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shhhlikeme · 4 years

Note

Ok! So tanaka, kageyama, tusukishima, and asahi are all pretty scary boys at first glance. So I was wondering how they would react to a new 2nd year manager not being fazed by them at all (maybe she has alot of older brothers or something) and calling them cute. Love you writing. I didn't see a character limit so if this is to many feel free to cut some 😘😘

Thank you!!!! I loved this one it was so fun to write so please request again :) Hope you enjoy it 🧝🏾‍♀️😘

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“Scary” Karasuno Volleyball Boys Meet Their Maker!

Tsukishima | Asahi | Kageyama | Tanaka x Reader

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You and Kiyoko used to be friends in elementary school because her mom and both of your dads were in the military so you’d often be the only two young kids at events and ceremonies

She would only come sometimes but you would be an active member of your dads military boot camp year after year, and seeing Kiyoko, another girl sometimes was always awesome

The two of you became pretty good acquaintances and one summer at boot camp she would occasionally show you the ropes when you said you were interested in joining the 200m hurdle

While you two weren’t close, you followed eachother on all social media platforms and would sweetly comment “😍😍😍” on eachother’s posts

When she got injured you made sure to send her a text of endearment and she thanked you

Y’all were those type of friends

So that’s why you weren’t too surprised when you received a text from her while painting your nails one night in your room

Kiyoko had kindly asked you if you could take over her duties as Karasuno’s volleyball manager while she left to Greece with her family tomorrow for a wedding

She would be gone for 2 weeks and apparently the girl she had gotten too replace her just backed out completely at the last minute

You thought about it, realizing you had nothing to do other than train your team of female spartan racers, before replying ‘sure! 🤷🏾‍♀️’ and asked her what you needed to do

Kiyoko prepared you to the best of her ability, sending you a long scrolling text of the job. She said that although she wouldn’t be able to introduce you, the the boys are super kind even though they can get a little rowdy

A little nervous but wanting to help nonetheless, you agreed and confirmed the favour once again

The next day the boys had a practice and you had a little bit of difficulty finding their gym. You had gone to the girls vball team gym first and the captain pointed you in the right direction

When you approached what must be boys’ gym from outdoors you saw a blonde girl about your size scarily jutting around the outside of the gym like she was being stalked for murder

She was clutching a bag tightly

You guessed that maybe this wasn’t the gym, but you could have sworn this is where that team captain told you to go

You held your ground a few feet away because she was obviously terrified and you didn’t want to scare her more than she already was. You could hear her mumbling under her breath things like ‘they’re going to kill me’ ‘I’m too little to die’ ‘so strong, so tall. So very tall.’ ‘Attack on Titan is me. I am attack on Titan. I am MARCO!’

Who is Marco.....? You questioned in your mind.

Your military senses peaked as you changed modes to enemy approaching preparation.

You didn’t know you had these senses, but your dads would be so proud

The petite blonde was twitching and fiddling her hands while her eyes darted around.

She also had been so wrapped up in her terror to notice you there watching her. Seeing a cute mini side ponytail in her short blonde hair reminded you of a toddler’s hairstyle and you immediately felt the need to protect her. Your dads had taught you as much, and your years of self-defence class and borderline military training by copying the guys at your dads camps had built you quite the esteem. You knew immediately that you were going to save her.

“Excuse me?”

“AH!” The girl screamed and jumped 4 feet in the air when you spoke. You held your hands up in surrender, though you remained on guard for her pursuer.

“Hey, hey! I really didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

With bugged eyes, the girl explained to you that she had been studying in the gym by herself when she heard a bunch of gang men approach. According to her they were huge, threatening and super scary so she scrambled for cover but when she tried running through the door she had bumped into their leader who had a bunch of piecings, a rockstar dye-job who was smoking a cigarette. Before he could beat her up for crashing into him she picked up her bag and and ran away. Come to find out she had taken his bag by mistake because it was the same colour and size and she didn’t mean to! Now she is being hunted down by the leader’s big scary hunchmen who will literally pummel her when they find her! They’ve been calling after her saying threats like ‘We just want the bag, we promise not to hurt you’ but she’s heard that in scary movies and apparently that’s what they want her to think before they hurt her!!!

Before the girl (who you were able to get her to introduce herself as Yachi from class 1-5) fainted induced by anxiety, you stopped her.

You were pissed. How could big tall men be okay with trying to hurt a sweet first year girl like this?!

The world was evil.

She couldn’t be much smaller than you, but she had no where near your combat expertise.

You held your hand out for Yachi to hand you the bag.

She handed it over with trembling hands

“Where did you last see them?” You demanded just like your dads would have.

Yachi immediately freaked out, claiming that you’re just as small as her and they would crunch you like a potato chip!

Slightly insulted, you managed to give her a sweet smile and ask again.

She pointed in the direction of the outdoor vending machines near the gym.

“I’ll get your bag Yachi don’t worry. Do you want to wait here for me or do you feel safe coming with? It would be great if you were able to actually point them out, because there are a lot of boys here by the school not to mention I can better protect you when you’re close by.”

Yachi gave you a look as if she was seeing the stars for the first time. She was in complete awe of you because you emitted a mass amount of strength.

The energy around you was comparable to that of a decorated military Five Star General who had just been challenged to a game of laser tag.

Seeing Yachi visibly gulp, she agreed to come with you because chances are she’d be able to call for help louder than you and she held onto your arm as you walked.

She hid behind your shoulder, afraid

Looking around, you spotted a group of 4 large guys in the distance by the vending machine— just like Yachi pointed out

Without your glasses on, you couldn’t make them out very well from this distance

Yachi almost squeezed a bruise into your arm which confirmed that was indeed the guys that were awaiting her decease, she said

There was a tall one with dark hair that had a permanent scowl on is face who was staring at the vending machines options like a psycho. The smallest one (who was still very tall) looked tough—must be the braun because he had quite the biceps and his hair was shaven like the boys in your dad’s training camps. One of them looked like a grown man with a man bun that really should be signing off on big stock deals or something. The giant one was blonde with glasses but he appeared to be the verbal slicer—since you could see his mouth mumble something to the military looking one, who flinched like he had been physically stabbed through the chest.

You had to admit, you could see why Yachi was scared of them...a little

Straightening your shoulders so to seem a little bit taller, you took a deep breath and stalked towards these bullies

You were ready to give them a piece and a half of your mind

You would rip them a new one like they deserved

And if it got physical, you were more than equipped to handle them due to your years of training

As you approached, the boys noticed the bag you held and their eyes lit up like they’d just been saved

They started toward you making Yachi gasp.

You cracked your knuckles in preparation

But... when you got closer to them enough to make out their faces, something Kiyoko explained to you got thrown to the forefront of your memory..... and then you realized.

Wait a second.....

“There you are, uhh... small person. You took our coaches bag!” Exclaimed the one with defined biceps.

The small blonde girl behind you let out a shriek and tried to book it. You held onto her arm now as she screamed bloody murder, begging the 4 boys not to kill her because she had a single mother at home who needed her. The boys tried to explain their reasoning over her screams which only made things more chaotic! You gave the four boys a look of death to shut up and they did.

You patiently waited for toddler girl to chill.

“Uh Yachi??”

“Y-y-y-ye-ye-yes?”

“You said these were the assailants you were running away from?”

“Mhm. Don’t look them in the eye!” She shut hers tightly.

You smirked, officially letting your guard down. Now you remembered everything Kiyoko sent you in that text, including who-was-who on the team, what they looked like, and what each player specifically needed managerial-wise.

“Is it Tanner? No, Tanaka from my year, Asahi 3rd......and those two—- Tsukishima Kei and Kageyama Tobio, right? They are in your year..... they’re all Karasuno volleyball players.”

Yachi looked dumbfounded.

“Volleyball players...........................of doom?”

You shook your head, cupping Yachi’s shaking hands in yours. You gave this girl who reminded you of a toddler the kindest smile you could muster.

“I’ve never officially met these guys but Kiyoko has told me lots about them. I do see them bickering in the hallways a lot though, and it’s adorable. They are totally and completely harmless.”

“Harmless?” Yachi repeated you as if she’d never heard the word before.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it in such a de-masculine manner......” Tsukishima deadpanned, irritated by the fact that you spoke of them like they had the strength of a group of newborn goldfish.

Tanaka felt the same way. He mumbled “We do harm on the court! And just because you’re a pretty girl doesn’t mean you can say that we aren’t tough—“

Tsukki told him to shut up before he scared the toddler girl again.

Kageyama drank his little milk carton, barely listening to the commotion as Asahi, silent in the back, was about to start bawling. He was just so happy to be called harmless instead of monster by someone so much smaller than him his heart was going to explode 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Luv him

“Yep! Harmless.” You chirped, eyes twinkling at Yachi. You reassured her some more. “Total softies. You have nothing to worry about! Kiyoko told me that once on the bus ride home from a game she played a movie on the bus......and in the end Kiyoko counted all of them crying to the wedding scene in Princess and the Frog.”

“Hey now—“ Tanaka yelled, red in the face from anger but mostly humiliation. You looked over at the boys and noticed they were all pretty red. Tsuki had actually turned away to totally hide his face, starting toward the gym without so much as a goodbye.

“Brat.” He muttered. The boys followed with their tails between their legs.

“See? They couldn’t even deny it.” You smiled at Yachi. She visibly calmed down. “They’re just a bunch of cute little crows😊.”

Tsukki has returned with a scowl that didn’t scare either of you this time. He held out his hand expectantly.

“May we have our coach’s bag back, now? I trust you two can find your way back to Snow White the other 5 dwarves in one piece, correct?”

Ouch. You winced at his short person joke. Wow, Kiyoko was right about Kei’s stinging verbal jabs.

But Psh. You were a black belt. You could handle military men. You could even beat some of them in an arm-wrestle sometimes.

So you definitely weren’t afraid of any volleyball boys, no matter how badly this cute tall one’s jabs stung.

You smiled at Tsuki who didn’t return it in the slightest. You moved to hold out the bag in front of you for him to take, but low enough so he’d have to lean down to retrieve it.

When he went to grab the bag, you expertly maneuvered it out of his grasp before taking his cheek between your fingers in a tight squeeze. So gullible, this one. You had him trapped, just like you would a toddler.

“I’ll bring it to coach Ukai myself cutie patootie.” You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. He stared at you with surprised eyes before you continued. “After all, we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well as temp-manager and coach. Don’t you think?” The King of Passive Aggression’s eyes widened in shock behind his adorable glasses. You released his cheek from your grasp.

“Now get in the gym, soldier. You can introduce me to the rest of the team’s cuties and tell them that Karasuno’s new babysitter is here!”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu sfw #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu funny stories #haikyuu humour #haikyuu funny moments #tsukishima x reader #kageyama tobio #hitoka yachi #tanaka x y/n #tsukishima x you #karasuno #crows

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bidoldaccount · 3 years

Text

Erase All The Downsides - One

Intro

Word Count: 3,042

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden (Temporary)

notes: cigarette use; anxiety; pining; singer Dean; No Ben

"Which one should I wear tonight?" Dean looked away from the mirror and looked at Lisa thoughtfully. The two dresses she was holding up were so vastly different from one another. In her right hand was a floor length red dress, covered completely in sequins. He could tell it would show off a lot of her cleavage, the dip in the chest would go to her sternum. In her left hand was a navy blue color, with lace sleeves, that puffed out on the bottom.

"I like the red," he said, smiling softly at her.

"Hm, me too," she kissed his cheek as she passed him in the bathroom. He returned his gaze to the mirror, putting the finishing touches on his hair. His hair was already fine, and Charlie would tease at it later, so this process was pointless, but he needed something to do so he wouldn't fray his nerves thinking about all of the people that would be at tonight's event. A few of the strands that he had carefully teased fell out of place as Lisa threw her top at him, smiling playfully at him in the mirror. He turned with a lazy smile, leaning against the bathroom counter and watching as she undressed. Her body was slim and her short height made her look smaller than he already was. Her hip bones jutted and her stomach was completely flat, the tightness of the dress showed this off, a thin line from top to bottom. Dean kissed her cheek when she was done dressing, leading the way out of the bathroom.

A cab was waiting for them outside when they walked out. Charlie, Dean's unofficial publicist, Benny, Dean's official manager, and Sam and Jess were already waiting for them at the venue. Paparazzi were swarming outside, buzzing and flashing, talking at them as they walked in. Dean kept his hand on Lisa's lower back, smiling politely, raising his hand in greeting at some. Lisa smiled as brilliantly as she always does, not shying away from the flashing cameras. She was a lifeline in social situations, her beauty and amenable personality life a safety blanket. She steered conversations as easy as breathing, and Dean's social anxiety always relied on that.

Meg Masters had started singing in 2013 and she skyrocketed to fame in the early months of 2015. Dean had met her around 2014 and they got together occasionally to write music together. He had his hands all over her second album and, likewise, she wrote half of his third. Dean genuinely liked her personality, so it wasn't a shock to him that he was invited to a charity event she was hosting. Everyone was dressed in their best, floor length evening gowns and pressed suits. Dean fiddled with the button on his jacket as they were directed to their table.

"Aren't you guys going to Florida this weekend?" Charlie asked, drawing Dean's attention away from all of the strangers surrounding them. The question was directed at Sam, who was sipping casually from a glass of champagne. Dean's not sure where he got it or when.

"Yeah, we're visiting Jess's sister, she had her baby so we're going down to meet it," he said.

"It?" Dean questioned with a laugh, "Sam, it's a baby, not an it," he said.

"Yeah, don't do that in front of my sister," Jess said with a soft laugh. Sam rolled his eyes and gesticulated.

"You know what I mean, I forget what it was," he defended.

"It's a girl, you dork," Jess said with an amused roll of her eyes.

"I sincerely hope you two wait a few more years to have kids, I'm surprised Sam has kept Bones alive this long," Benny said.

"Okay, says the guy who fed his dog chocolate yesterday," Sam said.

"It was an accident!" Dean relaxed in his chair a bit as they fell into an easy rotation of banter and light conversation. Meg took the stage twenty minutes into their arrival and began talking about tonight's purpose. She was raising money for the local LGBTQIA community, specifically geared towards mental health resources. She looked very passionate as she spoke, and Dean clapped when she finished. There were a number of people lined up to speak, half advocates and the other half teens from the community itself.

