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witchlyboo · 3 years

Text

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

#ben hardy imagine #michael b jordan fc #tom holland x reader #timothee chalamet fanfiction #pedro pascal #logan lerman fc #definitely maybe #fluff #angst #timothee chalamet #Tom Holland #Ben Hardy

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sarahlynnirl · 3 years

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Losing my best friend - Sugar Daddy culture is not empowering

I finally feel strong enough to talk about this and hopefully get some love, support, and reassurance from other women who agree that this is fucked up. I’ve never been “terfy on main” before so here goes. (TW child abuse + SA but no graphic descriptions of SA)

My mother is a narcissist who financially and emotionally abused my father and myself, with some additional physical abuse of me, for as long as I can remember. My dad made plenty of money but my mom controlled it all and made sure it didn’t go towards anything for me beyond the bare minimum required not to look obviously guilty of child abuse and neglect. I met Kiara (not her real name) when I was a junior in highschool and she was a freshman. Her mom was a single Korean woman doing her best to support Kiara and her 2 sisters while also running a Korean restaurant. My first jobs were a summer camp counselor and fitting room attendant at Forever 21. I would spend the last scraps of my paycheck making sure Kiara was able to order a full meal when our friends went out to dinner, buying her little gifts, and generally trying to keep us both as happy and healthy as possible.

When Kiara graduated highschool her mom drove her into Koreatown New Jersey, got her a room in the apartment of an acquaintance, and basically left her to fend for herself. Kiara spoke barely any Korean. She began working at a Korean salon where she met Ariana (not her real name). She had a NY cosmetology license, not an NJ one, while Ariana was an illegal immigrant from Korea so they were both overworked, underpaid, forced to work overtime, paid under minimum wage, and deprived of their tips. They couldn’t report or complain about this since they were both working illegally.

Kiara had to pay rent for the one room she occupied despite her land lady yelling at her, walking into her room while she slept, banning her from having friends over, and reporting to her mom if she spoke to a guy on the phone or a guy dropped her off. I was working at a restaurant in my college town on top of my classes and doing my best to keep surprising her with little gifts, but neither of us had enough disposable income to afford to visit each other. This was really difficult for me as she was my favorite person in the world and I was used to spending every second with her when we both lived in upstate NY. Ariana got them both to start using SeekingArrangement for one time meet ups with Sugar Daddies where they were paid anywhere from $200-2000 for sex. “The first time I ever did it I walked out of the hotel and just screamed because I was so disgusted and I was thinking about his wrinkly skin touching mine and all I wanted to do was get in the shower and scrub it off but I had $1000 cash in my hand for a couple hours of work which was so crazy and kinda made it all worth it ya know?” - Ariana to me

I was immediately skeptical and a little grossed out but Kiara genuinely seemed happier. She was buying new clothes for herself, ordering food to the apartment when she was hungry, and taking trips into NYC to have fun with Ariana and her friends. By the beginning of the summer of 2019, Kiara had found the Sugar Daddy who she would establish a long term agreement with and who ultimately ended up completely supporting her. I’m not going to say his name here but if people want to know it just ask, I am willing to share. He moved her into a much nicer much bigger apartment with Ariana as her roommate. He paid for me to fly up and visit her, and all of our activities during this vacation. I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry. I wish I shoved the money back in her hand before it was too late, I wish I worked harder and longer hours and got us an apartment in Florida and paid both of our rent. I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t listen to my instincts and allowed her to brush off my concerns. It was the most freedom we had ever had, I ran around NYC by myself while she was at work, and my ex took the bus to NJ from upstate NY and joined us for a few days. I feel so selfish but I also didn’t know how bad things would get.

One night Kiara and I went to NYC for dinner with her SD and she took the bus back to the apartment because she had to work early the next morning. It made sense for me to stay in the city because I was supposed to visit my friend at NYU the next morning. In the Uber to his apartment alone with him he was drunk and high and I very clearly looked scared shitless. At this point she was 19 (but she had looked that way since age 17 and I doubt he would have minded if she was lying about her age), I was 21 and he was 44. He seemed offended by my discomfort and was basically like “jeez relax I’m not gonna touch you, I really care about Kiara I think she’s so amazing, just go to the guest room and sleep, make a left to walk to NYU when you wake up.” I peaced the fuck out of there early the next morning.

After that summer Kiara and Ariana quit their jobs at the Korean salon and sugaring became their sole incomes. Ariana was still doing one time meet ups, not nearly as financially stable as Kiara, and got herself into a lot of credit card debt that to my knowledge she’s still in. At this point Kiara was flying down and staying with me in Florida so often that people at my college thought she went there too. I also wasn’t working at this point because college had gotten harder and my ex was fucking up my mental health real bad. He had given me a coke problem and Kiara sending me “grocery money” was enabling me to continue. I wasn’t honest with her about where all the money was going. During Halloween week we didn’t know that she couldn’t just snort molly (MDMA) with the frequency I was doing coke, she ODed, my guy best friend took us to the ER, it was so fucking scary, she got IV fluids for 2 hours and made a full recovery, she stopped doing molly, I kept doing coke. I’m so sorry :(

In November her SD paid for us to take a trip to Cancun Mexico. He was with us for the first part of the trip and this is where things started to get really bad. He tried to be my friend and act the way a boyfriend of my best friend who was my age would, but it was creepy and wrong and I was so uncomfortable. He asked about my drug use in a way that was gross and shamey and basically him seeing me as the “coke whore” stereotype...while continuing to buy me more coke. He also brought and gave us ecstasy pills. He asked really invasive questions about my relationship with my ex, why I stayed, my sex life, etc. It felt like an uncle asking me these questions, I did NOT wanna talk about any of this with him. But from what I did say it was very clear to someone with 44 years of life experience that I had an abusive mother, an addictive personality, and was in an unhealthy relationship. He offered to set me up with an SD friend of his looking for a sugar baby. I of course declined because I always knew this was a boundary I wasn’t willing to cross. No matter how bad my addictions got I would NOT give up that piece of myself in return for money.

In this part of Mexico, drugs that were only given with a prescription in the US were available over the counter. Kiara and I got a little box of 1mg Xanax with my money. My ex had given us Xanax a couple times in NY and we had fun with it, but at this point in time we did NOT have a problem with it. We had bought one bar, broken it in half, and each took half one night of Halloween week and called it “xanpires”, but this wasn’t something we were scripted or buying regularly from plugs. We went to dinner with her SD, we got up to go to the bathroom, and she immediately slipped and hit the ground. I was like woah did you take one of the xans and forget? Because we were supposed to tell each other if we were taking one so we could look out for each other. I was never mad at her! I never wanted money from her! I was just a little concerned, and once I determined that she was safe we thought it was kinda funny that she had taken a xan without realizing and started joking around about it. Her SD of course didn’t understand how a 19 year old and 21 year old girl joke with each other because he was a creepy old man, decided that we were “arguing”, and got up from the restaurant, walked across the street, bought a 90 count bottle of 2mg xans and gave it to me. This was honestly the most irresponsible way someone has ever treated me in my life, and this is coming from someone with an abusive and neglectful parent. Google “benzo withdrawal” if you’re not familiar with it.

We went to a different hotel, and Kiara and I both took xans and blacked out. I passed out on the guest bed, while Kiara was awake but in a conscious blackout. I woke up on the couch on the balcony (which was fine, it was comfy and I saw the sunrise over the beach. The gross part was that meant her SD had picked me up, put his hands on my body while I was unconscious and carried me out there). I remembered that at one point I had woken up, wanted to go to the bathroom or get something from inside, caught a glimpse of what I thought was them having sex, and went back outside. I mentioned it to Kiara and she had no memory of it whatsoever, she thought all she had done was gone to sleep. She was rightfully pissed the fuck off that her SD had taken advantage and done things with her while she was blacked, screamed at him, he gave us a half ass apology, and bought us more stuff (buying our silence). He finally flew home and we got to enjoy the trip with just each other, but I was careless with the dosage of a drug called tramadol, and I ODed with my head in her lap...I’m sorry. When I woke up I was hallucinating, hearing voices, crying hysterically and terrified. Kiara called my ex who asked how many mg I took, told us I was 100mg short of the amount that would require medical attention, made me laugh, and told me to go to sleep. I recognize how scary and unfair to her this was and I really do take responsibility for my actions. The day I was supposed to leave I did ecstasy, hooked up with a guy from Canada, and tried to skip my flight. She was mad because like yeah what the fuck. She got me on the flight, the ecstasy comedown hit, and there’s pictures of me crying in the airport because I hated when we fought.

I was supposed to stop in Miami, then fly back to my college town but while in Miami I texted my granny that I was “sad and really didn’t feel good and could she and my uncle visit me at the airport and bring my uncles dog?”. Her parenting instincts went off that something was very wrong, made me skip the flight, picked me up from the airport and took me to her house where I immediately threw up and ran an extremely high fever that night. She said it was one of the scariest nights of her life and she kept checking on me to see if I needed to go to the hospital. She drove me back to my college town where my guy best friend took me to the ER and it came out that Kiaras SD, in addition to giving me drugs, had also allowed me to drink Mexican tap water throughout the entire trip. I was treated for that + given chlamydia meds just in case since I’d had unprotected sex in a foreign country. I was fine, promised to do better, Kiara forgave me, things started to go back to normal. Except I had begun taking Xanax daily to deal with the anxiety of the illness...and she had a trip to Bali planned.

During that trip things managed to get even worse. She was there with her SD and another Korean friend and her SD was pressuring her and guilting her into sex, isolating her from her friend, going through her phone, and becoming extremely aggressive. She would call me crying and having panic attacks and I would walk out of class to try to comfort her over FaceTime. She did not have panic attacks before this trip. She begged to go home early because something was very wrong but he said it was a waste of money and kept her in Bali until the planned end of the trip. I think it was almost a month. She sent me a recording she secretly took of him screaming at her and her saying “don’t touch me, don’t grab me like that, leave me alone”. When she got back to the US I was begging her to stop. I was so worried for her safety. I said the money wasn’t worth it, we’ll get jobs, please just stop. I’m pretty sure he read those messages. We also had a suspicion that he had installed spyware on her phone but were never able to prove it. At this point I also reached out to my dad for help and his response was basically “I don’t care, not my problem, focus on school”. I reached out to my granny who absolutely cared, but her response was “I’m sorry but I can’t afford to support her, I have to focus on taking care of you, if she won’t stop this you’ll have to stop being friends with her”.

I went home to New York for winter break, suffered through my first round of Xanax withdrawal and was truly trying to get better but my ex manipulated his was back in my life and got me addicted again....but now this bottle of 90 had run out. I went back to my college town, got scripted, and was copping street bars when my script inevitably ran out early. What comes next is blurry for obvious reasons. We moved to the town in Florida my granny lived in and got an apartment together. The female friends she made in our town (my current home) she got most of them into sugaring and using SeekingArrangement. Things deteriorated super fast at this point. I was struggling hard, failing my online classes, and eventually got completely financially cut off by my parents. My granny was paying my half of the rent and my puppy’s vet bills but I was too embarrassed to admit I couldn’t afford groceries. Kiara was pressuring me hard to go on SeekingArrangement but I still refused. I would sit on the floor of the bathroom in a towel after I showered and just cry because the steam made me nauseous and dizzy since I wasn’t eating.

I met my current boyfriend and something just started to click: I didn’t wanna live like this anymore. The mom of a friend from this town who also refuses to sugar landed me an interview at the gym I currently work at, I fought for the job, and I got it. Now I knew I didn’t wanna be completely fucked up all the time anymore but I was still doing enough Xanax to keep me out of withdrawal. The 2mg that had blacked me out at the beginning were now just barely enough to keep me functional. Kiara and I were fighting frequently and bad by this time. She and her partner in sugaring, Mena (not her real name but pretty close to it, fuck this bitch fr) were expecting me to keep how they made their money a secret....from friends and guys that I saw every single day. They both very obviously did not work and were flexing new cars, designer clothes, and cash all over their social media. Kiara thought she could cover her ass by saying she dealt drugs but it was also obvious that she wasn’t putting the time into that to come up with the amount of money she had. The only one dealing drugs was me, and not enough to do anything flashy, just enough that in addition to my work money I was usually getting enough to eat. But there were still some times when the previous weeks paycheck had run out and I was having my first meal of the day at 3pm after someone had bought adderall from me. We had our serious serious fight where she threw my stuff in the lawn and I lived with my current boyfriend full time for about a couple weeks since my bedroom at my granny’s was getting refloored when this happened.

By January 20th he was concerned by my Xanax problem and wanted me to seriously try to stop. At the time I started tapering because I wanted the girlfriend title but I’m forever grateful for him giving me a reason, even if it was a shallow one, because I just needed to START. We tried to reconcile once, despite boyfriend and guy best friend begging me not to, and of course the same problems reappeared, we had another serious fight and haven’t spoken since.

Now the fog is clearing and today I’m 96 days clean of xanax, 16 days clean of all benzos, and 19 days clean of gabapentin (what was keeping me from having a seizure while quitting benzos). But it’s hard because being out of the fog means feeling all of my emotions, even the really bad ones. This past week I’ve been waking up and crying sitting in front of my mirror trying to put my makeup on for work and it just drips right off and I have to start over. She was my best friend for 8 years. My favorite person. My partner in life. I loved her more than anyone.

My boyfriend and guy best friend are pretty uncomfortable when they hear someone express an opinion of me that’s “Kiara’s side of the story” and I don’t correct it. Both of them saw exactly how bad it got near the very end and don’t get why I don’t defend myself more or tell people about her letting my dog eat dab (THC) wax while she was supposed to be watching her and having to be rushed to the animal hospital TWO separate times. (She’s a Pomeranian and the highly concentrated THC was super dangerous to her tiny little body). Yelling at me and giving me the silent treatment because less than 48 hours after my SA she expected me to drive her to a hair appointment in Miami and I woke up late and didn’t get her there on time with traffic. Me begging her to be there for me when it felt like everything was falling apart and I self harmed for the first time and her leaving me to go on a vacation to Orlando with a girl we didn’t even really like. Me not wanting to sleep in the apartment alone after my SA and her not letting me sleep in her bed anymore, her and Mena just dumping me at the neighbor’s so they could continue to sugar, party, and see guys our age at night (this sounds super awful but neighbors roommate —> current boyfriend. He kept me safe until I felt better, was really sweet and careful, and I was the one to make the first move). There’s more but I really don’t like talking about it, after the abuse she went through and I assume is still going through, I expect her to be pretty damaged and not have it in her to treat people right all the time. Not exposing every bad thing she’s ever done to all our mutual friends and acquaintances is kind of my last gift to her.

