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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

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Void of Extinction by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 8/9

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche @jonesfandomfanatic

Chapter 8: Confrontation

“Just give it to me straight, Ruby, don’t go making up tales now.” The dark-haired woman chuckled defiantly from her spot on the bed in the corner of the room, the plastic walls separating her from the rest of the occupants in the room.

“It’s not good, Mum.” Ruby said softly. “It started spreading the moment it got in your blood stream. The doctors said it matches the data they have on file for J2.”

“So that’s it then.” The woman nodded resolutely before turning her attention to Emma. “Did the message make it to Merlin?”

Emma bit her lip, and her eyes met his for a moment before turning back to Mary Margaret. “Not all of it.”

“Enough?”

Emma shook her head. “I think so, I don’t know.”

“Where’s Will?”

Killian took Emma’s hand when he heard her loud exhale, knowing that the tears would be coming shortly after. “He’s next door. He uh…” She sniffled and the woman sat up in her bed.

“J2.” Ruby responded softly.

“Dammit.” The demure woman cursed. Killian sighed and pulled Emma against his chest. “So, what’s next?”

“Mum, you need to rest.” Ruby demanded.

“Oh, don’t give me that crap, Red. You know I don’t rest.”

“I contacted David.” Killian said suddenly, causing all the eyes in the room to turn toward him.

“What?” Emma asked horrified. “Why would you do that?”

Killian gestured toward the woman in the bed. “It’s his wife, he deserves to know.”

“Killian.” Mary Margaret spoke softly. “Did he…did he say anything?”

“He’s confused, doesn’t understand why you were there. I didn’t tell him much, just not to trust Regina, things aren’t what they seem, J2.” He added quietly at the end.

“He must be so angry.”

“He’s a good cop, if I know David, he’ll do some digging, figure things out.”

“You could have put him in danger.” Ruby exclaimed.

“Compared to what? We aren’t exactly on vacation here, love! We need help on the outside, Dave’s a good man.”

“He’s right. My husband followed the Mayor’s lead because he believed in what she was doing, but things have changed, she’s not who he thought she was, he’ll follow the leads, do what he thinks is right.”

In his pocket, his communicator beeped. Killian held up his hand and pulled it from his jacket. “We need to talk.” David’s voice boomed in his ear. “Now.”

“Speak of the devil, we were just talking about you.” He said light heartedly, hoping to set the man at ease.

“You aren’t listening to me. We need to meet. I want to see my wife; I have information you all need to see.”

“I can come to you…”

“No, no deals. I come to you.” He demanded and Killian sent a worrying glance in the woman’s direction as she stared at him in the bed.

Covering the device with his hand he talked softly. “He wants to come here; says he has information we need to hear.”

“No way, it’s a trap, he’s not just going to walk in here, no questions asked.”

“He’s worried about his wife.” Killian said honestly in response to Ruby.

“Go get him, follow our protocols.” Mary Margaret demanded of the dark-haired woman who opened her mouth to protest and then stormed out of the room.

“We’re sending one of ours to the wall. Meet her there and follow her rules or else you don’t come, Mate.”

“Fine.” He paused. “Can you tell my wife…” Killian glanced at the woman on the bed, her face pale. “Tell her that I love her.”

“Aye, Mate.” The line went dead. “He’ll meet her at the wall.”

“Thank you.” She said with a nod.

“He said to tell you that he loves you.” The woman smiled sadly as Killian took his leave from the room, Emma following him closely behind. The moment she stepped from the room; she entered the one directly beside it that held the critically ill, Will Scarlet. She nodded to him, and he watched as she closed the door behind her. He wasn’t sure how they were going to get through all of this, he only hoped that whatever David needed to speak to them about didn’t bring about more sorrow and despair.

~*~

“There’s my girl.” Will said weakly when she entered the room.

“Hey.” Emma breathed nervously. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got stabbed and injected with a plague there’s no cure for.”

Emma frowned in anger. “That’s not funny.”

He coughed. “I ‘spose not, but what else you gonna do?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me, don’t even try to deny it.”

“What are we going to do?” She cried.

“Don’t cry Emmie.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“Oi, I’m too cranky to die, I’m gonna be around long enough to embarrass Henry when he dates his first lass, or watch you marry that gent out there that can’t keep his bloody hands off ya.” Emma couldn’t stop her laughter no matter how much she just wanted to cry. “So, what’s the plan?” He asked, as she sat down in the chair across the room.

“Ruby left to bring David here, he says he has something we need to see; I don’t know. I can’t help but feel like it’s a trap, but Killian trusts him.”

“Not like we have any other brilliant plans, eh. I guess we work with what we got.” He coughed again, blood forming at the ends of his mouth as he wiped it away with his hand. “Hey, I’m fine. Really.” He tried to reassure her.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.” She teased as the door beside her opened and Killian stepped into the room, announcing David’s arrival.

“Good, give ‘er someone else to harass.” Will joked as she stood from her seat.

“I’ll be back soon.” She promised, trying to smile as she left the room. When the door shut, Killian stopped her by placing a hand on her forearm.

“Are you alright love?”

“Of course, I’m not. My best friend is dying, I have no idea if the message I sent reached Merlin, if all of this has been for nothing, and I am honestly running out of reasons to have even a sliver of hope.” His finger brushed against her forehead, the tickle of her hair tingling against her skin.

“If the message didn’t go through, we’ll find another way,” He laced her fingers with hers, “together. But you don’t give up, not my Emma.”

A warm feeling filled her heart as his blue eyes stared back at her. She wanted to curl into his arms and believe that there was still a chance for them to win, but knowing Will was laying behind the door, dying a slow painful death, overtook any feelings of hope that tried to grow roots within her.

Killian wrapped her in his arms, and Emma melted against him, enjoying the moment of stillness and peace they had been afforded. On the other end of the hall, she heard a commotion and the sea of people parted as Ruby waked through the center. Emma withdrew from Killian and motioned to the end of the hall.

David strode toward them, a look of apprehension in his eyes as he settled them on Killian. “Where’s my wife?” He demanded as he reached them.

Killian and Emma exchanged a glance. “We need to talk, Mate.”

“I’ll talk after you take me to my wife.”

“Aye, this way.” He turned and opened the door, leading David into the room that housed Mary Margaret.

Emma stood at the back of the room as the man hesitantly approached his wife, a look of fear in his eyes. “Why would you do this?” His voice was shaking as he spoke.

“David…” She paused, as if she were rethinking her response. “I did what I thought was right.”

He hung his head. “Perhaps you were right.” He turned and looked at Killian. “I had questions.” Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a folder. “Things weren’t making sense. So, I did some digging.”

“Gold?”

“I followed the money. It all leads back to him, all the transactions into the Mayor’s office, research money for the Gold Collective, military operations. Money that shouldn’t be there, man.”

Killian glanced at Emma. “It’s all Hive.”

“That’s not all I found.” He almost whispered. “I saw the message to Merlin.” He turned and looked at Emma. “Of course, I had to do a search on Emma Swan. Grew up outside the walls of Storybrooke, came to town at age 14, lived on the streets for a few years until you found your payday in Neal Cassidy.”

Emma grunted. “Trust me, I didn’t want his money.”

“Did he know about your run in with J2?” Everyone turned and looked at her.

“No. His father was so interested in testing people, his search for answers seemed to have nothing to do with wanting to help people. I couldn’t trust anyone.”

“When did you know you were sick?” David asked.

“I got sick when I was 16, I had a place on the docks where others gathered at night to stay warm. A few of them got sick that winter, they didn’t last more than a few days before they were pulled from the streets, their bodies drained of life. When the fever came, I resigned myself to death. I got picked up in a sweep, they took me to a hospital for treatment. But after a few days I got better. The doctors started asking questions, I got nervous, so I ran.”

“Your blood work is in the system.” David said, opening the folder in his hands. “It was housed in one of Regina’s databases, looks like Gold flagged the information about 4 months ago.”

“That was right after I took off.”

“That’s not all they found. See I thought finding someone who had survived J2, a plague with zero cure, was a miracle, but imagine my surprise when I found you aren’t the only one.”

Emma shook her head. “There’s someone else who survived?”

David looked at Killian. “Did you know?”

“Know what, Mate?”

David handed him the folder and Killian stared at the pages in front of him. He flipped the page in his hand, his eyes wide. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“Medical records.” David answered. “Killian’s medical records, to be more specific. His bloodwork shows he had J2.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, the only time I’ve ever even been sick was when I was young. That was years before the plague.”

David turned back toward his wife, “Don’t you get it. They both carry the gene that can fight off J2.”

“What good does that do?” Killian asked.

“I don’t know, but we need to find out. Maybe they can use your blood somehow to save my wife, to save everyone.” He turned back to her, a look of desperation on his face. “Maybe if we take your blood and Killian’s blood, maybe together, together it means something.”

She paused, staring at the man in front of her and then looking at Killian. “Henry.” She said suddenly.

“He’s sleeping, love.” Killian responded.

“No, Henry is the key.” She rushed to the door and then turned back to look at Killian. “I know I said we needed to talk, and this is really not the way I wanted to do this, but…” He narrowed his eyes. “Henry isn’t Neal’s. He’s yours.” She blurted out.

“What?”

“I…I didn’t know, not until he was born. I thought he was Neal’s. We had been apart for a month when I found out, but I was so stressed out, I wasn’t thinking. When he came early, I thought it was because of the stress, but then I held him, and he opened those beautiful blue eyes, and I knew, I knew he was yours.”

“Henry’s my son?” His voice cracked and tears sprung in her eyes, she stepped back toward him and pressed her hand to his cheek.

“Henry has your blood and mine. What if…” His eyes sparkled as he stared at her. “What if he has been the answer this whole time?”

Suddenly Killian’s entire face crumbled in anger, he reached forward and grabbed Emma, pulling her toward him as she tried to understand what was happening. Then she heard a voice that made her entire body tense.

“Hello, dearie.”

~*~

Killian didn’t have a moment to deconstruct the information he had learned from Emma before Gold and his son appeared in the open door. Killian had only seconds to react, pulling Emma toward him, protecting her from the man who had caused all of her fear.

“And where is that grandson of mine?”

“You stay the hell away from him.” Emma yelled and Neal stepped toward her.

“You took him away from me.” He reached out, touching her hair as she slapped his hand away from her face. Before he could react, Neal’s fist had drawn back and made contact with Emma’s cheek. Killian stepped forward, grabbing Neal by the collar, and yanking him toward him. The man cowered for a moment before Killian heard the click of a gun and Emma’s shrill. Killian could see Gold standing next to Emma, a gun to her head. He released Neal reluctantly, holding his hands in front of him.

“Just saying, a gentleman never strikes a lady, perhaps you should have raised him with better manners.” He said with a shrug, looking over at Neal with disdain.

“Children have always been such a disappointment.” The man growled and Neal stumbled backward to step away from the group. “So, let’s change that today. Where’s the boy?” Killian glared at the man, no one in the room saying a word. “Regina.” He called out and the woman appeared in the doorway. “Bring me the brat.”

Emma shrilled as the woman left the room, setting off to search for their son.

Their son.

His son.

He had a son with Emma. He couldn’t think about that right now, right now they just needed to survive.

He caught David’s eye as the man stood on the other side of the room. Nodding his head, he stepped closer to the door as David reached behind himself, pulling the gun he always kept at his back. Things moved suddenly the moment the gun came into view. Gold twisted quickly and Emma used her shoulder to shove the older man to the ground at the exact moment that Killian rushed Neal.

The two men crashed through the open-door frame into the hallway. Killian used the man’s surprise to his advantage, punching him square in the nose before he could get his bearings.

“Killian…” He looked up to see Ruby at the other end of the hall.

“Save Henry.” He screamed, continuing his assault against the man on the ground in front of him. Ruby ran down the hall toward the rooms where Henry was sleeping. Neal watched as she ran, a sudden kick to the side causing him to lose his balance as Neal scrambled away from him.

Killian took one look into the room, watching Emma rushing at Gold, as David was shoved into the wall. He had to trust that they would be ok, he needed to get to Henry before Neal. Standing up he gave chase after the man as he ran in the direction that Ruby had disappeared.

When he reached Henry’s room, the door was open. Ducking into the room, he rushed to the bed to find it empty. Turning around he saw Ruby laying on the ground behind the door. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he lifted her off the ground as her eyes flew open. “Henry.” She exhaled.

“Where’s Henry?”

“Neal…he took him.” Killian leaned her against the wall. “Go, I’m fine. I’m right behind you.”

Killian rushed back into the hall, looking up and down to determine which way Neal would have gone. He heard a clattering at one end of the hall and ran quickly after it. He pushed through the door of the stairwell and began climbing, praying with each step that he would find his son at the top.

When he breached the door, the light flooded his eyes as he rushed into the room, the water swirling through the boat dock. He spotted movement near the boat and yelled.

“Neal.”

The man stilled his movement, spinning around with the boy in his arms.

~*~

The cane came crashing down against her arm and Emma grabbed ahold of the wooden stick, yanking it forward as the man tumbled to the ground beside her. Emma took advantage of his imbalance and climbed onto his chest, holding the wooden cane against his neck, pressing it harder as the man struggled to breathe.

“Emma.” David sent her a warning from his spot on the floor on the other side of the room as he recovered from his previous entanglement with Gold.

“He can’t live.” She cried. “He’s too dangerous.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder. “That’s not for us to decide.”

Emma slowed her breathing, trying to rationalize the need to remove Gold from the playing field with her need to make him pay for everything he had caused.

“He’s not worth it, Emma.” David warned softly beside her.

“He’s dangerous.” She cried, watching as the man’s eyes widened in fear below her.

“Your son needs you.” Emma flinched, relaxing her grip on the cane as the man slowly lost consciousness. She threw the cane to the ground, falling back against the wall beside her.

“Go.” She said turning toward him. “Go find Killian and Henry.”

The man nodded, turned toward his wife, and then left the room.

“All of this, because of one man.” Mary Margaret said from her bed. “Because of greed.” She said angrily.

“I’m so sorry.” Emma said as the tears fell from her face. “You don’t deserve to die.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I have faith and so should you.”

“How can you be so positive at a time like this.” She said with a laugh, wiping her face with her hands.

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t feel like giving up just yet.”

Emma smiled, she appreciated the optimism of the woman, even if she didn’t share it. Suddenly the wind was knocked out of her, a blinding pain hitting her like a lightning bolt against her back. Before she could react she was lying face down on the cold cement, a foot pressing against her head.

“Neal said you were smart, but I think he was just blinded by a pretty face. That boy of mine is not a good judge of character.”

Emma gulped for air, choking in muffled gasps. She swung her arms, trying to grasp the man behind her, if she could just get ahold of a leg of his pants, or even a shoe. Her vision was blurring, sparkles of light flashing behind her eyes as she began to lose her fight to breathe. Her hand dropped to the ground beside her, a crashing sound vibrating in her ears.

Suddenly her airway opened, she choked, sucking in breath as her lungs filled with air. Beside her a wooden cane with a brass top fell to the ground. Emma rolled onto her back, looking up at the silhouette above her, she blinked her eyes, trying to focus as a hand was extended to her.

“I’m up here doing all this work while you take a nap, eh?”

Emma grabbed Will’s hand and pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re supposed to be resting.” She said with a laugh.

“And miss all the bloody fun?” Will teased before coughing. “Now go.” He gestured to the open door.

“I can’t leave him.”

“I think Mum and I can keep an eye on him while you save the world this time.”

“We’re going to fix this.” Emma said, looking between Mary Margaret and Will.

“Go Emma, find your boy.” The woman demanded and Emma ran out the door.

~*~

Killian stared nervously at Neal as he dangled Henry over the water. “Put the kid down, Mate. He’s innocent. You want to hurt someone, come at me.”

“You know I tried to do this the easy way, all you had to do was go on with your new life. But you just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Henry’s face was red, the loud cries echoing in the hollow corners of the room. “Come on Neal.”

“Don’t!” He shouted. “You took everything away from me. Emma. My kid…”

“He was never yours to begin with.” Killian growled, which caused the man to twitch angrily, and Killian immediately regretted taunting him. “Please.” His voice cracked. “Just don’t hurt him.” He begged.

There was a loud crash behind him, causing Neal to step backwards closer to the water. Killian kept his eyes on the small bundle in the man’s arms, desperate to reach the child and pull him to safety. Suddenly Regina crashed through the crates behind him, landing on her back on the ground. David came rushing out after her, diving against the crumbled form.

Killian used the distraction to rush toward Neal who looked up right before he reached him. A smile grew on his face as he dangled the boy over the water, a menacing look on his face. Killian’s heart raced as his feet tripped closer to the man just as he released the boy into the dark waters below them.

“No!” Killian screamed as the bundled child fell into the icy water and sunk below the surface. He didn’t stop as he rushed past Neal, pushing him away from the edge and diving headfirst into the murky depths below.

#void of extinction #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan modern au #captainswan

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

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Flower | 17

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, very slight fluff

; Word Count: 6k

; Warnings: Emotional breakdown, depiction of a panic/anxiety attack, in depth discussion/description of depression, brief mentions of suicide, lack of self-worth, self-hatred, self-doubt, dissociation

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I haven’t proof read because...well I don’t really want to re-read it. So forgive me for any mistakes! It’s early by a day because I’ve missed a few weeks so I want you all to have something on what is a rainy night here in England <3

PLEASE make sure to read the warnings on this one. This chapter is very hard hitting for anyone who has suffered depression/anxiety. I put myself back in the position I was in last year when I had my own breakdown and I know people have said before that I write in a way that makes you feel what the character is feeling. Therefore, please don’t read if you’re going to be affected by the warnings! And please also be kind if you don’t agree with the way I depicted this. This is how my own depression and anxiety affected me, only I didn’t have a Hoseok in my life. The experiences the reader goes through in this are the ones I personally have experienced. It’s still a reader insert, don’t worry. She after all has a lot of things I don’t, and I’m also okay, so don’t worry on that front either! If you feel upset about anything after reading this, please consider reaching out to friends, family, professionals or a helpline that specialises in it!

And remember throughout everything...you’re not alone! You’re not worthless and you are loved. <3

Leaning against the railing outside your work building, you let out a deep and heavy sigh as you read through the email you’d just received. It’s a rejection email. The third rejection email you’d received today and the twenty-third you’d received in two weeks.

After an in-depth talk with your parents and support from Chungha, Soyeon and Hoseok, you’d decided to finally try and get that career change you’d always wanted. Though you’d pointed out that you didn’t know what you wanted from life anymore.

You didn’t know what you wanted full stop.

One of the things that you’d been most afraid of when you’d realised that your relationship with Hoseok was turning into something genuine and real, had been what was going to come after. Not in terms of breaking up, though that did terrify you as well, but how your mental state was going to cope.

You’d tried to explain it to the girls a few times in an effort to get them to understand what went on in your rollercoaster of a mind, and you’d clumsily told Hoseok a few months ago. Or you’d tried at least.

Talking about your emotions wasn’t easy for you and the fear of being too honest about something so crippling with someone who meant so much to you already had scared you away from telling him too much. Your mind had balked at it, afraid that if he found out just how bad you got sometimes that he might just leave before he got in too deep.

So you’d given him a very bare bones explanation of what happened to you sometimes. He probably didn’t think too much of it at the moment as you’d been pretty cheerful throughout the start of your relationship; the bliss of him overriding any of your deep seated depression and anxieties.

Hoseok was obviously aware that you suffered from anxiety and had been very caring in regards to that, but it was entirely different to be with someone in the grip of a depressive episode. Your form of depression could almost be charted, it was that easy to see what was coming, and you’d been so afraid for the last few weeks.

The lethargy and disinterest that associated itself so strongly with your depression had been creeping back into your life slowly. It had frightened you, but you just didn’t know how to combat it. Doing things that were big or made you extremely happy always seemed to come with a huge cost, and the cost was unfortunately your mental health.

Every single time you felt exhilarating highs in your emotions, the feelings so joyful and euphoric from your excitement and pure happiness, you suffered a plunging crash afterwards that often felt like it sucked the joy out of your life. It was something you’d tried to cope with for years now, and sometimes you could go months upon months without feeling like it was affecting you.

But the happiness of finding Hoseok and all of the early stages of your relationship, from the first kiss to sex and meeting your parents, had finally waned. The last few weeks had the deep sense of unhappiness that plagued your negative moods spreading quickly.

It had started as usual with the slowly losing interest in going out; the energy you’d once had to be social outside of your apartment dying until the idea of anything other than work or grocery shopping was too much effort. Then had come the lack of interest in anything.

You’d always found it hard to see that you were slipping, only recognising it properly when you would realise that you’d been laid on your bed or the couch for hours on end, doing nothing at all. Any attempts to find something to watch on television failed as your brain couldn’t find anything interesting enough to keep it’s attention, games sat unplayed as you couldn’t find the energy to turn them on while even just reading bored you.

In particularly bad spells, such as your final year of college when you’d been so afraid of failing but also afraid of having to go into the real world, you struggled to find the energy to even get out of bed. Hygiene only became a thing because of your severe distaste of being unclean, but other than that your bed often became your home.

You would sleep for hours upon hours, napping the day’s away as you consoled yourself with the knowledge that you didn’t have anything to do and so therefore didn’t need to get up. Even though a small voice in the back of your mind told you that no, you should get up. You should do something.

That small voice was drowned out often though. Vanishing on a fast current of melancholy. It frightened you that you were experiencing that now again, even with the wonderful light and joy that was Hoseok in your life. Waking up long after he’d already gotten up on the weekend and realising that you didn’t want to get up and follow him, that not even the comfort of his arms was enough to soothe the jagged hole inside your soul that seemed to grow deeper and wider with every day that passed.

Applying for the jobs had been an appeasement to those in your life who were worried about you. You knew that Hoseok could tell something was wrong, but he just didn’t seem to know what to do or how to help. Understandable really, as you didn’t tell him what was wrong.

But staring down at your phone screen, the black letters bold against the white background that once more proclaimed you weren’t good enough, you felt something deep inside you break. Something that you hadn’t realised was holding on by the thinnest thread, chafing away with each negative thought that had passed through your mind over the years.

What’s the point?

The insipid question whispers through your mind.

Why am I trying?

A second slithers into place, taking comfort with its neighbour.

Why am I doing this?

A third nestles safely between the two brooding thoughts.

I’ll never be good enough for anything.

Leaning your head forehead, you let it rest on your hand on the railing, eyes closing as your other hand tightens on your phone. The hopelessness that your mind has spun to life explodes to life, multiplying into countless thoughts of desolation and gloom that somehow combine together to make your head feel heavy and your limbs tired.

Slumping down onto the ground, you turn and let your back press against the railings. It was your lunch currently and you were at the back of the parking lot that faced your building, the facade blank with no clue as to what was going on inside.

Blinking slowly, you realise that your breath is stuttering, almost choking itself. Like your throat is closing around nothing while your heart races a thousand miles a minute. Glancing down, you realise that your hands are shaking violently and you try to swallow, the movement so hard. And then you press a palm to your chest, a small whimper leaving your mouth as you simply try to breath.

But it all feels too much. It’s all just too much.

There’s nothing inside your head but despondency and yet your body feels too much, like it can’t cope. Your mind swings violently between the white fuzz of nothing and the sheer panic of a looming sense of dread, the fear of failure, rejection. The fear that you meant nothing and your life was nothing.

I can’t do this anymore.

It’s a simple thought, only five words long and it dances through your mind like a leaf on the breeze. Effortless and simple.

