to win, yet you so much fucking time trying anyway.   “IN FIRST PLACE, TEAM TODOROKI!”   And look where it got you.   “IN SECOND PLACE, TEAM BAKUGO!”   You’re just a fucking waste of space.   “IN THIRD PLACE, TEAM TE- WAIT, NO! IT’S TEAM SHINSO!”   You might as well leave and go jump off that building right n-   “Midoriya!” Uraraka approached him as he picked off the ice on his arm.   “I-I’m sorry… I un-understand if yo-you hate me n-now….”   They have every right to.   Uraraka shook her head and simply pointed towards Tokoyami, who began to speak,”While Todoroki attempted to defend against you, I tried to grab the ten million, but I came up short. However, I managed to grab the one on his head while you were distracting him.”   Wait…..so that meant...   “IN FOURTH PLACE, TEAM MIDORIYA!” “AFTER THE RECREATIONAL ACTIVITIES, IT’S TIME FOR THE FINAL EVENT!” Midnight yelled to the crowd. She had just explained some sort of games that the students could participate in before the final event of the sports festival, but Izuku had tuned her out, knowing he wouldn’t have the energy for them, so there was no point in listening.   “BETWEEN THE SIXTEEN MEMBERS OF THE FOUR WINNING CAVALRY BATTLE TEAMS, WE WILL HAVE A FORMAL TOURNAMENT! A SERIES OF ONE ON ONE BATTLES! THE MATCHUPS WILL BE DECIDED BY LOTS. ONCE THAT’S SETTLED, WE’LL MOVE ON TO THE FESTIVITIES AND THEN THE TOURNAMENT ITSELF! NOW, LET’S START WITH THE FIRST PLACE TE-”   “Um, excuse me…” A boy with a tail mutation had risen his hand, “I’d…. like to drop out.”   “Ojiro, why? This is your chance to get noticed by the pros!” An invisible girl in a cheerleader uniform spoke with desperation.   “The cavalry battle… I have no memories of what happened during it until the end. Shinso must have used his quirk on me.I know this is a great opportunity, and I know how stupid it must seem to throw it away, but I don’t feel comfortable participating in the tournament when I didn’t earn it.” Ojiro continued.   The invisible girl continued to berate him, telling him that he shouldn’t just throw this chance away and that he was thinking about it too hard, but Ojiro but his head in his hands, “No… I’m talking about my pride here…. I don’t think it’s right.”   Another boy began to speak up, “I can’t remember anything about the cavalry battle either… I wanna withdraw too! This is a contest of skill. Letting someone who didn’t do anything advance… doesn’t it defeat the whole point of the sports festival? Isn’t it even against the rules?”   “WE HAVE A STRANGE TURN OF EVENTS! THOUGH THIS ALL DEPENDS ON WHAT THE COORDINATOR, MIDNIGHT, DECIDES! WHAT’S YOUR DECISION, MIDNIGHT?!”Present Mic asked her. Izuku didn’t know why the man thought this was a good time for commentary, but he didn’t question it.   “How naive and green…” She murmured, before cracking her whip, “I LIKE IT! SHODA AND OJIRO HAVE OFFICIALLY WITHDRAWN! REPLACING THOSE TWO WILL BE MEMBERS OF TEAM KENDO, WHO-” A girl with her orange hair in a side-pony shook her head,“If it’s gonna be like that, shouldn’t it be the members of Team Tetsutetsu who move on? I mean, we were immobilised practically the entire time, but they were giving it their all until the very end.”   “So be it! Tetsutetsu and Shiozaki bring us back up to sixteen competitors! And…. here are the matchups!”   Izuku scanned the board, finding his name on the very first bracket. But, his heart dropped when he read the name of his opponent.   Hitoshi Shinso.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku stepped onto the stage to the cheers of the surrounding crowd. He wanted to cover his ears and just run, but that wasn't an option right now. He had to get through this, no matter what.   He couldn't read Hitoshi's expression, but the whirlpool of emotions showing in the other boy's narrowed eyes spoke volumes. At the very least, Hitoshi wasn't ready for this reunion, especially as it was in front of not just the people in the stadium, but practically all of Japan. And neither was Izuku.   "With the games out of the way, it's time for the third and final round of the UA sports festival!!" Midnight announced to the stadium to receive another round of cheers from the audience.   Present Mic continued for her,"YOU'VE ALL BEEN THROUGH HELL TO GET HERE!! BUT IT'S FINALLY HERE, THE ONE-ON-ONE TOURNAMENT!! FOR OUR FIRST MATCH…THE WINNER OF THE OBSTACLE COURSE! EVEN THOUGH HIS PERFORMANCE IN THE SECOND ROUND WASN'T QUITE AS GOOD- OW, SHO! ANYWAY,I'M SURE HE'LL DO GREAT! IT'S IZUKU MIDORIYA, FROM GENERAL STUDIES!! VERSUS…. SORRY, THIS GUY HASN'T REALLY DONE ANYTHING TO STAND OUT YET- WHY DO YOU KEEP HITTING ME?! IT'S HITOSHI SHINSOU, FROM THE HERO COURSE!!"   It pained Izuku that Hitoshi's introduction was simple compared to his. The other boy was so much more incredible than Izuku, who hadn't even deserved to take first place in the obstacle course. He just abused the rules of it and used the mines to his advantage. He didn't do it right. He was meant to use his own strength.   Not that you have any.   Not that Izuku had any strength to use, but still.   "THE RULES ARE SIMPLE! WIN BY KNOCKING YOUR OPPONENT OUT OF THE RING, IMMOBILISING THEM, OR GETTING THEM TO SAY 'I GIVE UP'! BRING THE PAIN, AS WE'VE GOT OUR GOOD OLD RECOVERY GIRL ON STANDBY!! AND FIGHT DIRTY IF YOU MUST! 'ETHICS' HAVE NO MEANING HERE!! WELL, OF COURSE, GOING FOR THE KILL IS A NO-NO!! YOU’LL BE DISQUALIFIED! BECAUSE A TRUE HERO’S FISTS FLY ONLY WHEN IN PURSUIT OF VILLAINS! NOW, LET’S GET THIS THING STARTED!!”   “Are you ready, Izuku?” He kept his lips pressed together as Hitoshi talked.   “READYYYYYYYYYYY…..”   The purple haired boy just glared at him,“I hope you are. Just because we were friends, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.”   “START!”   Neither of them moved an inch.   “You know, Izuku, ever since we stopped being friends, I haven’t been sitting behind the school. Rather, I’ve been in the cafeteria with some kids from my class, so I’ve been around school more in these past weeks.”   Izuku still didn’t say a word as Hitoshi continued to speak, “Each time I walk through the halls, with or without my friends” It felt as if Hitoshi was taunting him with that word. Friends .A silent Im better off without you echoed through that simple word, intentional or not,but Izuku already knew that Hitoshi was better off without him. That was one of the reasons why he stopped being friends with him in the first place,”I hear the whispers of the other students. Do you want to hear what they say about me?”   Izuku once again didn’t respond, and Hitoshi began taking a few steps forward, “ A guy like him doesn’t deserve to be in the hero course. Not with a villainous quirk like that. I bet he cheated to get in. There are so many other people who should’ve been in the hero course in place of him . I hear stuff like that every day. I’m envious of you sometimes, you know. Nobody is scared of you .”   He wanted to tell Hitoshi that he shouldn’t envy him one bit,but Izuku couldn’t say a word to the other boy, or he’d lose. So he just began walking forward as well, clenching his hands into fists and digging his nails into his palms as a method to stop himself from responding.   “Ignoring me now? What, do you think that just because you won the first round that you’re better than me, Izuku?!” Hitoshi furrowed his brow as his pace quickened, "Just respond!"   Izuku shook his head as he ran at the purple haired boy and began to push him.   "You think that'll be enough to win against me?" Hitoshi scoffed as he reached for Izuku's wrist. He noticed and kneed the taller boy in the stomach. Hitoshi fell backwards and onto the ground, but he quickly recovered, jumping back up. He smirked, capture scarf now in hand.   Izuku was undaunted by the fact that Hitoshi had pulled out his weapon however, only wishing that he had decided to bring his baton, even though hitting fifteen year olds over the head with a metal stick may be frowned upon. He ran at the boy once again, grasping his wrist like Hitoshi had attempted to do to him before. He realised too late however that the other boy had wrapped his capture weapon around Izuku’s ankle, Hitoshi tugging on it and causing Izuku to hit the ground.   He swept Hitoshi off his feet with a kick however, jumping up and finally managing to do what both boys had been attempting the entire round: he grasped Hitoshi’s wrist and threw him to the ground, just barely out of bounds.   Midnight put a hand on her hip and gestured her whip towards Izuku,“SHINSOU IS OUT OF BOUNDS!! MIDORIYA WINS!!”   Izuku stared down at his former friend as the crowd’s cheers echoed around them. He held out a hand for Hitoshi to take, and the boy did so hesitantly. Izuku didn’t blame him for that. He pulled the boy in for a hug, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Hito-kun” before he let go and walked off, not even allowing Hitoshi time to reciprocate said hug, time to process anything that had just occurred, or time to even think about using his quirk on Izuku.   He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and looked up to see Hitoshi,”Izu, I-” The boy’s expression softened slightly,and there was a gleam of concern in his eye, “You’re...crying. I was just trying to get you to speak, I didn’t mean-”   He decided that it was finally time to dignify Hioshi’s words with a response,“I-It’s fine, H-Hito-kun. W-we both kn-know you’re b-better off w-without me. Th-that’s exactly w-why I d-did what I d-did.”    Hitoshi let go of his shoulder and stepped back a bit, Izuku taking that as his queue to leave.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was absolutely terrified for this next battle.This boy had both fire and ice at his disposal, as if the dreadful flames he produced weren’t enough. Sure, the quirk was cool, but Izuku didn't have any good experiences involving fire.    Despite that, however, he had to deal with it. He couldn’t afford to lose this battle.   Izuku stepped onto the stage, two heterochromic eyes staring daggers at him. He took a deep breath as Present Mic began his countdown once again, "Readyyyyyyyyy…."   " START! "   A wave of ice immediately came rushing at Izuku. He was barely able to get out of the way of it, but another wave of ice followed suit. Izuku wished he had his baton with him once again. Maybe then he’d be able to smash through the ice. But for now all he could was narrowly avoid the barrage of ice coming his way.   After a while, Izuku noticed the other boy was slowing down, his attacks much less frequent than they were at the start. He looked closer and saw that Todoroki was covered in frost, shivering because of it. He knew that the boy could just melt it all off and easily raise his body temperature using his fire, so why was he suffering like this for no reason?   He must know you’re quirkless, dumbass. Why else would he handicap himself? He knows how fucking weak you are.   Izuku frowned and ran at Todoroki, who sent another barrage of ice his way. It didn’t come at him very quick though, so Izuku easily avoided being hit with it. He grasped Todoroki by his frost covered arm so the boy couldn’t freeze him and went to flip him over the boundary line. Todoroki could have easily just used his fire to stop Izuku.   “TODOROKI IS OUT OF BOUNDS! MIDORIYA WINS!” But he didn’t.   Izuku didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why the boy wouldn’t use Izuku’s quirklessness to his advantage, if anything. He could have beaten Izuku so easily, yet he restricted himself to his ice only and caused himself to lose the battle in the process. Maybe Izuku should be appreciative? That Todoroki even bothered to handicap himself in the first place? No, that just made Izuku feel even worse, being glad that somebody had purposefully not used their full power for Izuku’s sake. Maybe he should be angry? No, that was wrong too. It was Todoroki’s decision to do whatever he wanted with his quirk, not Izuku’s. Maybe he should be sad? No, that didn’t make any sense either. Izuku couldn’t make any sense of how he was meant to feel about this. He didn’t understand. Shouldn’t he understand though? He should understand these things!   Izuku caught a glimpse of somebody walking ahead of him now. Somebody with white and red hair, split perfectly down the middle. Todoroki.   Before he could even think, he ran up to the boy and tapped his shoulder. Todoroki turned around with a stern expression, which made Izuku realise he had made a mistake, but before he could stop himself he cried, “Why di-did you h-handicap yo-yourself be-because I'm qu-quirkless, To-Todoroki-kun?! Why didn’t y-you just u-use your fi-fire?!”   Todoroki narrowed his eyes. He seemed to contemplate something for a moment before he spoke, “Let’s….go somewhere more private.”   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku wished he was wearing one of his hoodies as he stared up at Todoroki, who was leaning against the opposite wall. Then he could pull the drawstrings so tight that the bi-coloured boy wouldn’t be able to give him that glare . Yet, he was simply in the school’s PE uniform, the only alteration being a long-sleeved shirt underneath to hide his scars. So all he could do was fiddle with his fingers as Todoroki began to talk.   “I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but I just had an argument with my old man and I need to get this out. You wanted an explanation, so you seemed like a good choice. You just can’t go around telling this to people, alright?” Izuku nodded, “Ok. Good.” The boy took a deep breath, “Have you heard of quirk marriages?” Another nod. Izuku already didn’t like where this was going, “My father has spent his entire life trying to surpass All Might. Even though he’s still attempting to do so, he came up with a back-up plan. Using his wealth and fame, my bastard of a father managed to get my mother’s family to sell her to him, all to get his hands on her quirk. He wished to create the perfect combination of them. A child who had the perfect blend of both fire and ice. My mother had three other children before finally having me. I was deemed the masterpiece. I’m no more than a tool for that flaming pile of trash.And he didn’t treat my mother any better. He pushed her to her breaking point. She became paranoid, and once thought that I was him, the same night when she poured boiling hot water over my left eye.”Izuku’s eyes widened in his horror. He knew the number two was definitely not the best person, by any means, but he wasn’t expecting this. Something told him this wasn’t even all of it, “In short, not using my left side against you was like revenge against him. The brief period in which I used it during the Cavalry Battle was a mistake. I’m going to become a hero, without having to use that bastard’s quirk.”   “B-but…. To-Todoroki-kun… it’s not h-his quirk…..”   “Speak up, Midoriya, I can’t-”   “IT’S YOUR POWER! NOT HIS, NOT ANYBODY ELSE’S! IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN AND IT ALWAYS WILL BE, NO MATTER WHAT THAT BASTARD SAYS! YOU DECIDE WHAT YOU WANT TO BECOME!” Izuku yelled, before slapping a hand over his mouth, mumbling, “I-I’m sorry for y-yelling, Todoroki-kun…”   Todoroki shook his head, before a smile, however small, crept onto his face, “No… It’s alright. You… actually reminded me of something my mother told me once. I really needed that. Thank you, Midoriya.”   “Y-you’re welcome, T-Todoroki-kun.”   ----------------------------------------------------   “YOU ALL KNOW THE DRILL BY NOW! BUT IT’S THE SEMI-FINALS! IZUKU MIDORIYA VS TENYA IIDA! WHO WILL BE VICTORIOUS? LET’S FIND OUT! READYYYYYYY….”   “START!”   Izuku recognised Iida from the cavalry battle, which meant he knew exactly what to expect from him. It didn’t mean that Izuku found it any easier to dodge the boy. It was the third time today that he wished he’d brought his baton with him. Sure, he shouldn’t want to bash other kids his age over the head with a metal stick, but it was the only weapon he knew how to use.   Izuku couldn’t out run the boy, so he was stuck with the same strategy he had performed during his fight against Todoroki: dodging a whole bunch.   After a while, the boy must have gotten sick of Izuku constantly dodging him, because he activated the move he had used during the cavalry battle. However, Izuku used Iida’s own speed against him. Currently being at the edge of the stage, all Izuku had to do was quickly side-step out of Iida’s way just before he made contact with Izuku, causing him to accidentally run off the stage.   “IIDA IS OUT OF BOUNDS! MIDORIYA WINS!” Izuku felt a little bit bad for tricking the boy, given the fact that he was a hero course student and not one of the criminals he’d fight on a nightly basis, but if he couldn’t use his baton skills, that was the only part of his vigilante skillset he could use against Iida, other than dodging.   ----------------------------------------------------   Katsuki couldn’t exactly say he was excited when he walked up to the stage. He was glad that he could get revenge on Deku for making a fool out of him in the first round, but he was more pissed at the boy than anything. He disappears for five years, suddenly saves him from a villain, completely ignores him on a rooftop and then runs off with some hobo, and now he was at UA, in the finals of the damn sports festival?    He didn’t get Deku’s deal at all, but he was going to force the truth out of him now that the smaller boy had nowhere to run.   As he stared the boy down, he frowned. The boy was shaking on and off, he was as pale as a ghost, and a few drops of something dripped from his clenched hands. He’d question him about whatever the hell that was later, but he had more important questions to ask Deku first.   “AT LAST, IT’S HERE! THE BEST OF THE BEST AMONG UA’S FIRST YEARS WILL BE DECIDED, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW! IT’S THE FINAL MATCH OF THE UA SPORTS FESTIVAL! MIDORIYA VS BAKUGO!!” Their loud ass english teacher screamed into his namesake. As the living surround-sound speaker counted down, Deku somehow got even paler and Katsuki’s frown only deepened.   “START!”   Deku looked lost, eyes wide and form frozen, seeming to not hear Mic.    Whatever, it'll make it easier to teach him a lesson. When he inevitably loses, he’ll have to give me some goddamn answers.   Katsuki snarled and launched forward to Deku, who gasped harshly and stepped back, covering his face and chest with his hands. Katsuki was finally close enough to read his expression, and it was pure, unbridled panic. He didn't even seem to realize Katsuki had stopped, just backing up with shallow, panicked breaths.    "MIDORIYA IS OUT OF BOUNDS! BAKUGO WINS!"   Wait, what?   "Oi, nerd, you didn't fucking let me win, did you? 'Cause I think we have a problem if you did."   Deku opened his mouth for a second, then closed it and sprinted away, still pale and shaking.    Katsuki looked down and saw blood decorating the concrete below him.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku’s footsteps echoed through the halls of UA, along with his laboured breaths. He had been running for who-knows-long, and after the absolute nightmare of a day the sports festival had been, he was prepared to just collapse on the spot.   He should have been able to face Kacchan. He shouldn’t have been as terrified as he was.Even if Kacchan killled him in that battle, it wouldn’t have mattered. Izuku was either going to get taken away or have jumped off that apartment building, depending on if ‘Raser managed to catch him. But Izuku still just couldn’t bring himself to fight the superior boy. And Kacchan would have won either way. Izuku would never be strong enough to beat Kacchan.   Izuku slid down the wall and put his head in his hands, holding onto his curls for dear life. He didn’t know how long he was there for, just sobbing and shaking as Kacchan screamed at him in his mind, but Izuku heard a voice calling his name down the hall.   “Hey, Izu…. They’re looking for you… They’re doing the award ceremony right now and…..are you alright?”   Izuku didn’t reply, and Hitoshi crouched down to his level, “Hey, Izu, look at me.”   Izuku still kept his eyes trained on the ground, “Izu, can you hear me…?”   When Izuku still didn’t respond, Hitoshi reached for his hands to try and pull them away from his curls, most likely noticing how hard he was pulling. Izuku slapped the boys hand away and turned before scooting backwards, frantically attempting to put a bit of distance between them.   “H-hito-kun…” He sleepily stared up at the boy, who sighed.   “Sorry, Izu…. I shouldn’t have done that. That’s another thing to add to the list of stuff I’ve screwed up today.” Hitoshi let out a hollow laugh as Izuku shakily stood up.   “I- woah-” Izuku suddenly wrapped his arms round Hitoshi’s torso.   “Y-you didn’t sc-screw anything u-up...I… I just ca-can’t be fr-friends with y-you, Hito-kun….. A-and wanting t-to be fr-friends is re-really selfish o-of me…. Bu-but I c-can’t help b-being selfish… I h-hate that I c-can’t help b-being so d-damn selfish …..”   “It’s… not selfish to want friends, Izu. If it was, I’d be the most selfish person in the world.” Izuku let Hitoshi go and looked up at him, seeing the concerned glint in his eyes once again. He knew the other boy would probably be even more concerned if he knew why Izuku classed wanting friends as ‘selfish’, “If you want to be friends again, that’s fine. Just maybe don’t suddenly tell me you longer want to be friends in front of my classmates after avoiding me for a week.” Hitoshi gave him a smirk and Izuku realised he was joking.   “H-hah, yeah… so-sorry about th-that, by th-the way….”   “I’ve barely talked to you, yet I can tell that you apologise way too much.”   “H-Hito-kun! I’m w-was just being re-respectful and m-making sure I di-didn’t offend you….”   “Well, thanks for that. But you don’t have to apologise for every little thing.Anyway, you have to get to the awards ceremony, remember?”   “O-oh, right!! Th-thank you, Hi-Hito-kun…”    “You’re welcome, Izu.”    ----------------------------------------------------   “Now, let’s move onto the awards ceremony!” Midnight announced to the crowd, who went wild once again, “In third place, we had both Tokoyami and Iida, but Iida was forced to leave early due to a family emergency, so he shall receive his award later on. Now, for the medals! Presenting them this year is everyone’s favourite hero, All Might!” She cheered as the man landed in the stadium. He had been saying something of his own, but she had cut him off, which she quickly apologised for.   Izuku grimaced as the man walked up to Tokoyami, bronze medal in hand, “CONGRATULATIONS,YOUNG TOKOYAMI! YOU ARE A STRONG ONE!” The bird-headed boy murmured something about the man honouring him too highly, “BUT RELYING ON YOUR QUIRK ALONE WON’T BE ENOUGH TO OVERCOME A BAD MATCH-UP! HONE YOUR INNATE STRENGTH TO OPEN A WORLD OF OPPORTUNITY!” All Might advised before beginning to approach Izuku. He wished the number one hero would just ignore him completely and move onto Kacchan, but Izuku had no such luck.   “YOUNG MIDORIYA!WELL DONE FOR GETTING AS FAR AS YOU DID! DESPITE BEING APART OF GENERAL STUDIES, YOU MANAGED TO SHOW UP PRACTICALLY THE ENTIRE HERO COURSE!” Izuku knew he should be glad that he was getting praised by the All Might, but the man was yelling in his ear, “HOWEVER, YOU MUST RELY LESS ON THOSE BODY SLAMS YOU’VE BEEN PERFORMING AND MORE ON YOUR QUIRK, WHATEVER IT MAY BE! THAT WILL HELP YOU LEAPS AND BOUNDS!” At least the man didn’t remember Izuku. He slipped the silver medal over the boy’s head before making his way over to Kacchan, Izuku breathing a sigh of relief. The blond was surprisingly calm. Izuku was honestly expecting him to be much more pissed due to Izuku running away before they could even begin their battle, but that didn’t seem to be the case. All he was doing was giving the number one hero a death stare.   “Y-YOUNG BAKUGO! IN A WORLD THAT’S CONSTANTLY GRADED ON A CURVE, THERE AREN’T MANY WHO CAN CONTINUOUSLY BE ON TOP! SO ACCEPT THIS  MEDAL AS PROOF THAT YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE FEW!” All Might practically had to force the medal over Kacchan’s head. Izuku may have misjudged Kacchan’s feelings about all this. He wasn’t being openly angry, but just the passive aggressiveness he was showing towards All Might was enough of a red flag.   “WELL THESE ARE YOUR-” All Might continued to talk, but Izuku tuned the man out. He couldn’t take anymore of his yelling. He assumed he did some sort of cheer, because the stadium erupted in roars afterwards, though they were complaining about All Might not using the phrase ‘Plus Ultra’, the motto of U.A high.    Izuku couldn’t wait to just go home, having put the heavy silver medal in his backpack to avoid attention being drawn to him, but while he was walking through U.A’s halls yet again, he heard a voice over the intercom.   “Please may Izuku Midoriya report to Principal Nezu’s office.” Izuku’s heart dropped.   Did Principal Nezu finally realise how worthless he is after his shameful display during his battle against Kacchan? That would only make sense. Izuku was just a burden on U.A. Some people were against just the rule of quirkless people being allowed to go to U.A. If they found out one actually got accepted, what would they think then? He’d probably end up destroying U.A’s reputation single-handedly. Maybe it was a good thing that he was being expelled. M-   "'R-Raser...?" He whispered as he saw the man waiting for him outside of the chimera’s office.   "Just call me Aizawa. And you are?"   The man knew full well who he was, but Izuku guessed it would be disrespectful to not introduce himself as well,"I-I'm I-Izuku Mi-Midoriya, Alias: Rabbit.... Ni-nice to of-officially meet y-you, Ai-Aizawa-sensei." Izuku had his eyes trained on the ground as he fumbled with his fingers. Era- Aizawa was sitting at Nezu’s desk, and he was sitting on a chair in front of it. He didn’t exactly know what to say or do in this situation. He’d been taken away before, but that was by Mayumi, and from a foster home. He didn’t know a single thing about how this may go down.   “A-are you go-gonna take m-me away n-now….?” Izuku whispered.   “I just wanna hear about what drove you to become a vigilante at the moment.” The man replied. He didn’t answer Izuku’s question, but he couldn’t afford to argue with Aizawa right now.   “I-I’ve told y-you about th-the Igarashi’s,the Ts-Tsukamoto’s and th-the Ha-Hayashi’s, but I d-don’t re-really wanna t-talk about the Mo-Mochizuki’s…. O-other than that, I d-don’t mind talking ab-about it…. I-it wasn’t th-that bad, so…” “Alright. Go on, then.”   ----------------------------------------------------   “M-Mayumi-san, I-I pr-promise i-it w-wasn’t m-m-my fault th-this time!”   “You said that the last two times, Izuku. You can’t keep using the same excuse.” She spat as she dragged him along.   “B-But I-I’m telling t-t-the tr-truth!! Y-Yoichi di-didn’t like m-me, h-he hurt m-me re-really ba-bad, a-and he t-touched m-me in we-weird ways, a-and ev-everything hu-hurt all t-the time wh-when he w-was ar-around-”   The woman simply tutted as Izuku tried to explain what had really occurred at the Mochizuki household,letting go of his wrist and turning around to glare at him,"Oh, Izuku, you really have to stop lying to get attention, it's these desperate cries for it that make everybody give you up. If you were just quiet and obedient, Yoichi wouldn't have had to punish you. That's all it was, Izuku. Punishment . You're just blowing it out of proportion."   How was Izuku meant to just take that though? Even if it was punishment, wasn't it a little too far?   "B-But, M-Mayumi-san-" Izuku hiccuped as tears streamed down his reddened cheeks.   "See, this is what I'm talking about! You think if you just shed a few tears everybody will suddenly take your side." She narrowed her eyes at him as she spoke in a disgusted tone, “I don’t know why Shizuka fell for your tricks, but she was always a bit of a gullible woman. I honestly can’t tell what Yoichi sees in her.” “B-but I-I wa-wasn’t tr-tricking S-Shizuka-san, s-she was ju-just being n-nice-”   “She wasn’t nice, she was just too stupid to see through your lies.” “N-no! She w-”   Mayumi’s face darkened as her glare became more and more menacing to Izuku as each second passed, “Did you just say no?”   “N-No- I-I me-mean, I-”   “Are you telling me I’m wrong , Izuku?”   “O-Of course n-not-”   “ Don’t try to tell me I’m wrong again, Izuku. Stay here, I have to go find a certain quirkless brat his fifth placement in less than a year . I’m sure somebody will come by at some point and they can deal with you.” She gave him one final death stare before turning back around and walking away. All Izuku could do was fall to the ground and sob as he waited for somebody, anybody, to come and help him.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku had hoped that the Hagiwara’s would be a new start. Sure, the last four homes hadn’t gone super well, but that didn’t mean this one wouldn’t either!   Izuku would soon learn that it was stupid to hope, especially when he had already been proven wrong several times.   They were just like the Tsukamoto’s, only in it for the money and just leaving Izuku up in his room. Though Izuku guessed he should have come to expect that by now. He was six, almost seven in a couple of months, a big kid . He shouldn’t be stupid like that aynymore.   But still, he yearned for somebody to talk to. Sure, he had Kacchan and the others whenever he was at school, but they didn’t really like him, and he wasn’t at school often anyways.Sometimes the Hagiwara’s would forget to tell him when it was time to go; the days just kind of began to blend together at some point and he could no longer tell when it was day or night, morning or evening, and could only tell when it was time for his breaks from the noises coming from downstairs, or when it was time to sleep from the rustling of bed sheets in the next room over. He had become really good at stuff like that recently, having started doing it when he was four.   But it was boring, those things being the only sounds he could listen to throughout the day. He wanted to hear some other person, not just the muffled voices he could hear coming from downstairs or the laughs and jeers from his classmates. He didn’t want to go through the same pain as he did with the Tsukamoto’s.   Izuku wanted a friend.   So he made one up.   Izuku enjoyed talking to Ayame. He’d spend his days just chatting to her about practically anything, and she wouldn’t judge him for rambling on a little too long. He could laugh and joke and she’d do the same along with him. Sure, he knew that Ayame wasn’t real. Of course he knew Ayame wasn’t real! But she was probably the closest thing he’d ever get to a friend, and that was real enough for him.   But when Hideaki walked in on him one day, talking to Ayame, he didn’t seem to care that she was real enough for him. The man dragged him out of the room by his wrist (something Izuku had become quite used to over the past few months) and led him outside, locking him in the car.   That’s when Izuku realised that this placement definitely wouldn’t be working out after all, despite Ayame’s attempts to tell him it was going great throughout his time there.   ----------------------------------------------------   Mayumi wasn’t too happy to see Izuku when the Hagiwara’s dropped him off. As soon as she stopped talking to the couple and they both drove off, she turned to him with an unreadable expression on her face, “So, Yukio and Hideaki just explained their reason for giving you back. They told me you were talking to yourself in your room.”   “I-I wa-wasn’t talking to my-myself, I w-was j-just-”   “You were just what ? I can’t understand a single word you’re saying through that damn stutter of yours.” She spoke through clenched teeth, the only indicator to Izuku that she may not have been as indifferent about the situation as her poker face suggested.   “I w-was talking to A-Ayame….” He had to focus particularly hard to try speaking without his stutter, but it still slipped through a bit. That didn’t help improve Mayumi’s mood at all, her anger now becoming more obvious.   “An imaginary friend? At your age? I knew that the quirkless would most likely progress slower than those who are more evolved and intelligent” She meant kids who actually had quirks, “but this is just ridiculous.”    Despite the woman’s words, and his promise to himself that he wouldn’t delude himself into thinking Ayame was real, Ayame didn’t really feel imaginary any more. She felt like a real person to him now. She was eccentric yet sweet and she made Izuku laugh. She was also his friend. His only friend.   “She’s your only friend because you pull weird shit like this all the time.” Oh. Izuku had been muttering, “Maybe if we put you in a group home, you’ll stop having to pretend like this little creation of yours is your friend. Though I doubt any of the other children will attempt to make friends with you, if you bother to come out of your shell a little and stop talking to this…. Ami ” She spat the name as if it were the most disgusting thing she had ever heard, and even though she had gotten the girl's name wrong, Izuku knew who she meant,”there might be one child kind enough to take you under their wing.”   Izuku felt a little reluctant about the idea of a group home. He didn’t like the quiet, but he didn’t really like loud places either. He preferred just conversations between two, maybe three people, like the ones he had with Ayame. But he warmed up to it as he realised that at least he wouldn’t be lonely anymore. And Mayumi had said that there would most likely only be one child who wanted to be friends with Izuku. No matter who they were, Izuku would welcome them with open arms. He needed all the friends he could get.   ----------------------------------------------------   Despite how low Izuku had set his standards however, most kids either avoided him or picked on him relentlessly, just like school. His life practically became a cycle of getting tormented over and over. Izuku ended up finding solace in sleeping. A time when (if he didn’t have any nightmares that night) he could just relax in the abyss of his dreams. He could talk to Ayame there without any judgement (as far as Izuku could tell from the fact he wasn’t being teased about it yet, he didn’t talk in his sleep). As much as Izuku wished he could just sleep forever, he had to constantly find new hiding spots for his belongings during the night. He didn’t have to do it as often as he did, but just the one time when the other kids found one of his hiding spots scared him into doing so. He’d never forget when Kazuki slowly but surely began to tear one of his notebooks right down the middle while Norio and Takayuki restrained Izuku, the boy only able to plead and sob, his eyes screwed shut so he wouldn’t have to watch. He could hear though as the other children quieted so he could listen to his beloved notebook getting torn to shreds.   He had to end up just rotating the hiding places as he ran out of ones to use, but it seemed to work. He vowed to never allow anybody near his belongings again. He couldn’t trust anybody even getting two feet near his bag at school after that, quickly snatching it up when somebody got near. His classmates soon realised that they could use his bag to torment him however, and he just ended up bringing a few of his stubby pencils and barely usable pens to class in his uniform pockets. It was a bit of a problem though when he needed to use a textbook for class. He decided for his long term solution to just be bringing a plastic bag instead after far too many detentions and groundings for Izuku’s liking.   One night, Izuku was awakened by a nightmare and greeted by a familiar blob of bright yellow in his hazy gaze.   He’d forgotten to change hiding spots.   “H-hey….” Izuku’s eyes widened as he slid out of bed, sluggishly making his way over to the smirking boy, “P-please, do-don’t do an-anything t-to it, Ka-Kazuki-kun-”   “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut this to shreds right now.” The boy snarled.   Izuku grabbed the elder boy’s arm,“M-my mom gave me th-that, you c-can’t just-”   “Hey! Let go of me, you fucking freak!” Kazuki shot as he pushed Izuku away. He clutched onto the bag as he fell however, taking it with him, but not without the left strap tearing.   The boy began to walk over to Izuku, but the door opened and the lights flicked on. Kiyo stood there in her nightgown, glaring at the two boys, “Explain. Now. ”   “Ki-Kiyo-san, h-he-”   “Kiyo, this monster attacked me!” Kazuki began to sob as he ran up to the woman, “I accidentally tripped over his bag while I was going to bed and he went absolutely feral! ”   “Izuku, is this true?” The woman narrowed her eyes at him.   “No, don’t ask him!” Kazuki shook his head and pointed to one of the other beds, “Ask them! This Deku” One of the kids went to his school and informed the other children of the nickname Kacchan had given him, “just straight up attacked me, right?!”   A chorus of agreement echoed throughout the room, “See, Kiyo?! Please, get rid of him, he’s been tormenting us all since day one but we were all too scared to speak up about it!!”   That placement didn’t end up lasting very long either, Izuku only staying there a couple of months before he was sent away.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku had only been in this placement for a month or so, but somehow the other kids had already found out about the 'Deku' nickname. They also knew about a certain event that Izuku had completely forgotten about himself, most likely because Atsuko had mentioned it to them.   "Heyyyyyy, Deku!~" Izuku heard somebody sing-song behind him.   "Do you know what day it is today? Hitomi beamed, being unusually sweet to him.   "N-no…. Wh-what day i-is it, Hi-Hitomi-chan…?" He asked the older girl.   "Why, it's your birthday of course! How could you forget about something like that, you idiot?" She added on in a hiss," Anyway, would you like your present? I've been waiting to give it to you for a while now!"   "Y-you got me a pr-present? Th-that's so ni-nice of you, Hi-Hitomi-chan, I-"   "It's an All Might keychain!" Her smile widened as she pulled it out of her pocket, "You like him, right?"   "U-uh, it-it's a little br-broken, Hitom-"   She narrowed her eyes, “What, so does that give you a reason to be so damn ungrateful ? I can't believe I have to share a household with such a little brat.I’m just trying to be nice to you because most of the other kids don’t wanna come within ten feet of you. They don’t want to catch your disease” She sneered, “Yet here I am, attempting to make friends with the little quirkless kid because I'm just that good of a person,and you’re whining ?”   “Y-you’re ri-right, Hitomi-ch-chan...I-I’m sor-”   A hand clasped around his mouth, and Hitomi squealed in delight, "Awwww, thanks for shutting him up, Emiko-chan! I can't stand that drea dful stutter." She rolled her eyes as she placed her fingertip on a particularly sharp piece of acrylic, careful not to cut herself. She looked back at Izuku, her grin somehow even wider, “You know, I might have thought of a way to teach you some manners, Deku!”   Izuku’s muffled screams filled the air as the keychain slit into his upper left arm repeatedly. He knew the girl was writing something, but he couldn’t see clearly through the tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to push her away with his right arm but Emiko grabbed his wrist and held onto it tightly to restrain him. As he blinked his tears away, he saw a triumphant expression on Hitomi’s face. He didn’t want to look at whatever she had done to his arm, but Emiko stopped covering his mouth and instead clutched his jaw and turned it to the side.   “Look, Deku! Now you can proudly display to everybody how worthless you are!! Now, even if you pretend you have some sort of worth, you have your name etched into you so people will be able to tell what you really are!” Hitomi giggled in rapturous glee.    Deku. It was hard to read through the blood surrounding it, but sure enough, that dreaded nickname- no, it was practically his name at this point - was what the girl had permanently scarred him with.   “Look at the mess you made, dumbass Deku!” She glared at the puddle of blood at Izuku’s feet before pushing the boy into the wall. She dropped the All Might keychain in front of him as he coughed, weakly looking up at her, “Here’s your gift. You better clean this up before Atsuko gets back. She won’t be happy if her floor is all bloody and disgusting.” Hitomi hissed before walking out of the room, Emiko in tow.   As Izuku looked down at the bloody keychain in his lap, he thought something. He didn’t like the thought at all.   “It felt strangely...nice.”   Izuku never thought he’d be welcoming pain. He didn’t want to welcome this pain. But as he shakily picked up the keychain and made a new incision in his arm, he gasped. It…. wasn’t just a one time thing. It wasn’t just a strange thought that his blood loss invoked.   He liked it. Izuku liked the pain.And that scared him.   He got up and ran to the bathroom, throwing up until there was only bile left. He rose to his feet and grabbed the first aid kit, beginning to treat his left arm as the taste of sick and the soreness of his throat lingered. He felt tears pricking his eyes once again as he went to find the mop and began to clean up his blood in the other room.   That keychain became an escape for Izuku. Yet, he despised the ugly, jagged scars it created. From that day onwards, he never wore a short-sleeved t-shirt unless it had a long-sleeved shirt accompanying it.   ----------------------------------------------------   As Izuku clutched the handle of his eighth foster home’s front door, Mayumi staring daggers at him from down the driveway, he attempted to comfort himself. This time would be different! He could do this!   As he threw it open, eyes screwed shut, he hesitantly opened them and….   He definitely couldn’t do this.   There were so many kids. Far too many kids. All he could hear was screaming and laughing and crying and it was all too loud for Izuku to handle.   He looked back down the driveway to see if Mayumi was still there, but neither her nor her car were in sight. He turned his head back to the chaos occurring inside the house. He knew he should go inside, that’s what he was meant to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Izuku just began to run down the driveway and down the street. He didn’t know where he was going, not a single idea of the layout of the city he had lived in his entire life, but he just knew he had to run. It was all still too loud though.   He kept running, and running, and running, until he reached a somewhat quiet place. It was full of stone slabs, sticking out of the ground. There were a few people scattered here and there, but none of them were speaking, either paying their respects to the stone slabs or in utter silence as they placed down an offering. He walked up to one and examined it. There was a name and a string of numbers, but that was it. He quickly realised that he was in a graveyard.    He had only been in one once, but he barely remembered anything about the experience, despite it being just a little more than a year ago. All he really remembered was that everybody had tears in their eyes and how Aunt Mitsuki kept switching between crying and screaming a bunch.   He strolled through the graveyard, attempting to find his mother’s gravestone. As soon as he did, however, a familiar voice came from behind him.   “ Izuku . Your new foster parent just called me informing me about how you never showed up.” Mayumi hissed as she grabbed his wrist and began dragging him along, “It was a chore to find you. Do you know how big this city is? If I hadn’t known that you couldn’t have gotten far given how slow you are, both mentally and physically ” She added, “then it may have ended up being hours before I found you. Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me? You got given up by Kotone before you even walked in. She doesn’t want to have to deal with a flight risk .”    “A-A flight ri-risk…?”   “You ran away.” She reluctantly explained, “You really are an idiot. You should know what flight risk means at your age.” “I-I’m sorry, Ma-Mayumi-s-san….”   She simply scoffed as she continued to pull him along.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was no longer allowed to be alone. They deemed it unsafe, due to him now being classed as a 'flight risk', so he had to be with at least one other child a majority of the time.    It was absolute hell for Izuku. It made him adore sleeping even more. It now became his only escape (other than the keychain) from the horrid cycle of torture his life had become. It was also still the only place he could respond to Ayame. She was constantly there, yet he just couldn’t respond to her.   Izuku just wished he could sleep forever. Then he could with Ayame forever as well.   But no. Izuku had to be quirk practice for Taiyo and Heido. They’d offered to hang around him so they could ‘make sure he didn’t run away’, but all they did was practice their precision with their quirks on him. Making nice, clean cuts along his skin and then burning them closed.   Izuku attempted to hide from them once, hiding away in the broom-closet, but when they couldn’t find him he was reported to Yoshiko, and that just made the woman more insistent on Taiyo and Hiedo staying around Izuku.   Izuku was almost happy when Yoshiko gave him up, stating that he was ‘more trouble than he was worth’, but when the two boys ended up transferring to his school, any semblance of joy he still felt vanished.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was happy. He’d finally figured out how to talk to Ayame outside of sleeping! He still preferred talking out loud to her,but at least he could respond to her now! He still wasn’t having a fantastic time at his ninth home, but he had Ayame to talk to, so he was getting through it.   However, the person who he was talking to right now wasn’t Ayame. A girl in his class had come up to him while he was walking through an alley with a bright smile on her face.    “O-Oh, hello Naito-chan!!” He nervously muttered, “U-um…. H-how are y-you?”   “I’m doing great, Midoriya-kun!! I actually wanted to ask you something, though!”   Izuku was hesitant. Usually, whenever anybody wanted to ask him a question, it ended with Izuku sobbing as he bandaged whatever new injuries he had gained from the encounter. But…. he could still be hopeful, right? All he could do was be hopeful.   “Su-sure….ask aw-away, Naito-chan!” Izuku put a false smile on his face. He really was glad that his classmate was talking to him, but after everything that happened with the Mochizuki’s, he’d lost the ability to smile. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d fallen apart a bit over the past year and a half. But that didn’t matter right now. He could still pretend that he was perfectly fine, and that was all he needed to do.   “Welllllll….”She laughed a bit, but Izuku assumed she was just a bit nervous. He didn’t mind. He knew that if anybody saw them right now, Naito would most likely be ostracised for even talking to him, “I was wondering if you wanna be my boyfriend?”   Izuku felt his face flush red immediately. He hadn’t had a single person ask to be friends with him since he was diagnosed, let alone ask him out. He didn’t really know what to say. He guessed he was meant to say yes?   “U-um, sure, Na-Naito-chan!! That s-sounds fun! I-” The bright smile fell off her face as she narrowed her eyes, “Ew, I didn’t think you’d say yes. Though I guess you’d say yes to anything when nobody will even say a kind word to you.” She sounded disgusted, and Izuku realised that he really should stop believing that people could actually like him, “It was just a dare from Sakata-chan. I can’t believe you actually believed me-” She laughed a bit before shoving him to the ground. As he tried to get back up, she crouched down to his eye level and glared at him, “Honestly, Deku, you can be such a gullible idiot sometimes! It’s kinda funny, yet sad at the same time. Nobody will ever wanna be your friend, let alone your girlfriend.” She sneered before getting up and walking off to greet a few girls Izuku hadn’t even noticed.   All he could do was be glad that it was one of the more tame things that he’d experienced so far. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurt by it, but he had to be optimistic.   Because he knew that if he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t be able to keep going.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was struggling to keep being optimistic. His tenth home was an absolute hellhole. It wasn’t as if the others weren’t bad, but this one was really challenging Izuku’s will-power. As per usual, everybody hated him, but it was particularly the boy who had been assigned to make sure he didn’t run away who had it out for him. For him, Izuku was a chore. A burden that he had to suffer with. He was a bit like Tatsuya, blaming anything under the sun on Izuku to get rid of him. Whenever Izuku simply got punished, Saburo would give the green-haired boy an extra punishment of his own. Sometimes, Saburo would deliberately do something bad and blame it on Izuku.    The time Izuku hated the most was when Saburo broke a vase. That would have been bad enough on its own, but the boy used his quirk, being able to turn his hands into hammers, to smash it until it was practically dust. When he told Megumi, she screamed at Izuku for a good forty minutes before finally letting him go.   However, Saburo didn’t feel as if that was enough.   He was sick of Izuku. Maddened by the fact that despite all that he had done, Izuku was still there.   So he pinned Izuku to the wall, his eyes glinting as he positioned the hammer that had replaced his left hand.   When Izuku ran up to Megumi with his shattered wrist, Saburo finally got his wish. He got his second berating of the day from Mayumi as she ranted about how much of a waste of money, time and effort Izuku was as she drove him to the hospital.   ---------------------------------------------------- Izuku was about to talk about the next one, but Aizawa interrupted, “Is there really more…? Kid, I’m surprised you’re not a damn villain. Glad, but surprised.” “Yo-you’d usually sa-say disappointed,but n-not surprised to m-me-” “But that’s when you do something reckless.” “Wh-when am I ev-ever reckless?” “Every day of your life. But, right now isn’t the time for this. You’ve already told me about a mountain of things that should never have been said or done to a child your age, and you’ve still had more traumatising experiences that drove you to risk your life every single night ?” “T-trauma? No, I-I’m not tr-traumatised at a-all!! I-I’m just te-telling you about ev-everything that proceeded m-me becoming a vi-vigilante. I’m n-not traumatised b-by any of th-this.” Izuku corrected him.   “We both know that’s a lie, kid. But go on.” Izuku wanted to try and convince the man that he wasn’t traumatised by these events at all, but Izuku had to admit that Aizawa was half-right. Izuku wasn’t traumatised, but he was certainly cracked, just like the man had told him a little over half a year ago. Izuku Midoriya wasn’t whole. He hadn’t been in years, and he probably never would be.    “W-well…. Th-they switched back to si-single homes af-after that… they fi-figured out th-that group h-homes really weren’t w-working. It w-was mostly ju-just a repeat of th-the Ts-Tsukamoto’s, but th-they just en-ended up giving me u-up because I w-was too mu-much trouble. A b-burden…” Aizawa grumbled at that, “I ju-just ended up ru-running away f-from the se-seventeenth…. I di-didn’t wanna be a b-burden anymore….” Izuku felt tears forming in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away. He couldn’t cry in front of Aizawa, “I w-was gonna ju-jum, but th-then I heard a l-lady scream…. I s-saved her, and de-decided maybe I c-could be useful th-that way… I h-haven’t been u-useful though. No ma-matter what I d-do, I’ll ne-never be useful....”   He heard Aizawa rise up from his seat. Izuku looked up at the man and saw that he was now standing in front of him. Aizawa crouched down to his eye-level, “You’ve saved countless lives over the past five years, no matter how reckless it was to do so. If that’s being useless, then what do you think being useful is?”   Izuku couldn’t find the words to answer him, “You’re not useless, kid. You’re not a burden, either. Everybody is just a quirkist bastard. Absolute idiots.” “Ai-Aizawa, it’s not li-like everyone c-can be an i-idiot-”   “Nope.They can be, and they are.”   Izuku bit his lip, “S-so now th-that I’ve told y-you everything, y-you’re sending me aw-away, aren’t y-you? I-I’m gonna go t-to jail, or ba-back into th-the foster sy-system, right….?”   Aizawa shook his head, “Well, considering what you’ve just told me, there’s no way we could put you back into the foster system. There’s probably enough there to build a case, but I’ll have to speak to Nezu about that. I’ll also have to speak to him about the vigilantism. Until we can figure that situation out, you’ll probably be staying with me and ‘zashi.”   “.....wh-what?” Izuku clutched onto the end of Aizawa’s scarf as they walked to the man’s apartment. Everything was moving so fast. They’d gotten his stuff from the warehouse, Izuku having borrowed a duffle bag from Aizawa so they wouldn’t have to make multiple trips like he had to when moving there from the beach. Now though, he had to actually go to Aizawa’s apartment.   Needless to say, Izuku was terrified.   One moment, he was trying his hardest to avoid Aizawa, and now he was going to be living with the man. It was all going a little too fast for Izuku. So he was clutching onto Aizawa’s scarf for comfort, given that he still hadn’t put on his hoodie and was unable to pull on his drawstrings.   When they stopped outside of one of the apartments, Aizawa turned around to look at Izuku, “Are you ready? ‘Zashi can get pretty loud.”   Izuku just gave him a nod, and Aizawa opened the door, calling out to someone as he did so,“‘Zashi, I’m home. And I brought a child.”   A voice screamed back from down the hall, “DID YOU BRING HOME ANOTHER CAT, SHO?!”   “No, I brought a child.”   “Wait, an actual child?”   “What do you mean, an actual child? Of course I brought an actual child.”   The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the apartment, and the voice spoke again, “What do you mean, Sho? It’s just you.”   Aizawa stepped to the side to reveal a somewhat familiar man with long blonde hair and glasses.   Before he could even begin to speak, Izuku cut him off, “P-present… mi-mic?”   The man’s face lit up, “The little listener recognised me! YEEeeeeahhhhhhhhhh!”   Izuku turned to Aizawa to see his eyes glowing red. Present Mic offered a sheepish smile along with a quick “Sorry, Sho!” before turning back to look at Izuku,”Yeah, I’m Present Mic!You can call me Hizashi out of costume though, little listener!” Izuku’s eyes widened as he looked down, clutching his chest as he felt his heart begin to beat faster.   He heard voices, but he couldn’t focus enough to hear what they were actually saying.   Why, of all names, did it have to be Hisashi? Izuku’s head was flooding with memories of the man, and the phantom pain of his molten skin running down his back like wax had returned. He hadn’t even lasted a few hours before being reminded of the man.   Izuku felt somebody put a hand on his shoulder and he jerked to the side, staring up at whoever had done it with pure fear. He only calmed when he realised it was Aizawa, and not Hisashi coming to drag him away. He returned his line of vision to the ground before muttering, “I-I’d prefer t-to no-not call you b-by that na-name, if th-that’s ok….”    He could practically hear Present Mic beaming, “Sure, little listener! Call me whatever you want!”   “I-I’ll stick wi-with Mic f-for now, if th-that’s alright wi-with you…”   “Alright! I’ll probably stick with little listener for you, if that’s alright, Midoriya!” Izuku raised his head up to look at the man, “H-how do yo-you know who I a-am….?”   “From the sports festival earlier! You’re Izuku Midoriya, the kid that Sho announced to be his problem child in front of millions of people!” “Sometimes I wonder why I thought it was a good idea to marry you of all people.”   “You know you love me, Sho!” “I do and I hate that I do.” Aizawa grumbled. Izuku grabbed the end of Aizawa’s capture scarf once again as Mic continued to tease the man. Aizawa looked down at him, and seemingly realised something, “Ok ‘Zashi, I’m going to take the kid to the guest room. I’ll explain what’s going on later.”   “Alright! I’ll get started on dinner.” Mic smiled before walking into the room’s conjoining kitchen. Izuku followed Aizawa down the hall, the man stopping in front of the second door to the left. He opened the door to reveal a barren room, the only furniture inside consisting of a bed and a wardrobe.   “This is the guest room. Sorry that it’s practically empty, the only person we’ve ever had over is Nemuri so we didn’t really put much in here.” Izuku looked up at Aizawa in confusion, “Wh-what do you m-mean empty , Ai-Aizawa-sensei…? Th-this is more th-than enough. I us-usually only g-got a bed i-if I was lu-lucky, but n-now I ha-have a wardrobe! ”   Aizawa sighed, “Just call me Aizawa, at least outside of school. And you really need some higher standards, kid. No child your age should be that excited over a wardrobe. ”   “W-why not….?” Izuku asked him as he put the duffle bag down, “What’s b-better than a w-wardrobe?”   “Practically anything else.” The man sighed once again. Izuku didn’t really get what the man meant by him needing to get ‘some higher standards’, but he couldn’t really argue with Aizawa right now. Even if he was inevitably going to be sent away, it didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try and stay for two months or so, at least until July fifteenth. That’s all Izuku needed. Two months.   ----------------------------------------------------   Hizashi woke up to the sound of somebody crying. Shouta was off on patrol, so he was currently home alone. He got up and hesitantly opened the door, but he didn’t find anybody in the hallway. The sound of crying had gone down a bit, but he could still hear whimpers from the hallway closet.    Hizashi cracked the door open to reveal Izuku, curled up in a ball and crying into his lap. He’d completely forgotten about the events earlier that day. Shouta had briefly explained that they’d be taking care of Izuku while his vigilantism case was being put together.   The sobbing boy lifted his head, and as soon as he made eye-contact with Hizashi, his eyes widened, “N-no!! I-I’m sorry, pl-please don’t hu-hurt me, I’m so-sorry for hi-hiding, p-please don’t h-hurt me!!” He moved his arms to shield himself from Hizashi, squinting his eyes as if he was preparing for impact.   Hizashi’s heart melted with pity and sympathy for the kid. He kept his voice soft and calming, the way he did when there was a scared child at a crime scene. “Why would I hurt you, little listener? You’re not a villain!”   “Bu-but I’m n-not meant to hi-hide, I’m j-just meant t-to stay in m-my room a-and wa-wait to for m-my pu-punishment. I-I might a-as well be a vi-villain, I-I’m not fo-following the r-rules…. Hi-Hisashi would k-kill me f-for this….”   Hizashi crouched down to get on eye level. “Our rules are different here. You’re always safe here, okay? We want to make you comfortable!” He didn’t want to unpack the rest right now. He would talk to Shota later, but for now, he was just worried about reassuring Izuku.   Izuku turned his head away from Hizashi, wiping a few of his tears away with his shirt’s sleeve,“I-I’m sorry…. Y-you’ve been s-so nice t-to me a-and I’m hi-hiding in y-your h-hallway closet… I pr-probably woke y-you up as w-well….. I-I’m so s-sorry, Mic, I-I don’t know what I w-was th-thinking….”   “Nonsense, little listener. Whatever makes you feel safest is A-okay with me! Besides-” He gave an overexaggerated wink. “You’re no louder than Shota’s snoring. He says I’m the loud one, too.”   Izuku sniffled, “Th-thank you…. F-for having m-me, and be-being so ki-kind just n-now… an-and just in g-general…. Y-your radio sh-show, put y-your hands u-up? I li-listened to th-that a l-lot while I m-made su-support items…. I-it kept m-me motivated… i c-could never li-listen to the li-live version, b-but still…. A-as stupid as i-it is, it ki-kinda felt y-you were ta-talking directly t-to me….” Izuku looked up at him once again with a flushed face, “I-I’m sorry, i wa-was rambling... I-I’ll get o-out of your h-hair….” He stood up, returning his gaze back to the floor, and rushed to his room, quietly closing the door behind him.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta was slowly realising that it would be hard to get this kid some higher standards.   Every time they took him into one of the stores at the mall and asked him what he liked, he always responded with, “U-Um… I do-don’t mind…. I-I guess wh-whatever’s n-not too ex-expensive?” He tried to tell them that he didn’t need anything at all several times, but Shouta just had to point out how his shoe’s soles were almost completely detached from the rest of the shoe and Izuku quieted.   Given that Shouta was quite sure the boy liked those shoes, he bought him a new pair, despite Izuku’s desperate attempts to tell him that he really didn’t need anything. But that just meant that the shoe argument wouldn’t work anymore.   “Wh-why do y-you want t-to buy me st-stuff anyway….? I d-don’t really ne-need anything. I ha-have clothes, a-and you al-already bought me a pa-pair of shoes…. I h-have enough….”   “One. You got excited over a wardrobe.Two. All of your clothes are from the dump and covered in stitches and patches. The only two decent outfits you have are your UA uniform and your vigilante attire. Three. You got excited over a wardrobe. ”   “H-how many ti-times are y-you gonna bring u-up the wa-wardrobe thing….?” “However many times I have to bring it up before you finally give in and let us buy you at least some clothes. If it’s too fast for you, we don’t have to get too much, but I’d also recommend getting some stationary of some sort. I’m surprised you’ve lasted a little less than a month at UA with supplies that you found among the junk at Dagboah.”   “O-oh, Nezu ac-actually provided m-me with so-some stuff…. H-he gave me m-my uniform as w-well. He ob-obviously knew th-that I ran a-away from my f-foster home, s-so it di-didn’t take lo-long for him t-to figure o-out that I w-was ho-homeless. G-give or take se-seventeen seconds.”   “Alright, just clothes then.” Izuku nodded at that, even though he still seemed conflicted. As they walked into one of the stores, Izuku was immediately overwhelmed by choice.    “I-I’m so u-used to ju-just having t-to use wh-whatever I c-could fi-find a-among the ju-junk in Da-Dagboah….” He murmured when Hizashi asked him why he was freaking out, “it’s r-really we-weird to be ab-able to have a choice i-in what I w-wear, o-other than my vi-vigilante outfit….”   Despite his initial panic, Izuku was quick to find a section of the store he liked. The clearance section.   “Kid, you do know that money isn’t a problem, right….? You don’t have to pick from the clearance section.” Izuku shook his head, “N-no, It’s no-not that, ev-even though I d-don’t really w-wanna spend t-too much. I ac-actually really l-like these sh-shirts, I f-found them a-at Dagboah a-all the t-time. I never un-understood why so m-many people th-threw them away.” He was referring to a selection of shirts that were all around 70% off, all having stupid things written on them in kanji.   “That one just says ‘dress shirt’.” Shouta pointed out. Izuku nodded,”Yeah! I-Isn’t it c-cool?!”   Shouta wouldn’t call it that, but everybody had a different sense of fashion. Izuku’s was just particularly bad. Though he’s a bit of a hypocrite, given that he practically wore the same outfit everyday. He simply gave the boy a nod of his own in response, before Hizashi encouraged the boy to pick out a few. Even though Izuku was still hesitant, in the end he ended up picking four with Hizashi’s guidance along the way. Only a few minutes earlier, both men thought they’d have to walk out the mall with only a pair of red high-tops, so just getting Izuku to pick out some shirts was a win in their book.   Each time they made their way to a new section of the store, it would go: Argue with Izuku for a while;let him consider it; remind him that they want him to pick clothes out and that it wasn’t as if he was causing them any trouble by picking some out;and then have Hizashi help Izuku pick out a few things when he finally gave in.   At some point, they just ended up putting whatever Izuku lingered on for more than three seconds in the cart, and that seemed to work until Izuku noticed what they were doing and just looked down at the floor instead, which meant they had to return to their old strategy.   It was far more trouble to buy Izuku clothes than either man thought it would be, but at least they had gotten there in the end. Now they just had to burn the majority of Izuku’s old wardrobe or return it to where Izuku had found it.   ----------------------------------------------------   When they finally got home after that mess, Izuku felt something fluffy rub against his leg as he tried to take his new clothes to his room. He looked down and saw a black cat nudging him.   Aizawa noticed this, “Oh. I see you’ve met the creatively named ‘Eraser’.” The man gave a death glare to Mic   “You named the other Present! ” The bespectacled man argued back.   “Yes, in revenge.” “Wa-wait, there’s a-another one….?” Izuku looked up at them, crouched down as he stroked Eraser.   Aizawa nodded,”Yeah. Present is probably asleep on our bed. That’s practically all he does,day in, day out.”   “O-oh… I w-won’t disturb him th-then….” He turned back to Eraser to continue giving the cat his attention.   “Do you want to just take him to your room….? He won’t mind if you pick him up.” “R-really…?” Izuku lifted up the cat, and when he gave no meows of protest, Izuku immediately ran to his room with him.   “Izuku! You left your clothes in the hallway!”   “S-SORRY!”   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was nervous to meet Hitoshi’s friends. He didn’t really know what to expect from them.   But he was glad when he realised he already knew one of them.   “Hey, Midoriya!” Uraraka smiled, before turning to Hitoshi, “So, Midoriya is the friend you were gonna introduce us to, Shinsou?”   Izuku whipped his head around, raising an eyebrow at the lavender haired boy, “Your last name is Shinsou? ”   “Your last name is Midoriya?”   “Y-yeah! How di-didn’t you k-know that fro th-the sports f-festival?”   “I could ask you the same question.”   “I-i was re-really nervous! I w-wasn’t thinking st-straight!” Izuku argued.   “Strange. I wasn’t either.”   “H-hey! You’re ju-just stealing my ex-excuse, Hito-kun!!“   “So you admit it’s an excuse?”   “I-” “Sorry to interrupt, but I think the people behind you would appreciate it if you stopped blocking their path and sat down.” Izuku turned to see a bunch of students standing behind him and Hitoshi. He immediately listened to Iida’s words.   Izuku was both scared yet glad that Iida was one of Hitoshi’s friends, because he had something he had to say to the boy,”I-Iida-kun! I’m s-so sorry f-for the sp-sports festival! It w-was very r-rude of me to tr-trick you in-into running ou-out of b-bounds!! I un-understand if y-you cannot f-forgive m for m-my heinous a-act!”    Iida seemed confused by Izuku’s apology,which scared Izuku into thinking that the bespectacled boy was going to reject it, “Whatever do you mean, Midoriya-kun? There was no rule against it, so it was perfectly fine for you to perform such an act! It would not be good sportsmanship for me to get mad over something as trivial as that!” He seemed to be having a battle with the air surrounding him, performing hand-chops as he spoke.   “O-oh! Alright th-then…..” Izuku muttered before looking down at his lap, fiddling with his uniform a bit. He’d look up every now and again as he attempted to be polite and answer Uraraka, Iida, and Asui’s questions. Even though she had told him to call her Tsu, he was still having a bit of trouble with the switch, as he usually saw using first names as disrespectful (if he only had the first name though, he would kind of had to).   He looked up to answer another question when he spotted a familiar head of white and red hair in the distance, sitting on his own while eating soba.   “H-hey, why is To-Todoroki-kun sitting a-alone….?”   “We’ve tried to invite him to sit with us a bunch of times, but he just walks away…” Uraraka sighed.   Izuku got up from his seat and walked up to the bi-coloured boy. It took him a while to build up the courage to tap Todoroki on the shoulder, but when he finally did, the boy had already noticed him, “Oh, hello Midoriya.”   “H-hi, Todoroki-kun! Um, I w-was wondering if yo-you’d like to c-come sit wi-with me, Hi-Hito-kun and h-his fr-friends! They’re pr-pretty nice, e-even though Iida-kun is a b-bit too se-seriou-”   “Sure.” The boy stood up, grabbing his tray as he did so and followed Izuku over to the others as they watched with what could only be described as shock.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku wasn’t having a good day. His classmates had gotten particularly rough with him. He knew he deserved every little bit of it, but that didn’t mean that it hurt any less. He walked into the teachers lounge after school, and immediately went to the corner, curling up into a ball with his head in his lap. The other teachers were becoming used to his presence, even though it had only been a couple of days. He usually met his question limit for the day about a few minutes after he came in, and then spent the rest of his time waiting for Aizawa just scribbling down notes.    Midnight attempted to talk to him, trying to get him to ask her more questions as the boy had so many for her yesterday, but he just curled in on himself more.A few of the other teachers attempted to get a reaction out of the boy, but he wouldn’t budge.   Aizawa finally came in to get Izuku about half an hour later, and as soon as he noticed the boy curled up in the corner, he knelt down in front of him, “Hey, kid. Could you look at me for a minute?”   Izuku lifted his head with a sniff, and Aizawa frowned, “Who gave you that bruise, Izuku?”   Izuku didn’t answer, preferring to keep his eyes trained on the ground.   “Did one of your classmates do that?”   Izuku didn’t answer again, and Aizawa stood up with a sigh, “guess who’s expelling an entire class?” “You’re not expelling an entire class, Shouta,” Midnight shouted from across the room.   “Izuku won’t tell me what’s going on so obviously there’s something wrong.” He replied in a monotone.   “You don’t know who it is though, let alone if it’s the entire class.” Midnight argued back.   Izuku stumbled up and wrapped his arms around Aizawa from behind, “I-It’s fine! Yo-you don’t h-have to do an-anything, let al-alone expel them! Especially the entire c-class! I d-deserve everything th-they do to m-me anyway…. Th-they’re just sh-showing me my p-place…”   “Right, it’s settled, i’m expelling the entirety of 1-C, effective immediately.”   “ SHOUTA! ”   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi had decided to invite Izuku to his favourite cat cafe. The boy had told him about how he loved cats the other day, so Hitoshi decided that the boy would probably like it there. Given how the boy’s eyes sparkled when Hitoshi invited him, he’d most definitely like it there. He waited for Izuku outside of the cafe, and it wasn’t long before he heard a “Hi-Hito-kun!!” ring out.   He turned to greet the boy, and felt his face flush. Izuku was in a dark green bunnie hoodie and Hitoshi may or may not have found it cute. Anybody would, though. Izuku was cute in general.   “ Nope, stop that brain.” Hitoshi scolded his thoughts before giving Izuku a small smile, “You ready to go inside?”    Izuku gave him an enthused nod, “Y-yup! I br-brought all of m-my life savings t-today! I w-wanna treat y-you for being s-so nice as to in-invite me here t-today!”    “Izu, you didn’t have to do that-” Hitoshi began, but then the boy produced a five hundred yen coin, “.....is that your life savings….?”   “Y-yup! We’ll g-get a bunch of t-time with this, ri-right?!”   “...Izu, just an hour is one thousuand two hundred yen.”   Izuku’s jaw dropped, “ How m-much?! How c-can anybody af-afford that??”   “It’s pretty easy. They’re just not poor.”   Izuku pouted as they walked up to the counter, “This s-sucks…. I w-wanted to p-pay for th-the both of u-us, but I c-can’t even af-afford an h-hour just for y-you….”   Hitoshi shook his head, “Nah, don’t worry. I’ll pay.” Izuku looked up at him in bewilderment, “A-are you sure?? I d-don’t want y-you to have to p-pay for everything th-though!”   Hitoshi scanned the prices, “Uhhhhh… you can afford a treat or two. They’re two hundred and fifty yen each.” “P-perfect! Thank y-you, Hito-kun!” Hitoshi didn’t get why Izuku was so glad about spending his money on him, but he didn’t question it as he paid for two hours for the each of them, at least for now. They could always get more later.   Since they weren’t planning on eating, they were escorted to the room next to the cafe. Hitoshi couldn’t help smirk when Izuku gasped and immediately knelt down next to one of the cats, before being to pet them. He looked up at Hitoshi, “Hito-kun, th-they’re purring! Th-they’re so much s-softer th-than Eraser….”   “Eraser? Is that your cat?” Hitoshi asked as he sat down next to Izuku, up against the wall, before beginning to stroke a cat who had strode up to him. He came here quite often, so most of the cats were familiar with him.   Izuku nodded, “Y-yeah! He li-likes sleeping on m-my bed. I th-thought Eraser was s-soft, but th-this cats fur is li-like velvet….” “Yeah, she’s Marshmallow. She’s always been soft and squishy, so they named her that. They found her a couple months after I started coming here,  so I’ve watched her grow up.” “A-aw…. That’s so s-sweet… sh-she’s adorable….. H-how long have y-you been coming h-here?”   “Since I was about ten. They only had like, four or five cats then, and I was one of their only customers. It’s still quite quaint, but it makes enough to take care of a ton of cats now.” He scanned the room. There were about seventeen now, if Hitoshi had counted right, “I’ve always loved this place though, especially when it’s quiet.” Izuku yawned as he gave Marshmallow one of the treats he had bought, having given the other to Hitoshi, “Y-yeah… it’s nice he-here…. Peaceful…”   “Yeah, it’s always been that way…. I could sit here for hours, just spending time with the cats. Sometimes I talk to the workers, but I usually just lay against this wall, petting a cat absentmindedly as the time flies by. Sometimes I wonder if they’re ripping me off, since the time goes so quickly, even though I know they never would. It would still be worth it anyways.” He turned to Izuku to see if the green-haired boy was still listening to his rant about the cafe, but he just felt his cheeks flush red again.   Izuku had fallen asleep, cuddling an also-sleeping Marshmallow. He wanted to wake the boy up and keep talking to him, but he looked so peaceful and adorable , and Hitoshi knew you weren’t supposed to wake the cats. He knew Izuku probably needed this as well, given that his eye bags were even deeper than Hitoshi’s.   When the lady came in to ask if they wanted more time, Hitoshi didn't hesitate to reach for his wallet.   ----------------------------------------------------   The other teachers knew that Shouta was protective of Izuku, given the fact that he expelled an entire class that wasn't even his own after the bullying that had taken place. They knew that he went a bit soft around the boy as well. But they didn't exactly know the extent of it until now.   Izuku hadn't gotten any sleep last night, due to him ‘getting the perfect amount of sleep at the cat cafe with Hito-kun’, and even though Shouta knew that the boy could survive off of that, he still forced him to take a nap during lunch after he ate.    When Nemuri walked into the teachers lounge during lunch and spotted a yellow sleeping bag on the floor, she thought nothing of it. It was a regular occurrence.   When the sleeping bag rolled over and she realised it wasn’t Aizawa inside, she realised that yup, Shouta was definitely soft for Izuku.   When Shouta came into the longue to collect his kid, Nemuri began to relentlessly tease him for it. The man completely ignored her in favour of waking up Izuku, but Nemuri knew that she had accomplished her goal from the slight flush of embarrassment across her friend's cheeks.   ----------------------------------------------------   “H-hey, Hito-kun? What ki-kind of w-weapon do you u-use…?” Izuku asked Hitoshi during lunch one day. He would be transferring courses soon, since Aizawa wanted to keep an eye on him and make sure Izuku didn’t go through the same thing as he did with the original 1-C.    “Oh, you know Aizawa’s capture weapon? I use one of those.” Hitoshi replied, and Izuku’s eyes lit up.   “Wh-where’d you g-get a capture we-weapon ?!”   “All I had to do was ask the Support Department for one.” As soon as Hitoshi finished his sentence, Izuku was almost out of the cafeteria. He soon got yelled at for running though, so he had to slow down.   “Hmmmm... I can't get a capture scarf as well, or I'd be too similar to Hito-kun... If villains attack us again, having two people fighting in the same fashion wouldn't be ideal....” Izuku thought as he walked towards his destination. But he suddenly realised what the perfect weapon would be, and he began booking it to the Support Department once again.   He hadn’t seen Hatsume during lunch before, so he was quite sure that she spent her lunches in the Development Studio, given how enthusiastically she spoke about her babies at the Sports Festival, even going as far to trick Iida so she could show them off to investors. Izuku guessed that the boy was more gullible than he originally perceived him to be.   Izuku threw the development studio door open as soon as he had worked up the confidence to yell, “HELLO HATSUME-SAN, POWER LOADER-SENSEI, I AM HERE FOR KNIVES!”   Power Loader simply shook his head though, “Sorry, kid, but Aizawa made sure to tell us to not give you access to knives. You’ll have to find a weapon that isn’t so sharp and-”   “Stabby!” Hatsume interjected.   “Yeah, just one that can’t easily kill somebody.”   Izuku nodded, apologised for the intrusion, and then closed the door before grieving over the loss of his access to knives.   When he went to the teachers lounge to wait for Aizawa after school that day,he didn’t ask the other teachers any questions. There was only one important question he needed an answer to at the moment.   When the man finally walked in, Izuku was quick to ask the man his question, “Ai-Aizawa! Wy d-did you tell Ha-Hatsume-san and Power L-Loader-sensei that they -aren’t allowed to g-give me knives….?” “Because I really do not trust you with anything sharp. And I didn’t trust you to not ask the support department for knives, so I made sure to inform them to not provide you with knives.”   “W-why don’t you tr-trust me….?”“It’s not that i don’t trust you, it’s just that I would never leave you alone in a room with an uncovered electrical socket while you have access to a fork. And I definitely would never let you have a knife. I have five years worth of proof regarding how reckless you are.”   “I-is there anything I c-can do to ma-make you trust me m-more…?” “No, the only thing that would make me trust you more would be if you stopped getting hurt for idiotic reasons.”   “S-so…. Never?”   “Never, exactly.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was probably the most nervous he had ever been. He didn’t know why. He had been in much more dangerous situations than transferring classes.   As he followed Aizawa into the room, he spotted his friends dotted around the room, which was slightly comforting. He ignored the strange prospect of him having friends in favour of focusing on what Aizawa was saying.   “-his name is Izuku Midoriya. You may remember him as the general studies student who got second in the sports festival. From now on, he will be a part of Class 1-A. Be sure to welcome him.”   Izuku attempted to keep a straight face, but when he heard a snap in the corner of the room and looked over to find the source, his heart dropped.   Oh. Izuku had forgotten that Kacchan was a part of Class 1-A.   All he could do now was prepare for his demise.  Izuku could feel his heart rate speeding up as he felt at least one person’s eyes on him the entire morning. He got that people were interested, yes, and he didn’t mind that at all. But when it meant that they were staring at him almost constantly, that was where he wanted to draw the line. But if he got mad at them for simply being interested, then they’d despise him. So he kept his mouth shut.   He’d been purposely sat at the back. Even though he hadn’t really told Aizawa much about Kacchan, he was attempting to keep the blonde away from Izuku as much as he possibly could. Izuku didn’t really get why, but he was still being cautious and was avoiding questioning the man, so he kept his mouth shut.   Lunch was as per usual, for the most part. Iida had asked him if he was enjoying being a part of the hero course now, and Izuku just lied and told the boy he was loving it. Sure, he was excited to be there, of course he was excited, but he knew that he'd never be a hero anyway. Even if he failed to kill himself once again, he'd still get kicked out at some point.   Because Izuku's quirkless. He'll never be able to compete with the other students. He's already so many steps behind them. Sure, he'd spent five years being a vigilante, but that was self-taught. They'd had almost two months worth of actual hero classes at this point. They'd be far more skilled than him.   He absolutely dreaded for the time when he would have his afternoon classes. At least Aizawa would be there.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku's heart dropped as soon as he made his way to gym gamma. Aizawa wasn't the one teaching them in the afternoon. Rather, it was All Might. The man's booming voice made Izuku just want to run and hide. Sure, he used to admire the man, but he had a new hero that he admired now. One that was much quieter.   "GOOD AFTERNOON, STUDENTS! TODAY, WE WILL BE DOING ONE ON ONE BATTLES! FIRST, WHY DON’T WE PIT YOUNG SHINSOU AND YOUNG KAMINARI AGAINST ONE ANOTHER?”   Izuku attempted to ignore how annoying their teacher was, rather focusing on Hitoshi. He knew how his quirk worked, but the other boy never told him any specifics. Now, he’d get to see him in action and maybe find out more about his quirk! Or maybe he wouldn’t, because the blonde (Kaminari, was it?) almost immediately fell under Hitoshi’s control, and was ordered by the taller boy to walk out of bounds. Even though it was barely even a battle, it still piqued Izuku’s interest, though anything could really do that.   “Hi-Hito-kun, hey Hi-hito-kun!” Izuku bounded up the boy, “I n-never asked, wh-what are the l-limits of your qu-quirk?! Can you u-use it on m-multiple people at o-once? Oooo, maybe y-you could u-use it th-through a megaphone a-and try to st-start a chant, b-but then they try t-to join in and bam, they’re a-all brainwashed !!”   Hitoshi shook his head as the next pair began their battle, “No, I can’t use it through a megaphone. Same goes for a voice modifier, as useful as that would be. If my voice is distorted, my quirk won’t take effect.” “Hmmmm…. Th-that’s annoying..” Izuku thought for a moment, before an idea popped into his mind,”W-wait! I had th-this prototype once th-that might be ab-able to help you! R-rather than using a d-direct voice changer, I designed a m-much more complex d-device called persona ch-chords! The m-mask has a bunch o-of different plates that shift t-to modify your v-voice without di-distorting it!! I w-wouldn’t recommend using th-the prototype lo-long-term, but if it w-works, maybe I can a-ask Hatsume-san if w-we can make it for r-real! It w-would be a big help f-for hero work! I can t-teach you how to u-use it as well! It’s a li-little confusing at fi-first, but once you g-grasp the basics it’s r-really easy to learn the r-rest!”   Hitoshi seemed to contemplate Izuku’s offer for a moment, before smiling with a small nod, “It’s always worth a try. Thanks, Izu.” “Y-you’re welcome, Hito-kun!”   “Hito-kun, eh? Never thought you'd let somebody give you a nickname. Did Midoriya ask you to call him Izu, or did you come up with that all by yourself?~" The blonde that Hitoshi had fought was smirking at them.   "Do you want to become a fried circuit, Kaminari?" Hitoshi threatened the now-confused boy, who raised an eyebrow.   "What do you-"   "Over-exert your quirk."   Kaminari let out a burst of lightning, and when the smoke that had appeared around him cleared, he let out a "Wheyyyy!", a dumb expression on his face as he put his thumbs up.   A few students began to laugh at his antics…. Including Izuku. As soon as he let the little giggle slip, he covered his mouth and looked down at the floor in his shame, muttering a small,"Sorry…." In apology.   "It's fine, Izu. It's meant to make you laugh." Hitoshi reassured him, "Almost all of us have laughed at Kaminari in dunce mode, at some point or another."   Izuku nodded before lifting his head to look at his friend, "A-alright. You're really c-comfortable with your q-quirk now, Hito-kun! I'm g-glad!"   "Yeah. I was hesitant about using it for the first week or so, but Aizawa put me out of that mindset real quick."   "'Raser's g-great, isn't he…?" Hitoshi nodded before an expression of confusion made its way onto his face. He must have realised Izuku's mistake.   "Wait…. Do you that he's Eraserhead already? He didn't mention it in class this morning."   “O-oh, um, yeah! He p-patrols my area!” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either, “He’s my f-favourite hero! His scarf is s-such an interesting s-support item! And so c-complex! And his quirk is i-incredible too! He also isn’t b-bothered about being in t-the spotlight, so he w-works in areas where th-there are little to no h-heros patrolling! It’s really a-admirable! H-” “You’re rambling again, Izu.” Izuku felt his cheeks flush, “But yeah, he is pretty cool. Sometimes I’d be able to catch one of those videos of him in action, and I’d save them before they were taken down. That’s how I decided on getting a capture scarf as well, I was inspired by him.”   “Oh, right! Y-you said you had o-one! I can’t w-wait to see you in a-action! I bet you’re g-great at-” “YOUNG MIDORIYA! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME? IT’S TIME FOR YOUR FIGHT!” All Might called. Izuku ignored how he felt as if he was going to deaf from this man at some point and walk over, preparing for battle. After bracing himself, he looked up to see who he was fighting.   Oh.   Oh no.   “SINCE YOU AND YOUNG BAKUGO NEVER GOT TO GO AGAINST EACH OTHER IN THE SPORTS FESTIVAL, I THOUGHT THAT IT WOULD BE GOOD FOR YOU TWO TO HAVE A REMATCH NOW!”     “Deku…. I don’t know what the fuck happened with you at the sports festival, but you can’t run this time.” The blonde growled, popping off a few explosions from his palm.   Izuku proved him wrong, setting off as soon as he managed to get his legs to move. He threw the gym doors open, despite the shouts he heard from his classmates.   -------------------------------------   Shouta came into the teachers lounge, not expecting there to be a sobbing Izuku curled up in the corner. Nemuri noticed him and sighed in relief, “Shouta! He came in about halfway through last period.We’ve tried to talk to him but he won’t say anything. He’s just been sitting there, crying.” Shouta walked over to Izuku and crouched down in front of him, “Hey, kid, what happened in class this afternoon…?”   Izuku was completely unresponsive still, simply continuing to sob. Shouta attempted to get through to him a few more times, but to no avail. He sighed before getting up, “Can you guys stay with him for a while longer? I need to go ask All Might a few questions. ”   The other teachers simply nodded, before Shouta left the room, making his way to Gym Gamma with what he was sure must’ve been a steely glare, given the man’s worried expression when he opened the door. The man was simply packing away equipment in his true form, all the students having left already.   “Yagi, we need to talk.” Was his simple explanation for why he had burst into unannounced. Before All Might could even question why, Aizawa had grabbed the man’s wrist and began pulling him to the teachers lounge.   When All Might spotted the sobbing Izuku in the corner, he seemed to realise something,“Is this regarding what happened with Young Midoriya in class today? Did he tell you why he ran out suddenly?” “Oh. So something did happen. I thought as much. What happened before he ran out?”   “Can’t you just ask him why? He’s right there.” “You think we haven’t tried? ”   All Might gulped,“Well, we were having one on one battles, and it was Young Midoriya’s turn to fight against Young Bakugo-”   “You did what. ”    “I paired him up with….Young Bakugo?”   “You absolute idiot , I’ve been trying to keep those two apart all day, and then you just had to pair them up. “ Shouta hissed at the skeletal man, “Didn’t you realise at the sports festival? The kid is terrified of Bakugo. Even you should’ve been able to figure that out in a heartbeat. ” “I just thought he was nervous, given how he had made it to the finale of one of the biggest events in Japan! Millions watch the sports festival, anybody would be nervous!”   “Every other teacher figured it out, Yagi. You should’ve been able to as well.” Shouta narrowed his eyes at the man before making his way back over to Izuku while a few of his co-workers attempted to stifle their laughter at the sight of the number one hero cowering.   -------------------------------------   Izuku didn’t know how long it had been when Aizawa finally returned. The man shouted for a while at a skeletal figure that had followed him in before he tried to talk to Izuku again.He simply stood up and clutched the end of the man’s scarf. Aizawa seemed to accept that and said something to his colleagues before walking out the room, Izuku in tow. He didn’t register anything the man said to Mic, nor a single word the bespectacled man attempted to say to him. Izuku only knew that they were talking.   Before Izuku even knew it, they were back at the apartment. He was in his room before he knew it too. Everything was passing by so quickly. He curled up on his bed. He was exhausted, but before he could even contemplate falling asleep, Kacchan had a few words for him.   How the fuck do you expect to be useful when you can’t even fight me? Let alone be a hero. You can’t do shit when you’re fucking terrified of everything all the time. You might as well just die now if you’re going to pull crap like this. You’re a fucking failure, Deku.   All Izuku could do was listen to Kacchan’s words. He knew he was right. Izuku could never be a hero if he burst out into tears at the simple notion of having to fight Kacchan. He still couldn’t control his emotions, how had he even fought criminals for so long when Kacchan scared him that badly? He hadn’t even been able to respond to Aizawa earlier. All he could do was sob .    “Wh-what’s wrong with m-me…?” Izuku sniffed. He knew something was, but he didn’t have an answer. He just hoped that he would know before it was too late.   -------------------------------------   Izuku wasn’t exactly ready to have to return to the hero course, especially after what he’d done yesterday. But it wasn’t as if he could skip, given how he was staying at his teachers’ apartment.   As soon as he walked through the door, he felt eyes on him just like yesterday. He wished he could wear his hoodie to school. He could just pull on his drawstrings and his hood would immediately hide his face (and his shame) from view. He simply sat down though, attempting to ignore the multiple pairs of eyes that felt as if they were burning holes in the back of his skull.   Izuku couldn’t really ignore it when Kacchan slammed his hand down on his desk. He stared down at his desk rather than looking up at the blonde. Izuku could practically hear his fuming.   “Deku! What the fuck was that yesterday? Why do you keep running away from me, you bastard? You can’t just keep running from all your fucking problems! This is the third time, Deku! Give up!”   “Ka-Kacchan….” Izuku managed to stutter, but he couldn’t get anything else out.   “What? Are you finally gonna give me some fucking answers?! Speak clearly, Deku! I can’t hear you!” When Izuku still didn’t answer, he just got even angrier, “Deku! Speak to me, you fucki-”   A grey scarf wrapped around Kacchan’s mouth. Aizawa had come in,” Bakugo. Stop antagonizing Midoriya and get to your seat. Class is starting.”   The scarf loosened but when Kacchan tried to go back to interrogating Izuku, the man just grabbed the blonde by his collar and dragged him to his seat. He heard a couple of whispers from the other students, and Izuku felt even worse than he did when he woke up this morning. At least he had lunch to look forward to, and after school as well. He wouldn’t deny that he may have ended up in tears a couple of times during his morning lessons, but that was only for him and maybe the student sat next to him, if they’d even noticed, to know.   He ended up proposing the idea of working on an actual version of the persona chords prototype to Hatsume. She seemed quite enthusiastic about it, though she was enthusiastic about everything. He was excited to work on it, but he first needed to see if the prototype even worked within the condition of Hitoshi’s quirk.   They made their way to Gym Gamma after school, Aizawa watching over them as Izuku explained how to shift the plates to Hitoshi.    “O-okay! So, um…. Try to i-imitate somebody using the p-plates, and then see if y-you can brainwash me, H-Hito-kun!”   “Are you sure you want me to brainwash you, Izu?”    “Y-yeah, of course! Don’t w-worry, I’ll be fine!” Izuku reassured him.   Hitoshi sighed for a moment, but took Izuku’s word for it. After shifting the plates around, he seemed to be ready. They nodded at each other before Hitoshi began, “Is that my problem child?” He spoke in a deadpan voice that Izuku recognised immediately. Now that he thought about it, and was no longer convinced he was in danger, he could admit that Aizawa saying that was funny.   Izuku began to laugh, “H-Hito-kun, I-” He could no longer speak as it felt like a switch flipped in his mind. Izuku could no longer control his actions and it was freaking him out. Hitoshi noticed this and immediately released his quirk.   “Izu, I’m so sorry-” “I-It’s fine…. It worked, r-right? That’s all th-that matters! I’m so g-glad, Hito-kun!” Izuku was definitely not fine, but he had to be strong for Hitoshi. He didn’t want to be the reason the boy regressed into hating his quirk once again. So he kept quiet.   -------------------------------------   When they got home, Izuku walked over to the couch and sat down with a sigh. Aizawa sat down next to him and they sat there in silence for a while, “It’s only been two days and you’ve already had to deal with an imbecile and an asshole. You were scared by Shinsou’s mind control as well, weren’t you?”   “...I-I’m sorry, Aizawa…. I’m so w-weak… I can’t even d-deal with Kacchan, or H-Hito-kun’s quirk…. It’s st-stupid, I know… I’m so s-sorry…..” Izuku sobbed.   “Kid, no, that’s not what I… Come here.” Izuku didn’t hesitate to throw his arms around the man, sobbing into his shoulder.   The man didn’t seem to mind, “You’re not weak. All Might is an idiot and somehow didn’t realise at the sports festival how much Bakugo terrifies you.”Izuku was about to interject but Aizawa continued, “And for good reason. I know he did more to you than you told me, and you don’t have to speak to me about whatever he did to you. But just know that his actions don’t make you weak. I know weak, Izuku. You’re not it.”   If Izuku fell asleep with his arms around Aizawa, well…. Nobody had to know that.   -------------------------------------   Izuku was checking his phone before school, and his eyes widened as he read through the hero message boards.   ‘Beloved Vigilante Rabbit Missing From Mustafu! Where did our hero of five years disappear to?’   Izuku scrolled through the comments, and he ran to Aizawa, tripping over his own feet as he did so in his rush,“Aizawa! Ai-Aizawa! Look, look!”   “What am I looking at?” The man sighed as he took a sip of his coffee.   “People a-actually like me! Th-they’re wondering where I w-went, and they actually m-miss me, and I-”   “You’re not going back to being a vigilante, Izuku.”   “B-but they miss me, Ai-Aizawa!”   “Izuku, that doesn’t mean you can continue being a vigilante, just because people miss you.”   Izuku still didn’t want to accept that he couldn’t be a vigilante anymore. There were still so many people to help, and they actually enjoyed his presence. Sure, it was most likely because they didn’t know he was quirkless, but it was still nice to know that they liked him. Maybe he could still be a vigilante…   Without Aizawa knowing, of course. He could never let Aizawa know, or he’d be screwed. But for now, he had to go to school.   -------------------------------------   Izuku was a bit confused when a boy with spiky red hair walked up to him before class, followed by a pink-skinned girl with horns and the boy Izuku had met the other day, who he remembered as Kaminari. They all seemed to overflow with confidence, and they proved that to him as soon as they began talking.   “Yo, Midoriya! I’m surprised we haven’t talked yet!” The redhead grinned, flashing his shark-like teeth, “I’m Eijiro Kirishima! Nice to meet you!” “A-ah, um-” “Hey, we met before! I’m Denki Kaminari! You’re Shinsou’s best friend, right? I mean, he lets you call him Hito-kun, so you must be close!”   “I g-guess-”   “Hi, Midori! I’m Mina Ashido! It’s nice to have you here! I wish you’d replaced the grapist, but he’ll probably get expelled soon enough anyway.” She shrugged.   “I….um…” “So, how are you enjoying the hero course? Are you having a good time here so far? I know Bakubro can be a little scary, but I promise he’s not all bad!”   “Kiri, they obviously know each other! Bakugo called him Deku, And Midori called him Kacchan! You're nicknames are really cute by the way, Midori!” Mina beamed at Izuku. He guessed she was just trying to be nice, they all were, but he couldn’t really get a word in and he was getting a bit freaked out as they all crowded around his desk and attempted to have a conversation with him.   “Hey, leave him alone, can’t you see you’re overwhelming him?” Hitoshi’s voice somehow managed to cut through their loud conversation. They all looked at him before looking back at Izuku, seemingly realising what the boy meant.   “Oh, sorry Midori! Were we scaring you? I promise, we didn’t mean to!”   “Yeah, Midoriya, if you feel uncomfortable, just say so!” Kirishima flashed him another grin.   “If you wanna be friends still, come and talk to us! We can’t wait to see you and your quirk in action at some point, I’m sure it’ll be amazing!” Kaminari waved before he and his friends walked to their seats.   “Wh-what just happened….?” Izuku managed to stutter.   Hitoshi shrugged, “That’s just how they are. You’ll get used to it at some point….hopefully.”   -------------------------------------   Izuku was so glad to feel the evening breeze once again, even if it was short-lived as he had to put his hood back up. He was glad to be back. It had felt like forever before he had been able to just hit somebody over the head with a metal stick. Sure, he’d be able to do it in his hero classes at some point, but he didn’t couldn’t just start smacking teenagers in the head with his baton. Even though Aizawa knows that he can handle a baton, it still made sense that the man wouldn’t want Izuku to accidentally murder his students. It was just a precautionary measure.   He knew that no longer performing his vigilante duties was also a precautionary measure, but what was Izuku meant to do? This was practically his entire life for half a decade, it wasn't something he could just give up. He loved the rush of adrenaline through his veins as he fought criminals in the alleys of Mustafu. He loved doodling on sticky notes that he’d stick to the criminals forehead or nose while they sat there, bound by zip-ties. He loved the thrill of each passing moment, knowing that every second that passed could be a second closer to his capture.   What he didn’t love was when that capture actually occurred.   “Kid, did you really think I wouldn’t find out about this?” Aizawa sighed as he began to drag Izuku back to the apartment, bound in the man’s capture scarf.   “W-well, I was hoping you wo-wouldn’t….” He mumbled. Both he and Aizawa knew he was pouting under the mask.   Aizawa sighed once again as he lifted Izuku onto his back to make sure he wouldn’t run off as they walked up the apartment complex’s stairs. When they finally got back to the apartment, he put Izuku down. He stared at the now-unmasked boy for a moment, “No more vigilante activities, alright? Your case is already annoying enough to deal with.”   “Okayyyy, dad….” Izuku murmured sarcastically. It took him a moment before he realised what he’d actually said, “W-wait, wait, I- um-” His face began to burn and he swore he could see Aizawa tearing up a little. He just assumed it was because of overusing his quirk, as stupid as that was, and began to push the man out of the apartment, “C-C’mon da- ‘raser, you h-have to keep on pa-patrolling!”   Izuku lay awake after the man left, wondering why the hell it felt right to call Aizawa ‘dad’.   -------------------------------------   Shouta wasn’t expecting a civilian to come up to him during his patrol, but that was exactly what happened the night after he had to drag Izuku home.    “Hey, Eraserhead! Aren’t you friends with Rabbit? Why were you dragging him yesterday? When is Rabbit gonna be back?”   Shouta thought about his answer for a moment,”He’ll be back someday. Don’t wait around for him, but he’ll be back.”   That was what Shouta truly believed. Izuku would be back, as a licensed, legal hero this time. He’d make sure of it. Izuku didn't really know what to expect from his hero costume. He had talked to Mei about it, basically just showing her a picture of his Rabbit outfit and saying he wanted that, but with any improvements that Mei could think of.   She'd been excited at the prospect of being given a costume to work on, which was…. horrifying, but he still trusted her enough to give her his Rabbit costume. He kept the mask though. He could never let go of his mask.   When he opened up the case, labelled with his assigned seat number, he found a note from the girl among his costume.   "Hey, Mr. First place! I hope you like the costume! I included a bunch of babies that I'm sure you'll enjoy! It ain't exactly like the original outfit you showed me, but I tried to keep to what you were going for! The support industry pretty much just has one rule! To always satisfy the customer! I know you'll love it! -Mei Hatsume, future CEO of Hatsume Industries!"   He knew already that she most likely had included a couple of support items, but given the thickness of the instruction manual, you'd think she'd given him a few hundred. He skimmed it through while he put his costume on, and he just got more excited with each word.    Izuku immediately ran up to Hitoshi as they all gathered before class, waiting for their teacher to arrive, "Hito-kun! Hi-Hito-kun, look, Hatsume-san f-finished my costume! Oh, yours l-looks really cool, by the w-way!" He admired the boy's capture scarf, his lavender halter neck (which Izuku excitedly pointed out, 'We're b-both wearing halter necks! Th-that's so cool!!'), and his persona chords that Mei and Izuku had worked on during lunch and after school for a few days.   "Yours looks pretty good too, Izu. It reminds me of something,but I can't remember what…"   Izuku's eyes widened and he rushed to defend himself, "O-oh, well, it's in-inspired by this vi-vigilante that patrols my a-area, so that might be w-why!"   "Oh. Why a vigilante and not a spotlight hero? I didn't know you were interested in them."   "I'm i-interested in all s-sorta heroes, no matter if t-they're licensed or not!"   "Of course you are. And let me guess, you've analysed him in your notebook too?" Hitoshi smirked, and Izuku felt his cheeks flush.   "H-how did you know a-about that, Hito-kun?!"   "You've been pulling it out from who knows where during heroics lessons and muttering about everybody's quirks."   "O-oh….um, why d-don't I tell you about th-the cool costume Hatsume-san m-made for me?!" Izuku attempted to change the subject, "If I pull on the left drawstring of my hoodie, then a grabbing hook shoots out of this part on the sleeve of my right arm! And if I pull on my right drawstring, I can communicate with people! I have to be pulling it while I talk though. And if I tug it twice, I can send out a signal for help, which includes my location so they know how to find me! For safety purposes though, if I pull both neither will activate! Oh, and most of the tech is in my mask! That's what I communicate with people with! It's also a voice changer, though it's not as complex as yours! Oh, it can also voice activate things! Like my taser gloves! And-"   "Problem child, you are not going to be tasing people with your gloves."   Izuku turned to the man with a pout, even though it wasn't visible under his mask,"B-but Aizawa-sensei, you only said no k-knives! You never s-said no tasers! And a-anyway, this is one of t-the ones that Hatsume-san c-came up with h-herself! I mostly came up w-with the design, the s-sticky notes and zip-ties in l-little pouches on my s-sleeves, and the collapsable ba-baton!"   "I shouldn't have to specify 'no tasers'. And you don't need sticky notes or zip-ties."   "B-but Rabbit uses th-them!"   "You're not Rabbit."   Izuku bit his lip, before nodding, "Y-yes, Aizawa-sensei…."   Izuku wasn't going to ditch his taser gloves. Hatsume has made them for him, and it wasn't as if they were lethal. At least he hoped they weren't. He wasn't sure if Hatsume would have made it so he could control the shock he administered from them. He'd have to check the instruction manual again.   And he wouldn't ditch his zip-ties and sticky notes either. He still wanted to stick to his trademark tells. Even if it may not be appropriate for a pro, he wasn't going to live long enough to become one anyway.   ----------------------------------------------------   When Aizawa walked into class that morning, the single sentence of, “Today, you’ll be picking your hero aliases” sent class 1-A into an uproar. He had to use his quirk to quiet them all down.   “But first, we must talk about the pro draft picks I mentioned the other day.” Well, for Izuku, it was just this morning. He knew he wasn’t going to have any, seeing as it was most likely that nobody knew he was a hero course student now, but he still decided to listen in, “It’s based on who the pros think will be ready to join the hero workforce after another two or three years of experience, so you could say it’s a way for them to show interest in your futures.” Oh. Maybe Izuku didn’t really have much of a reason to listen to this. But he’d always take a chance to learn more about the world of heroes.   “But there’s ample time for their interest to wane before you graduate. And any and all offers can be arbitrarily revoked. It happens quite often.” “So if we’re picked now, that just means there’ll be higher hurdles in the years to come!” Mina raised a hand up to pump the air, seemingly excited about the prospect of a challenge.   “Yes. Now, here’re the complete draft pick numbers.” Aizawa pulled out a remote and pressed a button on it, a hologram appearing on the board, “Those who got to the final round are the only ones who received offers, excluding Midoriya for obvious reasons, but the rest of you will have a chance to work with pros, whether you received an offer or not. It’s true that you have already experienced more than most” The man must’ve been referring to the USJ attack. It still sent shivers down Izuku’s spine, “but seeing the pros in action and taking part yourselves will still be worthwhile training.”   “That’s where our hero names come in!” Kaminari grinned at the idea of deciding their aliases.   “This is getting really fun!!” Uraraka turned to the blonde, beaming as well.   Aizawa continued talking,“They’re only tentative, but you still want to pick something appropriate-”   “OR ELSE YOU’LL KNOW TRUE HELL!” Midnight burst into the room, “ The name you pick now may be what the world ends up calling you. If you don’t pick a good name, you may end up regretting it for the rest of your career! That’s happened to plenty of pros out there!”   “Yes, true enough. So Midnight will be assessing the sensibility of the names you pick.What kind of future do you see for yourself? The name you choose will bring you ever closer to cementing a certain image, because names are capable of reflecting one’s true character.” Aizawa walked out from behind his podium and began climbing into his sleeping bag.   “Wait! Aizawa-sensei, didn’t you have to pick your hero name? Why aren’t you helping us?” Iida questioned their teacher.   “Mic picked it.” Was his simple answer before he flopped on the ground and fell asleep. Izuku was glad that Aizawa wouldn’t be the one helping them with their names. At least he could have the name he wanted now.   He watched the other students as they came up with and presented their hero aliases. Certain ones were…. questionable, yes, but Midnight immediately shot them down. Other than Aoyama’s, she just shortened his name, to everyone’s surprise. He adored all the others though. From Froppy, to Uravity, to Chargebolt and especially Hitoshi’s ‘Mindblank’. A few students left their hero names undecided, opting for their first names for now.    Midnight turned to face Izuku,”You’re last, Midoriya. Do you have a hero name yet?” Izuku nodded and stood up, eyes trained on the ground so he would have to avoid the prying eyes of his classmates. He held up the board and began to speak, “U-um…. My vi- hero n-name is gonna be R-Rabbit….”   He was so glad that the rest of UA’s staff hadn’t been informed about what activities Izuku used to partake in. The only people that knew were Aizawa, Mic, Nezu and maybe Power Loader. So he didn’t have to worry about the woman rejecting his alias. As he sat back down, he felt a few people glaring at him, but he didn’t want to look up to see who they were.   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi was confused. First, Izuku’s hero costume, and now his name. His costume resembled one of Mustafu's vigilantes, while the name was the exact same. He hadn't heard much concerning Rabbit recently, but there were still a couple of videos online that he could watch to see why Izuku wanted to imitate this vigilante.   He clicked on the first one he found. A short person wearing a cropped hoodie over a halter neck, Rabbit, was beating down a gang. The camera footage was a bit shaky, but he was still able to recognise that Rabbit's fighting style was similar, if not the exact same as Izuku's. Hitoshi wondered why Izuku was so dedicated to copying Rabbit. Wouldn't h-   Oh.   Hitoshi had a thought that was just as unlikely as it was likely. He didn't want to believe that it was true, but it only made sense.   Izuku wasn't just imitating Rabbit. Izuku was Rabbit. And he was also a complete idiot.    Other people would end up realising that Izuku was Rabbit and that he wasn't simply inspired by the vigilante. Sure, the costume was a little different, but the name was the same. Didn't Izuku know how easy it was to figure out?   He'd have to confirm his suspicions first, but if he was right, Hitoshi would need to try and teach Izuku how to not be so obvious.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was approached by Hitoshi after heroics one day, "O-oh, hey Hito-kun, h-how are you?"   "I need to ask you something."   "O-oh, um, sure! Wh-what do you want to a-ask me….?"   "It's something personal. You probably wouldn't want other people to hear."   Izuku attempted to ignore how ominous that sounded. He obliged, since they didn't have any more classes and he'd just he waiting for Aizawa in the teachers lounge otherwise. They sat in their old lunch spot behind the school. It would feel nice to be back there, but Izuku still didn't know the circumstances of why they were there again in the first place. He trusted Hitoshi, if course he did, but he couldn't help but be scared either way.    "You're that vigilante, aren't you?"   "U-uh, I don't know w-what you mean, Hi-Hito-kun….! What's a vi-vigilante?"   "You're a terrible liar, Izu."   "I-I'll have to work on th-that…. Not that I'm l-lying or anything!"   "Are you sure you're not lying to me, Izu?"   "Of c-course n-"   "Are you the vigilante Rabbit?"   Izuku nodded against his will before Hitoshi released control, "H-Hito-kun! Please don't do t-that again-"   "I'm sorry, Izu." Hitoshi sighed, "But you really need to be more discrete with your vigilante identity, everyone will figure you out."   Izuku didn't really care though. He was going to die in a little over a month, it didn't matter if they knew he was Rabbit. As long as his classmates never found out he was quirkless. Even if it would be deserved, he didn't want his last month alive to be full of suffering.   "It's f-fine if they f-find out. I don't m-mind. Just please d-don't tell them y-yourself. If they ever f-find out I'm quirkless, then R-Rabbit will become a-associated with weakness and u-uselessness…. I don't want t-that."   Hitoshi frowned at that, but nodded, "Of course, Izu."   "Th-thank you, Hito-kun."   ----------------------------------------------------   “H-hey dad-” Izuku’s hand moved over his mouth, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. He kept messing up recently by calling Aizawa ‘dad’, though it was mostly in private, the only other person who’d heard him say it being Mic.   Aizawa didn’t seem to mind, but it could just be the man attempting to spare Izuku’s feelings.   When he slipped up again only a few hours later though, Aizawa finally brought it up, "You can call me whatever you want, Izuku."   “R...really? You wouldn’t m-mind….?”   “Yes, though you’ll have to still call me Aizawa during school.”   Izuku contemplated what he should call the man for a moment,"....C-can I call you dadzawa...?"   "No."   Izuku was going to call him Dadzawa.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was unsure of where he was going to take his internship. He has a list of forty agencies to choose from. He had no idea who he should pick, but then he noticed that 'Manual Hero Agency' was on the list. The normal hero was based in Hosu, which was where a certain serial killer was last seen. Izuku had found out that Iida's brother was injured by Stain the day following the attack. Ingenium was the first one attacked by the man in Hosu, meaning that at least one more attack was guaranteed there.   Izuku decided to go to Manual's agency, so he could bring Stain to justice and bring his friend some semblance of peace.   Iida himself had decided to go to Manual’s agency as well. After a bittersweet goodbye to Aizawa, given that he was unable to say anything or hug him due to his classmates being around, he followed Iida to the train they had to take to Hosu.   