I also admit that sugaring wasn’t responsible for everything that went wrong. Loving an addict is difficult and exhausting and I went through it myself with my ex. I was also out bi and she was “probably straight, maybe a little bi-curious” in her words. But when she was drunk or on Xanax she’d kiss me first...we had done more than kiss but only during 3somes with a guy. I don’t know, I think I loved her more than I was supposed to and some of the stuff she’d say made me think she saw me in a way she really didn’t. When we first moved to this town I had a thing with a girl and expected it to be no big deal but things here were different than up north. I got called the d slur for the first time by someone who wasn’t joking. It was like getting slapped I was so shocked and hurt, I truly didn’t think that happened anymore. I think she saw what happened to me and kinda closed off that part of herself because she didn’t wanna experience that herself. She stopped making out with me at bars and parties after that and it made me sad and maybe a little jealous. But I really do blame her SD for basically “breaking her”, for handing me that first bottle of free Xanax, for a lot of other little things that I can’t possibly include because this is already way too long. This is my first time even saying this much. Feel free to add your own experiences or thoughts on this or anything you’d like. [I’m prepared to get death threats or called a SWERF or whatever but I don’t care, now that I started talking about this I’m not going to stop.]

#terf safe #terfs please touch #terfs please interact #radfem #radical feminists please touch #radical feminst #radical feminism #terf #swerfs please interact #swerf #anti prostitution #addiction #recovery #terfs do touch #sugardadddy

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typical-simplelove · 3 years

Text

I'll Always Fly Back Home to You - 40s AU (R. Hintz)

Summary: With the threat of a Soviet Union invasion, the Hintz family moves to America to escape death and war. What happens when Roope moves in next door to you?

Series Masterlist

A/n: This is the fourth installment and one of the best things I've ever written, I believe. This fic exists in the same universe in the Jamie Oleksiak fic that comes later on. I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: mentions of war, death, breaking up, the Soviet Union (?), suggestive photos

Word Count: 9.1k

November 20, 1939

You could do this. Yeah, you could. All you had to do was bring a tray of cookies to the new neighbors next door. This was going to be simple, right? Introduce yourself, offer any help, give them the cookies, and welcome them to the neighborhood. You walk over to their house, and you instantly catch a whiff of something that smells amazing. You walk up the steps and knock on the door. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t the person who opened the door.

“Hi, my name is Yn, and I live next door,” you begin after overcoming the initial shock. “My mom is also the one who works for the agency you and your family used to come here.”

“Oh, hi Yn,” this boy tells you. He was really cute, you thought to yourself. “My name is --”

“Mrs. Yln, thank you so much for coming,” someone interrupts. “I was going to ring you up. Can you help us figure out how to use the oven?”

“Mom, this is her daughter, yn,” the boy who answered the door corrects. He gives you a smile and your face warms under his gaze.

“Oh you’re right. Yn, forgive me, please. Roope, welcome her in, please.”

So his name is Roope.

“Come on in?” Roope asks.

“Oh, sure. I made cookies for you guys as a welcome gift.”

“Thank you, so much,” Roope’s mother gushes. “I hate to ask, but do you know how to use the oven?”

“Maybe? I mean, I had to use the oven in order to bake these cookies.” You walk over to the oven and notice that it’s exactly like yours. You begin to explain how it works and strike up a conversation with Roope’s mother who tells you to call her Mrs. Hintz. You learned that the Hintz family immigrated from Finland because of the aggression of the Soviet Union. Most of the extended family was able to immigrate over and are now spread across the Dallas area.

You left about an hour after you arrived happy that your mother sent you to welcome the new family.

. . .

The next morning, you were walking out the door to go to the grocery store. It was a morning out of a novel. The sun was out shining and the temperature wasn’t too hot or too cold. It was absolutely perfect. There was dew sitting on the grass, and it seemed like a day full of potential. You walk out of your lawn and turn right; incidentally, you’d have to go past the Hintz house. You are about to pass their walkway when you hear someone call out to you.

“Yn,” you turn around and see Roope walking out the door towards you. You stop and smile and wait for him. “Where are you headed?”

“The grocery store, you?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Go with her,” Roope’s mother yells from the door. “She knows where to go; you don’t.”

You smile and look at Roope. A soft blush is now covering his face; you laugh softly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Is that okay? I have no idea where I’m going.”

You laugh at his comment. “Of course. It is my job as a neighbor to help you assimilate to the town best you can.”

Roope looks at you. “And I thought you wanted to be my first friend here.”

“I can do that as well, if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way..”

“I doubt that being friends would inconvenience me, Roope.”

“You say that now, but, let me tell you, you might regret that sentence one day,” Roope says and winks at you. You feel the warmth reach your face as you look away bashfully. What was it with Roope?

. . .

In the days that followed your trip to the grocery store, a budding friendship blossomed. One day, you walked to your backyard to escape the rowdiness of your sisters and brothers. Sometimes, all you needed was to just leave for a bit.

You walk to the edge of your backyard where there is a giant tree that sits on both your family’s property and the Hintz property. You walk out and see Roope sitting under the tree. Opting not to bother him, you turn around and walk away. You thought that Roope didn’t see you; however, when he calls out to you, you know he saw you.

“You’re allowed to sit under the tree, too, yn,” Roope tells you as you sit.

“Yeah, I know,” you begin. “I just didn’t want to disturb you. I’m not sure why you’re sitting under the tree.”

“Well, don’t worry. You can sit. Why do you want to sit here?”

“Because you told me I could.”

Roope laughs. “That’s not what I meant.”

You smile at him. “Yeah, I knew that. No, I come out here at nights to get away from the loud and rowdy behavior of my family. Why are you out here?”

“Because you come out here often.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “So, you notice when I sit out here?”

Roope blushes under your words and the sunset behind you. “My bedroom faces the tree here, and I always see you.”

“So, you decided to come and sit with me?”

“I can leave if you want.”

“No, Roope, I’m only teasing. You can stay.”

“Maybe we can make a habit out of this.”

“How so?” you question.

“This can be our escape. You can escape from your family, and I can escape from the prying eyes of my family.”

“Yeah? Let’s do that. I like that idea.”

Roope smiles at you. He was starting not to mind the move to the US.

. . .

December 1, 1939

“Hey, Roope?”

“Yes, Yn.”

“The other day, you said that you wanted to escape the prying eyes of your family. What did you mean by that?”

Roope sighed heavily and you instantly felt bad. “They aren’t sure if I’m happy here. I mean, I am. We are safe and alive which is more than many can say considering the invasion.”

“But it’s hard being new.”

Roope nods. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with the friends I made, and you, but sometimes I miss where we lived.”

You nod. “So, that’s why you want an escape.”

“Mhm, but not the only reason.”

“What’s the other reason?” you ask inquisitively.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry.” How was Roope supposed to tell you that his family wants him to ask you out but don’t realize that the two of you were just friends? He didn’t want anything else but a friendship with you. His family couldn’t understand that.

“Oh, okay. Well, is there anything I can do to help you with homesickness you’re feeling?”

Roope smiles at your concern. “Just be my friend?”

You smile at him. “That I can do.”

. . .

June 14, 1940

“Did you see?” you say to Roope as you walk up to him where he’s sitting under the tree.

“I mean, I can see what’s in front of me,” Roope teases.

“Haha very funny. No, did you see that the Germans are marching into Paris?” you sit down next to him and he puts an arm around you.

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“Are you worried?” you ask. Roope knows you well enough that you’re only asking because you’re worried and want reassurance.

“It depends. On the fate of the Parisians? Yeah, I’m terrified for them. On another war? I mean, it’s already started. What are you worried about?”

“Probably another war because that means that the people I love will be enlisting. You, my brothers, cousins, friends. It’s just worrisome.”

Roope begins stroking your arm in an attempt to try to calm your nerves. “Well, I promise you, that I’ll always find my way back home to you. Whether it be flying, driving, running, walking, or skating. I’ll be by your side.”

You look up at Roope and your eyes meet his. You always felt safe in his embrace and knew that he wasn’t lying. He’ll always find a way back home to you.

. . .

September 19, 1940 - the US Congress passes the Selective Service Act

“Well, I guess we can’t escape war, Roope. I mean, you knew that.”

“How so?”

“You are the same person that moved to the US from Finland because of the Soviet Union, right?” you joke lightly.

“Oh, right. Yeah. So, your brothers are enlisting?”

You nod. “Only the older ones. My younger brother is a bit too young, but he’ll be enlisting after his nineteenth birthday in a few months. What about you?”

“Not right now. They told me that I should wait until war was declared because I’m not a US-born citizen.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah, look, let’s forget about the worries of the world for right now, okay? My mother made some cookies, and I brought some out. Let’s just relax and live in our own bubble, okay?” Roope says to you as he offers you a cookie.

“Okay,” you nod and take a cookie that Roope is offering to you. “Oh, these are good.”

“I mean, they aren’t as good as the ones you made for us when we first moved in, but sure.”

“You remember those?” you ask comically.

“Of course I remember those! A pretty girl showing up at my doorstep offering us cookies? Kind of hard to forget. A pretty girl who is quite young that my mother mistakes as being the girl's mother? Even more memorable.”

You laugh audibly remembering the memory. “You know, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you.”

Roope gives you a look of mock offence. “What does that mean?”

“I wasn’t expecting someone my age; I was expecting a family with young children that I could babysit or watch not you and your family.”

“Do you wish I was younger?”

“Absolutely not. Who else would be my best friend?”

Roope smiles at you and pulls you into his embrace. Best friends forever, they said.

. . .

October 28, 1940 - the Italians invade Greece

On a normal October day, you always made sure to have a sweater on you in the event you grew chilly. However, today, you forgot. By the time you walked into the backyard, your arms were cold, and you wanted to turn around. You were running late to meet Roope, though. You decided that if you got sick, then it’d be fine.

“You’re late,” Roope tells you from across the backyard. If you didn’t know him so well, you would have thought he was mad. However, you knew better.

“Yeah, I know, sorry. My sister wanted to go to the cinema, and she picked a long movie.”

“How was it?” Roope asks you as you sit down.

“Pretty good, I liked it. If you want to go see it, I’d definitely go and see it with you.”

Roope smiles at you and wraps his arm around you but flinches the moment he touches you. “Yn, why is your arm so cold?”

“Oh, I’m cold; it’s fine, though.”

Roope immediately shakes his head and begins shrugging off his jacket for you. “Here.”

“Roope, no.”

“Yn, yes. You’re cold, and I’m not. Just take it.”

You look at him and see that there’s a red tint coating his cheeks. Huh, you wonder what that’s about. “Fine, but only because I’m cold.”

“Why else would you take my jacket?”

“I, okay, whatever,” you deflect. What were you supposed to say? Giving a girl your jacket was what boyfriends did not friends.

When you and Roope both said goodnight that night, you walked towards your house and were about to step inside when you realized you were still wearing his jacket. You were about to turn around but you hear Roope call out to you.

“Keep it, it looks better on you, anyways.”

You laugh. The coat sat on the hook in your bedroom; you looked at it each morning and smiled at the memory of your best friend.

. . .

April 13, 1941 - Japan and the Soviet Union sign a neutrality pact.

“How was your date last night?” you ask Roope when you’re both settled under the tree.

He shrugs.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, I mean, she was nice. It was nice. I walked her home, but she told me that she didn’t want to see me again as on a date.”

“Oh, did you want me to talk to her?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Do you think you know why she doesn’t want to see you again?”

“Not sure, probably something along the lines of there just isn’t a spark.”

“Did you want me to vouch for you? Tell her how amazing you are?”

Roope laughs. “No, don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t going to let you talk to her because she told Roope that it wasn’t fair for him to be dating other women when he was in love with you. Roope denied it, but as he walked home that night, he realized she was right. Roope was in love with you, his best friend. The first person he met when he moved to Dallas. He loved you. The one person who would probably only ever see him as a friend.

. . .

December 6, 1941

You were sitting under the tree reading a book while you waited for Roope one evening. It was a chilly evening, and you were starting to get cold. You contemplated going inside and getting a jacket, his jacket. However, when you saw Roope exit from his back porch, you decided against it. Anyways, the warmth that filled you by seeing your best friend made you forget about the cold.

“Hey,” you say to him as you close your book.

“Hey, ynn,” he says to you. “This is for you from my mom. She was going through some of her old stuff and found this. No one else wanted it, so I thought that you might like it.”

“Oh, wow, just giving me things your family doesn’t want anymore.”

Roope laughs at your teasing remark. “No, I didn’t know about it until before dinner, and mom asked if I wanted it. I obviously don’t but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you will.”

“What is it?” you ask, taking the box from his hands.

“Why don’t you just open it?”

“Wow, sassy. I wasn’t expecting that tonight.”

“Just open the box.”

“Fine,” you retort and open the box. You gasp and look at Roope. “I can’t take this.”

“Yes, you can. I think you will have a better use for it then the cabinet shelf in the basement.”

“But, it must have been so expensive. Don’t you want to keep it in the family?”

“You are family, yn.”

“I mean blood family, Roope,” you say. He has given you the most stunning teapot you have ever seen.

“If my mother wasn’t okay with me giving it to you, then she would’ve said something.”

“What about your aunts?”

“Same. They all think we’re going to get married one day, so what’s the point if it’s going to be back in our family again.”

You look up at Roope, and you have a weird feeling in your stomach that you can’t explain. Did you want to marry Roope? No, you were both just friends, right? “Well, too bad we aren’t going to be getting married.”