For a few seconds you think nothing of it, the part of your mind that wasn’t well agreeing with it and conceding that there was no point anymore. You weren’t doing anything useful in life anyway and you doubted anyone would truly notice if you’d gone. A cog in the machine of life, that’s all you were.

And cogs could be replaced after all.

But then that tiny voice that had been washed away earlier appeared again, resolute and defiant against the tidal waves of desolation that swamped it. The tiny kernel of hope and happiness that you’d once had, that had slowly grown and blossomed into a tree with roots so deep it couldn’t be moved. It was a little dejected and a little threadbare from lack of nourishment, but it was there all the same.

The part of you that didn’t want to give up, the part of you that wanted to fight for your life. The part that had spurred you to confidence to message Hoseok, that had encouraged you to keep going in college. The part of you that told you it didn’t want to give up, didn’t want to give in.

Your lungs are heaving now, body hunched over as you grip your legs so tightly, head pressed to your knees while salty tears drip down your face. A heartbeat that feels like it’s working overtime is so loud you can feel it in your chest, the tension in your arms and torso so strong that your muscles hurt from the ache of holding them for so long.

Eyes hot and stinging as the tears overflow, you press hard on your chest and try to regulate your breathing. Try to calm yourself down, to bring yourself back from the precipice of the pain and panic that you feel. The overwhelming rollercoaster of your emotions is giving you whiplash, the melancholy you had been swept with being beaten savagely by the fear of your inability to breath and the panic of how dark your thoughts had gotten.

You needed to talk to someone, you needed to see someone. You needed someone there, someone to tell you that it was okay. That you weren’t worthless. That you had value, that you were loved. That you would be missed. That life wouldn’t be okay without you, that you were needed and necessary. Someone to push away your thoughts for long enough to just let you think clearly.

You don’t even realise you’ve dialled his number, fingers moving on autopilot as if your body is trying to help when your mind has become so paralysed. It’s not until his voice finally manages to pierce through the incessant self-flagellation that your mind is undertaking that you blink in confusion, brow creasing as you wonder why he’s here.

Glancing up, you wipe away at the tears that keep falling and stare at your phone, squinting to focus. The familiar smiling face of your boyfriend stares back, a photo taken weeks back on a date day to the beach. Your heart clenched tightly and your breath shudders, the wheezing sound as your lungs work hard to try and get oxygen loud as you have the odd mixture of desperation to talk to him along with the dread of annoying him.

One of the things you’ve always hated was talking about these personal issues with people. Even though you knew rationally that people would rather you tell them about what was worrying and upsetting you, the gleefully self-destructive part of your mind told you that you were annoying them with your concerns.

But Hoseok was talking through the small speaker, his voice loud against the quiet scenery around you with only your hyperventilated breathing being the odd noise. And then his words finally made sense, the syllables that had broken through your ennui turning into sounds you understood.

It was the confusion in them that caused you to listen properly at first, the way he said your name repeatedly before the ragged sound of your breathing obviously began to register. Then your name became more frantic, the fear in his voice slicing through your own inner wail of despair.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N are you there? Hellooo? Y/N? Are you okay? Hey, are you...Y/N are you crying? Y/N? Talk to me, come on. Answer me sweetheart, baby answer me. Y/N what’s wrong? Are you crying? Y/N please answer.” His voice is getting progressively louder, the concern and worry louder and you suddenly feel even more self-loathing at the knowledge you’ve panicked him.

“Hobi.” It’s all you can get out though, the word pushing past the tightness of your throat as it contracts so violently, air struggling to get past. Clutching your chest, you recognise an odd wailing sound that escapes with each breath outwards. Hands shaking, you press the phone to your ear and let out a broken sob, trying to talk to him.

“Baby, baby what’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you okay? Have you had an accident? Is it your parents?” He fires questions at you quickly, trying to find some answer as to why his girlfriend has called him in the middle of a workday only to be sobbing and wailing down the phone at him.

Particularly when you both knew how much you despised talking on the phone.

But just the sound of his voice is soothing to the frayed nerves within you, a balm to the deep and aching pain that lurks inside. It’s not enough to pull you out your breakdown, not yet at least. This isn’t a film and television show and you’re aware enough to realise that real life doesn’t happen like that.

God you felt warm, so warm. So unbelievably warm but the sweat on your skin is cold, like you’re ill. Squeezing your eyes shut, you choke as you inhale too fast and your diaphragm jerks in a way that has you almost hiccuping.

Even though he doesn’t actually know what’s happening, Hoseok still manages to do the right thing. Because he stops his own panicked questions, his voice suddenly stabilises and a calm tone taking over.

“Okay baby...baby, listen to me. Okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’s going to be okay sweetheart, I swear. Come on, can you hear me?” A torn sound of acknowledgement leaves you, your muscles aching with tiredness from how hard you’ve held yourself.

“That’s good, that’s really good baby. I want you to listen to me, okay? Listen to what I say and then do it for me. I want you to try and breathe in, take a big breath. Really big, come on, do it with me,” You hear him inhale loudly and you try to follow, the shakiness overtaking. “And now it let out. Nice and slow, come on. Do it again.”

He continues on encouraging you through it, his deep voice that you’ve fallen so deeply for so soothing and reassuring. It almost makes you want to cry just hearing it, but you listen to what he says. Closing your own eyes and simply focusing on inhaling and exhaling, pushing all the negativity away until all that’s left is breathing.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, you realise that your breaths are jerky but almost stable. Deep breathes in and out help your body to relax itself, muscles releasing while the demons of depression and anxiety take a step back in your mind. They’re still there, you can feel them hovering over the edges, but you feel like you can cope again.

Wiping at your face once more, you sniff and almost burst into tears again when you realise how utterly pathetic you feel. How stupid you are to fall apart like that over a job rejection of all things. And those demons inch forward, whispering into the fragile parts of you.

“Y/N, are you with me? Are you okay?” Leaning your head back against the railing, you nod quietly before remembering he’s not actually there. The first time you try to speak, your voice is croaky and what sounds like a bubble pops in your throat.

The second time works though. “I’m here. I’m...Hobi...I just...I can’t.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the words cause you to start crying once more. But this time, there’s none of the panic and fear behind them. These tears are blazingly hot, your skin prickling from the salt of them while your head pounds from the previous crying and emotional ride you’d just gone through.

This time, your tears were because you simply wanted him there. You wanted to just bury yourself in his arms and try to forget what had happened.

“Okay, okay. I don’t know what’s wrong, but do you think you can go back to work? Or do you need to come home?” The very idea of going back into the office, sitting at your desk and doing all the mindless jobs that you loathe and despise with every fibre of your being fills you with a surge of feelings that makes you gasp in pain, head shaking rapidly.

You can’t, not today. You can’t go back to that, you can’t go back to the thoughts that this is going to be your life. That this is all you’ll ever be. All you’ll ever be worth. That you’ll never be good enough for anything.

“No.” It’s whimpered out, so soft and quiet but carrying a level of pain that you can’t even begin to properly explain to him. He understands though, a quiet sigh of his own as he obviously considers what to do.

“Okay...go in and ask them if you can take the rest of the day off. Tell them you’re ill. That you’ve been throwing up or something, whatever it takes. Are you okay to drive? Or do you want me to come get you?” Glancing over at your car, the Hyundai your dad had helped you to buy that was a dream compared to your previous car, you chew on your lip as you wipe at your face.

“I can drive. I can drive, it’s not far.”

“Good. Go home and rest. I’ll be home when I can. Do you want to talk about whatever just happened when I do?” Looking down at the ground, you consider it before sniffling quietly.

“Yeah. I think I should.” Your voice cracks on the last word, yet more tears filling your eyes as your lip trembles dangerously. The thought of telling him is terrifying, but you feel like you’ve gone too far down this dark road now. And you don’t want to walk down it alone anymore, not when what you’re finding is so terrifying and scary.

“Okay. I’ll see you at home then.”

It was surprisingly easy to get your boss to let you go home early, easier than you thought it would have been. But maybe you looked a little worse than someone who had been throwing up, given the puffiness of your eyes and the overall haggard appearance you’d managed to take on. You didn’t look well, which worked in your favour in terms of being able to go home.

But you didn’t look well because you weren’t well. And you knew this.

As soon as you got home, you’d practically torn off your clothes before slipping on a well worn pair of soft grey leggings and a fuzzy sweatshirt, the material so soft on your body. It’s approaching the end of November and you revel in the warmth it offers you, curling on the couch into a tight ball with your head buried into the velvety Pusheen pillow that Hoseok had bought you a few weeks ago.

The soft padding of tiny paws on the wood floor alerts you to an incoming presence and you smile tiredly when Kasumi jumps up onto the couch with you, chirping at you quietly before butting her head against yours. Gently, you stroke at her fur and sigh as she settles, her head buried firmly into your neck and her small body vibrating as she purrs away happily.

“Are you happy my little purrbaby? Yeah?” You whisper to her, running your thumb over her silken ears before pressing your nose against her sleek fur. “My favourite little girl, aren’t you? A purry baby.”

The next few minutes consist of you just muttering nonsense to her as usual, your hand stroking automatically as you revel in the solid warmth of her against you. She remains where she is, paws flexing open and closed as the she pads at your chest and you can’t help the tiny smile that escapes as she does so.

“I love you, yes I do.” Maybe it’s a sign of how bad of a person you are that the only person you feel even remotely comfortable saying that to is your own cat. A cat who can’t answer back. Though maybe that’s the point. She relies on you for survival, therefore her love is a given.

Other’s though?

Her ears twitch suddenly and her eyes widen, that familiar look of alarm taking over her feline features and causing her to jerk upright. Frowning, you coo to her before realising you can hear the door opening.

A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s not even 2pm and your brow creases in confusion. You go to question whoever it is, only he appears from the hallway into the room and your throat tightens immediately.

Hoseok isn’t wearing a fancy suit this time, instead just a pair of black jeans with a black button-up, his socks a contrast in white. His work had since changed their dress code policy to smart-casual, hence his jeans. But he wasn’t supposed to finish until 5pm.

“Why are you here?” Your words aren’t nearly as solid as you intended them to be, the sounds shaky and he lets out a tiny sigh.

“You really think I was gonna stay at work for the next few hours after my girlfriend, who hates using the phone, calls me and all I can hear is hyperventilating and crying? And then she’s so not okay that she actually goes home? No way. I’m gonna work the time back later but I felt that you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He makes it all sound so simple, like there wasn’t even a question in his mind about what he’d do.

It chips away at something inside you, a chink in the solid wall of protection you’d built over the years that held back all your deepest and darkest fears and concerns from others. And in an instant, that wall shatters in a tsunami of emotion.

Lips trembling violently while your vision blurs from the tears filling it, you simply open your arms to him and whimper out his name in a tone so broken and lost that it almost makes Hoseok cry just hearing it. Not that you know that, nor can you see the way his face crumples for a moment at seeing you break so quickly.

You don’t see because the tears block your vision of him, but you feel it when he sits on the couch next to you and wraps you in his arms. Without a word, you squeeze your arms around him so tightly, as if you were afraid that if you let go then he’d vanish.

And you let yourself break in the comfort of his embrace, in the safety of presence and the reassurance of his stability. A horrible sound of pure agony escapes your throat, dragged from the deepest depths and a part of you is surprised at it. At how much pain it encapsulates.

Once you start though, you can’t stop and you simply cry into Hoseok’s arms, letting yourself go in a way that you never have before. Exposing your vulnerabilities and all the jagged points of pain inside your psyche that you’d kept hidden for so long, afraid that no one would care or would see them as a sign of weakness if you let them out.

Hoseok doesn’t judge you though, he doesn’t complain or sigh in annoyance. Instead, he spends the next ten minutes simply hugging you so tightly to him, his hands stroking your back in long movements that soothe you and reassure you that he’s here, that he cares. Vaguely, you recognise him whispering things to you but you don’t put enough thought into what he’s saying.

The earlier breakdown you’d suffered had been frightening and painful; the fear of not understanding what was happening properly combining with the gaping hole of self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy. This didn’t feel like a breakdown though. It felt cathartic almost, like each sob that escaped you, each tear that wet Hoseok’s shirt was another weight being lifted off your mind and shoulders.

By the time you finally calm down enough until the tears are silent and the only noise you make is the hiccuped breathing of someone who’s cried so hard their throat and eyes hurt, you feel almost relaxed. Maybe crying was a good thing sometimes, but you knew that it was because you’d come to terms with the fact that you had to talk about your issues and most importantly, you had to reach out to others for help.

Now the room is completely quiet, only broken by the occasional sniffle from you. You’d expected him to start asking questions immediately but he doesn’t, instead just holding you in a protective embrace while you calm down.

Oddly, it makes you feel a little better that he doesn’t freak out or pepper you with questions. His reassuring presence helps to calm your frayed nerves and you find yourself playing with one of the buttons on his shirt, bottom lip pouting out as you realise his shirt is plastered to his chest from your tears.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.” You whisper, voice hoarse and low. There’s no response for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh, warm lips pressing to your hairline affectionately.

“That’s fine. It’s just a shirt,” Hoseok pauses, shifting to hug you in a more comfortable position on the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The way he leaves the question open for you lets you know that he’s giving you an out, a way to turn him down. You know he wouldn’t be particularly happy if you didn’t talk about what had caused you to have such a breakdown, but he would acknowledge your decision.

“I just...I got another rejection.” Fingers smooth at the wrinkles in his shirt, the text from the email running through your mind once more and you can practically feel your spirit sinking again. “I don’t know, it just...it got too much. I know it sounds really stupid and I can’t really explain it all or anything but...it was just too much. Everything has been too much lately and yet I just feel so empty and uncaring.”

Hoseok doesn’t interrupt you, letting you spill out your inner thoughts to him, even if they don’t make a lot of sense.

“I’ve been...I mean...lately I...I’m not...I’m not okay.” Your voice wavers dangerously, lip trembling and you tighten your hand on the fabric of his shirt. “I just feel...I can’t...I can’t, I just can’t. I don’t feel like I can do this anymore, it’s just so hard. So hard to get up and go to work when I hate my fucking job. It’s like my mind is dying every second in there and my soul is shrivelling up too. But I’m not good enough to get out and I’ll never get out and all I can think is...is this it? Is this going to be my life? Is this all I’ll ever do? Is this all I’ll ever be worth? Is this all I’ll do? And the thought of this being all I do for the rest of my life is...I mean...I just...I can’t Hoseok. I can’t, I can’t do it. I don’t even want to wake up if I have to do this forever.”

The words are rushed from you, blurring together as you feel the deep hysteria and panic rising within you once more. Hands clenching his shirt are shaking while your breath is coming a little faster again and your poor, swollen eyes are stinging from the heat of yet more tears. You’d have thought you had none left to cry.

“It’s like everything is weighing me down, all of it. My job, my lack of career, my finances and just me as a person. It’s all building in my head and I just...I can’t. But at the same time I feel nothing inside. I wake up and wonder why I’m bothering to get up because I have nothing to do, I can’t focus on shows or games or books. I’m lethargic and unhappy and the idea of going out just makes me want to cry. I drove home from the store the other day and the entire time I felt like there was a hive of bees in my stomach, all angry and my heart was racing. I didn’t even know what I was anxious about! That’s not normal and it happens all the time. I’ve tried, for you and my parents and friends but it always comes back. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t.” You’re not entirely sure what you can’t do, but you say it so forcefully that Hoseok simply nods.

He doesn’t speak at first, contemplating what to say and trying to remember what his therapist had discussed with him all those years ago when he’d gone. It was hard, because obviously your case wasn’t like his. But he wanted to help, or at least try and guide you in the right direction. Because you were reaching out, and he wanted to be the one to hold you steady while you fought your way out of the darkness.

“How long have you been feeling like this? I’ve noticed you pulling away recently, I didn’t want to push you on it though.” Hoseok admits, his voice soothing as he runs a thumb along your cheek, wiping your tears away.

Almost childishly, you shrug. “I don’t know. It comes and goes. I always...I hate doing things that make me happy or excited because I always crash after. And the longer my happiness goes on, the harder and further I crash after. It’s like my mind can’t cope with just...being...normal.”

Hoseok shakes his head firmly then, pulling back slightly to get you to look at him. His eyes are worried and his expression is concerned, but you can tell he’s determined. You can also tell that you’ve just said something that he disagrees with.

“Don’t call yourself not normal. At the risk of sounding like some lame quote from the early 2010s, there’s no such thing as normal. You’re just...you’re not okay right now. I think we can both tell that. And there’s nothing wrong with not being okay. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re having mental health problems and I hope you won’t be angry with me for saying it but...this...today...baby I think you need to see a doctor or something. I can’t tell you what will help because I don’t know, and I don’t want to mess it up. But you have to want to get help.”

Looking down at your hands, you sniff quietly as you contemplate what he’s said. As per usual, he’s said it sweetly and in a way that isn’t offensive. The very idea of admitting that you had mental health issues made you quail inside, wanting to tell him that he was wrong and you were fine.

But he wasn’t wrong...and you weren’t fine.

“What if they don’t believe me? Or tell me it’s just in my head? Or that I’m just sad or something? And what if work finds out and they get angry at me? People will tell me I’m just faking it or something, looking for attention.” The stereotypes slip from your lips without you realising it but you’re worried.

Despite the push for being more open around mental health lately, you know that people still don’t view it positively. That admitting depression or anxiety can often come with an eye roll or an exasperated sigh. You knew how it went, you weren’t depressed you were just tired or weren’t willing to put in effort and so forth.

But you knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so real and strong.

“Sweetheart, if they think at your work then fuck them. You already hate that place and you’re looking for something new. Don’t let them get to you, you are more important than anyone there. And if they want to act like shit around something as serious as this, then they don’t deserve you. Your doctor should listen, and if they don’t then make them listen. They’re there for you, not the other way around. It’s in your head purely because it’s your mental health and it can be helped. I won’t lie, it’s probably not gonna get cured. But you’ll find ways to cope. And I’ll be here for you. So will your parents and your friends. We care for you and we want you to be okay.” He rubs at your arms then, his touch warm even through the soft material of your sweater.

“I’ve watched you draw into yourself and it’s worried me for a while now. But if you’re willing to reach out to me at your lowest, which I’m going to assume that breakdown was your lowest, then I think you want help. I can’t make it go away, but I can help support you while you get your feet back under you. Will you consider going to the doctor? Please?”

Pushing your head into his neck harder, you sniff hard and pushing the sleeves of your sweater past your hands. Your heart races at the thought of discussing your personal issues with someone you don’t know, but you know Hoseok is right. You need help, you need to reach out.

Swallowing hard, you realise that you need to do what he’s suggesting. You don’t want to get back to that point where you realised you didn’t care if you lived or died anymore. Because you wanted your life to get better. You just didn’t have the tools to pull yourself out of the swamp.

“Okay. I’ll go.” His body relaxes imperceptibly at your agreement and you feel bad, realising how worried he must have been for you. But that worry vanishes when he tilts your head up to his, a sweet smile on his face before he kisses you gently.

“Good. You won’t regret it, I swear. And thank you. For trusting me enough to call me when you were afraid and for telling me now. I want to try and help you anyway I can. I know what it’s like to feel very lost and afraid. I just got angry at the world though. So...please talk to me when you’re not feeling okay, even if you think I’m going to be annoyed or can’t be bothered. Because I’d rather you talk and vent to me than do something else.” And suddenly, you realise he’s got tears in his own eyes.

Reluctant tears you can tell, the way he gives a small smile that’s forced, his dimples showing but no real happiness behind it. Swallowing, your own smile wobbles too as you realise that he must have been so worried.

“I will. I swear. I swear.” His lips press to your forehead, resting there long after he’s finished his kiss and you simply embrace it, absorbing his deep feelings to you that you can tell he has even though he doesn’t say a word. Unsurprising really, because you feel all the positive and warm feelings you have towards him blossoming through the hollowness in your chest.

He’s not going to fix you and you both know that. But you’re surprised to realise that you don’t want him to either. That this is something you have to start yourself. For your own peace of mind but also so that you don’t become reliant on him while pressuring Hoseok with something as precarious as your mental health.

You’ve reached out for help finally, and now you just need to accept the help you’re given in turn.

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sassyshish · 6 years

Text

Flames

Part One

Or the one where she runs into her ex-boyfriend and the feelings rush back strong.

Meet Me in the Hallway

“Why did you do it?” Tears dried up on her face, she allowed the rage and disappointment consume her so much it left her with nothing more than a pounding headache that beat behind her eyes.

When he saw her sat at the foot of the bed holding his old phone in her hands, he understood what happened.

“Baby…” Harry started, interrupted by her hand shaking and stopping any of his excuses.

“Don’t… don’t you dare say you can explain. There is nothing to explain here.” She whispered, still not meeting his intense look, tone croaky and empty of any emotion.

“Please…” A desperate word, the only thing his mind could conjure to get to her, to stop her for what he knew was about to happen.

“I asked you if anything happened and you said no. You looked me right in the eyes and said nothing fucking happened!” her voice gaining force and turning angry towards the end, eyes snapping to him.

Her stare was on fire, he never thought he would be the one to provoke such emotion. He couldn’t even describe her face at that moment.

“I’m so sorry… I love you.” He tried to placate her rage.

“Go fuck yourself!” She spat and threw his phone on the ground, making him jump from the loud sound. “This is not about love, Harry. This is about respect, and you had none for me…” A lonely tear streaming down her cheek and falling on her fist.

Her chest felt heavy, breathing was too difficult, temples pulsating and a veil of tears forming in her eyes and blurring her vision for a second before she fervently blinked them away. She kept her hands closed tight because she didn’t want him to notice how they were shaking.

Harry had recently changed phone, leaving his old one in the first drawer of his bedside table. She was cleaning up that day when she found it, innocently switching it on to send a few pics he had of them, but when she opened his texts, she observed that right under her name was his friend’s Jeff, but it wasn’t his name to excite curiosity in her as much as Harry’s last text to him, reading "I fucked up this time."

A chill running down her spine as to warn her to not open it, to mind her business and not read the content. She had never touched Harry's phone, always respecting his privacy and trusting him enough to not snoop into his things.

He had described everything to his friend, telling him that the evening he went out with some friends he let Alice crash at his place, he told him how they were shit-faced. She had sneaked into his bed and how she tried to kiss him and was all over him. They didn’t live together, even though she stayed the night almost every time, but she was at her parent’s house that evening because her mom didn’t feel great.

At that moment, she felt like dying, the phone dropping to the mattress and tears flowing out powerfully, not believing what her eyes had read.

Harry had that habit, he didn’t talk much, if something was bothering him, he would shut everyone out, closing up in himself and would sometimes grab his journal and put down in words his frustrations, but never to her.

At first, she paid no mind to that trait of him, respecting his introverted nature, but on the long stretch it started to be a problem, added to the fact he wasn’t confrontational at all, and he avoided arguments like the plague.

So, she found herself with him being silent for days, she had to force him to talk when he wasn't fine, pulling out every word from him, and once again he didn't tell her something important to her, and she felt betrayed. She had the right to be informed if a woman slept in their bed or if she had tried anything with her boyfriend, it wasn't so complicated to understand.

Her swollen eyes fixated on his figure, searching his face and getting the impression that she didn’t know him at all, he felt like a total stranger.

"I… I…" he attempted to murmur, but his voice dropped, feeling like someone was choking him, his throat so closed up, he found difficult even to breathe.