Dean got a glass of wine thirty minutes in, and it eased the tension in his throat. He kept his hand on Lisa's leg, trying to ground himself in the feel of her, trying not to squeeze too hard even though it was getting harder to anchor himself to her and all he wanted to do was squeeze harder. She gave him a look when his third glass of wine arrived, not judgemental, but definitely warning. Sam was talking about some new book Charlie loaned him, dissecting it with her, and Benny was talking to Lisa about the last speaker that was just on stage. Dean couldn't hear a word of it. He was sinking into his skin, and he was a second away from surrendering to it.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he whispered in Lisa's ear as he stood. She gave him a slight nod before returning her attention to Benny. Dean clenched his jaw and blinked a few times as he walked to the bathroom. Maybe he could sneak out for a smoke before the next speaker came on.

The bathroom was sparsely in use when he walked in. He ducked into the first stall he saw open and took a second to just breathe. He couldn't unclench his jaw, but his body felt a little more secure. He was still floating somewhere outside of it, but it wasn't as bad in this smaller space where he could press his back against the stall door and dig his feet into the ground.

He did his business and washed his hands with minimal anxiety, but his breath started to catch as he walked out. He stood still just outside of the door, looking across the room at their table. His friends and his girlfriend were all conversing without a care, he knew all of them had their own set of discomfort and anxieties, but he also knew they flourished in social situations. Benny was the only one who suffered like he did, but he was distracted by Charlie and Lisa. Dean knew he was fine, so he ducked over to the kitchen area. He was directed to the back door by one of the waiters and instructed to prop it open. When he pushed through, the air hit him hard. He sucked in a lungful as he propped the door open with a brick.

He gulped down the air with needy satisfaction, walking a few steps away from the door and settling with his back to the wall. His pack of cigarettes was a bit crumpled coming out of the pocket of his slacks, but he saw that none of the sticks were damaged when he pulled one out. He smacked his pockets in search of the lighter, sticking the cigarette between his teeth to free up his hand. He dug into his pants pockets, finding nothing but flimsy, expensive cotton. He grunted in panic as he searched his jacket pockets, almost ripping the inside in his haste to find the lighter that he obviously left at home.

"Need a light?" His breath hitched before he even looked up. Her eyes were soft and dim in the faint light of the alley.

There were times when Dean got that itch under his skin, that need to not be the one in control, where would think about this moment. The moment he was under the weight of her gaze again. After the first few months, when the panic attacks and the excessive crying calmed down, after he could breathe normal again, he thought the effect had worn off. Like a detox from a drug he didn't know he was taking. He thought the temptation would disappear. Obviously that is not the case, because here he is, sighing into the warm evening air, already feeling utterly intoxicated in her presence.

She looks almost the same. Four years later and she is just as beautiful. Her black hair fell down to her shoulder blades, pinned back because she hates it in her face, naturally wavy with a little product. Her eyes still make his heart stutter, worsened tonight but the shock and the guilt. They peer into him, reading his every thought, understanding his every emotion before he even feels them. He can't bring himself to look away, all he can do is hope that he doesn't look as shocked as he feels.

"I'll trade ya," her voice was just as he remembered it, if not a little deeper, she had probably been drinking, her voice dropped a little when she drank champagne. It took him a second to realize that Castiel was gesturing at the pack of cigarettes sticking out of his pants pocket. He probably looked like such a mess, with his clothes ruffled from searching them, his button up slightly yanked out of the waist of his slacks. He shut his mouth and swallowed hard as he pulled the pack out and offered them to her. Cas took them with a soft smile, taking one stick and handing it back. He didn't dare touch her, even though he wanted to. There was a guilty feeling creeping up his spine with how badly he wanted to touch. She lit hers first then offered him the lighter. The smoke seeped past her lips in smooth clouds, twisting and disappearing in the air above her. The lighter was warm from her purse, and he would bet anything that it smelled like Peach gum.

"Thanks," he muttered before lighting his own cigarette. Castiel smiled at him without responding verbally. The color of her lipstick stuck to the cigarette as she pulled it out of her mouth, her chest rising as she inhaled, then sinking as she pushed the smoke out.

"You doin' okay? You looked pretty far gone when you came out," she asked, holding her cigarette as she always has, her wrist bent with her palm up, the cigarette a slight flick away from falling from her middle and pointer fingers, elbow resting at her hip.

"Just, um, having a rough time with anxiety. Too many people, too much noise, I was feeling a bit out of body," he explained, unable to look away from her. He was afraid to look anywhere other than her eyes but he couldn't help looking down at her dress. It was a silk, a deep emerald green, reaching down to the floor. There was a slit at the right side, draped open around one leg. He had to look away when he got there, that guilt twisting in his gut again. She was watching him still, and his cheeks flared up under the attention. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here," he said, trying not to flat out ask 'what the hell are you doing here?'.

"Yeah, I run a shelter for teens, specifically for lgbtq+ teens who need a safe space. We have on campus counselors who work pro bono," she explained. He remembers her talking about that. It's been a few years but that passion is still in her voice. "I'm speaking later so I guess I'm glad I ran into you now. I'm sorry if I blindsided you, I know it's been awhile since we've seen each other," she said.

"Yeah," his collar got tighter as he glanced down at the ground, unable to hold her stare and not buckle beneath it.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? I can leave you alone, I would pass on the speech if it wasn't something so important," Cas took a step back, putting more space between them. Dean tried not to let his breath hitch again.

"No, no, I'm just," he blinked hard a few times, trying to clear the fog of shock and anxiety from his brain. "You're not..." he paused, swallowing on a dry throat. She waited patiently as he took a slow drag of his cigarette before finding his voice again. "You're not making me uncomfortable," he said.

"Okay," she took a step forward, still a respectable amount of space between them, maybe an arms length away, but that arm's length felt like an anchor, bringing him back into his own body. He's startled that she still has this much of an effect on him. "How have you been? You look like you haven't slept much," she looked away from him with that thoughtful tilt of her head, then added, "I'm sorry, I'm talking like I still know you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, it's just surprising how well I can read you still."

It's surprising him too, though it really shouldn't. She has taken him apart piece by piece then carefully reassembled him, adding pieces of herself to make him whole.

"No, you're right. I haven't been sleeping too much recently. We're making plans for a new album and I'm anxious to start performing again. Isolation will do that to you, I guess," he shrugged.

"I understand, you've been on a break for about a year, right?" She asked. He looked up again, his cigarette pausing halfway to his lips.

"How'd you know?" He asked.

"I check in, see how you're doing," she shrugged one shoulder. The thought of it almost makes him fold in on himself. The thought of her pulling up articles of posts about him and his career, all of the things he's done without her. He shakes that thought away, the guilt squeezing.

"Yeah, about a year," he nods in response.

"So, what is it? Stage fright? You've been offstage for over a year, there are bound to be some kinks while you find your rhythm again," she said.

"Yeah, that's what everyone else is saying too," he took another drag, trying desperately not to look her in the eyes again, in fear that he won't be able to look away.

"Meaning that's not what you're afraid of. So what is it?" There it is again. She's too good at reading him. He sighed softly, flicking the ash burning tip of the cigarette.

"The last time we went on the road, I started doing bad shit, I was playing my best onstage because I was doing my worst offstage. I'm afraid that I'll fall back into it once we start up again," the confession rolls off of his tongue easily as soon as he makes eye contact again.

"Do they know?" She asked.

"Just Benny, I've been too ashamed to tell anyone else besides him. I didn't even really mean to, I just got too drunk one night and it all came pouring out," he said.

"You don't have to be ashamed of falling into a rough patch. People make mistakes and people do bad things, especially when it messes with the chemicals in their brains. If anyone tries to make you feel ashamed for having a hard time, then those aren't the people you want in your corner. I'm glad you told Benny, because now when you go back on the road, you'll have someone looking out for you, who I'm sure won't judge you if you stumble a bit. But, you have to tell him if you get that urge again, if you start falling again," her voice was so soft but so sure and firm.

"Yeah, I don't want to go through that again," he whispered.

"That's good, Dean. I'm proud of you." A shiver ran up his spine as those words left her lips. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he couldn't help the little shake that shot through his knees. The guilt was rising. "I should go get ready for my speech, but," Cas paused as she looked at him, something hesitant in her eyes. He could only imagine what expression he had on his face. "It was really good to see you, Dean." She tossed her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her heel as she reached into her purse. It was a bittersweet feeling that ran through him when she pulled out two sticks of Peach flavored gum. She offered him one and he took it because he is weak. She didn't say anything else as she walked away, back towards the door where he had set the brick.

When Cas was gone, Dean fell back against the wall with a soft exhale, allowing the air in his lungs to rush out. His face fell with the closing of his eyes and he didn't realize how boneless he felt until he almost slid down the wall. He caught himself with a stutter, steadying his body on shaky legs. He brought the gum up to his nose and inhaled the artificially sweet scent. The smell of it sent a shiver through him, he felt utterly disgraceful shivering at the smell of a piece of gum, but he didn't have it in him to care. He slipped the stick into his pocket, beside his slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes.

With a deep inhale, he straightened out his suit jacket and started tucking his button up back into his slacks. His hips stuttered when he realized he was half hard, his eyes shutting as he stilled. He finished tucking his shirt back in, he ran his fingers through his hair, and stamped out his cigarette before walking back inside.

"You were gone awhile," Sam remarked when he sat back down at the table. Dean sank into his seat, pressing his hands lightly to his thighs, feeling the soft material of his slacks.

"Yeah, the noise was getting to me, I ducked out for a cigarette," he said with a nod of his head.

"Damn, I should have gone with you before the next speaker," Charlie said, her nose scrunching.

"Too late," Lisa gestured to the stage with a small smile. Dean looked over and steeled his expression as Castiel went waltzing on, effortless in her demand for everyone's eyes. He's absolutely positive that she doesn't realize the power she has over any room she walks into. Dean's view of her is obscured by Lisa moving her head and the guilt in his stomach makes him turn his head towards the table.

"Is that?" Benny's question goes unanswered as she starts speaking.

Yes, yes it is.

"Good evening, everyone, my name is Castiel,"

#Destiel #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Castiel #Sub Dean #Dom Castiel #Female Castiel #Dom/Sub #Pining #Lisa Braeden #dean x castiel

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tryagainmv · 6 years

Text

ad nauseam

part one: strangers in the night

➷ you had never known the meaning of lovesickness until you had crossed paths with na jaemin.

❧ part two: two lonely people we were

you were finally free of the chains of high school. you could drink, you could smoke, you could shake off those shackles that the 16 years of public education had locked onto you. you were free to roam the world and take some time off from the impressive constraints that your senior year had brought upon you. you could leave your shore-side town in search of new adventures and new friends and new experiences.

or, at least, you would be finally free.

but first, you had to get through this bonfire in one, exhausted, gratified piece.

it was a senior tradition to spend the night on the cliff the day after graduation and drink, smoke and pop your grade twelve anxieties away. there were dozens of cars that lined the open field at the bottom of the hill, and as you climbed up to the perilous peak, you could see the multitudes of lawn chairs arranged in topsy-turvy circles of already wasted teenagers begin to gather closer and closer together. and then there was the bonfire, big and warm and raging, the light rivalling that of the setting sun behind it. you had always compared that bonfire to freedom, the sparks of bright tangerine and safety orange flying off from the heap and fading into the night sky. you had waited years to see those orange sparks, and now that they floated metres from your yearning body, you could almost join them.

once the night was over.

just a few hours, and then you could disappear and float away. you had already secured a summer job a few towns over up the coastline, and you were ready to take the leap and start to make your own money so that a few towns away could become a few countries away. it was a shame you didn’t drink, a shame you didn’t smoke, a shame you didn’t get high on whatever prescriptions everyone had pulled out of their parents’ medicine cabinets on their way out so that they’d at least have something to help them bid goodbye to their horrific four years of doom. you’d have to spend the night hanging with xiyeon, heejin and hyunjin, your designated “high school” group that everyone had but no one kept in contact with, no matter how much you promised over the years.

you weren’t planning on staying in contact anyways.

it was going to be a long, long night, but you didn’t mind the girls. you would just keep to yourself, watch the waves roll in and the stars light up, one by one, until it was socially acceptable for you to leave and start your new life. it almost felt surreal to you that you’d just pick yourself up, load your bags into your beater and take off when the sun rose the next morning.

but for now, you set down the few chairs you were carrying in what seemed to be the last open space and popped them open, tossing them in a vaguely circular shape around the cooler that heejin had placed in the centre. there were coolers, both wine and vodka, and some iced tea and water for you and whoever else you came across that got sick of the bitter taste of alcohol. once you had gotten seated, blankets out and speaker blasting whatever mindless music hyunjin had drafted into her playlists, you relaxed a tad, leaning back into your cloth chair and letting the soft summer night breeze drift over you and play with the locks of your hair. if you ignored the cacophonous sounds of 150 different handheld speakers playing 150 different songs at the same moment, the wild screams of youth relishing in their freedom, the sound of ice jostling, the snap of the fire crackling, you could almost hear the waves you had grown up with crash into the rock wall of the jutting earth.

in a way, this night was your final farewell to the dirt and water and sun that had always been your constant. in a way, it was the farewell to the life you had known.

what you didn’t know was that the life you had expected was about to be drastically different than your makeshift “plan” (as if you really had one). that your life would change within the next minute, whether you had liked it or not.

there was still so much you didn’t know.

unscrewing the cap off of a water bottle dripping with condensation, you tossed back a swig, feeling the cold drops trace their path down your throat. dropping the water bottle down, you caught a glimpse of someone who looked so out of place in a world of sperrys, board shorts and lacoste polos. if you squinted hard enough, you thought you could trace a flicker of ink that curled over the collar of his black teeshirt and up his back, maybe even some down the rest of his arm. he stood up too slouched, too sober to be part of this gathering, yet he flowed through the maze of chairs step by step and didn’t hesitate. he looked like you imagined you did, out of place, and that’s why you couldn’t take your eyes off of the boy with the baseball cap, the tattoo and the black tee as he swerved through the garden of drunk teenagers closer and closer to your cliffside cluster.

as he passed by you, he turned abruptly, and his eyes struck yours with the force of a gong crashing. both of you stared blankly, blinking, once, twice, before he sent you a wink and a wave, and you caught another tattoo on his wrist, two black lines like a pause. you gave him a soft smile, imprinting the image of the ethereal boy who looked so much like he didn’t belong onto the back of your mind.