“Yeah, too bad.” You were surprised with the tone that Roope had in his voice. Was he feeling the same conflicting feelings you were?

“Well, thank your mother for me. This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, Roope, thank you!”

“Of course, anything for you.” And, he’d do anything for you.

. . .

December 11th, 1941 - Germany and Italy declare war on the United States

After getting the teapot from Roope a few days ago, you decided to bring lemon squares to the Hintz household to thank them. You pack them into a tray and head out the door. You walk over to the Hintz house and knock on the door. Roope’s mother opens the door for you and wraps you into a large hug and begins to sob.

“Mrs. Hintz, are you okay?” you ask clearly knowing she isn’t.

“I’m not sure. Oh, come in, come in. Roope’s not here right now.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m here to see you, actually. I made lemon squares to thank you for the teapot. It’s beautiful, and I love it.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.”

“Um, Mrs. Hintz?” you ask cautiously. She looks at you, and you know it’s safe for you to continue. “May I ask why you were crying?”

“Oh,” she says and the tears slowly start again. “Roope went to the navy offices to enlist. He’s going to war, and he’s going to be a navy pilot. You obviously knew that though because he tells you everything.”

The heat drains from your face. Roope was going off to war. You knew that eventually this would happen as your two older brothers went to bootcamp a few months ago and your younger brother’s number came up just yesterday. However, you weren’t expecting for Roope to be enlisting right away. It made sense, though, considering that the Soviets invaded his home. The one thing, though, that’s sticking out to you is that Mrs. Hintz thinks that you knew. This means that he definitely made the decision without talking to anyone, even you. “No, I didn’t know that, but he’s doing what he feels is best, right?”

“I know that, it’s just going to hurt when he leaves.”

You nod. “Did you want me to make some tea, and we can have the lemon squares I made?”

“Would that be okay?” she asks.

You smile. “More than okay.”

Roope enlisting is not your sadness to be felt. You were going to help his family in any way you could.

. . .

December 15th, 1941

“Do you miss home?” you asked Roope. Roope never not talked about his time back home, but he also wasn’t the most open about it. You never pried and you never asked for more. You were willing to just take as much information as he would give you.

“Like my bedroom?” Roope asks.

You laugh and Roope smiles at you. There was something about your laugh that made Roope melt. “No, like Finland.”

“Oh,” Roope’s smile fades and you instantly feel bad for bringing it up. “I miss some of the older extended family that couldn’t come with us and some friends, but I’m not sure about the rest of it.”

You nod. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re here.”

“You are the best thing that came out of my move to the States,” Roope tells you and you feel the warmth spread to your face. “Yn, I have something to tell you. You might not like what I have to say.”

You knew what he was talking about; his mother told you. “You’re joining the navy and are going to be a navy pilot.”

Roope sits up and looks at you. The two of you were laying down under the large tree in your backyard. “How did you know that?”

“Your mother told me.”

Roope laughs sarcastically and shakes his head. “Of course she did, when you brought the lemon squares?”

You nod. “She was crying when I went over, and she told me. Don’t be mad at her.”

“I’m not, don’t worry. Did you cry too?”

“No, I didn’t,” you say but your voice wobbles. Roope looks at you and puts his hands on your cheeks to catch any tears that might fall.

Roope smiles at you; he looks like he’s contemplating something. He looks down at your lips and you feel the warmth rush to your face again. “Can I kiss you, yn?”

You nod. “Yeah, please kiss me.”

He leans down and gently places his lips on yours. The kiss lasted for a few seconds, but it’s enough for you to know you don’t want to kiss anyone else ever again. When you both pull away, you stare into each other’s eyes, and you know you’ve made a tremendous shift in your relationship. No longer were you and Roope good friends. No, now you were two people who finally realized their feelings after a few years. You know that there was no one else for you, and you hoped that Roope felt the same.

“Can I kiss you again?” Roope eagerly asks. He wants nothing in the world except to kiss you again but doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

“Of course.”

He kisses you again, and you’re pretty sure you melt. How could just one touch make you so happy and giddy and excited at the same time? This time, the kiss is longer, and you both deepen the kiss not wanting to separate. You couldn’t be without him and he without you.

“About time,” your sister yells from the porch. You pull away from Roope and giggle.

“I guess so,” you say to Roope and he smiles back at you.

. . .

The days leading up to when Roope was set to go to bootcamp were spent together. You both tried to fit years of couple things into three days. It was hard. You both knew that navy pilots were one of the most dangerous positions in the military, and they might not make it home.

On the day that Roope was set to leave, he asked his family to go to the train station on their own so that you and him could walk together. How romantic, you thought, despite the circumstances.

“Do you promise to write to me?” Roope asks before he’s about to get on the train.

You smile. “Of course, silly. I’ll write to you all the time that you’ll ask me to stop.”

“I highly doubt that,” Roope tells you and kisses you. “Goodbye, my love.”

“Goodbye, Roope,” you tell him with tears in your eyes. “Fly back home to me?”

Roope smiles and kisses your forehead. “I’ll always fly back home to you.” He gives you one last kiss and picks up his bag and walks away. He turns around one last time to wave. His last thought is wondering if this’ll be the last time he sees your face.

. . .

Dear Roope,

This letter might take a while to get to you, but you knew that. Now that you’re overseas, it might take a bit for my letters to come to you. Let me tell you, though, just because they are further apart or might take some time doesn’t mean I’m going to stop. Why would I? Why would I ever stop writing to the man I love? I hope I’m not jumping to any conclusions by telling you I love you because I do. I think I always did. The minute you moved in next door, I think I fell for you. It just took some time for me to realize how I felt. Let’s be glad that we finally realized, right?

Did you know that my sister is getting married? She is settling down with her childhood sweetheart. Isn’t that so romantic? Can you imagine marrying your childhood sweetheart? I have a question. Feel free to ignore this question. Did you have someone you loved back home? Did you love her and think you’ll marry her? If you don’t want to answer, feel free not to. I’m just curious. You don’t often talk about your life before moving to the US, and I just want to know more. Care to share? Please? How about for the woman who loves you to pieces?

What's flying like? You don’t have to tell me where you’re flying over or anything like that. Just tell me, is it beautiful? Have you touched a cloud? Is the sun just absolutely beautiful? Is looking at the ground from the sky put everything in perspective?

Fly back home to me, right?

With love all the way from Dallas,

Dearest Yn,

Just know, I love every letter you write to me even if they are weeks apart. I don’t care. Any letter makes me so happy. Some of the other members in my company always make fun of me for having a girl I love, but I don’t care. Mail call is always the best part of my day because I get to hear from you. The anticipation I feel is unbelievable. And no, it’s not too presumptuous to tell me you love me because guess what? I love you, too! More than you could possibly know. The minute I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were special. Every time I saw you and we hung out, my heart always had this weird feeling. I thought it was just nerves of being in a new country or having a new friend. However, as the months went on and I got to know you, the feeling didn’t go away. It took for a war to be declared for me to make a move and tell you I loved you and not just in a best friend's way. I hope that’s not too presumptuous, but, then again, you did say it first.

Send my congratulations to your sister from me. That must be awfully romantic for childhood sweethearts to be falling in love and getting married. And now, to answer your question. Let me quote you first. You said “did you have someone you loved back home?” Let me tell you, you are that girl back home. Home is in Dallas now because it’s where my family is and where you are. You are that girl back home that I dream about marrying one day. I know that you mean in Finland, and, let me tell you, no, there was never anyone who I loved as much as I love you. You are the girl back home that I want to marry one day. As for stories from Finland, what do you want to know?

Flying is beautiful. To answer you questions: it’s absolutely beautiful (but not as much as you). No, I haven’t touched a cloud. Just so you know, I’m not sticking my hand outside the window or cockpit in order to do that. From that far up, the sun is still bright, so I’m not sure if it’s beautiful. I try not to stare at it. However, if you’re talking about the sun in my life, then it’s beautiful because you are the sun and center of my life. Looking at the ground truly does put it into perspective. It makes me realize how much I want to be with you when this hellish war is over.

I’ll always fly back home to you.

With love from the sky,

Roope.

Dear Roope,

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Oh, you want me to say it again? Gladly. I love you, Roope Hintz, and I can’t wait to spend every single day with you after this war. Getting my letters is the best part of your day, huh? Maybe I should send more to boost your morale. (or maybe something a little bit more suggestive? Actually, no, my mother would kill me if I did that and considering I still live in her house, nope. Sorry.). I’m glad, though, that you have something to look forward to everyday. I can’t imagine what it must be like over there. If you want (and can) please do share. I want to hear about everything. You don’t even have to tell me about the combat or any of that stuff. How about what you do on your days off? Who are the men in your unit? Tell me all about any friends you made. I’m not sure where you are because, you know, classified and all, but tell me, have you been able to see any of the sights? How beautiful are they? I don’t care what you tell me; I just want to read about what you’re doing because I miss you so much. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t head to the backyard to wait for you. Everyday. Like clockwork. I go to where our backyards meet and wait. It always takes me a moment to realize that you’re not coming to meet me and it makes me sad. Just know that I think about you all the time.

My sister is grateful for your congratulations to her. She told me to tell you that she is expecting our wedding next and that you should get on it, Roope. I only laughed at her. I’m sure you have other things going on in your life, so don’t worry! A wedding can wait. All I want is that you one day promise to love me for all my life because I promise to love you all my life.

Finland. What do I want to know about your life in Finland? How about, what did your house look like? Is it anything like where your family lives now in Dallas? What did your bedroom look like? Is it similar to your room here? What did you do in your free time? I want to know it all, Roope. Everything there is to know.

Your words about me being the girl back home? Melted my heart. I reread them every night before I go to bed. I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Roope. I guess it takes a war for your true romantic side to come out. Well, you’re my guy overseas that I’m waiting for.

Flying sounds so beautiful. Maybe, one day, you could take me up with you? But for now, I just have to experience flying through your words.

Fly back home to me?

Love,

Dear Yn,

I’d write how much I love but then I’d be writing for all of time and we wouldn’t want that, right? If that were the case, then I’d never win this war and come home to you! Even then, I wouldn’t be able to ever spend time with you. Because you asked, let me tell you about some of the other pilots in my unit. My CO (commanding officer) is Tyler Seguin, and he’s great. Believe it or not, there are two other men who are also from Finland. They moved away at a young age so not as recently as me but still. Esa and Miro. It’s nice having people to talk to about Finland who have a slight inkling about what I’m talking about. There are other guys in my unit - Jamie Oleksiak, Denis Gurianov, Ben Bishop, and more. This unit is like a family, and I hope that they get to meet you one day. Actually, not Jamie Oleksiak. I feel like he has the charm and looks to take you away from me. However, he has a Red Cross worker that he’s absolutely in love with who wants nothing to do with him, so maybe not that much of a threat. On my days off, I normally just hang around the base. I often reread you letters to me and it almost makes up for me not being by your side each day. Sometimes I’ll venture into town and go for walks or to a local restaurant. Before you ask again, yes, I have seen some of the sights. I’ve seen some beautiful, grand buildings that are just so beautiful. I hope, one day, I can bring you back here to show you the beauty. There might be a war but the beauty and glamour are still there. Some of the palaces or mansions are just beautiful but not as much as you! Sometimes I’ll go for a walk and see a big tree and I will sit under it thinking you’re going to join me. Every day at the time we would normally meet, I always take a step outside, if possible, and just sit there thinking about you. Because of the time difference, it’s probably early afternoon for you but know that there is not a day that goes by without me thinking about you, darling. (Don’t feel the need to send me anything suggestive; I’d rather your parents not have a negative opinion of me one day if I am to be their son-in-law. We all know that I’ll be doing worse things to you once we get married. How else are babies made?)

You can tell your sister that a wedding can be arranged the minute she can get Hitler to surrender. If she can manage that, then I’ll marry you the minute I touch Dallas soil and can get you into my arms. Better yet! Why don’t I meet you at the church and we just get married right away?

My house in Finland was slightly smaller than my family’s house in Dallas. It wasn’t painted the vibrant yellow like in Dallas; it was a beige hue that was fairly bland. I far prefer the color of the house in Dallas because it’s the same color as your house and reminds me of you. Whenever I see something yellow, I always think of you. Most things in the world that I see go back to you. My bedroom in Finland? Pretty bland and similar to the one back in Dallas. When we made the trip, we only carried what we could so many of the posters or books I had stayed there. I did get to keep a few mementos; however, I’d rather fill a home with memories and mementos of you and our relationship. My free time? Same as before. I did play more hockey, however. There aren’t many frozen ponds in Dallas, but it’s okay. Playing on the road with the neighbors is fun! Maybe I should get you to play. What do you say?

My darling yn, you should know that I can be awfully romantic. I used to charm all the girls back in Finland. Actually, that’s a lie. You’re the only one. Maybe I should be more romantic. Just wait and see, my love, I’m going to be so romantic that you’re going to get sick of it! You’ll forever be the girl I’m going home to! When asked about if I have anyone back home, it’s always you. No one else. I guess my family, but you’re always first.

With love from the sky,

Roope

. . .

August 14, 1943

Roope took to the sky as normal one morning. Mail call was just before his scheduled time to fly, so he saved your letter for later. Flying over occupied France was always dangerous, and Roope’s CO told the unit to make sure that their wills were in check for the worst case scenario. The men were expecting the worst, so it’s only important they prepared for the worst.

After flying for twenty minutes, Nazi fighter pilots began shooting at Roope and his men. To his right, Roope’s wingman went down. He didn’t see a parachute which likely means he didn’t make it out. This really shocked Roope. He knew that there was a possibility that he might die or his friends. However, this was the first time that someone so close to Roope died. It could have easily been him.

Once he touched down, Roope headed to his barracks to read your letter. Only your letters could shake away the horrors of war.

Dearest Roope,

How are you, darling?

He read the first six words, and he instantly broke down. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep writing to you when he knew that he’d be dying next. It didn’t matter if he loved you more than anyone or anything in the world. It didn’t matter if he had been sending money back to his mother to put aside so that he can buy you a ring. None of it mattered if he died and you were heartbroken. Nothing mattered. Roope knew that he was going to be gone soon; it was part of the job being in the military but especially a pilot. There was only one thing he could do: he had to let you go.