“What, Harry? You what?” she was tired, tired of crying, tired of watching him stand there as a fool.

“I… uuhm… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you… I didn’t cheat on you, I swear. I left the room right after, I slept on the couch.” he hesitatingly mumbled, already knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied with only that pathetic effort.

“Harry that’s not the point, I know you haven’t slept with her. But still... you didn’t tell me what happened, and it’s crushing me.” She wasn’t even angry anymore, just overwhelmingly disappointed. She felt embittered that he let her down and once again he shut her out and didn’t trust her enough.

"… And you know what's funny? If you told me about all this, I would've tried to understand. I mean, I wouldn't have been thrilled about it, we would've argued for sure… but me finding out this way? It makes me think you wanted that to happen. You keep stuff to you, I always have to find things out and it fucking hurts, don’t you get it? I have to fight with you to know your thoughts, every little thing seems a struggle these days. I can’t keep going on with someone that after all this time still doesn’t let me in, it should be easier than this."

Her voice held a strange tone, her stare had lost that special sparkle it held when her eyes would lie on him. Harry was about to feel sick, he felt frozen in place, a voice screaming in his head telling him to do something, to plead with her, to move to go to her, to hug her, but he couldn’t do any of those things.

“I don’t deserve it.” She said with resolution painted over her features.

“You don’t.” He slowly murmured.

Silence filling the room while they both took in what had happened.

After months he still felt guilty to no limit for the way it all went, but he didn’t have the balls to reach out for her, nor he had the right to. He knew her perfectly when she took a decision there wasn't a second thought.

He didn’t expect the phone to ring, and it never did.

They had friends in common, so he checked on her, Harry always knew what she was on about, content to know she was fine. He was still in love with her, and he was sure that it wouldn't go away anytime sooner, so he lived with it, watching her from afar, joyful when she succeeded and sad when she failed.

She refused to even think about him, let alone talk. In the following weeks after their breakup, she focused on her studies, filling her days to the brink, so when she would go to bed she would be so wrecked that sleep would take her.

But sometimes her mind played tricks on her, recreating memories in her dreams, making her burn in the longing, and it would be so vivid, she could touch him, could hear his slow deep voice, but eventually he would disappear, and she would wake up with the hole in her chest opening like an abyss.

She missed him terribly but refused to get in touch with him, even though sometimes late at night she would grab her phone and open his text field and look at his name for the longest time, repeatedly reading his last text: "I'll be home in 20. Love Ya"

At some point, she got tired of torturing herself and deleted everything, leaving on the phone one picture, one of her first birthday spent together when he went to her house with flowers just to take her back to his place where he had planned a whole romantic dinner. That night he had a high fever and felt sick, but he still tried his best to make her have a beautiful birthday, even if they ended up in bed with her taking care of him and Harry protesting he felt fine, insisting on going out to celebrate. That night she realized she was in love with him, and she held the memory very dear.

Time passed, and their lives took different turns, both moving on and learning how to live without the other. But the tenderness awoken by the memories was still there, her heart still skipped a beat when she would hear his name, and Harry would still ask of her now and then, to make sure she was okay, to be assured she was happy and well.

“Hey.” A slow deep voice behind her back. It was only a tiny word, but she could recognize that voice even in a thousand years. She knew the tone, she knew it from time ago, she heard it on the radio all the time.

“Harry.” She whispered turning around, a genuine smile brightening her whole face when she met his sparkling eyes. He opened his arms without thinking, and she slipped in the hug naturally, keeping him close and breathing him in.

“Oh my God, it’s been so long…” he murmured in her ear before letting her go, his hands trapping hers and warmly holding them.

“Yeah… We don’t see each other since, what? Two years, I think.” She let her stare roam his face, capturing all the small changes, acknowledging his short hair, the light stubble on his chin.

God, there was a man standing right in front of her, not the handsome boy she used to know.

When Harry entered the bar, his eyes went immediately to the beauty at the counter, his stare fixating on her perfect ass that was wrapped up in a lovely, lovely short skirt. But he looked better, feeling something familiar in the way the girl sat in the tall chair, in the way she pushed her hair back, and when he recognized her his heart stopped for a little, a joy he hasn’t felt in a long time pervaded his body, and without thinking it twice he went right her way.

She looked amazing, more beautiful than he remembered, and he couldn’t help his hands from holding her tight when he engulfed her in his embrace, he couldn’t help his face immersing in her hair and take in her new perfume. She looked so different yet so familiar, from her head to her toes she had changed so much, and she had gained a certain confidence in her that was definitely endearing.

After two years one could think he would be way over her, but he wasn't and realized that the moment he laid eyes on her again.

"Yeah, something like that. But, how are you doing?… Oh! Don’t answer, it’s obvious you’re doing amazing, let’s cut the small talk. Let me buy you a drink, yeah?" He excitedly said, smile big on his face and hands tingling with the need to touch her again.

“You came a second too late, but we can sit and catch up!” she told him, raising the glass the barman had sat in front of her a second prior. She was trying to act normal, be cool about the sudden reunion, but on the inside, her heart was beating as fast as a butterfly’s wings and her stomach was doing backflips. It was pointless to say she didn’t expect to encounter the boy ever again in her life after their breakup.

Somehow, they never met through their common friends and let’s be honest, the kid was a star, what were the chances to cross ways with him in a bar? It looked almost like a fiction.

“Wait, aren’t you here with someone? I don’t want to steal you away.” She told him right after sitting down at a small table in the back of the place.

"Yeah, came to meet up with some friends, they won't mind, too busy playing pool over there." He nodded his head towards a group of guys standing around the table, very concentrated on their game.

“What about you?” he asked turning his complete attention to her, arms crossed on the roundtable.

She sat right next to him on the couch, with her back leaned on the arm, her outer leg bending and going under her ass. Harry smiled when he watched her doing it, remembering she could never sit properly. The atmosphere between them was intimate and relaxed, they both were content and happy to be with each other.

“Nah, I’m alone, and before you give me the ‘oh my god sad, lonely girl in a bar’ look, let me tell you I work nearby and just got off, so I decided to have a drink.” she laughed and explained to him.

“Oh yeah, and you were all alone at the counter with your drink and I show up! Looks like the start of a romantic comedy.” He smirked while his voice went down to a warmer tone. He didn’t mean to flirt so openly with her, but it came out naturally, and he bit his tongue when he noticed how she tensed up a little after, so he quickly recovered asking her about her job and having a nice catch-up.

“I got your album, H. It’s brilliant.” She complimented him, hand going to his forearm squeezing warmly.

When she first listened to the album, she cried like a baby the whole time, both from pride and hurt. His words cut deep in her, and somehow, she knew part of those lyrics was an open letter to her, as to apologize for everything that went down.

When she got hands on the cd, she left it to sit on her bedside table for two days straight, not having the courage to put it on, but when she did, she could only go through “Meet me in the hallway”, bawling immediately. She knew it in her bones it was about them, every single word hit her like a brick right in the middle of her chest, feeling the same pain she did when she left his house that day, making it seem as if it happened only a few moments before.

After the first song she forced herself to listen to the whole thing, and after that, she had to listen to it again and again. That day she laughed with the cheeky songs, she danced, and she cried, exorcizing once and for all the emptiness his absence had left. She felt exhausted, but lighter, finally ready to close that chapter of her life for good.

And then a few weeks after that, she met him in a bar. The irony.

“Did you get it or you’re saying it only to be polite?” He said with a cheeky tone, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I did, I promise! Don’t make me list the names of the songs now! You know how competitive I get…” She said giggling between words, not believing herself that night and as the drink went down, she could feel herself becoming flirtier.

She hasn’t felt that vibrant in so long, it felt good to be in his company, to see him smile at her, his dreamy green eyes looking at her with that sparkle of amusement she knew so well.

“Oh! I know that for sure, I still remember that kick you gave me that night at Jordan’s when we were playing Twister…” he accused making her almost spit back in the glass the drink she was chugging.

“Liar! You fell on your own, you’re just a sour loser!” she said agitated as she strongly sat her glass on the surface of the table.

“It is a well-known fact that you play dirty.” He kept teasing her only to get her even more flustered than she already was.

The words that left her mouth after that could only be blamed on that second Mojito she was downing because if she had been sober she would've never let herself be that bold.

“Oh, and whom better than you know…” she said giving him that smile she gave only when she had certain thoughts.

He froze in place with his glass midway to his lips, his eyes unhurriedly moving to her while his heart skipped a beat. He was at loss of words and didn’t expect that in the slightest, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"I’m sorry… I shouldn't have said that, I'm a bit drunk I guess, maybe it's time to go." she tried to awkwardly apologize, not looking towards his direction.

"No, no, no… please don’t go. It was nothing, just a joke, c’mon." he said with an urgency, not wanting their evening to end so soon. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many questions he still wanted to ask, he wanted to learn everything she did in those two years he was out of her life. She looked at him seeing his pleading expression and caught the desperation that briefly crossed his eyes.

“I know I might seem fine, but, Harry, this is getting painfully uncomfortable… I wasn’t expecting to see you ever again.” She hesitantly said, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

“I know, same here. Now we said it, can we enjoy the rest of the evening? Please?” Harry grabbed her hand without thinking and kneaded his thumb on her palm in a soothing way, that simple gesture calming her instantly.

She looked at their hands and absentmindedly traced his cross tattoo with the pointer finger of her free hand. They stayed like that for a little, enjoying the silence and letting themselves have that brief moment.

“I’ve been missing you.” Harry drawled, not finding the courage to stare into her eyes. Her heart missed a beat more for the fragility of that sentence than for the words itself.

“Me too…” She whispered searching his eyes and finally meeting those breathtaking green gems while he hinted a shy smile.

“Listen, I have something to say… actually, I wanted to say this for a long time, but, you know, with the way we left things I didn’t have the balls to text you.”

“Harry there’s no reason for this now…” She interrupted him feeling uncomfortable again, taking her hand away from his. If he wanted to go there, she couldn’t have him touching her.

“No, there is. I need to apologize to you. I wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved, I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t share my thoughts and a whole list of other things I didn’t do. But please, I want you to know I never cheated on you, never even thought about it for a second. I had eyes only for you and no one else.”

Her eyes stung while he talked, surprised to no end by his little speech. Harry has never been that honest with her, and she was astonished that he said those things while directly looking at her, no mumbles or never-ending silences in between words.

“I… I know you never cheated on me, it wasn’t about that Harry.” She tried to keep her composure while blinking her eyes to clear them from tears.

“I know but I needed to clear that out in case you ever had a doubt about it.” He talked softly as to not get her more nervous than she already was.

“I could've done more too, I could've stayed and fight stronger. But I choose what I thought was the easiest way. I thought we weren’t compatible.” She sniffled a little, clearing under the corner of her eye.

“Don’t cry, baby, your makeup will run.” He joked and lovingly caressed her smooth cheek.

“I couldn’t care less…” she scoffed while looking down at her fingers playing with the empty glass on the table, and her eye fell on the watch on her wrist.

“Oh my God, it is really late though, I have to wake up early tomorrow. I really need to go Harry!” she said with concern, she didn’t want to say goodbye yet, but she had to go.

“Okay, let me walk you outside,” Harry said with a smirk, he didn’t seem bothered at all.

They were standing side by side waiting for her taxi to arrive, and as the driver parked on the side, she turned to him to say goodbye.

“I want to take you out.” He talked before she could pronounce a word, resolution painted all over his features.

“You… what? Out like a date?” She was shocked to say at least.

“Call it how you want. I want to have dinner and spend more time with you. Don’t over-think it, baby.” He took her face in his hands and looked directly into her eyes. He needed to stop calling her baby because it was making her knees weak.

“Okay, tomorrow night is good?” Harry asked after a little when she didn’t speak.

She could merely nod, her tongue losing the capacity of forming words.

“I’ll pick you up at 8.00, text me the place.” He whispered to her while his eyes moved to her lips, knowing it was wrong to even think about it, but couldn’t stop it from happening, so he leaned down to place a soft, chaste kiss on her beautiful lips.

Harry sensed her take a harsh breath in and tense up, but he didn’t let her time to think of a reaction and he fastly pulled away from her, leaving her dumbfounded and confused.

“Your taxi is waiting. Goodnight, baby girl.” He nicely reminded.

“Oh, yeah, sure… Goodnight, Harry.” She blinked and came to her senses, turning rapidly around and getting in the backseat, not even throwing a glance at him.

While the car rolled away from the bar, she couldn’t help her fingers going to her mouth where his had been a brief moment before, a timid smile gracing her lips.

He watched the cab go away, standing on the sidewalk till it turned to the left and disappeared. His emotions revolved around giddiness and excitement, a bright smile plastered on his face while he put his hands in his pockets and unhurriedly went back in the pub to enjoy the rest of his night out.

Part Two - Embers

Masterlist - Tell me what you thought

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ailithnight · 6 years

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AT LONG LAST! The long awaited, month and a half late I’m so sorry, Sequel to Gifts from the Dark Side! So, yeah. I meant to have this finished and posted on Christmas... I’m very sorry to all the people who have waited so long they probably don’t even remember the first fic. Or those who have changed their url’s since asking to be tagged. I don’t know why but I got through about 4/5 of this and just... lost the motivation. And I didn’t want to force an unsatisfying ending for it, so I just kind of shelved it until I could find it in my heart to come back and finish it. Which I FINALLY did! Yay! So without further ado, here it is.

Title: Gift from the Light Sides Words: 5687 (Mercy, I really did that!) Content Warnings: Some Angst. Panic Attack. Crying. Lots of Crying. Sleepless night. Mild self-deprecation. I think that’s it, but message me if I should add something.

General Tagslist: @moose-squirrel05, @didsomeonesayprince, @readeatfightlove13

Gifts from the Dark Side Tagslist: @uwillbeefound, @jughead-is-canonically-aroace, @highpriestessofthexeoniancouncil, @its-raining-cats, @lightlady599, @leesacrakon, @milomeepit, @lenakszak, @five-hour-anxiety, @nightmarejasmine, @theamberrose97, @lizziepopanime, @llamaly, @cinquefoilelove, @nerdy-emo-royal-dad, @bangthekobrakid, @soiguessthisismyusername, @samidaboss3

Virgil was honestly shocked by how much could change in just one year. Less than that really. Half a year more like. It was astonishing, wonderful, and terrifying all at once. Virgil didn’t typically handle change all that well. He couldn’t help it. Change meant differences. Differences meant new things that could go wrong. And Virgil was driven by his own nature as Anxiety, to imagine each and every possible and impossible scenario. Which is what he was doing now. Though this time, not for Thomas.

What if they’re angry at me? All those years of lying, what if it makes them upset. What if they hate me. What if they hate themselves? Oh god, what if they feel guilty? What if I make them feel guilty? What if they’re mad at me for making them feel guilty. I can’t. I can’t do that to them. But I can’t do nothing. I have to do something. Something has to change. What do I do? Dammit! What am I supposed to do now!

Here Virgil was, pacing a small circle in his room, wrapping paper of half a dozen varieties strewn around his room, tape and tissue paper making home of his space. The question had been plaguing him all month and now, here it was, December 24th, and Virgil felt no closer to a decent answer. In all those years, dreaming of acceptance, Virgil had never believed it even remotely possible enough to imagine the real-world implications. It was a genie wish, now coming true, and Virgil was facing the unforeseen consequences.

There were several benefits to being semi-fictional. One of which was an expedited healing process. Things that for a normal person would take days to heal, would take only an hour or two for the sides. Weeks became a handful of days and months not more than a few weeks. But even at this reduced rate, it was still taking the sides months of work and effort to recover from the psychological damage the past 28 years had done. Virgil was struggling in his own way, slowly but surely finding his place among the others and rebuilding his own sense of self-worth. Forgiving them had been easy, forgetting… not so much. And for the other’s forgiving themselves was a challenge almost as hard as Virgil’s battle. Guilt and shame and an intense desire to right the wrongs were only logical after discovering you had mistreated someone for so many years. Virgil knew they were struggling to come to terms with their past actions. He had no desire to make it harder. Which is why as Christmas Day drew ever nearer, Virgil found himself pacing his room trying to figure out what to do.

Patton had been so shy when asking Virgil if he wanted to celebrate Christmas with them. He made a point of emphasizing that Virgil didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want to or feel comfortable doing. Of course, Virgil wanted nothing more than to spend the holidays with his family. Upon expressing this, Patton’s whole demeanor had shifted, becoming once more the bubbly, excited character he typically was. “Oh wonderful! It’s going to be so much fun having all the Kiddos together. You can help us decorate and bake and we’ll leave cookies for Santa and I’m sure he’ll leave you a present too this year.” That had given Virgil pause.

“I-I-I d-don’t know Pat,” Virgil stammered out. “I mean, he never has before. And I’m not… really the one who… has changed… a lot.”

“Nonsense!” Roman had exclaimed from the stairs, helping Logan haul down a large storage container Virgil assumed held the Christmas stuff. The noise had evidently startled everyone as Virgil and Patton both jumped and Logan almost dropped the box. Patton and Virgil stood to help them. Once the box was safely on the floor, Logan spoke.

“Virgil, I suspect that since Thomas has now accepted that you are a good guy, given that this is his mind, it is likely you will land on the so called ‘nice list’ this year.”

“Yeah!” Patton giggled. “I’m sure Santa knows you’re a good guy now! He’ll probably leave extra stuff to make up for all the years he messed up.” Virgil gaze shifted between the three of them, so hopeful and happy. He couldn’t find the words to tell them the truth, to dash their hopes and layer on the guilt. So, he didn’t.

“Maybe.” He muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Thankfully, they seemed to understand the Virgil wanted to drop the subject. They cracked open the storage box and together made the mindscape commons festive.

Now it was late at night on Christmas Eve and Virgil had spent the whole day in his room bouncing between monitoring video progress, then reception; and wracking his brain for a solution to his current conundrum. The three typically wrapped presents were waiting in their annual spot beside Virgil’s door. This year, Logan was receiving a nebula painted inside of an eye, Roman a fancy new journal and fountain pen, and Patton was getting an old polaroid camera with film and paper. The gifts themselves were not the concern for Virgil, rather it was how they should be presented.

If I give them as Santa, then I also have to come up with more gifts from me. What else could I give them? I worked hard on those. And what about myself? I can’t give myself a gift from Santa. That’s just messed up on so many levels. Besides, I do want to tell them eventually. Just not yet. Not when we’re in the middle of all this other shit. Fuck, what do I do?

An alarm went off on Virgil’s phone and he glanced at it. Midnight. It’s Christmas. Shit, shit, shit, dammit, fuck. I’m running out of time. Virgil pocket the phone and walked over to his door. He opened it quietly, listening to hear if the others were up. When he could here three sets of soft snoring and no one stirring, Virgil picked up the three gifts and crept downstairs, as was his normal ritual. Last chance to change your mind. If I leave them, they’re from Santa. Virgil worked slower than usual, taking extra care to be absolutely silent. He sat back to appreciate his work, still internally debating. Seeing them there, just like every year, but in a whole new light given recent events, Virgil made his decision. I can’t take this away from them. Not now. Not in the middle of all this other change. Let this tradition remain. Resolute in his decision, Virgil stood. He ate the cookies, this year not feeling the desire to consume them all given that he had been able to enjoy them all month. In fact, it was almost difficult to eat just the normal two and a half. He chased the sweet down with half the milk, then finally retreated back upstairs. Now to figure out what to give them from me.

Taking a few notes from the video, Virgil worked through the remainder of the night, barely even aware of the passing hours until sunlight began streaming in through his windows and he could give a shy smile at his newly finished creations. It wasn’t much, but Virgil hoped the others wouldn’t mind, chalking it up to Virgil not really knowing what to get them. He had expanded on the card idea to give Patton a small book full of puns and compliments and a long list of reasons Virgil loved the dad character. For Logan, Virgil had used his vast Tumblr knowledge to compile an alphabetical list of slang terms and memes, including notes of which ones were already outdated and which ones were old and would likely become outdated soon. Roman had been tougher. What do you create for Creativity. In the end, Virgil had written an epic-like poem, telling the story of the dashing prince who saved his kingdom from a monster called Boredom with his horse Inspiration and his sword Imagination. Virgil was quite proud of the trinkets, especially considering the time crunch he was working on. He stood and stretched with a yawn. He summoned a few gift bags and grabbed some tissue paper from the mess of his room. I’ll have to clean this up before anyone walks in. Once the gifts were packaged and labeled, he took them on downstairs, firmly closing the door behind him. Once the presents were under the tree, Virgil released a face splitting yawn, the sleepless night weighing heavily on his body. However, Virgil could tell, too many anxious thoughts sparked and swirled in his mind for sleep to be feasible. So, rather than go back to his room and attempt to rest, he wandered into the kitchen and made some hot chocolate (coffee was never a great thing to give the embodiment of anxiety). With his warm drink in hand, Virgil curled up on the sofa and flipped on the tv, muting it so it wouldn’t wake the others. He flipped through channels until he found a familiar movie, A Christmas Carol, and watched the scenes flickered by in a trance-like state of almost dozing.

“Good Morning and Merry Christmas, Virgil!” Virgil was jerked from his blank minded staring by Patton’s cheery tone. He looked around, noticing how much lighter the room had grown as sunlight filtered in. Patton giggled as he came off the stairs and wrapped Virgil in a hug from behind. “Couldn’t sleep, could ya, Kiddo.” Virgil hummed a vague affirmation, too out of it to produce words just yet. Patton giggled again and grabbed Virgil’s mug, still half full but now cold. “Logan and Roman will probably be up soon. In the meantime, would you like to help me with breakfast?” Finally coming back into full consciousness, Virgil nodded.

“Sure Dad. Sounds fun.” Patton gave him a bright happy grin, which Virgil returned with his trademark, shy half smile. Once Patton let him go, Virgil stood and stretched, groaning as tired muscles clicked and popped back into place after no less than an hour and a half sitting hunched on the sofa. Patton was already pulling out pans and bowls when Virgil joined him. “What do you need?” Virgil asked, walking towards the fridge.

“Eggs, milk, bacon, butter, flour.” Virgil pulled the ingredients as Patton listed them off. Patton cheerily taught Virgil how to mix up pancake batter while the father figure managed the stove. Somewhere in the middle, Logan came down and began to brew a pot of coffee. Roman was the last to come down. He set the table. As the house filled with the sounds of life and merriment, Virgil’s smile slowly grew. This is the life. Only after breakfast was eaten did Patton stand, a bounce in his step, and announce, “Present time!” With light chuckles, everyone moved into the living room. Virgil felt nervous energy well up inside of him, but he pushed it down, focusing on the easy warmth of being with his family. First the stockings were distributed and Virgil noted the distinct lack of coal in his own. Then Patton sat by the tree.

“You do the honors, Padre.” Roman told Patton.

“Okay!” He grabbed a present at random, carefully avoiding the Santa presents, and read the tag. “To Logan from Roman.” Logan took the gift.

“Thank you, Patton.” He tore into the wrapping, exposing a pair of soft, unicorn slippers.

“To match your onesie.” Roman clarified. Logan chuckled.

“Thank you, Roman. They shall see much use.” Virgil felt warmth blossoming through him.

“Virgil, next one’s for you,” Patton spoke. “It’s from me.” The father grinned as Virgil gingerly accepted the gift.