It took Izuku a while to build up the courage to ask a question concerning the reason that Iida most likely decided to intern under the normal hero, “I-Iida-kun, did you k-know Stain is c-currently in Hosu….?”   The bespectacled boy didn’t respond, so Izuku continued,”Seeing w-what occurred with I-Ingenium, I was w-wondering if that’s the r-reason you chose to in-intern under M-Manual….” Izuku suddenly realised how insensitive he was being, “I-I’m so sorry, Ii-Iida-kun! I just w-wanted to tell you to n-not go after the hero ki-killer if that was y-your plan, because I d-don’t want you to g-get hurt because-”   “Midoriya, you are rambling.” His… friends? At least Izuku thought it was appropriate to call them his friends. His friends had gotten into the habit of telling him when he began muttering or rambling, “Thank you for your concern, Midoriya, but I can assure you that I will be safe. You have my word.”   Izuku nodded, glad for the reassurance that his friend wouldn’t be killed by the same serial killer that had almost killed his brother, “A-alright, Iida-kun!” They didn’t talk much after that, other than Izuku bringing up how excited he was about their internship every now and then.   ----------------------------------------------------   Manual had also brought up the hero killer to Iida during one of their patrols, yet Iida just gave the hero the exact same answer he had given Izuku. That he'd be safe. Hearing it a second time, it didn't sound as reassuring as it had the other day.   They were on patrol that night as well. It seemed to be just like every other night. Due to the neighborhood being on high alert, there were barely any villains out, so they mostly just walked around and stumbled upon a criminal or a minor villain sometimes.   There weren't any minor villains tonight.   There were nomus.   Several of them, battling against heroes, including Endeavour.   Manual was calling out, trying to locate Iida.   But Iida was nowhere to be found. As Manual was freaking out over Iida’s disappearance, Izuku set off in search of him, not even realising that the normal hero would most likely get worried for him as well. Izuku had no time to spare if Iida really had gone after the hero killer.   He weaved through the crowds of civilians and began searching the alleys for any sign of the engine quirked boy. Izuku went to turn a corner and was greeted by the sight of Stain, one of his several swords raised and ready to strike Iida in the heart.   Izuku didn’t even have the chance to think before he had pulled out his baton and ran at the man, knocking his sword out of his hand in attempts to disarm him. He barely managed to do it in a way that wouldn’t end up harming Stain or Iida. Izuku was still unsure if that counted as him attacking first. He was dead set on sticking to self-defense.   Stain’s sights were now set on Izuku, unsurprisingly. The serial killer seemed to realise something though, a snarl appearing on his face, “ You’re that Mustafu vigilante…. Rabbit, right? Why have you come to stop me?”   “Uhhhhh, wellllllllll….first, you kill people. Second, I don’t think it’s safe to be carrying around that many swords, and third, you kill people. I think my reasoning is pretty concise, don’t you?”   The man narrowed his eyes, "I only kill corrupt heroes-"   "And hero students too, right? Teenagers who barely have any control over their emotions? Yeah, surely innocent children deserve to be murdered." He rolled his eyes at Stain, who only seemed to be getting more and more mad with each passing moment. Izuku was distracting the hero killer so Iida could attempt to make his escape, but the armour clad boy wasn't moving an inch.   Izuku opened his mouth to continue distracting Stain, but unsurprisingly the man launched right at him. Instincts kicking in, Izuku dodged the knife aimed at his torso. Not getting hurt was a priority, but something in his gut told him that he should avoid injury at all costs.    “Midoriya, get away from here! This is my fight!” Iida shouted.   “No, I’m not letting you get hurt!” He argued, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to avoid another knife, this time aimed at his cheek. “I’m here, so it’s my fight, too!”    Stain hissed in anger that none of his blows were connecting. “The boy is right. It’s not too late to leave. You may yet be saved. It would do the world well to have one less dead child.”   “Then maybe stop killing children,” Izuku shot back. His quip cost him another close call.   “You don’t understand -”   “No, I really don’t.” Izuku expanded out his baton and skirted around Stain, trying to catch the villain off guard. Stain turned just as quickly and the weapons met with a deafening clang . “You don’t have to do this.”   “The hero society is corrupt! I’m purging it!”   “And? Who said that was your job?” Maybe it was the thought that he would die soon (which he was perfectly happy with) or the adrenaline of fighting, but Izuku didn’t feel any of the fear he once would have. “Who told you that killing was a perfectly acceptable reaction to bad heroes? ‘Cause they’re wrong- ah !” Izuku barely dodged the weapon in Stain’s hand, barely leaning enough that it didn’t cut his neck. “ Jesus , didn’t anyone tell you not to play with knives?!”   “Midoriya-!” Iida started, but Izuku spared him a meaningful look.    Leave. Move. Get away from  here, I’ll take care of him. My life doesn’t matter as much as yours and Native’s. We don’t both need to get hurt. I can take the damage for both of us. He pleaded the words inside his head, but he didn’t dare inform his opponent of his motive. It would be best if Iida snuck away. Only… the boy still wasn’t moving, not a muscle.   “ Iida ,” Izuku hissed with urgency. “ Go .”   “I can’t,” he responded.   “Yes, you can . Quit that noble bullshit and run far away. I’ll be okay!”   “No, I can’t . He froze me. It’s his quirk. If he ingests blood, he immobilizes the body he drank it from.”   And that simultaneously proved Izuku’s gut reaction and made things a lot harder. One wrong move and he was done for. He just needed to stall enough that Iida could take Native and go. Then, and only then could Izuku die.   The vigilante whirled back to face Stain with newfound vigor, faking confidence that he would never dare to have if he weren’t in this situation. “So? Tell me more about how you think death is a good solution to anything?”    “The world is filled with heroes that lie and cheat for fame. So many people are blind to the truth. They idolize those fakes . It’s sickening .”   “Yeah, and? Killing minor offenders isn’t doing anything. Name one thing Ingenium did to deserve his fate, other than be a hero and protect people.” Izuku was driven back as he spoke, each clang of their weapons meeting ringing out in the alley.    “The only good hero is All Might! You’re a child, you don’t understand!”   “I’m a child who’s seen a lot of shit, and you’re as bad or worse as any of those heroes! I mean, if you want to go on a purge, at least go for the worst examples like Endeavor!”    In his preoccupation with words, Izuku let his vigilance slip. Stain knocked his baton out of his hand and cut into his freckled shoulder. Shit, shit, shit.   Izuku barely managed to pull his right drawstring before his muscles locked painfully, leaving him at Stain’s mercy.   Not like this! I still need to save Iida and Native. Please, I’ll die, just give me a little more time, please ! I can’t die like this.    If I’m annoying enough, he’ll try to elongate the pain. I can buy Iida some time. I can get the heroes in there. I don’t matter. It’s all about them. Who cares if I die suffering?   “So, is this it? Are you just going to kill me because I disproved your points? I’m trying to help my friend, isn’t that what you like about heroes?”   Stain paused, glaring at him. “You can no longer resist. I suppose I can humor your questions until your inevitable death.”    Izuku felt a flicker of hope before Stain’s sword was driven into his side. It was agony, and Izuku was sure he let out at least a cry, but he kept his eyes open and tried not to focus on the blinding pain of the sword still splitting him apart.    “You’re on a timer. I won’t be tricked into sparing you. You should be dead by the time my paralysis wears off.”   This is okay, Izuku tried to convince himself, the heroes are coming. As long as I can stall long enough, I won’t have been completely worthless.   “Your points are two-sided. You try to justify yourself, but your actions don’t line up with your moral code. If you hate corrupt heroes so much, why not try to get the ones who’ve committed the most proven scandals? Ingenuim did nothing wrong other than get compensation and fame, maybe against his wishes. He was the closest thing to a hero in your book that I can think of, and you still paralyzed him.” Izuku’s breaths were uneven and raspy, but the words still came just as strong as he wanted them to.   “That’s why I left him alive.”   “In a poor state of being where he can’t help anyone! I mean, you say you want to help the world, but all you’re doing is harming it. There are things you could have done other than what you’re doing, and still you decided that objectively the worst thing you could have done was the best way to drive your point home.”   Stain scowled and twisted the weapon buried into Izuku’s side. The teen let out a choked wail of pain, but he kept his teeth clenched tightly. It was harder to ignore now, and he was hyper aware of the blood seeping into his jacket. “You know nothing.”   “Midoriya!” Iida cried, looking horrified. “Let him go! It’s me you want!”    Iida, you idiot, stop that! I’m trying to save your life!     The world spun and Izuku couldn’t focus because what if he died here without doing anything?    Flames and ice filled the night air. Izuku was filled with relief at the sight of them. Iida’s in safe hands. I can let go now.   The world went black.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku gasped as he woke up in a strange white room. His eyes darted around as he attempted to focus on his actual surroundings, but he was having a hard time.   "....oriya! Midoriya! Can you hear me, Midoriya?" He heard a voice. Izuku turned his head to see Iida on the bed next to him, the boy's arms bandaged up. That was when everything that happened came back to him.   Izuku sat up as his head and side throbbed, causing him to give a hiss of pain.   "You probably shouldn't do that, Midoriya.” Todoroki commented, Izuku now realising that he was there as well.   “O-oh, Todoroki-kun…. Wa-wait, were y-you the one w-who…?”   The bi-coloured boy nodded, and Izuku immediately became excited for him, “S-so you used y-your fire?!”   Todoroki looked away, his cheeks flushing pink, “Well, for a moment, yeah. I mostly used my ice to fend Stain off while I waited on my father to send the other heroes over.”   “B-but still, th-that’s progress! You d-did great, To-Todoroki-kun!” He continued to praise the other boy, before he felt another pang of pain in his side, “ Sh-shit! ”   Izuku’s hand immediately clutched it and though his eyes were screwed shut, he could feel the others staring at him, “Midoriya! It is inappropriate to use such language, no matter the situation. However, are you alright? You were badly injured by the hero killer.” “S-sorry Iida...a-and I’m fine. I-I’m more wo-worried about y-you two. What ha-happened to y-you guys a-after I passed o-out?” Izuku’s expression slid into a frown.   “I wasn’t hurt that badly. Iida’s still waiting for his diagnosis, but his arms were pretty wrecked.” Todoroki gestured towards the blue-haired boy, and Izuku felt even worse as he back at his friend and the damage he had received. He hadn’t even helped take down the hero killer, being too weak to handle a simple stab wound and passing out. And now his friend might have permanent damage because Izuku was too useless to save him. If he’d been faster, or stronger, then Iida would be perfectly fine right now. If he’d even confronted Iida, he’d be perfectly fine. But Izuku hadn’t, and now his friend had to suffer.   “Oh I-Iida-kun, if I-I’d only d-done more to-”   The door to the room was thrown open, Izuku paling when he saw Manuel and a dog-headed man walk in. The latter narrowed his eyes, “You did much more than you should have in the first place, Rabbit. All three of you did.”   Izuku turned his head to Manuel, “U-um…  who is h-he?”   “This is Mr. Kenji Tsuragamae, Hosu’s chief of police.” The normal hero responded, before gesturing for Tsuragamae to continue speaking.   “Due to the acts of vigilantism you three performed, you, as well as your mentors, must be dealt with strictly and impartially. Even considering the situation. It is against the law for you to use your quirks in public, especially to inflict harm. Not to mention-”   “Hold on a minute.” Todoroki interrupted Tsuragamae in a stern tone as he stood up, “If Iida hadn’t acted, Native would’ve been killed. And if Midoriya hadn’t shown up, both of them would be dead. Nobody even knew the hero killer was in town, let alone that he’d strike during the LOV attack. Should we have people die, all in the name of your law?! Everything turned out fine,  so just forget about the damn law this time! Isn’t it a hero’s job to save people? ”   Izuku was hoping Iida would try and stop Todoroki from continuing his rant, but was proven wrong soon after, “Exactly. Plus, Midoriya didn’t even use his quirk. He shouldn’t be punished for this.”   “If it weren’t for the fact that Rabbit has already committed several acts of vigilantism over the course of a good few years, we may have been willing to let him off the hook as we are with you two, but the only reason we are doing that is so your futures won’t be affected by this. One more case won’t exactly do much damage to his.” The chief explained, and Izuku could feel Todoroki and Iida’s eyes on him once again.   “Wait… Stain didn’t just mistake you for somebody else, Midoriya? You really are a vigilante….?” Iida muttered in disbelief.   “That explains… a lot. How else would you be able to bodyslam people almost twice your size….? Unless your quirk is minor strength enhancement or something...” Todoroki began to theorise.   “O-oh, uh, it w-was just a l-lot of tr-training, really….” Izuku felt his cheeks flush red as he cut the heterochromic boy off. He didn’t really want to hear about what quirks Todoroki thought he might have.   “Maybe you three could discuss this later…? There’s more that you need to hear.” Izuku was slightly relieved at Manuel’s words. They meant that they could get off the topic of him being Rabbit.   “As I was saying, you two will not receive punishment, but this only applies if Endeavour takes the credit for taking down Stain. Otherwise, you could take the credit, but you would still have to take responsibility for your actions. As I mentioned before, we do not want your future careers to be hindered by this.” Tsuragamae continued. Izuku was glad that his friends wouldn’t have to suffer much longer from this incident.   “We’ll take the credit. Why should Midoriya have to be punished either way? He’s the least guilty out of all three of us! If he’s getting reprimanded for this, then we might as well be too. Is that alright with you, Todoroki?” “Of course it is. Why should my old man get the credit for Stain’s arrest? He barely did anything.” The bi-coloured boy stated sourly.   Izuku looked between the two frantically, seeing that they were completely serious about this, “W-wait, guys, no! Y-you should l-let Endeavour take t-the credit, y-you shouldn’t h-have your f-future careers as h-heroes threatened b-by this! You g-guys are g-gonna help so m-many people, pl-please don’t give th-that up!”   The two exchanged glances before Todoroki let out a sigh, “I guess we shouldn’t throw away our futures, but I still don’t think that flaming bastard should get the credit for this. If you’re going to get punished, then why shouldn’t you be credited? You did far more than he did. He just showed up right at the end, after everything was over and done with. There’s no reason for him to be credited for this. I won’t give in.”   “...so if we just give the credit to Rabbit, you guys won’t mind?” Manuel seemed exasperated when the two nodded, “Are you alright with that, Mr. Tsuragamae?” “I guess so, I’d rather not have these students affected by this.” The dog-headed man replied, “Though you both will not be commended by the public, allow me to thank you for keeping the peace, despite the circumstances. I hope that one day I’ll see you doing such things again, but legally. ”   “Yeah, I hope you kids learned something after that. Though I guess I’m the one to blame. I should’ve kept a better eye on you two. I have to take responsibility for this.” Manuel sighed.   “I’m sorry, sir!” Iida immediately bowed to the normal hero, and Izuku tried to get up to do the same.   Todoroki noticed and forced Izuku back onto the bed, “Midoriya, don’t do that. You got stabbed. You should probably avoid standing up and just… any strenuous activity in general.”   “O-oh, yeah, I d-did get st-stabbed, didn’t I…” Izuku chewed on his lip. He was completely useless for a couple of days now. Though, he didn’t have to be. He could handle a little pain. Izuku just had to wait a few hours.   ----------------------------------------------------   As soon as the others had gone to sleep, Izuku was ready to leave. He already has his hero costume, and he constantly carried his cloth mask around with him, so he wouldn’t have any problems escaping to perform his vigilante duties. He finally had a chance, now that he was away from both Aizawa and Manuel, and he was going to take it.   When he attempted to get up however, he was greeted with that same agonising pain in his side. Izuku couldn’t let it stop him, however. He might not have another opportunity like this, and stab wound or not, he was going to keep Hosu safe tonight. It might not be Mustafu, but there were still people who needed protecting out there.   He immediately regretted it when he managed to stand up, his pain worsening. Izuku let out a hiss, but he kept on ignoring it as he picked up the briefcase containing his hero costume and threw his backpack over his shoulders. He dragged himself over to the room’s window, prying it open. He attempted to climb through it, and had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from screaming. Izuku felt blood drip down his torso and realised that he probably shouldn’t try sneaking out with a stab wound.    As he lay back on his hospital bed in pure agony, thoughts flooded his mind. Head Kacchan flooded his mind as well.   Izuku didn’t get much sleep that night.   ----------------------------------------------------   “Midoriya, why is your stab wound bleeding again?” The doctor sighed as he examined the boy’s side, the curtain closed around them.   “C-cause, uh…. Th-the stitches br-broke?” Izuku mumbled, avoiding the man’s gaze.   “And how did they break?”   “Th-they, uh…. J-just broke. ”   “We both know you’re lying, Midoriya. They wouldn’t just break. ”   “U-um… I might’ve…. Tr-tried to sn-sneak out…?”   “Midoriya, if you keep trying to walk around, your wound isn’t going to heal. I know you want something to do, but the more you keep forcing yourself to do things the longer you’ll be here. Just be patient.” The doctor lightly scolded him as he stitched the wound back up.   Izuku kept quiet as he listened to the doctor's lecture, praying that he'd stop. He already knew he was being a burden by ripping his stitches. He shouldn't want the man to stop, this is what he deserved for being stupid, but he was just trying to be useful. Though, he had ended up being the exact opposite in the process.   When the doctor finally opened the curtain and left the room, Izuku felt eyes on him once again, an almost constant feeling in the hospital.   "Midoriya, why would you attempt to sneak out of here? You must have known that it would hinder your healing!” Iida began to scold him as well, and he wished that he could just die there and then.   Izuku was about to respond before the door was thrown open for the second day in a row. He turned to greet them but was startled when he saw Aizawa crouched down in front of him.   “Izuku, how many times have I told you? You’re not Rabbit anymore. You can’t go around fighting serial killers! Damn, do you know how fucking worried I was? Those idiots didn’t think to tell me my son was in the hospital until over a day after. Even if they didn’t think telling the parents would be a priority, which is bullshit , I’m your teacher, they should’ve told me immediat- why is there blood on your hospital gown?”   Izuku wanted to reassure the man, but the feeling of eyes upon him was making it hard to respond, especially when Aizawa had outed their father-son relationship to both Iida and Todoroki. Izuku silently pointed it out to him, and the man fell silent.   The latter of the two boys seemed as if he had been struck with a realisation,“Wait… Are you Aizawa’s secret love child, Midoriya?”   Both Aizawa and Izuku turned to stare at the boy, replying with a simultaneous, “What?”   “Well, your name is Izuku Midoriya, not Izuku Aizawa. Why are you trying to hide that you’re Aizawa’s son, Midoriya? It has to be because you’re his secret love child.” Todoroki continued.   Izuku shook his head frantically,“To-Todoroki-kun, n-no! It’s co-complicated, but i-it’s not wh-what you th-think! I’m just st-staying with Da-Dadzawa right n-now.”   “Izuku, I know you’re just trying to help, but it’s not working kid. Leave this to me, okay?” Aizawa put a hand on Izuku’s head in an attempt to reassure him before turning back to the bi-coloured boy, “Todoroki, I swear if you tell anybody about this I’m expelling you. He’s not officially my kid yet, but I still don’t want all your classmates knowing that he’s even somewhat related to me. It’ll either be an endless barrage of questions and idiotic attempts at teasing, or accusations of him being my favourite. Probably both.”   “Wait… yet….?” Izuku went wide-eyed at the implication of that statement.   “Of course, problem child. You think I’m letting you go back into the system? I’d never, especially after all the shit you told me. So you’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.”   Izuku’s eyes filled with tears as he went to hug Aizawa, but the man did the same thing Todoroki has done the previous day, “You can hug me when you’re healed, kid. I still want to know why your side is soaked in blood.”   When Izuku didn’t respond, Iida piped up, “He attempted to sneak out of the hospital last night and ripped his stitches, Aizawa-sensei. It most likely caused his wound to begin bleeding again.”   “Ii-Iida! Dadzawa di-didn’t need to kn-know that!” Izuku spluttered, but it was already too late.   “What wound?” The man’s tone somehow became sterner and sharper than it had been while Aizawa was talking to Todoroki.   “I um… g-got stabbed?” Izuku mumbled.   “You what? ”   “I g-got stabbed i-in my si-side by St-stain. It’s n-not that b-bad, I pr-promise! It’s j-just a little st-stab wound.”   “Midoriya, he twisted that knife into your side.” Iida reminded him, “ How is that just a ‘little stab wound’?”   “Iida, pl-please stop t-telling Dadzawa th-things he doesn’t n-need to kn-know about.”   “No, please, go on, Iida. I’d like to hear the details. What exactly happened during the stain attack?” Aizawa had that shit-eating grin on his face, and Izuku knew he was absolutely screwed.   Iida seemed somewhat hesitant to continue, but the engine-quirked boy did so anyway, “Midoriya came to save me from the hero killer, and taunted him in what I assume was an attempt to distract him so I could escape, though Stain’s quirk prevented me from doing so. At some point, Midoriya was caught off guard and was also paralysed by the man’s quirk, but still continued to taunt him. Stain first drove one of his swords into Midoriya’s side, but twisted it soon after. He passed out of blood loss and almost died. I appreciate his attempt to save me, but I wish he had gone about in a less self-destructive manner.”   “So, you’re telling me that my son taunted a serial killer and almost got himself killed? ” Iida nodded, "Why did I expect anything less? Damn it, kid. You'd think you'd know better after being a vigilante so long."   "H-hey! You've b-been a hero f-for a decade, y-you've had tw-twice as l-long as me! I b-bet you were st-still just as b-bad as I a-am now when y-you had only fi-five years of ex-experience!" Izuku shot back, before covering his mouth, "Ah, s-sorry Dadzawa…"   "Well shit. Glad to see you're getting a bit of your confidence back, kid." The man smirked at him, "Though no, you're just reckless far too reckless for your own good, problem child."    "That mi-might be tr-true, but…."   "But?"   "Sh-shut up, Dadzawa!"   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was trapped inside his past once again, encapsulated in what was once an escape for him; his sleep. Now it only served to be a painful reminder of how broken he was.   He stared up at the ever so slightly taller boy that was Katsuki Bakugo, though he was towering over Izuku right now, as he was on the floor, his back against the wall. His former friend had been tormenting him constantly since his diagnosis. Izuku wished it could all just go back to the way it was, when he got the occasional tease from the ash-blonde, but the two were inseparable. It could never go back to being that way though. Because Izuku was quirkless. He was useless. He was a Deku. Both his bandaged upper-arm and Kacchan said so.   "Worthless fucking Deku. You can't even take a few explosions. How do you still believe you can be a hero? Or are you really just that stupid?" Kacchan sneered down at him as he let off a few pops, causing Izuku to raise him arms up so he could defend from another explosion. "What the fuck is up with that, Deku? The only thing you're good for is quirk practice. I wanna test my quirk on more than just your arms. If you wanna be useful for once in your goddamn life, put them down."   Izuku didn't, though. He was terrified of Kacchan, but if he defended himself, maybe he'd get hurt just a little less.   His arms couldn't defend from insults though.   "Stupid ass Deku, are you deaf? Listen to me, damnit! Why the fuck are you ignoring me?!" Izuku didn't obey, "I'm gonna explode your ass either fucking way! Just listen!" Izuku deserved this, "How the fuck does somebody like you deserve to be Auntie Inko's son?!" Izuku deserved to be hurt, "I'm surprised she hasn't gotten rid of you yet!"   Izuku didn't want to suffer like this, "Finally, you stopped defending yourself! It wouldn't have done much anyway." But he had to, "I'd rather not blow your arms off. Auntie Inko must give a shit about you if she hasn't thrown you out yet, so I don't want to upset her." Izuku had to suffer, "And I don't know how far the teachers are willing to let me go." Because it was all he was good for.   "Let's find out, shall we?"   Izuku's ears rang as Kacchan walked away, satisfied with what he had done. As he clutched his aching torso, fresh with burns and bruises, Izuku saw a hand in his blurry vision.    He reached his own up to take it, but the hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him upwards. Izuku realised the scene around him had morphed from a classroom to his seventh home. He was quickly led out of there by the hand though, which Izuku realised belonged to Mayumi when he looked up to see ruby red hair tied up in a neat bun.   "Seven homes in one year. Your only talent is being a fucking nuisance." The woman hissed as she pulled Izuku along what seemed like a never ending pavement, completely empty of other pedestrians, "I’ve never met a kid as annoying as you. You last a few months at best, and you’re always crying about some lie you came up with, like with Yoichi. You’re just being an attention seeker. Especially now that you’re going into group homes. There are other kids than just you now, Izuku. Whoever has the misfortune of taking care of you can't constantly be there for you. You just have to deal with that.”   “B-but, Mayumi-san, n-none of it w-was a li-lie, I-”   The woman turned to glare at him, “Give it up, Izuku. I know what you quirkless little shits are all about. You constantly spout bullshit, hoping that at least one lie will be good enough that somebody will believe you. But let me tell you this.” She leaned in close, “Nobody will ever believe you. We all know what you are. We all know that every word you say is just another lie to get that sweet, sweet attention.” Izuku went to protest her, but she continued, “Don’t you dare deny it. You know that I’m right.” She got back up with a sigh of exasperation, “You never listen to me. God, no wonder your mother killed herself. Must’ve been the only way she could get rid of you. You wouldn’t have listened if she tried to kick you out.”   That statement had flooded Izuku’s mind, being repeated over and over and over. He’d always had some inkling that his mother’s suicide was his fault, and now he was sure of it. Mayumi had said so. It must’ve been true. He knew Hisashi left because of him, and his mother killed herself because Hisashi left, so in the end, it was all his fault.   It was his fault Inko Midoriya died.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as tears ran down his face. He looked for something, anything to grab onto, his hands grasping for his curls. As he sobbed, he heard a faint whisper from the bed next to him.   “Midoriya! Are you alright…?” Iida’s worried voice asked, and Izuku began to panic even more. How could he let Iida see him like this? What if he told everyone? Iida had already told Aizawa about everything that had happened with Stain, so it was a possibility. Everybody would know how weak Izuku is.   When he didn’t respond, Iida got up and sat down at the end of Izuku’s bed, his concern obvious, “You’re crying, did something happen?”   Izuku decided not to answer. He just wanted Iida to go back to sleep and forget this ever happened, “I-I’m s-s-sorry, Iida-kun, d-did I w-w-wake you u-up? I’ll b-be quieter, I pr-promise….” He whispered back, hands still grasping onto his curls for dear life.   “No, I decided to stay awake to make sure you wouldn’t attempt to sneak out again. Despite my trust in you, I could not risk you ripping your stitches and hindering your healing process once again. I’m sure you wish to spend as little time here as possible.” The blue-haired boy’s eyes lingered on Izuku’s curls, “Please do not do that, Midoriya. I don’t think it will aid you in any way.”   He forced his hands away out of fear for what Iida might do to him if he didn’t listen, gripping onto the mattress instead. The boy still seemed worried about Izuku for some reason, even though he had stopped pulling on his curls, “You avoided my question before. Are you okay? You seem quite distressed.”   “D-do I...do I-I have t-t-to answer?” Izuku muttered, chewing on his lip.   “Not if you don’t want to, but I would like to help you any way I can, and the best way to do that would be if I knew the situation at hand. Are you willing to tell me?” Izuku was surprised that Iida wasn’t forcing him to explain what was going on, but what if it was a trick? What if he'd get mad if Izuku didn't tell him, despite his words? He couldn't risk that.   "I-It was ju-just a ni-nightmare, nothing re-really…. past st-stuff…" Izuku paused when he realised Iida was staring at him, but he tried to ignore it, "Th-there was, um…. a bu-bully. From m-my elementary s-school. He u-used his qu-quirk on me a l-lot, but I d-deserved it. He t-told me th-that he di-didn't know h-how somebody l-like me de-deserves to be m-my mom's s-son… and h-how she hadn't g-gotten rid of m-me yet. Th-then he ex- used h-his quirk on m-me. The only th-thing I was g-good for was qu-quirk practice a-anyway” That was still the only thing he was good for, “so I n-never really mi-minded. As long a-as I was he-helping somebody, I di-didn’t mind what th-they did to m-me.”   Izuku wanted to stop. To stop telling Iida everything. To shut up and go to sleep forever. But now that he'd started, he just couldn't stop, "Th-there was my c-case worker, t-too. She- She t-told me how us-useless I w-was...and h-how my m-mother killed h-herself to get r-rid of me." Iida looked like he wanted to speak, but Izuku kept going, "She's ri-right. It was m-my fault. My dad l-left because of m-me, and my m-mom killed herself be-because my dad l-left. It was a-all because of m-me. I really a-am useless. I co-couldn't save h-her. Even worse, I'm t-the reason she d-died. How c-can I be a h-hero when I ki-killed my own m-mom…?"   Iida was giving him a strange look that Izuku couldn't decipher, and his mind ran wild with possibilities. He must hate Izuku now. He must agree with them. It was all Izuku's fault Iida's arms were bandaged up. It was Izuku's fault that Iida might have permanent damage now. Izuku hadn't been fast enough. Iida knows he's useless. Todoroki must know it too. Even if he didn’t, Iida would tell everyone what Izuku had just said anyway. And then everybody would know that-   “Midoriya, you are in no way at fault for any of that. You are smart and kind and very brave, and I am honored to call you my friend. I may not have known of your… origins… but it does not change anything I think about you.” Iida assured him, frowning.   “Wh-what….? No, n-no, I’m not a-any of th-that. I wasn’t a-able to o-outsmart Stain, or br-brave enough t-to just t-tase him! I di-didn’t even h-help you that ni-night. How is me b-being so w-weak that I c-couldn’t even s-save you from h-him acceptable? Y-you should h-hate me! I d-did nothing to s-save you!” Izuku argued. He didn’t know why he was trying to prove Iida wrong. He didn’t know why he wanted Iida to hate him, yet like him at the same time. It was all confusing him. It felt like the right thing to do, to show Iida why he should actually despise Izuku. Why he should be yelling at him right now about how useless he is. Why Izuku should’ve died that night.   “As my older brother has always said, nobody is perfect. You’re far wiser than I was. I should have never challenged him in the first place. Anyone would have left me to die, but you were courageous and kind enough to go after me. I regret that I was unable to save you as you saved me.”   “To-Todoroki-kun didn’t le-leave you to d-die, and I’m s-sure nobody e-else would have e-either. You’re a h-hero student wi-with an in-incredible quirk, and y-you’re far sm-smarter than I c-could ever be. Y-you’re the class re-representative! I c-could never have th-the courage or c-confidence to do th-that. And I d-don’t mind that y-you didn’t s-save me, Iida-kun. I sh-shouldn’t have needed s-saving in the fi-first place. I w-was careless and i-if I died it w-would’ve been m-my own fa-fault. The w-world would be b-better off without m-me, anyway.” That was why Izuku tried to kill himself every year, even though he was too useless to do it right. Maybe if Todoroki was the first one there, Iida would’ve never gotten hurt to the point he had been.   “ No ! Midoriya, you cannot be serious. The world would be far worse without you. There are people who care about you all around. Aizawa-sensei, Shinso, Todoroki, and I all value your presence. Please do not misunderstand your importance.”   Izuku searched the other boy’s face for any signs that he was lying. When he couldn’t find any, Izuku just became even more confused than before,“I-I don’t understand w-why you’re b-being so p-persistent, Iida-kun. I’m u-useless, you sh-shouldn’t be wasting y-your time trying t-to comfort me a-and convince m-me that I ac-actually have a pl-place in this w-world. Someone li-like me sh-shouldn’t even b-be alive right n-now, let a-alone wasting their ti-time chasing a-after a pipe dr-dream. I’m n-never going to b-be a hero, a-and the fact th-that I couldn’t s-save you j-just proves th-that.”   “Why do you think that? There’s no possible way that’s true. You called for help,and you bought enough time that you saved my life . You’re more of a hero than any of our classmates, including me. I look up to you.”   “Wh-what….? You… re-really think s-so?” Izuku was beginning to think his efforts to convince Iida he’s useless were futile. He was somewhat glad, even though he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t want Iida to like him. Hitoshi, Aizawa and Mic were more than enough people. He wanted to limit how many people he’d end up hurting when he dies, “You’re b-being too kind to m-me. I don’t g-get how I c-could deserve a fr-friend like y-you.”   “Nonsense. You mean very much to me. I’m glad I befriended you.”   Izuku was beginning to get worried about Iida. Maybe the boy had hit his head after Izuku passed out the other night? None of the reactions the bespectacled boy had tonight made any sense, and he was getting desperate on how to prove the boy wrong, despite how he wanted him to be right. He shouldn’t want him to be right, nor should he want him to be wrong, he shouldn’t want anything. But even though Kacchan had been surprisingly quiet throughout their conversation, Izuku knew he was still there. And Izuku knew exactly what Kacchan would want him to say.    Izuku prepared himself for the barrage of yelling that was about to come his way. He just hoped it wouldn’t wake the other patients, especially Todoroki, “W-would you st-still like m-me if you kn-knew I was qu-quirkless…?”   “That would only make me admire you more. Doing what you have done without a quirk is more than admirable.”   “W-what? But th-that’s only b-because of support i-items, I don’t d-do anything on m-my own! I’m n-not strong because o-of my own p-power, like y-you or To-Todoroki-kun or Hito-kun. It’s a-all fake. I’d b-be nothing if I di-didn’t have s-support items. H-how could you st-still like m-me when you kn-know that?”   “Quirks are a tool, just like support items. Without wheels, my brother’s quirk would be close to useless. He still uses them, even if they are not built into his body. The Iida family is one that knows the importance of support items. It’s better to have many tools than one built-in tool, even though the latter is still useful,” Iida told him, expression open and honest.   “S-so… you’re fi-fine with i-it? You’re fine w-with me being qu-quirkless? You’re n-not going to y-yell at me, o-or insult m-me, or hurt m-me or… do anything? ”   “Of course not! I still value you just as much or more. Thank you for being honest with me.”   “Y-you’re welcome, Ii-Iida-kun. I’m…. gl-glad you don’t h-hate me.” Even though I shouldn’t be, “I li-like being y-your friend.”   “I enjoy being your friend, too.” Iida smiled.   “I also enjoy being your friend, Midoriya.” Izuku straightened at the monotone voice that he heard from across the room.   Izuku’s positivity dissipated,“T-Todoroki-kun! I’m s-sorry, were w-we being too l-loud?”    The bi-coloured boy shook his head, “No, not at all. Don’t worry about it. I’ve been awake for a while, actually. I would have spoken sooner but I didn’t want to interrupt you and Iida’s conversation.”   “A-and now tw-two people have le-learned that I’m qu-quirkless tonight….” Izuku murmured.   “My father isn’t exactly fond of quirkless people, but he’s a piece of shit and his opinions don’t matter. I usually take the opposing stance on whatever he thinks, but even if I didn’t I don’t think I’d care that you’re quirkless. You’re still just as capable, even if you can’t roast people alive or cause an immense amount of property damage.” Todoroki shrugged, “I don’t think you should hide your quirklessness, Midor-”   “Izuku.”   Both boys turned to look at him in confusion, “Y-You can call m-me Izuku. If y-you want to, at l-least.” He was attempting to avoid explaining why he could never let anybody else know he’s quirkless, but Izuku didn’t deserve to be a Midoriya anyway.   “Shoto, then. I don’t really like being associated with my old man, so I’d like it if you called me by my first name.” Tod- Shoto smiled.   “Feel free to call me Tenya as well,” the blue-haired boy went out of his way to stand up and punctuate his words with a small bow.   Izuku nodded enthusiastically,“Al-alright Ten-kun, To-kun!”    Tenya smiled at the nickname. “I’m glad to be your friend, Izuku-kun.”   “S-same here, Ten-kun.” Izuku was glad when he was finally discharged on Sunday. He wasn't fully healed, but he could walk without that shooting sting of pain in his side, and that seemed to be enough. He was mostly just happy that he could be useful again, but being out of that hospital was nice too.   He was still hurting inside, though. Iida had gotten his diagnosis, having permanent damage in his left hand. Despite his friend's reassurances and the fact that he was deciding to keep his hand that way as 'a reminder of his recklessness', Izuku still felt responsible for it all. If only he'd been faster.   He didn't have any time to waste now. Izuku needed to become stronger. It was almost the end of the semester, final exams being the main thing standing in his way. If he failed those, everybody would know how useless he is. Sure, they'd all know after July fifteenth, but he didn't want them to find out until then. He couldn't suffer through the torment he'd receive. He deserved it,and they deserved to know, but Izuku didn't think he'd even last until July fifteenth if they found out he was quirkless.   That's why when he walked into class that morning, Izuku swore to not let anybody else know that he's quirkless. Hitoshi, Shoto, Tenya and Kacchan were far more than enough. The sixteen remaining members of class 1A would be none the wiser to how Izuku was just a waste of space. Everybody would just think he maybe had some minor emitter quirk that wouldn't be useful in battle! Nobody at school would know that-   "Hey, Midobro! How was your internship, dude?!" A body crashed into him and Izuku let out a hiss of pain.   "H-hey Kirishima-kun, I got st-stabbed so is i-it alright if y-you stop hu-hugging me….? It st-still hurts." Izuku mumbled, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he was screaming in pain internally from how tight the boy was hugging him. It was practically second nature for him to pretend he wasn't enveloped in constant pain and suffering.   Kirishima wasn't hugging him for much longer, as he quickly released Izuku from his grasp, a worried look replacing his excited expression, "Damn, are you alright, Midobro?! What happened? How'd you get stabbed? Who stabbed you? I hope they're in jail now. Are they?"   Izuku felt more eyes upon him due to Kirishima's concerned line of questioning, but he knew he'd need to answer, "I um, h-haven't been t-told if he's in j-jail yet, ac-actually… I'm pr-pretty sure he i-is, though. I p-passed out, s-so I don't r-really know e-exactly what happened a-after that. I'm a-alright now th-though. I can w-walk, at least. It's j-just a little painful st-still. I don't th-think I can t-tell you who st-stabbed me or w-what happened, I'm s-sorry."   Kirishima still seemed somewhat concerned, but he smiled at Izuku, "You interned with Manual, yeah? Didn't know he went on secret missions like that! Though I guess that's cuz they're a secret, huh?"   Izuku was sure to give the boy a fake smile and a nod in return. He wanted the conversation to keep going, glad that he was finally talking to somebody that he would've been too terrified to talk to when he first came to Class 1A, but a commotion between the other students caught both of their attention.   "Hey, you know the hero killer? There's a bunch of articles saying some vigilante took him down!" Kaminari exclaimed to the others as he passed some kind of rectangular object to Sero.   “Rabbit…? Are you sure this isn’t just Midoriya? It looks exactly like him.” Sero eyed Izuku suspiciously, and Hitoshi sighed in exasperation.   He was about to interject when Kaminari shook his head, “Nah. Midoriya is super strong but he’s smart enough to not go after someone like Stain. And even if he did try to, Manual would’ve stopped him, right Iida?”   The bespectacled boy nodded, “Of course. He’d never allow us to do something as dangerous as that. In addition, both Izuku’s costume and hero name are based off of the vigilante, remember? Rabbit is just someone who he admires.”   Izuku was glad for Kaminari and Tenya’s aid, even if the former didn’t do it intentionally. He'd known that this had been going too well. He would have messed up at some point and then everybody would realise that he was lying to them and they’d all despise him and it would just be elementary school all over again.   But you deserve that. You deserve for them to hate you. You deserve for them to hit you and insult you and electrocute you and do anything they want to you. You're lying to them. You should receive the consequences for that.    Izuku had known that too, but he was selfish. He didn't want to suffer. He needed to spend his last few weeks becoming as strong as he could get before final exams, and his classmates constantly tormenting him would slow him down. He wanted to spend some time with Aizawa, Hitoshi, Mic, Shoto, and Tenya, but he couldn't afford to. He had two more weeks after final exams. He could always spend time with them then. His wants didn't matter right now. They never mattered. But if he did well enough, maybe Kacchan would let him have at least a little time. The lack of a response from the voice made him hopeful.   Sero shrugged as he passed Kaminari's rectangle back to him,"Well, I understand why Midoriya admires him. He took down a freakin' serial killer! Even if what he's doing is illegal, he's still doing a ton to help society."   That's a lie.   Yaoyorozu decided to chime in,"Yes, while I'd rather not support a criminal, from what I have heard he seems like he would make quite a good hero. If only he became licensed rather than breaking the law…. I'm sure he'd do incredibly well!"   No, Izuku would never be a good hero. He was awful at his job. Tenya's hand got ruined and it was all his fault. He got stabbed and passed out. He'd done nothing to help. He was a failure.   Kaminari smiled as he continuously swooped upwards on his rectangle"Yeah, Rabbit is amazing! I just searched him up, he's done some crazy shit. All the videos are pretty shaky and short, but there's a bunch of posts about him. People seem to really like this guy. He hasn't been super active over the past few months though. Everybody was wondering where he went."   No, they shouldn't care about him. Sure, at the time it felt nice that people missed him while he was gone, but they shouldn't. Why would they be worried about some criminal? He'd never been useful! Everything he did, a hero could do a hundred times better. So why did they care?   "Hey, Midobro? Are you alright? You're looking kinda pale." Izuku snapped out of it and looked up at whoever was speaking. Kirishima had turned his head to look back at him, his bright grin now replaced with a frown. "Oh damn, is it because of me? Did I open some stitches or something? I'm really sorry, dude! I can walk you to Recovery Girl's office if you need me to!"   Izuku shook his head vigorously, "No, n-no, don't worry a-about it Kirishima-kun! I'm f-fine! Just thinking, y-you know?" He offered the red-haired boy a reassuring smile.   Kirishima smiled at him again, though it seemed slightly more strained than the last. Before Izuku could even contemplate why that was, Tenya was shouting for everyone to get in their seats due to class beginning soon.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku had been hoping for Aizawa to be teaching his first class back at school, but luck really hadn't been on his side recently. Why should he expect any different today?   "I AM HERE! AND THE REASON FOR IT IS YOUR HERO BASIC TRAINING! IT'S BEEN A WHILE! HOW IS EVERYONE?" The man's booming voice made Izuku want to run and hide. He didn't want to do that once again, though. He had to be strong. That didn't mean he wouldn't hide a little behind Hitoshi for comfort, though. If Hitoshi noticed, he didn't question it, which Izuku was thankful for.   "AS AN IMMEDIATE FOLLOW-UP TO YOUR INTERNSHIPS, TODAY'S ACTIVITY IS A PLAYFUL ONE! A RESCUE TRAINING RACE!"   Tenya's hand shot up."Shouldn't rescue training be conducted at the USJ?!"   All Might waggled a finger as Izuku hid behind Hitoshi a bit more in preparation for the man's shouting, "THAT PLACE IS FOR DISASTER RESCUES IN PARTICULAR! BUT WHAT DID I SAY?! THIS IS A RACE!"    The man motioned towards the massive factory-like scenery behind him. "THIS IS FIELD GAMMA! IT'S A DENSE SPREAD OF FACTORIES THAT WIND TOGETHER TO CREATE AN INTRICATE NETWORK OF MAZE-LIKE ALLEYS! YOU’LL SPLIT INTO THREE TEAMS OF FIVE, ALONG WITH ONE TEAM OF SIX, WITH EACH TEAM GOING ONE AT A TIME! I'LL SEND UP A DISTRESS SIGNAL FROM SOMEWHERE INSIDE, AND YOU WILL ALL START AT THE BORDER! IT'S A RACE TO SEE WHO CAN REACH AND RESCUE ME FIRST!"   "SO THE FIRST GROUP WILL BE...." All Might scanned the group, picking out students here and there, "SERO, ASHIDO, OJIRO, IIDA, AND…." As All Might's eyes fell on him, Izuku completely shielded himself behind Hitoshi, hoping that he'd been mistaken. The man can't have seen him, right?   "MIDORIYA!"   Of course All Might saw him, because the universe seemed to despise Izuku. He was on a team. With all the mobility experts in class. And his stupid stab wound still wasn't healed yet.   He'd considered telling All Might about it, but Kacchan shot that down almost immediately. Do you really want to tell the Symbol of Peace how weak you are? He already told you that you can't be a hero, Deku. He probably wants you out of the school entirely. That's why he keeps pairing you up with me. If he sees you don't have potential, he'll kick you out immediately. Pitting the weakest kid against the strongest kid is part of that plan.   “OKAY, GROUP ONE, TO YOUR MARKS!”   Izuku's nerves got worse and worse as he walked towards his mark with his classmates, tugging on the drawstrings of his hoodie. As everyone else split up, Ashido turned towards him, a rare frown on her face, "Are you going to be able to do this, Midori? Did you tell All Might about your wound? Why aren't you sitting out?" She was obviously concerned about Izuku and he despised himself for staying in the exercise now, but he needed to get stronger. And how was he going to tell a man who despises him that he was too weak to do something everything else can?   "O-oh, it's not th-that bad, I can st-still participate! Don't w-worry about me, I-I'm perfectly fine!" Izuku attempted to reassure the girl. She shouldn't have to worry about him just because he was stupid enough to get himself stabbed.    Though she was still frowning, Ashido nodded and walked off to her own mark, Izuku breathing a small sigh of relief. The girl already knew that he’d been injured. He couldn’t let her know that it was still holding him back. All he had to do was say he was fine and-   “START!”   As soon as Izuku got over the startling shout that pulled him out of his thoughts, he tugged on his left drawstring while holding his right arm out in front of him, a grappling hook shooting out of the little black compartment on the sleeve.   It hooked onto one of the pipes and soon enough, Izuku was flying through the air, similar to how Sero was with his tape. As he swung forwards, he let go of his drawstring and quickly grasped it once again to hook into the next pipe, swinging himself forward and gripping onto pipes for shorter distances.   Izuku was managing to do quite well, given that he was against everyone who's greatest strength was their mobility.   And then he felt a sharp pain in his side.   He tried his best to ignore it as he continued to repeat the same sequence over and over. He couldn't stop now. Who cares about some stab wound? Izuku was fine! He couldn't let something like this hold him back. He could keep going!   The pain got worse and worse as he continued on, but he finally made it to the platform. He felt a pang of disappointment when he realised Sero had already won, Tenya and Ashido also there before him. He'd somehow managed to beat Ojiro, which he guessed was okay, but he needed to be faster than that. Getting fourth out of five people was a failure. He needed to be better.   "Hey, Midori, is that….blood?"   Izuku looked down at his side. He'd been too focused on pushing through the exercise that he hadn't noticed he was bleeding. "Ah, I-I'm sure it's f-fine! Nothing to w-worry about!"    Tenya shook his head, chopping the air, "Izuku, you shouldn't have done any strenuous activities while you were still healing! This isn't something you should just brush over! Why didn't you inform All Might about this?"   "Th-this isn't something h-he needs to know a-about. It's not th-that bad. There's n-no reason for me to t-tell him, Ten-kun. I'm going t-to be alright. It's j-just a little bl-blood." Izuku attempted to reason with him, though he could tell Tenya didn't believe a single word he was saying.   "Do I need to escort you to Recovery Girl's office? I will if you refuse to go. It needs to be treated. No injury, especially a stab wound, should be left alone." Tenya stood firm as he turned to the symbol of peace, "Sensei! I'm going to take Midoriya to Recovery Girl due to his injury."   Izuku hunched his shoulders, having to blink away any traitorous tears that threatened to fall. All Might knew he was weak. So did Tenya. So did Ashido. So did the entire class. Nobody else got injuries that bad, as far as he knew. So why did he?   It's because you're weak. You don't have a quirk, so you're automatically a dozen steps behind everyone else, no matter what you're trying to do. Of course you were stupid enough to get stabbed. Of course it's taking you so long to heal. You're so much weaker than everyone else, Deku. You always will be.    While Tenya escorted him, the weight on his shoulders got heavier as he realised just how much of a burden he was on his classmates.   ----------------------------------------------------   "Summer vacation is close at hand…." Aizawa murmured. "Though as hero course students, it would be completely irrational for you to take an entire month off."   The class began to protest, only quieting when their teacher's eyes glowed red. "So during the last week of vacation, you'll be doing a summer training camp in the woods."   Izuku's classmates quickly changed their tune as they began to excitedly discuss things such as bathhouses and fireworks, along with all the cool changes to their training they may have due to the change of scenery. Aizawa continued to speak, "However, anyone who doesn't pass their final exams is in for summer school hell, right here."   As Kirishima and Denki encouraged everyone to do their best, Izuku felt someone tap on his shoulder, turning to see Hitoshi smiling softly at him.   "Hey Izu, are you excited? We’ll be able to get a good amount of training in if Aizawa is the one teaching us.” He had easily figured out that Izuku wasn’t exactly fond of All Might.   Izuku didn’t want to tell Hitoshi that he’d be dead by then, so he gave the boy a false smile, “Yeah! It’s g-gonna be great!”   Liar.   ----------------------------------------------------   “I didn’t study at all!” Kaminari groaned. “Between the sports festival and the internship, it totally slipped my mind!”   “Midterms weren’t all that tough. We haven’t covered much since the start of the year since we’ve had all these events, but I have a feeling midterms are gonna be much harder….” Sato sighed.   “Sucks that there’s going to be a practical exam too.” Mineta had a smug grin on his face as he spoke.   Kaminari and Ashido attempted to distract themselves from their failing grades by bringing up to Mineta how guys like him were only likable if they were also idiots. Izuku allowed his classmates' conversations to fade out, becoming nothing more than comforting white noise to him. He began to write a detailed analysis on Ashido’s techniques during one of their lessons, along with some new information he had learned about her quirk from finally working up the courage to ask her a few questions, such as if she was able to control the corrosiveness of her acid.   Once again, Izuku felt Hitoshi tapping on his shoulder, breaking him out of his focus. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed talking to the other boy, who was one of the only people Izuku could manage to hold a conversation with.    Hitoshi seemed conflicted for a second, before he began to speak,“Hey Izu, I know that we have final exams coming up, but would you want to maybe hang out on Sunday? It’s my birthday, so I thought it would be nice to spend the day with you.”   Izuku would still be alive then. He could spend some time with Hitoshi, right? He could just make up for it by studying as much as possible during the rest of his free time. It would all work out in the end. He could spare a day, couldn’t he? Hitoshi might hate him if he declined. He couldn’t really say no. So there wasn’t any reason to question the decision. He had to go if he wanted to keep his relationship with the boy.   Wouldn’t it be better if he abandoned you, though? He wastes so much time around a worthless Deku like you. What does he have to benefit from being with you? A little entertainment? Maybe he’s just stringing you along. He’ll make you truly believe that somebody cares about you, and then he’ll stab you in the back. You don’t deserve to be cared about. Everyone is lying to you. They’re all pretending to give a shit so they can get a satisfying reaction at the end of it all. The aim of their games is to torment you with the possibility of friendship and respect and affection, before ripping it all away from you in an instant. You know it’s going to happen. Just watch.   Despite Kacchan’s words, Izuku gave Hitoshi an enthusiastic nod, “Of c-course, Hito-kun! That sounds g-great. I c-can’t wait.”   The words still lingered in his mind though, Izuku knowing that the voice was right. He always was.   