Dear Yn,

It pains me to write this; however, just know that I love you. I’m doing this because I love you. I think that you should stop writing to me. I believe that it will be easier for you when I’m gone if we weren’t in contact. You should be out and having fun. You should be the young woman in your twenties doing things young women do. You should be going on dates, going out dancing, and not writing to a pilot whose life is short. It pains me to write this. Please, forgive me. I’m doing this because I love you. I love you so much that I want you to be happy when I’m gone. Please, I’m sorry. Forgive me.

With all my love,

Roope.

He sealed up the short letter into an envelope, wrote your address and put a stamp on it immediately. He knew that he would regret this later on, but he knew that it was for the best. He knew that you were going to write him one last letter asking him to change his mind. He wasn’t going to. Roope was doing this because he loved you. There was nothing else. He couldn’t fathom the idea that he might die in combat one day, and you’ll never move on because you dreamed of marrying him. He couldn’t. That would be so much worse than dying. He loved you so much that letting you go was what was for the best. Roope walked to the post office; he took a deep breath and gave the mail person his letter.

Now, he was awaiting your letter that would absolutely break his heart.

. . .

You received his letter three weeks after he sent it. You opened your mailbox and smiled widely to see it. You sat on the porch swing with your sister, heavily pregnant, sitting next to you. You carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. At first glance, the letter looked really small, but you didn’t think anything of it. He was fighting a war; it makes sense if his letters weren’t as long as yours.

You read the first line, and you felt the tears begin to fall down your face. Did he find someone else? Did he not love you anymore? Deciding to ignore your thoughts, you decide to continue to read.

No, this was so much worse than Roope finding someone else. This was the worst. No, he was telling you to stop writing to him.

You finish the letter and cry out. Your sister looks up next to you. She grabs the letter out of your hand and begins reading. She briefly skims it but understands the overall message. Roope wanted you to stop writing to him; he wanted you to stop talking to him. Roope was letting you go. Your sister wraps her arm around you and begins to console you. You brush her off, excuse yourself, and run to your bedroom. How could Roope do this to you? Does he not understand that it didn’t matter what happened? You would always love him no matter what? You instantly pull out a sheet of stationary and begin to write your reply. You knew that he asked you not to write to him, but you felt he should know the pain he was putting you through.

It took you four times to finally put words to paper.

Dear Roope,

I know that you asked me not to write to you, but I feel like you should know how much you are breaking my heart. I apologize that this paper is tear-stained. I was going to write it without the tear-stains, but I feel that you should be able to see firsthand the pain and heartbreak you’re putting me through because you are the cause of it. How could you feel that this is any better? Is this what you wanted? For me to be crying in my bedroom? Did you see me being okay with your letter? Am I supposed to be okay with the fact that you don’t care enough about how I feel? Just so you know, I love you more than anything in the world. So, tell me, how does me crying in my bedroom and getting over heartbreak equal what you wanted? You tell me you want me to stop writing to you and enjoy my evenings as a young woman. How am I supposed to do that when I’m sitting here with a broken heart? The idea of me going out tomorrow? No, nonexistent. You hurt me and I don’t want to do anything. Just the idea of being with someone else makes me sad and sick. Is this what you wanted? For me to be heartbroken?

Do you remember what you told me the day you left? You told me that you would always fly back home to me. Always. You added that always. What happened to that?

Let me say one last thing: who are you to tell me what I want? I think I am perfectly capable of knowing who or what I want.

You were angry now. How dare Roope assume he knows what you want? Why can’t he understand that you love him and would do anything for him? Why would he do this to you? You angrily seal up the letter and add a stamp. You set it on your dresser to be put in the mailbox the next morning. What were you going to do now? What do you do when the person who you love more than anything in the world doesn’t care for you anymore? What do you do when the person who you’ve been dreaming about marrying says he can’t give you the same thing? Why would he do this to you?

. . .

Roope isn’t surprised to see your letter. He knows you; he knows you well enough that you definitely gave him a piece of your mind. However, what he wasn’t expecting was to see a tear-stained letter. It immediately breaks his heart knowing that he is probably the cause of your tears. Roope can’t read the letter in front of his friends, so he walks into the barracks. They’d be disappointed in him. They’d tell Roope that he was being an idiot. He was head over heels hopelessly in love with you, so why would he ruin that?

Roope reads your letter and there are tears in his eyes. What hurt the most was the way you signed the letter. You just signed it “yn”. There was no “love” or “yours”. It was just your name. What was he expecting? He basically broke up with you; there was no reason for you to remind him of your love.

“Where did you run off to?” Esa says as he barges into the barracks. “Your girl send any suggestive photos for your pleasure?”

When Roope doesn’t answer, Esa gets nervous. Roope was always very smiley and happy after he got one of your letters. Esa takes the letter out of Roope’s hand and reads it. When he sees the stained writing and what it contains, Esa instantly knows why Roope is upset.

“You love her, so why did you do this to her?”

“Because I’m not going to be able to give her what she wants. She wants to marry me one day.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Roope nods. “I can’t marry her, though, if I’m dead.”

“Who says you’re going to die?”

“I think the fact that pilots have the highest death rate speaks for that.”

Esa sighs and sits on the bed next to Roope. “We’re in a war. We should be able to have our dreams right next to us, right? You shouldn’t have to give up everything. You’re giving up your twenties, happiness, and strength to fight a war you didn’t start. The one thing you should be able to have is your dream. The letter you wrote her? Ruined that dream. Why did you do it?”

“I don’t want her to love a man who is going to die one day. I don’t want her to dream and imagine what our wedding would look like. I don’t want her to dream about the life we will have together one day. That’s not true. I want her to dream about those things. However, I don’t want her to dream about those things if I can’t be there. I don’t want to get shot down only for her dream life not to be able to happen. More than anything in the world, I want her to be happy. I don’t think I can give her that if I die. I want to give her a life in which she can be happy.”

“Roope, from what I can tell, you made her sad and miserable.”

“If I end things with her now, then when I die, she’ll already have a mended heart and be able to move on.”

“I don’t think so.”

Roope looks up. “What?”

“Firstly, you keep talking as if you’re going to die tomorrow. There is no definite evidence that points to that. You know, she could always die in a car accident tomorrow, God forbid. Secondly, from this letter, she loves you and you broke her heart.”

A look of realization crosses Roope’s face. “Damn, you’re right. I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

“Maybe when you go home you can fix things?”

Roope nods. He only hopes that whenever this war ends you’ll still love him enough to give him a second chance.

. . .

September 13, 1945

A knock on your parent’s door has you shocked. You were sitting in the kitchen making a pie to bring over to the Hintz’s house. Despite not talking to Roope in two years, your family and the Hintz family were still close. You clean your hands on the dish rag and walk over to the door. You don’t take the time to check who it is before you open the door. When you see the person on the other side of the door, you gasp and slam the door in their face.

It was Roope.

The love of your life who told you two years ago that the two of you shouldn’t write to each other. He threw away years of love and friendship in one letter. However, it was rude to shut the door in his face, right? You open the door again carefully. Part of you is hoping he took the hint and walked away; however, the majority of you is hoping that he’s still there. Despite him breaking your heart, you still loved him with your entire heart and being. You doubted you would ever love anyone as much as you loved Roope.

So, you open the door. Thankfully, he’s still out there. “Hi, Roope.”

“Hi, Yn,” he says nervously. “Um, these are for you. Your favorites.”

You take the flowers he’s handing to you and smile. Of course he remembered. “Thank you. Why don’t you come in, and I’ll put them into water and a vase.”

Roope nods and follows you into the house.

“When did you get home?”

“Oh, um, just a few days ago,” Roope is confused at the friendliness of the way this conversation is going. He figured you would have some harsh words for him considering what he did to you.

“And you’re only stopping by to say hi now?” you tease.

“I mean, I’m not sure how much you hate me considering I broke your heart.”

“Oh, so we are addressing the elephant in the room, then.”

“Look, yn, I’m really sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted what’s best for you.”

“So, you broke my heart?”

“No, that’s not what I wanted to do.”

“Then what did you want to do.”

Roope sighs and looks at you. “I wanted your heart to get over me earlier, so that when I died, it wouldn’t hurt as much. I didn’t want you to dream of this life with me after the war only for it to be destroyed by me dying in combat.”

“What would have happened if you didn’t die?”

“Like before I wrote that letter or after?”

“Both, Roope.”

“Before? I would have flown back home to you as promised and married you. After? Well, this.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s this?”

“An apology tour?”

“A tour? Who else’s heart did you break?” you tease.

“My mother’s.”

You giggle softly. “What?”

“My mother was heartbroken to know what I did. She was so upset and sad that you wouldn’t be her daughter-in-law one day.”

“Oh.”

Roope isn’t sure how to take this. “If you’ll forgive me, yn, then that would make me so happy. I know it’s not me fixing what I did but it’s a start. Even if you don’t love me as much as I love you or at all, that’s okay. I just need you to forgive me.”

“If I forgive you, what comes next?” you add on.

Roope knows you well enough to know that this means that you’re leaning to forgiving him. “Well, I’d probably ask you out for dinner and then another and another and another and that pattern would continue. After a while, I hope, you’ll realize that I never stopped loving you and still want to marry you one day. When you finally realize that, I’ll ask you to marry me and we’ll live the life you always dreamed about.”

Roope’s words put tears in your eyes. He still loves you? He still wants to marry you? “I forgive you, Roope. I could never stay mad at you,” you say as you jump into his arms.

Roope smiles and wraps his arms around you. He strokes your back as you cry into his chest and softly kisses your forehead. When you finally stop crying, Roope decides to test the waters. “Does this mean I can take you out for dinner?”

You laugh. “Yes, Roope, you can take me out for dinner.”

“I did promise to always fly back home to you, yn.”

You smile. “And that you did.”

. . .

June 15, 1946

“Hey, step outside for a moment?” Roope whispers into your ear. You were sitting in your living room celebrating the birthday of your sister’s son. You nod and take Roope’s hand. After that day he came home and visited you, Roope has spent every single day since then showing you how sorry he is and reminding you everyday of his love for you. There was not a single day in which you doubted his love for you. Roope leads you out your back door and out to the tree in your backyard. When you walk out, you notice that there’s a blanket sitting on the grass underneath it and small lights hanging from the large branches.

“Roope, what’s this?” you ask.

“The last part of my apology tour.”

“Roope, we’ve gone over this verbatim. I forgive you; there is no need to keep trying to prove you’re sorry or love me.”

“You say that now but I think you’ll like this final part. Come sit?” Roope sits on the blankets and opens his arms so that you can join him. You do. You sit with your back to him and he wraps his arms around you. You can feel how fast his heart is beating on your back.

“Before you say anything, I need you to know, I am truly sorry for all of the heartbreak I put you through. That’s the one thing I will regret for the rest of my life. There is nothing I can do to ever make it up to you. However, I hope that marrying you will help me make it up to you.”

“You’re going to have to prop-- oh!” you’re interrupted when Roope places a small velvet box in your hand. “Roope.”

“When my parents told me we were moving to Dallas, I wasn’t sure if I’d like it. I knew why we were moving, but I didn’t want to. But then, you showed up on my doorstep with a plate of cookies in your hand and my life changed forever. My family knew before I did just how much I loved you. It took some time, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. Actually, I’d change the letter I wrote during the war but nothing else. I wouldn’t change the friendship we had and the meetings under this very tree. None of it. I only wish that we didn’t lose so many years together because of the war. Yes, I’ll admit, I ruined that a bit. We probably could be married by now and maybe have a little one of our own running around or you were close to giving birth to one. However, life happened the way it did.”

There were tears starting to form in your eyes. Roope releases his hold on you and guides you to stand up. You stand, and he goes down on one knee.

“Yn, there are no words to describe the love I have for you. Not a single one. However, I hope that if you let me be the happiest man on earth, it might give me enough time to find all the words. During the war, I was sending money to my mother to save for me to use to buy you a ring. That didn’t stop when I did what I did. I actually bought this ring the day before I went to see you. I felt that, though, despite my want to marry you right then and there, I knew we weren’t there yet. That doesn’t mean we aren’t there now.” Roope takes a deep breath. “Yn, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes of course!” you tell him and Roope smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely!”

He gets up and places a kiss on your lips. It was salty from your tears but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Roope breaks away and places the ring on your hand.

“You did fly back home to me even if it took some time.”

“You never have to doubt it, yn,” Roope tells you as yours and his family cheers from the back porch. “No matter what, I’ll always fly back home to you.”

Taglist: @goalision @coffee-ontherocks @glassdanse @barzal-burakovsky @petey-patty @beauvibaby @boqvistsbabe @rmaye @heatherawoowoo @heaveniish @stars-canucks @tkapuckit @mellany1997 @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @heybarzy @2manytabsopen @habsfan @besthockeyfics @plds2000 @kaitieskidmore1 @iwantahockeyhimbo @sidscrosbyy @barzysandmarnersbitch @ollywahlygator (Join my taglist here!)

#roope hintz #roope hintz imagine #roope hintz x reader #roope hintz fic #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #dallas stars imagine #dallas stars fic #dallas stars x reader #claudia writes

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sibunaranks · 3 years

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Reasons I believe Peddie live in the UK when they’re married.

So lots of people debate where they live. I’m a no-budge headcanon Uk and here are my reasons why.

1.) Eddie has citizenship in the Uk, Patricia doesn’t.

So the fact Eddie’s dad has always been a legal resident of the UK he automatically as his son get’s citizenship. Basically he has dual citizenship from birth due to this. Patricia on the other hand only has citizenship in the UK. It’s the only country they both can legally stay in with no issues or fuss.

2.) Immigrating is hard and a ton of work.

Patricia would most likely be going for a K-1 or Spousal Visa if she were to try and come to the US. These can be very complicated and hard. They can also have a ton of hurdles. Not only this but they would need capital to move. They’re young, they aren’t rich. Patricia would need to move ALL of her things to a new country and Eddie already has everything important in the UK so it would be a hassle to a degree for him to/not a hassle to stay in the UK.