“Thank you.” Virgil pulled off the wrapper to find a framed picture. Tears sprung to his eyes as he recognized the image. It was a selfie Patton had taken with Logan, Roman, Virgil, and Thomas in the background. After the whole ‘ducking out’ thing, they had gathered in Thomas’s apartment for a good feelings jam and movie night. It had been one of the best nights of Virgil’s life. In the picture, Virgil was wedged between Thomas and Logan with Roman to the side. Virgil and Roman both had red tints creeping on their cheeks and Thomas was doubled over with laughter. Logan looked bewildered. The memory magnified the warmth in Virgil’s chest ten-fold. He cleared his throat, trying to speak without too much emotion. “I love it. Thanks Dad.” Patton flashed a grin.

This continued on, Patton handing out presents and everyone opening theirs and sharing words of love and appreciation. Patton had gotten a scarf, hat, and mittens set from Roman covered in cats and dog; as well as a joke book from Logan. He has squealed when he opened Virgil’s gift and Virgil could feel his cheeks burning. Logan and Roman both also gushed over Virgil’s gits to them. From Patton, Logan received one of those Lego Architecture set to build famous buildings and things. In homage to Sherlock, Logan got a set for London. Roman got a scrapbook of playbills from all of Thomas’s past shows and from Logan, a book about improv and method acting. Virgil got a Nightmare Before Christmas puzzle book from Logan and a new makeup set from Roman. Finally, they were down to Virgil’s Santa presents. Virgil tried to hide his excitement, ignoring the shooting glances everyone sent at the stack under the tree.

Logan opened his first. The soft gasp the gift elicited almost made Virgil giggle with bubbly joy. “This is… incredible.” He held the painting up. “The detail is simply astounding. Thank you, Santa.” Virgil hid his smile with a sip of cocoa. Roman’s was next.

“Magnificent! Just what I’ve been needing lately! Thank you, Santa.” Finally, it was just Patton’s gift. Virgil noticed the way his fingers trembled as he pulled the box near. He opened the box and pulled out the camera, turning it over in his hands. Virgil saw the tears well up in his eyes. “I love it. Thank you, Santa.” The underneath of the tree was now empty. Virgil closed his eyes and leaned back in the couch with a contented sigh. Suddenly, “I’m so sorry, Virgil.” Virgil looked up where Patton was now standing above him. The father looked conflicted and lost. Virgil’s eyes darted to the other two who seemed to be in similarly confused states. “I thought for sure… I don’t understand why he would leave you out.” Patton was almost crying now.

“Pat, what are you talking about?”

“Santa.” The damn broke and Patton sobbed. Oh. Yeah. That. Virgil gave the father a soft smile, standing to give him a hug.

“It’s okay, Patton.”

“N-no, it isn’t. It’s not r-r-right.”

“How could Santa be so callous!” Roman sounded affronted.

“Virgil,” Logan spoke, calmer than the other two, “You should have received a present to. You deserve one as well.” Virgil pulled out of Patton’s arms. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and come up with some way to make it okay again.

“But it’s okay. I don’t need a present from Santa to know I’m not a bad guy. Besides, there’s nothing he could give me better than this.” Patton’s sob slowed.

“W-what do you mean, K-kiddo?” Virgil flashed a smile, a real genuine smile.

“All I ever wanted was to be accepted, to be a part of the family. I have that now. Nothing Santa could give would be better than that.”

“Do you mean it?” Roman asked, sounding choked. Virgil nodded.

“Absolutely.” Before he realized what was happening, Virgil was on the couch, wrapped in the biggest hug he had received to date. Warmth and happiness and love flared almost painfully inside of him. They sat just like that for a long while. After a bit, someone turned the volume back on, on the tv. They spent most of the day watching Christmas movies. At some point, Virgil’s sleepless night caught up with him, and he fell asleep wrapped in the embrace of his family.

“You got him, Ro?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Patton.”

“He’ll sleep better in a bed.”

“I wonder if he slept at all last night.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if the answer was no.”

“Shh. Guys, you’ll wake him.”

“Take him on upstairs, then, Roman.” Virgil snuggles into the soft, warm wall he was held against by two strong branches. The distant voices fell silent and a gentle swaying lulled him back into a deeper sleep.

Roman couldn’t help but smile at the lanky emo currently nuzzling his chest. It was only 5pm, but Virgil had fallen asleep. Patton mentioned he had been up when he had come down that morning and Logan speculated he didn’t sleep well, if at all. They had decided he should be put in bed where he could rest comfortably and Roman, being the strongest of the group, had volunteered to take him. He climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Virgil too much. It probably wouldn’t be good for anyone to have the embodiment of Anxiety wake up in an unexpected place being carried by someone. It took 4 minutes, but finally, Roman made it to the second story. Virgil’s door proved a bit of a challenge, but Roman finally got it to swing open. The sight that greeted him inside was shocking to say the least.

First and foremost, Roman never would have expected a mess. The one time they had popped up with Thomas in Virgil’s realm (which would be found on the other side of the room outside of where the replica of Thomas’s bedroom door was), it had been immaculately organized. Of course, there had been spider webs everywhere, but otherwise, it had been clean. Logan had hypothesized that obsessive organization was a side effect of anxiety. Virgil had confirmed that if he couldn’t find what he needed when he needed it, he tended to freak out. But the mess alone was not what brought Roman to a stuttering halt in the doorway. It’s what the mess was made of. There was Christmas wrapping all over the place, despite the fact that Virgil had used bags. Most surprising of all was the three rolls in particular that stood out to Roman, the three designs he easily recognized. His eyes darted around the room, trying to make some semblance of sense out of the chaos. An idea tickled the back of his mind, but the implications were so horrible, Roman couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. After several moments, Virgil shifted in his arms, and Roman moved. He cleared a spot on Virgil’s bed and laid him in it, tucking the covers snugly around him. Virgil shifted again and mumbled something incoherent before sighing and relaxing. Once he was certain Virgil wasn’t going to wake up, he made his way swiftly back to the stairs, leaving the door open behind him. He came halfway down before calling for Logan and Patton’s attention.

“I think there is something you two should see.” Patton was on his feet instantly.

“Why, Roman? What’s wrong? Is Virgil okay?”

“I… I think so. Just, come on. Let me show you.” Logan gave him s skeptical look, but got up and followed nonetheless. Roman showed them to Virgil’s room, where they all peeked in.

“What are you talking about? He looks fi-” Patton’s comment came to a stilted halt as he took in the whole room. “Oh.” Logan adjusted his glasses, then cautiously walked in. He picked up the three familiar rolls, balancing them in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. “Logan? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” Logan turned his gaze to their youngest counterpart, “I’m thinking we should discuss this downstairs.” With that, Logan snapped his fingers, the mess of the room organizing itself at his will. Logan kept hold of the three rolls and brought them out of the room with him, closing the door quietly as he left. “It would appear Santa is not who he seems.” With that, the three sides left Virgil to rest, and went downstairs for a long discussion of Christmas traditions.

Virgil awoke feeling better rested than he had in a very long time. He came around slowly, blinking blearily to clear his sight of sleep. He expected to wake up in the living room, perhaps on the couch, with the others around him. But when his eyed finally focused, he was surprised to see the almost black blue that was his painted ceiling. He blinked a couple times. “When did I come up here?” He turned his head, expecting the absolute disarray that was his last memory of his room. He was met with confusion at the tidiness of his space, all the wrapping paper stacked neatly in a box by his desk. He wracked his brain, trying to remember cleaning up, until he noticed something. Or more specifically, something missing. Shock pierced his system and he sat up, slivers of fear immediately beginning to crawl up his spine and sit freezing cold on the back of his neck. “Where’s the wrapping paper?” He threw off the blanket and stood, stumbling slightly as his muscles woke up. He staggered over to the box and pawed through it, looking for the old, familiar wraps he has used for many Christmases past. It became increasingly apparent that the paper wasn’t there and Virgil became increasingly desperate to find it. He threw himself at his bed, checking underneath, but only finding his art supplies and canvases. He checked his closet next, only met with his clothes and a few shoeboxes of old photographs. The longer he looked but couldn’t find, the more panic welled up inside him. After 15 minutes of frantic searching, breathing became too difficult to continue. He sat at his desk chair, struggling to regulate his breathing. It wasn’t working and Virgil’s mind began to spiral away from him.

Oh god, what if they found them? What if they brought me to my room and they found the mess and the paper? What of they realized it was me all along? What if they hate me for lying to them all these years? What if they’re mad at themselves for not knowing sooner? What if Patton is upset that Santa isn’t real? Oh god, this is bad. This is bad, bad, bad. I should have cleaned up earlier. I should have dropped off the gifts and come back up to clean. Stupid. Lazy. Fuck-up. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.

Suddenly, Virgil felt a familiar tug in his gut. He tried to swat the sensation away. “Noooo. Not right now. I can’t. I’m… I …I… noooo,” He whined, but the sensation persisted until Virgil was pulled into the real world.

“Virgil, what’s wrong.” Virgil couldn’t focus on the speaker, too caught up in his own self-deprecating, panicking thoughts. “Virgil, hey, bud, look at me.” Virgil tried. It took a few minutes, but eventually he was able to meet Thomas’s gentle gaze. “There you are. Can I touch you?” Slowly, Virgil nodded. Thomas reached out, placing one hand on Virgil’s shoulder, grounding him further. The other hand grabbed one of Virgil’s guiding it to Thomas’s chest. “Can you breathe with me?” Thomas breathed deeply, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Virgil fought to match the steady rhythm, panicked thoughts fading to the background as Virgil focused on the simple task. After several minutes, Virgil felt like he could breathe on his own again.

“Are you back with us, Kiddo?” Virgil was only mildly surprised to hear Patton’s voice. If Thomas had summoned him, it made sense that he had summoned the other’s too. Virgil flicked his gaze to the father, but almost instantly dropped it again.

“Yeah. M’here.”

“Good. We’re glad.” Virgil flinched back from Roman’s boisterous tone. “Sorry.” Roman amended.

“S’okay.”

“Virgil?” It was Logan speaking now. The logical trait has knelt beside Virgil. “Would you mind telling us what caused this attack? Perhaps we could help.” Virgil couldn’t bring himself to look up and meet their gazes.

“It’s nothing. I just… couldn’t find what I was looking for.”

“Oh. Well, what was it. Maybe we can help.” Thomas was as chipper as ever, if slightly concerned. Virgil glanced briefly at him, then at Roman, Patton, and finally Logan. They were all watching him expectantly.

“It’s nothing important.” They frowned. A thoughtful look crossed Logan’s features.

“Would it perhaps be these?” Logan grabbed something from beside the stairs and three familiar rolls of paper came to rest in his hand. Virgil looked between him, the paper, and the others. Their expressions were unreadable. Virgil felt heat rise to his face and he hung his head.

“M’sorry.” They seemed to get a reaction. Patton came down with Logan, wrapping Virgil in a half hug.

“Whatever do you think you have to be sorry for?” Virgil thought for a moment, trying to put into words the weight on his mind.

“For not telling you sooner. For lying for all these years.”

“Well, why didn’t you say something before? Did you think we wouldn’t believe you?” Patton asked curiously.

“No. That’s not it. I mean, maybe once upon a time, but not now.” Virgil was hesitant.

“Then what?” He prodded gently.

“I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“We would never be upset with you for this.”

“Not… not just with me. Not anymore.”

“I may be alone, feelings are not really my thing, but I don’t understand what you mean, Virgil.” Logan seemed somewhat baffled.

“I didn’t want you to be upset with yourselves. For excluding me. And for jumping to conclusions. You’ve all been trying so hard, just like I have, to be better and I know sometimes you struggle to forgive yourselves even though I’ve already forgiven you and I just… I didn’t want to make it any harder. Especially not right now. It’s… it’s Christmas. Christmas is supposed to be happy.” Virgil couldn’t stop his babbling until the feelings had had their say. It was always something he’d struggled with. Once the words were finally out there, a heavy silence settled over the room.

Patton was the first to respond and Virgil found himself engulfed in the father’s arms. Virgil looked at him, confused by the odd mixture of deep sadness and joy that seemed to be fighting for dominance of his facial expression. “Oh, Kiddo. Virgil. It’s so sweet that you want to protect us from that we love you for it, we really do, but…” Patton trailed off, a small frown forming on his face. Logan picked up where he left off.

“But you can’t protect us from that. It’s illogical and it will not help in the long run.”

“Logan is right,” Roman interjected. “We messed up in a most grievous manner. We caused you pain for many years. There must be consequence for our actions. We must atone for our sins.” Virgil frowned. That’s exactly what he didn’t want.

“I don’t want atonement. I just want to move on. I want to leave the past behind so we can just be a family.”

“Virge.” Thomas piped up, taking on his normal role of mediator and leader for his sides. “The only way to move on from the past is to acknowledge it. We all must come to terms with our past mistakes. It’s the only way to truly heal. That’s the consequence Roman speaks of. The healing process, forgiving ourselves and each other and learning how to be better, it’s a messy process and its going to take time. But in the end, it will be so worth it. Because isn’t healing so much better than pretending not to be hurt?” Virgil listened intently to what Thomas had to say. He was trying to take to heart what he was saying. At the same time, his brain made a connection that had a small smirk pulling at his lips.

“You sound just like you do in the videos. Are you sure you don’t have a hidden camera set up somewhere?” The easy wit did wonders for the tension in the room. Thomas and Roman both chuckled, Patton giggled, and even Logan let out an amused snort.

“No. No filming today.” Something occurred to Virgil then.

“Then why did you summon us all?” Thomas just chuckled again.

“Actually,” Patton chirped, jumping up. “He didn’t Logan and Roman and me were already here.”

“I,” corrected Logan.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Said Roman, rhythmically.

“What, is it National Talk Like A Pirate Day?” Asked Patton cheekily. Logan just sighed and shook his head. Virgil tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed and just barely managed to muffle it with his hoodie sleeve.

“Virgil.” Logan spoke seriously. Virgil swallowed nervously, something Logan didn’t miss. He made a point of softening his tone when he continued. “We were up here seeking help from Thomas. You see, with how thoughtful and generous you’ve been with your gifts for all these years, we thought it only fair you should receive something equally special from us. We required Thomas’s assistance in acquiring it.”

“Oh. Um. Y-you guys didn’t ha-ave to go through all that tr-rouble just for me.” Virgil stuttered out.

“They wanted to.” Thomas responded calmly. “I wanted to. We want to show you how much you mean to us, Virgil. We can’t make up for all those years we excluded and isolated you. But we can make dang sure you feel loved and included now.” Virgil ducked his head, hiding the soft pink spreading across his cheeks, which were on display since Virgil hadn’t put on his make-up yet.

“O-o-okay.” Virgil glanced up from under his bangs, catching the broad smile on each of there faces. Even Logan, Mr. Emotions are the bane of my existence, was sporting one. Patton had bounced over to the coffee table were a medium sized box wrapped in electric purple paper sat. He grabbed it and bounced back over, plopping down next to Virgil and sliding the box into his hands. Virgil noticed a card taped to the top.

“We hope you like it, Kiddo. It was Roman’s idea what to get.”

“Well, Logan picked out which one.” Roman replied sheepishly.

“Patton and Thomas made the card,” said Logan.

“It was a team effort!” Giggled Patton. “Open it up.” Virgil opened the card first. It was a home-made paper card, like the one he had received from Patton what felt like a lifetime ago now. On the front, they had drawn Logan, Thomas, Roman, and Patton with Virgil soaring above them on purple wings. It read: ‘For our Guardian Angle, who takes good care of us…’ Virgil opened the card. Inside, he had landed on the ground and the others had grouped around him in a hug. ‘Don’t be An-Jealous! We want to take care of you, too!’ Virgil made no effort to hide the smile on his face. He carefully slid the card back into its envelope. Then he turned to the box. He glanced up at them, looking for confirmation. The all gave him soft smiles and small nods. Virgil tore into the paper and opened the box. His mouth fell open when he looked inside. He glanced between his family and the box, unsure if this was even happening. “Well?” Patton pressed gently. Virgil’s hands fell into the box, pulling out the soft purple and yellow fabric. He began to unfold it, unsurprised when it took on a humanoid shape. The unfolding revealed pieces of orange fabric mixed in. Once it was fully unfolded, Virgil held in his hands a Spyro the Dragon onesie. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thoughtfulness that must have gone into this gift. He couldn’t even imagine what they’d had to do to get it here within the last 24 hours.

“It’s perfect, guys. Thank you. I love it. I love you.” It was weird saying it, after spending so long hiding those feelings. But even weird, it felt right.

“We love you to, Virgil.” They all chorused back. The tears spilled over, but Virgil found he didn’t mind. Not when Patton was there, gently wiping them away with his own tearful smile. They were all quiet as the cried out their individual feelings of overwhelming joy and love. After a while, Roman snapped his fingers, gaining their attentions. He beamed a broad smile, looking for all the world like he had just had the most brilliant idea in the whole world. Virgil was more than happy in that moment to believe that maybe he had.

“What does everyone say to a PJs and Movies Day with the whole family.” The others all responded with varying forms of yes. Roman looked at Virgil.

“Sounds good to me, Princey. But only if The Black Cauldron makes the list.” Patton bounced up with a giggle. He launched himself upstairs to get some extra pillows and blankets. Virgil stood too, coming off the stairs to stand with Roman by the TV. Logan moved off to the kitchen to prepare some snacks. Thomas went upstairs to help Patton and also to put on his pjs, the sides having snapped instantly into theirs.

“It can be first. But we are definitely watching a classic second. Cinderella.”

“I vote Aladdin third!” Thomas called down.

“Don’t forget Winnie The Pooh!” Patton responded from the top of the stairs.

“And Big Hero 6 if we may,” said Logan.

“Perfect!” Exclaimed Roman, “A day of favorites with all my favorites.” Virgil couldn’t keep the smile off his face. His new Spyro onesie was soft, warm, and comfortable. His family was all around him wearing their own onesies, save for Thomas (Virgil made a mental note to make sure Thomas got one, too at some point). It was the day after Christmas and for the first time in living memory Virgil felt like absolutely everything, down to the last minute detail, was perfect.

Part 2

#Thomas Sanders #Sanders Sides #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #TS #Canon Divergence #Angst #Panic Attack #Crying #Self-Deprecation #Hurt/Comfort #My Writing

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athousandmilez-blog · 6 years

Text

New Year, New Me → 017

Tagging: Miles Sterling & Nick Vaughn.

Timeframe: Sunday, December 31, 2017.

Location: A friend-of-a-friend’s party.

General Notes: Nick and Miles hang out at a New Years Eve party and it’s the first time anything happens between them around other people. So like, a big deal.

Miles: Miles always found himself somewhere new to ring in the new year. Sometimes it was with family, other times with close friends — this year, it was neither, as he found himself wandering the basement of a friend-of-a-friend’s home. The place wasn’t quite packed, but there were plenty of faces Miles didn’t recognize. One who didn’t fall into that category, obviously, was Nick, who Miles hoped was still behind him as he finally moved to a spot of open air, right near the TV where a crowd had formed to watch the whole New Years Eve countdown thing. “I’m not cut out for this anymore,” Miles said when he could finally see his friend again. He was glad they were here together, given the events that unfolded a little prior to Christmas, followed by completely different events on Christmas. But they always somehow found their way back to being each other’s sidekicks at parties like this. “It’s already way past my bedtime. I don’t think I’ll even last until midnight, man.”

Nick: Nick usually took his New Years Eve plans very seriously. The previous years, he’d made it a point to scope out the biggest parties, of the ones that were likely to be the most memorable. This year was different. Nick didn’t even realize New Years was so close; he’d been so focused on just trying to get through the overwhelming holiday that was Christmas. When word got out that a friend of a friend was throwing a small New Years party, Nick wasn’t sure he even wanted to go. He almost didn’t, although he knew that he should go socialize and see his friends. It turned out Miles was going, though, and if Miles was going then Nick had to show up. They always seemed to end up at these parties together — even if it was unplanned. It was practically tradition. Nick smiled and nodded at people he recognized as he walked through the apartment, realizing he’d seen a lot of these same people at previous parties although he couldn’t remember half of their names. Maybe if he was feeling the spirit of New Years later he’d ask them. But for now (for once) he wanted time to ease into making himself mingle with everyone. Nick didn’t think twice before walking with Miles to an open spot, still near everybody but further enough away to have breathing room. “Sure you can, man. I believe in you.” He half smiled at him. “Everyone says that until they start drinking and get too hyped up to sleep. Then you wake up the next day and regret everything.” That’s how Nick always started the New Year.

Miles: Miles shook his head, looking down at plastic cup in his hand, which actually contained water this time around. “I’m not even, like...all that fun when I’m drunk,” he pointed out, though it wasn’t like Nick didn’t know that. “I mean, only past a certain point. Everyone has that uphill climb when you’re full of adrenaline and stuff but once I’m over that it’s just not pretty.” So he was trying to prevent that this time. Or maybe just prolong it, at the very least, so he’d be in that heightened state to bring in 2018. “I won’t be regretting it tomorrow, though. I’m a good boy.” He lifted the cup of water to prove his point. “I hope you’re staying adequately hydrated. I don’t mean to mom you, but you never know with you.” At this point, he really didn’t know what Nick was up to sometimes. He was learning all these surprises about him lately. But that didn’t matter right now.

Nick: Nick glanced down at Miles’ cup knowingly. Leave it to him to be the more responsible one. Nick supposed that’s why he managed to stay out of trouble. Well, for the most part. Excluding the Greg thing which he really didn’t want to think about right now, because Miles was finally starting to look like himself again. “I think you’re fun.” He said with a shrug as he glanced at a few people who passed by. “You’re right about that though. Probably best for you to not ring in the New Year with a hangover.” Nick has, but that doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. Just the events leading up to it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He replied, but he wasn’t necessarily offended. That comment wasn’t necessarily unwarranted, after all. “I actually haven’t been drinking. Yet.” He tacked on so it wouldn’t seem to out of character for him. “But I’ll stay hydrated. Don’t worry, Mom. I even made sure to pack a Capri Sun in my jacket pocket so drunk me would want to drink more liquids.” He patted the side of his jacket, figuring Miles would think he was kidding, but he always made sure he was prepared to overdo it even when he didn’t plan on it. “Chances are we’ll both remember this New Years Eve. It’s almost midnight anyway.” He turned his head to glance at the TV people were currently gathered around. Almost midnight, but not quite. “Are you excited for 2018?” He turned back to Miles with a small grin. “Any cool New Years resolutions?”

Miles: Miles didn’t want to feel the familiar warmth in his chest whenever Nick said something as simple as finding him fun, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. It didn’t take much nowadays. “Yeah, well. You get to laugh at me,” he settled on saying in response after a moment, again watching the water swirl around in his cup before raising his head again. “Just being honest. I know how you roll at these things for the most part. Capri Suns are terrible for you, for the record. You’re probably better off with just straight vodka at that point.” Though Miles had to admit a juice box sounded good right about then. “Yeah — ten minutes?” He squinted as he tried to read the little timer in the corner of the TV, but there were a lot of drunk people in the way. “Sure. I’m not sure it’ll be much different from this year, but we’ll see.” He shrugged. “Not really. Maybe do a little bit more with my mom, especially after everything. But I’m already super jacked so it’s not like I need to work out or anything. I guess I could keep perfecting my stripping skills to steal your job, though. What about you?”