But Izuku had decided to be selfish. He’d decided to risk getting betrayed just so he could spend a few more days with Hitoshi. He just hoped he would be long gone before the end of the game. Izuku began to pour all the time he had into studying, focusing as much as he possibly could on learning the content of the textbooks as if they were the back of his hand. He almost didn’t notice the knock on the guest room door. He didn't really want to be interrupted right now, but he needed to let whoever it was in. If he didn't, who knows what they'd do to him.   "C-come in!" He called out a little louder than he usually would to make sure they'd hear him.   The door creaked open, and Mic entered with a small, excited smile. “Hey, little listener! Sho and I have a little surprise for you!”   Izuku tensed up. He liked Mic, he really did! The man was sweet, as far as Izuku knew. It was just hard to trust him. It could all be an act. Mic could be trying to trick him into trusting and then he'd turn on him, just like everyone else was going to. He had no way of knowing. "Y-you do….? Wh-what… what is it?" Izuku tried to hide his fear. Surprises had never been a good thing.    “We wanted for you to be able to keep in contact with us and your friends. Consider it part of your birthday gift.” Mic beamed and handed Izuku a smooth box. Carefully, Izuku opened it.   Inside was a rectangle shaped object with the top coated in a layer of glass. Izuku slipped whatever it was out of the box and inspected it further, though he still couldn't figure out what Mic had given to him. It was an unknown, and that scared him. "I…. d-don't know wh-what this is." He mumbled, slightly embarrassed. He should know, shouldn't he? Everybody else in class seemed to know. He was pretty sure this was what Kaminari was using a few weeks ago, along with most of his classmates every single day.   Mic looked surprised for a second, then nodded. “That’s okay, little listener! It’s a phone. I can show you how to use it.”   Oh. Izuku had heard of these. They were basically a mini version of a laptop. But he'd also heard some other things about them that concerned him. "A-aren't these really ex-expensive? Are you s-sure you wanna g-give this to me….?" Izuku only had a little over two weeks left until he was going to die. He couldn't let Mic and Aizawa waste their hard earned money on him. They'd already done so much for him. A burden like Izuku didn't even deserve to stay at their apartment, let alone receive something like a phone from them.   “Don’t worry about that. You’re a part of the household now. It’s the least we could do.”   Izuku bit his lip. He wouldn't be a part of it for long, but he couldn't tell Mic that. He'd tell Aizawa and then he'd never manage to free the world of Izuku Midoriya. "Re-really….? Aren't you w-worried that it'll di-distract me from m-my studies? Or that I w-won't be able t-to figure it o-out, even if y-you help me? I'm n-not very smart, s-so…." Why was he telling Mic that? He probably knew already. The man was one of his teachers.   “Nonsense. I don’t mind. It’s supposed to allow you more freedom. Nobody will be upset if you don’t figure it out, and I trust you to be responsible. Besides, you’re discrediting yourself. You’re plenty smart.”   But why? Why did Izuku deserve that freedom? Why wouldn't they be upset? Why did Mic trust him? Why did he believe in him? "You re-really trust m-me? Y-you really won't b-be mad at m-me? You really w-won't yell at me o-or hit me….?" He whispered in disbelief.   “Of course I do. You’re a good kid. Sho adores you, and so do I. I would never yell at you or hurt you, I promise.”   Izuku thought for a moment, but before Kacchan even had the chance to supply him with the answer, he’d decided what he should do. He laid his new phone in it’s box before putting it on his desk and jumping up from his seat, wrapping his arms around Mic. “Th-thank you…. You c-can do it i-if I deserve i-it, of course y-you can, but pl-please don’t do i-it at random… I d-don’t like those k-kind of surprises….”   Mic ruffled his hand through Izuku’s curly hair. “Of course. We’d never do that to you. You deserve respect and love, not pain.”   “Y-you… you’re so ki-kind…. You g-guys are just li-like Shizuka-san… I di-didn’t think I’d e-ever have f-fosters as nice a-as her again….” Izuku murmured, a few tears rolling down his cheeks.   The man didn’t comment on Izuku’s tears, instead opting to simply hand him a handkerchief. “I’m glad we found you. You don’t have to be hurt or alone again.”   “I-I’m happy t-too. It’s nice t-to be able to sp-spend my time w-with people like y-you.” Izuku sniffed as he wiped his tears. “I don’t k-know how I d-deserved to be f-found by you g-guys, but I’m g-gonna make the m-most of it.” He’d make sure to spend at least some of his time during the next two weeks with Mic and Aizawa. He’d still have enough time to study. He could skip out on some sleep here and there.   “You have plenty of time, Izuku. We’ll be here for you.”   Izuku couldn’t tell Mic how wrong he was. He wouldn’t lie to him, he’d just bend the truth a little. Two weeks could count as a long time, right? “Y-yeah, I do, h-huh? Thanks… for b-being here.”    “Of course, little listener.” Mic smiled, but it wasn’t his trademark hero one. This one was softer, smaller but more genuine. “Anytime.”   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku hummed a little as he waited for Hitoshi to return, before shutting up, scared of annoying his classmates. He'd done pretty well so far. He couldn't screw it up just because he was bored.    When Hitoshi's team was done with the training exercise, he ran straight up to the taller boy. "Hi-Hito-kun! You did s-so well! You’re g-getting really good w-with your capture s-scarf!” Izuku praised as he beamed up at him.   He gave Izuku a small smile in return, “I asked Aizawa to train me. I’m nowhere near as good as he is, and I probably won’t be for a long time, but I’m working hard to get better at using it.”   Izuku faked a bewildered expression. He’d known about this already, but he couldn’t exactly let on to that fact. “You w-wouldn’t expect someone li-like ‘Raser to d-do that, huh? G-guess he’s s-s-sweeter than we th-thought.” Hitoshi simply shrugged, “It’s probably just because he’s the only one who’d be able to teach me how it works, but I still appreciate him doing all this for me. He can be nice, if he wants to be. I thought you’d have known that already. I heard Rabbit and Eraserhead were pretty close.”   “W-well, it t-took me a g-g-good few y-years for me to tr-trust him. It’s h-hard not t-to be scared of a p-person when they’re c-constantly trying to a-arrest you. But w-we’re a lot c-closer now that I c-c-can’t be Rabbit a-anymore!” And now that Izuku was living in his apartment.   “Other than when you’re taking down a serial killer, right?” Hitoshi frowned, narrowing his eyes.   “Th-that was an e-exception! Ten-kun c-could’ve died! ” Izuku frantically explained   “And you almost died trying to save him. I’m just- I’m worried about you, Izu. How many years has Rabbit been around? Two or three?”   “O-over five, actually!” Izuku corrected, causing the taller boy to sigh in exasperation.   “Since you were ten? Why would you even consider being a vigilante at that age?”   “It’s a l-long story that I c-c-can’t really tell y-you. Just my c-current guardian knowing w-was more than e-enough. I only t-told him cause I had t-to. I didn’t e-even tell him t-the entire st-story. I wasn’t c-c-comfortable sharing some s-stuff and I’d already g-gone on for a r-really long time w-w-when he cut me o-off.” At Hitoshi’s worried expression, Izuku decided to ask him something, “H-hey, if you’re r-really that worried a-a-about me, Hito-kun, you c-can always make s-sure I’m safe! I g-got one of those ph-phone things the o-other day! I’m st-still not sure how i-it works yet, but I’m t-trying my hardest to f-figure it out. I kn-know I can contact y-you in some s-sorta way. Mi- The person w-who gave it to m-me put his and my o-other guardians details in it, s-so I just gotta a-ask him how to p-put yours in! Then w-we can talk a-and stuff!”   “...Alright. Could I borrow a pen and a post it note?" Hitoshi asked, to Izuku's confusion.   "U-um… sure, Hito-kun!" He dug out both things from the pouches on his sleeves before passing them to the boy.   Hitoshi thanked him before scribbling something on the post it and passing both things back to him. Izuku examined the note, a random string of numbers now on it. He cocked his head, “Um…. w-what’s this?”   “It’s my phone number. That’s what you need to talk to me. I can show you how to put it in after class, if you want. It’ll make preparing for Sunday a little easier, along with making sure you’re actually alright. If anyone ends up connecting you to Rabbit, because you still haven't changed either your hero name or your costume, then you might be in for some trouble. So if you need help, call me, okay? I can get Aizawa to come for you, or I could come help when we get our temporary licenses next year. Just…. Don’t be afraid to ask for that help, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again. The Stain thing was bad enough.”   Izuku thought about it for a moment, before nodding. “Al-alright. Thank you, Hi-Hito-kun. You’re the b-best.” He was sure to punctuate his words with a small smile.   The taller boy flushed a little. “Not really, but that’s nice to hear. Thanks, Izu.”   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi had enjoyed his day with Izuku so far. The other boy was so sweet and interesting and he felt as if he could spend an entirety just listening to him talk, even with the heavy stuttering. Izuku was so generous as well, apologising to him about the fact that he couldn’t pay for the present he had gotten for Hitoshi himself. He reassured Izuku that it was perfectly fine, and that he loved it all the same. Izuku constantly thought of everything he did as not being enough or adequate in any way. Hitoshi wished he could help him with those issues, but was it really his place to do so? At the moment, all he could do was compliment the other boy as much as possible as he tried to figure that out, which wasn't hard to do.   Hitoshi had wanted to see a movie at the end of the day, though he'd completely forgotten that everything closed earlier on a Sunday. He mulled over what they could possibly do instead, before Izuku piped up.   "M-maybe we could g-go to my guardian's a-apartment? I'd have t-to ask them fi-first, but if they d-don't mind, we could w-watch a movie th-there….? Or j-just do anything y-you want, really…"    Hitoshi nodded in agreement as he watched Izuku pull out his phone and fumble around on it for a while, his concentration evident from his expression. He almost went to offer the boy help but as soon as he did Izuku denied he was having any trouble working it. After a few minutes, Izuku gave him a thumbs up. “They s-said yes!”   Hitoshi was then practically dragged to Izuku’s apartment, the green-haired boy and him talking about anything and everything under the sun. He wished their conversation could’ve lasted forever but before he knew it they were already at their destination. He followed Izuku inside, and was immediately greeted to the sight of one of Izuku’s guardians. He wasn’t prepared for one of them to be his homeroom teacher. “Aizawa-sensei….?”   Aizawa turned to look at him before sighing. “Izuku, you could’ve specified who you were bringing over. I thought it might be Todoroki or Iida. Though I guess I should’ve expected Shinsou.”   Izuku’s expression morphed into something somewhat sheepish yet solem, “S-sorry Dadzawa…. Hito-kun w-won’t tell anyone th-though!... w-would you, Hito-kun….?”   Hitoshi was a little caught off guard by the question, but he was still quick to answer. “Of course I wouldn’t. Why would I?”   “I swear, the entire class is going to know soon enough. I’d rather not be accused of favoritism due to you being my son.” “I p-promise that nobody else w-will find out! Ten-kun, To-kun a-and Hito-kun will n-never tell anyone! T-Ten-kun and To-kun have k-known for a while a-and they haven’t told anyone y-yet, and you just g-got confirmation from Hi-Hito-kun that he w-won’t tell anyone!” Izuku attempted to reassure Aizawa, who’s expression ever so slightly softened. It was easy to tell as the man was always so stern and serious. Any change in expression was easy to catch.   “Alright, problem child. But nobody else can know, got it? Three people are far more than enough."   Izuku hastily nodded, Aizawa ruffling his curls before leaving the room. Hitoshi turned to the smaller boy, "So… what's it like living with Eraserhead?"   "Hi-Hito-kun! Why are y-you asking questions? It's n-not like they'll h-have any interesting a-answers."   Hitoshi knew that. He just liked listening to the other boy speak. "You never said I couldn't ask questions. You just said I couldn't tell anyone about this."   "That's…. th-that's true. It's u-um… it's pretty w-weird. He's always s-so kind to m-me, and so is M-Mic, and I don't g-get why. None o-of my other f-fosters were this n-nice to me, except m-maybe Shizuka-san, so w-why are they?" Izuku mumbled, fumbling with the drawstrings of his hoodie.   Hitoshi frowned, concerned by Izuku's words. Suddenly, any  "People being nice to you shouldn't be considered 'weird', Izu. What did they… what did they do to you?” Izuku’s grip tightened. “I-it… it’s a l-long story.” “We’ve got time, if you don’t mind telling it.” The green-haired boy tensed up, and Hitoshi opened his mouth to apologise to him, but Izuku beat him to it. “I…. I c-can tell you a b-bit. We should pr-probably sit down th-though. I’m not e-exaggerating when I s-say it’s a long s-story…”   Hitoshi complied and the two of them found themselves side by side on the sofa, Izuku fidgeting as the former waited for him to begin. “I… w-well, I over exaggerated a l-little before. They w-were nice to m-me, for the most p-part. When I w-was in group homes f-for a while, my presence w-wasn't really acknowledged, b-but that was the b-best possibility when it c-came to my fosters. I'd r-rather be ignored than h-hurt, even if I d-deserved it…." The boy had barely said anything and Hitoshi was already getting worried.   "...my b-best foster was Sh-Shizuka-san. She was constantly s-sweet to me, and I w-wish I could've stayed w-with her. Certain…. circumstances k-kept us apart th-though, and I had to m-move on to the n-next home." Though Izuku's tone had considerably brightened when he first began speaking again, it quickly darkened once more, his expression following suit. "Over and o-over, I had to k-keep moving homes. I'm… h-happy where I am n-now. I'm just hoping t-this time won't be like t-the rest…. they don't h-hurt me, or get m-mad at me, Mic yells o-of course but he's n-not trying to be m-mean to me. They're…. too n-nice. It's hard not t-to expect them to s-suddenly turn on m-me, you know? I've k-known Dadzawa for five y-years, but I wouldn't s-say I truly began to g-get to known him until about a y-year ago. I… I want t-to be able to trust h-him, but it's s-so hard. "   Hitoshi silently offered for the boy to lay his shoulder, hoping to comfort him. Izuku quietly agreed, snuggling closer as tears formed in his eyes. "I tr-trust you and D-Dadzawa the most, even if i-it's a very loose use of t-the word trust. With everyone e-else, it's a lot h-harder to confide in th-them. I haven't really k-known you for long, s-so I have no i-idea why I trust y-you so much, but I'm g-glad I find it  e-easy to. I really enjoy b-being with you, Hito-kun. Y-you're so sweet to m-me constantly, always helping m-me and worrying a-about me. And you're r-really funny and smart a-and I just… you're absolutely i-incredible. I don't know w-what I'd do without you."   Having moved off the heavy stuff relatively quickly, the conversation had somehow turned into Izuku complimenting him, which Hitoshi was definitely not prepared for. He wanted to return the compliments, confess to the smaller boy how much he enjoyed being around him and that he wanted to be with him forever. But he was far too much of a coward, preferring to listen to Izuku ramble on instead, the conversation switching topics almost in an instant as he seemed to have an endless amount of things to talk about.   ----------------------------------------------------   When the day of the practical exam rolled around, Izuku had already been nervous enough. The written exams hadn’t been too challenging, yet he was still worried about the result he may receive. He did relatively well on the midterms, but that didn’t guarantee that he’d pass finals, especially for the practical exam.   He'd trained as much as he possibly could, and skipped on some sleep so he could still fit everything into his schedule. He was sure it wouldn't be enough though. All the studying, all the training, it wouldn't be enough. It would've all been a waste. Though, anything was a waste on Izuku.   Aizawa snapped him out of his train of thought, “Let’s begin your practical exam. It is, of course, possible to fail this exam. If you want to attend the training camp, then don’t mess this up. Knowing you guys, you probably asked around, and you might think you have a vague idea of how this might go…”   “Yeah, we’re just gonna be fighting robots!” Kaminari cheered, having received a tip from one of the girls in Class 1-B.   Ashido grinned, throwing a fist up in the air. “This is gonna be a breeze! We don’t have to hold back on our quirks and we have summer camp paradise waiting for us at the end of it all!” Izuku almost jumped when Nezu popped out of Aizawa’s scarf, clad with a shit-eating grin. ”Not quite!! Various circumstances have demanded a revision to the exam format! From now on, we’ll focus on battles against flesh and blood opponents. It is critical that our teaching simulates practical experience as closely as possible! As such, you students will be pairing up and fighting one of the teachers you see here! Your pairings and assigned teacher have already been decided. Your battle moves, your grades, your friendships with one another… all of these factors and more were considered!”   As the pairings were listed off, Izuku became more and more nervous with each passing second. Kacchan hasn’t been mentioned yet. Kacchan hasn’t been mentioned yet. I haven’t been mentioned yet. Why have neither of us been mentioned yet?   “-and as you might have realised by now, there is an odd number of students among you. To resolve that, along with any acquisitions of cheating, the remaining three will go against All Might!” Izuku’s heart sank. He was one of the remaining three, along with Hito-kun…. And Kacchan.   Maybe he wouldn’t be waiting until July 15th to die after all.   ----------------------------------------------------   After listening to All Might rattle off the rules of the exam and what exactly they’d be doing, Izuku and Hitoshi bolted off to strategize, with Kacchan begrudgingly following them. Izuku had absolutely no idea why the blonde had even bothered to go after them…. Until Kacchan decided to tell them without prompting.   “I don’t want you bastards interfering, alright?” Kacchan growled. “Especially you, Deku. Your dumbass will get yourself killed in an instant, even if All Might is being forced to hold back by that damn rat. I’m going to kick his ass on my own. Stay here.”   As the boy prepared to run towards where the symbol of peace was located, Hitoshi grabbed his wrist and tugged him back. “Even if you could fight the number one hero on your own, which you can’t, Izu and I are going to fail if we don’t fight him too. You might be penalised as well. We can't risk that. Both of us are a lot stronger than you think we are and if you even want a chance at passing this exam, you need to give us a chance too."   Despite Hitoshi's attempts at persuasion, Kacchan yanked his wrist out of the other boy's grasp. "I don't give a shit if you two fail. But I'm going to fail as well if I let you tag along. You're just going to get in my way the entire time and we're all gonna be fucked! Might as well have one of us pass rather than all three of us making a damn fool out of ourselves." He retorted, his words accompanied by a glare. Kacchan began to stomp off in search for the symbol of peace, though from the darkness that suddenly engulfed the space between buildings they were tucked inside, Izuku had a feeling that All Might had found them first.   " THE GOAL OF THIS EXAM IS TO WORK TOGETHER WITH YOUR TEAMMATE IN ORDER TO TAKE ME DOWN OR TO ESCAPE, YOUNG BAKUGO! I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU COULD COMPLY WITH THOSE SIMPLE RULES? " The fact that All Might had said 'teammate' rather than it's plural equivalent practically forced Izuku to remember how both the Symbol of Peace and Kacchan must know that he was simply a burden on his team in this exam. Hitoshi had to know as well. How was he meant to aid his team in taking down the number one hero, of all people? Taking down any of the other teachers would be enough of a challenge, but he was absolutely certain that he could never dream of being able to take down All Might.   All of them turned with varying expressions. Izuku’s stomach dropped, and Hitoshi looked surprised but on-guard. Kacchan, however, was grinning with the gleam in his eyes that meant trouble. He charged forward to take on the number-one hero.    “Bakugo-!” Hitoshi stepped forward in an attempt to stop Kacchan, but Izuku grabbed his wrist and shook his head.    “K- Kacchan is s- strong, he- he can kee- keep All M- Might occupied. We ne- need to escape!”    “ WOULD YOU LEAVE YOUR TEAMMATE BEHIND LIKE THAT? THAT’S NOT VERY HEROIC! ”   And, oh no, All Might had heard him. His lack of cautiousness cost him a picket fence pinning him down and locking him in place. All the breath was knocked out of him in an instant. Hitoshi called his name, and it was all he could do to cough and say, “go. I’ll be okay.”   Hitoshi opened his mouth to respond, but he was pulled into the fight, too. It was a blur for a while, a stalemate. Hitoshi tried to get All Might to talk while the hero and Kacchan fought. Meanwhile, Izuku tried his best to chip at the fence pinning him down with his baton.   Finally, it gave way and Izuku was free once more. Both of his teammates were rundown, and Izuku knew that if he didn’t do something soon, things would get worse. With a burst of courage he didn’t know he had, he grabbed Kacchan and Hitoshi’s wrists and sprinted into a nearby alleyway. Once he was sure that All Might wouldn’t find them, he looked up at Kacchan.   Near-immediately, a fist hit the side of Izuku’ cheek and knocked him down. “What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid Deku?! I was fucking winning !”   “Hands off! Don’t touch him!” Hitoshi spat at Kacchan.   “Fuck yo-” The blonde didn’t have the time to finish the insult. His eyes went blank.    “Stay here. You’re going to jeopardize everything if you keep being rash. You’ve already proven that you’re not afraid to attack our side. I’m not letting you traipse around doing whatever you want with no consequences.” Hitoshi’s voice was low and angry, but the tone dropped when he turned to Izuku. “Now that we have that out of the way… Let’s go, shall we?” Izuku was unnerved by the idea of leaving Kacchan behind, but he nodded. They talked quietly about strategies for a while, and eventually decided on stealth. All Might was a strength-based hero. They had no chance of beating him with pure force alone. They had to rely on wit.   When the goal was in sight, things went wrong.    “There it is. We can make it. Come on.” Hitoshi’s voice was quiet but cautiously optimistic. Izuku merely nodded.   “ NOT SO FAST! ”   And, with that, all hope diminished. All Might had found them. With a choked gasp, Izuku was lifted off his feet by his wrist. He struggled, but All Might was stronger.   “ WILL YOU ENSURE YOUR VICTORY OR WILL YOU SAVE YOUR TEAMMATE, YOUNG SHINSO? TIME IS TICKING! ”   Izuku couldn’t see Hitoshi’s face, but the silence was enough to tell him that his teammate was struggling. He tried to pull away from the iron grip on his wrist. It was no use. “R- run, H- Hito-kun! G- g- go!”   Why is he hesitating? Why doesn’t he just leave me behind?   A white strip of fabric came into his view, and hit the eye of the Symbol of Peace. Without warning, Izuku was dropped.   “Sorry, All Might, but I think I’m doing both.” With that, Hitoshi grabbed Izuku’s arm and raced across the goal.   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi didn't know if it was the adrenaline rush from beating the number one hero or that he'd suddenly gained a multitude of confidence, but he decided to finally ask Izuku out.   He didn't know when he'd begun liking the boy, but he realised just how smitten he was when Izuku hid behind him the day they returned to school after internships. He was silently panicking as the smaller boy snuggled closer to him in attempts to hide from the symbol of peace. As soon as he saw Iida escorting the shorter boy away, along with seeing Izuku's bloodied side, he wished he could take the former's place, although All Might calling on him to take his turn next immediately ruined any chance of that happening.   In an attempt to spend more time with Izuku, he decided to invite him out. As much as Hitoshi had loved spending his birthday with him, he despised being too much of a coward to bring up his feelings for the boy that day. He wouldn't shy away this time, though.   He approached the smaller boy while he was out of class, and called his name. Izuku flinched, before turning to look at Hitoshi, seeming slightly relieved to see him although still alarmed. It made him doubt his decision a little, but he couldn’t back out now or he’d never get this done. “Hey, Izu, can we talk? I was thinking where we used to sit, you know? It would be better if we were in private for this.”   Izuku seemed even more nervous than he was before, but the boy gave Hitoshi a hesitant nod. The green-haired boy walked by his side for a while, though he sent little glances at Hitoshi now and then. Eventually, Izuku ended up hanging back a bit. Was he….scared? "I promise you don't have to worry, Izu. You…. know I wouldn't hurt you, right?"   He looked back at the boy, only to receive another non-verbal yes. Hitoshi sighed, not exactly believing his crush, but he didn't question it. He could save that for another time. As long as Izuku didn't abandon him after this. It was certainly a possibility. He didn't even know if the other boy liked guys. That was…. Probably something he should've asked far before now. However, he'd just have to deal with the consequences of his stupidity. He couldn't exactly ask now. Izuku would figure it out as soon as Hitoshi confessed, for real this time.   As the two made their way to the back of the school, Hitoshi took a deep breath. He could do this, he could do this, he could do this, he could-   Izuku broke him out of his train of thought. "S-s-so, um, what d-did you w-w-wanna talk a-about? You've b-b-been quiet for a w-while…." His voice was a nervous whisper, which made Hitoshi lose just a little bit more of his confidence in making this decision, but it had to be because Izuku was nervous about what he had to say, right? So was Hitoshi. It wasn't that the smaller boy was scared of him. It couldn't be that.   "So, Izu…." Hitoshi began, hand resting on his neck. He attempted to look at Izuku while he spoke but his eyes darted away when he caught sight of him, a blush creeping onto Hitoshi's cheeks. "Well, I know we've only known each other for three months, so this might sound absolutely insane, but…. I like you."   Izuku immediately seemed relieved, as a smile made its way onto his face. "Ah, is th-that all, Hi-Hito-kun? I like y-you too. You're m-my best friend!"   Hitoshi resisted the urge to facepalm, hoping that Izuku was just dense and wasn't misunderstanding on purpose. Previous instances supported the former claim, so he decided to attempt this once more. "No, Izuku…. I mean that I like you. As more than a best friend. Way more."   Izuku froze, seemingly knowing what Hitoshi meant. He watched as the boy seemed to mull over what he'd just said. "I….I… I l-like you too, Hi-Hitoshi….. Does th-this mean we're…. y-y'know…" Izuku's face was bright red, just like his.    "Yeah, if you're comfortable with that." He had to ensure Izuku actually wanted this. Hitoshi wouldn't want the boy to say yes just so he wouldn't embarrass him.    "O-of course I a-am!" Izuku assured him with a big smile on his face, a large contrast to how nervous he was previously. "I'm r-really excited about th-this Hito-kun, you d-don't have to w-worry about anything."   Despite the odd response, Hitoshi smiled back at his boyfriend, “So am I.”   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku sat curled up on his floor, quietly sobbing as he tried his best to not wake up Aizawa and Mic. He couldn’t let them see him like this. The latter had already seen him cry twice, and the former had seen even worse. Having to witness another display of Izuku’s weakness could end up being the last straw. He couldn’t risk that.   He’d already been stupid enough to risk spending a lot more of his time with Hitoshi recently, and what had that gotten him? He’d had it confirmed that the other boy was going to betray him at some point. Every moment was filled with pure, unbridled terror as he wondered which moment Hitoshi may strike. Izuku didn’t have a clue when the game would end, but he knew both how and why. If Izuku had rejected Hitoshi? An immediate game over. He had no clue what horrid things may have ended up occurring if he hadn’t said yes. But now was the issue of not knowing when the next stage would begin. When Hitoshi would finally decide that he was bored of Izuku and decide to get a little bit more entertainment out of him before discarding him for good. It always went like this. He shouldn’t have been stupid enough to believe his new friend would be any different.   The thing was, Izuku had no idea how long Hitoshi would be entertained for. He was so different from anyone else he’d met. All he could do was hope that he’d be dead before the boy got bored, but with Izuku’s luck he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Lasting three months was already a miracle. Another week was a stretch. He could always avoid Hitoshi but that would simply lead to him getting bored even faster and leaving Izuku worse off than before. All he could do was spend as much time as possible with Hitoshi whilst trying to hide how utterly terrified he was. But would that even work? Would Izuku even be able to do that? He’d slip up at some point, for sure. Every single outcome from this point on always lead to a game over, no matter what Izuku said or did. The only thing Izuku could control was how long he lasted before Hitoshi got bored of him, and even that was only to a certain extent.   His hope that he’d be long gone before Hitoshi even began to get bored of him was practically a tiny sliver at this point, getting smaller and smaller with each passing day. But all he could do was clutch onto that dimming hope and will that it wouldn’t be a stupid decision to do so.   Izuku enjoyed listening to the little chats Class 1A had before, between, and after classes. He rarely took part in them (voluntarily, that was) but they were nice background noise. And maybe they'd serve to help him find out exactly when they began to despise him. He knew there couldn't be too long left until they began to talk about him behind his back.   For now though, they were simply discussing how the last day of the semester was almost upon them, which would lead into summer vacation. Which would also lead into Izuku's birthday. He was far more enthusiastic about the end of school due to the latter.   Izuku began to update a few passages in his notebook. He'd managed to get the teachers to let him ask a few more questions than usual yesterday and he had various new details about their quirks and fighting styles. Now he just had to find a place to put them on their already quite full pages.   However, it didn't seem like he'd have the time to figure it out right now as a beaming Kaminari and a just as excited Kirishima approached him. Izuku wanted to slap his notebook shut as quickly as possible, yet it was far too late. Either they'd question him about why he slammed the notebook shut, he'd have difficulty answering and then they'd force him to show them before destroying his notebook, or they'd notice it, read a little and then destroy his notebook. The former was more trouble than it was worth, and there was always the possibility that they wouldn't notice it.   "Hey, Midoriya! You excited for summer? Can't wait to finally stop with exams for a little while! UA would be so much better if we just had practical lessons. Why will I need to know math when I become a hero?" Kaminari sighed. "I bet you feel the same way, right?"   He shook his head. "N-no, not really. I like l-lessons, and I enjoy the r-routine of school..." Izuku enjoyed the routine he had back on the beach more, though. It was a lot more consistent and his entire day was planned out from start to finish. "...though I g-guess the sooner it ends, the s-sooner Class 1A will be at the s-summer training camp, r-right?" It's too bad that he won't be joining them, but he'd just serve as a distraction in the end. It was a good thing that Izuku wouldn't be there.   He suddenly realised that he'd just disagreed with Kaminari. What was he meant to do now? The blonde had an electricity quirk, he didn't want to suffer through that same pain again! He couldn't!    Before Izuku could correct his mistake though, Kirishima offered him a toothy grin. "Hell yeah! It's gonna be awesome! Can't wait to find out where we're going!" His eyeline travelled downwards, until Izuku knew that the boy had noticed his notebook. "Hey, what's this, Midobro?"   Ah. So he still had to answer questions anyway. Nothing could ever be easy for him. "O-Oh, um, it's…. it's m-my… analysis notebook….. " Izuku lowered his voice to a whisper, and the two exchanged confused expressions.   Kaminari looked back down at him again, "Hey, uh, could you repeat that? We didn't quite hear you!"   Izuku wished that he could just sink into the floor right now, but he'd rather not have to go through a conversation with someone in 1-B to be able to do so. Talking to 1-A was already hard enough. "It's my a-analysis notebook…. I analyse q-quirks and hero's fighting s-styles and such…"    He was prepared for the worst, knowing from previous instances that this was going to end with his work destroyed and the entire class despising him. Not being able to do analysis at school anymore wouldn't be too bad, especially as there wasn't much more of it to deal with, but it would still be bad. Nowhere near as bad as them finding out he's quirkless, but bad nonetheless.    However, Kirishima and Kaminari's expressions didn't morph into ones of disgust. Rather, they seemed interested. "Wait, really? That's amazing, Midobro! Hey, have you ever done an analysis on any of us? Maybe you could give us tips on how to improve our fighting styles!"    Izuku didn't know how to respond. Why weren't they ripping up his notebook? Why weren't they forcing him to watch as they did so? Why weren't they calling him creepy and a stalker and informing everyone of how disgusting he was and how they should despise him and-   "Midoriya? You okay?"    He looked up, Kaminari's bright smile having been replaced with a concerned frown. Izuku tried his best to give them the most convincing smile possible as he nodded. "Of c-course I am, Ka-Kaminari-kun. No need to w-worry. And uh, s-sure, Kirishima-kun! If you w-want me to, then w-why not….?"   Izuku spent the rest of his time before class showing them the pages he had concerning their quirks and fighting styles, and what improvements they could possibly make. He had no idea why they were so fascinated by his notebook, but at least he'd found a way to be a little useful. He just wished everyone else he'd shown it to had reacted the same way.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku clung onto Aizawa as they walked through the halls, prepared to finally get his trial over with. Sure, Izuku was going to die soon, but he couldn't really get out of something like this.   Izuku knew there were going to be more trials, but he only had to be present for this one. It was to discuss his past (to help with later trials), why he'd become a vigilante and what actions he had taken as Rabbit to determine his outcome.   It was terrifying, to say the least, especially when Izuku noticed a tall, red-haired woman, angry sparks buzzing around her. As they approached, Izuku's hold on Aizawa tightened. He assumed that the man must have noticed, but either way, he didn't say anything.    When Aizawa and Izuku were close enough, she must've noticed them. She turned her head, poker face immediately twisting into a grimace when she saw Izuku standing there.   "Oh. It's you." Was Mayumi's simple sneer as she glared down at him, "I was told I was coming here for a trial concerning you, but I didn't think I'd actually have to see you. I was hoping that they'd keep you separate from those who are actually worth something. A quirkless child has no place among the quirked." She seemed to finally realise there was somebody next to him, looking at him with narrowed eyes, "And who are you? His new case worker? Did they not trust me with him after he ran off again?"   "I'm his guardian." Aizawa replied in a monotone. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but Mayumi was quicker.   "I'm surprised you decided to take the brat in, given his history. He was bad enough before, but I heard he became a vigilante. That's why we're here today, isn't it? I'm guessing you've had him for about a week? Nobody's lasted particularly long with him, but I doubt he'll reach a month in your care, especially after this trial. You'll give him up in an instant when-"   A flash of red interrupted her. "Who are you to say that I'll ever give Izuku up? I'm not concerned with his past, it doesn't change the fact that I care about him. Though I am concerned with taking down the people who wronged him. I'm sure you've been invited to partake in another trial next week, Mayumi?"   “How did you know? Tsk, nevermind. I know how. Izuku has always lied for attention. I bet he told you all sorts of horrific things. But let me be the first, and definitely not the last, to inform you that each and every thing he’s told you is a lie. No matter who he's brought up, not a single detail of his stories is the truth. You must've heard his lies about Yoichi a million times by now, right?"   "Whoever they are, they've never been mentioned to me. It seems like your information concerning Izuku is outdated, if not completely false in the first place." Aizawa shot back at the woman. "Or maybe he just hasn't mentioned it to me because you've been calling him a liar all his life. No wonder I don't know if he thinks I'm going to falsely accuse him of making every word he says up."   Mayumi's glare intensified. "You have no fucking idea how fake every little thing he says is. You barely know him. I knew this little shit for almost four fucking years. I know that he's desperate for somebody to actually give a damn about him, so he makes up a bunch of bullshit to try and make others sympathise with him. Luckily, most people don't fall for it. We all know how idiotic and attention-hungry quirkless people are. Though some imbeciles , such as you and Shizuka, seem to have fallen into his trap. I almost feel a little sorry for you."   Izuku didn't really appreciate the insult towards Shizuka-san and Aizawa, and it seemed as if the latter did either. "I don't know what bullshit you're referring to. The only bullshit I've been hearing is what you've been spouting ever since I had the misfortune of meeting you. Izuku only wants a bit of attention because all the bastards in his life never provided him with any. Damn, all the kid does is keep to himself and he barely bothers us. Why do you think that is? Maybe it's because it's been hammered into him that he can't ask for help or depend on others-"   "For good reason- "   "No! There's no 'good reason' for a kid to think that he's completely alone in this world. Bastards like you are why the world is so fucked up. Stop with this quirkist bullshit before it lands you in jail, though by the looks of it, it might already be too late for that." Aizawa hissed, squeezing Izuku's hand tighter as he led him away from the woman, whose face had begun to mimic her hair colour.   ----------------------------------------------------   The trial had Izuku shaking, absolutely terrified. Though that was normal for him. It shouldn't be, he shouldn't be so weak all the time, yet he was. He was far too useless to be in control of his own emotions and this only proved it.   Aizawa had mentioned that he'd talk to Nezu about creating a case, but Izuku had never been informed of the fact that Nezu would serve as his defence attorney. It was strange, but nevertheless he was grateful to the chimera.   The case mainly revolved around Izuku's days as a vigilante, which he didn't mind being discussed, but as it delved into more sensitive topics he felt like he wanted to just run. He didn't know what else he could do in a situation like this. He felt someone grab his hand, and he looked up at Aizawa, who was intently focusing on whatever the judge was saying. Izuku looked back down again, squeezing the man's hand.    As the trial went on, discussing Izuku's past and the actions he had taken as a vigilante, he slowly calmed down a little. He was still freaking out, but he was calmer. Nezu had studied any videos of Rabbit and had come up with proof that he did, in fact, act in self defense. And with the fact that Izuku was quirkless, there wasn't really anything to sentence him for.   The jury's conclusion concerning his situation was mostly positive, choosing to  accept his story and the evidence that Nezu had provided, yet a thin majority didn't believe him.   Of course they didn't believe him.   No one ever believed him.   And for good reason.   Izuku had lied so many times, especially recently. Why should anyone believe someone like that? They had the right to be suspicious. In any future trials, they'd have the right to believe the woman who'd been glaring at Izuku throughout the entire time. Even ignoring the fact that they must know how useless and desperate for any form of attention Izuku was, it was a woman against a burden of a child. It wasn't hard to guess who they would believe in such a situation.   No matter what those few people thought though, the first trial was decided. Izuku wasn't going to be charged. He was glad he wouldn't have to be present for any future ones, alive or not. Just this one was bad enough, because he was too weak to handle it.    This was exactly why he deserved the fate he had been denied all these years.   ----------------------------------------------------   As Izuku spent more time around Hitoshi, he grew to wish the other boy's feelings were real. He loved being with him and talking to him, and Izuku always wished he could believe it anytime he said the simple phrase of 'I love you'. But there was no way he could believe such a thing. He had enough experience to know that he didn't deserve love.   Naito didn't love him. It was just a dare to fuck with his feelings a little. None of his foster parents loved him. It was either for the money or to use him as a punching bag, though that was all he was really good for. Mayumi-san certainly didn't love him. He heard as much every time he was around her. His own parents didn't love him.   He had no reason to believe that Aizawa and Mic truly loved him as well. That could simply be another game in the works. And when it ended, he'd be on the streets again, unable to go back to his beach or warehouse unless he wanted to be arrested immediately.    But neither game would have the chance to end. Not Hitoshi's, and not Aizawa and Mic's. He'd be long gone before the latter pair even noticed he was missing, and they'd all finally be free.   Izuku Midoriya will be free from his burden of a useless existence, and the others will be free from a burden of a child and 'partner'.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku was glad that it was the last day of school. It was only a couple of days until his birthday. Only a couple of days until he could free everybody of the burden that is Izuku Midoriya. He’d done well to keep his secret of being quirkless. He hadn't kept to the same standard concerning his status as a former vigilante, a discovery of his quirklessness following suit, but as long as the rest of his classmates never discovered his lack of a quirk then everything would be fine.   "Hey, Midoriya!" Izuku ceased packing up his things and lifted his head. He'd wanted this to be as quick and easy as possible, just put all of his supplies back in his bag and then bolt to the teachers lounge, but Kaminari seemed to have other plans.   "What's your quirk, dude? We haven't seen it all semester."   "Kaminari!” Yaoyorozu scolded, “He is quite skilled without anything manifesting! Remember, not all quirks are physical enhancements! Does your quirk offer intellectual prowess instead, Midoriya? Or perhaps it boosts your agility?" She suggested.   "It's totally an analysis quirk! I'm right, aren't I, Midobro?! I mean, you're always writing in your notebooks. It must be constant quirk training! You're really dedicated! And super manly…." Kirishima wiped a tear out of his eye. Izuku didn't know his analysis could make someone that emotional.   "Don't just assume that his quirk is analysis from a hobby! It could be something like, uh…. Oh, you know his gloves?! Maybe he can tase people with his hands but he needs a support item like Aoyama does to use it safely! Is that it, Midori?!" Ashido asked, her tone full of enthusiasm.   Hitoshi glared at them,"Guys, I think you should stop pestering him-"   "Oh yeah! Shinsou, you're really close to Midoriya! What's his quirk?! I don't think he's listening to us-"   "Stop it, you fucking idiots." Kacchan growled, "Why the fuck are you all so worked over Deku? All your guesses are wrong anyway, he's a fucking quirkless bastard. Ain't got anything useful going for him."   Izuku stood up, throwing his bag over his shoulder before running out of the room.   He couldn't wait to die.   ----------------------------------------------------   "That was unnecessary, Bakugo! Just because Izuku does not have a quirk, does not mean you are granted the right to treat him as lesser than you!” Four eyes began to berate Katsuki, who just scoffed.   "Who the fuck gave you the authority to tell me what's unnecessary or not?" He growled back. "I'd love to kick their ass for even thinking of something like that, let alone acting on it. And Deku is lesser than me. Always has been, always will be."   "You've always acted like you knew Midobro before he came to UA. Is that true, Bakubro?" Shitty hair questioned.   "Why do you wanna know? I don't have to tell you shit." Katsuki hissed at him before standing up and sliding open the classroom's door.   "What're you doing?" One of the extras dared to ask him, despite how obvious it was.   "I'm going after Deku. What else would I be doing? I'm finally going to get my answers from him."    Before anyone could stop Katsuki, he began to run through the halls of UA. He knew exactly where Deku must be going right now. He'd spotted the boy walking in the direction of the teachers lounge every now and then. He couldn't think of anywhere else he'd be.   When he finally got Deku in his sights, only a few halls down from the teachers lounge, he dove at him before shoving him against the wall, quickly pinning him to it. He glared down at the shorter boy, who was shaking. It only pissed Katsuki off even more.   "What the fuck is up with you, Deku? I'm not letting you run away again without getting answers. Why did you go missing for five fucking years? Do you know how goddamn worried I was about your dumb ass? What the hell was I meant to think after that? And why do you keep freaking out at the smallest of things?! You're fucking fine, you don't need to bolt from your goddamn classes! Why did they even accept a quirkless bastard like you into the hero course when all you do is panic over nothing at all?! You're never going to become a hero. You'll die before you even capture one villain. Maybe even before you graduate."   Deku shrunk in on himself, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. Katsuki narrowed his eyes and slapped the boy across the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground. He glared down at him. "Shut up! I barely even said anything and you're already sobbing?! How weak are you? This is why you were the only one to get injured on our internships. You're even weaker than invisibitch or the grape bastard. You should've bled out. At least then we wouldn't have to deal with your attention-seeking bullshit all the time!"   Katsuki placed a foot on Deku's back before he had the chance to get up. "Tell me, Deku! Why are you at UA? Why are you even still alive? Why are you so obsessed with wasting all of our time? All you do is hinder us. I don't know why Shitty Hair and Eyebags and the rest of those idiots give a crap about you. We'd all be better off if you'd never come here, let alone if you hadn't survived during those five years. I kinda wish it had come to what I originally thought it had. I always felt guilty about telling you to take a swan dive…." He pushed down harder, causing the smaller boy to sob even more, "but now I've realised that I had no reason to waste my time feeling bad for that. If only I'd pushed you a little more…" He placed even more force down on Deku to exaggerate his point, "we'd all have never had to deal with a worthless waste of space like you."   When Deku still didn't answer him, Katsuki gave up, kicking him in the side for the sake of adding insult to injury before storming off.   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku chewed on his lip as he tapped his pen on the desk, which was decorated with scrunched up balls of paper. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the right words. This would be the last time Hitoshi ever heard from him. It needed to be perfect.   As he contemplated how he could possibly convey his exact thoughts and feelings to Hitoshi through this note, it suddenly struck him. Izuku's pen began to carefully etch his emotions onto the paper.   'To Hito-kun,   If you're reading this, I'm dead. I'm sorry to end your fun so quickly. I understand that people find it entertaining to mess with my feelings, and I don't hate you for it. Anybody else would have done the same, so it's not just you. If I hated everyone, that would be stupid. So I don't care that you tried to hurt me. I should've seen it coming, anyway. Just you being friends with me was surprising enough, but asking me out? That was when I was sure you were tricking me. At first, I played along because I was scared. If I don't 'fall for the trick', people usually get pretty mad at me. But over time, it felt like more than just a trick. I actually did end up falling in love with you, despite it all being fake. You're far too good for me, though. Even if it wasn't fake, I wouldn't stand a chance with you. If it was real, I’m sorry for ruining it by dying. I know that isn't a possibility, that it couldn't be real, but I had to address it. Try not to think about me after you read this, Hito-kun. Please. Go on with your life and forget about me forever. You'll be happier that way, at least if my death didn't make you happy. Though I guess the abrupt end of your game might not be the best thing for you.   Despite everything, I'll always love you, Hito-kun. Even if it was fake, I'm so glad I got to be with you.   -Izu'   ----------------------------------------------------   Izuku's emerald green eyes scanned the view below him, wind rustling his crisp curly locks. He raised his head to be greeted by the lights of Mustafu's cityscape shining brightly against the darkness surrounding them. The voices residing in his head quieted as he took in the view before him.   He had seen this view a million times, yet it had never looked as beautiful as this.   Izuku just couldn't do it anymore. He didn't have the strength, and he never would. Because he was just a burden. On Aizawa, on Hizashi, on Hitoshi, on his classmates, and on the entirety of UA.   He was just a weak, worthless, quirkless burden with no talent whatsoever, just drifting through Mustafu with no real purpose except to waste the precious time and energy of others.   He didn't want that. He never wanted that, and he never would. Because this was the moment that he would stop wanting anything at all .   Izuku turned, now having his back to the magnificent view that he hoped viewing would be his last moment alive, other than hitting the welcoming pavement below.   He felt a genuine smile grace his lips as he took a step back.   Izuku Midoriya was sleepy.   And now he could sleep forever. Shouta sighed as he followed his patrol route,trying to remember this one something he felt he'd forgotten, yet coming up blank. He was still finding it strange to not see Rabbit on them, but he was managing. He'd left the former vigilante with Hizashi. Despite being originally wary of Shouta's husband,Izuku seemed to have warmed up to the man. Shouta felt as if the boy was ready. And he hoped that soon enough he'd be ready to maybe try therapy. Easing the boy into normal life was difficult, but he knew Izuku was trying his best.   He checked his phone. 11:57. He had one new message from Hizashi. Shouta contemplated ignoring it, as it could just be something stupid, but he decided to check it anyway.   His eyes widened as he read the message he had received.   Cockatoo Izuku's missing.   Shouta realized what he had forgotten.   In three- no, two minutes, it would be July 15th.   He immediately began to sprint, hoping that the boy was atop the same building where they'd met the first time, though Shouta hadn't known the mysterious boy who saved that woman was Izuku until recently. Nor that he had tried to jump that night as well.   A million things were running through his head as he ran as fast as he possibly could, though he was still worried he was going to be too late. If only Shouta had realised sooner, he would've stayed home tonight to keep an eye on Izuku. This wouldn't be happening right now if Shouta hadn't been so stupid.   He should've gotten his kid into therapy sooner. He should've been there for his kid more. He should've known-   Shouta saw it.   Shouta saw a small figure standing on top of a building. Their building.   It had to be Izuku.   He tried to push away his fears for the worst, focusing on saving his son instead. If he had just been better, he wouldn't even have to be saving Izuku right now. This was all his fault. If his son died because he wasn't there in time, he'd never be able to forgive himself.   He ran as fast as he possibly could, willing that the boy wouldn't jump just yet. He had to get there first, so he could catch him and hold him tight and apologise for being so stupid.    He just had to get there first.    He just had to get there first.   He just had to get there-   The figure began to fall as the time hit midnight. Shouta kept running, a small slither of hope still dwelling inside him. He couldn't be too late, right? He could still get there in time. Izuku wasn't going to die tonight. He couldn't.   Yet he was helpless as all he could do was push Izuku’s head out of the way before the boy hit the ground. Thoughts raced through his head, pounding with the beat of his heart. He attempted to ignore them as he scooped Izuku up and began dashing in the other direction instead, towards the hospital.    He was too late to catch him, but Izuku was still going to live. He had to live.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta threw open the door to his house, trying not to let his emotions take over. He’d seen hundreds, no, thousands of injuries, many worse than Izuku’s and caused by worse things. The urge to shout or cry was illogical, but it was painfully strong.   He shut it out and grabbed his keys, focusing purely on the task at hand. Unfortunately for him, his husband also happened to be home.    Hizashi stood, wide-eyed. “What happened? Where’s the little listener? Is he safe?”   Shouta dreaded having to tell his husband about all this, but it wasn’t something he could hide anymore. “About that…. Izuku… is in the hospital right now.” He muttered, clenching his fist.   “ What ?!” Hizashi’s voice rose, and Shouta had to use his quirk to stop the other man’s from activating. Quieter, Hizashi asked, “what for?”   “He...tried to kill himself.” Shouta didn’t really know if he should elaborate further. It had taken years for Izuku to trust him, but he couldn’t risk something like this happening again. Alerting Hizashi about the boy’s situation might be a good precaution, or as much as he could say without bringing up what had happened to Izuku in the foster system. That could wait until Izuku was able to give him the permission to. “It’s not something new, but I was expecting last year’s attempt to be his last. I shouldn’t have been stupid enough to think he’d stop trying so easily.”   He used his quirk again, expecting Hizashi to shout something, but the man just looked distraught. “What? No, he can’t have-” Mic ran a hand through his tied-back blonde hair, gripping the closest chair to support his weight. “I suspected it was bad, but this ? Sho, I thought we got through to him!”   “It wasn’t something that we could just fix. He’s barely told me about his experiences and a lot of them would’ve been enough to break a person on their own. I…. Damn it, I should’ve done more to help him. I knew I only had a little time to do so and I fucked it all up. I was almost too late to save him too. Izuku could’ve died and it would’ve been all my fault.”   