3.) Patricia wouldn’t be able to work for five months or more.

Spouses have to apply for a work permit. This can take up to seven months. Now these guys are young. They don’t have a lot of money, so one of them not working after already spending tons of money just to move seems impossible. Also if Eddie doesn’t have a job already lined up before moving BOTH of them aren’t working for at least some point which is not good or realistic.

4.) They aren’t rich.

Yes I believe both of their families are “Well off” finically but individually? Straight out of college they are not rich. It costs money to immigrate even in your own country let alone to a new one. It could be considered fiscally irresponsible to move to the US after getting married or before.

5.) Patricia is anti-American, Eddie isn’t anti-UK

I cannot imagine this girl wanting to live in America. She always hates the Americans when they come to the house. She seems to just have something against it and whether it’s a front or not I don’t see her being like “Oh yay let’s live there.” Meanwhile Eddie has adjusted to the UK and seems to enjoy his life there.

6.) Family.

All of Patricia’s family is in the UK. She’d have nobody in the states. She’d be an ocean apart from her parents and her twin sister. Eddie has half of his family in the UK (assuming he has no siblings which the show leads us to believe). No matter where he lives he has the same amount of family where Patricia has all or nothing. He’s also had less time in his life with his dad and his mom could visit easier than Eric could due to his job as headmaster and easier than Patricia’s family due to the fact it’s not just one person it’s three or two at a time unless just Piper came.

7.) Friends.

All of Patricia’s friends are in the UK. All of Eddie’s good friends are in the UK. He has friends in the states sure but is he as close to them as someone such as his Sibuna members? no. I don’t believe so. Patricia would have zero friends in America except for Nina, KT and MAYBE Amber if she stayed but who knows where in the country they’d be? Probably not close like her friends in the UK would be. They’re a friend group so close they’re practically family. It’d be super hard for both of them to just leave them.

8.) Fresh out of college

I know it’s not canon that they both attend college in the UK but it’s also a huge headcanon of mine and most people secure starter jobs before even graduating. If they went into a job they want right away leaving the country and job would make no sense.

9.) Education

If either of them decides to go to school longer than the other (Ik some of you head canon Patricia going into Law which would be 4 extra years) I don’t see the other one moving without the other one. They aren’t splitting up. Would what they learn translate to America (law, or environment or etc.)? And the Job the other one has for the four extra years (or two if grad school) might be a job they don’t wanna leave

10.) Being close to the house

I feel like in the case of an emergency Peddie would not hesitate to come back to Amun and help. They’re practically pros at it. Eddie used to be the Osirion for gods sake. I feel like they and even the other members (like Fabian) would feel a pull to be close enough to the house that they don’t need to cross an ocean if a supernatural Egyptian event occurs that needs their attention.

11.) Eddie understands life in England, Patricia doesn’t understand life in the US

She’d be starting over in a new country, something Eddie had to do and knows how hard it is. Would he wanna put her through that if she doesn’t want or need to herself? And how would she adjust? It could even potentially strain their relationship if not well.

12.) I believe they both like the UK.

While i talked about Eddie not hating the UK before, i don’t believe he just doesn’t hate it I believe he likes it in the UK. Why come back in season 3 if not? Why does he seem happy living there? It has memories for him like going to school, college (my headcanon but also super likely), and also the most likely place he and Patricia get their first place, get engaged and even married. Patricia obviously likes it as she also seems happy in the country and is a born citizen.

#those are my reasons #peddie headcanons #peddie #sibuna #hoa #house of anubis #agree? disagree? why? tell me #I'm not gonna budge tho

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thatsjustsupergirl · 2 years

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So, I can see from your long response to my ask that this story arc has really hit a nerve, and I did not intend to piss you off the way I seem to have. I will concede that Alex being overly protective of her authority as THE MOM came off as forced and out of character without it being presented as a projection of her own insecurities. I think part of the inconsistencies in how the story is told is that the writers keep jumping what they want aliens to be an allegory for. Sometimes they’re the LGBTQ+ community. Sometimes they’re immigrants or racial/religious minorities. This almost felt like they were coming at it from a neuro-divergence angle, and it reminded me of a lot of the debate around ABA and masking. It also felt like they were setting up the idea of being closeted vs out, which is why the writers felt Alex had the experience to speak the way she did. I also get your point about Alex using her sexuality as license to speak for other marginalized groups, and I agree that should have been called out. I just don’t think her points were completely invalid. As for the jealousy thing, I’m not saying that was in the text of the episode, just that that could have been an interesting nuance to add to the discussion. It’s something you see in a lot of communities where the old guard are sometimes unconsciously, and sometimes not so unconsciously resentful on a level of how life is easier for the younger generations. Anyway, those are just my thoughts. It’s obviously cool if you disagree. I was also curious if you ever watch Young Justice. The third season was very up and down (some pretty bad LGBTQ rep and repeatedly graphically killing a WOC—because she could resurrect—chief among the downs), but it did cover some of these issues.

lol oh, I'm not bothered by your ask at all! The storyline just landed in the uncanny valley of being almost character-true in all the right ways and then the setup didn't deliver.

So, I don't actually think the show has been all that inconsistent with how it looks at alienness? There is the established connection between hiding and being "in the closet," which they set up in S1, and then there is the obvious parallel between being an alien— i.e. part of a minority ethnic group/culture— and being an immigrant, which has also been present for most of the series.

S1 also did a very nice job of using powers as a neurodivergence stand-in, which is different than saying that being an alien is automatically the reason for that similarity since not all aliens have sensory-based powers, or even powers at all. (There's a bunch of meta on it here, some of which I wrote, and then we also talked about it in this episode of Supergirl’s Attic.)

You're right, they're setting up Kara for the idea of being "out," in the sense of her deciding exactly how she wants to live her life and with whom she wants to share it. But that wasn't the issue Kara was speaking to in this episode re: Esme, and it was also not the problem Esme was experiencing. Alex reads the problem wrong because the lens of her experience does not include the actual problem at hand— she minimizes both Esme's and Kara's pain that's come from being themselves in a society that is not kind to them, no matter how supportive their loved ones are, in the same way she minimized Kelly's struggles against systemic racism in 6x12 until it was called out.

So, ultimately, Alex and Kara were having different conversations about very different aspects of marginalization— while both raising valid points!— but the text only supported Alex's point of view, which we can see in how J'onn encouraged Kara to concede to Alex without ever validating Kara's feelings, and Kara ended up apologizing without Alex really acknowledging her own shortcomings in return. And that’s a little bit concerning to me as far as setup for Kara’s arc at the end of the series, because it's a shallow way to understand her identity and completely sidesteps Alex's role in making Kara feel like she's had to hide.

I have not watched Young Justice, sorry! But that sounds very cool. ☺️

#asks #hobbitkiller #danvers sisters #my meta #long post

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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Everytime I read "Nicolo di Genova" my brain glitches and I read "Nicolo do Genovia" instead so /whispers/ Kaysanova Princess Diaries AU?

...yes. Did someone say Gay Champagne Romcom? Because that is my Brand.

Nicolò is an Italian-American graduate student living in New York City with his widowed Italian mother and working on an engineering degree at NYU. He was thinking about joining the priesthood for a few years and recently dropped out of seminary and is feeling that Millennial Crisis that all of us know about. He has gone on a few Tinder/Grindr dates, but it’s hard enough to meet someone in this city even when you’re not a gay ex-priest engineering student living in his mother’s rent-controlled apartment in Morningside Heights because have you seen the property prices in New York. Plus WHENEVER he brings a nice boy home, HEY PRESTO there’s his mom waiting eagerly up in the front room, “NICOLÒ WHO IS THIS HANDSOME YOUNG MAN, DOES HE HAVE GOOD PARENTS, IS HE A CATHOLIC NICOLÒ” and of course that instantly kills any kind of romantic mood. Nicolò is like “let’s just go over to yours PLEASE.” But he tends not to see his dates again anyway, and it’s equally depressing, and it’s nice that his mom isn’t homophobic or anything, but he’d like to just meet someone without his mother instantly planning the Big Fat Gay Italian Wedding, and yes he knows this is a nice problem to have but STILL

Anyway, then of course the Dead Dad Circus rolls into town, and Nicolò learns that he’s not actually the son of a nice hardworking Italian immigrant, but of His Serene Highness Prince Domenico Grimaldi of Genovia, who wouldn’t you know it, has recently died too young from cancer and left no legitimate heir except the result of his rebellious teen fling with a cocktail waitress in Capri – which would be, you guessed it, Nicolò. While Nicolò is still processing the horrifying mental image of his mother being a cocktail waitress in Capri and having to look up Genovia on a map, the rest of the royal machine is kicking into overdrive. This involves a very awkward meeting in a very fancy Manhattan hotel with Nicolò’s magnificent but rather out-of-touch royal grandmother, Her Serene Highness The Queen Mother Maria Elisabetta Henrietta Julia Victoria Mignonette Grimaldi of Genovia. She’s basically Julie Andrews because obviously. She informs Nicolò of his Solemn Duty to return to Genovia and become Prince Nicolò and eventually be prepared to take the throne and submit to a fascinating life of minor European royal family ribbon-cutting duties. Oh, and getting married and producing more heirs to the throne, on pain of breaking a thousand-year-old bloodline, though she doesn’t say this out loud. Her loyal right-hand man, driver, and general bodyguard/fixer/man about town, Sebastien le Livre aka Booker, gives Nicolò various sympathetic looks but does not interrupt.

Nicolò obviously freaks out and runs off to call up his best friend at NYU, Andy. Andy is some indeterminate degree of years older than him, in some indeterminable stage of her Classics PhD, and sometimes says weird things like how badly the Library of Alexandria had already been defunded by the Roman emperors before it finally burned, like she was there and holds a personal grudge about it. She is a cranky vodka-drinking lesbian who rides a motorcycle, gets them into periodic scrapes, and understands his shit dating life. She deeply empathizes with all his “I’m not going to run away and leave my life in New York to become part of some creakingly antique regressive imperial monarchic system of racist and homophobic oppression, NO SIR!” Fight the power, Nicolò. Fuck those guys.

Of course, however, Julie Andrews Grandmother Maria prevails and Nicolò is forced to take Prince Lessons, which he hates but tries to be a good sport about, because, well, he’s Nicolò and he’s a good person. He is then whisked off on a private plane to Genovia, because they want to see him in situ before they make a final decision on accepting him as their prince. There of course we have the high-life palaces and parks and snooty clueless aristocrats who look at Nicolò like he’s a prize racehorse and have absolutely zero clue, none, nada, about the real world. Just as Nicolò is about to firmly decide that this is a complete crock of shit and he’s going back to NYU, he meets….

Prince Yusuf “call me Joe” al-Kaysani.

Joe is a minor member of one of the Middle Eastern royal families, some fictional tiny Gulf kingdom that is super SUPER oil rich. He has a title and a lot of money but doesn’t have a clearly defined role in the family, other than that he’s been ordered not to embarrass it. Nicky does not know this when they first meet, but obviously it’s not possible to be an out gay prince in a conservative Arabian-peninsula Islamic kingdom, and therefore the fixers have arranged for Joe to be publicly dating a daughter of the Malaysian sultan, Quynh. (We are making her Malaysian in this instance so she can also be Muslim and hence an appropriate match for Joe.) Except Princess Quynh is also hella lesbian and is getting the same thing out of the fake dating with Joe that he is, i.e. throwing people off the scent of their real selves. They spend their time together in private eating popcorn, commiserating about their lives and crazy royal families and the press invading their privacy, watching romcoms, and Judging the Straights. They’re actually best friends and text each other all the time, so at the royal function where Joe runs into the stiff and nervous and clearly overcompensating New Guy who’s evidently the New Prince of Genovia, and oh my god Q he’s the Most stuck up person I’ve EVER MET, Quynh is the first to hear ALL about it. She immediately suspects that Joe doth protest too much.

Meanwhile, Nicky meets Nile Freeman, another young American (from Chicago, obvs) who is working at some important EU institution currently headquartered in Genovia. They also hit it off and Nile tells Nicky about the things she wants to do to help change the world and why she’s here, and he is moved by her kindness and altruism and remembers that that was what he wanted too, and why he joined the priesthood in the first place. He opens up to her about the shock of learning the truth about his now-dead dad and the crazy whirlwind he’s been sucked into and how he doesn’t know what to do, and their friendship is beautiful and we love it.

Meanwhile, of course, Nicky and Joe keep running into each other and getting on each other’s nerves, Nicky is thisclose to calling up Booker and ordering him to deport Joe because why is he always here (Booker, of course, will eventually become a secret ally in helping them see each other, but that is not quite yet). There is some Shenanigan where they end up both getting into trouble, Grandmother Julie Andrews is not amused, and finally they are forced to sit next to each other for a whole state dinner and Be Polite, because Genovia is trying to forge better relations with Joe’s kingdom. (Genovia is tiny, ancient, and broke, Joe’s kingdom has obviously a ton of money, there are old historical ties between them, some Genovians traveled to the kingdom in the past, Genovia’s trying to improve its human rights record and take in more refugees, etc. Nile is also helping with this last). So Nicky and Joe get ordered to fake a highly convincing bromance and pretend they’ve been best buddies all along (think Red White and Royal Blue) and that means they have to actually learn about each other and spend time together and ugh, he’s a spoiled rich playboy brat, and ugh, he’s a clueless American who thinks he’s better than us, and…

Oh no.

Yes, of course they fall in love, they deny it as hard as they can, Nile and Quynh and Booker are all increasingly exasperated by their attempts to pretend they’re not, and finally they kiss and make love and admit their feelings and that they want to be together. Then of course they get outed by some scheming evil cabinet minister (Merrick) who doesn’t want Nicky to become king and disapproves of him dating (gasp) a MUSLIM WHO IS ALSO A MAN, and there’s a huge scandal and a ton of drama and the usual Romcom Breakup Angst as they decide whether they can still see each other. Andy flies out to Genovia to comfort Nicky, Booker has a Word With The Queen, and Joe hides in his room until Quynh (along with Nile, who she’s met and hit it off with) appears to tell him that he has to be brave, she’ll help.