Nick: “When do I ever laugh at you?” He asked rhetorically, amused before the conversation shifted to Miles insulting him and his Capri Suns. “Think what you want about me, but leave the Capri Suns out of this. If they were bad adults wouldn’t let their kids have them.” He states matter of factly, although that statement was clearly not entirely factual. His Grandpa let him drink a beer when he was eight so clearly some people weren’t really worried about those things. “Seeing your Mom more is a good one.” He nodded. “So your other resolution is to see me jobless. Nice.” He couldn’t help but laugh. Normally he’d be concerned about people overhearing what he did for a living, but truthfully no one was even paying attention to them. “Well, I’m going to try to find another job. Especially with you trying to steal mine. I need to be one step ahead.” He playfully glared at him for a fraction of a second. “And I want to finish Stranger Things with you. That’s also important.” Nick nodded. “And I want to be a guest judge on Cupcake Wars. But that’s every years resolution.” Obviously.

Miles: “I could try to remember every time but we’d be here a while.” Truthfully, they usually ended up just laughing together anyway. “I’m not saying I don’t like them. I’m just saying they’re not good for you. They aren’t a useful alternative to alcohol. Parents let kids have plenty of terrible things.” He shrugged. “Well, these skills have to go somewhere. Sorry, man.” He was glad to hear that Nick was going to look for other jobs. Something about him being there still rubbed Miles the wrong way after what had happened. “That will be good for you,” he said seriously. “Stranger Things, too. I’m annoyed that we’re gonna be a year behind everyone else but it’s no one’s fault but ours, I guess.” He knew that they were just going to have to try harder not to talk the whole time. “I would watch the hell out of that episode. I think you’d have more luck just becoming a contestant, though.”

Nick: Nick rolled his eyes playfully at the comment, but didn’t feel the need to reply. “Sugar water is good for humming birds, maybe scientists thought it’d be the same for kids.” He shrugged. Who was he to argue with the creators of Capri Sun? He just thought they tasted good. “Maybe I’ll end up mixing it with vodka at some point so it’s extra bad for me.” He joked. At the talk of him finding another job, Nick nodded. “Yeah... I want to. I don’t know if I’ll find anything better, but we’ll see.” At the Stranger Things talk, Nick smiled again. “We’ll get there, dude. Even if we have to binge it right before season three starts. Maybe it’s even better this way so we won’t have months of withdrawals like everybody else.” They’d have to avoid spoilers like the plague, though, considering everyone else in the world has seen it besides them. “That means more to me than you know.” He said seriously, raising his hand to his chest as he did. “You really think so? That’d be the ultimate dream. Maybe you could come with me and be my teammate. I think we have the same creative vision.”

Miles: “Do they say artificial flavors are good for hummingbirds, too? I must have missed that scientific discovery.” As if Miles actually cared about eating healthy. He put a lot of crap into his body. “That doesn’t even sound like a terrible idea. I mean, it is a terrible idea but I still want to try it.” He figures if he was up for it later he’d go hunt down the ingredients for Nick’s new cocktail. “I think there are plenty of better options for you. You just have to work your way up. But anything’s probably better than that.” Maybe not anything, but there were certainly quite a few that would be a start. “Seriously. I’m not great under pressure, though. I guess I could just tag along and taste things as you go but you can’t count on me to do any baking. I’ll crack, man.” He noticed a sudden commotion near them, and Miles turned to see the crowd gathering further around the TV as the countdown got closer to midnight. “Well, looks like we’re almost in 2018. I have a feeling it’ll be your big Cupcake Wars break for sure.”

Nick: “I don’t know, I’m not a birdologist.” Nick laughed, nodding. “It’s a horrible idea. But you can try it with me if you want. We should do it right before we leave so you don’t have to worry about getting sick in front of all these people.” He only had one jumbo Capri Sun anyway, so the cocktail wouldn’t be particularly big. “I’m gonna try. I dunno. We’ll see.” Nick shrugged. He wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to find anything that paid as well as his current job did, and that was the important part. But he’d at least try. “I believe in you. I need you there, dude. You’re the only other person who knows how the competition works as well as I do.” He said genuinely, gently slapping Miles’ shoulder as he spoke. The excited yells and murmurs from beside them soon grabbed his attention, though, and he turned his head to glance at the TV currently airing the countdown. “And this will be the year you get your big Stripping break.” He turned back to grin at him. “We’re so underprepared, though. We don’t have 2018 sunglasses or tiaras or anything. I guess we’ll just have to do the countdown super loudly to make up for it. You ready?”

Miles: “I will almost definitely throw up.” They we’re pretty good at bad ideas, though, so he was still into it. “I guess that’s all you can really do.” There was certainly no harm in trying. “But it’s too much pressure, dude. I know I’d fall apart under the circumstances. Cupcakes are too serious for me. I just like to watch. And eat them.” He was definitely more of a judge type, but that was Nick’s aspiration. “Man, I hope so. It’s my life’s dream.” It was now Miles’ unspoken duty to give Nick shit about the stripping thing as often as he could without downright disrespecting him. “Well, we can just borrow them from someone else here. I doubt any of these drunk people would notice.” He could stick with the countdown thing, though. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal.” He shrugged. He had never considered it a huge thing. He’d stay where he was and watch drunk couples kiss at midnight and cheer with the other drunk single people and then that would be it. “I might have to go find the dog to kiss me at midnight, though. Start my year off right.”

Nick: Nick nodded in understanding. “Maybe if I ever get on as a contestant we can sneak you in to be a judge. Or security or something. Then I can just sneak you the cupcakes.” And probably get kicked out of the competition, but he’d risk it. “If you need help working on your professional stripping skills, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ve got years of experience now.” Nick didn’t freely talk about what he did with just anybody, but it was easy to joke about this with Miles, because he knew he didn’t think less of him for being a stripper. “Honestly, probably not.” He rose an eyebrow as he heard the crowd go wild again, and Nick wondered if he sounded like that when he partied. He probably sounded worse. “Good plan. But if you can’t find the dog, you might want to find a human backup. ‘Cause if you don’t you’ll get ten years of bad luck.”

Miles: “I could deal with that. Although if we’re being totally honest, we’re both better off as we are.” Miles himself much preferred watching it from his couch whilst eating store bought cupcakes that he didn’t have to work for. “I appreciate that. You should teach lessons. I’d do it.” He wasn’t sure where Nick drew his line, but if Miles had to guess, that was probably it. Miles continued to watch the people around them begin to grab onto each other and move in closer, in all of their respective pairs as the clock ticked down. “There are very few people here I would consider worth these luscious lips.” He chuckled, but he was totally serious. He turned his attention back to Nick with a shrug. “Besides. I think you know as well as I do I only really want to kiss one person lately,” he admitted, having no fear in doing so. He was sure to lower his voice, though. He knew they weren’t a ‘thing,’ they weren’t boyfriends, and Nick wasn’t ready to even be anything close to that in front of people. Miles didn’t mind. “But it’s not necessary in front of all these people. I can kiss that person another time.”

Nick: "I hate to admit it, but you're probably right. I need to practice first. Really get good at making a solid cupcake." Nick loved cupcakes, so he probably would try to make some from scratch one day to see if he could. He wasn't banking on a good outcome, but hey, who knew? "Maybe that should be my new job. Stripper teaching. That's how I got into it, you know. A friend taught me. Maybe there's a market for stripping coaching out there." He said quietly enough so no one else would hear him. If they did, that's when he'd shut up. It was all fun and games until someone heard him. "Luscious lips? Have you been using Lip Smackers, or what?" His lips tugged into an amused grin. "Well, God, Miles. If you wanted to kiss Lily that bad you should have just invited her." He said, clearly joking, although maybe that was too soon to joke about. But he knew what Miles meant, and his heart was undoubtedly warmed by it. His words made him feel things he never expected to feel, but he wasn't pushing them away this time. This time he was embracing them. "What if..." His voice suddenly took a serious turn, and he felt ridiculously vulnerable. Not to mention stupid. There were a thousand negative thoughts now running through his head telling him that he shouldn't say that he was about to say, but his heart wasn't seeming to listen to them. "What if that person wants to kiss you here?"]

Miles: “I volunteer to be your taste tester.” Miles might end up trying some admittedly bad cupcakes, but it was all in the name of helping Nick improve. Plus, a bad cupcake was still a cupcake. “Really? Is that a thing? To be fair, you kind of inadvertently showed me a thing or two.” He had technically stripped in front of him, after all. “Yes, luscious — I said what I said. You’re right, though. The cotton candy kind.” He had actually been obsessed with those for a while as a kid. At Nick’s joke, Miles rolled his eyes, though he appreciated the humor in the situation as a whole. “You’re hilarious.” He shook his head and sipped from his water, immediately pushing Lily out of his thoughts. None of that mattered when he was with Nick. And it became even truer when Nick spoke next. Miles raised an eyebrow at him as he peered over the edge of his cup. “What?” was all he could say at first. He finally lowered his drink then. “You don’t... I mean, it’s... Nick, there’s people around,” he finally settled on, glancing at the crowded area around them. “It’s not a big deal to me, you know. I know I’m not your...” He trailed off. He didn’t need to say it. He shrugged instead. “It’s just not a big deal,” he repeated.

Nick: “You might have to be my only taste tester. I don’t think anyone else is brave enough.” So Nick definitely appreciated the offer. “Well it is now.” He paused, caught off guard by the comment. He smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “...That doesn’t count.” Nick laughed at the luscious lips talk. “Good, everyone knows cotton candy is the best kind. That and the soda ones. I liked the root beer one, personally. It just didn’t make my lips very luscious because I kept licking it off.” Hence the name lip smackers, he guessed. The playful conversation slowly gave way to something more serious, and Nick was left feeling exposed. But he wasn’t denying what he just suggested. “I know there is. And I know... I know you’re not. But...” He shrugged slightly. “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal if I do it.” He said cautiously. He knew it was a big deal. It felt like a very big deal.

Miles: “I feel like that’s typical between the two of us. We have to do things for each other because no one else is willing to breach this territory.” It was definitely strange territory sometimes, so Miles couldn’t particularly blame other people. “It so does count. Only difference is I didn’t have to pay for it. But I got the full experience.” He laughed lightly, knowing it was probably the alcohol coursing through his veins making him speak so nonchalantly about it, especially in front of other people. “Okay. I’m done now, promise.” Maybe. Time would tell. “They do that on purpose, y’know. Make it so you keep licking your lips and make ‘em even drier so you have to keep buying more. Get with it, Nicholas.” He wanted to figure out where this had come from, why Nick was suddenly interest of the prospect of kissing him in front of other people. But all Miles could really do was blink, unable to try and put the pieces together. Why now? Here? “If…” He trailed off, looking over at the TV once again, which was now counting down the final minute of the year. “If you’re sure,” he finally said, holding his gaze again. “But don’t — don’t push yourself.” His voice was lower again, and he took a step toward Nick. It felt like too much space between them to be talking about something so…intimate. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

Nick: “If you ask me they’re missing out.” Just because their ideas didn’t make sense or seem good to other people didn’t mean they were any less valid. Nick was glad Miles thought the same way he did — half the time it seemed like he was the only person who understood what he was saying. “Lucky you.” Nick frowned at the teasing. “If you tried to pay me for it we would no longer be speaking.” He wasn’t exactly mad, he was just used to it being a touchy subject. “Are you sure?” He deadpanned. “Shit —- you’re right. I can’t be mad at smart business strategies, though. Maybe I should have asked for lip smackers for Christmas. My lips have been way less luscious than when I used to use it.” Nick didn’t know exactly what had gotten into him. All he knew is that over the past few weeks, something had changed with him and Miles. It was subtle, but they were no longer trying to hide the fact that they wanted to kiss each other. So Nick, from time to time, had moments where he thought that he wanted to try to kiss him again. Apparently, right now was one of the moments. “I don’t want...everyone to see us.” That thought made him nervous. He continued to keep his voice quiet. “I’m not ready for that.” He held his gaze in return, trying to be honest. “But I want to be able to kiss you at midnight. Because I want to.” He could hear the countdown in the background, and it was getting closer and closer to midnight. Nick reached out to grasp onto Miles’ sleeve and took a step backwards, hoping he would take the hint and move with him closer to the wall and away from the crowds of people.

Miles: “I am lucky. But I didn’t need to pay you.” Miles wanted to remind him that he got his fair share, but he left that part out. “Okay, now I am,” he promised. “That would have been a good gift. Though I think what I did get you was better.” He was proud of the t-shirt. Meaningful gifts and all that shit. He nodded slowly as Nick spoke, even if admittedly he should have been more taken back by what he’d said. He knew he should have cared, but...it was Nick. He wanted to be with him. If this was what Nick needed, then so be it, even if that meant hiding in the shadows. Though Miles supposed this was a step in the right direction. He watched Nick pull his sleeve, blindly stepping forward to follow him. They were moving further away from the view of others, which was fair, and what Miles would have expected anyway. He felt like he was a part of something much larger, sneaking around and trying to keep it under wraps. It made his heart race. He looked over his shoulder, watching the seconds tick down. “I hope...” He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with that at first. He paused and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I hope next year is, um, easier.” They’d both had to deal with some shit this year, about a lot of things. Miles just wanted things to be simple. He looked down, his hand sliding up Nick’s arm slowly. Ten seconds. Miles met his eyes, his palms feeling sweaty like he was fourteen and about to have his first kiss. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, even seeing Nick in front of him, but he held his gaze and waited.

Nick: “Do you ever get tired of being so hilarious?” His words were clearly coated in sarcasm, but he knew that Miles was (mostly) being harmless. “Yeah... That was the best gift.” He said genuinely. He hadn’t expected it, but he loved it and was planning on wearing it whenever he could. As he and Miles walked further back, Nick’s heart was racing. Maybe this isn’t what most people thought of when they thought of kissing who they wanted at midnight. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to Miles, because they’d be hidden. It wasn’t like it was in the middle of the room. But still... to him, it felt like it was. It felt like the step before taking that step, and it was exciting as it was nerve wracking. “Me too.” Nick murmured back when they stopped. For a moment, it felt like they were two awkward teenagers, just staring at each other and unsure of what to do. Miles’ hand traveling up his arm and the way he was already standing so close made him want this even more — and suddenly he was very sure of this decision. On the count of six, Nick tugged him even closer by his sleeve. On the count of three, he lifted his hands up to cup either side of Miles’ face. And on the count of one, he leaned in to gently press his lips against Miles’. His nose bumped his a little clumsily, and he almost smiled, but he was too preoccupied by how good it felt to be able to do this.

Miles: “It’s really hard being me.” He wanted to flip his hair, but he didn’t have the long hair to flip and it just wouldn’t work. At least Nick could do the flippy bangs thing. “I’m glad you liked it. Yours was way better, though. It’s been on repeat.” He’d been so psyched about it he could have actually cried. And maybe he did later on. He’d never tell. He hadn’t expected the night to come to this. Honestly, Miles didn’t think he’d be kissing anybody this year. But if it was going to be anyone, he was obviously glad it was Nick. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as they came closer while the countdown continued behind them. When it finally reached midnight, Nick pulled him in and kissed him. Miles could hear champagne popping open somewhere behind him, cheering, and he was positive that there was a lot of sloppy drunk kissing going on, but his eyes had slid shut at this point, his hands on Nick’s waist to hold him there. He hoped that this was going to set the tone for the new year. That this meant maybe things were going to be easier and Nick would feel more comfortable doing things like this. He was grinning when he pulled away, realizing there was nothing he wanted more from the night than for exactly that to occur. “It’s a shame it didn’t taste like lip smackers.”

Nick: “Poor you.” He really did love his gift, and he was glad to hear that Miles liked his too. “Good, I thought you might like it. I wouldn’t say it’s better. We both got equally good gifts, I think.” For as long as the countdown seemed to take, the kiss itself didn’t seem to last nearly as long. Or maybe the selfish part of his brain just wanted more of it. He’d kissed Miles before, but it was always in private. And more often than not, not even the two of them would really acknowledge it. This time it was different. It felt more real. Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes to look at Miles. Unable to help it, he laughed at the comment. “Maybe next time we’ll remember to get some.”

Miles: “Alright. I can agree with that.” It spoke volumes how well they knew each other. They were able to get each other things that others wouldn’t even think of. Miles could have kept kissing him all night into the next morning if it were realistic, but they’d definitely get kicked out of the party eventually. He was content that they’d even kissed at all, to be fair. “Yeah. Next time,” he agreed. He obviously still remembered, but now it was difficult for him to understand why there was ever a time where the two of them tried to pretend they didn’t feel a certain way about each other. There were very few things holding them back now. Just a few more obstacles that Miles was sure they could eventually work through — hopefully — and then maybe everything would just work out fine. “Happy New Year, man.” He lingered for a moment, then shifted his attention behind him. No one seemed to even notice them, which Miles had suspected — but still. He understood. “I think we should go find some champagne.”

#017

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sanerontheinside · 7 years

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feels

uuuuuum I can’t tell if I drifted thru povs however I felt like it, or if it counts as third-person omniscience, but I will say that having an actual panning camera image of the scene as you write it can be very annoying that way.

also this is one of the only scenes I have written in full, and it’s been written for some months now, so I’m dropping it here in a moment of extremely questionable decision-making and doing my best not to question the fact that I just posted a major resolution point.

then again, if this au ever gets written? by the time this scene comes up again it will either have changed significantly, or y’all won’t remember this ever happened, or both. so that’s not so bad.

@deadcatwithaflamethrower, @aidava, hi I blame you for the frankenau

—note: Obi-Wan’s first mission as a Knight leaves him stranded on a planet being invaded and reclaimed by its neighbour world. eventually he does a successful blockade run, only to end up crashlanding on Tatooine. that is where Qui-Gon and Anakin find him. to skip over a lot more detail, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are eventually partnered again, and Anakin becomes their shared Padawan. Also Offworld subsidiaries reappear, which throws everyone for a loop.

He awoke with his throat raw from a scream he couldn’t remember the reason for, which was frustrating. When the Force chose to make itself known, it wasn’t usually so skittish, but this time he had to go digging for the nightmare that had prompted this rude awakening.

“Obi-Wan?”

Shit. “Sorry, Qui-Gon. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He turned, and found himself staring across the encampment at a blearily blinking Jedi Master. Qui-Gon had propped himself up on one elbow on his pallet, his hair spilling over his shoulders in a sleep-tousled mess, deep blue eyes unfocused in the firelight. It was a surprisingly endearing sight, and Obi-Wan mustered an apologetic half-smile for waking him to cover the feeling of warmth he felt bloom in his chest.

“Bad dreams?” Qui-Gon asked, voice deep and sleep-roughened.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, gaze turning inward to finally track down the thread he’d nearly lost just now. “Bandomeer,” he said at last. “I hadn’t thought about that in a long time.”

“Offworld.” When he looked up again, Qui-Gon looked grieved. “Haven’t had to think about that in a long time.” He shifted, then gave Obi-Wan a shy look and raised the corner of his blanket in invitation.

Obi-Wan didn’t let himself think—simply got up, collecting his own blanket and draping it over his Master before settling in under his arm. The easy pressure of Qui-Gon’s breath at his back, the protective limb across his chest pulling him in and holding tight for a moment before relaxing—this comfort, this sense of safety was not one he’d had the chance to feel in long years.

In the Temple, the nightmares eased in Qui-Gon’s quarters, which still felt more like home than his assigned rooms. He ended up on that couch more often than not, and when he did cry out in his sleep—after missions gone horribly or with visions creeping into his dreams—Qui-Gon was there, running his hand through Obi-Wan’s hair and whispering comforts.

Here, though, the entire compound was saturated with a feeling of unease, and it leached into the surrounding woods. They’d wandered off as far as they’d dared, set up a campsite, but apparently not far enough. Obi-Wan’s dream had so unsettled him that his heart still beat rapidly in his chest. After a few moments, as the adrenaline drained away, he felt cold and a fine tremor ran through his body.

Behind him, Qui-Gon sighed deeply. “I think we’ll be awake for some time yet, Obi-Wan. Come on, up—let me stir the fire.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help a faint, shiver-broken chuckle as he shifted to sit alongside his Master, pulling one of the blankets around his shoulders. “Staying awake with the nightmare-plagued Padawan again. Between Anakin and myself, it’s a wonder you’ve gotten any sleep in the last few years.”

“Sleep is something of a privilege rarely afforded to Masters with Padawans,” Qui-Gon informed him, the fond smile he threw over his shoulder warming Obi-Wan better than the struggling campfire.

Qui-Gon finally moved back to their nest of blankets, shifting until he sat shoulder to shoulder with the Knight. “I never meant to take on another Padawan,” he mused softly.

The remark that caught Obi-Wan entirely by surprise. “Qui-Gon?”

His former Master turned half-amused, half-regretful blue eyes on him and studied him calmly. “Certainly not Anakin.”

Obi-Wan tried to shake off the confusion he felt. “But—a nine-year-old boy, never trained to control his emotions, and so strong in the Force—he could put out a sun if he thought about it hard enough. We couldn't just ignore him.”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon looked back at the fire in the centre of their camp, flickering and popping loudly in the gaps between speech. He was seized with a sudden melancholy. “The Council displayed an unusual lack of common sense.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Not so unusual, these days.”

Qui-Gon’s smile was a fleeting thing. “It was a desperate bluff, claiming Anakin as my Padawan.”

He felt Obi-Wan go very still against him, so he pressed on quickly before his agitation could choke him. And his profound shame, too, for the desperation that had coloured his bid to secure Anakin’s future.

“I hoped either Mace or Yoda, or maybe Plo, might dismiss my claim, and take on Anakin themselves.” He sighed and disturbed the blankets in a small ruffle, reaching up to drag his hands over his face. “Worked like a charm,” he added, with humourless laugh. Qui-Gon was not bitter, not in the least.

His former Padawan was staring at him, and Qui-Gon wasn't sure he wanted to know what the expression on his face held.

“I thought you—" Obi-Wan broke off with a slight cough. “You were bluffing?”

Qui-Gon glanced up at last, startled by the disbelief in the exclamation—and more, by some unnamed emotion caught behind tight shields that threatened to wrench itself out of Obi-Wan’s grasp. It almost felt like an old injury pulling at his attention again.

Obi-Wan was grappling with the elder Master’s admission and finding it rather difficult to contend with. “That was not the time, Qui-Gon!” he sputtered at last.

“There was no time, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly. “The Council refused to accept Anakin outright, which was completely ridiculous—as though an untrained Force Sensitive of his potential could be any less dangerous than a Sith. I needed them to agree, at least to not turn him away.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to warn you. I didn’t think—couldn't imagine—it would come to that. And I would have explained, afterward, but then—"

Then Naboo. That silent, strained trip through hyperspace, the careful way in which Master and Padawan had avoided each other. Qui-Gon’s features twisted with regret.

“Anakin was a joy to teach, and when you vanished he was the only one left to ground me in reality. It wasn't an easy time for us,” he added with a wry, strained attempt at a smile. “Thank all the little gods we found you, you helped us through so much.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, turned back to stare at the flames again. “Can't say I gave you a chance to say anything.”

Those beautiful blue-green eyes turned inward thoughtfully, and Obi-Wan absently bit at his lip. Then, apropos of nothing he said, “I wanted to ask you if we could remain partnered after my Knighting.”

Qui-Gon shifted in surprise. “Why didn't you?” He watched as the younger man looked away and his shoulders twitched in an aborted shrug, clearly fighting with himself. “Please, Obi-Wan, don't be afraid to tell me.” The flicker of a pained glance in his direction was enough to cause a physical twinge in him, and the silence weighed heavily on Qui-Gon’s mind.