“you know, you can take a picture. it’ll last longer, sweetheart.” the boy smirked and posed, a peace sign thrown up beside his smiling eyes.

you sputtered and furrowed your eyebrows, letting out a dry laugh before looking the boy up and down.

out of your years in this town, you had never, ever seen this boy with the tattoos and the beat up vans and the ripped black jeans. you had never passed by him in the smoke pit, never brushed his shoulder in the halls, never shared a class with the boy who stood in front of you, switching from a peace sign to a calm gaze at your calculating face.

you think he knows you know.

“you know, this is for the graduating class only,” you said, testing the waters.

“i’m graduating this year,” he smirked back, moving closer to rest a hand on the back of your chair.

you rotated to see him better, peering up into his eyes.

“from this school,” you sneered, batting your eyes and giving him a coy smile.

he reached down and grabbed your water bottle, his chest brushing your nose as he slid by. he popped the loosely-rotated cap back off and lifted the plastic to his mouth, taking a few gulps. his adams apple bobbed, and you couldn’t help but admit that the confident, suspicious boy was somewhat of a marvel.

“what makes you so sure i didn’t go to this school?” he asked, handing you the half-empty water bottle back.

“because you wouldn’t call it ‘this school’ if you knew what everyone called it,” you laughed, shoving the water bottle back at his chest. “i don’t want your backwash.”

he wrapped his hands over yours, still clutching the water bottle to his chest, and you felt his fingers grip yours with a playful intensity.

“do you want it direct from the source?” he poked, winking and laughing, and you shook your hands free from his hold and wiped them on your blanket.

“i’d rather burn,” you drawled, getting up and walking to the cooler to grab an iced tea.

he took your chair when you had your back turned, and you looked up to realize heejin, xiyeon and hyunjin were all looking, enraptured with the conversation happening in front of them. you gave them all a collective look of annoyance and turned around, sighing and frowning at the boy who had made himself comfortable in your lawn chair.

“do you want to take a walk with me?” he asked, outstretching his free hand.

you were really, really tempted. despite the boy’s flirty tendencies, you really just wanted to spend your night doing something other than sitting in your chair and dozing off. so you hovered your cold hand over his, hesitating.

“if you tell me your name,” you asserted, grazing your fingers over his palm lightly, tauntingly. his hand came up and grabbed yours, clutching it tight.

he smiled at you, big and wide and toothy.

“i’m na jaemin,” he said, standing up and sliding the chair aside, and you took his lead and stumbled along, can in hand.

“don’t you want to know my name?” you asked as he drifted you two through the myriad of chairs closer and closer to the bonfire where others stood, dancing softly to the music that played from one large speaker someone had brought early and set up.

“i don’t need to know,” he murmured.

you simply nodded to the back of his head and let him pull you into the crowd of slowly dancing people. he tossed his water bottle to the side and you watched it fly, hitting someone in the leg. you let out a small laugh and turned back, and he reached for your other hand to peel the cold can out and roll it away, too. you gaped and frowned at that.

“i hadn’t even taken a drink,” you lamented.

“you can’t dance with one hand,” he teased back, lacing his slender fingers with yours, starting to draw you a bit closer with every boom of the bass.

“who are you, na jaemin?” you asked, sliding your hand from his hand up to his neck, and you started to find the groove of the music after he had already locked in. his hand dropped to your waist, and he held it with a loose clutch.

“i’m a stranger,” he said, smiling and winking. “that’s how it should be.”

“strangers don’t dance with other strangers,” you grumble, and frown up at him with strict eyes and a pounding heart. “why are you here?”

“i’m here because i want to spend my graduating night the way it should be spent. with someone like you in my arms,” he flirted, peeking his tongue out of his mouth and sliding his grip further around you.

“you don’t even know my name,” you retorted, trying to put a tad more distance between his chest and yours as he seemed to move closer and closer.

“i can know so much more than that, though, if you’d let me,” he murmured, his eyes dropping and a sly smirk climbing onto his features.

“why would i let you?”

“because i’m interesting, and the only reason you came with me is because you were intrigued and you’re just as sober and bored as i am.”

if he was a hammer, he hit the nail on the head. that terrified you, and sent your heart racing into a murmur of chaos that spelled out a four letter word that was something like love and a lot more than desire.

when your heart spiralled, so did your head, and you had always been irresponsible when your feelings and thoughts didn’t sync up. you had always been impulsive, always been someone who had never totally understood your heart and your head. you’d always had one foot in love and the other in logic.

people like you never changed.

“touché, jaemin,” you whispered, leaning up to give a kiss to the boy who had so easily wrapped you up in his enigmous charms.

it was as if he expected it, almost as if he could tell the future, and he moved his lips in time along with yours. everything about na jaemin seemed to find the beat, whether it be his hips finding the beat of the music or his lips finding your heartbeat and going, going.

you danced and you pressed kisses to each others’ lips until every star had lit up in the sky, and you didn’t come looking to get drunk but you were drunk on the exhilarating feeling of human contact and the mystery that was jaemin. your head spun. it was almost as if he had tied you up in a charm, it was almost as if he was magic and you were a fanatic of the occult. you knew nothing about the boy and you had kissed him, once, twice, five times and you hadn’t let your hand leave the back of his neck as you rocked along to the music that pounded into the early hours of the morning.

you don’t remember when he had disappeared.

when the boy had placed one last kiss to your lips and detached himself, sending you a wink.

and then the boy with three tattoos and a baseball cap and the black tee, the boy with the beat up vans and the colgate brand teeth and the brown, melting eyes, the boy with the charming smirk and the deep voice and the confidence charm, had disappeared into the night, into the sea of flashlights and small fires and car lamps.

he was right.

he knew so much more about you than your name, he knew the touch of your lips and the beat of your heart and the feeling of your hand against his skin.

he knew a lot about you, more than you cared to admit. names couldn’t tell you about the way someone danced under the starlight, in the glow of a raging fire. names couldn’t tell you about the spark that lit your heart, that impulsively lead you to the press of your lips against his despite all your best judgment telling you otherwise.

he knew you. and you had let him.

good thing he was just a stranger in the night.

you still didn’t know so much about what was to come.

a/n: hi this would have been started sooner but i had to make cookies

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chuckling-chemist · 6 years

Text

Date Night

((Word Count: 3213

Characters: Dontoc Leiniz, Careen Elsker

A/N: This takes place earlier on in Dontoc’s uh...interesting dynamic with Careen. Finally fucking finished it too because this has been sitting for a while rip ))

Five times. Dontoc checked the door five times as he sat in the restaurant. Each time, he would crank his head around and stare frantically before dipping his head down to stare at his phone and resist sending the urge to send his date a message and ask if she was okay. It was only their fourth date, but he thought the other three went well. Certainly, at least, better than he imagined they would. They carried on a conversation with him making only six distinct socially awkward remarks that he recognized; he didn't want to talk about his life when he was younger no matter how hard she pushed. Yet she seemed happy otherwise, and she had been the one who asked for the next date, not him. So there was no reason for her to blow him off...right? Or maybe there was, but he was unwilling to acknowledge it because he did like her. Though, maybe he liked her due to her obvious and immediate affections. Was that possible?

Dontoc sighed and checked his phone again. He received his fourth message from Pallia, asking what kind of flavors he liked in his drinks. An odd request, but he answered her immediately in an effort to take his mind off things. They sent back a few more messages, mostly him asking why she wished to know and Pallia being cagey. After three minutes, she logged off. He sent two more messages, one that apologized and pointed out she was under no obligation to tell him what was going on, followed by another apology for presuming that she was annoyed at him.

He drank one more glass of water and ordered his food by the time Careen showed up. She looked radiant, beaming as she sat down across from him. “Well, that took longer than expected! But what do you expect from such an undignified troll requesting a meeting? And at least I got here on time. Oh, and you look good, darling! Your hair is…” her voice trailed off as her eyes trailed over him. A shiver ran down his spine at her gaze, “messy but I can see it looking cute that way.”

Dontoc gave her a small smile. “Well, ah, actually, you are sixteen minutes late. Not that I was worried! I just checked the time. A lot. Does that sound as if I was worried?”

Careen didn't answer. She took a menu off the table and scanned it before setting it back down with a sigh. “Oh, I forgot how tasteless landdwelling food is. We really should have met back at your home city!”

His smile faded. “You find the food tasteless? But I was under the impression this restaurant was of high quality. And Pa--”

“Yes, yes it’s excellent for a landdwelling dining establishment. But for seadwellers? Well, let's just say you have some odd affection for this food, and I'm appeasing.” She huffed. “Anyway, how has your evening been? Did anything interesting happen?”

He tapped his finger on the table, struggling to come up with anything to say that would be interesting. Certainly in comparison to some of the fantastic stories Careen would talk about, he had nothing. But staying quiet was ruder, and he imagined staying quiet due to determining what would be best to say was somehow worse. “Erm, well I do believe I acquired a moirail a few weeks ago. Or, more like two weeks ago. So...there's that.”

Careen’s eyes lit up. “Oh did you enter a moiallegiance with one of the trolls you reside with? A moiallegiance is just as important as any other quadrant, and I'm so happy to hear you have one to help with your agoraphobia!”

He shook his head. “Erm, no, it is not with anyone there. And I have social anxiety, not agoraphobia. So long as I do not have to speak, I can exist relatively well.”

Careen nodded, shifting up in her seat so she sat up straighter. “Yes, well, perhaps, but that's neither here nor there. But so, if it's not one of them, who?”

“A young woman travelling through. Her name is--”

“Ah, my Heiress! What would you like on this fine day?”

Dontoc let out a surprised breath. Had he ordered? He couldn't remember. But also, the waiter distinctly wasn't talking to him. So he probably had. After all, slow service was more or less a staple of getting food with Pallia. If he just kept his head down and didn't talk, he’d be fine. Probably. And if he didn't order, well, it would be okay if he just didn't eat. Then, if nothing else, he wouldn't have to worry about embarrassing himself in front of other highbloods. All he had to do was avoid eye contact and--

“And what about my Heiress’ very important guest?”

Dontoc squeaked, burying his head into the menu and pretending to scan it. He had already checked the menu six times now. He knew what he wanted: a greasy looking, cheesy sandwich-esque food that he never heard of. Something from lowbloods. Yet, for whatever reason, the name of the food just wasn't coming out. He knew it. He was staring at it just right now. But no matter how much air he forced out of his throat, he couldn't muster up the courage to ask for the greasy lowblood food. There was no telling how Careen would react either. Despite how unlike many other highbloods she seemed to him, he had the odd instinct to keep quiet about all that.

“Dontoc, are you not hungry?” He jerked his head up out of the menu to match her gaze, her shiny pink bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “You didn't eat without me, did you?”

“What?�� He shook his head. “No, not at all! The thought did not even so much as intrude my decisions.” He dropped his head, running his fingers through his hair. “Why would I--?”

He stopped when a perfectly manicured hand grasped his wrist, stopping his hand as it threaded the hair between his horns. “Dontoc, honestly, you shouldn't do that. It's bad for your hair. And your image.”

Dontoc blinked harshly, staring as she leaned across the table. That didn't sound right. Though, maybe things were different on land...however unlikely it was that neither Dontoc nor Pallia would have noticed an increase in damaged hair from his nervous habits. “It...it is?” He didn't remove his hand from his hair until Careen slowly returned his hand back to the table, not releasing it but instead sliding her hand down until it rested gently in his own.

“Well, yes, it's obvious to most anyone who cares about how they look,” she said flippantly. He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when she smiled warmly and added, “and I know you're so busy doing your important yet mysterious research you simply don't have the time to check. It's endearing, truly.”

Dontoc felt his face heat up as he turned away, stopping only when he saw the thin, tight lipped smile on the waiter who had to sit through the whole thing. “Ah...right. Thank you Careen. Now ah, if you do not mind…” he gestured back to the waiter.

“Oh!” Careen chriped in surprise. She sighed wistfully and batted her eyelashes. “Yes, right, you have such a bad tendency to distract me.”

Dontoc swallowed heavily in a poor attempt to placate his dry throat, turning towards the waiter with a sheepish smile. “My apologies. So ah...my order. I would like a...erm, how do you pronounce that?” He flipped the menu open and pointed to a picture of the food in question. If he wasn't going to say the word in public, surely just showing the picture would suffice. “I would prefer not to butcher any formal language.”

“Calzone,” the waiter finished tersely. “At least, that's the highblood term. The gutterbloods --” a sick feeling briefly passed in his gut, though due to the word or the brief flash of annoyance in Careen’s eyes he caught, Dontoc was unsure “--invented the dish and a different term, but we refined some qualities for our high class patrons, such as our fine Heiress.” As he spoke, his tone turned much lighter until it returned to its light, conversational tone with focus back on Careen.

“Hm...are you sure Dontoc? We’re at such a high class establishment, it only makes sense to eat like the caste we are.” She scanned the room, huffing and letting her pert fins droop at the obvious lack of seadwellers. “No need to appease the common rabble.”

“I am quite sure. I see no reason not to engage with the local cuisine.” He grinned. “It could be interesting.”

“Hardly anything I would call cuisine…” the waiter muttered quietly. Dontoc shifted closer to the edge of the chair and fought the rising flush to his cheeks. He couldn't imagine the waiter meant for himself to be heard, and as such allowed him to speak. Or maybe the comment was to appease Careen. It did seem to make her smile to herself, so that made sense as well. Louder, he then added, “So is that all then? No other drinks?”

Dontoc silently shook his head, letting Careen do the actual talking to the troll for an additional few minutes about something he held no interest in. He checked his phone again, more to stare at something than anything else, to see two messages: one from Pallia, and the other from his newly acquired moirail. He flipped over to the former message first, holding back a smile as Pallia told him there was no reason to apologize and how he shouldn't worry about the questions because she would answer them, but she really wanted to surprise him, complete with failed italics and hurried typos that she never corrected.

Before he had the chance to answer her however, his attention was diverted by Careen gently stroking the outside of the hand she held. The waiter had left, likely to go fill the orders. “Checking up on your moirail?” she asked.

“Well actually--”

“Which reminds me! I don't recall congratulating you on becoming moirails with Pallia!” Careen laughed, the sound as bright as the sun. “She could truly benefit from having a troll who actually understands how upper trolls ought to behave.”