Anyway, etc etc., Drama, “I love him no matter what, if you don’t accept him you don’t accept me and your STUPID BLOODLINE CAN CHOKE” speeches from Nicky, Julie Andrews sees the light, they decide that Nicky and Joe can keep seeing each other, and it’s all rather sweet. There’s a lot of public relations to be managed and whether Joe’s family is going to disown him and what this will mean for the whole international relations thing, but… one thing at a time.

Nicky agrees to become Prince of Genovia as long as he can be with Joe, Joe decides that hey, he likes Nile too and there’s plenty of meaningful work to be had here and the three of them can join forces to do good things and he’s going to stay, and the Genovian public obviously comes around and loves them. Nobody can find Princess Quynh. It’s rumored she ran off to America with a cranky vodka-drinking PhD student of indeterminate age and was last seen on the back of a motorcycle heading west.

Everyone lives happily and gayly ever after.

The End.

#the old guard fanfiction #joe x nicky #kaysanova #anonymous #ask

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punkpoemprose · 3 years

Text

Single Bells- A Kristanna Oneshot

Rating: G (General Audiences) Universe: Modern AU, Librarian Anna, Single Dad/ Firefighter Kristoff Length: 8239 Words

A/N: Merry (day late) Christmas Val! @val-2201 I’m sorry I got a little bit behind. As per the usual the word count got away from me a bit so I ended up needing a little time to finish, haha. You said you enjoy single parent AUs so I hope you enjoy this little piece about single Dad Kristoff needing to solicit assistance from a very nice red headed librarian! I hope you had a wonderful holiday and that your New Year will be full of joy!

Anna wasn’t supposed to still be at work, but if there was one thing she couldn’t say no to, it was a kid with a research project. Especially a first grader with beautiful blonde ringlets dragging her frazzled looking father to the information and research desk that Anna had been staffing for the day. Normally she worked only as the children’s librarian, but since two different librarians were out on maternity leave, she’d been willing to shift gears and wear many hats.

They’d come to her desk within the last five minutes of her shift, but Anna hadn’t mentioned it. It was two weeks from the last day of school for the winter holiday, and if her suspicions were correct, the father and daughter were working on a particular project for which she’d assisted four other families in the last few days.

Teachers loved to assign festive work before the holidays, but sometimes she wondered if they really thought through the fact that heavily parent involved projects were sometimes more stress than they were fun. She'd helped quite a few families try to determine what their ancestral traditions had been. Some, she was happy to report, did have legitimate plans to include them in their celebrations after the project conclusion. That at least made her feel like some good was coming out of the stress.

“I have a presentation to do!” the little girl announced with a smile that revealed a missing front tooth.

She was dressed in the brightest green coat she'd ever seen and her little hat, that she'd already pulled away to reveal static filled curls, was made to look like a reindeer. She couldn't help but feel that this was going to be another kid who insisted upon celebrating a newfound tradition. If she was, in fact, working on that project.

Anna grinned in return, noting the child’s enthusiasm for the project she was in the library to work on. She’d said it perhaps a bit too loudly for some of the other librarians’ tastes, but for Anna there was nothing like the boisterousness of young children. She supposed there was a reason that her office and the children’s area in general had been relegated to the basement. Being upstairs still felt strange.

“That’s due tomorrow,” the father said, sounding a bit miserable but looking mostly defeated.

He had a bit of scruff to his chin, and the bags under his eyes told Anna that he probably hadn’t slept well in weeks. It was a common sight with parents around the holidays, exhaustion and uncharacteristic scruffiness. Not that she really knew whether his scruffiness was uncharacteristic, having never seen him before in his life.

“Uh oh!” Anna said, directing her attention at the child rather than the father, knowing that she was much better at working with kids than adults, “We’ve got to work fast then, huh? What’s the presentation about?”

The little girl nodded, “It’s about Christmas traditions! I told Daddy on Monday that we needed to do it, but he forgot.”

When Anna looked toward the father out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flush. It was Thursday, so she imagined that they’d had some time to complete it. She wouldn’t judge him for the timing of course, she barely could keep herself on a schedule somedays, let alone a six-year-old. She also made a conscious effort to not judge any of her patrons, even the ones who came in asking about unique topics.

She’d once had a woman come in asking for an entire book on just Guinea pig costumes, and she wasn’t sure whether she should be more concerned for her guinea pig or that the library system had not one, but six books on guinea pig costuming. Last minute project fell somewhere toward the bottom of the judgement list.

“I didn’t forget,” the dad said, sounding very tired, but not particularly upset, “I’ve just been busy, and I didn’t realize it was Thursday.”

Anna smiled and then looked at the dad, “It happens to all of us. Can you two narrow down the kind of Christmas traditions you’re looking for?”

The dad looked embarrassed again.

“She needs to pick a specific country to look up traditions from and she wants to pick the one my family’s from.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Anna said with a nod, “Where is your family from, and we’ll go from there!”

“That’s kind of the problem,” the man said with a sigh, “I don’t know.”

***

They were in the children’s area, on one of the library’s iPads at one of the kid sized tables. The little girl, Ivy, was in her glory. She’d spent more time commenting on the posters on the walls and snowflakes on the ceiling than she had focusing on the task at hand, but Anna didn’t really mind. It was easy enough for her to hold a conversation with both the girl and her father as she searched for clues about the man’s heritage. Really all they had to go on was his last name.

Bjorgman. Kristoff Bjorgman.

“I think that my parents were maybe immigrants. I was adopted when I was just a little older than Ivy, but I’d been in the system since I was maybe two or three? I don’t remember them, and I was never given any records. My birth certificate was created when I entered the system, so it doesn’t have either of their names on it. Just mine, and that was just because it had been pinned to my shirt when someone dropped me off.”

Anna couldn’t help but feel as though that was terribly sad, but the man, Kristoff, and his daughter didn’t seem phased by it. It was just another detail of life for them she supposed, but she couldn’t imagine not remembering her parents. All she had of them now was memories, and a few knick-knacks that had managed to be saved after the house fire.

She tried not to think about that though, and it was easy enough to direct her attention back to the man sitting across from her.

He was much too large for the table, and he made the child’s chair he sat in look comically small. He was handsome, and by Anna’s estimation, not much older than she was. He was maybe 26, tops, and she couldn’t imagine having a kid of her own.

“Your adoptive parents don’t know anything?”

He shook his head, “No more than I do. The information just doesn’t exist I guess.”

“She didn’t want to do her Mom’s family’s traditions?” she asked, fishing only a little bit.

She thought that maybe given the level of flustered he seemed to be exuding might be indicative of him being a single dad. She hoped not on the one hand because that was such a difficult position to be in, but also he was the first cute dad she’d run into that wasn’t significantly older than her. So she wanted to make sure if she was ogling him in the chair it was something that she could do with a clear conscience.

“No, and even if she did, we don’t really know anything about hers either. She’s passed on. It’s just us.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry…”

He shook his head, “It’s alright.”

He looked over at his daughter then, smiling at her softly as she pushed her little chair back and walked over to the bookshelf to grab something out of the easy reader bin. She’d looked bored for a little while and was now clearly determining that this was grown up work that she didn’t want anything to do with and therefore was free to explore.

Anna couldn’t help but grin when she saw her pluck out a Mercy Watson book. She loved those. She must be reading a little beyond her age group to be reading it for fun.

Turning her attention back to the ipad, and away from the little girl who was eagerly plopping herself into a beanbag, she looked at the search results she pulled up with his last name. The information on the screen was pretty much what they already knew. His first and last name were Nordic of some kind.

“So we’re looking at Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, or Iceland. We can make an educated guess based on where you lived when you were a kid based on the census data from that area as most immigrant families move to areas with other people from the same country, or where there’s a strong presence of the culture they’re familiar with.”

“Well… I was born here, I think. Or at least this is where I got put into the system, which is why I moved back here a few years back.”

Anna lit up, she didn’t have to do any more searching. Any vaguely Nordic last name in their town generally meant one thing.

“I can say then, with 90% certainty, you’re Norwegian. Not that it helps right now, but have you ever thought about taking a DNA test? Kids tend to just have more heritage questions as they get older and if you both take one it can help with any genealogy research."

"That's a lot of certainty for just a last name and a town," he said, looking surprised as he met her eye.

"Oh, well I mean Arendale was named for the Arendelle family and was founded by Norwegian immigrants so most of the population is descended from Norwegian families. Most immigrant families from Norway still settle here when they come over from the states. I mean there’s a little Norway downtown."

"Oh," he said, "You just knew that? I guess it's probably something that comes up often…"

"Yes, but well also I'm an Arendelle. It's been drilled into me since I was born. We turned the family manor into a museum a few years ago. I used to give tours when I was in my master's program."

"That's…"

"Extremely boring,” she interrupted, not wanting him to trouble himself to find something nice to say, “Except on field trip days. Which is how I decided working with kids was for me. Adults, eh. No offense of course."

"None taken,” he replied, grinning, “Why do you work at the research desk then?"

"I'm actually a children's librarian," she said happily, glancing over at his daughter who had looked up over her book at them with interest as they talked about information valuable to her project again. Anna motioned with her hands like she was opening a book and then gave her a thumbs up which the girl returned with a grin.

"I'm just helping out because a few of the librarians are out on maternity. If you want to see what I usually do you should come for my ornament making sessions. I'm doing them every day after school and then in the mornings on the weekends until the day before Christmas Eve."

He looked almost impressed.

"Daddy! We have to!"

"Now she's tuning in," he said with a sort of shy smile that was quickly accompanied by a shrug. "Come here sweetheart, you have to pick a tradition. We're pretty sure I'm Norwegian."

"And I know so many traditions!" Anna told the girl brightly, "we don't even have to search!"

“Hooray!” she said with a grin, carefully sliding the book’s ribbon bookmark into the page she had marked with her thumb before running over to where her father was seated.

She crawled up on his lap, book still in hand.

“Can we pick one that talks about food?”

He laughed and as he tucked the little curly head under his chin he mouthed, ‘bottomless pit’.

Anna couldn’t help but feel that before she left for the evening, she’d be processing a minor and adult card sign up and checking out a Mercy Watson book and perhaps even a Norwegian cookbook.

“No! Wait! One about ornaments! I love ornaments!”

Maybe, she thought, a craft book too.

The dad rolled his eyes playfully from up above where his daughter could see and Anna did her best to stifle a giggle. These were the moments where she loved her job most.

***

They'd come for her craft time the next day, and Ivy had told her how well she'd done at her presentation and how she'd been proud to already know a bunch of the other Norwegian traditions other kids had shared.

Now though she was busying herself with playing with the other kids, the usuals that Anna had introduced to her by name.

Her blonde head was bobbing along in a conversation as the kids built a large block tower together, and she could see her dark little eyes gleaming with mischief as they discussed knocking it down when they were all done. Anna had never in her life been more grateful that they had foam instead of wooden blocks.

“She looks just like you."

Her hair was just a little lighter than his, and her eyes a little darker, but there was something in her features, her expressions that was an identical copy to her fathers. Even only having met them the day before, she could tell that she definitely took after him.

“I hear that a lot, and it’s funny… Not like really funny, I mean, it’s just interesting because Ivy’s not mine,” he said quietly as the little girl played with the other children.

Most of the other parents had been content to talk amongst themselves. They were regulars and they were comfortable together, being mostly moms. Anna noticed that they were occasionally glancing back and forth between the two of them surreptitiously. Or at least as close to sneaky as a group of nosy 30-something women could be.

“I usually don’t tell people that. I don’t know why I told you that.”

“It’s par for the course for librarians. We’re like bartenders, just with books,” She replied a bit too quickly.

He looked down at his feet for a moment then met Anna’s eye again, smiling a bit nervously, like he’d worked something out in his head, and then took a deep breath.

“I mean legally speaking she is mine, just so you don’t think I stole a kid. After her mother died, I adopted her. Genetically she’s got another Dad out there somewhere, but her mom, Evelyn, she never mentioned him. I don’t think he was ever involved.”

“Oh,” Anna said, feeling her face grow hot at the misconception, “I’m sorry. So Evelyn was your…?”

She knew she was probably just digging herself a deeper hole, but she felt a warmth flutter to life in her heart. He’d mentioned before that Ivy’s mom had passed on, but she’d assumed that he was her biological father and that was why she called him Dad. That he’d been adopted, and then he’d adopted a child after meant a lot. That made her realize that her interest in him, regardless of how new and how impossible, was rooted in more than looks.

“Neighbor,” he said quickly, like he was afraid of her saying anything else.

She stared at him, surprised by the answer, watching him blush under her gaze.

“Sorry, I’m just used to people thinking we were… you know, together. She was just… she was so young. I wouldn’t have been with her like that, she was just a neighbor and a friend. I think she had a rough life. She didn’t talk about it much, but when she moved in next door to me she was working a bunch of odd jobs with crazy hours and Ivy was two. Evie was eighteen. I think her parents might have kicked them out or something, so I would watch Ivy on my days off because Evie didn’t have anyone and it was just me and my dog anyway, so I had plenty of free time."

He took a breath. Before Anna could find the words to say, he kind of sighed and shrugged, deciding to say more. Anna just focused on his eyes while he talked. There was a deep love there and she could tell it was for Ivy.

"I started taking extra days off here and there with my vacation time because Evelyn started to not feel well and she would go to the clinic a lot. Sometimes she would wait for hours for someone to tell her she was stressed or whatever. When they found out it was cancer it was too late. It was less than a year before she was gone. When no family came forward for Ivy, I did. She was three then. I’m the only dad she knows. The only parent she knows really. I didn’t have many pictures of her mom, because she was my neighbor and I didn’t think to take some when we found out she was sick, but we talk about her.”

Anna thought she might cry.

She was no stranger to loss, but she’d never heard of anyone doing anything like that before. She tried to step up for strangers and community members a little but each day. She donated to charity and worked with the economically disadvantaged, but she’d never changed her life forever just to help someone else. She’d never been able to see herself stepping up that far.