Hisashi’s hand trembled, but he took Shouta’s. “He’s alive, though. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s.” Still, every crease on his face screamed pain.   "Not even the fault of the people who hurt him in the first place? They took that child and shattered him just because he didn't have a quirk. He didn't do anything to deserve it, 'Zashi, but he almost died because of the bullshit they did to him. If anyone’s to blame, it’s them."    “You’re right. I’m just… I don’t know how to feel about this, Sho. I’m upset, I’m angry, I’m worried. I wish I knew what had been going on. I could have helped. I should have kept a better eye on him, or something . Everything’s twisted up.”   “If it’s not my fault then it’s not yours either, ‘Zashi. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my place to tell you. It took Izuku five years to trust me, I couldn’t betray him like that. But then you didn’t know how serious everything was and now it’s all gone to shit. I should've let you know. This wouldn't be happening if I had."   Hizashi ran a hand through his hair with an infinitely tired sigh. “Next time… no, there won’t be a next time. We’re going to fix this. We can talk about it later. For now, keep an eye on the little listener, okay?”   "Of course I will. I can't let something like this happen again." Shouta reassured him. "I just have to make sure he's okay right now. It's not the only thing that matters, but it takes priority. As soon as this has died down a little though, I swear we'll talk about it all. I can't divulge everything just yet but you deserve to know. You did everything right and you were there for Izuku and….I should've trusted you more. I'm sorry I didn't. But I'll make sure to do so in the future."   Hizashi smiled, sadness behind his eyes, then kissed Shota’s cheek. “Go take care of your kid.”   He nodded, offering his husband the best smile he could muster in return before setting off towards Izuku's room. As soon as he creaked open the door, he found a note addressed to 'Hitoshi' laying on the boy's desk, a cup of pens used as a paperweight so it wouldn't be blown out of the open window. Curtains fluttered as Shouta pulled out his phone, informing the person in question of the situation before leaving the room to go see how Izuku was doing. He would've waited, but he knew he had to let the kid know now. He was a part of this too, after all.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta couldn't erase the frown on his face as he walked into the hospital, Shinsou in tow. It was a near-permanent expression on his face, but even the stern and rational Eraserhead could smile sometimes. Though now that he'd almost lost his son due to his own stupidity, Shouta found it much harder to do anything but frown.    Shinsou seemed to be the same, though his expression seemed as if he was constantly contemplating something.   "What's on your mind, kid?" Shouta decided to ask him, wanting to break the silence between them.   Shinsou began to chew on his lip for a while, before sighing, "I…. knew he wasn't exactly happy. I know that quirk discrimination is shitty, but all of my experiences with it are from having a quirk that's perceived as 'villainous'. Not having a quirk at all seems like it would be so much worse, but I didn't know how bad it was. He…. Izu tried to kill himself. I don't know what the fuck happened to cause him to do so, but I know he must've gone through hell and back. I just… I should've asked. I should've paid better attention. Maybe- maybe I could've prevented all of this if I had just realised what he was going through. If I had just been better, Izu wouldn't be in the hospital right now. I wasn't good enough to save him."   The usually stoic boy was tearing up, and Shouta felt the need to comfort him, especially due to having similar emotions about the situation, "Shinsou, it's not your fault. I tried to adjust him before getting him into something like therapy and it didn't exactly work out the way I wanted it to. None of this was your fault. It was mine. I wasn't even able to catch him this year. Don't blame yourself for my mistakes."   Shinsou went wide eyed, staring up at Shouta in shock. " This year?" He didn't say anything else, but he knew the lavender-haired boy was asking him to elaborate.   "Izuku has a….history of sucide attempts. This is his sixth or seventh...I think. He's had some difficulties in life. I won't divulge those, though. He'll tell you when he's ready to." Shouta murmured, his line of vision directed at the floor. He could've done more to ease those difficulties. Yet he decided to wait until the boy was slightly more stable and settled, and where did that get him? Having to guide his student to his son's hospital room.    "He's touched on them, but I'm guessing that I didn't hear the majority of what he's been through. I'd like to hear Izuku out and be there for him, yet it's not like I can force him to tell me. I just have to wait but I just want to help him. I want to erase all this painful shit he's been through! But I can't! I can't be there for him and I hate that I can't. I know I have to wait until he's ready but what if he never is? What- what if this happens again because I wasn't there for him? I can't just ignore everything again! I-" Shinsou cut himself off, wiping a few tears that had managed to slide down his cheeks. "I'm…. I'm sorry. This is stupid. This is… selfish. You shouldn't have to listen to any of this…."   Shouta placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "It's alright. I understand. But you have to wait. Like you said, you can't force him. Just be there for him in other ways until he's ready to be able to rely on you for this. He hasn't accepted that he can ask for help yet. I think Hosu was a start, though making progress due to life or death situations isn't exactly ideal. As soon as he's ready to ask for help though, make sure to let him know that you don't mind if he does so. He probably wouldn't want to trouble you with it all, so reassure him that it won't be a problem and you want to be there for him."   He simply nodded in response and they continued their walk towards the hospital room, a heavy silence hanging over them. Shouta knew that as the room got closer and closer that he'd have to let the kid know about the letter any moment now. He wanted to prolong it, but Shinsou deserved to know. This wasn't something he could hide, especially after all he'd just heard.   As they stopped outside the room, Shouta pulled out the note and presented it to him. "It's from Izuku. I'd advise that you read it before he wakes up. It might be beneficial towards helping him. I haven't read it myself, it’s not my business, but it might hold some clues…" He left it at that as Shinsou stared it down, fear, determination, anxiety and a whirlpool of other emotions swirling in his exhausted eyes. The kid only offered Shouta another nod before the man entered Izuku's room.   ----------------------------------------------------   Whilst Aizawa was with Izuku, Hitoshi waited outside of his boyfriend's hospital room, slitting open the letter he'd received. He dreaded reading it, but he knew he'd have to at some point, so he decided to get it over with.   He pulled it out of the envelope and began to look it over, each word filling him with sorrow and confusion. Hitoshi didn't understand why Izuku would think any of this. He never wanted to mess with his feelings! Why did he think Hitoshi was tricking him? Why was he scared of him?! What did he mean by 'if I don't fall for the trick, people get pretty mad at me'? Was this a common occurrence? Something that was simply a part of his everyday life? People playing these mind games with him and forcing him to participate?   Out of all of these questions, among many others, there was one that screamed in his mind so loud that it completely overpowered them. Why did he believe that Hitoshi wanted him dead? That he would be happier if his attempt was a success?   It didn't make any sense! None of this did! What had he done to give off such an impression? Why did Izuku believe that he despised him this much? He didn't understand any of this!   Tears threatened to spill yet again as Hitoshi listened to the rhythmic beeping of Izuku's heart monitor from inside his room, along with many other sounds that could be heard through the slightly ajar door and throughout the hospital.   ----------------------------------------------------   Shouta sighed as he got up to leave and inform Shinsou that he could come in and see Izuku, but noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The bandaged boy groggily opened his eyes, which quickly went wide. He gripped the sheets of the hospital bed tightly as he looked around the room, before attempting to sit up. He let out a small whimper of pain.   He quickly sat back down again, frowning, "You probably shouldn't do that just yet. How…. How're you feeling, kid?"   Izuku ignored his warning and sat up anyway, not even looking at Shouta. "What…. What h-happened? Why a-am I here…?" It seemed he wanted to ignore both Shouta's existence and his question.   Shouta had expected such a reaction, though he wished he wouldn't have to speak about this with Izuku so soon. He knew it was irrational, but even one moment just to be glad that Izuku was okay would've been nice. "I… wasn't able to catch you in time. I was able to get you here in time, however. You just had to have surgery. You might have to stay here a while, but-"   He noticed Izuku's grasp on the bedsheets become even tighter than before as his eyes shot up to look at Shouta. His expression was one he'd yet to see on him, one of pure anger and spite, but also desperation. "Who the fuck said I wanted to be saved?! Why have you been forcing me to keep being a burden on the world all these years, huh?! Who told you to do that?! Who would ever want me to keep on living?! I don't want to live, Aizawa! And no one else wants me to either! Why can't you see that?!"   Shouta narrowed his eyes, lips curling downwards into a frown. "Izuku, I-"   The boy was determined to not let him get a single word in. " No! There's no excuse for this bullshit! I don't care what you have to say about any of that! All you're gonna do is lie, lie, and lie some more! Just like you always do! Cause I'm not worthy of the truth, am I? But here's a real question. Why won't you just let me die?! " Tears ran down Izuku's cheeks as he yelled. "It's getting pretty goddamn old, you catching me all the time! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of living! I'm sick of being nothing but a waste of everyone's time and energy! Just go! Leave me alone! I don't need you when all you're gonna do is hold me back!"   " Izuku- "   "I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT! JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE, GODDAMNIT!"    Shouta sat there for a few moments before obliging and standing up, walking towards the door. He turned back to take one last look at the fuming boy, who was furiously wiping his tears away. He sighed once again before leaving him be.   ----------------------------------------------------   Hitoshi ran in as soon as Aizawa left the room, concerned about what had just occurred. When he entered, he saw his boyfriend wrapped in bandages, his sights set upon the window on the far right wall of the room. His figure was slightly dwarfed by the bed, sheets threatening to drown the small boy.   He held back the urge to frown at the sight of it, preferring to try and strike up a conversation with Izuku. He had so much he needed to say, and even if the former may not be in a talking mood right now, he needed to attempt to change that. This couldn't wait. "Mind if I sit down?"   "Why are you here?" The boy's voice was void of the anger it had when he was shouting at Aizawa, now a simple monotone.    "Why wouldn't I be?" Hitoshi decided to answer him with another question, the one now running through his mind. He needed to know why Izuku thought he wouldn't come, though he had a feeling that the suicide note had already informed him of the answer.   Izuku turned to him, expression full of confusion and fear. "Y-you still want to continue with t-the game, even though I know wh-what's going on? Wouldn't that b-be boring? Or do you expect me to a-act like I don't k-know yet….? I can't guarantee I'd be a-able to do so…"   "What? No,no." Hitoshi shook his head vigorously to exaggerate his point. "I'd never expect something like that from you, Izu. I'd never play this 'game' with you either,nor with your feelings. I don't know why you'd ever expect me to. Doing such a thing to a person, especially one as incredible as you, it's insane. I'm sorry that you had to go through that."   Izuku gave a hollow laugh in response. He was quiet for a moment, and Hitoshi almost began to speak once again, but the former did so before he even had the chance to contemplate what to say. "I'm nowhere near i-incredible. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm c-completely and utterly useless. Rabbit is t-the one who's incredible. I'm g-guessing that's why you want to s-stick around….? Because I used to b-be a vigilante? I guess he t-technically saved you at t-the USJ, so I can s-see why."   Hitoshi was sure that his expression must've displayed his confusion, the words he's just heard making no sense at all. "What…? But you're that vigilante that saved me, Izu. You're that vigilante that helped all those people over the years. You're that vigilante that stopped the hero killer-"   "No! N-no, no, no. I'm n-not Rabbit, remember? Aizawa s-said so. And I see w-why now. You say that R-rabbit saved a bunch of p-people, and maybe you're ri-right, but that wasn't me. Rabbit a-and I are nothing a-alike. He was confident and s-strong and he could t-take down an entire g-gang at age ten. I can't e-even kill myself right. How c-could we possibly be the s-same person? It makes no sense ! Y-you've seen me during l-lessons, I'm a mess . I could n-never do anything Rabbit d-did. He had so m-much to offer this world a-and I don't have a s-single thing I could do t-to actually help people. I'm too m-much of a damn idiot to b-be able to do the one and only thing s-someone like me could do to re-release a bit of the b-burden on the rest of you. On t-the useful. On the quirked. " Izuku argued back, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.   The boy's hands were out in front of him, and Hitoshi immediately took the opportunity to grab them. He looked Izuku dead in the eye, the latter's confusion seemingly having intensified, along with the fear that went along with it. "He was wrong. You're the same strong, confident person that he is. You're the same person who has a ton to offer this world. You're not a mess, you're not useless, you're not idiotic, and you're certainly not a burden. You're Rabbit, the same vigilante that's saved countless lives. The same vigilante who took down a gang when he was only ten. The same vigilante who stole my heart. And nothing's going to change that."   Izuku's tears finally fell, and Hitoshi let go of one of his hands so he could wipe them away with his thumb. He let the small boy sob for a while, knowing he most likely needed it. Hitoshi wanted to hold him close, guarantee that he was alright, but all he could do was watch on. He couldn't move too fast, especially with the events that occurred last night and the one only moments before. All he did was squeeze the other's hand a little tighter whenever it seemed like he needed it.   Izuku's sobs came to a stop, and he looked back up at him. "I...I…. Th-thank you, Hi-Hito-kun.. you're so k-kind...but why? Why a-are you so k-kind to me…? What d-did I do to d-deserve you being s-so kind to me….? I c-can't understand why y-you care …"   Hitoshi offered the boy a small smile. "Because when I look at you, all I see is a smart, sweet, excitable boy, who's just a little broken. Not shattered, nowhere near it. You've faced so much yet you're still standing. You're strong, Izuku. Tough. You just need a couple repairs, and I'll always be here to help you with them. You never have to be afraid to ask, okay?"   Izuku didn't give him the reaction he expected, instead choosing to laugh a little. "Hi-Hito-kun…. you sound j-just like Dadzawa. I, um…. Th-thank you. That's sweet of y-you to offer."   Hitoshi attempted to ignore the fact that Izuku had compared him to Aizawa. That kept happening this year for some reason. "Stop thanking me, Izu. There's no reason to thank me for telling the truth, is there?"   "I...I guess th-there isn't, huh? Though…. I-it's strange, knowing that y-you actually believe th-those things about m-me. I was so s-sure that you di-didn't care about me a-at all…." Izuku murmured while attempting to mask the sadness in his voice with a smile, though his true emotions were slowly creeping into his expression as well.   "Of course I care about you, Izu. It hurts to know that you were convinced I didn't. I don't want to mess with your feelings for my own benefit or make you suffer just because you don't have a quirk. All I want to do is spend time with my boyfriend. If you're still comfortable with being my boyfriend, at least. It's perfectly understandable if you're not." Hitoshi assured him.   Izuku suddenly threw his arms around him, the rough bandages brushing against Hitoshi’s face. “ No! I- I really wanna s-stay with you, Hito-kun! Please d-don’t leave me! Please! ” He began to sob into his shoulder. “I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry! Please d-don’t go! I wanna spend t-time with you too! I’m sorry! ”   Hitoshi placed a hand on his back, "Hey, hey. Don't apologise, okay? Just….please promise you won't do it again. I don't want to lose you, Izuku."   Izuku pulled away with a sniff, wiping his tears as he nodded. "O-okay. I….I won't." Was his simple answer, a long period of silence following afterwards.   "You know, I think earlier was the first time I've ever heard you swear." Hitoshi smirked at the boy, attempting to lighten the mood. "I was convinced that you were just too pure to swear."   " What? " Izuku spluttered. "You've h-heard me swear before! I'm n-nowhere near too pure t-to swear!"   "You are. It should be illegal for you to swear. Though as you are a vigilante, I wouldn't be surprised that you're breaking the law."   Izuku's brief laughter was interrupted by a yawn. Hitoshi smiled softly at him, standing up. "Well, I should get going then. You should probably rest a bit more, especially after having a surger-"   Before he could finish speaking, he felt something grip onto his wrist and pull a little. "Pl-please stay, Hito-kun. I don't w-want to be alone. A-and I don't need to r-rest! I got e-enough, I'm fine to k-keep talking! I really like t-talking to you…. "   He mulled over what the other had just said before sighing. "Okay, I'll stay a little longer. But you have to go to sleep after, alright? You can never get enough rest, and I know that you need it."   Izuku had to think over Hitoshi's words as well, but he tentatively accepted his proposition with a small nod. He sat back down next to the small boy and continued to chat with him as both of them tried their best to leave what had occurred only a few hours ago behind them.

I. His third year of college, Wei Wuxian ends up roommates with one Lan Wangji, who might just be the most stoic person he’s ever met. They don’t share an actual room, just a tiny kitchenette and living room between themselves. They have a third roommate too, a freshman named Wen Ning who’s nice and all if not a little shy, but he’s barely ever around. Lan Wangji, by comparison, is always either in class or at the apartment, with no time for fun in between. At least, that’s what it seems like. And when he’s at the apartment, his bedroom door is always closed. “Studying,” he said the one time Wei Wuxian asked, before once again closing the bedroom door in his face. In short, Lan Wangji isn’t all that sociable. The few times Wei Wuxian has tried to draw him into conversations in the tight squeeze of their shared kitchenette, Lan Wangji has replied in monosyllables and sometimes just not at all, as though he hadn’t actually realized Wei Wuxian had been talking to him (which is miraculous, because when Wei Wuxian talks, it is always quite loud). Lan Wangji is… a world apart from the rest of them. He is somewhere else even when he’s right there. Someone most comfortable within himself. Maybe he’s shy? Wei Wuxian doesn’t sense arrogance from him, though, not even when Lan Wangji ignores him, and he spends many long minutes trying to wrap his head around the concept of Lan Wangji not coming off as mean even when he does something as mean as straight up pretending Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist? In fact, there’s something incredibly calming about Lan Wangji’s presence when he deigns to fill the rest of the apartment with it – when he walks nearly silently into the kitchenette and proceeds to cook with nary a sound; the unhurried way he eats his meals, eyes on the middle distance, undisturbed even by Wei Wuxian clattering away at the stove behind him; his methodical ritual of washing his dishes afterwards. He exists with serenity, Wei Wuxian finally settles on. He decides to say this one night during dinner, with meat splattering in the pan behind him and Lan Wangji eating pickled radishes at the table, two at a time, such prim little mouthfuls. But first, he decides to get Lan Wangji to reply to him in more than a single syllable. It’s exceptionally difficult, and whining Lan Wangji’s name over and over just isn’t cutting it. Wei Wuxian’s brother, Jiang Cheng, likes to regularly remind him that he’s an annoying pain in the ass. Wei Wuxian likes to live up to the titles he’s been given, so he smiles at the back of Lan Wangji’s head and says, “Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji’s shoulders stiffen, but just for a moment, before relaxing beneath the knit of his light blue sweater. He even wears things that makes one think of words like ‘serenity’ and ‘peace’ and ‘calm’ – monochrome button-downs during the day, made of either cotton or linen; sometimes thin sweaters in soft shades of blue in the evenings if the air coming through the living room window is cool enough. Seeing that the name earned him a response, Wei Wuxian is about to repeat it, when Lan Wangj finally breaks his silence. “What, Wei Ying.” It isn’t said as a question, but as a statement. A deliverance of Wei Wuxian’s very own, brand new nickname, uttered like a returning challenge. Wei Wuxian cannot stop grinning. “Lan Zhan, you’re so serene about everything, you know that?” Lan Wangji replies, as he often does, with a hum. “Hm.” Noncommittal. Wei Wuxian was really hoping for more, but then again, he supposes he shouldn’t ask for miracles when they’ve only shared a handful of extremely one-sided conversations thus far. “Do you want some of this meat, Lan Zhan? It’s beef! I have enough to spare.” “Mm,” Lan Wangji says, with a shake of his head. Wei Wuxian probably would have understood the hum as a negative regardless. He prides himself on being pretty aware of things, pretty good at reading people, rather intuitive, if you will. From their handful of one-sided conversations, he’s started to pick up on the minute tonal differences in Lan Wangji’s hums and what they mean. He feels kind of like a code breaker. His eyes slide to Lan Wangji’s meal. The daikon is pickled, but the rest is freshly cooked. Eggplant, carrot, mushrooms, green bell pepper, tofu. The smells rising from Lan Wangji’s dishes are always very mild, and Wei Wuxian can see why, when he once caught Lan Wangji measuring soy sauce with such exactitude that he seemed nearly afraid of seasonings altogether. Wei Wuxian has never seen him eat a single spicy dish! Actually, on the topic of things he has never seen Lan Wangji eat… Wei Wuxian peers over Lan Wangji’s shoulder, taking a closer look at his dinner. Horror strikes him. “Wait a minute,” he gasps. “Lan Zhan, are you a vegetarian?” He thinks he hears a soft sigh before Lan Wangji replies with, “Mm.” An affirmative this time. Wei Wuxian gapes at the back of Lan Wangji’s head, where the top half of his hair has been pulled up into a neat bun so perfect, not a single strand falls out of place. A vegetarian! Wei Wuxian can’t imagine. Meat would add the flavor Lan Wangji’s bland dishes most certainly need! But fair enough. Lan Wangji is entitled to his quirks, and he definitely has a number of them. Lan Wangji is a neat freak who makes sure the kitchen counters are always clean at the end of the day, and while he is polite enough not to touch Wei Wuxian’s half of the fridge, he does arrange everything in his own half into meticulously neat rows that feel very much like a statement about Wei Wuxian’s inability to arrange much of anything at all. Wei Wuxian wondered for the first week whether this was Lan Wangji being passive aggressive, but then came the fateful day when he observed Lan Wangji measuring the absolute teensiest amount of soy sauce into the veggie dish he was cooking, and he realized that nope, that’s just Lan Wangji. (The first time he’d run into Wen Ning, he asked how much space he’d need in the fridge, and Wen Ning had just said, “Don’t worry, I only eat takeout,” with a bit of a stammer and an agreement that approximately one square foot at the back of Wei Wuxian’s half was more than enough.) Lan Wangji’s stringency is endearing, in a way. Should it be intimidating? Lan Wangji does everything so perfectly. He’s like grace and poise personified, whereas Wei Wuxian trips over the chair legs in the kitchen at least once a day and knows his voice is always a little too loud even when he makes an effort to be quieter. He hopes he isn’t driving Lan Wangji insane, because Lan Wangji is actually pretty much the perfect roommate. Neat, quiet, respectful, not outwardly judgmental… “Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, a little too loudly. “That’s fine. More meat for me!” Lan Wangji doesn’t respond to this, which means the one-sided conversation is officially over. Wei Wuxian smiles a little to himself as he turns back toward the stove, because this was their most fruitful exchange to date. He’d heard a whole array of different sounding hums. And, he thinks to himself, nearly dancing with glee, Wei Ying! II. He meets up with Jiang Cheng for lunch on campus now and then, and Jiang Cheng gripes about classes and professors and his workload and the one annoying roommate he has who never closes the kitchen cabinets after he opens them. Wei Wuxian listens, usually while stealing spicy noodles off of Jiang Cheng’s plate. Wei Wuxian was adopted by Jiang Cheng’s family when he was really young so they basically grew up together, but Jiang Cheng had insisted when they both got into the same university that they live separately. Probably for the best, because Jiang Cheng would definitely tell Wei Wuxian off for all his partying. Wei Wuxian is still nursing a slight hangover from the previous night, and he hopes Jiang Cheng doesn’t notice and get all self-righteous about ‘behaving responsibly’ and ‘having fun is fine but there’s such thing as too much fun’. Things would inevitably turn bitter, and Jiang Cheng would say something like ‘How the hell do you get away with partying your academic life away and still maintaining a perfect GPA while I have to work myself to the bone to pass every exam?’ So yeah, it’s better they live separately so Jiang Cheng is not witness to all of Wei Wuxian’s irresponsible, alcohol-infused life choices, and the way that none of these life choices actually hinder his academics at all. Wei Wuxian can’t help being a genius! “And you’re too damn loud,” Jiang Cheng said, the first time the topic of living separately came up, when they were still finishing up high school. “Like, I’m gonna need to study and you’ll be deafening the entire apartment with some stupid story about a rock you picked up on the way to class because it looked like a donkey or something.” That was partially fair, because Wei Wuxian will be the first to admit that he does babble excessively, and does have very many interesting stories to tell; but also partially not fair, because Jiang Cheng is loud too! He always scolds Wei Wuxian at the top of his lungs, and what with how often he scolds Wei Wuxian… another reason that living separately had been a very good idea indeed. Wei Wuxian thinks that partying and telling fun stories are a much better use of his loudness than griping about anything and everything like Jiang Cheng does. But he only says so when he’s willing to receive the smack to the back of the head this will earn him. “You sure you haven’t driven your roommate crazy yet?” Jiang Cheng asks now, after Wei Wuxian has finished telling him all about the solemn and silent Lan Wangji. “You two sound like total opposites.” “Lan Zhan loves me! I’m lots of fun.” “Uh-huh,” Jiang Cheng says, smacking Wei Wuxian’s chopsticks away from his noodles. “I think I’m gonna teach him how to season his food.” “Maybe mind your own business instead?” Wei Wuxian sighs tragically. “That’s so hard.” Then he tells Jiang Cheng about Lan Wangji’s (absolutely insane) nine o’clock bedtime. “Like, how the hell? I swear he’s not a normal person.” “And you’re qualified to judge that, because…?” “Um, rude.” “You know what I think you should do?” Jiang Cheng asks. Wei Wuxian leans forward eagerly. “I think you should stop thinking of ways to annoy him, because if he’s disciplined enough to go to bed every night at nine o’clock, he’s disciplined enough to wait for the perfect time to murder you and hide the body.” Before Wei Wuxian can retort that Lan Wangji would never, they are going to be the best of friends, Jiang Cheng has rummaged a small box out of his backpack and shoves it across the table. It’s a pretty lilac color, wrapped in a shimmery ribbon. Wei Wuxian recognizes Yanli’s writing on the box, and immediately brightens. Inside are an array of cute little homemade cookies shaped into chubby rabbits. “Jiang Cheng,” he warns, “I’m gonna eat them all.” “You better. They’re yours.” “Wait, but you had them?” He pouts. “Why didn’t she send them to me? I gave her my new address.” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Because our sister knows you check your mailbox twice a month at best.” Wei Wuxian sits up straight. “Shit, I have to go! The book I ordered for class was supposed to arrive on Monday!” Jiang Cheng shakes his head, and lifts a hand in farewell as Wei Wuxian snatches up his box of cookies and sprints away. III. One Friday night, Wei Wuxian gets back hours earlier than usual (the party was lame) and hears music coming from Lan Wangji’s room, where the door is left open for a change. Only a faint light trickles out, probably from no more than a desk lamp. After slipping off his shoes, Wei Wuxian follows the trail of quiet notes, their peaceful twangs and – is he hearing this right? – somber reverberations. For once, he makes a conscious effort to tread lightly. He doesn’t want to disturb Lan Wangji, but he really, really wants to see what’s going on. He tiptoes past the tiny kitchenette and stops at the threshold of Lan Wangji’s bedroom. Lan Wangji’s desk has been cleared off (though it’s likely always clear, neat and tidy with no stray pens or empty chip bags or scattered books), and a guqin sits atop it. Lan Wangji’s fingers moving slowly over the strings, coaxing from them a tune that makes something tighten in Wei Wuxian’s chest. It’s as though Lan Wangji is plucking his heartstrings directly, twisting them into the sorrow and longing that fills their small apartment. Lan Wangji sways slightly as he plays, and from what Wei Wuxian can see of the side of his face, his expression is serene. As he plucks the last note, his eyes rise and he turns his head slowly to find Wei Wuxian watching him from the door. “Ah,” Lan Wangji says, the word nearly toneless but for just a moment, his eyes widen the slightest bit. Was that surprise? Wei Wuxian wonders to himself. The light isn’t very good. It really is only Lan Wangji’s desk lamp that’s on, so shadows play around his face, making it look even more like a mask of stoicism than usual. The last vibrations fade away, and Wei Wuxian blurts out, “Lan Zhan, that was beautiful.” His voice is too loud, far too loud, breaking the lingering peace. So of course, because he is graceless, he says just as loudly, “You play guqin?” Lan Wangji doesn’t deign to respond to that. His eyebrows might twitch the slightest degree upward, as if to suggest the words, Did you not just see me playing the guqin? Wei Wuxian laughs a little, running a hand through his bangs to brush them out of his face, a habit he does in awkward moments. “Right, right, you definitely play the guqin. Wow, that song was so sad though. What was it about?” “Farewells.” “Oof. Deep. I totally felt it.” Wei Wuxian realizes he may be coming off sarcastic when he’s being sincere, so he says with much effusion, “You’re really good!” Lan Wangji nods a polite thanks. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go. To my room.” Wei Wuxian points with both thumbs unnecessarily. Lan Wangji is well aware of where his bedroom is. “Goodnight,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian wonders if he should read into that, if Lan Wangji is trying to politely tell him to go away, but then he remembers the time and realizes Lan Wangji is dressed for bed, feet pushed into cozy slippers under his desk. “‘Night, Lan Zhan,” he says, managing to drop his voice to a reasonable volume, and with a smile he turns out of the doorway and heads to his room. Suddenly very tired, feeling strangely affected by the music – weighed down, sad, wanting something but he doesn’t know what – he pitches himself onto his bed. He falls asleep to the melody of mournful strings, unsure if he hears them only in his head, or if they’re still filtering through the apartment from Lan Wangji’s open door. IV. Wei Wuxian has been pulling an all-nighter to finish a report he really shouldn’t have procrastinated so much on, and he’d eventually migrated to the living room when he couldn’t stand being in his tiny bedroom anymore, when Lan Wangji’s door opens at… Wei Wuxian squints at the time in the bottom right-hand corner of his computer screen, eyes tired and blurry. Five in the morning. He thinks Lan Wangji will just go to the bathroom and then go back to bed, but then Lan Wangji walks not to the bathroom on his side of the apartment but instead right past the tiny slice of a living room where Wei Wuxian is no longer working on his report, but instead gaping at him. Lan Wangji has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and is dressed in athletic gear like some sort of Nike model, his long hair completely twisted up into a bun on the back of his head. Wei Wuxian sees all this thanks to the ghostly blue light of his computer, which is also what draws Lan Wangji to stop and stare back at him, though Lan Wangji does not gape. He simply looks down at him without expression, as though waiting for the questions he knows Wei Wuxian must have. “Where are you going?” Wei Wuxian blurts out, proving once again that he knows neither the meaning of an inside voice nor an ‘It’s way too early to be talking this loud’ voice. “The gym,” Lan Wangji says, proving that he understands both concepts perfectly. “At five in the morning?” “Mm.” “Okay, well.” Wei Wuxian laughs weakly, thinking Lan Wangji has positively lost his mind. “Have fun with that.” “Mm,” Lan Wangji says with a nod, and then he leaves. “Five AM,” Wei Wuxian mutters to himself, astounded, horrified. Any sane person who was not procrastinating on important papers would be happily unconscious at five AM. Further proof that Lan Wangji is not a mere mortal like the rest of them. He’s just finishing up said paper when Lan Wangji returns an hour later. It’s hard to tell if he worked out at all, because he still looks immaculate. Maybe ‘the gym’ is code for ‘the set where I secretly shoot Nike ads’. Lan Wangji nods politely to Wei Wuxian as he makes his way past him. A couple minutes later, the bathroom door clicks shut and the shower hisses on. Hardly ten minutes after that, the shower is off again, and five minutes later, Lan Wangji emerges only to retreat into his bedroom. All very quick and efficient. Right as Wei Wuxian finishes proofreading his paper, Lan Wangji walks into the kitchen, dressed for the day except his wet hair is twisted up off his back and shoulders, held in place at the back of his head with a long chopstick that has a small silver bell hanging from it. At six thirty in the morning, with the sky just lightening outside, Lan Wangji starts quietly making himself breakfast. Wei Wuxian watches him open the refrigerator from over the top of his computer screen, feeling kind of like he’s observing some mythical creature that doesn’t know a mere mortal has laid eyes upon it. They’ve been living together for a month and he had no clue Lan Wangji woke up so damn early, and then made breakfast, still so damn early! Wei Wuxian doesn’t really pay attention to the noises happening in the kitchen as he logs onto the class website to submit his paper, so he’s surprised when he suddenly hears a blow dryer rev up in the alcove outside Lan Wangji’s bathroom. Lan Wangji doesn’t blow dry his hair every morning, does he? Wei Wuxian would definitely hear it if he did! Roughly fifteen minutes later, the blow dryer turns off, and Lan Wangji returns to the kitchen with his hair loose and slightly damp. Wei Wuxian, who at this point is crashing hard and hadn’t even realized he’d been sitting in a daze with his overheating laptop on his lap and listening to the blow dryer like it was white noise, startles when Lan Wangji steps up beside the couch. It takes him several more moments to realize Lan Wangji holds a small plate out to him, with a single dumpling and a pair of chopsticks on top. “For… me?” Wei Wuxian asks dumbly. It definitely isn’t for Wen Ning, who doesn’t appear to have been back for the better part of a week. “Mm.” “Thank you,” Wei Wuxian says, taking the plate, noting how Lan Wangji holds it by the very edge, so that their hands don’t touch during the exchange. He stares down at the dumpling, his surprise at having been offered some of Lan Wangji’s homemade breakfast dulled by the fact that his brain is processing everything at the speed of dripping molasses. He belatedly realizes Lan Wangji is still standing there, and hastily plucks up the dumpling and takes a big bite. It’s fresh out of the steamer, soft and warm, and while the inside is filled with only vegetables… “This is amazing!” “My brother made them.” So not quite homemade by Lan Zhan himself, but still. Wei Wuxian shoves the rest of the dumpling into his mouth and says as he chews, “Your brother is an insanely good cook.” “Don’t speak through a full mouth,” Lan Wangji says, before returning to the kitchenette, his hair wafting a light floral scent as it flutters behind him. Wei Wuxian snaps his laptop shut, stands and stretches his arms up over his head, his spine popping a few times. Eyes heavy, he shuffles to the bathroom he shares with Wen Ning. As he washes his hands afterwards, his stomach growls, and he blinks at his exhausted reflection, wondering what to feed himself before trying to snatch what couple of hours of sleep he can sneak in before class. But when he returns to the living room, there are five more dumplings on a plate beside his computer, and Lan Wangji is no longer in the apartment. V. From then on, he makes an effort to wake up at seven once a week, so he can mooch off of whatever breakfast Lan Wangji is having that day. Lan Wangji never complains. In fact, after the second time, he sets breakfast out for Wei Wuxian every Wednesday morning, and they eat in companionable silence – one of the few times Wei Wuxian is quiet, since it feels like an actual crime against his body to be conscious so early, but the food helps wake him up. Even though, when it isn’t Lan Wangji’s brother’s food, it’s rather bland. But it isn’t really about the food, not after the first couple of weeks. He likes eating with Lan Wangji. They sit across the table from each other at a diagonal, the peaceful clinks of chopsticks and spoons like a morning melody. While Wei Wuxian knows he must look like an utter zombie, Lan Wangji always looks perfectly awake, stoic and unruffled as always. His eyes are a light golden color, his lashes long, his chin noble – and Wei Wuxian would have laughed at this last thought, if it wasn’t connected to Lan Wangji. He always smells incredible, shampoo and however many other hair products he must use to keep his hair so sleek and shiny wafting around Wei Wuxian and at once making him feel sleepier and more awake. “Lan Zhan, you don’t blow dry your hair every morning, do you?” Lan Wangji’s gaze slides over to him. “I do.” “But I never hear it!” “When you’re asleep, I do it in my room.” “Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian is really, truly touched. He should have known, what with Lan Wangji preparing breakfast for him once a week, how kind Lan Wangji is, but he hadn’t expected this. “You’re so thoughtful!” “Hm.” When Lan Wangji takes up his post in front of the kitchen sink once they’re both done eating today, Wei Wuxian hip bumps him out of the way. Lan Wangji looks startled, and Wei Wuxian reminds himself that, right, Lan Wangji isn’t really a fan of physical contact. He smiles his apology and says, “I’ll do the dishes, Lan Zhan. You’re so kind and generous and I never do anything for you.” Lan Wangji still looks a little off-kilter by this turn of events, since this isn’t how their routine usually goes, but he nods and gives Wei Wuxian more space. They start heading to campus together after breakfast. Since Wei Wuxian isn’t a psycho, he doesn’t actually have any classes that start before ten (and even this one he struggles to get to on time), but he just peels off from Lan Wangji at the library and studies for a bit or finishes any homework he’s been putting off. He told Lan Wangji the first time that the library was his destination (“I’m gonna study! We can walk onto campus together until one of us reaches our building first. I bet it’ll be your first time walking with a friend!” “Hm,” Lan Wangji had said, unimpressed.), but his real, ulterior motive was to see how long Lan Wangji would put up with his company. Plus, he’d only ever hung out with Lan Wangji in their apartment. He thinks they’ve reached the stage in their relationship where they can go outside together. As it turned out the first time, and as it has continued to turn out every time since, Lan Wangji puts up with him just as patiently and monosyllabically as they walk through campus as he does in the apartment. Wei Wuxian is truly thrilled at how spectacularly their friendship is progressing. “How long have you played the guqin, Lan Zhan?” he asks one morning, as they’re walking. He’s heard music a few more times from within Lan Wangji’s bedroom. The melodies are always so wistful. “A while.” “Are you in any music clubs or anything?” “Mm.” “You are? Do you have music shows ever?” “Mm.” “Lan Zhan!” He has to resist jamming his shoulder into Lan Wangji’s, has to remind himself to keep a respectable space. “You have to invite me to one!” “If you’d like.” “I would! I’d like it a lot!” “Mm.” There’s an apple tree outside the library, and while the lower branches are almost always picked clean these days, the higher ones still have some fruit visible in the foliage. Wei Wuxian reaches for one that he thinks he might be able to grab… and his fingers come several inches shy. A shadow falls over him, and then Lan Wangji is right beside him, reaching for the apple and grabbing it easily. With a twist, it comes off the branch. “Are you showing off?” Wei Wuxian asks, crossing his arms with a pout. Lan Wangji raises his eyebrows slightly. “I thought you would ask me to get it for you.” It’s a fair supposition, as Wei Wuxian does ask Lan Wangji to get him stuff off the top shelves in their kitchen, but still. He dons his most obnoxious grin. “Oh Lan Zhan, so quick to come to my aid. You are trying to impress me!” “Would you like me to put it back?” Lan Wangji starts to reach back up into the tree. Wei Wuxian gasps in mock outrage and, before he can catch himself, shoves him. He knows that Lan Wangji will deny it until the end of time, but Wei Wuxian swears he smiled for a split second. Feeling emboldened, Wei Wuxian reaches for the apple, but Lan Wangji steps back, face once again impassive, and says, “No food in the library.” Then he crunches into the apple and walks away. Wei Wuxian can only stare at his retreating back, mouth fallen open, feeling utterly wronged and utterly delighted. VI. This Friday night, Wei Wuxian had been so surprised to find Wen Ning in the apartment, he’d completely cancelled his plans to check out a party in the next apartment complex over to hang with his oft-absent roommate instead. Wen Ning’s watching K-pop on the couch, so Wei Wuxian throws some popcorn in the microwave and then joins him in front of the TV. As shy as Wen Ning is, he’s run into Wei Wuxian enough times to be getting comfortable around him, and Wei Wuxian has discovered a truly delightful streak of mischief in the guy. It takes very little coaxing to convince Wen Ning to join him in imitating the dances the idols are doing on the screen, and soon the two of them are mocking each other outright and bombarding each other with popcorn for poor dance moves. They both freeze when the apartment door opens. Lan Wangji takes one step inside, and then he, too, goes still. He’s backlit from the hallway, so it’s hard to see his expression, but Wei Wuxian gets the impression he’s scanning the scene with a truly harrowing scowl. Wen Ning hastily starts scooping up popcorn off the carpet and throwing it back into the bowl. Wei Wuxian just says, “Lan Zhan! Hey, the three of us are finally all here together!” Lan Wangji says, “It’s dirty.” While the statement is very true, Wei Wuxian doesn’t find it very pressing. He brushes some popcorn off the couch, plops down, and pats the cushion beside him. “Lan Zhan, watch the music show with us! Who knows, you might actually experience this thing called ‘fun’.” Wen Ning’s phone dings. He fishes it out of his pocket, and his expression floods with relief, though there’s a hint of apology when he glances at Wei Wuxian. “Actually, I have to go.” “What? Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian throws a handful of popcorn at his back. “You can’t ditch us like this!” Wen Ning smiles bashfully from the door after awkwardly sidling past Lan Wangji. “Sorry. Maybe next time!” he squeaks, before fleeing. “Ah well. Lan Zhan, come come.” He waves Lan Wangji over, and to his surprise, Lan Wangji obeys the beckon, removing his shoes and then walking to the end of the couch while sidestepping every popcorn landmine. Wei Wuxian pats the cushion again. “Sit with me.” Lan Wangji sighs, loud and heavy, and then, to Wei Wuxian’s absolute shock, sits down, setting his guqin case beside the couch. Wei Wuxian grins, ecstatic. “So, Lan Zhan, do you listen to this type of music often?” On screen, a girl group is performing a truly exhausting looking routine while looking bright and peppy and sounding perfectly in tune. Young people are inspiring. “Mm,” Lan Wangji says. Negative. “D’you wanna try to copy the dance routines with me? Holy shit, her foot just went above her head!” “Mm.” Another negative. “Smart thinking. We wouldn’t want to dislocate a hip or anything. Young people can do some crazy stuff to their bodies.” “You’re young,” Lan Wangji points out. “Eh, once you reach twenty, it’s all downhill from there,” Wei Wuxian says sagely, waving a hand. Lan Wangji raises both eyebrows but says nothing. While the next singer belts out a mournful power ballad, Wei Wuxian sneaks sideways glances at Lan Wangji’s face. It’s lit up by the TV, casting a pallid glow over smooth skin, graceful bone structure, thin lips. Wei Wuxian hastily averts his gaze as Lan Wangji shifts. Lan Wangji deals him his third surprise of the night by reaching into the popcorn bowl and taking out a few pieces. He neatly pops them into his mouth and chews. Wei Wuxian decides the time has passed to remind him that some had landed on the floor. A couple seconds pass… Lan Wangji coughs. Gruffly, he says, “What did you put on it?” “Oh, lots of chili oil! Gives it a kick, huh?” Lan Wangji clears his throat. His voice is still a little raspy when he replies, “A very strong kick.” He doesn’t reach for any more popcorn. Wei Wuxian slides off the couch and onto the floor where he can let his legs sprawl. He’d been so hyper when Wen Ning had been around, but now that it’s Lan Wangji instead, he feels an inexplicable mellowness settle over him. As another solo singer takes the stage in short shorts and thigh high boots, he says, “Damn, she’s hot. What do you think, Lan Zhan?” “Hm.” Indifference. Wei Wuxian chuckles softly to himself. He tries again a couple acts later, during a new solo singer’s debut. “God, he’s hot.” “Hm.” Wei Wuxian cranes his head back with what he knows is a shit-eating grin. “Are you agreeing with me, Lan Zhan?” “Hm,” Lan Wangji says, sounding neither here nor there, staring blandly at the TV screen. Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Wangji’s lips for a second, then, no stranger to shooting himself in the foot, decides, To hell with it. “You know, the fact that you’re not disagreeing could be considered pretty gay.” Lan Wangji sighs. “Hm,” he says, this time with a tone that heavily implies a sentiment of, What an inane conversation this is turning out to be. “Okay, okay, I’m kidding,” Wei Wuxian says. He lays his head back against the couch cushion. “You’re straight.” Half of his brain is screaming at him that he is the biggest fucking idiot and really should just stuff his slipper into his mouth. The other half is admiring the slight downward twitch of Lan Wangji’s perfect lips. Both halves are a mess, so the status quo of his brain is still perfectly in balance. Until Lan Wangji’s eyes move slowly to his, and then both halves of Wei Wuxian’s brain cease to function entirely. Lan Wangji holds his gaze and says, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, “I don’t recall ever having said such a thing.” Wei Wuxian swallows dryly and turns back to the TV. “Oh. Okay. Cool.” So yeah, he can finally admit to himself that he finds Lan Wangji impossibly hot, because maybe Lan Wangji is a little gay and that gives him a little bit of a chance at… something? Or had he just misinterpreted what Lan Wangji said? Very possible. While Wei Wuxian considers his metaphorical Lan Wangji dictionary to be quite comprehensive, Lan Wangji always finds new ways to be obscure, like he’s just trying to give Wei Wuxian a hard time. When Wei Wuxian falls into bed later, he tosses and turns for a long while, staring into the darkness and seeing Lan Wangji’s piercing eyes, hearing the low timbre of his voice like the vibrations of a plucked guqin string. I don’t recall ever having said such a thing. VII. Wei Wuxian has mostly forgotten all about those words by the next time he and Jiang Cheng grab lunch together on campus, sitting down with a mountain of spicy fried chicken between them. Then Wei Wuxian is just thinking about how good food is, and how true happiness comes from eating crispy, spicy, sticky chicken. “Dude, you’re gonna choke,” Jiang Cheng warns as Wei Wuxian shoves a chicken wing into each cheek and works on chewing a third in between them. “Nah, I’m a pro,” Wei Wuxian says, but it comes out sounding like “Nn, brr. L’Zn!” He leaps up when he spots Lan Wangji walking by a few tables away. Lan Wangji spots him and gives him a concerned look, but he obliges, albeit warily, as Wei Wuxian waves him enthusiastically over. In the fifteen or so seconds it takes Lan Wangji to navigate the crowded food court, Wei Wuxian chews up all three chicken wings and swallows them. “Lan Zhan, c’mere! Meet my brother! This is Jiang Cheng.” Lan Wangji dips his head politely. “Hello.” “Jiang Cheng, this is Lan Zhan, my roommate!” “We don’t share a room,” Lan Wangji states. “Ah yeah,” Jiang Cheng says, “the guy who goes to bed at nine.” Lan Wangji pins Wei Wuxian with a subtle frown, no doubt wondering why he has been a topic of conversation between the two brothers. “Sit, sit,” Wei Wuxian says, pulling out the chair beside him and tapping it. Lan Wangji sits, and sets down his tray. He has a bowl of clear broth and veggies, and he dips his spoon in without preamble. “Did you just come from class?” Wei Wuxian asks him. Lan Wangji’s eyes swivel over to him, a bit of reproach in them, as though Wei Wuxian is being rude somehow. “Yes.” “Jiang Cheng! Lan Zhan plays the guqin. Did I tell you that already?” “Ah really? I heard there’s like a traditional music club on campus or something?” Lan Wangji nods, delicately sipping another small spoonful of soup. Jiang Cheng bites into a chicken wing, giving Wei Wuxian a look like You weren’t kidding, he barely talks. Wei Wuxian smiles at the side of Lan Wangji’s face. He doesn’t know what he’s so happy about. Introducing his roommate to his brother? Lan Wangji being more social than Wei Wuxian dared to think possible? Lan Wangji has a stray bit of hair falling over his face, and Wei Wuxian almost reaches out to tuck it behind his ear, but then he remembers that Lan Wangji doesn’t like touching, and he refrains. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he sighs instead. Lan Wangji’s gaze swivels his way again. “Eating watery soup and vegetables for lunch. You know what you remind me of? A rabbit.” “Meals should be eaten in silence.” Wei Wuxian blinks. Lan Wangji stares at him, a slight crease in the skin between his eyebrows suggesting he’s actually… irritated? Jiang Cheng guffaws at the look on Wei Wuxian’s face and takes a liking to Lan Wangji from that point onward. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian pouts as he walks Lan Wangji to his next class afterwards, “you didn’t have to be so mean to me.” “I wasn’t being mean.” “You scolded me.” “You deserved to be scolded.” “Because I said you’re like a rabbit? Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. You’re the tallest, handsomest, coolest rabbit I’ve ever seen. And you go to the gym every day! You’re the strongest rabbit –” The rest of his words are muffled by Lan Wangji’s hand covering his mouth. “You talk too much.” Lan Wangji’s palm is smooth and cool, not too warm, not too cold. Wei Wuxian licks it impulsively. Lan Wangji draws back as though he’d been bitten, and then stares down at his palm like he’s calculating an advanced calculus equation. Ultimately, he tsks and wipes his hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. It’s stupid how giddy Wei Wuxian is, because all Lan Wangji did was wipe his own spit off on him, but it’s the first time that he can recall Lan Wangji initiating physical contact. Small steps have turned to leaps and bounds. That night, he comes home from a party early (when have they all gotten so boring?) and finds the apartment filled with the wistful sounds of Lan Wangji’s guqin once again. His heartstrings tremble, and he quietly slips off his shoes and pads to Lan Wangji’s open door. This time, Lan Wangji looks over at him, then back at his guqin, continuing to play the rest of the song. He’s a picture of serenity, warmed by the glow of his desk light, softened by the melody that comes from his own fingers. Once the song has come to an end, and Wei Wuxian has let the silence linger an appropriate amount of time, he asks softly, “Am I annoying, Lan Zhan?” Lan Wangji’s eyebrows furrow, the only display of his surprise. He turns his head to look at Wei Wuxian directly. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind.” Wei Wuxian leans against the doorframe. A helpless sort of smile lifts his lips as his heart hangs unsatisfied in his chest, but for how shameless he is about most things, the thought of asking Lan Wangji to keep playing gives him pause. So instead he says, “I can’t help teasing you. You’re so teasable.” “Hm.” Lan Wangji stands. “My brother made more dumplings.” Wei Wuxian steps aside so Lan Wangji can walk past. As he does, his scent settles into the air he displaces. While in the morning he smells more floral, like his hair products, by the end of the day he has a cooler scent that sits more harmoniously with his character. It’s subtle, woodsy, and Wei Wuxian breathes a little deeper as he follows him to the kitchen. Lan Wangji is at the steamer, and when he turns around, he holds a plate of dumplings. “For me?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji nods. “You’re really kind, you know that?” Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. He hands Wei Wuxian the plate, but doesn’t let go at first. “You smell like beer.” Wei Wuxian laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry. Drank some at the party.” He means to step back so Lan Wangji doesn’t have to smell his breath anymore, but Lan Wangji still hasn’t let go of the plate. He stares down into Wei Wuxian’s face, his eyes intense in the half light, but not at all cold. “You should be careful. You walk home alone.” Wondering idly how Lan Wangji knows this, Wei Wuxian gives him a reassuring smile and says, “It’s fine, it takes a lot to get me drunk. If anybody tries to mug me, I’ll just kick ‘em in the nuts.” Lan Wangji lets the plate go with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Oh, that reminds me.” Wei Wuxian squeezes in beside Lan Wangji so he can open the cabinet. “Want a cookie? My sister just sent me some more.” One handed, he takes out a box, sets it on the table, and opens the lid. “It’s just, you always feed me and I don’t really give you anything in return.” “I don’t need anything.” “Still. You should have a cookie.” Lan Wangji looks down at the chubby bunny cookies, eyebrows lifting. “I promise no chili oil,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Wangji takes one and nibbles on its ear. Wei Wuxian’s cheeks warm, and he’s glad that only the stove light is on so Lan Wangji can’t see. Lan Wangji does give him a questioning look as he lets out a tiny laugh, though. “Nothing, nothing,” Wei Wuxian says, turning away to eat his dumplings, though he can’t cast away the image of Lan Wangji nibbling on the cookie. A rabbit nibbling on a rabbit. Wei Wuxian’s face heats some more, and he chews around a smile. Lan Wangji is just too cute. VIII. This particular Friday, Wei Wuxian doesn’t even go to a party. He gets dinner at a noodle place a couple minutes from campus, then comes home and flips on the TV. Lan Wangji returns shortly after eight, and once again pauses in the doorway, surprised to see him home. “Do you have practice Friday nights?” Wei Wuxian asks, nodding his chin toward the guqin case Lan Wangji carries. “Yes,” Lan Wangji says. He removes his shoes and comes further inside, not bothering to turn on the light. He’s begun to dress warmer as the seasons shift, and he unloops the scarf from around his neck to drape over his shoulders. “Do you know any songs that aren’t sad?