Dontoc stared at her. Pallia? The two were friends, but imagining her in the pale quadrant felt strange. The two of them didn't act the way her and his moirail did. Not to say he wasn't close with Pallia, or even that he couldn't imagine being in a quadrant with her at all (said brief, passing thought to entertain her in a red quadrant made him feel unusually warm in a way he wasn't going to acknowledge further), but their closeness was more friendly than it was about balancing the other. If anything, when the two did get together, it resulted in less sleep from either of them as they stayed up far too late talking. “Um….I never mentioned anything about her. In fact, I could have sworn...hm, no.” He shook his head. “It is of little importance. But anyway, no, my moirail is not Pallia.”

Careen frowned, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hands. Her brow furrowed, pink eyes shut. A sinking feeling formed in his stomach - did he say the wrong thing? She couldn't possibly be angry at him right? - but right when he opened his mouth to speak, her loving gaze fluttered back to him. “Sorry. I just imagined better for her, is all,” she said with a shake of her head. “And certainly, she would benefit having an actual quadrant and not just lock herself away all day and night.”

Dontoc nodded, not in agreement but acknowledgement. “Ah, yes, right. I apologize…?”

“It’s not your fault she can't get a quadrant,” Careen said with a huff. Then, in the blink of an eye, he watched her rather terse expression switch again as she brightened up. “So, anything else aside from improving some poor landdweller’s life?”

Dontoc's face heated up. “Ah...well, her name is--”

“Your food, my Heiress and company!”

Dontoc couldn't help it. He jumped in his chair, letting out an undignified yelp for his general tone of voice. The waiter snickered behind him, only making his burning cheeks worse.

“Excuse me, you are aware you’re laughing at the adored matesprit to the current Heiress?” Careen said sharply. Immediately the waiter stopped. He quickly served the two of them and hurried away without another word, rushed footsteps echoing the room.

“You did not have to do that,” Dontoc said. “I am sure reminding him it was unprofessional would have worked.”

Careen shrugged. “He should be more careful who he mocks.” She glanced down at his food, the brief look of disappointment obvious, but not unexpected. After all, ultimately she hadn't been in Sandyhorn much longer than he had, and surely she came from just as pompous a city as himself. He imagined the only ones who would be open-minded were the ones actively trying to be unlike their home. And with Careen being a fuschiablood, loved by all...well, that was unlikely. “Even if your taste in food is just as uncouth as his behavior.”

“All the same, my thanks.” He smiled as he cut open his food, only getting a large enough piece to ensure all the flavors were there.

In Dontoc's several sweeps underwater, one thing he always noticed was how, despite seadwellers having a constant immediate access to various spices and flavors landdwellers - and certainly lowbloods - had no permission to use, they rarely did. Seadwelling food tended to rely on a food’s “natural flavor” and it was an insult to the chef to add more. With Dontoc spending more time in libraries than with his classmates (so much to the point he skipped class at least once to read from his book of unedited lowblood wiggler’s tales instead), he noticed just how different the landdwellers described their food. Words and colors he couldn't imagine were paired with even a simple fish dish. But living in the ocean, while there was a degree of curiosity, Dontoc was content not knowing what he was missing out on. But if he had the opportunity now, there was no reason to not take advantage of it and eat bonafide lowblood cuisine.

Right when it touched his lips, his whole face lit up in joy. It was surprisingly oily; he could taste it in his mouth and on his lips. Behind that was salt and tomato and some sort of spicy meat he didn't recognize. And the gooey, soft melted cheese was interspersed to help cut down the spice without reducing flavor. All of it was covered in a perfectly cooked crust, crunchy on the outside but soft after the first bite.

It was, without a doubt, one of the best things he tasted.

It enraptured him completely. For a brief moment, all he cared about was the food on his plate and the salty taste on his tongue.

“Dontoc…”

He stopped midchew of his piece, hurriedly clamping his mouth closed, as Careen’s voice cut through the air.

“Hm?”

“You’ve been silent for so long. Like a few whole minutes! I was getting so worried, since we were talking so much, you know?” She sighed lightly, placing her head in her hand as she watched him, soft smile on her face.

“A few…” he swallowed whatever food was in his mouth too early in surprise, forced to feel the sharp pain as it went down. “A few minutes? Really? Goodness, I had no idea. I ah...well, must have been far hungrier than I perceived myself to be.” He looked down at his plate, and sure enough, in comparison to a pretty plate of grilled swordfish topped with some kind of tomato salsa, her plate was virtually untouched aside from a few bites. His dish, meanwhile, had half disappeared. “Are you ah...are not not hungry?”

“Hungry?” She blinked a few times. “Well yes, we are at a fine dining establishment.”

“But you have not touched your food,” he said.

“I am Heiress,” she said. As she spoke, she rose out of her position to daintily grasp the fork. “And the only one truly descended from Her Imperious Beguiler. As such, refinement is necessary for anything close to me. Including food.”

“Oh. Ah...uh...apologies.”

“Don’t be.” She eyes flitted between her and the food. “Would you...do you wish to try a piece?”

“I ah…” He smiled. “Sure.”

With perfect precision, she got a piece of swordfish onto her fork and leaned over to him. He may not have had a flushed partner before, but he knew enough about what was going on. He opened his mouth right as she approached, letting her slip it between his lips. It tasted well cooked - certainly not overdone, by any means at least. He wasn’t chewing rubber, nor was he tasting exclusively char from the grill marks. It was on the dry side, certainly, but anything in comparison to the greasy calzone would taste a little dry. But it was bland. There wasn’t much in the way of seasoning, not that he could taste at least, and the tomato salsa was so mild it added more color than anything. Still, when he finished eating he gave a polite nod in affirmation.

“It was well cooked,” he noted. “Perhaps not my preference, but I believe that is wholly because I spent so long eating seadweller cuisine exclusively, my pan just wishes to expand its palette. Does...does that make sense?”

“As much sense as anything else you say sounds!” she said with a light giggle.

He let out a short, albeit awkward, chuckle. “You know, it is funny. I was so worried about something terrible happening before you got here. Perhaps I misinterpreted the night we scheduled, or I imagined everything or --”

“Or that I’m feigning my interest?”

He glanced up at her for a brief second, catching her doe eyes before immediately casting them down in embarrassment at the thought, fins fluttering. “A silly thought, but ah...yes. Blame it on the anx--”

She hurriedly leaned over and broke him off with a quick kiss. Dontoc barely even had a chance to register anything about it aside from the sudden, feather light touch and the brief taste of artificial strawberry from her lip gloss. “Please. I don’t feign my interest in anyone, darling. Certainly not someone as interesting and mysterious as you.” She took his hand again, tracing delicate lines up and down his fingers. “We’re matesprits, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he said. “Matesprits. Right, sorry, I-I just aren’t - am not - quite--”

“It’s fine,” she said softly. “You’ll get over it eventually. I’m great for helping people.”

He nodded. He was just new at this. She was his first matesprit, an outsider like himself. And their relationship was new too. So it made sense he was anxious, or things felt strange and awkward. They didn’t know each other too well yet. This was expected. And one day, these would fade away.

He just hoped those feelings would fade away sooner.

#homestuck #hiveswap #fantroll #fantrolls #fanfiction #my writing #not really betaed ?#i read over it a few time and all that jazz #but not betaed by someone else #dontoc #careen

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eccacia · 7 years

Text

wonderful you came by [part 14]

Notes: Oh my god, thank for all your reviews! I had so much fun reading your reactions. I'm so lucky to have you guys. I feel really bad for this late post, though, since I did say mid-July, but things got really busy… I took a part-time job in addition to my day job, so I had to get off social media for awhile to meet the deadline for the part-time job. But I'm back with Barry's POV, so… forgive me?

Disclaimer: The opinion mentioned here by Caitlin is from an article on Nautilus called "Cancer Isn't a Logic Problem" by Jim Kozubek.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

After Caitlin had fled, Barry tried everything to get her to come around—if not to face him, then at least to talk to him. Or, at the very least, to agree to talk to him.

He milled around her dorm that night, his hands clammy in his pockets; he didn’t like its eerie silence, but he disliked enduring her silence even more. When, despite his vigilance, he didn’t see her enter or emerge from the dark building, he left her a long, rambling text instead, which he had composed in white heat and had sent in a moment of mad courage, but which, he realized upon his nth reread, was mostly just gibberish. He fell into a fitful sleep with his phone still in hand, and then he jolted awake the next morning three hours before he usually got up, only to be devastated by an empty inbox. Then, in a haze of desperation, with the same mad courage that had possessed him to send that rambling text, he called her three times in succession, after which he realized, with the sudden clarity that only panic at the threshold of even more panic could produce, that he was being creepy; so he decided to remedy that—being unaware, in his state of mind, of how the attempt to remedy a situation can often exacerbate it—by leaving her voicemail.

“Hey Caitlin,” he began, while pacing around his room, “uh, so, I know you don’t want to talk to me yet, but… just give me a call if you do. Uh… yeah. I’ll… hang up now, I guess. Bye.”

And then, as his desperation wore on, he decided, in what would be the final link in his chain of bad decisions, to compose a funnily pathetic voicemail, so that even if she wasn’t talking to him, he would at least have the solace of knowing that she was smiling because of him. And so, with a burst of adrenaline seasoned with the wild hope of a gambler looking to rake in millions even after successive losses, he sang:

“Hey, I just kissed you, And you just kissed me, So here’s a voicemail— Call me maybe?”

He even accompanied his singing with hand gestures—which, he would realize, could not be transmitted through voicemail in the first place.

He ran his hand through his hair and fisted, ran and fisted, ran and fisted, until there was a tingling sensation in his scalp; and then, suddenly exhausted from frustration and anxiety, he tossed his phone aside, plopped down on his bed, and groaned into his pillow.

God. He had it bad, alright. He had it so bad it was pathetic. He hadn’t reached this level of emotional loserhood since middle school, when he had pimples and braces and that brief unrequited crush on Iris that still made his stomach turn every time it crossed his mind.

…Okay, that was an exaggeration. Nothing beats that stomach-turning crush he had on Iris. Granted, there was some reason behind it—she was the only girl that talked to him then—but he still preferred to chalk it up to a pubescent, hormone-induced insanity.

Regardless, the devastation he felt was pretty familiar. He wasn’t in the habit of denying his feelings, so he knew deep in his gut, with a certainty that circumvented rationality and defied his own notions of love, that he was in love with Caitlin Snow. Even if, right now, it felt a hell lot like pain, there was no doubt that he was in love.

It raised a lot of questions, of course, questions which even the ancients grappled with (Barry liked to imagine himself in a Greek chiton and laurels resting on his head when he was thinking about life), and which men and women are still asking today, but have believed answered by the prevailing cynicism surrounding love: What is love? What is “true love,” if it even exists? Can romantic love lead to true love, without the lengthy passage of time? What if love at first sight, or its cousin the whirlwind romance, was, in its noblest form, not just a product of intense physical attraction, but rather—as it seemed to be in his case—a lucid, bone-deep knowledge of being fated for each other…?

He didn’t know. He didn’t have answers. Besides, there were already enough stories about the catastrophic nature of falling in love too fast, so that to experience it meant certain doom for the relationship. And, knowing how sensible Caitlin was, she must have already come to that conclusion. Tomorrow, he could imagine, Caitlin would come up to him during lab and say, coolly, “I wasn’t in possession of my rational faculties. That kiss was a mistake. We’ll remain lab partners so I can ace this class, but this relationship will not cross any other boundary. Understood?”

No. He wouldn’t survive it. He’d be heartbroken. He was already heartbroken just thinking about it.

He sighed, turning to lie on his back. God, he was such an idiot. He’d been so careful, too, in making sure she was comfortable with his touches, starting slowly and lightly but withdrawing if she gave any indication of being uncomfortable; and he’d been willing to do that for months, at whatever pace she would allow, but—he raked his hands through his hair again, until the strands stood on end—best laid plans… and all that.

But, really, how could he resist her last night? How could he resist her in that—as she had put it herself—evil dress, that dress that unraveled the iron self-control he’d resolved to maintain when it came to her? How could he resist her charm and wit onstage, the way she’d dazzled the audience with brilliant comebacks on taunts about her terrible singing? How could he resist her on that dance floor, the way she’d slid her hands up his chest, sly and appreciative; the way she’d turned her eyes away when his compliments made her shy? How could he resist her on that open balcony, under that starry night sky, feeling, for the first time, their longing constellating between them, pulling them towards each other, towards that inevitable first kiss? How—?

He was jolted from his thoughts by the shrill ringing of his phone, and he immediately set out to look for it under the sheets, his heart pounding in his chest—Please let it be her please let it be her please let it be her—

“Caitlin?”

There was a snort at the other end of the line.

His heart sank.

“Oh. Iris.”

“That’s no way to greet your best friend,” Iris said, feigning offense. When he made no attempt to summon a more enthusiastic greeting, she made a sympathetic noise and said, “Still no word from her, huh?”

He felt around Wally’s desk for the stress ball he kept there, and began tossing it sullenly. “No.”

“Aren’t you going to see her tomorrow for that class you have together?”

He groaned. “Tomorrow’s ages away. Can you imagine if she still won’t talk to me by then? We have four hours of lab together. Iris, that’s torture.”

“You drama queen,” she said, laughing. “She just needs some time.”

“You don’t know her. She could ignore me forever if she sets her mind to it,” he groaned. “Iriiis. Iriiis. I’m so sad. I’m so sad I could write a poem.”

She sounded amused. “Like one of those spoken word things?”

“Nah, too long. Maybe like a haiku or something,” he said. He caught the ball mid-air and gave it a vicious squeeze. “I met a girl who broke my heart / So I’m going to make some art—”

“…that’s about as good as your smelly fart.”

“Hey, I resent that. My farts aren’t smelly.”

“They so are,” she said. “Remember that time in my house when you farted after drinking a whole liter of milk? That was the grossest thing ever. Everyone had to retreat to the second floor until the coast was clear.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “God, that was so embarrassing. Joe was so nice about it, too. He was all—”

“‘Iris, don’t make fun of Barry. He’s just a little lactose-intolerant, that’s all,’” Iris said, mimicking her father’s tone, laughing in between words.