“You adopted your neighbor’s kid.”

She let her eyes tear up, her throat felt tight.

She could certainly see that beneath the sort of gruff exterior he first offered, there was a kindness that ran through him. She could see it now, as she had before when he’d been focusing on helping his daughter. He had a lot of love in him, and it was obvious when he glanced back over to where Ivy was playing and smiled.

“Well I fostered her first, but yeah. I mean my parents did it for me, and I guess I didn’t want to roll the dice and hope that someone else would be as kind when I had the means… at least financially. I’m three years in and still working out the rest. I just feel lucky everyday they let me adopt her with my work schedule and everything.”

“I think,” she said quietly, trying not to cry, “I think most parents are. Even the ones who’ve had their kids from the start.”

“Thank you for saying that. I don’t know many other parents, so it’s always a guessing game about whether I’m doing the right thing.”

He looked back from Ivy and caught a glimpse of Anna’s expression. She saw him frown and look genuinely concerned. She wanted to tell him not to worry, but he found the words quicker than she did.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, sorry. I’m not great with people.”

He held a hand out to her, paused for a moment like he was wondering what he should do, and then rubbed the back of his neck with it.

Anna shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, giving the moms staring at her openly her best and most polite look of “it’s fine, but also mind your own business”. They seemed to get the picture well enough, returning to their own conversations with only a mildly mischievous and conspiratorial gaze at each other. Anna was sure she’d have plenty of texts later from the library mom chat asking what she and the “hot dad” had been talking about.

“No, you’re fine. I’m kind of an emotional person. I’m just happy for you two. She loves you so much, I can tell. She deserves to have someone who loves her just as much.”

He smiled softly and then nodded, putting his hand back down at his side and appearing to relax slightly now that the topic was back to just Ivy. He still looked as tired as he had the day before, especially now after she’d accidentally worried him.

“She’s a special kid. She’s not like me very much, even though I’m raising her. She’s so optimistic and brave and sort of stubborn… which I suppose she could have gotten from me, but really she’s great and I’ve been so lucky to have her."

Anna nodded in return, wiping the tears away on her sleeve.

“Yeah, I can see that. And I don’t mean to pry but… you look a little tired. I hope she didn’t make you pull an all-nighter on that project.”

He sort of chuckled at her lame joke, and she appreciated the attempt at acceptance of her levity. She was never particularly good at intentional humor. Most people just laughed when she accidentally tripped over something or had chocolate on her face and didn’t notice.

“No, no all-nighter. I’m just exhausted.”

“I hear parenting does that to a person.”

He nodded and then sighed, giving her a sort of nervous look before looking beyond her to Ivy.

"I don't mean to tell you my life story. Even though, I kind of already did, but… I just feel bad when I can’t give her the world, you know? Like, I finally wanted to do a big at home Christmas for her this year. We were going to go home to see my family like usual, but my Dad just had some pretty serious back surgery and even though he loves the kids my sisters and I agreed not to flood the house while he’s recovering.”

She nodded along some more, knowing that he probably didn’t have anyone to vent this sort of thing to. She wasn’t a parent herself, but working with so many young children meant that she talked with plenty of parents, and she at least comprehended a bit of what it was like. She couldn’t pretend to understand fully, but she didn’t mind listening to parents when they needed to breathe. She particularly didn’t mind listening to Kristoff.

He looked back at her with a sort of exasperation that she was familiar with. He looked like he’d just run a marathon in his head. He looked like her after inventory day.

“You know I never realized how much my mom did for us for the holidays, you know? It’s one more week of school, and then I have to find a babysitter for the days I’m not off during her winter vacation. I barely managed to negotiate for Christmas off at the firehouse as it is, let alone to find all that time. The guys are great and sometimes I can bring her to work if I don’t have anyone to watch her because someone usually stays behind or one of the guys will have their wife or older kid there for a visit, but around the holidays… there’s a lot of fires you know. Not really a place to bring a kid. I have shopping to do, wrapping, we have to get a real tree because she really wants one, and then there’s cookies to bake, and God I’m just glad she hasn’t asked about those elf things because I don’t think I could pull that off too.”

“That seems like a lot.”

“It is, and that’s not even the half of it. We have to get a wreath to bring to her mother’s grave, and it’s so hard to find in the snow because it’s just a small grave marker so it’s really a whole day affair. I don’t mind, but I don’t want to run out of time to do everything else. She wants to go caroling and see santa and make ornaments… which thanks for this by the way, it was nice. She’s very proud of her star. It’s just with work and everything it feels like there’s not enough time.”

Anna nodded. It was a common concern with the other parents, but most of them had more hands to help, less work, and more practice at it.

“I can help.”

She didn’t think before she spoke. She was absolutely shocked by her own words even as she said them. They were practically strangers, and he was venting about his difficulties as a single dad while she was trying not to notice how perfectly chocolate brown his eyes were, or how easy it would be to imagine him in a firefighter’s calendar. Or rather, trying not to let herself wonder whether AFD had plans to put out a firefighter’s calendar this year.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You weren’t,” she said, watching as some of the moms began to get their kids ready to leave, knowing her window of opportunity to get her thoughts out was closing by the moment, “I offered. I’m great at wrapping and I love to shop. If you’re looking for help I’m happy to give it.”

He looked at her for a long moment, until Ivy ran over and pulled on his pant leg.

“Daddy,” she said, “Can I have some candy? Danny’s mom brought candy canes and she said I had to ask you first.”

He looked to Anna for a moment, and she understood the concern in his eyes.

“Oh, you mean Mrs. James! She’s so nice. She brings candy for us all the time. She’s been bringing Danny here for storytime and crafts since he was just a little baby.”

She could understand his concern. She was always a little worried herself when the parents brought things to share, especially if the parents were fairly new. It was one of those fears that was mostly irrational, but one really never knew.

He looked back to his daughter and gave her a stunning smile that made Anna melt on the spot.

“Yeah sweetheart that would be fine. Please and thank you, right?”

“Always!” she said, running off in the direction of Danny’s mom who was waiting with a cheeky smile, staring again at Anna and offering her a wink.

“Were you serious?” Kristoff asked, breaking her concentration as she tried to give Mrs. James a ‘please don’t interfere’ look in return.

Not that it would do her any good.

“About Mrs. James? Of course. I’d never encourage anyone’s kid to take candy from a stranger I couldn’t personally vouch for.”

“No, I…” he was flushed again and Anna realized that she’d missed a point. She was making him ask her, just like she’d said he didn’t have to.

“I meant about the help.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I meant it! I love the holidays and I’ve been working a little more than usual but I still have plenty of time.”

“Your boyfriend wouldn’t mind? I’d hate to take time away that you could be spending together around the holidays.”

“I… I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She was almost certain that there was a look of interest in his eye when she said it, but as quick as it was there, it was gone.

Maybe, she thought, she wasn’t the only one interested.

“Then I’d love the help,” he said with a nod, “For Ivy’s sake.”

***

Anna wasn’t sure she’d ever enjoyed anything so much as she did being Kristoff’s personal Christmas elf. She’d given him her mother’s family recipe for Norwegian butter cookies, an answer to Ivy's now rampant desire to learn about those traditions, and she’d picked up stocking stuffers and amazon packages and bits of this and that. She’d wrapped gifts and brought them to the fire station for safe keeping. Somehow, she’d managed to mostly do so when Kristoff was out on a call, or when he wasn’t working at all.

It was unfortunate as she wanted to see him, so she was pleasantly surprised when five days before Christmas she’d received a text message from Kristoff inviting her to help him and Ivy go tree shopping. She’d seen them at two separate decoration making events before it, so she supposed that it was only right for her to help them select the canvas on which to display Ivy’s beautiful work.

Ivy had, of course, been on a mission during the trip.

“Color, smell, and needle retention,” she’d said in her little, but very certain voice.

Anna had later learned that she didn’t actually know the meaning of the word retention, and that she’d learned her tree picking skills from a YouTube video, but she had been nevertheless impressed.

She’d helped Ivy pick, and then she’d helped, with mixed results, to strap the six-foot tree to Kristoff’s car. He’d mostly brought it inside his apartment himself, but when Anna had turned to leave, Ivy had caught her hand, and Kristoff had shyly offered her some hot chocolate. They'd sung Christmas carols, lead by Ivy and decorated the tree together with some ornaments that his friends from the firehouse had given them and the ones that Ivy had made herself. Anna wished she had her old childhood ornaments. Ivy, she knew, would have loved one.

The rest of the week passed much the same until, two days before Christmas, Anna found herself finishing her last ornament and story session with the kids before the holiday. It was a bittersweet thing, being swept up in the excitement of children looking forward to Christmas but knowing that she wouldn’t see them again for a while after.

Ivy, who had been in attendance, was busy playing with her new friends, and Kristoff, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Anna for the whole session, was speaking with her again.

Anna couldn’t help but note how quickly they were getting to know each other. She couldn’t help but blame the holiday in part. Not only was she doing more story and craft sessions in the evenings than she normally would, but she’d also been helping him make the holidays for Ivy. She supposed it was inevitable that they would talk, and in their conversations get to know each other a bit better.

The topic of conversation now, was a wrapping accident on one of Ivy’s “little” presents, a slime kit. It was from Santa, but Anna had accidentally wrapped it in the paper she’d set aside to wrap gifts from Kristoff in. The tag though, still said “from Santa”.

“So you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said quietly, low enough that they kids couldn’t hear her, “I know some kinds are just really perceptive, so I don’t want her to see that dad and santa have the same paper and realize what happened.”

“If she notices I’m just going to tell her that Santa accidentally ripped the wrapping paper coming down the chimney and had to rewrap it in some of my paper to keep it a secret until Christmas morning.”

She nodded. It was a brilliant plan.

“That’s so smart,” she was thoroughly awed, “I come up with a lot of little fibs around the holidays to keep the magic for the kiddos, but that one’s just genius.”

He laughed and shook his head, “Maybe I’m better at this than I thought.”

“You really should give yourself more credit.”

His smile softened then, “As should you. I can’t believe that you just offered to help a stranger put Christmas on for their kid and then actually followed through with it.”

“Need I remind you that you adopted a neighbor’s child without hesitation? What I did was nothing in comparison.”

He was close to her and stepping closer. She could practically feel the eyes of the moms as they lingered in the room, just to see what was going to happen. Her eyes drifted down to his lips and she felt herself flushing at the thought of kissing him, even though she told herself that they couldn’t, that it wasn’t going to happen. His previous stubble, the ball he’d had to drop to keep his daughter on schedule was now even more pronounced, but in an intentional sort of way. She could imagine how it would scratch against her.

“I wouldn’t call that nothing,” he said quiet, so low that she could barely hear it. “To us, it’s everything. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.”

She focused for a moment on breathing as she’d realized that she’d been holding her breath ever since he leaned in. It was easy, she thought, to let him take her breath away.

And then the giggling and “goodbyes” of children broke Anna’s focus, and she turned her head to see moms giving her subtle thumbs up, and kids donning coats.

Ivy was skipping towards them, candy cane in one hand and her popsicle stick star in the other. Glitter was flaking off the craft as she bounced towards them, and Anna knew she’d be spending at least the next hour vacuuming. She almost felt bad for the parents who were about to have their houses covered in poorly glued sequins, glitter and foamies.

Almost.

“Ms. Anna!” the little girl said with great excitement, “What are you going to do for Christmas?”

The question caught Anna off guard. The kids had asked her before, but it had never felt like a big deal to tell them the truth. Kids understood more than adults most of the time, and they felt things stronger and they were more open with it, so Anna was more open with them. With Ivy and Kristoff though, just having gotten to know them, and having all sorts of confusing feelings in her chest for him, she wasn’t sure she could take the pitying eyes.

“Well hon,” she said quietly, waving to the other parents and kids as they drifted out as both a politeness and a distraction, “I’m not doing anything. My sister is my only family and she lives far far away.”

“Oh,” the little girl said, looking sad.

Anna couldn’t look at Kristoff, but she could tell he was giving his daughter the soft but chiding look he’d given her a few times in the two weeks she’d known them. The look that said he wasn’t mad at her, but that she’d said too much or her manners were lacking. She thought it was a nice way to remind kids of their behavior and had filed it away for her own use.

“Like Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Yeah,” Anna said in response, “But it’s okay, I’m used to being by myself. I’ll read a book and make myself dinner.”

She knew she didn’t sound particularly believable. She wasn’t even buying it herself. Truth be told her whole apartment was decorated for Christmas, complete with a tree, and she always made herself sad around the holidays thinking about how she’d had so much fun as a kid, but now spent them alone. She always thought that there was an unfairness in showing that to a child though, in showing them that the holiday was anything but magical for some people, so she tried to keep a stiff upper lip.

“That’s okay Ms. Anna,” the little girl said, grinning broadly at her with little tears sparkling in her dark eyes, and stepping close to grab her hand, “You can have Christmas at our house!”

She felt like crying again.

“Oh Ivy that’s so sweet,” she said, her throat feeling tight, “But it’s your family Christmas. You don’t want a stranger there.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Kristoff said softly, reaching for Ivy’s other hand and giving it a soft squeeze that made the little girl’s smile brighten.

She seemed glad for her dad’s backup.

Anna forced herself to meet his eye, and she found in it a sort of shyness. He looked at her like he was uncertain, but also like he was excited by the prospect. She noted the twinkle in his eyes despite his furrowed brow, the gentle upturn of his lips as he looked at her for an answer.

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“You wouldn’t be. Ivy invited you as her guest. I’d… I’d also like you to come as my guest if you don’t mind. I know you’ve only known us for two weeks, but I think we’d both really like it if you came. Right sweetheart?”

Ivy squeezed Anna’s hand tightly and then nodded, bouncing a bit on her heels as she did so like her whole body was agreeing with her dad.

“Well then,” Anna said quietly, “How can I refuse?”

***

Her arms were full of presents and chocolates when she came to his door, so she had to tap the wood twice with the toe of her boot to knock. She’d been battling herself the entire drive over, trying to decide whether this was the right thing to do and whether she should really be feeling as giddy about the whole thing as she was.