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji opens up his guqin case and sets the instrument on the coffee table, then folds himself into a seated position on the floor in front of it, right beside Wei Wuxian’s legs. Wei Wuxian watches all this in awe, then hurriedly mutes the TV. At the first strum of the guqin, his heart shivers in his chest. The tune is light, bell-like, with the occasional twang. Wei Wuxian watches Lan Wangji’s hands, for the first time paying close attention to the details of how they move. The fingers of one hand plucking and strumming, the fingers of the other sliding, holding. Lan Wangji’s hands flow over the guqin like waves washing ashore at low tide, so incredibly light. Sometimes they are far apart, and sometimes they are close, in near harmony except always moving independently of one another. Wei Wuxian wonders how those hands would feel on him, and his stomach knots. His eyes dart to what he can see of Lan Wangji’s face, which isn’t much. The high peak of a cheekbone. A pale ear illuminated by the TV screen. His fingertips burn with the desire to trace the shell of that ear, and he sits on his hands. He tips his head back, letting the melody wash over him like the cool caress of spring water, like the smell of grass on the breeze. The knot in his stomach slowly loosens, and his heart settles as a smile lifts his lips. “That one’s my favorite,” he sighs when Lan Wangji has finished. And then, eyes still closed, he says, “Ah, I realized that the night we watched the music show together, I kept you up past your bedtime.” “It’s fine,” Lan Wangji says, voice itself a melody in the dark. “What about tonight?” “It’s fine.” “Then will you play me another song?” Lan Wangji does. A myriad of images play on the backs of Wei Wuxian’s eyelids – verdant plains, clouds moving peacefully through blue skies, the lazy caress of sunbeams. The taste of flower petals and the smell of damp soil. As much as Wei Wuxian loves to be where the noise and the action are, Lan Wangji’s music makes him want to be someplace quiet, far from the city. Lan Wangji takes him to that place. When he breathes in, he feels like his lungs can take in more air than usual, like more space has opened up inside of himself. The last note hangs in the air forever. Speaking seems profane at this point, but Wei Wuxian can’t help the hopeful words that drop one by one out of his mouth, into the quiet between himself and Lan Wangji, whose presence he can still sense right beside his knees. “How about this, Lan Zhan? I’ll wake up early for you once a week, and once a week you can let me keep you up past your bedtime while you play me the guqin.” He’s just revealed his entire game – the fact that he doesn’t wake up early for the food or to go to the library, he simply wakes up early for Lan Wangji – but Lan Wangji doesn’t call him on it. Instead, Lan Wangji says, “No.” Wei Wuxian’s smile drops, and his heartstrings screech a misplayed note. He’s finally said too much, pushed for something Lan Wangji isn’t willing to give. He’s about to open his eyes and think of an excuse to head to bed when Lan Wangji says, “Not next week. I’ll be busy.” “Hm?” “The music department is holding an event. A dinner with patrons. I have to attend.” Next week is the week before term ends, which means they’ll only have one more week afterwards, until after the winter break. Wei Wuxian sighs to himself, thinking that he sure wasted a shitload of Friday nights partying when he could have been home with Lan Wangji instead. They eat breakfast together on Wednesday, and Lan Wangji walks Wei Wuxian to the library, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t say it. He hasn’t worked up the nerve. On Friday night, Lan Wangji comes out of his room dressed in all white, his blazer buttoned up to the neck, subtle blue clouds stitched into the fabric. A snow white ribbon wraps around his half bun and trails down through his hair. He holds his guqin case in one hand, his dress shoes in the other, and he stops in front of where Wei Wuxian sits on top of the kitchen table as though reporting for inspection. “Wow,” Wei Wuxian says. He clears his throat, then gives the understatement of the century. “You look good.” There’s a bit of a squeak in his voice that he hopes only he noticed. Lan Wangji doesn’t smile, but his eyes go warm, and it’s absolutely breathtaking. “Thank you.” “And I was thinking,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, before he loses his nerve. He’s already dawdled in the kitchen long enough, having finished dinner a long time ago. “Or I was wondering. If, um, you needed a date? To your fancy dinner thing?” Lan Wangji’s eyebrows furrow. “I mean – I just mean – I mean.” Oh my god, Wei Wuxian thinks to himself. Just spit it out! “I mean do you want to be my date? I mean, do you want me to be your date? I’ll be your date. If you want.” He laughs loudly. “As friends, I mean! Like, just so you don’t go alone and I can talk to you and give you someone to talk to so you don’t get bored! If – if you want.” He finally manages to clamp his jaws shut, lips pressed tight together and stomach completely gone. “Oh,” Lan Wangji says, and oh god, this is where he says No, or rather, where he says it all polite like No, thank you, or That isn’t necessary, or I don’t want to talk to you or – “I’m not required to bring a date.” Or he isn’t required to bring a date. “Oh, great! That solves that problem!” Wei Wuxian laughs again, hoping his face isn’t bright red but figuring it is because he can feel it radiating. “I wasn’t aware there was a problem to solve.” Wei Wuxian holds back an absolutely hysterical laugh. “You are so right about that, Lan Zhan. No problem at all! I was just thinking that maybe you’d like a friend to talk to at this fancy shindig, but like, you’re you so you probably weren’t planning to talk at all anyway.” “I will probably have to talk a little bit. But I don’t plan to talk very much.” “Yeah, you don’t strike me as the mingling type.” “Definitely not.” “And I’d be a total blabbermouth! I’d make you look bad in front of all the fancy people! We so don’t want that.” Wei Wuxian nods in what he hopes is a sage way to his own statement, and not like a bobblehead whose neck is about to snap in half. “Okay, well, bye! Have fun!” He hops off the table and heads toward his room, but Lan Wangji says, “Wait.” Wei Wuxian’s heart pangs a single time in his chest. He turns back around and is surprised to see Lan Wangji’s hand – still holding his shoes – lowering quickly back to his side, as though he’d actually been reaching toward him. Wei Wuxian’s heart pangs a second time in his chest. “Would you like to go with me?” Lan Wangji asks. Wei Wuxian lets out a squeak. He tries again. “What?” “As a friend,” Lan Wangji clarifies. His voice is the same deep, measured timbre as it always is, which means he hasn’t the faintest clue about the storm raging inside of Wei Wuxian’s head, and chest, and stomach. No no no, Wei Wuxian tells himself sternly. You’re… you’re you! You don’t get flustered like this! Get your shit together! You can’t embarrass yourself in front of Lan Zhan! He dons his trademark flirtatious grin and leans his weight onto one hip. “Aw, Lan Zhan, are you saying you don’t want me to go as your date?” Lan Wangji just blinks. “If I asked you to be my date, would you?” Wei Wuxian nearly falls over. The storm in his body turns into an absolute hurricane, but nowhere more than in his head, where he hears a million tiny Wei Wuxians running around screaming, clanging open the filing cabinets that represent his brain function, and scattering the papers that represent his thoughts. But there is one thought that flutters down and lands on top of all the others. When Lan Zhan says ‘date’ does he mean an actual date? Because I’m pretty sure he implied that one time that he isn’t straight and he knows I’m not either so is he asking all this in a gay way or in a friend way? Certain he will get no answer, and possibly have the invitation revoked, should he voice said question aloud, Wei Wuxian swallows loudly and says, “Yeah, I would.” “In that case,” Lan Wangji says, “would you be my date?” “Yes,” Wei Wuxian says, with several enthusiastic nods. “I totally would.” “Then go change.” “Huh?” “Your clothes. The dress code is semi-formal.” Wei Wuxian looks down at himself, noting the very obvious hot sauce stain on his shirt, and dashes to his room. Halfway to his closet, he realizes – what the hell is he supposed to wear? All he has are jeans and t-shirts! And sneakers! “Lan Zhan!” he calls. “I’m screwed!” He manages to find a plain black button down at the way back of his closet, which he wears with his darkest pair of jeans. The shoes are a lost cause – sneakers – but at least they, too, are black. He glumly inspects his reflection in the mirrored closet door. “Lan Zhan, I so don’t look good enough.” “You look good,” Lan Wangji says from outside his room. “Come, we have to go.” Wei Wuxian is barely conscious of what he babbles about during the fifteen minute walk across campus. Lan Wangji hums monosyllabic replies beside him. The winter night is frigid, enough that his breath billows from his mouth in a steady stream, so he’s beyond relieved when they make it to the building and find the heating system on full blast. They drop their jackets at the coat check, then enter the ballroom proper. “Lan Zhan,” he says slowly, taking in the sight that greets him, “are we the last ones here?” Round tables covered in various bottles and flower arrangements fill the center of the ballroom, while a couple hundred people mill around in between and at the perimeter, talking and laughing and looking their best. Wei Wuxian feels exceptionally shabby in his sneakers, but Lan Wangji puts a hand on his back to steer him farther inside. “There was a cocktail hour beforehand. I skipped it.” He drops his hand as some other students from the music department come over and greet him. Wei Wuxian waits to see how he’ll act with them, but Lan Wangji just nods his greetings, as curt as always. When they ask who his friend is, Lan Wangji introduces him as “Wei Ying,” in his low, cool voice that makes a shiver zip up Wei Wuxian’s spine. Wei Wuxian thinks it was a very good thing he came along when the event photographer sidles up and asks to take a picture of Lan Wangji, who nearly turns on his heel and strides away. Wei Wuxian catches him by the elbow, loops their arms together, and grins for the camera as he forces Lan Wangji to stay in place. Afterwards, Lan Wangji excuses himself to do something or other, Wei Wuxian doesn’t exactly catch what (hopefully not track down the cameraman and throttle him), but Lan Wangji’s music classmates are friendly and pull him into a conversation about mobile games, and by the time Lan Wangji returns, they’re casually debating who the best character is in the new drama about reanimated corpses. “Wei Ying.” He half turns and finds Lan Wangji standing behind him, looking uncertainly at the circle of people Wei Wuxian is a part of. “Lan Zhan! You can tell us who your favorite character is. Oh, do you even watch dramas?” Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist to pull him into the conversation, but just then a finely dressed gentleman steps onto the stage and announces that dinner is about to be served. A procession of waiters carries trays to the buffet station at the back of the room, and a line quickly forms. Wei Wuxian tightens his grip on Lan Wangji’s wrist and promptly starts dragging him toward the line. “Lan Zhan, hurry, before all the good stuff is gone!” If there’s one thing Wei Wuxian will never be late for, it’s free food. He piles his plate with a little bit of everything, then looks around at the tables. Lan Wangji’s elbow gently bumps into his. “It’s free seating. Follow me.” They head to an empty table near the door, and when they take their seats, Wei Wuxian glances at Lan Wangji’s plate. He can’t help snorting. Lan Wangji gives him a sour look. “Lan Zhan, you really are a rabbit. That’s all?” There are maybe seven bites of food on Lan Wangji’s plate, if someone were to take exceptionally small, Lan-Wangji-sized bites. “I already ate.” “You ate dinner before a dinner party?” “I don’t like to eat so late. It isn’t good for digestion.” The tips of Lan Wangji’s ears are pink. Wei Wuxian sighs fondly. He can’t help noting that Lan Wangji seems more relaxed than he had been around his classmates, more expressive. The table gradually fills in groups of twos and threes. Wei Wuxian would have liked to have sat with Lan Wangji’s classmates, but they’re joined by patrons instead, and none spare the two of them much attention. As Wei Wuxian shovels food into his mouth, Lan Wangji plucks the spicy peppers off of his plate and places them on Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian can’t stifle his grin, not even when he plucks up the peppers and places them in his mouth. Then he just smiles around his chopsticks. Because he’s a human trash compactor, he’s done before everyone else at the table, even Lan Wangji, who’s managing to stretch his seven bites into twice as many and is very slowly chewing on the final one. Wei Wuxian starts tracing designs into the condensation on his water glass. He jolts as Lan Wangji takes his hand and places it onto the table. “Don’t play.” Wei Wuxian tries not to feel disappointed as Lan Wangji quickly retracts his hand. “Lan Zhan, I’m bored.” “Do you regret coming?” He nearly misses the minuscule hint of concern in Lan Wangji’s voice. The only reason he catches it is because Lan Wangji’s fingers stiffen nearly imperceptivity over the tablecloth. “Of course not. Your company’s all I need.” Lan Wangji relaxes, and his gaze becomes charged. Starting to grin, Wei Wuxian says, “But I’d like your company even more if you talked to me. We’re both done eating so there’s no reason for that ‘meals are best eaten in silence’ stuff.” “I told you I didn’t expect to talk much tonight.” “Yeah, but could you make an exception for me?” Wei Wuxian leans his cheek into his palm and bats his eyelashes. “Hm.” “Lan Zhan, you aren’t supposed to start talking less.” Lan Wangji shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave Wei Wuxian’s. “I’m not good at talking.” He takes a second, then parts his lips, then hesitates a second longer. “Tell me about the drama you were talking about earlier.” Wei Wuxian perks up. “Will you watch it with me?” “Not necessarily.” Wei Wuxian laughs, then jumps headfirst into a detailed explanation of the drama’s plot. Lan Wangji soaks up every word, his eyes never straying from Wei Wuxian’s, the intensity of his gaze charging a current beneath Wei Wuxian’s skin. At some point, Lan Wangji turns his chair to face him. At some point, Lan Wangji starts commenting on the various characters and their motives. At some point, it turns into a discussion, Lan Wangji’s steady tone weaving through the rises and falls of Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian is just about to reach for the end of the ribbon that has fallen over Lan Wangji’s shoulder when the finely dressed gentleman from earlier steps onto the stage again. Wei Wuxian doesn’t listen to his announcement, too busy taking in Lan Wangji’s profile, still trying to catalogue every change in expression he just witnessed. The upward flicker of eyebrows followed by their immediate bunching together as Lan Wangji criticized a character’s decision. A mellowing of his mouth as he scoffed through his nose. The sideways flicker of his eyes as he thought something through, with the subtlest tension forming on his forehead. Wei Wuxian lifts his cheek out of his palm as Lan Wangji rises from the table. “Lan Zhan?” He watches, nonplussed, as Lan Wangji makes his way to the stage, and then climbs the steps onto it. At the center of the stage, atop a wooden table, sits Lan Wangji’s guqin. Wei Wuxian finally understands what’s going on, and he holds his breath along with the rest of the ballroom as Lan Wangji sits down. He hates that Lan Wangji made them sit so far away, but as Lan Wangji plucks the first note, Wei Wuxian is transported back to their apartment, Lan Wangji playing right beside him in their tiny living room. Lan Wangji plays the melody that’s spring water and grass in the breeze. The one Wei Wuxian said was his favorite. Wei Wuxian’s chest squeezes so tight, he thinks his heart will sport a permanent bruise. He can’t even clap as applause breaks out when Lan Wangji is finished, can’t clap as Lan Wangji rises and gives a bow, can’t clap as Lan Wangji descends the stage and returns to his side at the far back of the room. “Lan Zhan,” he says weakly as Lan Wangji sits back beside him, “you didn’t play something sad.” Lan Wangji looks at him sidelong. “I enjoy that one better.” The gentleman announces dessert being served, but Lan Wangji leans a little closer to Wei Wuxian and says, “I’m not required to stay any longer.” Wei Wuxian nods. As people once again line up at the buffet table, Lan Wangji retrieves his guqin. Together, they retrieve their coats. Wei Wuxian doesn’t babble as they make their way back through campus. He burrows his chin into his coat, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lan Wangji’s breath billows up white into the sky. The song lingers beneath his skin, just like Lan Wangji’s heated gaze had. Did it mean anything, that Lan Wangji played that song tonight? Or would he have played it, even if Wei Wuxian wasn’t there? Wei Wuxian barely registers returning to their apartment complex. It’s only when the kitchen lights flicker on that he flinches at the sudden brightness, and processes Lan Wangji setting his guqin case down to unlace his dress shoes. Wei Wuxian kicks off his sneakers absently. “Did you enjoy yourself?” “Hm?” He blinks at the low voice, and has to think back to Lan Wangji’s question. “Yeah, it was nice.” He pulls a grin onto his face. “You never told me you’re the star of the entire music department.” “I’m not the star.” “Pfft, you obviously are. A special stage? You’re obviously the favorite. The most talented. The prodigy.” Lan Wangji sighs, still bent over unlacing his second shoe, but his ears are pink. Wei Wuxian grins. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you were really hot up there.” Lan Wangji straightens up. “In what way should I take it?” Wei Wuxian realizes then how close together they’re standing in the narrow entranceway. Lan Wangji’s eyes are locked on his. He hadn’t been expecting Lan Wangji to respond, had assumed he’d brush it off with something monosyllabic and unamused. “Wei Ying?” Wei Wuxian’s heart races. Lan Wangji steps closer, close enough that Wei Wuxian can make out his individual eyelashes, the pores on his nose, the very faint stubble above his lip. Wei Wuxian wants to know what he tastes like, wants to learn the feel of him beneath his hands, in his arms. And when he meets Lan Wangji’s eyes again, he can tell that Lan Wangji sees all of this in his own, but he can’t tell what’s lurking in Lan Wangji’s golden irises. Fuck it, he thinks. He played my song. Wei Wuxian kisses him. Lan Wangji kisses him back at once, and not at all gently. He moans as Lan Wangji buries his fingers into his hair, as Lan Wangji bites his lip and tangles their tongues. He throws his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck, anything to anchor them together. His blood boils in his veins, as hot as the inside of Lan Wangji’s mouth, as hot as the little bursts of pain where his hair tugs at his scalp. Lan Wangji pulls him a few steps into the apartment, then backs into the wall and pulls Wei Wuxian against him. Wei Wuxian gasps at the feeling of Lan Wangji’s erection against his own. “Oh shit, Lan Zhan. Oh shit.” He can’t help rubbing against him, weeks and weeks of pent up want shredding any semblance of self-control. Lan Wangji grabs his hips, holding him in place as he rolls forward against Wei Wuxian in turn. “Oh shit,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, and then Lan Wangji bites his lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, and Wei Wuxian loses complete control of his hands. They go from where they’re burrowed deep in Lan Wangji’s hair to shooting downwards, one to Lan Wangji’s waist and the other directly over the bulge in his pants. He palms him without reservation, exhilarated as Lan Wangji presses into the touch. “Lan Zhan, can I?” Lan Wangji growls, which sounds very much like encouragement. Wei Wuxian undoes Lan Wangji’s belt blindly, mouth caught up with Lan Wangji’s again. He fumbles with the button, fumbles with the zipper, shoves Lan Wangji’s pants down, and then a pair of skintight boxer briefs. He closes his hand around Lan Wangji’s cock and gives one firm tug, thrilling at the way it jumps and fills more at his touch. Lan Wangji ducks to bite his neck, and Wei Wuxian is absolutely desperate. “Can I blow you?” Lan Wangji sinks his teeth into his shoulder, and Wei Wuxian curses and drops to his knees. He sucks Lan Wangji off right there, against the wall just inside their apartment, only feet from the kitchen table. Lan Wangji manages to stay mostly silent, half-stifled moans stuck in his throat, and when Wei Wuxian glances up, he catches Lan Wangji’s teeth buried so deep in his bottom lip, he might accidentally bite it off. Wei Wuxian, by comparison, has never been quiet and doesn’t start now. It’s been a while since he last gave head, but he takes Lan Wangji to the back of his throat like a champ, realizing absently that Lan Wangji isn’t thrusting. A perfect gentleman, he thinks, and he almost laughs, but then Lan Wangji grabs his hair so tightly it burns, and he moans instead. He sucks on the upstroke, and laps at Lan Wangji’s cockhead, savoring the heady taste of him in a way that might actually be obscene. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji manages, with a tug on his hair that Wei Wuxian takes to be a warning, but instead of backing off he takes Lan Wangji right back down his throat. He only chokes a little bit as Lan Wangji comes in a strangled grunt of surprise. He lets Lan Wangji out of his mouth, swallows, then thunks his head against Lan Wangji’s thigh as he undoes his own pants to reach inside and get himself off in two firm strokes. A personal record. For a while, they both pant into the silence. The reality of the situation slowly dawns on Wei Wuxian, and when he finally catches his breath, he can’t help laughing. Hoarsely, he says, “Imagine if Wen Ning came home right now.” The only warning he gets is Lan Wangji’s thigh tensing beneath his forehead. Lan Wangji steps hastily aside and Wei Wuxian’s head collides with the wall. He winces and claps his clean hand to it, blinking back tears and hissing a few curses between his teeth. He hears water running. “Lan Zhan?” he says, too quiet for the sound to travel. There’s a splashing sound, like Lan Wangji is washing his face. With a twinge of unease, Wei Wuxian stands and heads to the faucet outside his and Wen Ning’s shared bathroom. He washes his hands, but he can still taste Lan Wangji in his mouth. Cheeks heating, he takes in his reflection, his swollen lips, his messy hair. He pulls aside the collar of his shirt and sees the bright red mark where Lan Wangji had sunk his teeth into his neck. Undoing a few buttons, he moves the fabric aside further and finds another vivid bite mark on his shoulder. The water still gushes at full blast on the other side of the apartment, but Lan Wangji himself is being worrying silent. Does he regret it? Did I go too far? Lan Wangji, who doesn’t touch people, who took months before he would touch Wei Wuxian’s hand for a few seconds to take it off his water glass, just let Wei Wuxian suck him off in their kitchen. He hadn’t seemed unwilling, but Wei Wuxian had started everything, each step along the way. A heavy weight settles in his stomach. Lan Wangji’s faucet finally turns off, and Wei Wuxian hears him… brushing his teeth? He tries to make sense of it. It’s well past Lan Wangji’s bedtime, after all. He’s a stickler for routine. He’s probably shaken by what just happened and needs to settle himself back into his habits. The last thing he needs is Wei Wuxian intruding. Still, Wei Wuxian can’t say nothing. The knot of anxiety in his chest won’t let him. “Goodnight, Lan Zhan,” he calls softly across the apartment. He holds his breath. There’s a long pause, before Lan Wangji calls back just as softly, “Goodnight, Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian exhales. Still, he lies in bed for what feels like hours, replaying everything and hating that the more times he does, the more he’s afraid it was all a huge mistake. IX. He tells Jiang Cheng all about it the next day, but he buries his worry underneath a thick layer of obnoxiousness. Jiang Cheng looks kind of like he wants to die, but he looks like that a lot around Wei Wuxian, who takes no pity and proceeds to detail how big Lan Wangji’s dick is. Jiang Cheng howls and tries to strangle him. Wei Wuxian sits back with a smile. “No need to be so prude, Jiang Cheng!” Jiang Cheng hangs his head, puts his face in his hands, and suffers silently for a minute. “What’s the point of all this?” he finally asks. “Huh?” Jiang Cheng gives him a long-suffering look through his fingers. “The point of the story?” Wei Wuxian blinks. “I dunno.” Jiang Cheng slams his hands down on the rickety table they sit at in the dining hall and roars, with a vein pulsing in his temple, “THEN WHY DID YOU TELL ME ALL ABOUT –” He quickly reigns in his volume and finishes in a strangled whisper, “sucking off your damn roommate?!” “I had to tell someone! And I always tell you stuff. You’re a good listener.” “I want to die,” Jiang Cheng announces. Wei Wuxian laughs, because he’s heard that one before. Jiang Cheng gives him a pained look and asks, “So what, you’re dating now?” Wei Wuxian’s heart constricts, but he says breezily, “Mm, no, I don’t think so.” “Fuck buddies?” “Huh.” Wei Wuxian thinks about it for a second. “I don’t really know. We haven’t, like –” He makes a crude hand gesture and Jiang Cheng hides his face in his hands again. A second later, Jiang Cheng shoves his plate of sweet and spicy pork aside, appetite apparently lost. But storytelling always whets Wei Wuxian’s appetite, at least it usually does, so he drags the plate to his side of the table and finishes it off for appearances. He hardly tastes it, though, instead wondering if Lan Wangji will no longer want to have breakfast with him on Wednesday mornings, or walk onto campus together afterwards, or play him the guqin on Friday nights. X. It’s with utmost trepidation that he peeks his head out of his bedroom at 7:05 on Wednesday morning. He’s run into Lan Wangji a few times in the apartment since last Friday, and things have been… normal. Lan Wangji had made no indication that he’d been sucked off by Wei Wuxian. He’d helped Wei Wuxian get the spare soy sauce down from the topmost shelf, and answered Wei Wuxian’s effusive thanks with a monosyllable. So things seem fine. But breakfast, Wei Wuxian knows, will be the true test. When he sees Lan Wangji dishing up two bowls of watery porridge, he grins and walks into the kitchen, sitting in his chair diagonal to Lan Wangji’s. Lan Wangji sets his bowl in front of him, as well as a container. Wei Wuxian makes a questioning sound and peers at the label. “Spicy roasted peanuts?” “So you don’t complain.” Wei Wuxian bursts into laughter, spirits lifting. “Have I ever told you how thoughtful you are, Lan Zhan?” “Mm.” The door to Wen Ning’s room opens, and he sticks his head out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’s so funny?” “Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian crows. “Want to have some porridge with us?” “Can I?” Wen Ning comes out, looking a mix of nervous and hopeful and, thanks to the serious bags under his eyes, sleep deprived. “Lan Zhan, Wen Ning can eat with us, right?” Lan Wangji has already ladled up another bowl, and sets it next to Wei Wuxian’s place at the table. Wen Ning sits with a bashful smile, and meets Lan Wangji’s eyes with a bit of difficulty as Lan Wangji sits directly across from him. “Thanks,” he says. “Mm.” Wei Wuxian pours a mountain of spicy peanuts onto his porridge, then pushes the container toward Wen Ning, who pours the rest onto his. The three of them eat, Lan Wangji primly, Wei Wuxian like he hasn’t eaten for three days straight, and Wen Ning with his eyes on his bowl, but with sporadic glances at Lan Wangji, who stares fixedly at a spot over his left shoulder. Wei Wuxian smiles the entire time. “Lan Zhan,” he says later, as Lan Wangji walks him to the library, “you shouldn’t have stared over Wen Wing’s shoulder all breakfast like that. The poor guy was trying not to have a heart attack!” Lan Wangji frowns. “Why would he have a heart attack?” “Because your stare is so intimidating!” “I wasn’t staring at him.” “Still, you should’ve had him sit next to you.” “I don’t like sitting next to people.” “You should’ve sat across from me, then.” “I sat where I always do.” Wei Wuxian sighs. They come to a stop at the library steps, and Wei Wuxian climbs two before turning around, so that he can be a few inches taller than Lan Wangji for once. Lan Wangji’s eyes trail up and hold his. “Lan Zhan, tell the truth. You just like making people nervous, don’t you?” “Do I make you nervous?” Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to say Yes and no in a hundred different ways, so he snorts and says, “As if. Do I make you nervous?” “When you don’t chew your food before swallowing, yes.” The bell tower tolls, giving Lan Wangji ten minutes to get to class. He starts to turn, and Wei Wuxian calls after him, “Good luck on your exam! I know you’ll do great!” “Mm,” Lan Wangji says, which could either mean Thank you or I know. As he watches Lan Wangji walk away, Wei Wuxian thinks, Lan Zhan, you don’t like sitting next to people, but then what about when you play me the guqin? What about at your fancy dinner, when you were sitting so close, our knees almost touched the entire time? XI. He sits on the couch with his back ramrod straight and his feet planted firmly on the ground that Friday night, eyes on the TV but not focusing on the screen. When he hears the door handle start to turn, he flings himself haphazardly over the couch, and tips his head back over the armrest to see Lan Wangji come inside with his guqin case. He tries to grin like his heart isn’t currently in his throat. “Lan Zhan! I figured you were still here since you hadn’t said goodbye, but…” But I wasn’t sure if you just left without saying anything. “I’m still here.” “Your music club seriously met on the last Friday night of the entire term?” Lan Wangji nods. “Are you going home for the winter break?” “Tomorrow morning,” Lan Wangji says. He unwinds his scarf from around his neck, then hesitates in the kitchen. Wei Wuxian straightens up, setting his feet back down on the floor, and pats the cushion beside him. “Wanna watch this scary movie I found on TV? There’s this ghost haunting the woods and ever since a family cut down some of the trees to build a house some seriously freaky stuff has been happening to them.” Lan Wangji sets down his guqin case and walks over. He sits where Wei Wuxian indicated and stares at the TV screen while Wei Wuxian grins at the side of his face. Lan Wangji calmly reaches over, pinches Wei Wuxian’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and turns his head straight. Wei Wuxian stares at the screen, but all he can think about is how cold Lan Wangji’s fingers had been from walking across campus, and how close they’re sitting despite not touching, and how Lan Wangji isn’t acting very bothered at all. “So Lan Zhan,” he says after a few minutes. “I think it’s the kid being possessed, because it’s always the kid, but sometimes it seems like it’s the old granny. She’s always watching in the background. Look, look! Even now, you see her in the back there?” “Mm.” “So what do you think? Little kid, or old granny?” “I haven’t gathered enough information to make a decision. But the grandmother is behaving suspiciously.” And as if heralded by Lan Wangji’s words themselves, the camera focuses on the old granny in the background right as her head snaps off and a billowing cloud of evil leaps out of her skin. Wei Wuxian screams and buries his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He gets a whiff of Lan Wangji’s cool scent before Lan Wangji pushes him away. “Sit still.” “But Lan Zhan, I’m scared!” “You were watching this alone.” “Yeah, and no demons were exploding out of grannies! Besides, I was already scared! I asked you to watch with me so I would feel safer.” “Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji mutters under his breath. Wei Wuxian pouts, but he shifts another few inches away from Lan Wangji, to make up for throwing himself on him just now. Lan Wangji frowns sidelong at him. “You really aren’t gonna comfort me?” Wei Wuxian asks. “No.” Screams of bloody murder filter from the television, where the picture flickers erratically, illuminating Lan Wangji’s profile in a million different ways. Lan Wangji watches whatever’s happening unblinkingly, face a picture of serenity. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian drawls, “you’re so brave. You don’t even flinch.” “I thought you wanted to watch the movie.” “Hmm, I’m watching something more interesting right now.” He holds his breath, feeling like a fool, like a total pain in the ass, and Lan Wangji could seriously stand up and leave right now and he’d deserve it. Lan Wangji’s eyes flicker sideways, not all the way to his face, his serenity fracturing with the slightest bunching of his eyebrows. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, a smile making his voice richer. He brings one leg up onto the couch, folding it under himself so he can face Lan Wangji directly. “You really don’t mind sitting beside me, do you?” Lan Wangji’s gaze flickers to his, then away. Wei Wuxian lowers his voice, leaning in closer. “And you didn’t mind when I kissed you, did you?” Lan Wangji is taut as a guqin string. Wei Wuxian’s pulse hammers in his throat, but he forces himself to appear calm as he ducks his head and touches his lips to the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth. Lan Wangji jerks away. “Did you mind that, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whispers. Bloody murder is still happening on the television screen, but all Wei Wuxian can watch is the way Lan Wangji’s throat bobs, followed by the way Lan Wangji’s gaze makes a slow trek to his face, eyes finally latching onto his with a force that hooks Wei Wuxian behind the navel. Lan Wangji’s eyes snap to his lips a split second before he grabs Wei Wuxian’s head and crashes their mouths together. Unbalanced, Wei Wuxian falls forward, sprawling over Lan Wangji. Their teeth click together painfully, but neither of them breaks the kiss. He tries to right himself on top of Lan Wangji, but only manages to squeeze a knee between the back of the couch and Lan Wangji’s hip before Lan Wangji presses him back down with a hand on his lower back. Wei Wuxian gasps, rolling their hips together. He lets out a sharp cry as Lan Wangji drags his teeth to his neck and bites down. “Lan Zhan,” he breathes, “Please.” Lan Wangji pushes him away abruptly. Wei Wuxian falls back against the other end of the couch, head spinning as Lan Wangji stares at him with wide eyes that are one part panic, two parts blazing. He can see Lan Wangji looking for every trick, every joke he may be hiding, but for once, he has none. “Only if you want to,” Wei Wuxian croaks. Lan Wangji bolts to his feet. Wei Wuxian is about to call out, to apologize, to do anything to fix this, but Lan Wangji grabs his wrist and drags him off the couch. Wei Wuxian can only stumble after him, straight into Lan Wangji’s room. Lan Wangji kicks the door shut and pushes him again it. And then Lan Wangji’s mouth descends upon his in the darkness, and Wei Wuxian can only cling to him, gasping and panting and then outright moaning as Lan Wangji presses a thigh between his legs and gives him something to rut against. “Lan Zhan, oh my god.” Lan Wangji follows the trail he mapped the previous time, planting rough bites and kisses down Wei Wuxian’s neck. Breath short, Wei Wuxian pulls frantically at Lan Wangji’s sweater. Lan Wangji bats away his hands and removes his sweater himself, before yanking Wei Wuxian’s shirt over his head and throwing it into some unknown corner of the room. Wei Wuxian’s laugh turns into a yelp as Lan Wangji’s teeth descend on his shoulder, the exact same spot he bit a week ago. How Lan Wangji manages all this in the dark, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know. Just like he didn’t know Lan Wangji – quiet, courteous, respectable Lan Wangji – had this beast pent up within him. Wei Wuxian rubs shamelessly against Lan Wangji’s thigh, hands splayed wide over Lan Wangji’s back. Just as it occurs to him that he could very easily come like this, Lan Wangji pulls him off the door. Wei Wuxian is seized by vertigo, feeling himself being spun around in the dark before being guided steadily backwards. He trods on Lan Wangji’s feet every other step, which earns him a tsk. Bursting into a sudden laugh, Wei Wuxian says, “So, um, Jiang Cheng did make a joke about you murdering me a little while back and this seems like the perfect time to do it.” “Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji murmurs against his neck. There’s a fumbling sound, something clatters to the ground, and then Lan Wangji turns on his desk light. “Phew, okay,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning into Lan Wangji’s face. “I was a little scared you’d turned into a demon or something when I couldn’t see you.” Lan Wangji’s eyes are even more golden than usual in the glow of the desk light. He gets halfway through rolling them, before aborting the motion. He brings his lips back to Wei Wuxian’s, murmuring, “Always so ridiculous.” Wei Wuxian hums his agreement, wrapping his arms around Lan Wangji to pull them together, chest to chest, skin to skin. He lets Lan Wangji back him up a few more paces, until he bumps into the bed frame. “Get up,” Lan Wangji says. To fit as much storage space into the small rooms as possible, the bedframes are higher off the ground than usual, so that drawers can fit underneath. This means having to hoist oneself into bed, and in Wei Wuxian’s case, suffering from a few jarred hips and elbows the first few times he rolled out during the night, before his body adjusted to both the narrowness of the bed and its perilous height. He loops his arms more securely around Lan Wangji’s neck and says, “Help me?” Lan Wangji takes hold of his waist. As he hops, Lan Wangji lifts, and he might as well be feather-light with how easily Lan Wangji sets him onto the bed. A condom and a small bottle of lube land beside him a moment later, and Wei Wuxian thinks, So he is experienced after all? And then he thinks very little, when Lan Wangji joins him, pushes him down, and kisses him. Lan Wangji’s fingertips are calloused from the guqin strings, and Wei Wuxian arches into the touch as Lan Wangji’s hand trails down his abdomen. He lifts his hips to help Lan Wangji divest him of his jeans and boxers, whimpers as Lan Wangji fists his dick. Lan Wangji keeps his strokes light as he takes his time mapping Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and chest with his mouth. The more Wei Wuxian tries to thrust, the looser Lan Wangji’s grip becomes, until he lets go altogether to cup Wei Wuxian’s balls. Wei Wuxian ruts desperately, a guttural sound escaping him. He sucks in a sharp breath as one of Lan Wangji’s fingers trails lower. Voice cracking, he says, “Lan Zhan, please!” The hand disappears. His eyes fly open to find Lan Wangji looming above him. “Lan Zhan?” “How long –” Lan Wangji starts, and cuts himself off. His hair tickles Wei Wuxian’s chest. If the lighting was better, Wei Wuxian swears there might actually be a blush on his face. “How long since I’ve last taken it up the ass?” Lan Wangji looks pained at his vulgarity, and Wei Wuxian bursts into laughter, warmth spreading through him until he feels like he’s floating. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. Lan Wangji waits all too patiently for him to regain his composure. He grows a bit more serious. “It’s been kind of a long time.” He pulls Lan Wangji down so he can whisper into his ear, “Lan Zhan, be gentle with me.” Lan Wangji is. He’s slow and methodical, letting Wei Wuxian adjust to each finger, lapping at his cock when the third finger makes him tense and squeeze his eyes shut. Wei Wuxian clenches his jaw, half from the burn of being stretched, half in an effort not to thrust into Lan Wangji’s mouth. The discomfort inside him tempers as the pleasure outside builds, and soon his body feels loose, expertly tended to by Lan Wangji’s ministrations. He’s definitely done this before, he thinks to himself, as the first shallow “Ah…” escapes him. He meets Lan Wangji’s eyes, and his hips jerk involuntarily at the sight of Lan Wangji’s lips taut around his cock, at Lan Wangji staring ravenously into his flushed face. Lan Wangji’s fingers brush against his prostate, and he flings his head back, a moan ripping its way out of his throat. Lan Wangji’s mouth slides off of him as he repeats the motion, and Wei Wuxian pushes back against his fingers, gasping, “There, Lan Zhan! There!” Lan Wangji fingers him until Wei Wuxian is writhing, so close to coming his body is about to shake apart, and then he’s suddenly empty. Staring dazedly at the ceiling, he hears Lan Wangji tear the condom wrapper open. A few seconds later, he feels a hand at the back of his knee. Lan Wangji moves his leg out and open, spreading him wide. Lan Wangji’s cock settles at his entrance, and a thrill shoots through his gut before he’s hit with the push, the give, and the burn. “Oh,” he breathes. His body clenches tight, and he shakes with the effort of taking a steady breath and loosening up. “Wei Wing.” Lan Wangji’s voice reaches him like the reverberations of a guqin string. He finds Lan Wangji’s eyes, feels a slow swirl in his gut at Lan Wangji’s steady stare. Lan Wangji still has a hand at the back of his knee, and he strokes Wei Wuxian’s thigh with his thumb. “Wei Ying, breathe.” “Yeah, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. “Breathing.” He shuts his eyes and focuses on timing his breaths to the slow brush of Lan Wangji’s thumb. His muscles relax a little more, and Lan Wangji sinks a few inches deeper. “Jesus, Lan Zhan, you’re so big.” Lan Wangji twitches inside of him, and Wei Wuxian lets out a soft moan. “Just, like, start slow, please? I’ll be fine but just – just start slow.” Lan Wangji takes his cock and strokes him, more firmly this time, drawing Wei Wuxian’s mind away from the stretch below. It doesn’t take long for him to settle into the feeling of being spread open. The burn doesn’t go away, not entirely, but being connected to Lan Wangji is worth whatever pains come with it. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again, this time like a question. Wei Wuxian nods. His legs part wider as Lan Wangji pushes all the way in. Lan Wangji is so hot inside of him, it tempers the ache of being filled, and he sighs as Lan Wangji’s mouth returns to his neck, as Lan Wangji releases his cock to bracket his elbows on either side of his head. The new position forces his hips a little higher, lets Lan Wangji a little deeper. He can tell Lan Wangji is going to move, so he grabs onto Lan Wangji’s shoulders to steady himself. He drags in a breath on the outstroke, and it’s pushed out of him in a groan as Lan Wangji thrusts slowly back in. The pressure is immense, dizzying. His thoughts scatter, and for a while he’s just sensation. Lan Wangji’s broad shoulders shifting beneath his palms. His heels against Lan Wangji’s back. The pulsing heat of their union. Gradually, he becomes aware of Lan Wangji’s heavy breaths against his neck. Even during sex, Lan Wangji is quiet, as though he must maintain an image of perfect self-control. But Wei Wuxian knows better, can feel it. Excitement jolts down into his toes at the way Lan Wangji pleasures himself with measured thrusts in and out. “Do you feel good, Lan Zhan?” Lan Wangji shudders against him, and replies in a voice that is the most fractured Wei Wuxian has ever heard. “I feel good, Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian’s cock jumps between them, and he moans as the first tingles of pleasure loosen him up. “Yeah, m’starting to feel good too,” he mumbles, as another bout of pleasure shivers through him. He tangles his fingers into Lan Wangji’s hair as Lan Wangji quickens his pace a little. When Lan Wangji’s cock rubs against his prostate, he pulls Lan Wangji’s hair hard enough to make Lan Wangji hiss. “There. Again, Lan Zhan, just like that.” Lan Wangji complies, and Wei Wuxian’s hands falls to his sides to fist in the blankets. He can feel it stealing over his body, the blissed out lethargy that always possesses him before a good fuck is even over. He’s always been a glutton for pleasure in one way or another – too much sleep, too much food; when he keeps Lan Wangji awake past his bedtime Friday nights, too much music and too much of Lan Wangji’s company. When it comes to sex, when he’s receiving and when it’s really good, he’ll go limp to fully enjoy it, almost completely submissive, hardly bothering to put in any work. He does put in some work now, chasing his release to try to reach it before Lan Wangji does, so he can let Lan Wangji use him to his heart’s content afterwards. Soon he’s rocking to meet every one of Lan Wangji’s thrusts, gasping encouragements, howling as Lan Wangji pounds into him. He ruts against Lan Wangji until his entire body starts twitching, muscles locking and ass clamping tight around Lan Wangji’s cock. “Lan Zhan – I – I can’t –” Lan Wangji hitches Wei Wuxian’s hips up higher, and Wei Wuxian moans and moans, body absolutely boneless with pleasure. He comes all over his stomach, and he’s still shaking from his orgasm as Lan Wangji breaks rhythm to snap forward once, twice, and then a third time, a low grunt held in his throat before he collapses on top of Wei Wuxian, hips rolling slowly a few more times before going still. Lan Wangji is heavy and sweat-damp, but Wei Wuxian has never felt more blissed out as his body spirals back down from its high. Lan Wangji pants against his neck, and Wei Wuxian rubs his back, fingers tangling in his hair. He could fall asleep beneath the heat and press of Lan Wangji’s body, and his consciousness starts to bleed out of him, only to reverse flow as Lan Wangji shifts and pulls out. Wei Wuxian shivers, eyes snapping open. He swallows dryly a few times. “Would you like some water?” Lan Wangji asks. Wei Wuxian nods. He stares blearily at the ceiling, hearing rather than seeing as Lan Wangji hops off the bed, then shuffles around a bit, then opens his bedroom door. Sounds from the TV trickle inside. A faucet turns on, then off. Footsteps trail into the kitchen. The refrigerator opens and closes. The television goes silent. Wei Wuxian sits up, pulling his hair tie out of his hair and running his fingers through the tangles. Footsteps again, then Lan Wangji pauses for a moment in the doorway before coming the rest of the way inside. He twists the cap off the water bottle before handing it over, eyes on the wall a few centimeters from Wei Wuxian’s face. Wei Wuxian guzzles down half the bottle before choking. Lan Wangji thumps his back, alarmed. “Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he rasps, wiping his watery eyes as Lan Wangji backs off. He offers Lan Wangji the bottle, but Lan Wangji shakes his head. As Wei Wuxian takes another couple of sips, slower this time, he catalogues a few things. Lan Wangji has definitely had sex before. Which means Wei Wuxian isn’t the first person he’s been intimate with. Which means he does this, and yet… Things aren’t awkward, but there isn’t any cuddling, no warm fuzzies, no romantic nothings. Lan Wangji stands in the middle of his room, looking like he won’t get back onto his bed until Wei Wuxian gets off. The sex was fantastic, but the act is over. Lan Wangji had been in the moment last week too, and then as soon as it had ended, he had been out of it. Wei Wuxian thinks about Lan Wangji’s hesitation before kissing him back on the couch earlier, and ties this into what else he knows of Lan Wangji as well. Lan Wangji likes routine and not spontaneity. He values his personal space, as well as maintaining boundaries. He isn’t as cold as people think, but even with Wei Wuxian there is a careful distance at most times, at least emotionally, and oftentimes physically as well. Lan Wangji clearly doesn’t mind a good fuck, but his behavior afterwards suggests he isn’t looking for anything deeper than that. And honestly, as long as they can keep being friends, Wei Wuxian is cool with that. The friendship he has with Lan Wangji feels special, like something he couldn’t have with anyone else. And if they fuck once in a while, hell, that makes it a pretty sweet arrangement any way Wei Wuxian looks at it. He glances at the digital clock on Lan Wangji’s desk. “Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s past your bedtime.” Lan Wangji follows his gaze, then looks back. “Yes.” “Well, I wouldn’t want to be a rude guest.” Wei Wuxian throws his legs over the side of the bed and hops down. He gathers his clothes, pulls on his boxers, wipes off his stomach with his shirt. Lan Wangji steps aside so he can walk to the door. In the doorway, he turns around and sends Lan Wangji a cheeky grin. “G’night, Lan Zhan.” As he pads across the quiet apartment, he hears Lan Wangji’s voice trail after him. “Goodnight, Wei Ying.” XII. The next day, Wei Wuxian sleeps until noon. The first thing he does, when he drags his achy body out of bed, is poke his head out of his room and listen. The apartment is silent. Lan Wangji’s dishes have dried on the rack beside the sink, so Wei Wuxian places them back in the cabinet. He opens the refrigerator to be sure, and finds Lan Wangji’s side empty, which is a reminder for Wei Wuxian to clear out his perishables as well. He and Jiang Cheng are planning to catch the train together later for the trip home, but Wei Wuxian absolutely needs to meet him for lunch first. He has to text and call Jiang Cheng incessantly until Jiang Cheng’s groggy voice answers the phone, and then he tells Jiang Cheng to meet him at the café outside the train station in an hour. When Jiang Cheng sits across from him with a steaming cup of coffee, he says, “So I think me and Lan Zhan are friends with benefits.” “Oh, you fucked,” Jiang Cheng says flatly, too asleep to even feel beleaguered. “Congratulations.” “Thanks,” Wei Wuxian sighs, and as he shifts in his seat he still feels a soreness deep inside of him, where Lan Wangji had been last night. “It was incredible.” XIII. But the time winter break has ended, Wei Wuxian has put on about ten pounds from Yanli’s incredible cooking, and he’s already mourning the return to school food which, while not bad, isn’t Yanli’s and also isn’t free. He cradles the box of Yanli’s cookies against his chest as he fumbles with the apartment key. When he finally gets inside, he realizes he isn’t alone. Lan Wangji stands in the kitchen with a man who looks remarkably like him, if not slightly older. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian feels a little shiver at the sound of Lan Wangji’s low voice, which he has missed more than he will admit. “This is my brother.” Wei Wuxian kicks off his shoes and hurries inside. “As in the guy who makes the amazing dumplings?” Lan Xichen is soft-spoken and handsome, but the similarities diverge from there. While his brother’s eyes are cool, Lan Xichen’s are warm and open. While Lan Wangji’s mouth knows neutrality more than anything else, Lan Xichen’s curve easily into a smile. “You must be the Wei Ying I’ve heard so much about,” he says, clearly pleased to be meeting him. Lan Wangji makes some sort of aborted move at that. When Wei Wuxian looks his way, he’s staring fixedly at the sink, stubbornly avoiding Wei Wuxian’s grin. So Wei Wuxian grins at his brother instead. “Lan Zhan’s been talking about me?” “I’m glad he’s made a friend,” Lan Xichen says, but there’s something cryptic about his smile, and Wei Wuxian wonders how much he knows. Remembering his manners, Wei Wuxian says, “Ah, would either of you like a cookie? Homemade! My sister sent me off with a bunch.” He opens up the box, revealing three layers of cookies, some iced, some baked with sprinkles, and others baked with chocolate to give the rabbits mottled fur. “How lovely,” Lan Xichen says, choosing a cookie and taking a bite. His eyes light up, and he glances at his brother. “And delicious. Did you know that Wangji’s favorite animal are rabbits?” “Xichen.” The tips of Lan Wangji’s ears are pink. Wei Wuxian fights back a wave of giggles and manages to say, “Is that why he eats like one?” “Wei Ying!” Lan Xichen gracefully stifles a laugh behind his hand. Wei Wuxian likes him a lot. But not quite as much as he likes the fact that Lan Wangji likes rabbits. Before either of them can torment his brother any further, Lan Xichen announces that he should leave. He took the morning off to accompany his brother back to school, but he still has the second half of his shift to return to. He places his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and they share a few unspoken words. Lan Wangji nods, and Lan Xichen gives his shoulder a little shake before letting go. “A pleasure meeting you,” he says, waving his cookie at Wei Wuxian, and then he pops the rest in his mouth and makes his exit. Lan Wangji sighs once his brother is out the door. “Lan Zhan, you really told your brother about me?” Lan Wangji gives him a level stare in response, and oh how he missed that perfect, judgmental face. They spend the next few hours with their own busywork. Wei Wuxian needs to go grocery shopping, and then he washes the mountain of dirty laundry he left in his closet all break. When he returns later with an overflowing laundry basket of clean but unfolded clothes, Lan Wangji has just begun to cook himself dinner. Wei Wuxian joins him, the two of them quickly reacquainting themselves with the choreography of sharing the tiny stove. Wei Wuxian babbles through dinner, and Lan Wangji answers monosyllabically. Wei Wuxian slurps up his noodles, and Lan Wangji determinedly doesn’t look at the splatters of sauce that land on the table, though he hands Wei Wuxian a paper napkin to wipe his mouth with. When Wei Wuxian shoots the crumpled napkin toward the garbage can and misses, Lan Wangji says, “Don’t play at the meal table.” It warms Wei Wuxian’s heart that Lan Wangji missed him too. After dinner, Lan Wangji collects their dishes, but before he can turn on the tap, Wei Wuxian bumps him aside with his hip. “Lan Zhan, let me.” He’s in a good mood, humming as he washes their dishes. Lan Wangji watches him inscrutably the whole time. When he finishes, he dries his hands and turns to face him. “What is it, Lan Zhan? Do you want another cookie?” “No.” Lan Wangji’s voice is always deep, but this time it hits some rock bottom, some gravelly timbre that makes Wei Wuxian’s dick stir to attention. He bites his lip, but his smile slips through anyway. “Do you want…” He pretends to think, and when he drapes his arms over Lan Wangji’s shoulders, Lan Wangji doesn’t push him away, so he moves closer. “Me? I know you don’t usually have dessert, but you’ll be burning the calories off…” He trails off, bringing his lips centimeters from Lan Wangji’s. Lan Wangji takes his waist, and they reacquaint themselves with the choreography of their lips and tongues sliding together. Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Wangji by the belt loops and tugs him to his room, where he hastily divests himself of his own shirt. He gasps as Lan Wangji sucks on his neck. “Bite me, Lan Zhan,” he says, and he shudders when Lan Wangji does. And so, the night before term even starts, they fuck on Wei Wuxian’s bed, Wei Wuxian on his knees with his cheek pressed into the mattress, moaning so loudly they probably hear him three doors in every direction. He doesn’t know what feels better – Lan Wangji’s dick inside him, or the fiery trail of Lan Wangji’s touches, hands running up and down his body before finally settling on his hips, gripping so hard Wei Wuxian spends ten minutes admiring the bruises later, long after Lan Wangji has gone to bed in his own room. XIV. “The spicy noodles look so good. And the pork buns! But the soup too, it’s been so cold lately. Lan Zhan, I can’t decide.” Wei Wuxian whines in a way not at all befitting his age as he and Lan Wangji inch their way forward in line. It’s lunchtime at the dining hall, and Wei Wuxian is starving, and everything on the menu looks delicious. But after finally managing to goad Lan Wangji into eating with him, he knows better than to order too much food and risk wasting any. Lan Wangji wouldn’t fuck him for a month straight out of pure spite! “Don’t think too hard about it,” Lan Wangji says, which is the worst advice ever. The only people who don’t think hard about what they want to eat are fools. Wei Wuxian tells him so, and Lan Wangji simply sighs and motions Wei Wuxian forward as the line moves. Wei Wuxian gets the noodles and the soup, and as he waits for Lan Wangji to pay for his own meal, he spots an arm waving by the windows. “Jiang Cheng!” Lan Wangji looks even less enthused about lunch than he already did, but Wei Wuxian knocks their shoulders together – which almost capsizes his soup bowl – and murmurs as they walk over, “Don’t worry, Jiang Cheng’s liked you ever since you told me to shut up during lunch last time.” He throws himself into the chair beside Jiang Cheng. Lan Wangji eyes the two chairs left, and picks the one across from Wei Wuxian. “Still putting up with this fool?” Jiang Cheng asks him, jerking his thumb sideways. “Lan Zhan isn’t putting up with me. We’re best friends!” Wei Wuxian grins across the table. “Right, Lan Zhan?” Jiang Cheng snorts. Wei Wuxian elbows him. Lan Wangji already seems to be regretting sitting with them, but he still transfers two steamed buns from his tray to Wei Wuxian’s. “Lan Zhan! You got me the pork buns?” “Mm.” “Have I ever told you you’re the best –” “Don’t speak during mealtime.” Jiang Cheng grins, probably thinking of all the times he’s tried to get Wei Wuxian to shut up, only to have Wei Wuxian speak right over him. Wei Wuxian quietly eats a grand total of one pork bun before being silent becomes too excruciating. “Have you guys heard? Apparently one of the nerdy clubs on campus is planning to fill the pool with Jell-O to do some sort of experiment about surface tension in a couple weeks? And they’re looking for volunteers to jump into the Jell-O? I’m thinking of asking Wen Ning to do it with me.” “By all means,” Jiang Cheng says. “Maybe you’ll drown and my perpetual migraine will finally go away.” Wei Wuxian slings an arm over his shoulders and says cheerily, “Then I’ll just haunt you for the rest of your life. Jiang Cheng, you really don’t think these things through.” Jiang Cheng tsks and shrugs him off. Wei Wuxian slurps up a mouthful of spicy noodles, ponders for a few seconds, and says, “D’you think I’d just bounce off? What if I bounced over the wall and into the parking lot and broke my legs?” He laughs. “That’d be hilarious.” “I don’t even know how to tell you how stupid you are,” Jiang Cheng says. “Ah, I know how to make sure that doesn’t happen! I’ll tell Wen Ning to bring a net, and we can put it up around the pool so nobody bounces out! That way if we bounce, we just splat back onto the Jell-O! It’s foolproof.” He takes out his phone. “I hope Wen Ning’s free that night. I don’t know where that kid is all the time.” “I can’t believe you want to do this stupid thing with a freshman and not with me!” Jiang Cheng blurts out. He realizes what he’s said a second later and crosses his arms, face going red. Wei Wuxian grins and slings his arm over his shoulders again. “I knew you wanted to hang out with me more! Of course you can come, Jiang Cheng.” He looks across the table at Lan Wangji, who serenely eats his eggplant as though he hasn’t heard a word of the ridiculous conversation he’s been subjected to. Wei Wuxian leans his head sideways, forcing Lan Wangji to meet his eyes. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, want to come with us? You don’t have to jump in the Jell-O. You can just take pictures or something. You know, so we always have memories to look back on.” Lan Wangji slowly closes his eyes and continues eating. “Wow,” Jiang Cheng says. “That is such a mood.” When Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji walk back to their apartment after lunch, Wei Wuxian hobbles along beside Lan Wangji, holding his belly and whining, “Lan Zhan, I’m so full. I think my stomach’s gonna burst. Carry me?” “Don’t be so shameless.” “Lan Zhan, I’m always shameless. Why would I stop now? Except this is so serious. What if I throw up? Huh? What if I literally throw up because I’m so full? And you can’t even blame me because you got me the extra pork buns!” He gasps. “Lan Zhan, did you make me sick on purpose? Was it something I said? Was it because I made you eat lunch with me? Wait – Lan Zhan – Lan Zhan, slow down!” Lan Wangji does not slow down, but rather continues his (somehow extremely elegant, unhurried-looking) power walk back to their apartment. Wei Wuxian puts on an extra burst of speed to catch up, and links his arm through Lan Wangji’s. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I don’t blame you. I’m glad you got me those pork buns. You can slow down now.” Lan Wangji gives him some serious side-eye, but then obliges, not bothering to unlink their arms. “Don’t jump in Jell-O.” “Huh? Why? It sounds so fun.” “You’ll hurt yourself.” “What? No way! How would I hurt myself?” Lan Wangji huffs out a breath that seems to communicate the entire sentence: Because you’re a hazard to yourself and you still trip over the kitchen chair legs every day. Wei Wuxian thinks it’s pretty incredible that he can read him so well now that Lan Wangji doesn’t even have to say words for Wei Wuxian to understand him. “Sorry, Lan Zhan, but I’m gonna jump in that Jell-O, and there’s gonna be a safety net and everything, and nothing you can say will stop me.” “Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji sighs. “If I break both my legs, I’ll let you sign my casts first.” They enter the lobby of their apartment complex, and Lan Wangji swiftly steers them toward the stairs. “Lan Zhan, no, I can’t climb the stairs right now! We have to take the elevator.” “The elevator is slower.” “No it isn’t, you just take the stairs five at a time like some fucking spider monster.” Wei Wuxian starts laughing at the mental image he’s conjured, then abruptly stops when Lan Wangji doesn’t change their course. “Lan Zhan, just this once, have pity on me. My stomach.” Suddenly, his feet are swept out from under him, and he’s falling, and his stomach swoops, and he most definitely screams… And then there’s an arm at his back, as well as under his knees. He’s held against a sturdy chest. When his stomach resettles where it’s supposed to be, he realizes Lan Wangji is carrying him up the stairs (one at a time, like a regular human being). “Wow,” he says in wonder, “I almost threw up for a second.” Lan Wangji rolls his eyes. Wei Wuxian smiles up at him, looping his arms around his neck. “So you won’t carry me on flat ground but you’ll carry me up the stairs. Someone’s a showoff.” “Would you like to climb the rest of the way yourself?” “Nope! I’m great here. Very comfortable.” Wei Wuxian snuggles his face into Lan Wangji’s shoulder to make a point. Lan Wangji’s sweater is as soft as down feathers. As soft as… As soft as rabbit’s fur. Wei Wuxian smiles to himself. “Lan Zhan, what do you smell like? You always smell so good.” Lan Wangji’s answer rumbles beneath his cheek. “Sandalwood.” Sandalwood. How mature, Wei Wuxian thinks, rubbing his cheek against Lan Wangji’s shoulder and taking another hearty whiff. It isn’t even a bumpy ride. Much better than the elevator. He expects Lan Wangji to put him down when they reach their apartment, and Lan Wangji does retract the arm cradling his knees, only to lift a leg and support Wei Wuxian’s knees that way as he digs in his pocket for the key. “Are you… are you standing on one foot, Lan Zhan?” “Mm.” “Let me get my key out! You’re going to fall over!” “It’s fine.” Lan Wangji sticks his key in the lock, turns it, swoops up Wei Wuxian’s knees again, and shoulders the door open. He edges them in sideways, making certain that Wei Wuxian’s head doesn’t clonk against the doorframe. Then he transports Wei Wuxian straight to his bedroom, navigates around the few books and pieces of clothing on the floor, and deposits him on his bed. Before he can back away, Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist. “Lan Zhan, don’t go.” He rolls onto his side and plucks at the neckline of Lan Wangji’s sweater, revealing a graceful collar bone. He traces the bone with a fingertip, letting his eyes slip partway shut so he can peer at Lan Wangji from beneath his lashes. “I finished all my homework, and I’m done with classes for the day. That means I have the whole afternoon free with nothing to do.” He pouts. “So maybe you should do me so I don’t get too bored.” “I thought your stomach hurt.” Wei Wuxian grins. “I just wanted you to carry me.” He twirls a finger into a lock of Lan Wangji’s hair and pulls him down until their lips brush together. “You can sweep me off my feet any day, Lan Zhan.” He shivers as Lan Wangji’s tongue parts his lips and finds his own. It’s a languid kiss, over when Lan Wangji gives his lip a reproachful nip. “You lied,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian laughs softly, feeling slow and silly and shameless as Lan Wangji stares intensely into his eyes. “I know. And I enjoyed the outcome immensely. Are you going to punish me?” He bites his lip, chuckling as Lan Wangji’s eyes are drawn to the motion. “Are you going to rip all my clothes off and make me beg for sweet, sweet release?” “If that’s what you want, how would it be a punishment?” “Lan Zhan, stop being so smart,” Wei Wuxian scolds, tapping his finger to Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji holds his gaze steadily, and Wei Wuxian feels his pulse begin to quicken. He replaces his finger with his mouth, and says through a smile, “But if you left now, wouldn’t you be punishing yourself?” “Such a bother,” Lan Wangji sighs, but he hoists himself up, pins Wei Wuxian’s hands above his head, and kisses him thoroughly before doing exactly as Wei Wuxian wanted – ripping his clothes off and making him beg so loudly, the downstairs neighbor pounds against the ceiling for Wei Wuxian to shut up. XV. Wei Wuxian did not get hurt jumping into the Jell-O pool. He got hurt running around the pool afterwards, slipping on some splattered Jell-O, and skinning his knee open on the concrete. “I’m so sorry,” Wen Ning stammered the entire way back to the apartment, as he helped Wei Wuxian hobble along. He’d rushed to his room after settling Wei Wuxian on the couch, and rushes back out now, still stammering, “I’m sorry!” He drops an enormous first aid kit onto the coffee table beside Wei Wuxian’s propped-up, paper-towel-covered knee. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” “Jesus, Wen Ning, for what?” Wei Wuxian asks, peeling the paper towels off his knee and grimacing at the sight. The bleeding has slowed down, but his entire knee is very red and very raw. “For laughing at you when you fell.” Wen Ning pauses, fingers under the latches of the first aid kit. His voice wobbles. “Are you mad?” “Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian says seriously. “If you didn’t laugh, I would’ve thought there was something wrong with you. It was fucking hilarious! Jiang Cheng almost peed himself.” “Still, I feel bad,” Wen Ning says, undoing the latches and letting the kit fall open with a crash. The contents look like they could supply an entire medical center. “My sister’s a doctor,” he explains, and he brightens a bit. “I can’t wait to tell her the first aid kit finally came in handy!” “You know this isn’t necessary, right?” Wei Wuxian says, warily eying the various tubes of ointments and whatnot that Wen Ning carefully selects. “I washed it off with water. The bleeding’s almost stopped. I can just tape some paper towels to it overnight and it’ll be fine.” Wen Ning gives him a smile that is both apologetic and a wee bit pitying. “Let’s both pretend you didn’t say that. Sorry!” he exclaims as Wei Wuxian lets out a yelp. Wei Wuxian glowers and presses his lips tightly together as Wen Ning disinfects the wound and examines it closely, but he relaxes when Wen Ning smoothes on some sort of soothing ointment afterwards. Before he knows it, his knee is wrapped up in gauze and Wen Ning is smiling triumphantly. “There. How does it feel?” Wei Wuxian pats his cheek. “It feels great. Tell your sister you did a good job.” Wen Ning positively beams at that. He packs up his first aid kit and returns it to his room, nearly skipping. Wei Wuxian is going to propose ordering a pizza and watching a movie, but when Wen Ning comes back out of his room, he’s firing off a text on his phone and says, “Sorry, gotta go.” “What? Wen Ning! We were bonding!” “Oh.” Wen Ning hesitates halfway to the door, looking suddenly guilty. “I thought we did that at the Jell-O pool?” Wei Wuxian waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead, it’s fine. I’m not on my deathbed or anything. Are you ever going to tell me where you are all the time, though?” Wen Ning shrugs. “Nowhere really. I’ll be staying at my friend’s for a few days. Have fun.” He winks and is out the door before Wei Wuxian can even begin to parse what that means. He’s dozing later, stomach full of greasy pizza and a thriller playing on the TV, when Lan Wangji returns home. “Wei Ying!” There’s a hitch in Lan Wangji’s voice, and then he’s crossing the kitchen in four long strides. “What did you do?” “Oh, my knee? Okay, so funny story, Lan Zhan. First of all, you do not bounce on Jell-O. You just kind of splat into it. Gross but tasty –” “Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian’s stomach twists itself into tight little knots. There’s a fierceness in Lan Wangji’s gaze, and he has to look away. “I slipped when I was running around the pool and scraped my knee. But it’s fine! Wen Ning patched it up. His sister’s a doctor so he knows all about first aid stuff.” Lan Wangji is silent. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know why he feels so guilty. He does stupid stuff all the time and he gets hurt all the time – small injuries, like stubbed toes, or bruises on his hips from banging into doorframes, or cuts on his fingers now and then when he’s preparing food. A scraped up knee is still a small injury, by his standards. But with the way Lan Wangji looks down at him, he might as well have thrown himself in front of a moving truck. “Are you mad, Lan Zhan?” “No.” “Are you disappointed in me?” “I’m glad you’re okay, Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian’s head snaps up. “Huh? You… you were worried?” He expects Lan Wangji to reply monosyllabically or not at all. Instead he’s met with a flutter of emotion on Lan Wangji’s face – eyebrows pulling in, lips thinning, gaze darting away for a second before returning. Slowly, Lan Wangji parts his lips. Just as slowly, he says, “Is that so hard to believe?” Wei Wuxian swallows. He pats the spot beside him on the couch and Lan Wangji obediently sits down. “I’m fine, Lan Zhan. I even walked the whole way back. I’m resilient like that.” “Hm,” Lan Wangji says, staring into his eyes, trying to determine if Wei Wuxian is withholding a lie. Wei Wuxian ducks his head to hide his smile. His stomach is still in knots, but they’re pleasant ones this time. “Really, Lan Zhan. Everything’s okay.” “Good,” Lan Wangji says, and there is no anger in his tone, no disappointment. Only relief. XVI. It’s raining outside, the cold kind of rain, as Lan Wangji cooks dinner and Wei Wuxian sits on top of the table watching him. The rain patters steadily against the window, and wrapped up in a blanket, Wei Wuxian listens to this and to the sounds of food bubbling and crackling, and his eyelids grow heavy. “Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji touches his side to get his attention. Wei Wuxian blinks several times before Lan Wangji comes into focus in front of him, holding up a spoon with a hand beneath it to catch the drips. “Taste it.” Wei Wuxian smiles and inclines his head forward, parting his lips as Lan Wangji brings the spoon to them. The broth is hot and fragrant and deliciously salty, but… “Just a little more chili paste. Please?” Lan Wangji huffs quietly, but returns to the stove and does as Wei Wuxian asks of him. Wei Wuxian hadn’t expected Lan Wangji to actually cook him dinner. It had been a stupid request he’d made that morning, after bumping Lan Wangji aside to wash both of their dishes from breakfast. “Lan Zhan,” he’d said with a cheeky grin, “I’ll wash your dishes, so tonight, make me dinner too.” Lan Wangji hadn’t said anything, so Wei Wuxian had just assumed he’d been ignored. But now the kitchen is muggy with heat and smells of spice. Lan Wangji corrals him off the table and into a chair to eat. Wei Wuxian digs in, grinning as his tongue tingles and his nose runs. “Lan Zhan, this is even better than I make it,” he says with a teasing lilt, trying to catch Lan Wangji’s eye. “Have you been paying attention when I cook?” “Hm,” Lan Wangji says, focusing on his own dinner. Wei Wuxian chuckles and brings the bowl to his lips, gulping down several mouthfuls of broth. He smacks his lips and sets the bowl down, and is about to reach for his spoon again, when Lan Wangji’s hand right beside his face makes him flinch. Lan Wangji falters for a moment, but then tucks a lock of hair behind Wei Wuxian’s ear. Their eyes meet, and Lan Wangji retracts his hand, his fingertips barely brushing against Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “Don’t drag your hair into your food.” Wei Wuxian can’t formulate a sentence for ten whole minutes. It’s the quietest meal he’s ever had. Afterwards, while Lan Wangji washes the dishes, Wei Wuxian gets back up on the table, pulling his blanket around himself once again. He plants his feet on a chair and, chin burrowed in the blanket, watches Lan Wangji work. A good meal and good company. What more could he ask for? He cups his palm against his cheek, still feeling a tingle where Lan Wangji’s fingers had brushed. Nothing more, he tells himself, but his heartstrings tremble like an uncertain guqin note. When the dishes are all on the drying rack, Lan Wangji takes off the dish gloves and thoroughly washes his hands. Then he retrieves a sterile bandage and a clean cloth from his room. He pushes the chair aside so he can kneel in front of Wei Wuxian and roll his sweatpants up above his knee. Lan Wangji changes Wei Wuxian’s bandage every day, and Wei Wuxian lets him, since it’s an excuse to see Lan Wangji nightly and pester him a little bit. The pestering comes with a bit of effort tonight, with the sleepy feeling in the air from the rain and the meal sitting heavy in his stomach, with the echo of Lan Wangji’s touch against his face. “Lan Zhan, you take such good care of me,” he sighs as Lan Wangji carefully removes yesterday’s bandage, revealing a thick scab. “Look at how fast it’s healing. It’s all thanks to you.” “And Wen Ning,” Lan Wangji reminds him, tossing the bandage into the waste basket. “And Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian relents. Lan Wangji wets the cloth and kneels back down. “But you’ve taken care of me more. And you’re gentler.” Lan Wangji dabs the cloth to Wei Wuxian’s scab with infinite care. Personally, Wei Wuxian isn’t even sure this step is necessary, since it’s just one ugly crust on his knee, no blood or infection, but he isn’t going to complain. He reaches for Lan Wangji’s head and undoes the half bun, letting his hair tumble down his back with the rest of it. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji admonishes without any heat. “Sorry, sorry. My hand slipped.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is as soft as Lan Wangji’s touch. He places a hand on top of Lan Wangji’s head, and gets no further admonishment. Heart beating up into his throat, he says, “Lan Zhan, you’re going to make someone very lucky one day, you know that? You’re already such a good friend to me.” Lan Wangji stills. “Only if you want that,” Wei Wuxian remedies, realizing that maybe Lan Wangji will never want to make someone lucky in the way Wei Wuxian is thinking, which is also fine. It has no bearing on Lan Wangji being his friend, which is what he cares about most of all. Lan Wangji resumes his work with a “Hm.” He pats Wei Wuxian’s knee with a dry section of the cloth, then opens the bandage and places it on. When Lan Wangji stands, Wei Wuxian’s hand slides down to his shoulder. He doesn’t retract it, and Lan Wangji doesn’t step away. Wei Wuxian takes a lock of Lan Wangji’s hair and twirls it around his finger, wondering how far Lan Wangji will let him push this. Where is the line between touches that don’t lead to sex, and touches that do? That’s still something he’s trying to figure out. He doesn’t think he wants to have sex with Lan Wangji right now, despite playing with his hair, despite the hopeful feeling in his chest that’s a result of Lan Wangji cooking for him, taking care of him, tucking his own hair behind his ear and touching his cheek. No, he doesn’t want to have sex with Lan Wangji, which is insane because there’s never a time when he thinks to himself ‘Having Lan Zhan fuck me seems like a bad idea.’ But right now… right now… His heartstrings continue to strum uncertainly, and he lets out a heavy sigh, hand curling into a loose fist with Lan Wangji’s hair still twined through it. “Wei Ying?” He can’t handle the concern in Lan Wangji’s voice, the weight of it in Lan Wangji’s steady gaze. He drops his eyes to Lan Wangji’s lips and says despite himself, “Lan Zhan.” He leans in, and with each centimeter that the space between them lessens, the tightness in his chest grows exponentially. He hears the jingle of keys a moment too late. The door is already open by the time Wei Wuxian sits back, letting Lan Wangji’s hair go. “Oh, hey guys,” Wen Ning says, kicking off his shoes. He hums a tune as he heads to his room, and he comes back out thirty seconds later with a skateboard and a soccer ball, the latter of which he juggles in the crook of one arm so he can wave cheerily at them. “Sorry for interrupting. Congratulations!” He steps back into his shoes, waves once more, and leaves. Wei Wuxian slowly looks at Lan Wangji, and his heart goes jagged at the raw panic on Lan Wangji’s face. He forces out a laugh to ease the tension, and is pretty sure he fails miserably. He claps Lan Wangji on the shoulder, and Lan Wangji’s body takes the impact like a rag doll. “That Wen Ning. So ridiculous!” Wei Wuxian says, in a voice pitched too high, belatedly realizing he’s borrowed one of Lan Wangji’s favorite words. How ridiculous! echoes around in his head, all those tiny little Wei Wuxians opening the filing cabinets that represent his brain function, scattering the papers that represent his thoughts. How ridiculous! all those papers say, in big blocky letters. Along with Oh my god, Wen Ning thought – And, most hysterical of all: No way, we’re only friends! XVII. Wei Wuxian drops like a stone into the chair across from Jiang Cheng. The dining hall is deafening with the sounds of people catching a bite to eat in between classes, but Wei Wuxian has skipped the lines entirely and sat down without any food. Jiang Cheng looks very, very concerned, slowly lowering his chopsticks, which were halfway to his mouth, back to his plate. “I think I like him,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng rubs a hand over his face and mutters something that sounds like “… would have happily died…” Then he plants both palms on the table with an air of ‘Let’s get this over with’ and says, “You think?” Wei Wuxian bobs his head. Then shakes it. Then says, “I know. I like him. Like, really like him. Oh my god, I’m so fucked. And not even literally. Metaphorically, I am so –” “Just –” Jiang Cheng raises both hands. “Just stop. What the hell’s the problem?” “Uh, hello? I like Lan Zhan.” “And don’t you two, like –” Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose and says through a wince, “Fuck all the time?” “It’s been a couple of weeks since the last time. Since I realized I like like him. I think he can tell.” “Oh, damn. I guess he’s just not that into you.” Wei Wuxian’s entire soul vacates his body, leaving him but a husk of his former self. “I’m kidding!” Jiang Cheng says. “Holy shit, you really like him that much?” Wei Wuxian gives a pathetic little nod. “Okay, so how the hell do you know he doesn’t like you back? Like, I barely know the dude, but I’m pretty sure you’re his only friend –” “Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian blubbers. “Hold up! I’m not done yet! You’re his only friend, which means you’re the only person he has this –” Jiang Cheng waves his arms around “– this connection with. I’ve listened to enough stories about your little guqin nights and your weekly breakfasts. Oh, and him changing your knee bandage every day!” Jiang Cheng makes a sour face. “Christ, are you sure you two aren’t already dating?” Wei Wuxian’s heart patters out a hopeful rhythm even as his mind instantly shuts the idea down. “Lan Zhan’s just nice to me. He lets me pester him into doing stuff.” “For you. Stuff for you.” “Uh, yeah, because I’m his only friend. Who the hell else is he gonna inconvenience himself for?” Jiang Cheng looks up at the ceiling as though waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him down, but alas, they aren’t even outside, and it’s a clear blue day anyway. “You know who it would actually make sense for you to talk to about this? Lan Wangji.” “And destroy everything?” “You don’t even know how he feels!” “I can guess!” “Oh my god!” “I can infer! It’s an educated reading of Lan Zhan’s character, which I happen to know very well, thanks.” “You are such a fucking idiot. Mark my words.” Jiang Cheng brandishes his chopsticks at Wei Wuxian. “You are being such a fucking idiot about this whole thing and you’re gonna realize it and I’ll get to say ‘I told you so’.” Wei Wuxian lays his head down on the table. “Maybe I should talk to him. If he just wants to be friends with benefits, I don’t think I can nurse this stupid heartache for the rest of forever.” He rubs his chest, then lets out a whimper. “But what if saying it makes it too awkward and then he won’t even want to be friends anymore? This is so hard. Why is he so stupidly perfect? He’s literally just…” He sighs. “I like him so much.” “Just –” Jiang Cheng tsks and shoves his half-eaten lunch across the table. “Just eat some food, for crying out loud. Looking at you being so pathetic is giving me a migraine.” XVIII. If there’s one thing Wei Wuxian prides himself on (and, okay, there’s a lot, but anyway), it’s his ability to compartmentalize. So even though he’s angsting over his feelings for Lan Wangji, he’s also majorly kicking ass at getting his essay in on time. He lets out a whoop of victory just as the door opens, and says, “Lan Zhan, I just submitted my essay with four hours to spare! I’m killing it here!” Lan Wangji laughs softly and says, “Congratulations.” He undoes his shoes, then comes inside, stopping beside the couch and looking down at Wei Wuxian. There’s a patient sort of silence, like Lan Wangji is waiting for Wei Wuxian to say what comes next. Usually, when Lan Wangji comes home and Wei Wuxian is on the couch, they’ll watch TV together, or Wei Wuxian will mute it as Lan Wangji practices his guqin, but the TV is off today, so now what? Wei Wuxian closes his laptop and places it on the coffee table. Even though his head says ‘Tell him, you fool, just tell him already,’ his mouth says, “This calls for a beer!” He slaps his hands against his thighs and gets to his feet, then sidles past Lan Wangji to head toward the refrigerator. He just bought a six-pack, and as he reaches in for a can, he hears Lan Wangji walk to his room. He pops the tab and chugs down several mouthfuls, but it’s with a small bit of disappointment that he resigns himself to picking up his laptop and retreating to his own room. Then Lan Wangji comes back out, a plate in hand, and says, “You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.” Wei Wuxian frowns. It isn’t, in fact, one plate, but two paper plates taped together to form a sort of take-out box. Lan Wangji cuts the tape with a knife, lifts off the makeshift lid, and places the other half on the table. “One of my classmates brought food to practice tonight,” he explains. “They’re cold now, but I thought you would like them.” There are two savory pancakes on the plate, full of vegetables and smelling delightful. Wei Wuxian raises his eyes to Lan Wangji’s. “For me?” Without breaking eye contact, Lan Wangji opens a drawer and pulls out a pair of chopsticks, then hands them to Wei Wuxian. “For you. You’re always hungry.” “You know me too well,” Wei Wuxian says through a laugh, and his stomach does indeed grumble. He’s about to dig in, but stops himself, meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes once more. “Lan Zhan, there are two. You should have one too.” Lan Wangji turns to grab another pair of chopsticks, but not before Wei Wuxian thinks he glimpses a secret smile. Clearly, Lan Wangji had been hoping for the invitation. “Lan Zhan, I thought it wasn’t good to eat so late,” he teases, carrying the plate back to the living room. He pushes his computer aside and sets the plate on the coffee table, before returning to the refrigerator for the rest of the beer. “Exceptions can be made, occasionally,” Lan Wangji allows, sitting down. “In that case…” Wei Wuxian takes an unopened can from the pack and holds it out to Lan Wangji, but Lan Wangji shakes his head. “One exception at a time.” “Fair, fair,” Wei Wuxian says, setting the beer down and then flopping onto the couch beside Lan Wangji. He snatches up his opened can and swallows a few more mouthfuls, before digging into his pancake. “Oh my god. This is so good it’s criminal.” “Speak after you’ve swallowed.” “No can do, Lan Zhan. I’m just too overcome by the deliciousness of this pancake that I just have to compliment it the entire time I’m eating it.” Lan Wangji allows him the indecency, this time. He also allows Wei Wuxian to drink his way through three cans of beer while talking about nothing in particular, which eventually works its way around to the topic of the paper he just submitted. “Philosophy’s so hard. Like, how am I supposed to know whether I would try something if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain I would succeed at it? There’s so many dependencies! What’s the thing? What would happen if I failed?” “Hm.” Wei Wuxian sighs, then cracks open a fourth can and guzzles half of it down. The pancakes are long since finished, and even with food in his belly, a happy buzz flows through his system. “You know what this essay really got me thinking about?” He knocks his elbow against Lan Wangji’s and grins slowly. “If I wasn’t one hundred percent certain I would have bounced off the Jell-O, would I have jumped in?” “Were you truly that certain?” “Lan Zhan! I really thought I’d bounce!” “You thought, but were you certain?” At Wei Wuxian’s puzzled look, Lan Wangji says, with a surprising amount of firmness, “You couldn’t have been one hundred percent certain.” “Huh? Why not?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, noticing that the mood in the room has shifted strangely. “Seriously, Lan Zhan, what makes you say that?” “No one can be one hundred percent certain of anything.” “That doesn’t sound like you.” Wei Wuxian leans closer, inspecting Lan Wangji’s face, looking for some sort of sign as to what has made the unshakable Lan Wangji admit to always being at least a little bit shaken. “You seem to always be certain of the things you’re certain in.” Lan Wangji backs away, and Wei Wuxian remembers his booze breath and does the same. “It’s my intention to emote certainty in most things,” Lan Wangji says, and then, slower, “though there are times when I’m uncertain.” “Like when?” “Like when deciding what course of action to take.” “That’s very vague, Lan Zhan.” “Yes.” Lan Wangji’s eyes lock on his. “Purposely so.” Wei Wuxian blinks, certain that he’s missing something. Then he chuckles. “You’re talking a lot tonight, yet I’m the one getting drunk. How does that make sense?” “Perhaps the mood of your drunkenness is rubbing off on me,” Lan Wangji says. “Whoa. Are you saying you’re getting drunk off of me getting drunk?” Lan Wangji just exhales the quietest of laughs. “Still, Lan Zhan. You said there are times when you’re uncertain. That still means you’re certain all the time.” “You seem insistent that I always be sure of myself,” Lan Wangji says. His gaze is intense again. Wei Wuxian is trying to understand what’s going on. Belatedly, Wei Wuxian realizes he’s starting to lean in again, like the eye contact is pulling him closer, like Lan Wangji is a force he is powerless to resist. He swallows, working up a shallow laugh. “It’s just how I see you. I guess it just feels right. I’m the one who’s a mess and can never make up my mind. You’re the one who knows exactly what he wants. There’s balance in the universe that way.” “The universe,” Lan Wangji repeats. “Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian pouts. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m drunk.” Some of the intensity in Lan Wangji’s gaze softens. He takes the can out of Wei Wuxian’s hand, and because he’s drunk, Wei Wuxian allows himself the full pleasure of the butterflies in his stomach as Lan Wangji’s fingers collide with his. “Lan Zhan.” He pouts some more. “I was one hundred percent certain that I wanted to finish that.” “You’ve had enough,” Lan Wangji says, setting the can on the coffee table. “Boo, you’re such a buzzkill. Literally!” When Lan Wangji looks not bothered by the fact, but rather righteously satisfied, Wei Wuxian says, “You have to make it up to me somehow.” “It depends on how.” Wei Wuxian blows a noisy breath out through his lips, pitching himself sideways so that he’s slumped against Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan,” he whines, waiting for Lan Wangji to push him away. When Lan Wangji doesn’t, Wei Wuxian turns his face into the side of Lan Wangji’s neck, and whines again, muffled this time, “Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji says nothing, and doesn’t move. Wei Wuxian parts his lips, letting the tip of his tongue dart out, swiping it against Lan Wangji’s skin. When he still gets no response, he seals his lips to Lan Wangji’s neck, sucking gently at first, then harder after Lan Wangji’s throat bobs. “How about like this, Lan Zhan?” he breathes, his chest fully pressed against Lan Wangji’s arm between them. Lan Wangji tips his head, either to move away or to give Wei Wuxian more space to kiss. Wei Wuxian goes with the latter, and pinches the skin between his teeth. His heart thuds in his chest as he pushes Lan Wangji down against the armrest, as he kisses and nips his way up the graceful column of Lan Wangji’s neck, as he presses his nose to the place where Lan Wangji’s pulse beats warm and rapid at the back of his jaw. “Lan Zhan, say something.” Eyes closed, he traverses Lan Wangji’s jawline with a series of feather-light kisses. He’s just caught Lan Wangji’s lower lip with his teeth when two palms push gently but firmly against his chest, forcing him up and away. He processes this belatedly, and opens his eyes to find Lan Wangji staring intensely at him. “Not when you’re drunk,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian swallows down a maelstrom of disappointment. “That’s fine. We can just talk or whatever.” He hates that Lan Wangji can see something on his face right then, and that he can see that Lan Wangji sees it. There’s a concerned furrow to Lan Wangji’s brow, like what he’s observing unsettles him, but of course he’s too kind to actually bring it up. Lan Wangji brings his hand around the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck and pulls him down instead. Their lips touch. He licks his way into Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and Wei Wuxian moans, hands burying themselves in Lan Wangji’s hair, body pressing impossibly closer as Lan Wangji shifts on the couch to accommodate him. The sounds of their kissing fill up the quiet apartment like something magical. Until Lan Wangji’s lips still, and he says, “No more.” He takes Wei Wuxian’s head and thunks it down against his chest. Wei Wuxian’s heartstrings are a helpless web of metal, sharp enough to shred anything that dares try to untangle them. So he doesn’t try. He lets the ache linger as he listens to Lan Wangji’s heart beating beneath his ear, a steady rhythm not at all matched by his own frenzied pulse. And he knows Lan Wangji can feel this, too, but is too kind to bring it up. Is he supposed to be grateful for that kiss? Was it meant to appease him? His heart throbs in a bittersweet way. Lan Wangji is so good to him. Too kind. He indulges him too much – bringing him food, carrying him up the stairs, making him breakfast, playing him the guqin, letting him lie on top of him on the too-small couch even though it can’t be comfortable. He knows Lan Wangji doesn’t treat other people this way. He knows Lan Wangji doesn’t have other friends. He knows he’s special. It should be enough, to be special to Lan Wangji… When Lan Wangji’s fingers start carding through his hair, Wei Wuxian shifts, a garbled sound of question getting caught in his throat. The fingers go still, and he lifts his head groggily, realizing he must have dozed off for a moment. “Lan Zhan?” Lan Wangji pushes his head back down. “You’re tired.” “But Lan Zhan, you’re all squished.” “It’s fine.” Lan Wangji starts petting his hair again, and Wei Wuxian smiles despite himself, snuggling his cheek more comfortably against Lan Wangji’s chest. Through a yawn, he says, “Lan Zhan, your bedtime.” “It’s fine,” Lan Wangji says again. His voice is deep and low, a melody Wei Wuxian could easily fall asleep to, and his body is warm beneath Wei Wuxian, heating him through. The smell of sandalwood envelops him until he feels like he’s floating in some dream of everything he wants and won’t be granted. In the precarious place between wakefulness and sleep, he almost says something incredibly selfish. But he already asks for too much from Lan Wangji, so at the last moment he mumbles instead, “You’re a good friend, Lan Zhan. The best.” It’s as much to reassure Lan Wangji, as it is to remind himself to be grateful for what he has. He wakes up later, still on the couch but with a blanket over him and Lan Wangji sitting on the floor near his feet. He can’t help a smile at the sight of Lan Wangji’s sleeping face, but there’s a pinch of sadness within him too. “Lan Zhan,” he whispers, sitting up. He touches Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and Lan Wangji’s eyes blink open, bleary at first, then find Wei Wuxian. “You fell asleep,” he replies to the question on Wei Wuxian’s face. So did you, Wei Wuxian almost says, and he doesn’t know whether he should be incredibly happy that Lan Wangji stayed with him, or incredibly sad that Lan Wangji moved away. “How long was I out?” he asks. Lan Wangji checks his watch. “Roughly an hour.” “Oh.” Wei Wuxian yawns, his eyes lidding of their own accord. “M’sorry.” “It’s fine.” They both stand. The blanket smells like Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian pulls it snug around himself as he makes his way to his room, Lan Wangji a few steps behind. He can tell Lan Wangji won’t be joining him inside. There is no urgency, just a sleepiness pervading the whole apartment. In the doorway, he turns around to bid Lan Wangji goodnight, but forgets his words at once. His blinds are open, so moonlight streams through his window, traversing the room to reach Lan Wangji in front of him. Wei Wuxian almost says it then, with Lan Wangji gilded by moonlight, looking tired and soft-edged, but he chickens out. Instead, he whispers, “Goodnight, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji pulls the blanket a little tighter around him, tucks it beneath his chin, before turning him around and giving him a gentle push into his room. “Goodnight, Wei Ying.” XIX. It’s Friday night, and Wei Wuxian returns home late. He’d tried to enjoy the party. Perhaps it was cruel of him – not the act of partying, nor of wanting to enjoy himself while doing so, but of not telling Lan Wangji about it beforehand. Lan Wangji probably returned from his music practice expecting to find Wei Wuxian in the living room, as has become their routine. Wei Wuxian just didn’t think he could handle being around Lan Wangji this evening. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to handle being around Lan Wangji at all, without spilling his heart out and then having it broken. He hadn’t been able to enjoy himself at the party, because all he’d been able to think about was Lan Wangji, and those thoughts had eventually led him home. He steps into the apartment now, a mess of nerves. The living room is dark and silent, which is a small relief and a larger disappointment, but Lan Wangji’s bedroom door is open, and music filters out. Wei Wuxian shuts his eyes, lets out a heartsick breath in the entranceway, then leans his umbrella against the wall and kicks off his shoes. He follows the sound to Lan Wangji’s doorway, where he rests his head against the doorframe and watches. As Lan Wangji plucks and caresses the strings, he smiles nearly imperceptibly down at his guqin, as though he’s as enchanted with his own music as Wei Wuxian is. Wei Wuxian huffs out a laugh, one he thinks is inaudible, except Lan Wangji looks over at him then, fingers stilling. Seeing it head-on, Wei Wuxian realizes that smile is bittersweet, and his own falls off his face. “Wei Ying?” “Hey, Lan Zhan. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I was at a party.” “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Lan Wangji says. His face has regained its usual stoicism, but his eyebrows knit together just enough for Wei Wuxian to see that something isn’t fine. Lan Wangji likes routine, and Wei Wuxian broke theirs without warning. It really wasn’t very kind of him. Why did I even bother going, Wei Wuxian thinks, wishing Lan Wangji could read his mind to make things that much easier, when all I want is to be here with you? He forces a smile back onto his lips. “Lan Zhan,” he says, digging his grave like the masochist he is, resigned to laying in it no matter how much it hurts, “come watch a movie with me. More zombies.” Lan Wangji nods. “As long as you don’t scream in my ear.” “No promises,” Wei Wuxian says. And really, all it takes is a moment of Lan Wangji teasing him, and he’s smiling so much easier. He can’t risk losing this, not ever. “Oh, we need snacks though! We’re out of popcorn. Let me borrow your wallet so I can run down to the mart?” Lan Wangji tosses him his wallet without question, though he does say, “Don’t buy too much junk.” “They have veggie chips. That counts as healthy, right?” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at Lan Wangji’s disapproving glare and hurries away before Lan Wangji can demand his wallet back. He forgets his umbrella this time, and although the mart is just beneath their apartment complex, he has to take an outdoor flight of stairs to get there. He lifts an arm above his head, which does little to block the rain, and soon the threads of his sweater darken with water. He runs down the steps, flings himself around the turn, jumps the puddle in front of the door, and races inside, splattering water everywhere. “Sorry, sorry,” he says to the student behind the cash register, who barely looks up from the comic she’s reading. His shoes squeak along the floor as he makes a beeline straight for the junk food aisle. He grabs a few bags with the brightest, most obnoxiously colored labels he can find, then brings them up front, where the cashier scans them with one eye still on the comic. She doesn’t even check to make sure Wei Wuxian pays with his own student card – which he doesn’t, and he grins as the unhealthiest charge ever is made right to Lan Wangji’s account. The cashier does have the grace to bag his purchase, and Wei Wuxian gives her a bright thanks as he snatches up the plastic bag before plunging back out into the rain. He sticks close to the side of the stairs on his way back up, where there’s a little bit more cover, as well as more light provided by the building above. He examines Lan Wangji’s student ID photo greedily. Not even a hint of a smile on that handsome face. Eyes piercing despite their indifference. The photographer must have been sweating. He sticks his finger underneath the plastic flap to take the ID card out and examine it closer, but he’s met with a surprise. Beneath his student ID, Lan Wangji keeps another picture. Wei Wuxian staggers into the wall, plastic bag slipping from his fingers. It’s himself and Lan Wangji from the night of the music department dinner, Lan Wangji dressed gloriously all in white, himself as best as he could all in black. His arm is looped through Lan Wangji’s and he’s grinning like a fool at the camera, while Lan Wangji stands stiffly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It’s a hilarious photo. They look good together. Wei Wuxian’s throat tightens. He clears it, quickly slides Lan Wangji’s student ID back into his wallet, grabs the plastic bag off the step, and makes it the rest of the way up the stairs. He shakes his dripping bangs out of his face as he shoulders his way into the building, and he takes a steadying breath as he approaches their door. Pasting on a smile, he lets himself in. “Phew, it’s wet out there!” he says, crossing to the living room, where Lan Wangji waits patiently on the couch. “So they didn’t have those weird vegetables chips, but they had lime and chili peanuts, which is peanut based and peanuts are healthy, so I got those, and –” His voice breaks. That’s when he realizes that some of the raindrops on his cheeks are in fact tears. “Ah!” He drops the bag and Lan Wangji’s wallet, and claps his hands to his face. “Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji bolts to his feet, but Wei Wuxian can’t bear to look at him, hastily scrubbing his knuckles underneath his eyes. The stream is steady, though, and grows stronger. “It’s – It’s nothing, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji grabs his hand. “Wei Ying, what’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Wangji’s hand around his, the insistent way Lan Wangji squeezes his fingers. His lip trembles. “I… you…” “Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji sounds desperate, and afraid. “What happened?” “I can’t keep doing this with you,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Wei…” “I know you feel differently for me than I feel for you.” He hears Lan Wangji’s intake of breath, watches the way Lan Wangji almost lets him go, before clinging tight to his hand once more. “Please,” Lan Wangji says, “let me explain.” A bolt of cold shoots through him. The last thing he wants is an explanation of how Lan Wangji hadn’t wanted to hurt him, how Lan Wangji had played along because he values Wei Wuxian’s friendship or something equally heartbreaking. He yanks his hand out of Lan Wangji’s. “Just don’t – don’t say it, Lan Zhan. I don’t want to hear it.” He turns, and he runs. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs when he hears Lan Wangji calling after him over the rain. “Wei Ying!” “Lan Zhan – just – go away!” Wei Wuxian runs across the parking lot and through the property on the other side, another cluster of apartment complexes with neat pathways twining between them. “Wei Ying!” He curses Lan Wangji’s superior physique as the sound of feet slapping across wet pavement and through puddles grows louder and louder behind him. He can barely see where he’s going, and has just stumbled through a swampy patch of grass when Lan Wangji grabs his wrist and pulls. Wei Wuxian tries to pull the other way, but the motion jars his shoulder, and he spins around with a sharp cry. Lan Wangji’s grip loosens for a moment, but then tightens again when Wei Wuxian tries to slip free. “Wei Ying, I’m sorry –” “Let me go!” “I won’t!” Wei Wuxian is stunned by the refusal. He can only pull helplessly for another few seconds, eyes anywhere but Lan Wangji’s face. His vision is blurry, and he can tell from the heat in his eyes that it’s mostly tears. His hair is sodden, clinging to his face, and his clothes fare no better, hanging heavily off his frame. He catches a glimpse of Lan Wangji’s feet in the light of the nearest lamppost. “Lan Zhan, you idiot! You aren’t wearing shoes!” Wei Wuxian had been too preoccupied to take his off when he’d returned with the snacks, though he supposes it makes no difference. His are soaked through, as are the socks underneath. “Wei Ying, look at me,” Lan Wangji begs. “Please, Lan Zhan, I can’t do this right now.” “Wei Ying.” “Please,” Wei Wuxian begs, voice breaking. “Look at me!” Wei Ying shoves his free hand against Lan Wangji’s chest. In his shock, Lan Wangji lets him go, but the hurt on his face cleaves Wei Wuxian’s heart in two and freezes him in place. Fresh tears spill down his face, and he can only yell, “Lan Zhan, just let me go! It’s all my fault!” “Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji shouts back, voice raw. “I don’t understand! How is this your fault?” “I have the biggest fucking crush on you and I don’t know what to do with it!” The fight leaves him at once. He slumps, letting the rain pummel his body. Lan Wangji stands before him, fists clenched tight and trembling at his sides. Even with every inch of him soaked to the bone, even with his teeth gritted and his eyes swimming with a pain Wei Wuxian hates himself for being the cause of, Lan Wangji is still magnificent. “Wei Ying.” It sounds like Lan Wangji is forcing his jaws apart to speak, each word grating its way through his teeth. “I don’t understand the problem.” “The problem is I like you. I like like you, Lan Zhan.” “Wei Ying.” Too many emotions war on Lan Wangji’s face. Ones that Wei Wuxian cannot even begin to understand the cause for – such as relief, such as elation – as well as ones that make more sense – such as regret, such as frustration. He is utterly unprepared when Lan Wangji says, “I feel the same way.” “You…” The rain pounds against the buildings, against the ground, against the two of them. Wei Wuxian wonders if this is why he heard what he did. “What?” he says helplessly. “I like you, Wei Ying. In your words, I have the biggest fucking crush on you.” Wei Wuxian’s lips part at the profanity. Lan Wangji’s eyes pierce into him, fiercer than the storm. “You… like… me?” Wei Wuxian manages. He stares hard at Lan Wangji’s lips, so that even if the rain twist Lan Wangji’s words into something other than what they are, he will at least be able to read the truth on them. Lan Wangji says, “Yes.” For a second, Wei Wuxian thinks Lan Wangji just punched him. Then he realizes it’s his heart, which has once again remembered how to beat. But it’s going too fast, racing so quickly he feels lightheaded. “But I thought…” A shaky laugh works its way free. “I thought you wanted to be friends.” He almost chokes on the next words. “Fuck buddies.” Lan Wangji grimaces. “I thought that you were the one who wished to only be friends. To keep our intimacy something separate.” “But…” Wei Wuxian’s heart hammers all the way up against his eardrums. He blows water off his lips and wonders, faintly, if he’s going to drown out here. “You don’t stay after we fuck in my room.” “You don’t stay after we do the same in mine,” Lan Wangji replies. “You were the one who began this tradition.” Wei Wuxian cannot refute this. “You…” He swallows. “When I was drunk...” “I stopped myself, because I didn’t want to take advantage of you when you were impaired, and for you to do something you would regret later.” “But,” Wei Wuxian stammers, “but you’re the one who’s been putting more distance between us lately. Haven’t you?” A flash of pain on Lan Wangji’s face. “Because you’ve repeatedly made a point of telling me you enjoy my friendship. My friendship, Wei Ying. I know I may not be the most worldly when it comes to intimacy of any kind, but I understand a message when it is beaten into my skull.” “Oh,” Wei Wuxian breathes. Lan Wangji steps closer. “I thought you had figured out my feelings, and were rejecting them kindly.” Everything clicks. “Oh my god,” Wei Wuxian wails. “Jiang Cheng was right! I’m the biggest fucking idiot!” “You,” Lan Wangji says, taking his face and pressing their foreheads together, “are a fool, Wei Ying. How could you think – How could I make it any clearer – Did you really not see?” Wei Wuxian laughs through a sob, or sobs through a laugh, he doesn’t know anymore. He clearly knows next to nothing, for he really is every bit the fool Lan Wangji just called him. “I thought you were just being nice to me, because you’re Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji shakes his head, grinding their foreheads together. “I’m nice – I try to be nice to you, because you’re Wei Ying. Because I like it when you’re happy.” Wei Wuxian is amazed he still has tears to shed, but more do indeed spill down his cheeks. “Breakfast on Wednesday morning?” he blubbers. “Because I want to have breakfast with you every Wednesday morning. More, but you sleep too late and need your rest.” “Walking me to the library?” “Because your company is always the most fulfilling part of my day.” “But…” Wei Wuxian squeaks out a sob. “You don’t like eating lunch in the dining hall together.” “It’s loud. But if it’s what you want, then I will do it for you occasionally.” “But you already do so much other stuff for me!” “Because,” Lan Wangji says, with an edge that clearly warns ‘Wei Ying, you had better listen very carefully this time,’ “I like you.” “I thought –” Wei Wuxian’s voice chokes out. He’s clutching Lan Wangji’s sodden sweater so tightly, his fingers are numb. Though maybe that’s from the cold, because his teeth chatter as he tries again. “I really thought you just wanted to be friends.” “What I want is so much more.” “I thought – friends with benefits –” “So. Much. More.” Wei Wuxian pulls back just far enough to look into Lan Wangji’s eyes. They are no less fierce for all the tenderness in them now, because that tenderness is stubborn, is resolute. Wei Wuxian is mesmerized. “Lan Zhan, really?” “I want everything with you, Wei Ying.” It’s like a punch to the gut, if punches to the gut felt like everything Wei Wuxian wants and is finally, finally being granted. “Just… just one more question.” Lan Wangji nods, which rubs their noses together. Lan Wangji’s is cold. “That first night, after I gave you a blowjob in the entranceway, you ran away afterwards.” “I…” Lan Wangji’s eyes flicker away. Wei Wuxian brings his numb fingers to feel Lan Wangji’s ears – they’re burning hot. “You had mentioned Wen Ning returning then, and the thought made me anxious.” “But then I heard you brushing your teeth like you were getting ready for bed.” Wei Wuxian rubs Lan Wangji’s ears between his fingertips, feeling some heat return to them. “Lan Zhan,” he coaxes, and Lan Wangji meets his gaze. “I… was hoping we could… continue. I did not want my breath to be unpleasant… should we kiss more.” “Oh my god, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian releases Lan Wangji’s ears to cup Lan Wangji’s face in his numb, surely unpleasantly frigid hands. “Oh my god, I like you so much.” Lan Wangji pulls him into an alcove out of the rain and kisses him until he’s gasping for breath. “Then –” Wei Wuxian says, turning his face aside, so that Lan Wangji’s lips collide with his cheek. “Lan Zhan, one more question, I promise this is the last.” He grabs Lan Wangji’s face again. “Then, the picture of us in your wallet, the one you keep under your student ID.” Lan Wangji’s eyes widen, but Wei Wuxian plows on. “It isn’t just a friendship photo?” “A friendship photo,” Lan Wangji repeats, clearly finding those to be the most asinine words he has ever heard. Wei Wuxian laughs. He throws his arms around Lan Wangji and laughs and laughs and laughs, until they’re kissing again. This time, he breaks away because he can no longer keep his teeth from chattering, and he doesn’t want to bite off Lan Wangji’s tongue on accident. “Lan Zhan, I’m cold.” Lan Wangji takes his hand and steers him all the way back to their apartment. He only gives Wei Wuxian enough time to kick off his shoes before steering him some more, this time to his – Lan Wangji’s – room. Wei Wuxian is shivering bodily now. Lan Wangji pulls several towels out of his closet and tosses all but one onto his desk. Then he says, “Give me your clothes.” Wei Wuxian strips, not at all self-conscious, but clumsy due to his half-frozen fingers. Lan Wangji scoops up his discarded clothing one by one, and when he’s bare, he hands Wei Wuxian the towel. “Dry off,” Lan Wangji says, turning to go deposit the sodden clothing in the sink. Though it’s warm inside the apartment, he’s still too frigid to do much more than wrap the towel tightly around himself and shiver. “Lan Zhan, you too,” he says as Lan Wangji comes back, still dripping all over his own carpet. Lan Wangji peels off his sweater and tosses it into the hall, but then he walks behind Wei Wuxian and works his wet hair out from beneath the towel. He twists it up off of Wei Wuxian’s neck and fastens it in place somehow, before coming around front and rubbing Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and arms through the towel. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, teeth clicking. “Lan Zhan, get dry.” “You first.” Only when Wei Wuxian stops shivering does Lan Wangji leave him to his own devices. Lan Wangji peels off his pants, his underwear, his socks, and tosses them all into the hall as well. He unties his half bun, then knots all his hair up again before grabbing a towel and drying himself quickly. He opens a couple of drawers and pulls out two pairs of sweatpants and two thin sweaters. He changes into one pair, then leaves his room to pick up his pile of wet laundry on the floor. One by one, he wrings each article of clothing out over the sink, then goes to hang them over the top of the shower stall in the bathroom, doing the same for Wei Wuxian’s clothes as well. Wei Wuxian watches him for a while, still huddled in his towel in the middle of Lan Wangji’s room, then focuses on drying himself the rest of the way off. He pulls on the sweatpants and sweater still sitting on Lan Wangji’s bed. Both are impossibly soft against his skin. Lan Wangji pauses in the doorway at the sight of him, and seems to be fighting a smile for a moment, before he realizes there’s no need to hide his feelings. So he smiles, and takes Wei Wuxian’s hand, and leads him to the alcove outside the bathroom. He plants Wei Wuxian in front of the mirror, then drapes a dry towel over his shoulders. He pulls the hair chopstick, the one with the silver bell hanging off the end, out of Wei Wuxian’s hair, letting it tumble down. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, like he’s speaking to himself. Wei Wuxian’s heart races. Ever so carefully, Lan Wangji pulls a comb through his tangles, so gently he doesn’t feel a single tug against his scalp. He watches Lan Wangji in the mirror, the quiet focus on his face. He shuts his eyes as Lan Wangji draws wet strands of hair off his cheeks and forehead. His eyelashes grow wet, and when he opens them, his vision has blurred again. “Wei Ying?” “I’m happy, Lan Zhan, promise.” He swipes the tears away. “It’s just, you’re so good to me.” Lan Wangji’s expression is impossibly fond, but also impossibly sad at the sight of Wei Wuxian’s tears. “I always want to be good to you.” Wei Wuxian bites his lip as another few tears dribble out. “Thank you.” “You don’t need to thank me.” “But I want to, so let me.” Lan Wangji ducks to kiss his shoulder. Then he plugs in the blow dryer, sets it to the lowest setting, and slowly dries Wei Wuxian’s hair, pulling the comb through it all the while. Wei Wuxian can’t look at his own reflection any longer, embarrassed by how red his eyes are, how blotchy his cheeks and nose are. He lowers his gaze, and his eyelids grow heavy as the blow dryer hums, as Lan Wangji relinquishes the comb to draw his fingers through his hair instead, as his scalp tingles pleasantly. He’s in a daze by the time Lan Wangji finishes. Lan Wangji steers him a couple steps to the side, then works on his own hair with greater speed and less concern. Whatever products he usually puts into his hair, he doesn’t bother with now, but it’s still a beautiful process to watch, one Wei Wuxian has never gotten the opportunity to. Bit by bit, the strands become glossy and straight, and as they dry they start fluttering in the stream of air. Finishing up, Lan Wangji meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes in the mirror. He sets down the blow dryer, turns around, and takes Wei Wuxian’s face in his hands. “I like you, Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian smiles. His heart hasn’t felt this light in weeks, maybe even months. “I like you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji nods, and kisses him softly. Against his lips, he murmurs, “Are you warm?” “Mm. Very warm.” “Good.” Lan Wangji’s lips travel up to kiss his nose, then between his eyebrows. He tucks Wei Wuxian’s hair behind his ears, then cups his face again and kisses his lips once more. “Is there anything you need?” “Um.” Wei Wuxian laughs a little, embarrassed. “I’m kind of hungry.” He feels Lan Wangji’s lips quirk into a smile against his own. “I’ll cook for you.” “Okay, but.” Wei Wuxian tilts his head for a better angle. “But this first?” The way Lan Wangji’s arms wrap around him and hold him close, the way Lan Wangji kisses him like they have all the time in the world, is all the answer he needs. But this first. XX. Wei Wuxian wakes up on the wrong side of the room. He’s disoriented for a second, until he sees the shadowy impression of the guqin case against the wall. Then he realizes how tidy the room is. And how flat the pillow beneath his head is. Turning his face into said pillow, he breathes in the smell of Lan Wangji and grins like an utter fool. The door creaks open, spilling light into the room. “Wei Ying. You’re awake.” Wei Wuxian peeks out from the pillow. Lan Wangji stands in the doorway, dressed in his workout gear, hair in a bun. “Hi,” Wei Wuxian croaks, voice gravelly. “You look sexy.” Lan Wangji’s expression, somehow, manages to soften even further. He doesn’t move from the door, gazing at Wei Wuxian tangled up in his bed like he intends to never look away. Wei Wuxian smiles. “Like what you see?” “Very much.” Wei Wuxian’s laughter is all air, no sound. He rolls onto his back and stretches, knuckles colliding with the wall, sheets twisting even more helplessly around him. The sweater he’s wearing rides up, revealing ample inches of his stomach. He opens his eyes as a hand settles on his hip. “I’m going to shower,” Lan Wangji says. It’s clearly an invitation. Wei Wuxian tangles his fingers with Lan Wangji’s and says, words slow and still very sleepy, “Me too. But you might have to drag me there.” Lan Wangji does not drag him. He coaxes him out of bed, leads him into the bathroom, and closes the door. Then he pulls Wei Wuxian’s sweater off. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, eyes half-lidded, liking very much the feeling of being taken care of. “What time is it?” “A little after six.” Wei Wuxian groans, eyes sliding the rest of the way shut, but as soon as Lan Wangji’s lips descend upon his, he quits his complaining. “You went to bed the same time I did,” Lan Wangji reminds him. “Yeah, but still. The principle of it is insane.” “Principle?” “Of being awake at the ass crack of dawn.” Lan Wangji chuckles and moves away. Wei Wuxian hears him unzipping his track jacket, hears a whump as it falls to the floor, then several more whumps that must mean the rest of Lan Wangji’s clothing has been discarded as well. Wei Wuxian opens an eye to check, and is met with a glorious sight indeed. With Lan Wangji’s hair still tied up, he gets a full view of the muscles in Lan Wangji’s shoulders and upper back shifting as he leans into the shower stall to turn the knobs. “Get undressed,” Lan Wangji says, looking back at him. Wei Wuxian kicks off the sweatpants, which are all he’s still dressed in anyway, and Lan Wangji picks them off the floor and folds them neatly onto the counter, along with his workout gear, next to the matching pair of clean lounge clothes he already brought in for them. Lan Wangji’s bathroom is larger than the one that Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning share, with an actual sink and counter inside of it instead of just in the alcove outside. Personally, Wei Wuxian thinks this isn’t very fair, but now that he sees himself using this half of the apartment more anyway… he supposes he lucked out. When the water is warm, Lan Wangji takes his hand and pulls him inside. Steam is already beginning to fog up the glass, and with the door closed, Wei Wuxian becomes very aware of their proximity. He isn’t nervous, per se, but things with Lan Wangji suddenly feel very new, and his stomach flutters in anticipation. Lan Wangji lets his hand go to pull the showerhead off its holder, and he starts wetting Wei Wuxian’s hair. “Are you gonna be taking care of me like this from now on?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Yes,” Lan Wangji says, not missing a beat. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Lan Zhan.” “Mm.” Lan Wangji shields Wei Wuxian’s face with his hand as he wets the top of his hair, and then the sides. Eyes falling shut, Wei Wuxian once again lets himself enjoy the experience of being cared for, and also of Lan Wangji brushing kisses against his cheeks every now and then, like he just can’t help himself. It makes Wei Wuxian’s smile grow wider each time. The sound of the showerhead resettling on its holder stirs him from his reverie. As Lan Wangji reaches for the shampoo bottle, Wei Wuxian notes another bottle off to the side. He bites back a grin. Either Lan Wangji has shower lube, or he’d put it there expressly for today. Lan Wangji catches him looking. Wei Wuxian says nothing. Lan Wangji appears not the least bit embarrassed, and begins massaging shampoo into Wei Wuxian’s hair. “Lan Zhan.” “Mm.” “Please don’t make fun of me for crying so much last night.” “It was cute.” “It was embarrassing! And the way I ran out into the rain and everything?” His face heats up with mortification. “God, it was like a scene out of every bad romance drama ever.” “You are dramatic,” Lan Wangji agrees. He turns Wei Wuxian around to work the shampoo into the back of his head. Wei Wuxian sighs as Lan Wangji massages his scalp, his head lolling at the blissful sensation. “Lan Zhan,” he mumbles. “Mm.” “When did you decide I wanted to just be fuck buddies?” It takes several beats for Lan Wangji to reply. “After the first time in my room, and you found a reason to leave.” “Ah, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, cheeks heating even more. He wonders how many more mortifying memories he will have to relive this morning. “You said it was my bedtime.” “Please don’t remind me. God, past me was so embarrassing.” He lets the silence steal back until Lan Wangji has finished washing the suds from his hair. “That’s when I thought it too. I thought, because you didn’t want to cuddle or anything afterwards, you didn’t want to… be anything.” Lan Wangji’s lips descend upon his shoulder. “I wanted to cuddle.” “Then why didn’t you?” Wei Wuxian exclaims. “I was already uncertain about how you felt. After… after the time in the kitchen, you didn’t bring it up. I thought you would, if it meant something to you.” “What? Why me?” Lan Wangji’s lips travel up the swoop of his shoulder, pause at the curve of his neck. “Because you’re the one who’s good at talking.” “Lan Zhan, that’s not fair! I was all messed up because you ran away right after I gave you head!” “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, face still against Wei Wuxian’s neck, and it sounds remarkably close to a whine. “We both made grave mistakes,” Wei Wuxian allows. “But still, you can’t always count on me to be the one to start all the important conversations. As we have both gathered from this experience, I’m very prone to idiocy.” “Not idiocy,” Lan Wangji says, arms wrapping around Wei Wuxian’s middle. “Unless I, too, get to be an idiot.” “I mean, if that’s what you want…” A thought occurs to Wei Wuxian, and he laughs, snuggling back against Lan Wangji’s chest. “Lan Zhan, did you already like me when I gave you that blowjob?” “Yes. A lot.” “Oh really?” Wei Wuxian says cheekily. He trails his fingers down Lan Wangji’s arms. “So when I asked to be your date to your music thingy, did you want me to be your date date?” “Yes. But you insisted then, too, that we were just going as friends.” “My idiocy strikes again.” Lan Wangji nips his shoulder, as though scolding him for the self-insult. Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind one bit, and says with a flutter in his stomach, “You know, I already thought you were insanely hot back then.” “I always think that about you.” “Psh, no way.” Lan Wangji bites him harder this time. All the touching was already turning him on, but he feels himself become fully hard now, and he bites back a moan as Lan Wangji’s hands slide downward. "Lan Zhan, I knew you had ulterior motives.” “Not ulterior,” Lan Wangji says. His own hardness is evident against Wei Wuxian’s ass, and Wei Wuxian turns around, looping his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and bringing their erections together. Lan Wangji grabs his hips to pull Wei Wuxian tight to him, but he’s unhurried, leisurely rubbing his cock against Wei Wuxian’s. It’s incredibly erotic and does nothing to slow the progress of Wei Wuxian’s arousal. He shudders, pushing his groin more insistently against Lan Wangji’s, but Lan Wangji continues his languid pace. “Lan Zhan, are you teasing me?” “Savoring you,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian moans, dropping his chin onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He grabs Lan Wangji’s ass and squeezes, and it earns him one sharp rut. Laughing breathlessly, he massages Lan Wangji’s ass, kneading the globes, shivering as Lan Wangji’s cock slides against his, hot and hard and slick at the tip. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji sighs, and something fiery hot runs through Wei Wuxian. He slips a finger between Lan Wangji’s cheeks. Lan Wangji stills his grinding in response. “Lan Zhan, can I?” “Yes,” Lan Wangji says, instantly and with feeling. “Please.” Wei Wuxian grabs the lube and coats his fingers, then slides his finger back into the cleft of Lan Wangji’s ass. Lan Wangji’s cock twitches against his abdomen as Wei Wuxian slowly circles his entrance. “Just tell me if you don’t like anything,” Wei Wuxian says, suddenly and incredibly nervous. “I’ll like it,” Lan Wangji says. He doesn’t make a sound as Wei Wuxian’s finger breaches him. He breathes a little bit harder, but his erection doesn’t flag, so Wei Wuxian takes his reaction to be one of excitement. “Okay?” he asks, checking anyway. “Yes. Keep going.” Wei Wuxian’s own cock twitches at the request, and he complies. Lan Wangji is very good with one finger, and he only tightens up briefly at the second. He pants against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, hands sliding down Wei Wuxian’s sides, around his back, down to cup his ass and grind their hips together, all in steady rotation. All that, combined with the way he’s soon rocking back to meet Wei Wuxian’s fingers, has Wei Wuxian quickly forgetting his worry. He slides his fingers in and out, mesmerized by the feeling of being taken inside, of Lan Wangji welcoming him to the last knuckle and still pushing back like he wants even more. “Can I do another?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Yes,” Lan Wangji demands. This one takes more coaxing, but he reaches between them and pumps Lan Wangji a few times, and Lan Wangji loosens. It’s an out of body experience, feeling that resistance soften into acceptance. In that moment, Wei Wuxian feels both more firmly rooted in reality than he ever has before, and like he’s floating somewhere outside of himself, observing everything like a bystander. It nearly bowls him over when he realizes what they’re doing, and he never really thought about it with Lan Wangji fucking him because he was always chasing his own pleasure, but here, breaching Lan Wangji with his fingers, it truly hits him how intimate an act it is. How significant, to be trusted through the discomfort in order to bring pleasure. How profound, to be allowed to touch a person this way. More profound, if you like them as much as he likes Lan Wangji. “Still okay, Lan Zhan?” Lan Wangji responds by turning his face into his neck and breathing out, “Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian fucks him with his fingers. Lan Wangji doesn’t vocalize his pleasure outright the way Wei Wuxian does, but he can’t stifle the little grunts in his throat, can’t hold back the gasps he lets out against Wei Wuxian’s neck, accompanied by sharp nips timed perfectly with the moments he clenches tight. Wei Wuxian crooks his fingers slightly and searches, wanting to hear Lan Wangji fall apart, wanting to feel it. Lan Wangji grabs his arms as he clamps around his fingers. His moan is almost enough to make Wei Wuxian come. “Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, I want to be inside you.” “Yes.” Lan Wangji turns around on wobbly legs and braces his hands on the tile wall, dislodging Wei Wuxian’s fingers in the process. “Want it.” Wei Wuxian fumbles and nearly drops the lube, but he manages to squeeze some into his hand and rub it over his cock. He spreads Lan Wangji’s cheeks with one hand, lines himself up, and pushes in. “Oh,” he groans, head dropping against Lan Wangji’s neck. It’s tight, and Lan Wangji resists, but Wei Wuxian reaches around and finds him hard still. For his part, Wei Wuxian needs the pause to collect himself, because even barely inside, he’s almost at his limit. He pumps Lan Wangji’s cock a few times, muttering the first things that come to mind. “You’re doing amazing, Lan Zhan. You’re doing so good. You feel so good. You’re still so hard.” Lan Wangji loosens, and he sinks a few inches deeper. They both groan in unison. Wei Wuxian doesn’t stop pumping him, and soon Lan Wangji is thrusting into his fist, which means he also thrusts back onto his cock, little by little. Wei Wuxian tries to remain still, tries to let Lan Wangji adjust all he needs, but every little shift and squeeze around him is blissful, and on one of Lan Wangji’s shallow backstrokes, he can’t help grabbing Lan Wangji’s hips and thrusting to meet him. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji growls. “More.” Wei Wuxian gasps and does just that, pulling back a bit before snapping forward. His entire awareness narrows to the feeling of Lan Wangji’s heat around him, how slick, how sublime it feels tightening around him. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes. His orgasm rushes up to meet him with the force of a semi-truck, and he practically drapes himself over Lan Wangji as he comes, buried deep, letting out gasp after gasp until he’s done emptying himself. He has just enough presence of mind left to reach for Lan Wangji’s cock. Lan Wangji’s hand covers his, and together they jerk him to completion. Still inside him, Wei Wuxian feels Lan Wangji clamp around him one last time, and then Lan Wangji is coming in both of their hands. They pant for a very long time. Eventually, once his legs stop trembling, Wei Wuxian becomes aware of the fact that he has Lan Wangji sandwiched between himself and the wall. He steps back, rubbing Lan Wangji’s hips. “Lan Zhan, are you okay?” “Yes,” Lan Wangji says. His voice is hoarse. Wei Wuxian wonders if he had shouted, if it had gotten lost in the rushing of Wei Wuxian’s pulse in his ears. Wei Wuxian coaxes Lan Wangji away from the wall. He turns him around, kisses him, smiles as Lan Wangji lazily kisses back. Lan Wangji’s hair is still up in a bun, and he lets Wei Wuxian undo it, only wincing slightly as a few strands snag in the process. “Sorry, sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, kissing all over his face in apology. “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, and it sounds like a You’re being silly, which is very true. Wei Wuxian grabs the showerhead. Gently, he cleans the insides of Lan Wangji’s thighs, then between his cheeks. He glances into Lan Wangji’s face to check his reaction. Lan Wangji’s eyes are closed. His ears are slightly pink, but he seems relaxed. Wei Wuxian washes his hair next. It’s always a process he hurries through for himself, but he takes extra care to be gentle as he massages the shampoo into Lan Wangji’s hair, trying to replicate what Lan Wangji did for him. They wash their own faces, the rest of themselves. Afterwards, Wei Wuxian watches as Lan Wangji applies conditioner, then a leave-in treatment, both of which make the shower steam smell like a bouquet of flowers. “Can’t you just get one of those two-in-one shampoos?” Wei Wuxian says. “Makes things a whole lot faster.” “Mm,” Lan Wangji says. A dismissive sound. Then he conditions Wei Wuxian’s hair, a process Wei Wuxian enjoys far more than he admits. Perhaps he’ll have to toss out his two-in-one and take every shower with Lan Wangji from now on. As they’re drying off a little while later, the front door opens. They both freeze, listening hard. Wen Ning’s footsteps can be heard receding to his bedroom, and his door clicks shut softly. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji look at each other. “He already thinks we’re together anyway,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “I’d rather not give him reason to assume –” Lan Wangji cuts himself off, ears turning from pink to red. “Assuming we were having sex in your shower?” Wei Wuxian says with a lewd grin. Lan Wangji takes the sweatpants off the counter and shoves them into his face. They finish drying and get dressed quietly, though Wei Wuxian is only quiet for Lan Wangji’s sake. Personally, he doesn’t really care if Wen Ning thinks they were just fucking because Wen Ning doesn’t seem to have a single problem with them being together. Things would only be bad if Wen Ning ever happened to be home while they were fucking. They’ll definitely have to come up with a system to avoid any traumatizing incidents. Lan Wangji knots his hair up, and gives Wei Wuxian a hair tie to do the same. They step out of the bathroom together, in matching clothes, with matching wet hair, right as Wen Ning comes out of his room, which is directly across the apartment. Lan Wangji freezes. Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and says, “Uh…” And Wen Ning, bless him, just raises a hand and says brightly, “Hey guys!” XXI. Lan Wangji did not agree that they should continue wearing their matching outfits to the café later. He had also said, with great bemusement, “He already knows who I am.” “Yeah, but,” Wei Wuxian had replied, midway through changing into his own clothes, and left it at that. Jiang Cheng is huddled into a corner table, looking absolutely irate at being awake before noon on a Saturday. Wei Wuxian’s earlier tiredness, however, has completely evaporated, and he prances over gleefully, tugging a resolutely not-prancing Lan Wangji after him. Jiang Cheng takes one look at their linked hands and says, “Oh good god.” “Hey Jiang Cheng! I just wanted to introduce you to my boyfriend.” The entire café turns to look at who, exactly, possesses the vocal projection of a megaphone. Jiang Cheng sits absolutely still for the first five seconds. For the next five seconds, he brings both hands up to his head and presses an index and middle finger to each temple, eyes clenched shut like he’s either trying to do some major telekinesis, or like he’s been struck by a sudden and powerful migraine. The rest of the café patrons quickly grow bored and return to their previous business. With a grin, Wei Wuxian sits across from his brother and pulls Lan Wangji down into the chair beside him. Lan Wangji winces a little. It’s a good thing Jiang Cheng’s eyes are still closed. “You,” Jiang Cheng says, very clearly meaning Wei Wuxian, “Are the biggest. Idiot I have ever had to know.” Lan Wangji opens his mouth to dole out a rebuke, but Wei Wuxian shakes his head. This is Jiang Cheng trying to be nice. A waitress comes by with Jiang Cheng’s coffee, and he’s forced to open his eyes. Before she can turn away, he orders two more. “For these headaches,” he says, waving a hand dismissively at the two men across the table from him. When the waitress is gone, he pins Wei Wuxian with a glare and says, “I fucking told you so.” “Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. He smiles at Lan Wangji, whose ears are pink, and who squeezes his hand beneath the table. “You did.”

Is there a powder to erase this? Is it dissolvable and tasteless? You can't imagine how I hate this - The National Two days later Sherlock gets caught trying to secretly phone the surgical unit from the loo. When John finds out the reason, he becomes very silent. But there is also a strange sort of sadness that he feels. "Sherlock, why?" John's tone is somewhat contained but his expression still betrays his anger. "Why what?" "Why are you trying to reschedule? Do you need more time to prepare? I get it, I do, but I wish you would have at least included me in the discussion." "That is precisely what I wished to avoid." "Having more time to prepare?" John looks apprehensive. Sherlock sits down and sighs. "Involving you." Anger dissipates from John's face, alarm taking its place. "You didn't want me to know? Or be there?" As elusive as the emotional dilemmas of others usually are to Sherlock, John thinks even he must realize someone might consider this insulting. John sits down next to Sherlock on the sofa, aware that his flatmate - who usually doesn't shy away from confrontation - is decidedly not looking at him. "Sherlock?" "This fussing and hovering. It's hateful," Sherlock whines, the pitch of his voice rising as he raises his arms in frustration. "If something went wrong I would prefer to have made arrangements for you to never have to see it." "See what? Sherlock, what are you trying to say?" Sherlock finally raises his chin but still avoids meeting John's gaze. "If there was a complication, you would be able to preserve your memories of me as I am now, instead of tainting them with something... less." John's palms fly up to Sherlock's shoulders, forcing him to turn slightly so that they are finally fully facing one another. "Sherlock, listen. If something went wrong, I would never, NEVER let you go through any of it alone." "It would be painful for you." It's almost a question, and John suddenly wants nothing more badly than to hug his friend. He doesn't know how Sherlock would react so he abstains. "As you sort of reminded me at the hospital, sod my feelings when it's you who's actually going through this. You're lovely for thinking so much about me in all of this - -" John pauses after realizing his wording. "Even if you tried to keep me out I'd still be there. I would arm-wrestle Mycroft, if need be." "Not much of a feat, defeating that pompous office clerk." John chuckles. "I know you hate my fussing like you hate all others signs of humanity. Just bear with me, yeah? Give me this much so I'll have something to do. Think of it as similar to your experiments when there's not a case on. I don't have enough worthwhile stuff to do so I fuss over you?" John suggests amicably. Sherlock mulls this over and nods. "Very well." He still looks quite forlorn. Oh sod it. John hugs him with vigour and after momentarily stiffening in his arms, Sherlock finally melts into his embrace. This is how they stay until Sherlock disentangles himself without a word and disappears into his bedroom.     "They already did the MRI with contrast dye. Why do I need angiography, since they won't be able to coil the aneurysm?" John swallows down a spoonful of cornflakes. "I'd assume that since MRI and CT studies are pretty much two-dimensional, an angiogram might enable them to plan the surgery better. They can do all kinds of neat 3D models from angiograms." Sherlock nods and twirls his spoon in his fingers. As usual, he's not eating much even though he'd been very specific about the amount of sugar and milk he wants in his cereal. John has noticed Sherlock fiddling with things a lot more than usual. He often does this when distracted, but lately it seems that it's been done in a more aware, a more deliberate pattern. "I'm sure we could get them to put whatever modeling they do from the scans onto a DVD. Closest you can get to seeing your own brain, I guess." He smiles at Sherlock, expecting the man to be delighted at the thought. Instead Sherlock is staring down into his breakfast bowl where his portion of sugarfrosted corn flakes are becoming soggier by the minute. John himself prefers toast for breakfast, but he sometimes buys these sugary things in order to sneak some calories into Sherlock. John wonders if the man is just tired. He had woken up several times during the night due to Sherlock's walking around the flat and making assorted racket. A good night's sleep was probably not going to be a possibility for John until all this was over. During the past few days he'd seen Sherlock's mood alternate between borderline manic fascination and a pensive silence. The surgery was still three days away. During the best of times Sherlock was not very open or aware about his feelings, so getting him to talk was not an easy feat. John couldn't shake the nagging feeling that if he couldn't get Sherlock to air any of his worries they might come out at some less-opportune time in a destructive manner. "Have you been getting any sleep?" John asks, trying to sound as though it's just chitchat. "I get by with little sleep. You know this," Sherlock reminds him. "It'd be good to be rested before the surgery," John suggests. Sherlock glares at him and John isn't sure why. They'd come to an agreement about the _hovering_ as Sherlock calls it, and it's not like John is demanding an exhaustive routine of healthy habits. "I will be put under general anesthesia. I don't think lack of sleep beforehand will matter," comes the dismissive reply. Sherlock then stands up and goes to puts his bowl in the sink. John realizes there's another thing that he probably needs to nag about. He decides to bite the bullet. Might as well. It's not as he expects Sherlock's mood to improve. "Your bloodwork came through. Nothing that would make you not eligible for surgery, but it's something that we need to look into." "What?" Sherlock sits back down. "Your hemoglobin levels are below what would be considered normal for a male your age." Sherlock leans his elbows on the table which brings him better into the light streaming from the window and John is reminded of how pale he is. On the other hand, he has looked the same all the time that John has known the man. "Normal values for any laboratory test are determined using gaussian function curves created by studying healthy volunteers. At any given time, about ten percent of the healthy population places somewhere above or below the normal ranges. I did assume they teach basic statistical analysis in medical school?" "Don't lecture me about my lectures. If you were a teenage girl the explanation would be easy but with a thirtysomething male the cause of iron deficiency anemia is usually dietary. " "Iron deficiency?" "Your red cells are comparatively small and your transferrine receptor levels three times the norm." Sherlock seems to lack his usual witty retort. "I talked to Dr Berry and since it's unlikely any dietary change would have enough time to replenish your stores before the surgery they'll give you a dose of intravenous iron during the operation. Mind you, we'll still need to fix your diet afterwards." "Why are you telling me this now?" "Just thought you might want to know. Usually you want to know everything." Sherlock ascends from the chair. "That reminds me - -" he muses, heading towards the living room. John sighs as Sherlock returns to his mountain of books and papers. He almost reminds Sherlock not to eat anything after ten in the evening due to the following morning's angiography but then he realizes it's probably unnecessary. He can't remember the last time he's actually managed to get Sherlock to eat anything.       John tosses and turns under his duvet. The house is silent and there's no reason for him not to get some well-earned sleep if one didn't take into account the ball of nerves that was Sherlock. Glued to the screen of his laptop, his replies to John's attempts at communication had degenerated into grunts and irritated handwaves in the course of the evening. This was not unusual, since it was Sherlock, but John just knew there was more to it than his usual 'I don't talk for days on end'. Not even an offer of Cluedo had produced any sort of results so John had eventually retreated to his bedroom, defeated. All he could do now was be present if he was needed. Mycroft had phoned earlier to enquire if John was accompanying Sherlock for the angiography. He'd explained that no, he would not be, since Sherlock had sternly assured him he would be quite fine on his own. Something made John doubt this, but what could he do? Showing up without asking would only make Sherlock feel mollycoddled which never resulted in anything constructive. There was a whole hospital full of qualified people available if need be, John had told himself but he knew he was kidding himself. If this was any other human being they were talking about than his mad flatmate... It was only an angiogram and not a bigger procedure but it would still be an invasive procedure that would require Sherlock not to freak out over all that was worrying him. Because tomorrow, it would no longer be just theoretical. It would be very tangible and very real. John pummels his pillow into a more suitable shape. Outside his room, the silence continues. Maybe Sherlock is sleeping, John suggests to himself hopefully, but realizes it is probably just very, very wishful thinking.         At three in the morning, someone barges violently into John's room, making the hinges groan as the door is forced open before the lever has been pushed all the way down. John almost falls from the bed as he is thrown into alarm mode while still disorientated and sleepy. It only takes a second, however, for him to get his bearings and realize the intruder is none other than Sherlock. It's dark apart from the dim light from the staircase so he only sees Sherlock's silhouette. He seems to be holding a large, flat object that is giving off an artificial glow. A laptop, John realizes. John scrambles to his feet and switches on his bedside lamp. "Sherlock?" Sherlock strides into the room and lifts the laptop, turning it so that John can see the muted video playing on the screen. "Jesus, Sherlock. I'm sure that Youtube would have still been there in the morning." He's looking at Sherlock, when Sherlock clearly wants him to follow the screen. At least the man is gesturing frantically towards it. "Look, John!" It's one of the streaming service's ubiquitous surgical videos. An aneurysm is being clipped on a microscopic view. The surgical field is nearly bloodless and everything looks very peaceful and orderly. "What am I looking for, Sherlock?" Sherlock looks at him like he's an idiot. This is not unusual, but his expression is even more incredulous than usual. And a little too manic to John's taste. "0.22 millimetres, John! Fucking 0.22 millimetres!" Alarm bells go off in John's head. Sherlock _never_ uses profanities. Not unless it's an emergency. Sherlock drops the laptop on John's duvet and stands up, tearing at his dark curls so violently that it looks painful. "0.22," he exhales and squeezes his eyes shut. John is still looking at the video, trying desperately to see what the deal is. Finally, he looks at at Sherlock, who has begun pacing back and forth on a small patch of linoleum. "You're gonna have to help me out here, Sherlock. What am I looking for? What's wrong?" Sherlock skids to a halt. "0,22 millimetres, John! Just that until it's all gone to hell! The phone rings, someone leans on the table, a radiographic wire advanced a millimetre too far and it punctures a wall, there's a fire alarm test, surgeon has had to make do with only two cups of caffeinated beverages instead of his usual three, loose screw on the microscope, trainee cleaner who has left a floor tile dirty and slippery, surgeon with a left knee arthrosis with fluctuating pain levels!" John puts two and two together. "You're worried about complications?" Sherlock's breathing is ragged. "'The average aneurysm sack wall a wall thickness of 0,22 millimetres between the lumen and the outside. Through the translucent wall circulating red cells can be observed in the microscopic view - -'" he quotes verbatim, probably from one of John's medical textbooks. His rant is cut short, however, when he suddenly starts gasping for air. "It's too thin - - John! It's too thin and I can't - -" John recognizes what this is. It's painful to watch because he knows so very well how what it feels like. "Hey? Hey, listen. Sherlock? It's okay, it's just a panic attack, it'll pass. Try and breathe a little slower, yeah?" There's no reply. Sherlock is clutching onto his sides, pupils widened. John circles around him and wraps his arms around Sherlock's shoulders from behind. He knows full well why this is happening but it doesn't make it any less heartbreaking to watch. Before he manages to get out any of the reassuring and nonsensical things he means to say, he's forced to descend to floor level along with Sherlock who is collapsing, legs giving away as he is now shaking with long, racking sobs and still gasping for air. They end up sitting on the floor, John cradling Sherlock in his arms. John doesn't say anything for awhile, aware that Sherlock is too hysterical to listen. Still, John needs to do something about the breathing before Sherlock passes out from hyperventilating. John closes his eyes and holds on tighter, hoping this might somehow distract Sherlock enough. He whispers something about breathing and everything being fine and tries to sound as convincing as he possibly can but it all sounds so rubbish. Nothing about this is fine. He's seen Sherlock under duress, upset, angry and very, very worried but never like this - in the solid grip of a fear so primal he can't reason himself out of it. No matter how much knowledge he amasses, how many wills he arranges to be drawn or how many times he manages not to throttle Mycroft over a cup of tea, the facts remain. Minutes pass. How many, John doesn't know or particularly care. Finally Sherlock seems to calm down, at least marginally. At least he composes himself enough to blow his nose on one of John's t-shirts that had been discarded and forgotten underneath the bed. "Okay?" John asks and gets a nod. John pushes away a sweaty lock of curls that is hanging in front of Sherlock's eyes. Slowly, gradually John withdraws his arms and they both stand up. The room feels colder and draftier than it did before. Maybe it's because they've been sitting on the floor. Or maybe it's because he's just spent at least fifteen minutes holding onto a living, breathing and warm Sherlock. Or maybe it's because he's no longer doing that even though he wants to. Very much so, indeed. Sherlock's nose is still running and had the whole scene not been so frightening and strange, John would think his friend looked a bit silly. Something about the whole thing feels so intimate that it makes John wary of what to say. "Tired?" he offers, remembering how his own PTSD-fuelled night terrors always seemed to deplete him of energy. They were different to this, of course - the aftereffects of horrors long gone, whereas this was Sherlock not being able to cope with the stress of what was still in the future. Sherlock nods and lets out a long, ragged breath. "No more Youtube. And that's final. No more articles. This is the one thing you can't deduce." John's tone is soft but determined. Sherlock bites his lip. "And another thing that's non-negotiable. Tomorrow morning we both leave for the hospital, and I'm going to make damned sure they knock you out for the angiography." "Not necessary," Sherlock replies quietly. His voice is hoarse from the crying. "I said non-negotiable." John takes Sherlock's hand and pulls him up as John stands up himself. Sherlock doesn't leave, instead just remains in place as though unsure what to do. John makes the decision for the both of them. He switches off the lamp, closes the door and then coaxes Sherlock to lie on the bed. John positions himself on the opposite side of the bed and pulls the duvet over the both of them, leaving his right arm on top of the duvet and Sherlock. Sherlock closes his eyes. "This bothers you, us sharing a bed," he says. It's not a question, more of an observation. "Not now, Sherlock."

            When I was a boy, before I was old enough for love stories, my poison of choice was ghost stories. I’d tear through the ones in the school library, then the adult library. Mom wasn’t crazy about it, but Dad had gone through a ghost story phase when he was young, and was still a big horror reader as I grew up. John Ajvide Lindqvist was his favourite writer, so his tastes weren’t exactly prosaic. He preferred a story where you couldn’t always see the ending coming.             This was his favourite one to tell me when I was young.             There was a girl named Vigdis.              (She only had a name because I insisted that she have one; Dad would have been fine if she was simply called ‘the girl’).             She lived outside a village in the house where her father and mother had lived, but they had died, and now she lived alone, for she could not leave the place where they had once been.             (This prompted me to have a crying fit that made my mother absolutely furious with my father, because I couldn’t get him to say how they had died, and if I didn’t know how they died, how could I keep my family from meeting the same fate?)             She was not known for being the prettiest, or the smartest, or the bravest, or the most resourceful, but of anyone she was the most loyal.             (The irony of my father emphasizing this trait to me was not lost upon me in later years.)             Some thought it a bit odd that a girl would choose to live outside the village, by herself, as it was not the way it was done then. But she was friendly enough, and kind enough, and she had the same friends she’d always had, and worked hard, and could always, always be counted on when there was a need.             The day came, quite unexpectedly, when one of the boys of the village, Kjell (named for the same reasons as above), announced that he was in love with Vigdis. It was unexpected most of all by Vigdis. She thought herself strange. She thought that her circumstances made her strange, and that it would prevent a normal life from becoming her own.             Vigdis was not opposed to the idea of Kjell. In truth, she rather liked him. He was strong and kind and the things a man should be. He would make a good husband, words that she had thought of when it came to matches for her friends, but never herself.             So she let herself be courted, slowly, respectfully, in the custom of their village. She grew to believe that a life alone in her cottage was not the one destined for her. Like her friends, like her closest friend, she would marry, and live well, live as a person is supposed to.             She fell in love with Kjell. They loved one another.             (As a child, this would be the point where I’d say, “Get to the ghost part,” and Dad would laugh and say, “You already know how this story ends. You know it’s not that easy.”)             They planned to wed in summer, and as the date of their wedding drew closer, Vigdis noticed that something was wrong with her husband-to-be. He was pale, with circles drawn beneath his eyes. He would insist that he was fine, but she could see the strength leaving him, as could those around him.             She pleaded with him to seek help, but Kjell would not do so. His mother pleaded with him to seek help, but Kjell would not do so. His father pleaded with him to seek help, but Kjell would not do so.             (“Why not?” I asked my father. He thought about it, then answered, “Maybe he was afraid. Most people are afraid of being sick. And some people, they think if they’re not told by another person that they are, that they really are sick, that it doesn’t exist. That if they ignore it, it just won’t be.”             “That’s stupid,” I said, and he laughed and said that it was.)             The week before their wedding, Kjell collapsed. He never opened his eyes again, nor said another word. He died the night before he and Vigdis were to wed.             (The first time Dad told me this, I could barely be still. “So he’s the ghost? What’s he going to do? Is he going to be a scary ghost?” Dad shook his head and told me, “Listen.”)             Kjell was buried, and the people of the village were very sad. People are sad when someone dies, as they should be. But none more so than Vigdis.             Except her sadness was a strange thing. Her sadness became a sickness. She could not leave her home. She could not speak to other people. When her friends came to her cottage, she would not answer the door. She stayed by herself, alone in her grief, weeping, and wishing for what might have been but wasn’t.             (“But he comes back, right?” I asked Dad. “Listen,” he said.)             Time passed, and the world continued, but Vigdis did not. She stayed trapped in her sorrow, wasting away as she thought of what she had lost. Finally, the day came when she could not remember the last time she saw another person. And she found that she did not know how to leave this place any longer.             She wasted away in her cottage until the day she died, still young, but her heart broken.             (“So she’s the ghost,” I said, and Dad actually put a hand over my mouth. “Listen,” he smiled.)             Once Vigdis died, she discovered that she could leave the house once more. She haunted the village at night, looking in on those she had loved, watching them age, watching their children grow, watching their parents die. She watched time pass as she remained an ageless shade.             She wandered the woods, looking for her lost love. If she remained, why didn’t Kjell? She roamed, searching for the man who had promised her a normal life, then disappeared. How could he leave her?             If she searched long enough, if she waited, he would come. He loved her. He would come.             So Vigdis the ghost searched for her husband-to-be, and watched her friends grow old, and haunted the cottage that began to fall in upon itself. She heard the children whisper to themselves that a ghost lived there, and that it was an evil place. Vigdis did not consider herself evil. She was a ghost, nothing more.             One night, when Vigdis had been dead for many years, she was watching through the window as the granddaughter of her closest friend slept. She liked to watch people sleep. It reminded her of a time when she had slept. She moved through the wall, thinking of when she had been a girl. She would always look young, but she knew that years had gone by.             When she touched the girl’s hair, the child woke up and began to scream. Vigdis was so startled that she simply reacted. She hit the child until it stopped screaming. It is a difficult thing to frighten a ghost, but the child had succeeded. In all her years as a ghost, no one had ever seen her before.             Afraid, Vigdis fled through the walls back to her cottage. She hid, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing that could be done to harm her. She was already dead; what else could anyone do?             But still, the townspeople came to the cottage, and though she tried to float away, she found that she was trapped in her own home. She could not understand what was happening.             They broke down the door, and Vigdis was angry and frightened. How dare they come into her home? The place where she had died. How had they known it was her?             Strangest of all was the fact that they were yelling at her, accusing her of things.             “How can you see me?” she finally cried. “I am a ghost!”             “You are not a ghost,” the townspeople said. “You’re a crazy old woman and a child killer! You haven’t even washed the blood off your hands!”             Vigdis saw no blood, and when she looked in the mirror, she did not see an old woman. She saw a young woman, long since dead.             She told them that they were wrong, that she had died. That she was a ghost.             And the townspeople said, no, not yet. But you will be.             You will be.

Tommy closed early; of course, he wasn't a fucking idiot. He always had the last hours at the diner anyways. Cleaning while serving leftover coffee and deserts. Tommy wasn't allowed in the kitchen after an accident that led Karl to realize he was not, in fact, a short twenty-year-old and actually a tall minor. It was a blessing he wasn't fired on the spot, just exiled to the late-night shifts, except his roommates didn't know that. So with a turned-over 'closed' sign and rushing through his shift responsibilities, he was about to head out the back door again when he heard that stupid doorbell chime upfront. Walking out to the front, he was met with Wilbur eyeing the freshly cleaned dinner with a bored look, hands in the pockets of his dark trench coat thrown over his jumper from earlier in the day. His eyes lit up as Tommy cleared his throat, arms crossed and stood behind the counter. "So you can listen! Well done, I'm impressed, Toms. Your foster records don't do you justice." Tommy only glared at the man, who grinned back, "What do you want, dickhead?" The man's grin fell at that, "Well, that was just rude," he clapped his hands before rubbing them together excitedly, "We are going for a drive." Tommy felt his stomach plummet, "I'm not getting into a fucking car with you, prick." Wilbur only rolled his eyes at this, "Toms, we've been over this; if I was going to kill you, I would have done it already." He turned to head out the dinner's entrance. Tommy scoffed but began following him, "Yeah, that's not as reassuring as you think, dickhead!" Wilbur stopped abruptly at the doors to the diner before turning around, a pointed hand in the air and a glare, "You have an awfully filthy mouth for a child." Tommy shrugged, "Part of m' charm." "Not as charming as you think," With that, Wilbur held open the door for Tommy, walking out behind him. He was led to a black unmarked vehicle, with windows probably tinted past the legal limit. Wilbur pulled open the back door for him, gesturing he got in before taking a seat at the passenger side. The inside was just as dark, with a clean new car smell and dark leather seats. In the driver seat was Pinky, hair tied up into a topknot bun once more but without the fancy dagger. He was in casual clothes, less obnoxious than the red suit he had worn, but still with an air of arrogance as he was wearing a fucking poets shirt. First, what the fuck was with these people? Next thing you know, the Riddler-looking fuck was probably wearing a bucket hat for fun. "Uh," Tommy glanced between the two as Pinky started up the car once more, pulling out of the diner's parking lot, "'Ow do?" Pinky only shot him a look through the rearview mirror, crimson eyes meeting his blue before he huffed out a deep sigh and returned his eyes to the road. Wilbur snorted and looked at Pinky in a sort of "Told you so" way before turning to look back at Tommy. "So, there's a cocktail party going on at one of our business rival's houses, small event, big house. We can't exactly show our faces without causing problems. You, however, are a sneaky little shit," That somehow came out affectionate while simultaneously sounding like he was seconds from strangling Tommy himself. "So, we need you to sneak in through the back balcony's window and head into the office located to the right of the bedroom you would have entered from the window. There's a file cabinet, unassuming, it's an office, and we need you to steal a file from it labeled "SBI." Tommy shook his head, "Wait, I thought- tonight? As in right now?" Wilbur rolled his eyes, "Yes, that's why Techno is driving us out past your bedtime." "You sure are comfortable making child jokes at me despite the fact you're setting me up to die." Tommy bites back with a glare, "Whose house am I breaking into?" Wilbur shrugged, "We can't give you those details. You're working with us because we don't trust you, remember?" Tommy shot him a dead-panned stare, "I thought this was a part of my internship." Pinky snorted at this. Tommy ignored the brief victory he felt at this; Pinky seems complicated to get to laugh. Wilbur just glared at Pinky before returning his look at him, "Look, just grab the file and leave, not that hard." "Not that hard? Right, that's why you're having a sixteen-year-old do it?" Tommy snickered as he sat back, crossing his arms. "You are so annoying." Wilbur grunted before turning back to face out the front of the car, "Toms, you do realize, I'm the only one who wanted you alive, right?" That icky feeling was back in his stomach as he glared at the car floor, silence falling over the vehicle as houses passed by. "Wait," Tommy's head shot up, "Your name is fucking Techno? I've just been referring to you as Pinky this whole time." Wilbur glanced at Tommy through the mirror this time around, confusion evident in his eyes, "Did- did you seriously not know our names?" Tommy scrunched his nose, "Dude, I didn't want anything to do with the mafia. So why the fuck would I willingly look into you fucks?" "We're not the mafia," Pinky- Techno cut in as he took the keys out of the car. Before Tommy could respond, Wilbur opened the door, stepping out before opening his as well. They were in probably the cleanest alleyway Tommy's ever been in, and wow, that was a sad statement. Nevertheless, he felt familiar with that night when the pair chased him through backyards, a narrow gravel road blocked by tall cement walls. Classical music and crickets were heard in the distance as the pair leaned against the car itself. "Alright, Toms, this is where we'll be when you finish. The walls here are too tall to scale, so I suggest sneaking through the front gate into the backyard and scaling from there. There should be a deck you can climb to get up, also stick close to the house itself, security here shouldn't be as tight as it's a party, but you never know." Wilbur finished with a shrug. Tommy made a face, "Wait, that's it? I don't get like a gun or something." Wilbur let out a short laugh, "I'm not giving a child a fucking gun." "What if I get caught?" "Well then," Wilbur grinned as he opened the passenger side door again, "You won't have to worry about your debt anymore." With that, he was left alone with the night sky and scarily clean trash way. Seriously what the fuck were rich people paying trashmen off with? He sucked in a shaky breath before heading towards the house he was pointed to. The house was stupidly modern and fancy. The type with all-white carpets and too many walls made entirely of windows. Luckily, he was hidden well, staying tucked close to the house itself as he heard muffled laughter from inside. The yard was decently sized, with a large gated pool and beautiful fresh grass paved with a small stone path from the gate. The kind of yard Tommy would have loved as a kid, but now just makes him roll his eyes at rich douchebags. This fucker probably owned Rolexes like Mr. Ahgren. Tommy ignored the guilt in his gut at the thought of the man. The image of him and his wife tied up still haunted his dreams more nights than not. True to Wilbur's word, the patio deck was to the right of the house, clear of any stupid window walls, just a glass door leading into what he assumes was a kitchen area. Heaving himself on top of the thing wasn't any problem, nor was crawling soundlessly through the window. Navigating the pitch-black room was a bit of a bitch, having stubbed his toe on a bed frame at one point. Still, eventually, he made his way out to an empty hallway, clearly lit by a white LED chandelier. Paintings framed the hall as the music echoed up one end of it, so the opposite direction of where he was headed, Tommy thought. Heading to the right, he found the office, thankfully empty, as he entered. The office was dark, lit slightly blue from a three-monitored computer at a large desk, with large cabinets on both sides of the desk. The room itself was clean and neatly organized. A comfortable desk chair and a few casual decorations were scattered around, including a fucking bean bag chair. Tommy rolled his eyes before setting himself in front of the first cabinet, sliding open the top drawer to be greeted with, you guessed it, a fuck ton of files. Tommy almost cursed the fuckers who sent him there before reminding himself he could quite possibly get murdered any second from now. Of course, with his luck, it was the final cabinet he checked. He dragged a hand over his face, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes before glancing over each folder where he spotted it in thick sharpie, "SBI," whatever the fuck that meant. He snagged the file, and that should have been it. Except, behind those files, the word "Craft" stuck out to him in a neatly written pen. The Craft Family. Tommy was only sent in to grab the one file; he wasn't even getting paid for this to his knowledge, and wasn't he technically in their rivals' house? So them fucking over the Craft family could possibly get them off his back. Yet the file stared back at him, and with a muttered curse and need to please, he grabbed it as well. Then, closing the cabinet, he left the office, closing the door gently behind him before walking back to the bedroom he had entered from. It was when his hand was on the handle that he heard a throat clear, looking up at a curly-haired man in a slick three-piece suit, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, but an arch brow peaked above them. "I don't recall you working here." Tommy let out a nervous laugh as he hid the files behind him, "haha, yeah, that's funny..." The pair fell into a silent stare down before Tommy swallowed thickly, "Well, this was fun," Before throwing the bedroom door open and running to the window. He practically tossed himself out of it, having enough practice at this point, when he heard swearing and footsteps running towards him and shouting. Hopping off the balcony onto some grass, he began running to the gate, glancing around to see if anyone was chasing him. Tommy heard the gunshot before he even saw the blonde man. The loud noise set off dogs in the neighborhood as Tommy darted down the street, looking for the familiar black car. Throwing the back door open, he shoved himself in unbalanced before screaming, "FUCKING DRIVE!" The pair were staring at him, frozen in shock for a moment before Pinky-Techno turned the key and set off. Wilbur was still staring at him, confusion deep-set. Tommy shoved the files into his lap before sinking in his seat, catching his breath in an attempt to calm his beating heart. At this rate, he was going to have a fucking heart attack, and it was this brown-haired fucks fault. "You-" Wilbur started before shaking his head, "How the fuck?" Tommy was still panting in the back as he waved Wilbur off; the brunet seemed to accept it, turning to look over the files. Besides the quiet panting from Tommy, the car was silent, Wilbur flipping through files with a rugged look and Techno's rhythmic tapping of the steering wheel. As the closed silhouette of the dinner came to view, Tommy spoke up finally, "Do any of you know where to sell stolen Rolexes?"