But the laughter in him faded when he heard the word lactose, the memory of his last lab experiment with Caitlin—the way she’d jut her chin slightly to the right when she was thinking, the sparkling challenge in her eyes when they made the bet—buffeting him with such force that it felt difficult to breathe.

“Bar?” Iris said. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Barely. It feels like my heart’s been ripped out of my chest and shredded into pieces.”

“Mmm,” she said. “Not a bad metaphor.”

“Thanks,” he said. Even in this state, he couldn’t resist a compliment, and Iris knew it. “Are you going to use it in one of your articles?”

“I don’t think so. Hardly the stuff of news.”

“Sure it is. I can see the headline already: ‘CCU Cutie in Dire Need of Heart Transplant—Says Heart Has Been Shredded to Pieces by the Heartless Caitlin Snow.’”

“Did you just really refer to yourself as ‘CCU Cutie’?”

“I did.”

“Ugh. You know how much I hate that feature. It should be banned from the school paper.”

“I was on last year’s list. It’s a nice confidence boost.”

“Since Scott made editor, I thought we’d finally be able to scrap it, but nooo, he’s all, ‘It’s our most popular feature, and no matter how vapid it is, we can’t get rid of it.’ Imagine!” she huffed. “Where’s the journalistic integrity he keeps harping about, huh? Where?”

“If I made it a poem,” he said, spacing out in the middle of her well-worn rant, “will you publish it?”

Iris paused. “Make what a poem?”

“The heart-shredding bit. Or the haiku, whichever’s better.”

“Bar. Newspapers publish articles, not poetry.”

“Same thing. It’s still writing.”

“I could dismantle that premise in, like, ten different ways.”

“You probably could,” he allowed. “But I’m sad. You can’t fight me when I’m sad.”

Iris gave a long-suffering sigh. “Okay look, Bar, you have to stop moping around—”

“But I want to keep moping around—”

“—because moping around won’t make her want to talk to you.”

He winced. “Ow. Harsh.”

“But true.” He heard shuffling at the other end of the line. “I was going to skip grocery shopping to work on an article, but since you’re in this state, I’m going out to haul you out of your room.”

“Nooo. You can’t make me.”

“Oh yes I can. Now get up, call Wally, and be outside of your dorm in ten.”

“Nooo. Nooooo.”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen, you will do as I say—”

“Nooooo—”

“—unless you want me to spam Caitlin with middle-school Barry Allen.”

“—ooooo—” Barry stopped abruptly when he realized the implications of what Iris said. “Hey!” he cried. “I deleted all traces of middle-school Barry Allen from your laptop!”

“I have backup copies online, dummy.”

“Lies.”

“Huh, would you look at that, I also happen to have emo middle-school Barry Allen on my phone—”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, finally getting to his feet. Iris was notorious for making good on her threats. “I’m standing. God, I hate you sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He could almost see the grin on her face. “Love you too, Bar.”

. . .

Barry loved Iris, he really did, but sometimes she didn’t seem to understand—or she blithely sidestepped attempts to understand—that what was comforting for her wasn’t necessarily comforting for him (or for anyone else, for that matter). Right now, as he considered that tendency of hers, he was staring at the entrance of the grocery where Wally, Jesse, and Eddie were standing, chatting amiably with each other and oblivious to their approaching presence.

“You told Jesse and Eddie to come along?” he balked. “Did it occur to you that maybe, juuust maybe, being a fifth wheel is the last thing I need right now?”

Iris paused. “Actually, no,” she said. “But we’re practically family, anyway. You won’t feel like a fifth wheel. And, hey, you never mentioned feeling like a fifth wheel before.”

“Well, now I am,” Barry groaned. “I mean, okay, Jesse’s fine, but I already told you that things are kind of, you know, awkward with Eddie—”

“Bar, we’ve had this conversation already,” Iris said. “Eddie says he doesn’t find it awkward between you two. He never has.”

“Still,” Barry said, not knowing how else to explain to Iris that he and Eddie just didn’t click the same way he did with Wally or Ray or even Cisco. It wasn’t that Eddie wasn’t nice or friendly, because he was, and in fact Barry even felt bad that he couldn’t get along better with such a great guy. But there was just something about him that seemed a little too great, a little too perfect, and he wasn’t spilling all the messy details about Caitlin to a guy like that.

He sighed. In any case, there was one thing Eddie did spectacularly well that he had no reservations about: Eddie made Iris happy. One only had to watch the way they looked at each other to know how in love they still were, even after two years of being together. It was, in fact, the same way his parents had used to look at each other; and, he wondered, was it the same way he looked at Caitlin…?

At the thought of her he felt the familiar misery rising in him again, and he took a quick look at his phone to see if he had messages or calls from her.

…No such luck, of course. This cycle of tremulous hope and sinking despondence he went through every time he checked his phone was bound to be bad for his heart.

To distract himself from the gnawing disappointment, he tuned back in to what Iris was saying—had she been talking this entire time?—and he managed to catch the tail-end of her monologue. “…and anyway,” she said, “Eddie can probably give you a more balanced perspective on this whole situation.”

He looked at her blankly. “Balanced perspective?” he repeated. “Are you implying that mine’s imbalanced?”

Iris shot a pointed look at his hair, and he realized that it was still standing on end after he’d worked his anxiety out on it. “I am implying that you, Barry Allen,” she said, “are a nervous wreck, and any perspective besides yours would sound balanced.”

“I’m not a nervous wreck,” he protested weakly, running his fingers through his hair in a desperate attempt to flatten down the strands.

Iris only snorted in response.

When they were finally within hearing distance of the other three, Jesse was the first to greet them. “Hey,” she said, her face lighting up. “Nice hair. Is that a new thing you’re trying, or…?”

“Definitely the or,” Wally laughed, clasping Barry’s hand and thumping him on the back.

“Ha ha,” Barry said. He and Eddie exchanged a brief nod of greeting, as usual, and then he promptly turned away when the latter slung his arm around Iris’s waist and kissed her on the lips by way of greeting. They did that often enough by now so that all three of them had stopped calling them out for their PDA, but they strived to see as little of it as possible. “At least I have hair.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow and turned to Wally. “Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“If it was, it was a pretty bad one,” Wally agreed, lightly squeezing her hand. “Considering that I do have hair.”

“Right,” she said, reaching to ruffle his short curls. “Well, Barry, that’s pretty insulting, not to dignify someone with a proper insult.”

“Mm-hmm,” Wally said. “Haha-emoji that.”

Jesse turned sharply to him. “Oh, come on. I said that one time—”

“What? I think it’s cute. I’m not making fun of you.” Wally paused. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Wallace Rudolph West…”

“I mean, who blurts out emoji reactions in real life, when you have, you know, facial expressions?”

Barry shook his head, a smile creeping up his face, even as he felt a slight pang of envy at their teasing. Their relationship wasn’t like Iris and Eddie’s, with their vibe of still being madly in love, but there was an easy familiarity between them that stemmed from being friends for a long time, so that they couldn’t seem to shake off acting as friends even if they’d been dating for a little over half a year already.

He wondered what he and Caitlin looked like, from an outsider’s point of view. They definitely weren’t Iris and Eddie—he and Caitlin bickered too much, he mused, and for the life of him, he can’t imagine Caitlin being sweetly affectionate, the way Iris was with Eddie. It was more likely that he’d smother her with affection while she’d constantly duck out of his hugs. They weren’t Wally and Jesse, either—the way he and Caitlin bantered was a lot flirtier (courtesy of him, of course). So, what were they…?

“Uh, earth to Barry?” he heard Jesse saying.

He blinked, his eyes refocusing on their faces again.

Jesse looked amused. “Well? Are you going to tell me what happened, or what?”

“Tell you what?” he repeated, realizing that it was the third time in the past half an hour or so that he’d spaced out while someone was talking to him. He thumbed his phone again out of habit, despite knowing that it hadn’t pinged with a message.

“Wally said to give you a break because you’re heartbroken,” she said.

“I didn’t say I was heartbroken,” Barry said to Wally.

“You didn’t need to, man,” he said. “I was with you in the room last night, you know. All your sighing woke me up.”

“I—really? You were in the room?”

Wally and Jesse exchanged looks.

“He’s so far gone,” Jesse said.

“Yup,” Wally agreed.

“Okay, guys,” Iris said, with the tone she often used when she’d come to an important decision. “So here’s the plan. I just need to pick up a few things from the grocery, and then we can all head to Jitters for coffee.”

“‘Pick up a few things’?” Wally said. “You mean, ransack all the sale items?”

Eddie snorted, placing his hand affectionately on the small of Iris’s back. “We all know we’re just here to carry your things.”

“No,” Iris said, “we’re here because Barry needs emotional support.”

“How is your grocery shopping going to give Barry emotional support?” Jesse said.

“It got him out of his dorm?” Iris said. “Anyway, I’ll be quick, I promise. I only need a few things. Swear to God.”

All four of them exchanged knowing looks. This was definitely not going to be quick.

. . .

“So, tell me about this girl,” Jesse said, as they ambled along the aisle of chips. Iris was browsing the section of sale items, and Eddie was weighing the merits of two different brands of chicken breasts. “She must be something if she can do this to you in two weeks.”

“Yeah, she is something,” Barry said. He scanned the shelves of chips in front of him without really seeing them, taking his favorites off the shelf—Doritos (Nacho Cheese), Cheetos (Jalapeño), Ruffles (Sour Cream)—and tucking them under his arm, until Jesse prompted him to dump them in Wally’s basket. “Let’s see, something about her… Well, I’m taking your dad’s class with her.”

“No way. Who’s the unlucky victim?”

“Your dad’s not a villain, you know,” Barry said, amused at her antagonism. “Anyone would be lucky to be his student. He’s the most influential scientist in America, the founder of one of the top research facilities in the world—”

“—and like, the most overprotective dad in the universe,” Jesse scoffed. “What would you feel if your dad moved halfway across the country to teach in the university you’re going to, just because you told him you were seeing someone?”

“He’s hella scary,” Wally said, who was about a foot away from them. “I still avoid him when I see him. I’m pretty sure he has heat vision. Might fry me on the spot when he sees me…”

“He seems to like me,” Barry said.

“That’s because you’re not dating his daughter,” Wally said. “Keep up, man.”

“Did he ever mention me to you, by any chance?” Barry said to Jesse.

She stared at him. “You know, you really have to tone down on that nerd crush you have on my dad. It creeps me out.”

Barry laughed. “I’m kidding. It’s just fun to see you squirm.”

“Oh, it’s fun to see me squirm,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. “Well, I’ll have you know that he did mention you—”

“He did?” Barry swiveled to her. “He actually did?”

“—but I’m not telling you, because it’s fun to see you squirm,” she finished, smug.

“Jesse. Come on.”

“No,” she said breezily.

“Jesse. This is a life-or-death situation. This could make or break my career.”

“Let me think about it… No.”

Barry turned to Wally. “Do you ever win fights with her?”

“…Nah.”

“He knows he can’t win,” Jesse said.

“I only pick fights I can win,” Wally said. “And to date, I’ve picked zero fights.” He held up a Tostitos salsa dip and a creamy spinach dip, one in each hand. “Which one should I get?”

“Salsa,” they said in unison.

“Nice. I thought so too.”

“So, who is this girl?” Jesse said. “Wait, don’t tell me—is it Caitlin? The one you were with during the sing-off last night?”

Barry stilled, and he unconsciously fingered his stubbornly silent phone again.

Jesse looked at him with amusement.

“You’re way too obvious.”

“Hey, be nice,” he said weakly. He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m heartbroken. I’m very fragile right now.”

“I mean, you were obvious even onstage,” she went on. “Complimenting her over the microphone? Really?”

“What can I say,” he said. “Smooth is my middle name.”

Jesse snorted. Wally, without looking at them, also snorted.

“Hey, you there,” Barry said to Wally, with comically feigned swagger, “are you dissing me? Huh?”

“If you were actually smooth I won’t be dissing you,” Wally hollered.

“You guys were pretty entertaining, though,” Jesse said. “And I’ve never seen Caitlin like that. I’ve always had this image of her as really smart, but also really uptight…”

“Wait, you know her?”

“I know of her,” Jesse corrected. “I attended a few talks that she also attended, and she always asks the best questions. One time—oooh, bacon-flavored chips—one time, in this talk about the latest cancer research, she asked the panel, ‘Is it possible to cure cancer, once and for all?’” They paused as Jesse took the bacon-flavored chips and dumped it in Wally’s basket. “And she really caused a stir, you know, because here were all these hotshot scientists saying that they’ve been able to figure out the molecular changes that lead to cancer, so obviously, they’re getting at a cure, right? But then she goes something like, ‘From an evolutionary perspective, cancer cells are continuously evolving, so we may get better at treating it, but we may never actually cure it,’ like, it was probably going to be a continuous effort instead of something with a definite end-goal.” They ambled over to the biscuits aisle, and Barry didn’t say a word, greedy to hear about Caitlin from someone else. “Kind of like how multiple sclerosis researchers approach multiple sclerosis, you know? And she didn’t sound like a know-it-all at all, she was pretty respectful and appreciative of the ground that cancer research has already covered, but I’m pretty sure that she stepped on some egos that day. It was pretty amazing. Hm… I think I’ll get some oatmeal,” she said. “Are you getting oatmeal, too? No? I think Wally wants some, he’s been trying this whole healthy-eating thing lately, but obviously he’s not trying too hard…”

Barry made a noncommittal noise, zoning out of the scene. He could already imagine the Caitlin that Jesse had painted in her story: He could imagine the figure she cut, emerging from the sea of students in that classy scoop-neck blouse she wore on their non-date, her hair gathered in a neat ponytail, her face young and fresh. He could see her standing before the microphone, in front of a panel of distinguished scientists, curious and unafraid. She probably didn’t see it herself, but whenever she was explaining some scientific theory or process to him, a change would come over her: she would sit straighter and speak more clearly; her eyes would be alight with pleasure, her cheeks slightly flushed from excitement, her posture a picture of quiet confidence. It was no doubt one of the most attractive things about her.

To be sure, it wasn’t the sort of thing that people usually found attractive—it wasn’t even something that he would take notice of in the first place. Linda, for instance, was attractive in the more conventional sense: she dressed well and she dressed confidently; she was charming and she knew it; and, if she chose to, she could use her charm to her advantage. When he first met her, in fact, her presence was positively magnetic. He wasn’t the only guy who looked when she sauntered into the party, wearing a purple dress that dipped alluringly down her back; and when she looked right at him and smiled that mega-watt smile of hers, he felt like the luckiest guy in the room.