“I thought you didn't want me,” Obi-Wan said at last, quietly. A barely audible hitch in breath escaped Qui-Gon’s control. “Though if truth be told, I was very grateful you weren’t with me on that mission. Nak was—hm. ‘Frustrating’ doesn’t begin to cover that level of Sith hells.”

Qui-Gon scoffed. “My Obi-Wan, better with you to all Sith hells than ever without you. I don't—" he hesitated a moment. “You thought I wouldn't want you?”

The younger Knight curled into himself, feeling small under the weight of that intent gaze. “I didn't realise you were bluffing. You told them I was ready for my Trials, but I didn't feel ready.”

At Qui-Gon's continued silence, Obi-Wan finally dragged his eyes up to meet his former Master's gaze, heart almost shuddering to a stop at the expression he saw there.

“You were long ready, Obi-Wan,” he said solemnly. “I, on the other hand, had done you a great disservice. I trusted you with every mission, and you’d long since been carrying the responsibilities of a Knight, but I thought—I thought I could protect you. I thought I would not lose you if I kept you close.” His attempt at a self-deprecating chuckle sounded pitifully broken even to him. “I didn't realise you'd think of my recommendation for you Trials as a dismissal. But then, how could you not? It was abrupt, presented completely without finesse.”

Qui-Gon broke off and closed his eyes, dragged in a shuddering breath and held it for a count of seven. “We didn't have the finest of beginnings. Old fool that I am, I thought the last few years with our rhythm, our partnership, our bond and the strength that it had—”

“You shut me out, I didn't know what to think.” Obi-Wan shrugged, without a tinge of bitterness.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan glanced up, saw Qui-Gon flinch. “That was—forgive me—"

Obi-Wan watched his former Master stutter to a halt with every false start. Here was a man usually so eloquent, always one to use words to their greatest effect, now incapable of saying something that must have weighed heavily on his mind for a long time.

He reached out and rested a hand over the other man’s, tracing delicate circles over smooth, soft skin. “Qui-Gon?”

“Obi-Wan.” Deep blue eyes opened, gaze intense, and locked with Obi-Wan’s. “There is not a single thing you could ever do that would have made me deny you as my apprentice then, nor now as my Knight-partner and friend.”

“Then why did you block the training bond?”

Qui-Gon winced, but he didn’t look away. “Your nightmares, Obi-Wan.”

“The visions?” Obi-Wan pulled back, surprised. “I—they bled through?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Only once, when you were still too afraid of losing your place at my side to tell me what they were. I sat with you that night.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I remember.”

“I was always aware of them, even when I did not see them. I remembered them, and I could always tell when they started again. As they did before Naboo.”

The look of frank astonishment on Obi-Wan’s features melted into an aggrieved smile. “You always tell me to live in the moment, and yet that time you chose to listen to visions? What exactly were you thinking of when you blocked me out? What is it that you finally listened to?”

It was some time before Qui-Gon could answer that. His body betrayed him even as his mind tried, needed to get the words out. His throat constricted, refused to give way for any more than a tight pained sound. He let his head fall back, face upturned to the starry sky but eyes unseeing. The stars blurred, distant pinpoints washing out into silvery spots.

“From the moment I faced the Zabrak on Tatooine, I knew what your visions were trying to tell you.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath. Obi-Wan froze, muscles iron-tense all along Qui-Gon’s side, but his voice, when he spoke, was low and wrought of perfect calm. “The figure in black and red.”

“I could barely hold my own against him then, I knew I couldn’t hold him alone on Naboo. Maybe just long enough to weaken him, long enough to let you finish the fight and guarantee your survival.”

Silence. The Force, somewhere, roiled with emotions, but those emotions were all Qui-Gon’s. Obi-Wan hid himself away so well under his shields, Qui-Gon couldn’t sense even a whisper of what he must have felt. He’d imagined anger, which he well deserved. He’d imagined grief, even. But of all the things he might have expected, he’d never even imagined this death-still, accepting calm. A sudden intense pain flared in his chest, a depth of fear and loss he could not even begin to fathom, and he nearly curled into it.

And as if that were the sign for him to let go, Obi-Wan all but exploded. “Dammit, Qui-Gon! What did you always tell me? ‘Live in the Moment, Padawan, the future is always in motion, focus on the here and now’. And then you go and run ahead to face that thing alone. I thought I wasn’t good enough to fight at your side, that I’d failed you, lost your trust. You knew it would kill you, and you thought that would be better than—"

“Better than watching you die, Obi-Wan.”

The quiet words brought him up short, it seemed. Again, Qui-Gon wasn’t sure what to think, but at least the air between them wasn’t frozen still in total impassivity.

He drew a shaky sigh and turned his head away. “Three years later, you still hadn’t returned from a mission that had gone badly sideways, and I was forced to face my greatest fear anyway.”

For a long moment there was nothing but quiet again. He thought Obi-Wan might have dozed off, letting the confession hover over them like the heavy weight it had been all these years. What was a few more hours, anyway, before Obi-Wan was driven from the warmth of their nest of blankets by the morning light—before they never spoke of this again?

Then Qui-Gon hissed, startled, as a cold nose found its way into the join of neck and shoulder, and icy hands burrowed into his robes. “Obi-Wan?” he rasped, bewildered.

Hot tears on his skin, against his cheek, silent shudders wracking the body that pressed close to him. Qui-Gon let out a quiet keening noise at the feeling that wound itself around his chest and squeezed, and pulled Obi-Wan closer, wrapping his arms tightly around the quivering body, one hand sliding up into the copper hair and tightening on the nape of his neck.

It might have been an hour later, drifting on the edge of sleep, swollen, aching eyes soothed by the night cold, that he just barely heard Obi-Wan’s vehement whisper, “Don’t ever do that again, Qui. Promise me.”

Qui? he thought, the smallest smile twitching at his lips. “I promise,” he whispered, solemn.

#the frankenau #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #no i am not passive-aggressively responding to some fic/meta/or other that vehemently disagree with wt u talkin about #*sighs* at least I have been writing lately #just lil by lil #bit of a fakemarried #we'll see

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nilesarchives · 4 years

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New Year, New Me ― CANON. (current verse)

Nick and Miles hang out at a New Years Eve party and smooch at midnight. It’s the first time anything happens between them around other people (even if no one actually sees them). So like, a big deal.

Later on in the night, they’re both drunk and Miles asks Nick to come back to his place. Stuff goes down... well, sort of. NSFW.

Miles always found himself somewhere new to ring in the new year. Sometimes it was with family, other times with close friends — this year, it was neither, as he found himself wandering the basement of a friend-of-a-friend’s home. The place wasn’t quite packed, but there were plenty of faces Miles didn’t recognize. One who didn’t fall into that category, obviously, was Nick, who Miles hoped was still behind him as he finally moved to a spot of open air, right near the TV where a crowd had formed to watch the whole New Years Eve countdown thing. “I’m not cut out for this anymore,” Miles said when he could finally see his friend again. He was glad they were here together, given the events that unfolded a little prior to Christmas, followed by completely different events on Christmas. But they always somehow found their way back to being each other’s sidekicks at parties like this. “It’s already way past my bedtime. I don’t think I’ll even last until midnight, man.”

Nick usually took his New Years Eve plans very seriously. The previous years, he’d made it a point to scope out the biggest parties, of the ones that were likely to be the most memorable. This year was different. Nick didn’t even realize New Years was so close; he’d been so focused on just trying to get through the overwhelming holiday that was Christmas. When word got out that a friend of a friend was throwing a small New Years party, Nick wasn’t sure he even wanted to go. He almost didn’t, although he knew that he should go socialize and see his friends. It turned out Miles was going, though, and if Miles was going then Nick had to show up. They always seemed to end up at these parties together — even if it was unplanned. It was practically tradition. Nick smiled and nodded at people he recognized as he walked through the apartment, realizing he’d seen a lot of these same people at previous parties although he couldn’t remember half of their names. Maybe if he was feeling the spirit of New Years later he’d ask them. But for now (for once) he wanted time to ease into making himself mingle with everyone. Nick didn’t think twice before walking with Miles to an open spot, still near everybody but further enough away to have breathing room. “Sure you can, man. I believe in you.” He half smiled at him. “Everyone says that until they start drinking and get too hyped up to sleep. Then you wake up the next day and regret everything.” That’s how Nick always started the New Year.

Miles shook his head, looking down at plastic cup in his hand, which actually contained water this time around. “I’m not even, like…all that fun when I’m drunk,” he pointed out, though it wasn’t like Nick didn’t know that. “I mean, only past a certain point. Everyone has that uphill climb when you’re full of adrenaline and stuff but once I’m over that it’s just not pretty.” So he was trying to prevent that this time. Or maybe just prolong it, at the very least, so he’d be in that heightened state to bring in 2015. “I won’t be regretting it tomorrow, though. I’m a good boy.” He lifted the cup of water to prove his point. “I hope you’re staying adequately hydrated. I don’t mean to mom you, but you never know with you.” At this point, he really didn’t know what Nick was up to sometimes. He was learning all these surprises about him lately. But that didn’t matter right now.

Nick glanced down at Miles’ cup knowingly. Leave it to him to be the more responsible one. Nick supposed that’s why he managed to stay out of trouble. Well, for the most part. Excluding the Greg thing which he really didn’t want to think about right now, because Miles was finally starting to look like himself again. “I think you’re fun.” He said with a shrug as he glanced at a few people who passed by. “You’re right about that though. Probably best for you to not ring in the New Year with a hangover.” Nick has, but that doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. Just the events leading up to it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He replied, but he wasn’t necessarily offended. That comment wasn’t necessarily unwarranted, after all. “I actually haven’t been drinking. Yet.” He tacked on so it wouldn’t seem to out of character for him. “But I’ll stay hydrated. Don’t worry, Mom. I even made sure to pack a Capri Sun in my jacket pocket so drunk me would want to drink more liquids.” He patted the side of his jacket, figuring Miles would think he was kidding, but he always made sure he was prepared to overdo it even when he didn’t plan on it. “Chances are we’ll both remember this New Years Eve. It’s almost midnight anyway.” He turned his head to glance at the TV people were currently gathered around. Almost midnight, but not quite. “Are you excited for 2015?” He turned back to Miles with a small grin. “Any cool New Years resolutions?”

Miles didn’t want to feel the familiar warmth in his chest whenever Nick said something as simple as finding him fun, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. It didn’t take much nowadays. “Yeah, well. You get to laugh at me,” he settled on saying in response after a moment, again watching the water swirl around in his cup before raising his head again. “Just being honest. I know how you roll at these things for the most part. Capri Suns are terrible for you, for the record. You’re probably better off with just straight vodka at that point.” Though Miles had to admit a juice box sounded good right about then. “Yeah — ten minutes?” He squinted as he tried to read the little timer in the corner of the TV, but there were a lot of drunk people in the way. “Sure. I’m not sure it’ll be much different from this year, but we’ll see.” He shrugged. “Not really. Maybe do a little bit more with my mom, especially after everything. But I’m already super jacked so it’s not like I need to work out or anything. I guess I could keep perfecting my stripping skills to steal your job, though. What about you?”

“When do I ever laugh at you?” Nick asked rhetorically, amused before the conversation shifted to Miles insulting him and his Capri Suns. “Think what you want about me, but leave the Capri Suns out of this. If they were bad adults wouldn’t let their kids have them.” He states matter of factly, although that statement was clearly not entirely factual. His Grandpa let him drink a beer when he was eight so clearly some people weren’t really worried about those things. “Seeing your Mom more is a good one.” He nodded. “So your other resolution is to see me jobless. Nice.” He couldn’t help but laugh. Normally he’d be concerned about people overhearing what he did for a living, but truthfully no one was even paying attention to them. “Well, I’m going to try to find another job. Especially with you trying to steal mine. I need to be one step ahead.” He playfully glared at him for a fraction of a second. “And I want to finish Stranger Things with you. That’s also important.” Nick nodded. “And I want to be a guest judge on Cupcake Wars. But that’s every years resolution.” Obviously.

“I could try to remember every time but we’d be here a while.” Truthfully, they usually ended up just laughing together anyway. “I’m not saying I don’t like them. I’m just saying they’re not good for you. They aren’t a useful alternative to alcohol. Parents let kids have plenty of terrible things.” Miles shrugged. “Well, these skills have to go somewhere. Sorry, man.” He was glad to hear that Nick was going to look for other jobs. Something about him being there still rubbed Miles the wrong way after what had happened. “That will be good for you,” he said seriously. “Stranger Things, too. I’m annoyed that we’re gonna be a year behind everyone else but it’s no one’s fault but ours, I guess.” He knew that they were just going to have to try harder not to talk the whole time. “I would watch the hell out of that episode. I think you’d have more luck just becoming a contestant, though.”

Nick rolled his eyes playfully at the comment, but didn’t feel the need to reply. “Sugar water is good for humming birds, maybe scientists thought it’d be the same for kids.” He shrugged. Who was he to argue with the creators of Capri Sun? He just thought they tasted good. “Maybe I’ll end up mixing it with vodka at some point so it’s extra bad for me.” He joked. At the talk of him finding another job, Nick nodded. “Yeah… I want to. I don’t know if I’ll find anything better, but we’ll see.” At the Stranger Things talk, Nick smiled again. “We’ll get there, dude. Even if we have to binge it right before season three starts. Maybe it’s even better this way so we won’t have months of withdrawals like everybody else.” They’d have to avoid spoilers like the plague, though, considering everyone else in the world has seen it besides them. “That means more to me than you know.” He said seriously, raising his hand to his chest as he did. “You really think so? That’d be the ultimate dream. Maybe you could come with me and be my teammate. I think we have the same creative vision.”

“Do they say artificial flavors are good for hummingbirds, too? I must have missed that scientific discovery.” As if Miles actually cared about eating healthy. He put a lot of crap into his body. “That doesn’t even sound like a terrible idea. I mean, it is a terrible idea but I still want to try it.” He figures if he was up for it later he’d go hunt down the ingredients for Nick’s new cocktail. “I think there are plenty of better options for you. You just have to work your way up. But anything’s probably better than that.” Maybe not anything, but there were certainly quite a few that would be a start. “Seriously. I’m not great under pressure, though. I guess I could just tag along and taste things as you go but you can’t count on me to do any baking. I’ll crack, man.” He noticed a sudden commotion near them, and Miles turned to see the crowd gathering further around the TV as the countdown got closer to midnight. “Well, looks like we’re almost in 2015. I have a feeling it’ll be your big Cupcake Wars break for sure.”

“I don’t know, I’m not a birdologist.” Nick laughed, nodding. “It’s a horrible idea. But you can try it with me if you want. We should do it right before we leave so you don’t have to worry about getting sick in front of all these people.” He only had one jumbo Capri Sun anyway, so the cocktail wouldn’t be particularly big. “I’m gonna try. I dunno. We’ll see.” Nick shrugged. He wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to find anything that paid as well as his current job did, and that was the important part. But he’d at least try. “I believe in you. I need you there, dude. You’re the only other person who knows how the competition works as well as I do.” He said genuinely, gently slapping Miles’ shoulder as he spoke. The excited yells and murmurs from beside them soon grabbed his attention, though, and he turned his head to glance at the TV currently airing the countdown. “And this will be the year you get your big Stripping break.” He turned back to grin at him. “We’re so underprepared, though. We don’t have 2015 sunglasses or tiaras or anything. I guess we’ll just have to do the countdown super loudly to make up for it. You ready?”

“I will almost definitely throw up.” They were pretty good at bad ideas, though, so he was still into it. “I guess that’s all you can really do.” There was certainly no harm in trying. “But it’s too much pressure, dude. I know I’d fall apart under the circumstances. Cupcakes are too serious for me. I just like to watch. And eat them.” Miles was definitely more of a judge type, but that was Nick’s aspiration. “Man, I hope so. It’s my life’s dream.” It was now Miles’ unspoken duty to give Nick shit about the stripping thing as often as he could without downright disrespecting him. “Well, we can just borrow them from someone else here. I doubt any of these drunk people would notice.” He could stick with the countdown thing, though. “Yeah. I mean, it’s no big deal.” He shrugged. He had never considered it a huge thing. He’d stay where he was and watch drunk couples kiss at midnight and cheer with the other drunk single people and then that would be it. “I might have to go find the dog to kiss me at midnight, though. Start my year off right.”

Nick nodded in understanding. “Maybe if I ever get on as a contestant we can sneak you in to be a judge. Or security or something. Then I can just sneak you the cupcakes.” And probably get kicked out of the competition, but he’d risk it. “If you need help working on your professional stripping skills, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ve got years of experience now.” Nick didn’t freely talk about what he did with just anybody, but it was easy to joke about this with Miles, because he knew he didn’t think less of him for being a stripper. “Honestly, probably not.” He rose an eyebrow as he heard the crowd go wild again, and Nick wondered if he sounded like that when he partied. He probably sounded worse. “Good plan. But if you can’t find the dog, you might want to find a human backup. ‘Cause if you don’t you’ll get ten years of bad luck.”

“I could deal with that. Although if we’re being totally honest, we’re both better off as we are.” Miles himself much preferred watching it from his couch whilst eating store bought cupcakes that he didn’t have to work for. “I appreciate that. You should teach lessons. I’d do it.” He wasn’t sure where Nick drew his line, but if Miles had to guess, that was probably it. Miles continued to watch the people around them begin to grab onto each other and move in closer, in all of their respective pairs as the clock ticked down. “There are very few people here I would consider worth these luscious lips.” He chuckled, but he was totally serious. He turned his attention back to Nick with a shrug. “Besides. I think you know as well as I do I only really want to kiss one person lately,” he admitted, having no fear in doing so. He was sure to lower his voice, though. He knew they weren’t a ‘thing,’ they weren’t boyfriends, and Nick wasn’t ready to even be anything close to that in front of people. Miles didn’t mind. “But it’s not necessary in front of all these people. I can kiss that person another time.”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right. I need to practice first. Really get good at making a solid cupcake.” Nick loved cupcakes, so he probably would try to make some from scratch one day to see if he could. He wasn’t banking on a good outcome, but hey, who knew? “Maybe that should be my new job. Stripper teaching. That’s how I got into it, you know. A friend taught me. Maybe there’s a market for stripping coaching out there.” He said quietly enough so no one else would hear him. If they did, that’s when he’d shut up. It was all fun and games until someone heard him. “Luscious lips? Have you been using Lip Smackers, or what?” His lips tugged into an amused grin. “Well, God, Miles. If you wanted to kiss Lily that bad you should have just invited her.” He said, clearly joking, although maybe that was too soon to joke about. But he knew what Miles meant, and his heart was undoubtedly warmed by it. His words made him feel things he never expected to feel, but he wasn’t pushing them away this time. This time he was embracing them. “What if…” His voice suddenly took a serious turn, and he felt ridiculously vulnerable. Not to mention stupid. There were a thousand negative thoughts now running through his head telling him that he shouldn’t say that he was about to say, but his heart wasn’t seeming to listen to them. “What if that person wants to kiss you here?”

“I volunteer to be your taste tester.” Miles might end up trying some admittedly bad cupcakes, but it was all in the name of helping Nick improve. Plus, a bad cupcake was still a cupcake. “Really? Is that a thing? To be fair, you kind of inadvertently showed me a thing or two.” He had technically stripped in front of him, after all. “Yes, luscious — I said what I said. You’re right, though. The cotton candy kind.” He had actually been obsessed with those for a while as a kid. At Nick’s joke, Miles rolled his eyes, though he appreciated the humor in the situation as a whole. “You’re hilarious.” He shook his head and sipped from his water, immediately pushing Lily out of his thoughts. None of that mattered when he was with Nick. And it became even truer when Nick spoke next. Miles raised an eyebrow at him as he peered over the edge of his cup. “What?” was all he could say at first. He finally lowered his drink then. “You don’t… I mean, it’s… Nick, there’s people around,” he finally settled on, glancing at the crowded area around them. “It’s not a big deal to me, you know. I know I’m not your…” He trailed off. He didn’t need to say it. He shrugged instead. “It’s just not a big deal,” he repeated.

“You might have to be my only taste tester. I don’t think anyone else is brave enough.” So Nick definitely appreciated the offer. “Well it is now.” He paused, caught off guard by the comment. He smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “…That doesn’t count.” Nick laughed at the luscious lips talk. “Good, everyone knows cotton candy is the best kind. That and the soda ones. I liked the root beer one, personally. It just didn’t make my lips very luscious because I kept licking it off.” Hence the name lip smackers, he guessed. The playful conversation slowly gave way to something more serious, and Nick was left feeling exposed. But he wasn’t denying what he just suggested. “I know there is. And I know… I know you’re not. But…” He shrugged slightly. “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal if I do it.” He said cautiously. He knew it was a big deal. It felt like a very big deal.

“I feel like that’s typical between the two of us. We have to do things for each other because no one else is willing to breach this territory.” It was definitely strange territory sometimes, so Miles couldn’t particularly blame other people. “It so does count. Only difference is I didn’t have to pay for it. But I got the full experience.” He laughed lightly, knowing it was probably the alcohol coursing through his veins making him speak so nonchalantly about it, especially in front of other people. “Okay. I’m done now, promise.” Maybe. Time would tell. “They do that on purpose, y’know. Make it so you keep licking your lips and make ‘em even drier so you have to keep buying more. Get with it, Nicholas.” He wanted to figure out where this had come from, why Nick was suddenly interested in the prospect of kissing him in front of other people. But all Miles could really do was blink, unable to try and put the pieces together. Why now? Here? “If…” He trailed off, looking over at the TV once again, which was now counting down the final minute of the year. “If you’re sure,” he finally said, holding his gaze again. “But don’t — don’t push yourself.” His voice was lower again, and he took a step toward Nick. It felt like too much space between them to be talking about something so…intimate. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

“If you ask me they’re missing out.” Just because their ideas didn’t make sense or seem good to other people didn’t mean they were any less valid. Nick was glad Miles thought the same way he did — half the time it seemed like he was the only person who understood what he was saying. “Lucky you.” Nick frowned at the teasing. “If you tried to pay me for it we would no longer be speaking.” He wasn’t exactly mad, he was just used to it being a touchy subject. “Are you sure?” He deadpanned. “Shit —- you’re right. I can’t be mad at smart business strategies, though. Maybe I should have asked for lip smackers for Christmas. My lips have been way less luscious than when I used to use it.” Nick didn’t know exactly what had gotten into him. All he knew is that over the past few weeks, something had changed with him and Miles. It was subtle, but they were no longer trying to hide the fact that they wanted to kiss each other. So Nick, from time to time, had moments where he thought that he wanted to try to kiss him again. Apparently, right now was one of the moments. “I don’t want…everyone to see us.” That thought made him nervous. He continued to keep his voice quiet. “I’m not ready for that.” He held his gaze in return, trying to be honest. “But I want to be able to kiss you at midnight. Because I want to.” He could hear the countdown in the background, and it was getting closer and closer to midnight. Nick reached out to grasp onto Miles’ sleeve and took a step backwards, hoping he would take the hint and move with him closer to the wall and away from the crowds of people.