And then there was Patty. His blockmates had shipped them the moment they started talking, but even before that he’d found her attractive, too: She had that bubbly charm and approachability about her that neither Linda, with her breezy confidence, nor Caitlin, with her air of impenetrability, had. She was hardworking and always willing to lend a hand, really the quintessential girl-next-door. But sometimes, Barry had a feeling that she was nice because she wanted people to like her. He felt it in the way she kept insisting that he had great ideas, even when he knew they weren’t all that, or in the way she was reluctant to speak up in a group if it meant rocking the boat. It wasn’t bad, per se. He had the same tendency, as Iris would be quick to remind him, and it wasn’t the only thing they had in common—they liked the same science pages, shared the same (well, almost the same) memes. In fact, had he not met Caitlin, he felt like his friendship with Patty would have eventually progressed into a romantic relationship.

But the thing is—he dimly registered Wally, Jesse, and Eddie’s conversation about which brand of rolled oats was better—the thing is, he did meet Caitlin, and he’d never been so intrigued by anyone else in his life. She was smart and stubborn, and, unlike Patty, unafraid to show it; she was self-assured, but without the showiness of Linda’s confidence; and she had no need for the effusive charm that most girls have been taught in order to endear themselves to others. And yet, for all her indifference to people’s opinions, she could be caught off-guard by the simplest things, like his compliments or his staring, and this baffled him to no end.

He remembered the first time they’d met, and he remembered how completely disarmed at how little social tip-toeing she did around people. And, since they’d been in the damp darkness under the bleachers, he remembered wondering if her blunt manner matched her appearance: Would she look as disagreeable as she seemed? Would her mouth be twisted into a perpetual frown? Would her face be angled as sharp as her words? But he couldn’t have been farther from the truth. When, unable to rein in his curiosity, he finally held the flashlight to her face, what he saw was not a sour, disagreeable face: what he saw was a kind face, blinking uncertainly at him in the harsh light. A serious face—one not given to smiling, he could tell—but with soft brown eyes, delicate cheekbones, and a rosebud mouth… which he must have stared at for a good while, because she’d grown uncomfortable under his gaze, and the way her brow had creased in that brief moment of vulnerability intrigued him even more. How could she meet him head-on for nearly every line of banter, and then be disarmed by something as simple as his staring? What was it, exactly, that made her shift from clipped annoyance to speechless bafflement? What did she look like when she smiled?

That was how it all started, he supposed, looking back—it all started with curiosity. How could he have known, really, that something as innocent as curiosity, and the casual observation that it took to satisfy it, would morph into a keen attention on her, which would then transmogrify into a consuming desire to find out more about her, to be with her? How could he have known that curiosity would lead him deeper and deeper into the walled garden that was Caitlin Snow’s mind, until he realized that he never wanted to leave?

He had no way of knowing—at this point, Wally, Jesse, and Eddie had finally decided on a brand of oats, and Eddie said something about dragging Iris away from the sale, and Jesse said something like Let’s talk more later, it’s weird to have a heart-to-heart in the checkout line—really, he had no way of knowing that this was how things would play out, especially soon after things with Linda had ended. He couldn’t have known that he would have been so enchanted by Caitlin, by her smiles—whether it was a full smile, or an amused half-smile, or a suppressed smile, or, God forbid, that slow, sly smile she’d given him last night, when they were onstage and when they were dancing.

He still remembered the first time she’d really smiled at him, and how it felt like finally finding the key to a locked room. It was during their first lab class together, and he’d been making a string of jokes to gauge her sense of humor. He was fast getting discouraged because she either ignored him or gave him The Look—he didn’t know anyone else who managed to convey haughtiness, disapproval, and (he had to admit, at the risk of sounding masochistic) sexiness, with a single raised eyebrow—but, when he made the diatom joke, her expression finally changed: Her eyes lit up; the corners of her lips lifted, and she quickly bit down on her bottom lip to suppress the blooming smile, no doubt not wanting to give him the satisfaction of laughing at his joke.

It was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.

Every time she smiled at him like that, he felt the entire world—the lights, the voices, the landscape—go soft, and all he wanted to do, as the Beatles sang, was to hold her hand. All he wanted to do was hold her and tell her that she was the most beautiful thing in that moment; to tell her, above all, that he wanted the rest of his life to have moments of softness and beauty like that, with her…

He’d tell that to her straight, the next time he sees her. He’d apologize for what he’d said, and he’d tell her that he was as scared as she was, but he’d be willing to give it a try. He couldn’t live with himself if he gave up on the possibility of them so easily. He had to try. He had to hope that she wanted to give it a try, too.

Now, if only she would talk to him…

. . .

Jitters was, well, a rather jittery affair, at least for Barry.

Once they were seated, and once he’d convinced everyone else to pay for his drink because he was brokenhearted, he’d felt inexplicably nervous about telling his story. It was the first time, after all, that he’d recalled the whole thing with Caitlin from start to finish, instead of the piecemeal updates he’d been giving Iris and Wally; and he feared that once he finished the telling, they’d all laugh at him for being ridiculously dramatic, and he’d have no choice but to hide his unease and laugh along with them, too.

But he went on and told the story, anyway. He started slowly at first, faltering and frequently losing his train of thought; but, as he caught the rhythm of it, he told it faster and faster until, towards the end, he had to stop for a few moments to catch his breath.

“Wow,” Jesse ventured. “All that in two weeks?”

He tensed. “It sounds impossible, I know—”

“Well, Steve Trevor and Diana fell in love in three days,” Iris mused. “So it’s not impossible.”

“But that was a movie,” Wally said. “Nothing’s impossible in the movies.”

Eddie said, “I fell in love with Iris the moment I saw her”—a chorus of groans—“so, based on personal experience, I would declare Barry’s situation not impossible.”

Iris rolled her eyes, but not even that could mask the brilliance of her smile. “You sap,” she said.

“Geez, you two, get a room,” Wally said.

“Are you sure you want that?” Iris said sweetly. “Need I remind you that Eddie’s room is two doors away from yours?”

“Oh, gross!”

“Iris, TMI!” Barry said.

“Huh, not sure if I’m grossed out or turned on,” Jesse said.

“Jesse!” Wally said, horrified.

“Now that was definitely TMI,” Eddie said, and they all dissolved into fits of laughter.

When they finally recovered, Iris said, “But, seriously Bar, it’s not impossible, but it’s probably best not to rush it.”

“If she pushes you away, don’t give up,” Eddie added, “but don’t push back, either. Give her some space.”

“If it doesn’t work out, don’t take it personally,” Jesse said. “Knowing her, I’m pretty you’ll always be second to her work—if, you know, you’re even gonna make it to her priorities in the first place.”

“Priority,” Iris corrected. “If there are a lot of it then it won’t be the most important.”

“Right, just accept you’ll never be her priority.”

Barry blinked. “…Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“I’m just being honest here.”

“Honesty isn’t always the best policy, you know,” Wally said.

“Oh, really now,” Jesse said, turning to him. “Are you saying that you’ve been lying to me, Wallace Rudolph West?”

“No! Of course not!” Wally backtracked. “I’m just saying it’s, uh, you know, strategic sometimes, to lie—”

“Did you just call lying strategic?”

Wally looked at the rest of them helplessly. “A little help here?”

“Nah,” Iris said, grinning. “I think I’ll enjoy watching you dig your grave.”

“Or who knows? Maybe this is the first fight you’ll win,” Barry said.

“Shall I take bets?” Eddie said. “But someone’ll have to bet on Wally…”

“Ha ha, very funny guys…”

They all laughed, and the conversation, as conversations usually do, moved on to other topics and other lives. Barry tried to follow it, but after a few minutes, his attention wandered again. Talking about Caitlin gave him temporary reprieve from the pain of her silence, and he was grateful to have friends whom he didn’t mind rambling to; but, as he checked his phone for the nth time that day and found no messages or missed calls from her, he couldn’t help but feel the anxiety creeping back in again.

He sighed. He’d get through to her eventually, he thought bleakly, trying to stay positive. At the very least, she can’t possibly ignore him for four full hours of lab, right?

The next day, Barry woke to warm sunshine filtering in through the blinds, creating bands of light around his legs and torso; and, without quite being aware of it, he rolled out of bed with a slight smile. Human beings have a peculiar way of interpreting meteorological phenomena as somehow prophetic of the day ahead, and Barry, being an average human being—albeit slightly better-looking than the average male, or so he liked to think in good humor—saw the beautiful day as a good omen. Surely, the soft rays of sunlight proclaimed, today Caitlin would speak to him. Surely, today she would listen to his apology, smile, and tell him that she was willing to give them a chance, but that she wanted to take it slow. Surely, today she would, as part of ‘taking it slow,’ allow him to hold her hand, or brush his lips to her temple, or, if he were well and truly lucky, steal a kiss from her lips…

He was in a better mood than he’d been the day before, thanks to the fine sunny weather, and he went about preparing for their class together with a bounce in his step. He whistled in the shower, shampooing and scrubbing to the beat of JT’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling!” He styled his hair with gusto, using his trusty matte styling clay (low shine, firm hold). He chose his outfit with care, finally settling on a maroon polo shirt, and he left, with a crafty smirk, the collar slightly upturned. He rehearsed in feverish whispers—Wally was still asleep, after all—the script he’d composed to win her back, one that bore the obligatory stamp of approval of another member of the female species (Iris’s). He tried on various expressions designed to make Caitlin Snow melt—pun completely intended. (Paradoxically, Caitlin became icier on the outside the meltier she was inside, and it was tricky to tell when she was just using iciness to hide her meltiness and when she was just, well, being genuinely icy; but, over hours and hours of careful observation, Barry was finally able to discern that one shouldn’t be paying attention to the iciness of her words: rather one should look out for that one sign of meltiness that she couldn’t control, namely, the light, light blush that bloomed on her cheeks whenever she was flustered.) These expressions included, but were not limited to: the boyish grin, the sheepish grin, the wolfish grin; the puppy dog, the cocky smirk, the smolder.

Having thus prepared himself for battle—because that was what this was, a battle to sway Caitlin from the trappings of her own reasoning, a battle to convince her that his lowly self, with his meager virtues of devastating handsomeness and rather decent kisses, along with his wealth of bad science jokes, was worthy of her affection—he lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and nodded at his reflection.

“Looking good, buddy, looking good,” he said to himself. “You can do this. You got this. I mean, she kissed you back, didn’t she?”

. . .

The time was quarter to eight. The battlefield was the laboratory, with its wide, gray desks, its shelves of bottled chemicals, and its faint smell of formaldehyde. The hero, the warrior of love marching into battle, was himself, the dashing Bartholomew Henry Allen; and the heroine—he was about to say damsel in distress, if only out of habit of this particular narrative, but he quickly corrected it, already hearing said damsel’s vehement protests in his mind—was the fair Lady Caitlin Tannhauser Snow, icy, sharp-tongued, beautiful beyond belief, and in whom he had met his match.

Before he approached her, his eyes circled the perimeter. There were only three other people there, all engrossed in their phones. They would be no threat. Hartley Rathaway, the assigned and necessary villain for this narrative, was, by a stroke of good fortune, not around. The coast was clear.

He moved in, quietly, stealthily, so as not to startle her from her reading. He slipped into his seat beside her, dropping his bag with a whisper on the floor. She did not look up; did not, in fact, give any indication of hearing his approach. No matter; he expected this. The warrior of love was always prepared, and the warrior of love did not retreat at the first rebuff.

“Hi Caitlin,” he said, tone cheery but not chirpy, smile warm but not too wide. “So, uh… how was your Sunday?”

Not even a glance. Her posture remained the same, and her eyes firmly trained on her tablet. She was highlighting sections of a paragraph from their textbook for this class, and she gave no indication of hearing him. Her iciness may have frozen any other man, but certainly not a warrior of love, and certainly not this warrior of love.

“My Sunday was great,” he said, conversational. The trick was to bait her in with casualness. “I went grocery shopping with Iris and Wally and their significant others—oh, you might know Wally’s girlfriend, Jesse. She’s Dr. Wells’s daughter, but she doesn’t like telling people that. She mentioned that she saw you at a talk about the latest cancer research?”

Still nothing. She had moved on to the next page now, and, as far as he could tell, she was reading intently; she didn’t seem like she was rereading the same paragraph over and over again, in what would have been an anxious tell. He went on, deliberately provocative, “Apparently you told the scientists that they might never actually cure cancer. That was a pretty bold statement.”

Her finger paused mid-highlight, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Bingo, he crowed inwardly. There was nothing like a scientific debate to draw her out of her shell.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m studying.”

“I wouldn’t understand?” he said. “Try me, Caitlin.”

She lapsed back into silence, not rising to his taunt.

Damn, he grimaced. He decided to switch gears. “Uh, so, I kind of spent my Sunday morning practicing my singing,” he said. “Did you… um, get my voicemail?”

Silence. She moved on to the next page.

“Well, if you didn’t,” he went on, “I could give you a live encore. Privately, even. And free of charge.”

Not even a flicker in her eyes. She had erected a fortress around her, and her defenses were airtight.

“Or not,” he muttered. He knew she’d be stubborn, but he didn’t expect her to act like he didn’t even exist, and from the stony quality of her silence, he had a feeling that he was bound to give up before she gave in. Even warriors of love, he thought, would wither without, well, love…

Still, he mustered up the courage for one last blind stab at conversation. “So… care to let me know what you’re studying?” He made a show of digging his tablet from his bag. “I should probably try that, studying.”

No response.

He couldn’t take this. He finally turned away from her, feeling so dejected that he couldn’t even pretend to study. How the hell was he going to get through to her? How long did she plan on keeping this up?

More importantly, how long could he endure her silence, before he gave up for good?

. . .

The rest of their lab class passed by in the same fashion.

She didn’t utter a word to him during Dr. Wells’s brief lecture; she didn’t even glance at him from her peripheral vision—he knew because he was always glancing at her from his peripheral vision—and she seemed to go through great lengths to avoid touching him, such as removing her arm from the table when he’d placed his on it. It was devastating. He thought that it might get better once they began the experiment, since they had to talk, after all; but if anything, it only got worse. For the division of tasks, for instance, she only muttered a total of two short sentences before shutting him out again with her steely silence; and, instead of working beside him, as pairs usually did, she worked opposite him, across the absurdly wide lab table. At one point, he even asked her questions that he already knew the answers to, in an attempt to make conversation; but all she said was, “It’s in the book. Look it up.”

By the end of class, he was feeling extremely morose. Gone was the dogged determination to win her back; gone were his fantasies of being a warrior of love on the battlefield. He was just plain old Barry now. Or no, not even—Caitlin’s rejection made him feel diminished, somehow, like he was middle school Barry Allen all over again, with pimples and braces and a nerdy love for dinosaurs that made him the butt of jokes in his class. Even if he knew that her rejection wasn’t entirely personal—he surmised earlier that she might be avoiding him because she didn’t want to get hurt—it still felt personal as hell, as if she were saying that he wasn’t good enough for the likes of her.

Still, he couldn’t help watching her, from the corner of his eye, even if it hurt to look. She moved swiftly, slipping off her lab coat, sliding her notes and her tablet into her backpack, and lifting her backpack onto her shoulder; and then, still without looking at him, she headed towards the door. Her retreating figure was illuminated, mockingly, but the fierce glare of the sun, which had, only a few hours ago, promised to deliver her to him.

He was about to blame the weather for his woes when something caught his eye. He didn’t know if it was a trick of the light, or if he had become desperate enough to hallucinate things… But for a brief moment, he saw Caitlin pause at the doorway. He saw her waver—as if she’d wanted to look back at him before she left.

And then she was gone.

He sat frozen in his seat, unable to reconcile what that split-second of hesitation in her frame meant. Had she merely forgotten something, and so thought twice about going back into the room to get it? But their workspace was clean, and the only thing left on it was his bag… Had she perhaps wanted to clarify something with Dr. Wells? But Dr. Wells, he realized belatedly, had already gone ahead, just shortly before Caitlin herself had left, muttering about some important international call…

Could it really be, then, that she had hesitated because of him…?

The mere thought of it injected a wild, irrational hope in his veins. He startled from his stupor; he shoved everything else into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Confidence surged in him again, propelling his legs forward, flinging him out the door; he barreled past the flood of students rushing in between classes, mumbling vacant apologies as he went, keeping his eyes firmly trained on her auburn hair in the distance. It was now or never, he realized, heart pounding in his ears; that moment of hesitation he’d seen, that was the crack in her defenses that he’d been waiting for—

“Caitlin!” he called out, just before she turned to take the stairs, “Caitlin, wait up!”

He snaked around the gray lockers; he slid between a crush of people, dressed in identical green shirts for some convention; and, when he stepped onto the landing she was on, bright in a patch of sun, he lunged forward, reached out, and caught her wrist; he held onto it firmly even when she whirled around with enough force to loosen hair from her ponytail, giving him a withering glare that nearly made him recoil.

“Caitlin,” he said, striving to sound calm, even as his palms began to sweat. “We have to talk. Please.”

“Let me go,” she said coolly.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. He knew he had a script for this, but he couldn’t remember any of the careful turns of phrase, any of the well-worded apologies, any of the clever, self-deprecating jokes he’d rehearsed; instead what came out was a torrent of words that more closely mirrored the emotions roiling in his gut. “I’m sorry for the things I said last night, I didn’t mean it that way, what I really meant was that I—I want to take it slow with you, and the ki—ah, last night was unexpected, but it wasn’t unexpected in a bad way, you have to believe me, please—”

“Last night was nothing,” she gritted out, cutting him short. “Let. Me. Go.”

Her shoulders were rigid and she seemed poised to flee, but she herself made no move to extricate her wrist from his grasp.

He decided this was a good sign. He took a step closer, cautiously gauging her reaction; and, even as she stiffened, she remained rooted to the spot.

“Nothing,” he echoed.

“Nothing.” Her voice was a knife’s edge.

“Look at me,” he said, taking a gamble and leaning closer. “Look at me and say that one more time. Say that last night was really just nothing.”

She pressed her lips together and fixed her eyes on a spot behind him.

“Alright, if you want to ignore last night, fine,” he said softly. “But was watching the sunset at the Observatory nothing, too? Was that conversation about your Dad and my Mom nothing?”

“Don’t,” she said; and he heard, in the word’s long vowel, a slight wavering that wasn’t there before.

Encouraged, he continued, “How about all those long phone calls, those study sessions, the always-extending talking time limits, the cactus-human pact, the blood-buddy pact, the—”

“Don’t—”

“—the way you bite your lip and smile when I tell a joke,” he barreled on, “the way you fisted your hands in my shirt when you kissed me back, the way I can’t stop thinking about you, how you talk and how you laugh and how beautiful you are—”

“Barry, stop,” she said, her voice cracking. Her knuckles were white around the black strap of her bag. “Please.”

The final confession was still swelling on his tongue, but when she said his name, he stilled.

Don’t give up, Eddie had said, but don’t push back.

So he took a step back. He let go of her hand.

“If that was all nothing,” he said, his voice low, “then I’m willing to give that nothing a try.”

Silence. He could almost hear her thinking, could feel her withdrawing, putting up her walls again. Had he lost her? he thought dimly, watching her take a deep breath. Would she really keep on pushing him away, again and again and again…?

When she looked up at him, her face was blank, unreadable.

“Nothing is nothing, Barry,” she said. Her tone was neutral. “It’s not wise to pin your hopes on it.”

And then she turned around and walked away.

He stood there on that deserted landing, enveloped by the unforgiving noonday heat, and as he watched her go, he felt his world splinter at the seams.

Notes: So… I know you want them to get back together and make out already and all… but there's this pesky thing called character development to pan out, so there'll be one more chapter of them being apart. I'm switching back to Caitlin again, but let me know what you thought of Barry's.

Now to address the million-dollar question: "Yay a new update but when will you update again?!" A perfectly valid question, and I'm grateful for your enthusiasm, but I do get nervous when readers ask me this, because I don't know what to say. I don't want to get your hopes up with a date and then disappoint you when I can't deliver, so… here's an answer, sort of. Given that real life gets busy, and I write slow and revise obsessively, the next update may be in 2-3 months…? Forgive me, it's all the time I can spare for this story. I really try to write as soon as I have time (and inspiration *cough*). But rest assured that I don't plan on abandoning this, no matter how far apart the updates are. In the meantime, there are a number of great fics in this fandom. You can check out my Favorites for recs, or you can ask other SB fans for fic recs. SB shippers are pretty generous with that, and we don't bite, so don't be scared to ask.

A final note. I don't know if this is still relevant, but I guess better late than never. There was an initiative a few months back by a couple of SB fans on Twitter, who requested fans to tweet the show's writers for more SB, or even for more Caitlin/Barry/Cisco friendship scenes, or realistic character development scenes. I know the trailer's out, but… I guess it won't hurt to let them know what you think. If you plan to do it, please do it respectfully and without bashing anyone else.

Alright, that's it for my rambling. Thanks for reading until the end. As a sort of incentive for those who did, here's a sneak peek of the next chapter ;)

. . .

Monday, 7:07 PM

Hi Caitlin, it's me again. I don't want to sound like a stalker or anything by spamming you with voicemail, so… just tell me to stop if you really want me to stop, okay? I swear I will. But if you won't say anything, I'm just going to assume that your silence means, Yes, Barry, you can be as annoying as you possibly can. —Why, Caitlin, it's my pleasure to serve up my specialty. In fact, this is your first daily dose of annoyingness, served fresh from the kissable mouth of CCU Cutie Barry Alle—ah, crap, Wally just heard me saying that. Crap. Now he's laughing his butt off. Can you hear him? Here, I'll move closer. He laughs like a hyena. It's hideous. I don't think you've ever met him, but I hope you will sometime… Anywaaay, uh, I called to let you know that I'm sorry, and I'm not giving up. That's all for now. I'm going to dig myself a hole if I keep going while Wally's listening, so call me if you want to talk, I guess. Bye.

. . .

Reviews are cookies, and I love cookies, so you know what to do ;) Until next time,

eccacia

#snowbarry #snowbarry fic #barry allen #caitlin snow #barry x caitlin #wonderful you came by #iris west #wally west #jesse quick #eddie thawne

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annastrxng · 7 years

Text

Chapter #3 The Great Escape or the Great Defeat

Continued from here X , X

Tough Conversations and Unexpected Answers

Hewlett steadies their pace as they reach the first line of trees. While he knows that they must make haste, they can’t afford to crash through the woods like two startled deer. It would only bring undesired trouble down upon their heads. Erring on the side of vigilance, he steps into the woods with Anna still pressed close to his side. There was no way in Hell he was going to risk losing her. Particularly, not while escaping. To lose Anna again, would be to completely forfeit his heart and his humanity.

Anna is content to remain close to the Major’s side. Where Hewlett is, she knows she will find safety, friendship, and comfort. Especially, when he has gone through such extreme measures on her behalf. No one has ever done as much to keep her alive as Edmund has; not even some of her dearest friends.

“Tread lightly,” Edmund murmurs. His tone is barely audible to his own ears above the thundering of his heart. He hopes that his words are just loud enough to reach Anna’s. Root-beer and foam hues shift to observe if the light of recognition will appear within the brunette’s eyes in regard to his command.

Edmund’s hushed words startle her from her muddied thoughts. Anna’s maple-syrup pools flicker over to the Major, taking a fraction of a moment to saturate in his words and their meaning. Heeding his warning, Anna ventures guardedly forward. Her fingers instinctively grab at where her long skirts usually hung, to lift them out of the way, only to clasp thin air. A sigh of relief escapes her as she discovers how much easier breeches made traversing the rough terrain. Traveling through the thickets and dense brush usually took ages and a great deal of care. Especially, when worrying about ripping the delicate and expensive fabric of skirts. In a uniform, no such attentiveness was required.

The first few crackles of twigs beneath their feet and the flapping wings of fleeing birds drive the Major’s gaze back to the clearing. Anxiety fills his veins and pulses rhythmically inside of his chest. Realizing that no alert patrol is racing in their direction, he allows himself to relax a little.

When they get far enough away from the camp, Hewlett grabs Anna’s arm and encourages her to proceed as fast as she finds possible. He knows that she is probably not only injured but also dehydrated and starving. Those were additional problems he’d be sure to remedy as soon as he could. Right now, he had to make sure they evade capture.

The lingering shadows are slow in their retreat of the forest, hampering the swift progress of their plight. At every turn, there were awkwardly jutting out branches, thick thistles, sharp thorn bushes, and unevenly raised roots. Fortunately, Edmund and Anna happen to be agile enough to dodge a good number of the unexpected obstacles. Those that couldn’t be avoided were dealt with as appropriately and quietly as possible.

“This way….” He breathes. The tension parting from between his grinding teeth as he brings her to the precipice of a rather steep embankment.

Without hesitation, Anna follows his direction.

Turning to look over their shoulders, Edmund severely miscalculates the slant of the slope combined with the power of the dew-slicked grass. As a result, in the very next moment, both he and Anna were suffering the brunt of his rash choice, slipping haphazardly downwards. The harder they try to catch themselves, the more helplessly they plummet. Twigs and branches crack and pop in thunderous chorus under the sudden weights.

The brunette lets out a muffled cry as she lands beside the Major with a terrible bone-jarring thump. She didn’t immediately stir which, quite frankly, alarms Edmund.

“Anna? Are you alright?” The Major questions rather breathlessly. He rolls onto his side to inspect her. “Are you hurt?” His soft voice demands.

She shakily inhales before answering, “I’m… I’m fine. L…Let’s keep g...going.” It was a tiny white lie. One she hopes he cannot see through. Anna couldn’t deny that it was difficult rising back onto her feet from her crumpled position on the ground. However, her stubborn pride drives her to do it without help.

Anna’s bruised middle was giving her more trouble than Edmund approves of. He is able to tell by the way she hesitantly picks herself up and starts to move about, unintentionally nursing her sides with her arms. To his surprise, not a word of complaint is uttered by her.

Brushing the dirt from their uniforms, they return to the escape. This time, Edmund keeps their path on the lower and more even ground in an effort to avoid any further mishaps like the one they just endured.

The sun gradually appears from behind splashes of dark-iron grey clouds which, are highlighted with the softest pastels of rosy pink and pale yellow. The increase in light is both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing in that there would be no more need to second guess footing or struggling against unseen obstacles. Adversely, it is a curse, for their movements will be far easier to spot because of the scarlet shade of their uniforms. The vibrant red practically screams ‘notice me’ against the dull browns of branches and the deep greens of the pines and wild grass.

“Anna?” Major Hewlett’s hushed voice finally breaks the silence that had somehow settled between them.

Jilting slightly, the brunette’s gaze immediately locks upon him. “Yes, Edmund?” She pauses, still lifting a branch from between their faces. The brunette does her best to muster up a patient smile for him while she awaits his next words.

“Is this...what it is like to be a…a rebel spy? Skulking about in the woods at all hours?” He bravely and rather curiously questions. Edmund genuinely wishes to understand what she has put herself through for her beliefs. Beliefs he knows Anna was and is still prepared to die for. Why? He could not fathom.

His inquiry was met with hesitation as Anna reflects upon her past missions for Washington. She lets the branch drift through her fingers while she formulates a response. There was something about the rough bark brushing against her callous fingertips that dredged up even the most remote task she had undertaken for the Cause. Was it safe to speak so openly about her sedition and treason? The brunette figures that she can confide in Edmund and only in him. Anna knows she owes him at least that much for saving her life. However, she would never give up the names of her co-conspirators.

The silence caused the Major to assume that she did not desire to answer. He prepares to let the subject drop when Anna’s voice smoothly enters the air.

“Aye. Sometimes it was a good deal like this and... others,” she pauses. “Others, it was going into social situations where we could obtain the information we were seeking.” The words fall from her lips with a casual and almost distant flare. Tilting her head slightly to the side she continues, “I must confess, there was one time, I attended a party at Major John Andre’s, dressed as an actress and a woman of questionable repute.” A hint of soft laughter plays over her lips at her confession. Even more-so at the awkwardness of recollecting what it was like to seduce a rather unattractive high-ranking Regular. Regrettably, spying was far from a glamorous and virtuous activity. It was a disgraceful and often shameful undertaking.