“I am lucky. But I didn’t need to pay you.” Miles wanted to remind him that he got his fair share, but he left that part out. “Okay, now I am,” he promised. “That would have been a good gift. Though I think what I did get you was better.” He was proud of the t-shirt. Meaningful gifts and all that shit. He nodded slowly as Nick spoke, even if admittedly he should have been more taken back by what he’d said. He knew he should have cared, but…it was Nick. He wanted to be with him. If this was what Nick needed, then so be it, even if that meant hiding in the shadows. Though Miles supposed this was a step in the right direction. He watched Nick pull his sleeve, blindly stepping forward to follow him. They were moving further away from the view of others, which was fair, and what Miles would have expected anyway. He felt like he was a part of something much larger, sneaking around and trying to keep it under wraps. It made his heart race. He looked over his shoulder, watching the seconds tick down. “I hope…” He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with that at first. He paused and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I hope next year is, um, easier.” They’d both had to deal with some shit this year, about a lot of things. Miles just wanted things to be simple. He looked down, his hand sliding up Nick’s arm slowly. Ten seconds. Miles met his eyes, his palms feeling sweaty like he was fourteen and about to have his first kiss. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, even seeing Nick in front of him, but he held his gaze and waited.

“Do you ever get tired of being so hilarious?” Nick’s words were clearly coated in sarcasm, but he knew that Miles was (mostly) being harmless. “Yeah… That was the best gift.” He said genuinely. He hadn’t expected it, but he loved it and was planning on wearing it whenever he could. As he and Miles walked further back, Nick’s heart was racing. Maybe this isn’t what most people thought of when they thought of kissing who they wanted at midnight. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to Miles, because they’d be hidden. It wasn’t like it was in the middle of the room. But still… to him, it felt like it was. It felt like the step before taking that step, and it was exciting as it was nerve wracking. “Me too.” Nick murmured back when they stopped. For a moment, it felt like they were two awkward teenagers, just staring at each other and unsure of what to do. Miles’ hand traveling up his arm and the way he was already standing so close made him want this even more — and suddenly he was very sure of this decision. On the count of six, Nick tugged him even closer by his sleeve. On the count of three, he lifted his hands up to cup either side of Miles’ face. And on the count of one, he leaned in to gently press his lips against Miles’. His nose bumped his a little clumsily, and he almost smiled, but he was too preoccupied by how good it felt to be able to do this.

“It’s really hard being me.” Miles wanted to flip his hair, but he didn’t have the long hair to flip and it just wouldn’t work. “I’m glad you liked it. Yours was way better, though. It’s been on repeat.” He’d been so psyched about it he could have actually cried. And maybe he did later on. He’d never tell. He hadn’t expected the night to come to this. Honestly, Miles didn’t think he’d be kissing anybody this year. But if it was going to be anyone, he was obviously glad it was Nick. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as they came closer while the countdown continued behind them. When it finally reached midnight, Nick pulled him in and kissed him. Miles could hear champagne popping open somewhere behind him, cheering, and he was positive that there was a lot of sloppy drunk kissing going on, but his eyes had slid shut at this point, his hands on Nick’s waist to hold him there. He hoped that this was going to set the tone for the new year. That this meant maybe things were going to be easier and Nick would feel more comfortable doing things like this. He was grinning when he pulled away, realizing there was nothing he wanted more from the night than for exactly that to occur. “It’s a shame it didn’t taste like lip smackers.”

“Poor you.” Nick really did love his gift, and he was glad to hear that Miles liked his too. “Good, I thought you might like it. I wouldn’t say it’s better. We both got equally good gifts, I think.” For as long as the countdown seemed to take, the kiss itself didn’t seem to last nearly as long. Or maybe the selfish part of his brain just wanted more of it. He’d kissed Miles before, but it was always in private. And more often than not, not even the two of them would really acknowledge it. This time it was different. It felt more real. Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes to look at Miles. Unable to help it, he laughed at the comment. “Maybe next time we’ll remember to get some.”

“Alright. I can agree with that.” It spoke volumes how well they knew each other. They were able to get each other things that others wouldn’t even think of. Miles could have kept kissing him all night into the next morning if it were realistic, but they’d definitely get kicked out of the party eventually. He was content that they’d even kissed at all, to be fair. “Yeah. Next time,” he agreed. He obviously still remembered, but now it was difficult for him to understand why there was ever a time where the two of them tried to pretend they didn’t feel a certain way about each other. There were very few things holding them back now. Just a few more obstacles that Miles was sure they could eventually work through — hopefully — and then maybe everything would just work out fine. “Happy New Year, man.” He lingered for a moment, then shifted his attention behind him. No one seemed to even notice them, which Miles had suspected — but still. He understood. “I think we should go find some champagne.”

------------------------------

Back at his place later that night, away from the party and back to a celebration of their own, Miles closed the distance between them completely by pressing his lips roughly against Nick’s. It was nice not to think. He was just doing. It felt pretty invigorating, as a matter of fact. He stepped forward, effectively backing Nick up against the closed door of his bedroom as he did. He brought his hands up to cup Nick’s face. “I had to be quick. Getting you out of there.” Miles was quiet as he dropped one hand to gently pull at the fabric of Nick’s shirt and moved the kisses down to his neck instead. “Before you found someone else.” His words were muffled by Nick’s skin, which he couldn’t for a second step away from now that he had him where he wanted him. Not like he was saying anything important anyway.

The kiss distracted Nick from words in general. Miles was being rough, and while they’ve always been spur of the moment, Nick hadn’t seen Miles this eager, ever. But he didn’t question it, because he just wanted to feel something. He didn’t want to think. He sucked in a sharp breath as Miles backed him up against the door, and Nick moved his hands to slide up Miles’ shirt, grasping at his sides as his friend trailed the kisses down to his neck. He leaned his head to the side as a low moan escaped his throat, and he tried to pull Miles closer. “Who says I haven’t already?” He wasn’t sure why he said that, but he wasn’t himself. He didn’t mean it, but he didn’t care. He began to none too gently tug Miles shirt upwards. “Take it off.”

“Shut up.” Miles might have laughed in another situation. Maybe if he were less drunk. And slightly less desperate. The feeling of Nick’s hands on his bare skin sent a chill up Miles’ spine. Anytime he was with Nick, the slightest touch left Miles downright buzzing with anticipation. “You wouldn’t be here,” Miles countered, his voice low. The thought alone made him press his body firmly against Nick’s. It was most definitely a possessive thing. He didn’t have to be told twice, leaning back a bit to yank his own shirt up over his head and throwing it to the floor beside him. He didn’t waste any time pulling on Nick’s shirt to get rid of his as well, and Miles took the opportunity that they were apart to tug him toward the unmade bed. “You’re welcome to go find whoever that is instead, though. Don’ let me keep you.”

Nick had no choice but to listen to him, easily getting lost in how good Miles’ lips and hands felt on his body. They always did, every time they did this, but he was even more hyper-focused on the sensations now. He wasn’t sure what had possessed Miles to come up to him like he did, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. Nick’s heart thundered in his chest as Miles pressed his body against his own, and he swallowed, not having any vocal response to it. Miles wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it. Instead, he helped Miles pull up his shirt before they made work of removing Nick’s. He stumbled with him toward the bed, and he put his hands on Miles’ chest to push him onto it when they neared it. “Shut up.” He breathed, merely repeating Miles’ own words from either. With that, he climbed onto the bed with him, surging their lips together so they wouldn’t have to keep talking.

When it was just bare skin against bare skin, Miles often found it was impossible to control himself — especially with Nick, and especially as drunk as he currently was. Everything he felt was heightened. It was sort of a shock every time Nick touched him. He had definitely deserved to be told to shut his damn mouth. It was not the time to be a smart ass. He dragged his hands slowly down the front of Nick’s body. He stopped when he reached his pants and they came to rest on Nick’s sides instead. But Miles couldn’t help but arch his body upward, desperate to feel him. The sensation had him exhaling dazedly against Nick’s lips. Part of him still felt, deep down, that he had to be quick, like Nick wouldn’t be so cool with it if Miles dragged it on too long. That was what he reminded himself of as he lifted his hips again. He just wanted to touch him, but he did also want to test the waters first.

Nick could faintly hear Scout walking around outside the room, but it didn’t distract him from mindlessly kissing Miles and running his hands down his torso. He wasn’t thinking about how he shouldn’t do this, or who he was doing this with. He just wanted something, and he quickly decided he wanted this. His breath hitched when Miles arched upwards, and letting himself just go with it, he rolled his hips downward. His head dropped down to bury his head in Miles’ neck, trailing a series of kisses along the side of it. Something, though, was stopping him from running his hands further south. When it came to having random hookups after parties, old Nick would have already been in the middle of the ordeal by now. But his hands still remained at Miles’ sides. It felt good, and off at the same time. It didn’t feel real. He could thank the alcohol for that.

Miles was still feeling that confidence, the desire to just go for what he wanted — and he knew exactly what he wanted at the moment. He shifted and started to sit up until Nick got the hint, allowing Miles to flip them over and straddle Nick’s waist instead. He thought he’d gone slow enough by now, considering Nick’s reactions. Miles sat back a bit so he had space to reach between them and get Nick’s belt out of the way, followed by the button and the zipper on his pants. He leaned down to kiss him deeply again, one hand planted on the bed next to Nick’s head while the other dipped below the waistband of his boxers. He may have been forward, but it wasn’t too far fetched from any of his preceding actions. He wasted no time, wrapping his hand around him and moving slowly. He’d been wanting this, and he only hoped it would end up being just as good for Nick.

Nick was essentially just going off instinct, so when Miles began to sit up, Nick followed his lead. And before he knew it, their positions were being flipped and suddenly Miles was on top of him. And he should like it; it should have spurred him on even further. He always liked feeling Miles’ weight against him. Instead, he felt a little caught off guard. The weight was less arousing and more alarming, but he ignored it, because maybe he just wasn’t expecting it. He ignored it and instead kissed Miles’ back roughly, shifting his hips under him almost awkwardly as his friend slipped his hand under his boxers. He murmured something unintelligible against the man’s lips. He still wanted this, he told himself. He needed this, so it was going to happen. Nick’s hands slid up Miles’ back and into his hair, pulling him down closer while bucking his hips up slightly.

Miles had the slightest feeling in the back of his mind that Nick wasn’t totally there, which he chalked up to the alcohol. Things were pretty cloudy overall when they were drunk. Miles liked to think he could read Nick fairly well, at least as much as Nick was willing to let on. But his reactions seemed genuine, and so Miles saw no reason to back off, not until Nick gave him a clear one. He wanted him to feel good, though. Miles wanted Nick to know where he was abd who he was with, not be in a drunken haze through it. He leaned back and pulled his hand free in order to take Nick gently by the wrists and bring them together. He didn’t think twice about it, his left hand pinning them to the bed above Nick’s head, just as a general reminder that he didn’t have to stress or think too much about it; Miles just wanted him to feel good. He kissed the spot right under Nick’s ear, then got close to whisper, “Just relax,” as his free hand slowly made its way back to where it was before.

Nick and Miles had only gotten this far once before, and that seemed like ages ago now. They’d let themselves slip on numerous occasions; they’d kissed. They even did that recently. They hadn’t quite gotten to this point, though, with Miles’ hand down his boxers, stroking him gently. He wanted to melt into it; he wanted to want to do the same for him so badly. He tried to lose himself in the touches, to remind himself that it was Miles and that this was just supposed to be fun. For a second, it worked, but then Miles was taking his wrists in his hands and pinning them over his head. And it didn’t feel like he was with Miles anymore. It sounded like him; it looked like him. He knew it was him. But for a second, all he could picture was someone else pinning his hands over his head in a similar - but completely different way. All he could hear was that voice whispering things to him that he wanted to forget. Things that he was trying to forget by coming out tonight. Those thoughts were enough to ruin everything. “No.” He firmly said, jerking his hands out of Miles’ gentle hold and shaking his head. He scooted back away from him and tried to sit up, fingers grasping the sheets below him tried to stop the bile from rising in his throat. “I’m sorry - I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I was wrong.” Nick’s words sounded jumbled even to his own ears. His head was foggy, and he felt sick to his stomach. All he wanted earlier was to have fun and not have to worry about anything. Now he just wanted to leave. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard as he got up, heading to grab his discarded shirt. “I’ve gotta go.”

It was pretty abrupt. One second Miles was lost in the heat of the moment believing everything was fine, and the next Nick was wriggling away from him and telling him no. Miles was drunk, sure, but not enough to not recognize that no meant no and it was time to back off. He leaned back and watched Nick move away from him, explaining that he couldn’t do this. The sudden change was slightly dizzying as Miles worked to wrap his head around what had changed. “Hey,” he said quietly after a moment. He didn’t want to touch Nick and freak him out, but he needed him to know he was hearing him. “Nick, hey. It—it’s fine. We don’t have to do anything.” He followed Nick’s movements with his eyes, watching as he went to pick up his shirt off the floor. “Don’t…” He trailed off. He really didn’t want to overstep, but clearly, he already had in the worst way. “Don’t go. We…we can talk.”

Nick struggled to think clearly as he re-buttoned his pants and pulled on his shirt, but Nick didn’t even have to look at him to tell he was confused. He avoided looking at him completely and shook his head at his words. “I don’t want to talk.” If he’d wanted to talk, he wouldn’t be here in this room with him. “I’m gonna - go somewhere.” Maybe back to the party, maybe he’d take a few more shots so he couldn’t think at all. “Find somebody else.” There was a slight bite to his words. He didn’t mean that. It wasn’t Miles’ fault, and deep down he knew that, but everything was too much. He felt guilty and filthy and defeated all at the same time. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

Miles was taken aback. Part of him was confused, while the other part of him had a vague idea of what was going on based on what he knew — and he felt disgusted with himself, on top of being upset that Nick was speaking to him like he’d done this on purpose. “It’s not like I’m—” He stopped himself. It wasn’t Nick’s fault. He couldn’t help the way he was feeling. Miles couldn’t even begin to imagine the shame, the disgust. It didn’t even slightly compare to now Miles felt now and he had to recognize that. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to do anything. I’m sorry.”

He heard Miles begin to say something, and his heart stuttered in his chest at his tone. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a handle of himself, but failed. “I know - I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t have lashed out, but he didn’t know what to do or say. He had wanted to do this with Miles. Miles wasn’t doing anything wrong. “I’m the problem, okay? So can we just not talk about it, and go back to the party, please? Or. I’m going to. You can do what you want. I just need to go back out there.”

Miles didn’t know what to say. He knew he couldn’t really help. He couldn’t take away what Nick had gone through. He just wished he had the answers. “You’re not the problem.” He knew what he meant, though. Miles just didn’t want him to see himself as a burden. “Can I, like, call you an Uber home or something?” He stood up from the bed and picked up his own shirt, pulling it over his head. “I want you to be safe.”

Nick didn’t know what to say to him. He just completely ruined the moment - and probably made things weird for Miles. But he couldn’t help it. He wished he could just go through with it and not think about anything. But apparently he wasn’t drunk enough for that yet. “No.” He swallowed again and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. Be careful too, okay?” He hovered by the door, and he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. “I’ll see you later.” With that, he pulled the door open before softly shutting it behind him, deciding he was going to do his best to forget about what had just happened.

#CANON #new year new me #current verse

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fear-god-shun-evil · 5 years

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Christian testimony | God Helped Him End His 20+ Year Career of Betting on the Horses

By Jia’nan, Hong Kong

Whenever someone mentions betting on horse races, some people are daunted by the idea, and they avoid it like the plague, whereas others will be as happy as a lark and they can’t get enough of it. Each person takes a different stance on horse race betting. I used to be a gambler and I betted on horse races for over 20 years, and I tasted bitterness and pain. As I think about how I went from being a horse race gambler to becoming a Christian, I can’t help but feel overcome with emotion …

Back then, I was not earning much money, and because of the financial burden of my family and being short of money, I racked my brains to think of a way to make more money. One day, while I was chatting with my work colleague, he said to me, “‘A man without a second income will never get rich, just like a horse starved of hay at night will never put on weight,’ and if you want to make more money you could bet on the horse races and buy Mark Six lottery tickets. If you buy 10 Hong Kong dollars’ worth, then with some you could get several tens of Hong Kong dollars back, some several thousand Hong Kong dollars, some tens of thousands of Hong Kong dollars, and some even hundreds of thousands of Hong Kong dollars …” As I listened to my colleague say this, my heart was stirred with desire, and I felt like my dreams of becoming rich would soon come true.

When I started betting on the races, I only bet 20 to 30 Hong Kong dollars, and I would easily win several hundred to over a thousand Hong Kong dollars. I pondered to myself: “It’s not hard to win money on the races, so if I bet more then I’ll win more. This is a good way to strike it rich.” I then began to buy the Racing Post to research where to place my bets in order to win big. Even while I was at work, I carried the Racing Post with me. Once, I was working a machine whilst reading the newspaper, and because my attention was divided, my hand became caught in the machine and injured. I needed several stitches and had to be off work for several months.

Once my wife became aware that I was a gambling addict, she felt very strongly against it and we argued about it often, but I wouldn’t listen no matter what my wife said. In order to have more money to bet on the races, I cut down on living expenses. I walked to and from work rather than take the bus, and sometimes I didn’t eat and would just buy a bread roll that would do for a meal, and I would use the money I saved for gambling. Back then, I lived in a dream of striking it rich; I was exhausted and strained, my eyes would often look dull and lifeless, and around them there appeared black circles. Sometimes my colleagues would ask, “Why are you so tired every day?” and “Why are you always eating bread rolls and not proper meals? Don’t you work to be able to enjoy your life?” I could only try my best to look normal and say to them, “I like bread rolls, and I’m tired because my son cries at night and I’m not sleeping well.”

Each time I won money on the horse races, I was as happy as could be and I felt like I had a good eye for picking winners. In order to make my fortune, I took the money I won and gambled it again, thinking that the more I bet, the greater the chances of winning and the more money I would win. But when I placed a large bet, I unexpectedly lost it all. My mind went blank and I felt greatly pained. I thought to myself, “I’ve learned about horse racing and studied odds and trends just as much as anyone else! Why has it turned out this way? I’ve been betting on the horse races for over 20 years and I haven’t struck it rich, but instead I’ve lost a huge amount of money.” When I was alone and had calmed down, I thought, “Why am I bothering with all this? Why am I living such a bitter, exhausting life?” Gradually, I ended up with no direction and no goals for my future. I just muddled along aimlessly from day to day.

In late 2008, a relative preached to me the gospel of God’s kingdom. I began only to nominally believe in God, however, and my life was still spent gambling in the same old way. I knew in my heart that if I believed in God then I should quit gambling, but I didn’t know why I couldn’t quit my addiction to betting on horse races.

During a meeting, I opened up and fellowshiped with my brothers and sisters about the fact that I was still betting on horse races even after I’d started believing in God, and a sister read these words of God to me, “None actively seek out the footsteps or appearance of God, and none wish to exist in the care and keeping of God. Rather, they are willing to rely on the corrosion of Satan and the evil one in order to adapt to this world and to the rules of life the wicked mankind follows.”

God’s words made me understand that, after we had been corrupted by Satan, every thought and idea we had was controlled by the life axioms of Satan. These negative things became our lives and they made us willing to follow Satan, follow the trends of society, and have no thought to come before God and worship Him. I thought about how I’d been harmed by the satanic ideology and outlook of “A man without a second income will never get rich, just like a horse starved of hay at night will never put on weight,” how I had become addicted to betting on horse races, had thought of nothing but striking it rich, and had even spent time when I should have been eating or working studying horse race gambling, and how I spent all the money I had saved on betting on the races. And yet over all these years, my dream to strike it rich had not come true, and instead I lost all my money. And because of my gambling, my wife and I had often argued, and my home was no longer like a home. What I found even more painful was that my heart was filled with horse racing; I had no goals in life, and even more so my heart was empty and tormented. I thought about how, because of betting on the horse races, so many people were up to their necks in debt, had brought their families to financial ruin and lived in a pain they could not escape from, and I thought: “Satan causes us all this harm!” When I came to this realization, I decided to quit gambling.

Although I was resolved to quit gambling, every time I passed a Jockey Club betting station and saw the crowd surging, a betting slip in each person’s hand, focusing their concentration on researching what horse to bet on, my hands itched, I would feel uncomfortable all over and I would really want to place just one more bet and win back all the money I’d lost. But then I would think of how I’d made my resolution before God, and if I gambled again, wouldn’t I then be deceiving God? Thinking these thoughts, I would feel a sense of guilt in my heart. I would ultimately still be unable to control myself, however, and I would bet on the races again and lose even more money …

Later, at a meeting, a sister read a passage of God’s words to me. God says, “Man’s entire life is lived under the domain of Satan, and there is not a single person who can free themselves from the influence of Satan on their own. All live in a filthy world, in corruption and emptiness, without the slightest meaning or value; they live such carefree lives for the flesh, for lust, and for Satan. There is not the slightest value to their existence.” “You must find ways to free yourself from this depraved, carefree life that is no different from an animal’s. You must live out a life of meaning, a life of value, and you must not fool yourself, or treat your life like a toy to be played with. … How should you live your life? How should you love God, and use this love to satisfy His desire? There is no greater matter in your life. Above all, you must have such aspirations and perseverance, and should not be like those spineless weaklings. You must learn how to experience a meaningful life, and experience meaningful truths, and should not treat yourself perfunctorily in that way. Without you realizing it, your life will pass you by; and after that, will you have another opportunity to love God?”

Thinking about it carefully, I knew that betting on horse races was a means employed by Satan to deceive and seduce people, but when Satan’s temptation befell me again, I couldn’t help but follow in its wake, and this was the result of the satanic view that “A man without a second income will never get rich just like a horse starved of hay at night will never put on weight.” I thought about how I was always addicted to betting on horse races, ambling aimlessly along all day, neither working nor living normally, with no human likeness whatsoever, and I knew that if I carried on that way, I would only degenerate more and more and get further and further away from God, and my chance to attain God’s salvation would be forfeit. Especially when I read these words of God, “You must find ways to free yourself from this depraved, carefree life that is no different from an animal’s. You must live out a life of meaning, a life of value, and you must not fool yourself, or treat your life like a toy to be played with,” I came to appreciate the care and thought God took. God was hoping that I would leave behind the dark influence of Satan and utterly cast off that previous depraved way of living, and yet I was causing God grief again and again; I really was so numb and rebellious. A sister also gave me fellowship, saying, “No matter what adverse environments or hardships we encounter, as long as we come before God sincerely, pray to God and rely on Him, place ourselves in His hands and allow God to rule over and arrange everything for us, then God will always open a way out for us.” As I contemplated God’s words and listened to the sister’s fellowship, I came to have a direction for my practice. I became willing to come before God with an honest heart, make a resolution to Him, practice in accordance with His words and quit my addiction to gambling.

But a little while later, my gambling addiction once again raised its ugly head. Although my conscience reproved me at the time, I thought: “This really is the last time I’ll gamble. I won’t gamble again after this. I hope that, with this last bet, I can win back all the money I lost.” When I walked into the Jockey Club and bought a betting slip, my heart felt very ill at ease, and it beat ferociously to the point where my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I stared at my betting slip, but my mind was all blank. I didn’t know how to fill it in and I became so nervous that my head went dizzy. All I could do was leave the club, take a breather and get my mind right. After my emotions had calmed, because I didn’t want to fail at my attempt to gamble, I went back into the club, and when I went to place my bet, my mind still went blank. Clutching the pen, my hand went back and forth. I didn’t know how to place my bet and I didn’t have the heart to do it. At that moment, God’s words came to mind: “I am the true God, the God who examines the innermost heart of man. Don’t act one way to others’ faces but another way behind their backs, as I see clearly everything you do and though you may fool others you cannot fool Me. I see it all clearly. It is not possible for you to conceal anything; all is within My hands.” Yes! I thought of all the times I’d made resolutions before God and yet still hadn’t been able to stop myself from gambling, and by doing this I had blatantly been deceiving God! God scrutinizes the innermost hearts of man. While I was doing it, God was watching, and although I knew perfectly well that betting on horse races was a negative thing, I still went along with it again and again; by knowingly doing bad things I was making God detest me even more! So as soon as I walked outside the club I hurriedly went before God and prayed: “O God, please give me the faith and strength to no longer suffer the seductions and temptations of Satan, but to be able to rely on You, heed Your words and completely quit gambling. Amen!” I then decisively left the club.