Unfortunately, Edmund had chosen the wrong moment to take a drink from the flask, that every so often switched hands between them, and he choked. “You… you did what?” He sputters, his voice gruff and gravely.

Anna flashes a worried expression in his direction as Hewlett chokes. Concernedly the brunette moves closer to him. “It be true. I dressed as an actress and a woman of ill-repute to get into Andre’s party. If you so desire, you may ask Abraham Woodhull. He was there too.”

The Major has a nearly impossible time envisioning his sweet Anna wearing the clothes of a woman who, men would feel free to ogle and touch in an undignified and indecorous manner. His cheeks burn with a wholly unnatural blush that comes from a cross of anger, amusement, and disbelief. If Edmund had seen her in that situation, he was fairly certain he would have gotten furious with his fellow officers for their indecent behavior. He probably would have stepped in at the first sign of impropriety and escorted Anna home.

There was no need for him to gather verbal affirmation from Abraham as proof that Anna was speaking true. Woodhull had done enough to sabotage his relationship with Ms. Strong. He would not, under any circumstances, allow the man to get between them a second time. Besides, Anna was the more honest of the two rebel spies.

Dismissing the thoughts, Hewlett lowly grumbles, “I’m afraid you were able to accomplish what I could not. The man never invited me to any of his parties and I worked for the same side.”

Letting out a sigh, Anna replies. “I assure you, Edmund, his parties were not worth attending. They were affairs for uncouth and obnoxious reg- ...soldiers attempting to deflower actresses.” She almost slips and says, ‘Regulars’ but at the last-minute, given her present company and uniform, she politely changes it to ‘soldiers’. The last thing she desires to do is antagonize or insult the Major.

Hewlett catches her unintentional slip and grimaces. He gently grinds his teeth, despising the fact that she has such a low opinion of his chosen side. Although if he were being honest, there were individuals like Simcoe who tarnished whatever uniform they donned by terrorizing the innocent civilians. He did not fault her for being so disenchanted with the King’s men considering all she had endured at their hands.

It was also no secret that Hewlett did not feel favorably or very hospitable towards Anna’s side; even if he is partial to her company. He too had been forced to endure harsh treatment. However, his had come at the hands of the Rebels. He nods, silently agreeing with her. From the sounds of things, he would have felt entirely out-of-place among the other party attendees.

“There were a few times, where we just barely escaped danger,” Anna adds, before he could so much as speak a word or change the subject. “Thanksgiving, after I left you….” she starts, before letting her voice drift off.

“After you left me in York City what happened?” Edmund quizzes, stepping protectively over to her. It sounds rather ominous and he can feel the apprehension swirling in the pit of his stomach as if, it were a powerful hurricane about to make landfall.

The brunette swallows sharply. Her eyes flash with the light of remembrance. “I…I had a rather unfortunate run-in with Robert Rogers. At gunpoint, I was forced to sit on his lap and share a less than amicable dinner with him,” she confesses with a shudder. Anna reluctantly continues,“moments after Rogers left, Captain Simcoe arrived.”

Hewlett’s eyes widen in astonishment. He scarcely believes his ears as she relates the events of the past Thanksgiving to him. It appears that the Major did not know Anna nearly as well as he believed he had. In one night, Anna’s festivities were far more exhilarating than his entire experience in the war had been. That is, until now.

His own Thanksgiving had been spent mourning the loss of her company, dipping into mugs of horrible tasting ale in an effort to forget all she had meant to him. Even as he attempted to drown his sorrow, memories of her had remained engraved upon every waking thought and dream. She somehow managed to possess him.

Hearing her words, Edmund wonders if Anna had been placed in grave peril because of him. If only he had been opened to hear what she was willing to tell him at that York City tavern instead of out-rightly dismissing her, maybe she would have been spared the terrible experience. Perhaps, they wouldn’t have both become fugitives of the King’s justice.

He visibly tenses when the brunette mentions that she had run into Simcoe and Rogers on the same day. “I expect you were quite resourceful. How did you manage to escape the famed Rogers and Captain Simcoe?” Edmund queries, before he can stop himself. Anna Strong was a woman of great intrigue and mystery. It only made him feel all the more drawn to her.

“Rogers didn’t want me. I suppose that was my saving grace. He was bound and determined to gather information on some woman that had captured Major Andre’s attention. Information that my one friend readily supplied him with to avoid further hostilities. As for escaping Captain Simcoe, I had just exited the same friend’s house when the Rangers arrived. He was about one hundred yards away from me at one point. Thankfully, I was with others who were well armed and well versed in slipping into the night unnoticed. Had it not been for them, I might have ended up coming face-to-face with him.” Anna returns rather bashfully. Until she had spoken of the incident aloud, the brunette hadn’t realized just how blessed she was that Caleb had been there to organize the escape.

The brunette recounts her memories in such a fashion that Edmund cannot help but, be impressed and troubled at the same time. What she does and had done, took courage, strength, and a steely resolve. All of these traits continually exhibited in Anna, are paramount pillars in the making of an incredibly brilliant asset and spy. No one would suspect her of being involved with the meddlesome rebels. Therefore, her activities continued to go virtually undetected. That is, until she had gotten caught a few days ago.

Hewlett has seen first hand that Ms. Strong is exceedingly clever when it comes to the art of the clandestine and in the setting of well-made traps. She also has a matchless affinity for reading people and thinking fast on her feet which, marries well to her impulsive nature. That is, most of the time.

Edmund cannot help but think that Anna is one of the wisest and most cunning of women he has ever met. There is, in his opinion, a good chance that she alone could outsmart the entirety of England’s forces. That is, if she had half a mind to. Not even Rogers and Captain Simcoe who, both have considerable experience in hunting down treasonous individuals, so much as gave Anna consideration when investigating potential members of the rebel-run spy-ring. A ring that is still operating right under their noses. He has no doubt that their success is due to the clever casting of roles like Anna’s within the group.

While it shames Edmund that she had duped him as well, he was thankful that he had once thought her to be a loyalist. It is what allowed him to fall for her in the first place. He wouldn’t exchange that experience for anything; not even for half of the King’s gold.

“It is fortunate for you, that neither Rogers or Simcoe have discovered your true leanings,” Hewlett murmurs. Internally, he thanks his lucky stars that he was able to rescue her from the fate captured spies were destined to suffer. Swallowing thickly Hewlett continues, “Since we last parted company, I’ve heard talk that Simcoe...” the name is spat with venom, “has lost even further control of his anger. Some say, that Colonel Cook had to admonish him for burning Setauket farms, destroying much-needed army supplies, and going on a ruthless killing streak.”

This was the first Anna was hearing of Simcoe’s recent belligerent behavior. It is not the kind of news she relishes. Her stance tenses and chills crawl down her spine at Hewlett’s words. While it was not completely out of Simcoe’s character to be violent, Anna couldn’t remember seeing him mad enough to openly commit arson and murder. He usually did it with relatively few witnesses, if any, around. Surely, something had set the Captain off in order for him to make his anger well-known. Silently she prays that this was not an unintentional repercussion of her last slight against him.

The brunette’s mind immediately turns to her former home and a sense of unsettling yearning wells up within her. If she was being entirely honest, Anna really wanted to return to the comforts of her home. However, it is nothing more than a fanciful dream. The Setauket of her youth had been forever morphed into an unrecognizable town. A town, where tyranny, division, and bloodshed marred the once joyous and quiet land.

The rebel spy doesn’t want to know the specifics of what Simcoe has done. For if she was given any explicit details about the occurrences, she’d abandon her escape in order to give the Queen’s Ranger a piece of her mind or a bullet to the head.

Begrudgingly, Anna lets the tattered fragments of the world she longs to cling to, slip away as if, it was nothing more than the morning fog dissolving into nothingness. In the mists retreat, a new line of inquiries became present. One she has scarcely been brave enough to approach before. Perhaps, now would be a good time to make them.

“Major? If I may, do you recall when you returned to the tavern to find Simcoe comforting me? The night you returned from the Rebel camp?” She ponders sheepishly.

“Ah…. yes. Of course, I remember. What of it?” Edmund inquires, in return. His gaze is torn between her and the uncharted path before them.

“Well,” Anna starts, her fingers playing nervously with the buttons on the uniform jacket. “There is something I have been meaning to ask. Did you and Simcoe meet in the rebel camp? Or…..” Her voice trails off as she peers up at him. The brunette wasn’t entirely certain. She suspected that there had been a double meaning locked somewhere within the conversation that had transpired between the two men. As often as Anna puzzles over the strange exchange, she could not figure out why both Hewlett and Simcoe had brought several armed men along for a simple conversation with her. After all, the Tavern had been closed for the evening. Had they been expecting a sudden escalation of violence or something?

Hewlett’s progress comes to an abrupt halt, his face practically draining of color at her seemingly innocent probing. He draws up to his full height and stiffly answers. “Yes. Simcoe came to me in the rebel camp. He intended to vanquish me and I stabbed him in self-defense. Why is it that you ask, Anna?” He can’t help but wonder if imparting the knowledge of the events changes the way she views him. His soft and pleading eyes search her desperately for any indication that his actions had come across as unnecessarily savage.

Something about the look Edmund gave her along with his admission made her heart ache as if, it had suddenly become more bruised than her sides. The brunette purses her lips for a moment, fighting back a sob. The delicate features of her face turn a ghastly shade of fresh snow-white. She suddenly feels nauseous from how violently her stomach churns. “Edmund? I….”

“Yes?” He implores, far too curious for his own good. He can’t imagine what has her so troubled. His brows slowly furrow together. A trillion thoughts race through his mind only to be silenced as she starts to speak again.

“I… I must confess, I went to Captain Simcoe in an effort to secure your safe release. I thought him a man of honor, but I was wrong….” She all but sobs. “Will you forgive me for being so naive and for almost getting you killed?” Anna beseeches.

His eyes narrow in confusion and then widen in surprise, in the span of one blink. This new development completely stuns Edmund. He wasn’t even sure what to say in response. “W... wait? You sought out Simcoe to obtain my freedom?” He attempts to ascertain as if, she had by chance, misspoken.

“Aye,” Anna returns, her tone radiating with embarrassment. “I…” A visible shudder shoots like static electricity down her spine. She should have known the Queen’s Ranger wasn’t going to help his romantic rival. Yet, there had been nowhere else for her to turn. “I...I had no other choice. Captain Wakefield refused to venture across the Sound to retrieve you, n...no matter how fervently I begged and entreated.” She sputters in explanation. Her gaze lowers and abruptly shifts away from him in an effort to conceal the twinkling orbs of silver lining her lower lashes.

Hewlett cannot comprehend what compelled Anna to take such a risk with her life and well-being. He knows how deeply she despises Simcoe and his actions by how openly Anna helps to plot his demise. Another more disturbing thought sweeps into his mind. It brings a stormy change over his countenance. “What did he make you promise in exchange for my rescue?” Edmund eagerly questions, his voice giving off a low resounding growl. His jaw shifts sharply from side to side in an effort to dispel the anger boiling through his veins. He knows how much the Captain loathes him. Hewlett is also very aware of how relentlessly Simcoe pursues Anna. He swallows sharply, fearing the worst.

The Major’s fingers ball into fists at his side. If Simcoe were standing right in front of him, Hewlett would have been tempted to wipe him off the very face of the Earth. He should have killed the man when he had the chance. His failure to do so may have been and may still be a very costly error. One he silently vows to never repeat.

Anna can almost feel his disappointment before she even delivers an answer to his prompting. She swallows thickly before saying, “o….only… a... a kiss.” However, she does not allow her eyes to meet his. Instead, they focus on some point in the far off distance. The brunette does not wish to see his potentially wounded reaction for fear that it might permanently ingrain itself into her memory.

Edmund can feel the very breath being snatched from his lungs at her reply. The despicable Captain had used his absence to harass the poor tavern-maid with his unwanted affections. This offense was absolutely unforgivable and John Graves Simcoe would be made to pay for it. He lets out a slow and shaky exhale.

Still, the look of extreme shame did not suit Anna’s face and he quickly places a hand upon her shoulder. The other hand gingerly directs her gaze back to him. “I am thankful that you went to such great lengths to see me returned. I could never and would never hold the fact that he demanded a kiss from you, against you. What you did was very sweet and I appreciate it, Anna. However, it is my sincerest wish that you do not endanger yourself in that way again.” Edmund calmly manages to say.

Tear-filled maple-syrup pools regard Edmund as he speaks. It was funny how with such a gentle touch he could focus her attention and drown out the humiliation she felt. Truly, Hewlett was a one of a kind. A man very deserving of every ounce of love she could ever possibly give.

Anna quietly responds, “I would gladly do whatever it takes to see a good and decent man, like you, remains unharmed.” It is an honest answer for she abhors seeing innocent people suffer.

This is part of the reason that Edmund had fallen so helplessly in love with her. Ms. Strong did what she felt was right no matter its potential cost to her. However, he refuses to completely condone her reckless senses of cunning and bravery. For what if, those attributes he so avidly admires, would lead to her destruction?

Edmund patiently but sternly scolds her. “Anna, I admire your sense of dedication, virtue, and moral, but I can not bear to think of you in harm’s way. Especially, not on my behalf. So please, I beg of you, do not go inviting trouble in the future. Okay?” He desires no answer less than a ‘yes’ from her; even if he knows it will most likely be another lie. His root-beer and foam shaded hues remain transfixed upon her.

Begrudgingly, Anna finds herself agreeing with him. How could she tell her rescuer that she intended to stay the course and continue to act impulsively on the behalves of others? She couldn’t. Especially, while peering into his warm and forgiving eyes. “If that be your request, then I shall strive to do so,” she murmurs.

Finding her answer satisfactory, he releases Anna and encourages her to keep walking. While they remain in motion, the threat of being caught is minimized. Time and distance would certainly work to their advantage. At least, for now.

However, Edmund couldn’t dismiss a nagging feeling that danger was sneaking up on them the way a fox does its prey.

Stay Tuned for Chapter 4 & possibly 5. Both of which, are already drafted ;D - there is an abundance of fluff and danger to come. XDDD

#annlett #my fanfiction #annastrxng #anna strong #Major Hewlett #There is sooo much excitement/ danger/ and fluff to come XDD #Finally after three weeks of agonizing XDD #sorry for the delay #the great escape or the great defeat #ch3

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