I spent some time praying to God about my gambling problem, and thanking God for opening up a way out for me. Through gathering together with brothers and sisters, fellowshiping and performing my duties, and through working and living in accordance with God’s words, gradually my heart began to feel enriched and at peace, and I no longer had the time or the inclination to bet on the horses. Sometimes I would bump into my old gambling cronies, and they would ask me, “Have you won lately? Do you want to go to the races with me?” and “So-and-so won the Six Ring lottery …” Listening to them, sometimes I would still feel a surge of desire in my heart, but I realized that this was the temptation and seduction of Satan. What’s more, I had already made a resolution to God to stand witness for Him and no longer to be Satan’s fool. And so I would say to my friends, “I’ve quit and I won’t gamble again.”

Afterward, whenever I passed the Jockey Club and saw so many gamblers sitting outside the club, my hands would no longer itch like they had before. I reflected on my experiences of quitting gambling: Just by relying on myself, I hadn’t the willpower or the faith to quit, and yet God’s words had enabled me to understand thoroughly the essence of gambling, and He had given me the strength to quit betting on the horses.

Now, my wife and I frequently read God’s words and we perform our duties in the church. My mental attitude has taken on a completely new outlook and I’ve thoroughly cast off my old life of carrying the Racing Post wherever I went. It is truly by God’s grace that He has given me a new life!

#pray to God #believe in God #God's kingdom #Christian testimony

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elphie-writes · 7 years

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SportaRobbie - Domestic AU - Drabble 1

This is kinda rushed but I had a thought for an AU I’ve been bouncing around, altering a few jobs, but it’s basically Robbie being peeved and angsty regarding his husband. I haven’t written fic in a while and this is rushed out in about an hour and a half from my phone, so be merciful.

—————————

Light from the hallway slivered into the otherwise dark kitchen entryway. Accompanied by the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window, it served to frame the silhouette hunched firmly over the table. Nails digging into polished wood, Robbie drew his shoulders further forward and sucked in a shuddering breath.

Possibilities churned away in his mind faster than he could fully comprehend. Plagued by images of dirty blonde hair matted with blood, familiar blue eyes glassy and unseeing, body chilled to the touch against the cold, rough pavement.

“Stop it, Stop it…” Robbie hissed quietly to the darkness around him, running a hand up through his disheveled black hair and tugging sharply. He couldn’t think that way. It wouldn’t make things any better. And yet that was all his mind could focus on. He could hardly breath, chest rattling with each inhale as he shakily shoved himself up and away from the table.

“He’s fine…He’s fine..shit.” He just barely refrained from lashing his leg out and kicking at the chair he’d nearly tipped over in his haste to stand. It wouldn’t do to accidentally wake the kids at three in the morning, especially Ella.

There was an abrupt sound from outside, the heavy thud of footfalls followed by the sound of a key being turned and rattled in a lock. The front door was nudged open and quietly closed with such care that Robbie found himself pursing his lips even as his heart thudded rapidly in his chest.

The footsteps drew nearer as Sportacus entered the kitchen. He flickered on the lights, his other hand tugging firmly at the first few buttons of his uniform that peaked out just beneath a black vest. Movement froze as the man realized he wasn’t alone at this early hour.

He took a good look at his husband, standing against the kitchen counter with a defensive curl of his lips and rigid posture. Adorned in red and purple pajama bottoms and a black tank top often stained with motor oil from fiddling with one thing or another. Sportacus hated when it would get on the bed sheets, but it was a losing battle as Robbie was about as stubborn as they came.

“I wasn’t aware they didn’t have phones at the station.” Robbie remarked dryly, moving his hands away from where they’d braced themselves against the countertop and instead crossing his arms over his chest.

“Robbie…”

“You promised me…You promised me.” He hissed with vehemence, nails digging into his own arms as he pressed himself further against the counter, staring at the other with open hostility and accusation burning in his eyes behind a thin, glimmering shine of moisture. “A solid month of ‘behind the desk’ work. Where you’d be safe.” He continued, biting out his words as loud as he dared in the otherwise quiet home.

“It was unexpected, they needed more people and we weren’t allowed our phones due to how they were interfering with the radio signal.” Sportacus attempted to defend, albeit sheepishly, as if he’d rehearsed it a few times on the car ride home. However, his eyes were zeroing in on where Robbie’s nails were probably digging sharp crescent moon shaped indents in his arms.

“That’s no excuse.” Robbie all but growled. But Sportacus could see the slight tremble to the other’s jaw, the rigid stance that had become more hunched and withdrawn as he attempted to gain some control over his emotions when all he probably wanted to do was scream and have an absolute fit over his husband’s career.

Taking a step closer, Sportacus raised his arms a fraction, finding that he couldn’t help it. He needed to touch the other, offer some form of comfort and reassurance that he was alright. And after the night he’d had, reaffirm for himself that he was okay in the process.

“You have a stab vest on.” Robbie informed him in a huff, pointedly looking away and giving the other man a reason to pause.

Glancing down at himself as if to check that yes, he was indeed still sporting his standard issued vest, Sportacus hastily excused himself to the front entryway to remove said vest and lay it on the table beside the door. While he was there, he removed the holsters at his sides and hung them on the hook high above the table. Quickly returning to the kitchen, he stared at where Robbie remained, unmoving. Sportacus’s fingers twitched and he took a few bold steps forward to close the distance. Robbie merely lifted his chin and glanced almost challengingly down at the shorter male. For the haughty expression that overcame him, pain, clear and simple, nearly shattered the facade.

Silently, Sportacus rested his hands at Robbie’s thin waist and squeezed lightly, drawing the other closer to him. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, feeling a tremble that spoke volumes to terror run through his husband’s body. “I’m so sorry, Robbie. I should have called. Everything was just so hectic and…Bessie..She got hurt and they were asking for help…I couldn’t say no.”

Robbie’s body slowly sagged forward as the other spoke, face burrowing firmly against the crook of his neck. “You could have…” he breathed, voice shaky as his hands came up to fist in the material of Sportacus’s dark blue dress shirt. “You could have said no.” The words would have been harsh had they not been so absolutely drained and tired, trailing off with a tinge of desperation. It felt almost selfish and wrong, but just barely. The want for some peace from all the excitement far outweighed it.

Quiet filled the space, only interrupted by the faint hum of the fridge and grumbling of pipes from beneath the sink, as Sportacus slid his large hands up and curled his arms around Robbie, keeping him firmly against him. He could feel his neck and the collar of his shirt becoming wet, dampened with tears.

“I can’t lose you, Alex..” Robbie spoke quietly, voice nearly muffled before he lifted his head and rested his chin at Sportacus’s shoulder. “I can’t. I refuse to.” He stated resolutely, prompting his husband to lean back and peer at him. The declaration would have been almost amusing had the situation not been rather serious.

“Oh, krúttið mitt. Look at me.” Sportacus hummed, a soft, comforting smile tugging at his lips that made his carefully groomed twig of a mustache twitch. “I’m here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” Hand moving from the small of Robbie’s back to gently cup his jaw, Sportacus leaned forward and brushed a sweet, soft kiss over slightly chapped lips. Another one followed soon after, placed gently at the corner of Robbie’s mouth.

The tall man sighed softly, looking at the other from beneath his lashes, dark hair flopped and messily splayed against his forehead. “We’re not done talking about this..” he warned, “But I have to be up in a few hours to get the kids on the bus and even earlier if Ella has anything to say about it. Which she will.” He continued wearily, surprised the baby hadn’t fussed herself awake in the past few hours or so.

Sportacus shook his head and held up a hand as he hooked an arm around Robbie’s waist and led the way from the kitchen, turning off the light. “I’ll get Stephanie and Ziggy up and ready for school. And I’ll handle the baby.” He assured, even as he looked at Robbie with equally tired eyes.

Robbie promptly rolled his eyes, “You play hero enough as it is. It’s fine. Way past your bedtime anyway.” He pointed out with a wry twist of his lips that Sportacus could have sworn was the starts of amusement.

Sportacus smiled broadly in return as they entered their bedroom, pulling Robbie closer and leaning up to capture a quick, chaste kiss. “I’ll get Ella her bottle and the kids’ lunches prepared, alright?” He attempted to compromise.

Robbie merely huffed and waved a hand dismissively as he moved away to flop unceremoniously onto the bed, a faint flush crawling up his cheeks.

Sportacus continued to smile as he shed his uniform and balled up a few articles to toss into the hamper, bouncing them off the wall and then the bedside lamp before they would tip into the basket.

“Stop that.” Robbie groused from where he had already burrowed beneath the blankets.

A soft chuckle was the garnered response as the bed dipped beneath Sportacus’s additional weight. “Yes, dear.�� He hummed, leaning over and clicking the bedside lamp off.

#it's 4:13am and I'm on mobile #idk man #the first thing I post on here and it's this unbelievable #feel free to send a message or something it's welcomed #Sportarobbie #sportacus #robbie rotten #fanfic #fic #Domestic AU #Mine

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metarot · 6 years

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Side note – Josh is ambiguously ill – he’s potentially schizophrenic, potentially not; obviously sick, yes, but with? He’s an inherently, intrinsically, fundamentally disturbed man/person; his dreams are more or less play-by-play snap-recollections of traumatic and/or traumatizing events/memories; the death of his mother, sustained and prolonged physical/emotional abuse – a tragic etc.etc.etc – a sort of perfect storm and concoction of various so and so issues that express themselves in a passingly/cursory sadism and machoism that can only be really described as edging; a sort of halfway-gratifying externalization of deeply internalized thoughts and feelings that does, eventually, lead to his ultimate “demotion”

Rye

From: [email protected] (you) To:[email protected] CC:

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Re:Re(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?)

04-19-2004

just because i dont say it dosent mean i dont think it

i feel more than i am on the outside a tired and slow procession of empty emotion and really if I were to choose a word to describe how and as i am it would be that -- tired literally metaphorically fundamentally i am a dead man barley half-way brought back to life (re: Lazarus) very weakly trying to claw his way back into a familiar grave (cliché yes true yes -- if its been said before why does or does it not (?) matter if it’s true?) -- anyway to the real (real? Intended? actual?? what should I say here that i do S(dont) not?) message tucked and buried in this mess (im a mess and i know it – what the wall said) -- i am lost and there isnt a way out and im sorry and no matter how i try i cant and what has so been eloquently described to me as a quote downward spiral endquote (“”) has or has recently caught up to me (the ground at the bottomless pit more like) and i have finally taken the time out of my already very busy day as you know to finally notice and yes what many would call quote giving up endquote (“”) or quote submitting to a self-subscribed fate endquote (“”) and acknowledge that yes my time here is up and i cannot stay for much longer if any time at all and to punctuate or maybe exclamate(sp?) my point not all who wander are lost but I sure am and what started as a confident march ends in a whimpering limp through a deep dark that i cannot see thru

i wont say goodbye but im obligated to say thanks anyway

Josh’s Word of The Day: -- for you especially:

bit·ter·sweet

ˈbidərˌswēt/, adjective

1. (of food, drink, or flavor) sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

· arousing pleasure tinged with sadness or pain.

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Subject: daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?) (01-01-2000)

You’ve very prudently (if I can say that about such an early judgement call) asked me to, in your words, “voice in plain language”, as a more-or-less new-year’s resolution, what’s “keeping me down”; it’s not a short listed, and I feel compelled to (at the very least) forewarn you that I’m not a necessarily happy person (but you’re here to help that, so it’s fine(?), I guess).

I don’t like fluorescent light or, even, the word itself -- it reminds me of a pale sick-green tinge and pallor in my skin exclusively; sitting in an office chair, stare-spinning into the chalky, plaster-and-plastine(sp?) ceiling with those admittedly gross bright-yellow-almost-grey god forsaken fluorescent lights that make me and my weirdly-high cheekbones and thin ash-skin look more gaunt and corpselike than they and I already do not withstanding or considering what little, balding black hair I have does nothing to alleviate an admittedly freighting and death-like air that I have

They’re on the bus, the trains, my office and my house -- they’re cheap, not really very technical appliances that need to be oft replaced or serviced but my god do they give me the worst headaches and work more than/as nothing other than a reminder that I’m the primary auxiliary character in some avant-garde art film that pans and zooms and fisheyes a little too close to the face of some glum, doleful, sagging and sad average-looking middle-aged man or woman with shadows cast long over their point, sharp eyebrows and acne-ridden, bony jaws that accentuates this awful feeling of discomfort and hunger and rot that I can’t help but feel that that isn’t the general impression they were going for in the first place

I guess I just don’t like feeling nauseous or uncomfortable (I sincerely doubt many people do at all -- maybe some special color or flavor of masochistic deviant -- but I digress) -- for some reason, physiological or psychological, I think there’s something poking and sticking out of my stomach and my intestines that’s hot and solid yet liquidly-fine like molten iron or steel that seeps in and out of my ulcers (That I know I have for a medically proven fact); I can’t say if its bile or blood but I do know that if I don’t eat for a period of some days (which I usually don’t – food makes me want to violently vomit/throw up and the thought of anything mildly warm or cold in me, my mouth, or otherwise is enough to reduce me to a manic mess (if im not already one)) it (the bloodbilemetal feeling, that is) gets almost intolerably worse and I honestly only eat or drink anything at this stage to keep me from passing out from the pain and mental malaise of knowing that something is there that I can’t personally account for or take responsibility as to or of; I’ve quite literally almost taken a sharp, pointed needle or small, swiss-army like knife and punctured the little pouch of belly fat that sits over my atrophied once-athletic abdomen to bleed myself of this “bad blood” and restore my “balance of humors” like a sick and (by modern standards) barbaric doctor from some long- forgotten, dark century where it honestly wouldn’t be the worst thing to have some diseased, plague-ridden piece of dirty metal jammed into you if it meant that you’d at least die in a few months and not physically feel your body suffer through mortal agony for or years or weeks on end knowing that you’d essentially be subject to the same net-effect of nonexistence either way

Im sorry and thanks for your time, I’ll write to you soon

Many more to come, (and yours truly),

Josh

Josh’s Word of the Day:

pipe dream, noun

1. an unattainable or fanciful hope or scheme.

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Re:Re(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?)

07-15-2002

Im sorry im sorry im soryr im soryy?

I needed badly to get that out of my system really – this past year and the year before and the year before has been one very large and scary exponentially-progressively worse and worse train wreck that I can’t stop and I don’t think that I can anymore

I dream only of and in words at this stage – anything that is concretely visual or outside of hearing/” experiencing” language is/are very vague and very brief images of what I think I remember my very very late mother looking somewhat maybe like – atmosphere is tense and I feel a very pungent and precise feeling of regret each time I wake up

I’ve noticed that lately my thoughts have become markedly more dark and have assumed what could-be(?) described as self-harming in nature; I’ll blink, pause (for what feels far too long for a normal – is there a scientific standard for a normal, decidedly subconscious bodily function?) and think about jamming a nail under my big toenail and kicking a door or wall very hard or peeling my eyelids off with tweezers or drilling big, metal screws into my shins

i don’t know if it’s because i burn myself with wax or compulsively pick at my skin but I feel a very distinct urge to poke and prod and see how far and much pain I can take all in one go just to make sure that I still feel something other than cold and nothing or a little bit of both at the same time

Sometimes when im on the bus or train I feel like jumping out of a window or running headlong into an oncoming train/bus/both –I wonder honestly what dying might feel like and im afraid that if and when I find out it’ll be more of the same and I’ll have gone through all that pain and effort for nothing and die full of regret and realize ive done and been too little too late and die during my already-underway death from disappointment and a broken heart – i don’t know if very many likeable or normal people think of jumping from windows (which, I feel compelled to and should add my new office’s 6th story has a single thinly-paned sliding-glass-door-esque window situated right over and above the freeway and I can say that from the time ive spent after-hours wandering floor to floor desk to desk wall to wall back-and-back again it’s the only actually functional window I’ve found in the entire 200-foot-something building; its weirdly convenient and more so weirdly alluring)

i look like ive lost more weight and that’s not a bad thing I don’t think – I can almost just see all of my ribs and the grainy sand-like grit and texture of my bones through my beautifully paper skin and each day I feel like im getting closer and closer to what god is and what god has wanted me to be all along; im a little self-conscious about how big and disproportionate my head looks on my spiny, spindly pencil-thin neck and how frail my knocky elbows and knees are but i cant eat even if I try so really why even make the effort if you know that you’re just going to make it more painful in the long run (why do anything if you know none of it matters deep down?)

anyways thanks again and for everything so far – I’ll write you soon I really hope

josh

Josh’s Word of the Day:

ex·fo·li·ate

eksˈfōlēāt/, verb

1. (of a material) come apart or be shed from a surface in scales or layers.

"the bark exfoliates in papery flakes"

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: FWD: Concerning Josh Haag -- Incident

09-09-2001

Management,

As the Chief of California Operations I believe this to be a concerning note for one Joshua Haag, a System Admin of ours. Read full details from our HR department below, but it is in fact my decision to demote him. Our company health insurance would not cover mental health service, but we would strongly recommend it to him if he stays apart of the MC family.

Any concerns, please leave a direct reply.

Lucas Shaw

Chief of California Operations at MiddleCorp™, 12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

----------forwarded message----------

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: Concerning Josh Haag Incident

09-02-2001

Mr Shaw,

In the company it is our policy to notify management of any disturbing notes from HR. Yesterday the Human Resources Department ran into a rather upsetting matter. System Administrator Joshua Haag was found hanging by his neck on a rafter in the second story bathroom by saleswoman Martha Stein. ([email protected]) Various coworkers of Josh ran in and thankfully saved him. We are not sure as to why he would resort to such drastic measures, especially on company property. This email is simply meant to inform you, as it is management’s decision as for Josh’s future with the company. Personally I do not recommend we keep him on our Administration. Anyone aware of the situation is very uncomfortable, especially those working directly under Mr. Haag.

If you require any more information, please let me know.

Pam Lancaster, MiddleCorp™ Human Resources Department, 12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

From: [email protected] (you) To:[email protected] CC: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Re(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?)

09-03-2001

Im not even going to look him in his (eye??) eyes – hes a disgustingly handsome awfully beautiful awful person and what -- honestly is the comparison and competition between a ratty once-been systems administrator who cant help but feel absolutely threated by “a higher existence”

Its absolutely the last straw – they’re obviously trying to phase me and only me out of their godforsaken system and I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT

Im sorry if I’ve (or, my messages, in reality) are coming off a bit more frantic and disjointed than they usually do – ive been experimenting with a hypno-sedative cocktail-concoction and I have noticed that its more effective at keeping me awake for days on end than it actually is at getting me to sleep (and stay there/like that) in the first place – the stress of potentially, no, not even, not losing my job, no, voluntarily as a screw-you kind of message and metaphorically speaking finger-giving finale leaving this awful awful awful no-good we-only-let-the-pretty-ones-to-be-in-the-cubicles is just too much not EVEN considering that there is a very messy personal element involved now that i NEED with a very LARGE and BIG emphasis on NEED to tell you about

One of the older, huskier, more dead-and-defeated looking edge-of-middle-age blondes of the office (her name is probably some shade of Cheryl or Sherry) – the kind that always makes me wonder that in 10 or 20 or never if I’ll get married or settle down like all these thick-jawed, broad-faced, ugly-but-not men of the universally consistent late 20s/30s or will I die alone burning and melting the circuits of a server like the man-rat that I am – the bathrooms on the 2nd floor aren’t marked, and since today has really been bad enough before the incident I resolved/more like decided to more-or-less hang myself with my already tried and true very strong leather belt that I wear for one reason only – really awful terrible days like today especially

So there I am, the boy genius extraordinaire, hanging from the unfurnished ceiling, tied and strung on and under a steel rafter, in a very very (what you would believe) compromising position when the aforementioned Cheryl-Sherry walks proudly in like she owns the single, poorly cleaned stall (without knocking, I should mention, WHICH IS A CORPORATE POLICY), screams really too loudly, runs out red-faced with streaks (more like streams) of thickly applied makeup and mascara running down and over her pouch-y cheeks and once-pretty knobby double-ish chin and before I know whats happening (I was more concerned with my pants being down near my ankles than anything) im being dragged across this dirty bathroom floor to “safety away from myself” and being crocodile-cooed by all these poorly sympathetic people and I HONESTLY can barely stand the thought of thinking of remembering something as legitimately horrifying as today has been or ever will be(?)

Talk to you soon,

From: [email protected]

(you) To: [email protected] CC:

Subject: Emails (Sep. 4th, 2001)

Stop sending these to me.

Yours Truly,

Dr. Robert G. Anderson, Licensed (pending) Psychiatric ProfessionalTM at and by the Internet's BestTM Online Resource for Emotional Counseling - opensourcepsych.org

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: open when alone

09-05-2001

That ratty nerd in the back? I didn’t know he was an admin... LOL not like it matters anymore :P And yeah I’ll see you there, 6pm ;)

Peter Alcazar

Salesman at MiddleCorp™

12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

----------original message----------

From: [email protected] (you) To: [email protected]

Subject: open when alone

Did you hear about that guy trying to hang himself in the bathroom? Haha looks like he finally figured out that nobody likes him LOL. Anyways, you still on for dinner tonight?

Sigourney Yagey, Saleswoman at MiddleCorp™, 12380 E. Dorchester St. Silicon Valley CA, 94087

From: [email protected] ( (you) To: [email protected] (CC: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Re:Re:(…) daily journal and/or note-to-self anthology (sp?) (11-18-2001)

I started dreaming again, on very sudden and short notice, and I can’t say im a fan – there’s nothing there for me at all

Tonight’s episode started just above my chest cavity; cue opening credits and a brief roll of the cast and I can feel the bony knot just above-and-to-the-right of my sternum brush and squeeze against something cold and hard and the smooth ridge and cleft of my leftmost ribs catches on a sharp angle and the pain is something what you’d think literally “bone-crushing” would feel like; its dark, and each shufflestep I take im further and further from where I should be but do not want to and the closer and the louder my everything threatens to break I smell toothpaste and mold in an old air conditioning system and plastic from cheap toys and feel silky warm smokeair move through and over my fingers and cold cold toes and there it is – me and my mom, my mom and I – she’s crying into her arms and hunched back and so is her wife at the counter of the clinic and im too interested in the green-blue-turquoise wall behind them that bleeds numbers to ask or wonder for too long why

I feel like im sometimes-usually drowning in my emotions but thats like drinking too much water when you’re stuck in a desert somewhere in an unbelievably god awful awful place

I should have loved my brother more -- I should have done a lot of things better than I have or have done -- I should have realized that I am short lived but my problems are more so -- Im done for tonight, I know you’re only contractually and not legally or financially obligated to reply to anything I send you but please please please please just tell me even if you’re lying that things might just be ok

Josh’s Word of the Day:

com·punc·tion, noun

1. a feeling of guilt or moral scruple that follows the doing of something bad.

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