She was basically crashing someone else’s holiday, and she knew that she should feel bad about taking them up on an offer made out of kindness and sympathy, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel bad because she really liked Ivy and wanted to help make Christmas a little more special for her this year. She didn’t feel bad because she really liked Kristoff and even the idea of pretending for a few hours that he felt the same made her heart flutter.

She’d never fallen for a patron before. Nor had she ever been so sure that she loved someone so quickly. She’d had bad luck in the past with similar feelings, but this time she had faith in the rightness of the feelings and the positivity of the situation. Kristoff Bjorgman was a good man, and whether anything more came from it, she was happy to be his friend and to share his Christmas.

She thought maybe if she could have written a letter to Santa though, she would have maybe wished for more. If it wasn’t too much to ask.

She hadn’t so much as put her foot down after tapping the door than Ivy opened the door and ushered her in. Kristoff was watching from just a few feet back, letting her know with a smile that Ivy had been so excited to open the door that she’d been waiting for the knock. She wondered if she’d been waiting for her since she called to let them know she was arriving.

“I waited to open my presents from Santa until you got here Ms. Anna,” the little girl said with zeal, “I wanted you to see!”

Kristoff stepped forward then, helping Anna with her parcels while telling her quietly that she hadn’t needed to bring them. He whispered into her ear about how excited Ivy had been about Santa and how she’d been even more excited to wait for Ms. Anna.

She thought that her heart might pound out of her chest. Less at the thought that Ivy had wanted to wait for her, and more at the fact that Kristoff hadn’t told her not to. That he’d just whispered in her ear, and that he was making it extremely evident that he wanted her there from the very start.

“Ivy that’s so sweet. I can’t wait to see what Santa brought you!”

“I hope I got a Pokémon stuffy!” she said excitedly, running towards the tree that they’d decorated together.

It felt strangely domestic, like she belonged there because her touch was in the tree. Like she was family, and not just a new friend they’d invited to share their holiday.

“You know what?” Anna asked, feigning ignorance, “I don’t know if he did, but I’m sure you’ve been so good this year that you deserve it.”

Kristoff raised a brow at her, and Anna got the message. “Good cover.”

In fact she knew that Ivy had two Pokémon plushies under the tree, one from Santa, one from her Dad, and Anna also knew that there was one more in the box Kristoff had taken from her labeled with the little girls name and Anna’s own.

Being an elf had its perks.

“But first… if you don’t mind, I have a couple special gifts for you two to open.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Kristoff said, giving her a soft, but appreciative look that she knew she would treasure in her memories for as long as she lived.

She knew that she didn’t have to. But they didn’t have to share their Christmas with her either.

And also, she’d already fallen in love a little bit with them both, and she knew that for now presents were a good way to demonstrate that.

“I have a special present for you too Ms. Anna!”

“You do?”

“Yes!”

She looked over at Kristoff, who looked almost as surprised as she did.

“You mean the one we got her at the store yesterday sweetheart?”

“Nope! A special one! I made it, Mrs. James told me how!”

“Huh,” he said with a shrug, “I guess I’ll be as surprised as Ms. Anna then.”

“Would you mind if I gave you yours first?” Anna asked, excited to know what Ivy had made her, but more excited to give the little girl and her father the special gifts she’d gotten them first.

“Okay!” she said excitedly and ran into the apartment proper as Kristoff and Anna managed the process of her removing her outerwear, hanging it up, and him helping her bring in the gifts and treats.

Once Ivy and Kristoff had settled themselves on the small loveseat near the tree, and Anna had brought them their gifts, she settled into the well worn high back chair that served as the only other Livingroom seating.

“Okay. I have some other presents for you guys too, but these are the most important ones, so I want you to open them first, alright?”

Ivy was already tearing into the paper on the box. Not needing to be told twice.

She held up a little soft ornament, and then held it to her chest.

“It’s Mama,” she said in the quietest littlest voice she had ever heard her manage, and Kristoff quickly looked between Anna and the ornament.

It had been easy enough really, to look up Evelyn Taylor. She had a Facebook before she passed, and some friends on the page who mostly lived out of state. There wasn’t much that Anna could find on the page without sending a friend request that she knew, sadly, would never be answered, but there were a handful of photos that she had access to. One of her and Ivy, confirming that she had the right Evelyn Taylor in the first place. The little girl had been two or so at the time the picture had been taken, but her little face had even been then, so strikingly like Kristoff’s. Evelyn even looked a bit like him she thought, like a cousin. The others she’d found included some pictures of the girl with high school friends, a few shots of her looking brave in photos where she’d moved into her apartment, a photo or two of her without hair when she’d been going through chemo.

Anna had gotten them all printed, every single one she could find, and put them in a small box that was under the ornament. The ornament had been a last-minute project. She’d run to the store and picked up printable iron on paper and felt. She printed the photo of Ivy and her mother onto it, ironed it onto the felt, and did her best to channel her mother’s creativity to make a small Scandinavian style embroidered felt plush ornament. It was shaped like a heart, and on one side she’d managed to layer on felt and little stitched snowflakes, while the other held the image on white felt.

She felt a bit bad, of course, about not asking Kristoff if it was okay first, but she thought that the soft look he was giving her may be proof that sometimes it’s better to try for the surprise.

“How…?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she said before Ivy could even get to the box below, “You still have a box to open.”

He looked between her and Ivy for a long moment, like he wanted to say something else as the little girl was excitedly hugging her little ornament, but ultimately, he looked down at his own gift.

“Go on,” she said, eager to see if her surprise gift for him would be met with such excitement.

He opened his gift with less speed, but with equal interest.

She held her breath as he pulled out a small box and a small book.

“Is this… is this a DNA test?”

She felt tension return to her body. He didn’t sound upset really, just surprised, and she hoped that she hadn’t just crossed a line.

“I mean… it’s just… you know, if you ever want to. They’re expensive usually so a lot of people don’t do them, but my sister is in business and she happened to know a guy who knew a guy so I was able to get it for you for nothing. So it’s just if you want to dig in and do some research. You know because I’m a librarian and all. One track mind.”

“Anna…”

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I just thought…”

“Anna.”

She looked at him and saw he was smiling, a little bit teary eyed.

“Anna, thank you. I was going to buy one after the holidays. That project Ivy did… it made me realize that I want to know where I came from.”

“Oh… good. I’m…” she sighed, letting the tension leave her, “I’m glad, because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He smiled, and then looked at the book.

“But… uh, what’s Hygge?”

She laughed at that, feeling happy in a way she hadn’t ever remembered feeling outside of work, and she saw Ivy smiling brightly too, hopping down from the couch to go grab something from under the tree.

“Hygge is a Norwegian and Danish concept… it’s just, you know, since I hope you’re Norwegian like me. Hygge is just that cozy mood that we can’t put into words. I think you feel a lot of hygge when you get a moment to breathe when you’re with Ivy, and I thought you’d like the book. There’s another one I ordered you too, but it won’t come in for a while. It’s all Norwegian fairytales. I thought you might like to read them together.”

He grinned broadly and stood from the couch, walking over to her and taking her hand, “Anna this is…”

But Ivy cut him off before he could finish.

“Ms. Anna! I have your present, are you ready?”

“Of course! I’m so excited,” she said, giving Kristoff an apologetic smile and turning her attention towards the child who was holding something behind her back.

The little girl grinned in response and held up a picture she’d drawn in crayon. There were little green leaves and little white berries. It was immediately obvious to Anna what it was meant to be, and depending on how things turned out, she was either going to ban Mrs. James from the library, or send her a fruit basket.

“Is that?” Kristoff started.

“Mistletoe.” Anna finished.

She felt her face go hot, but then when she looked over at Kristoff, his hand still in hers, she saw him clearly doing some internal negotiating.

“May I… may we?” He asked.

“It is a tradition,” she said quietly, looking over at the little girl and giving her a bright, if not a bit embarrassed smile to let her know that she did in fact, love the drawing.

And before she could say anything else he was helping her off the chair and into his arms. She giggled when he kissed her, his stubble, now an almost beard tickling her skin.

Ivy, ever the encouraging an delighted audience, was jumping up and down.

“Santa must have gotten the letter I hid under the cookie plate last night!” she said delighted, “I knew Daddy liked Ms. Anna!”

Kristoff, ended the kiss a bit abruptly to look over to his daughter, a deep blush on his cheeks that Anna was sure was mirrored in her own.

He didn’t release her though, still holding her close, his touch tender but firm.

“Santa didn’t get a letter under the cookie plate last night,” he whispered low into Anna’s ear as Ivy took back off toward the tree, leaving her drawing on Anna’s chair.

Anna couldn’t help but giggle at his bewilderment. She thought that it was most likely that Ivy had simply dreamed writing the letter. Some kids her age had a hard time remembering what they had and hadn’t done when they woke in the morning.

“Well either the big man is more real than we thought, or Mrs. James has more connections than I thought. Or you know, she just dreamt the whole thing.”

He grinned broadly.

“Well someone must have gotten my letter too,” he said, a little louder, “Because Ivy is right. I do like you. I know it’s fast but…”

“I like you too Kristoff,” she said quietly, “And we can take this slower from here, but for now…”

He leaned in again, kissing her gently. She let her hand slide up, her palm cradling his stubbled cheek.

When they broke the kiss, they rested their foreheads together, the sound of tearing paper and Ivy’s excited cheering behind them.

“Merry Christmas Kristoff.”

“Merry Christmas Anna.”

She’d never been so grateful for a reference desk query in her life.

#kristanna #kristannasecretsanta2020 #librarian Anna #Single dad Kristoff #Firefighter Kristoff

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emersonfreepress · 3 years

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okay so is there content that you had planned for the ROs and story in general but then scrapped cause there wasn’t a good place in the story to stick it in? and if so, can you share what it was? 👀 👀 👀

yes, definitely. *rubs hands together* oh man, you done asked THE question today xD I can't wait to get into this 😁

Academics. I almost decided to have classes and grades be a minor part of gameplay, but the more time I spent designing it the more I realized I wanted nothing to do with it 😂 I haven’t really enjoyed academic gameplay in other interactive fiction because I 1) hate having to choose between studying and interacting with awesome characters, 2) have terrible short term memory, and 3) hate school in general!! So instead I just opted to have the MC be really good at school, point blank period so I could focus on social drama and relationships instead! 😆

Physical skills. I spent literal months crafting the catering scene around setting up stats for stamina/endurance, dexterity, and strength instead of just magnetism, confidence, and persuasion. They had their own backstories with the MC’s parents being overly invested sports parents instead and I think the background choices were like... martial arts, gymnastics, and track? But yeah, I ended up scrapping it all because I was spending hours on research about those individual sports so I could integrate them into the MC’s narrative organically but like... when I tried to think of what use they would be in the actual story, I came up blank. Best decision yet, esp since it means a lot less coding!

Skin tone customization. For one, I noticed that a lot of my favorite IFs don’t offer that customization and it hasn’t impacted my experience at all. For two, I originally realized I might as well not implement it since I am striving real hard not to introduce any customization that won’t actually be mentioned in interesting or meaningful ways in-story. I don’t think it’s really all that common for real life friends (esp in high school?) to comment or compliment each other’s skin and like... when it comes from someone who doesn’t share a similar complexion or ethnic background, that type of commentary gets... d i c e y. So then I wanted to be sensitive to that but what’s the pay-off? An RO mentioning how they love your skin tone once? Awkward sentences with the MC referring to their own skin color? Idk, just wasn’t vibing with it. I’m open to revisiting it in beta or something but for now it’s scrapped.

Singing, Rapping, and Gaming as Hobbies/Talents. I feel bad about scrapping these, honestly 😂 They’re great and I really wanted to incorporate them but it just came down to already having a lot of stuff to code. Plus, I know I can write the Hobbies/Talents I stuck with far better. And for Book 2 purposes, as well!

Leo. as @sourandflightypeaches asked me about a long while ago, I had to scrap an entire RO 😢 His name is Leo, he was the nephew of wealthy west African diplomats residing in Emerson, and I love him dearly! His backstory was largely based on my mother’s childhood and the circumstances she lived through after immigrating to America. and... ok, i’m about to go on one hell of a tangent so buckle up and bear with me if you can 😅

my intention with this story, aside from writing things that I personally enjoy (graphic violence, spooky woods, social drama, romance, conspiracies 😚), is to explore greed, wealth, and how the ways people and families interact with those two things influence young people and who they grow up to be. here i go sounding pretentious af 😝 and here’s where I apply a cut for those who want to preserve a little mystery to the main characters!

With Gabe, we’ve got someone who grew up with very little stability or financial security but who has found unscrupulous methods to gain status and money, with both noble and selfish motivations.

Kile has some of that childhood experience in common with Gabe, having been in the foster care system since infancy, but they lucked out when they were adopted into massive wealth by a caring, loving couple—a couple that uses their wealth and privilege to be far more lenient and protective of Kile than is actually reasonable or responsible.

Jack comes from a prestigious wealthy family on his dad’s side who he loves dearly but there’s no getting around the fact that they love him back as much as they despise his working class mom.

Jessie is a spoiled sweet heiress (being the baby of her family and the only girl) and while she lives blissfully ignorant of the harmful source and impact of her father's income and career, she bears the weight of the expectation to fulfill very traditional gender roles, including her behavior and appearance, but also extending to her career and life plans.

Rain's wealth led to them growing up sheltered and isolated but also extremely accommodated, giving them maximum freedom and opportunity to discover and develop their personal talents and interests. However, they have almost no positive relationship with their parents who have essentially decided to give up on a kid that couldn't be exactly the accessory they tried to mold them to be—both in terms of their identity and personality.

Rupan/Rohan, at their very core, rejects everything about conformity, self-importance, and excessive luxury—which means they have never, ever truly fit in with their peers. Going full non-conformist, however, has resulted in them becoming alienated from much of their family, as well, despite them all loving each other very much. Their history with false friends and betrayals has led them to over-indulge in their vices and reckless behavior to compensate for that isolation. Sometimes, they just get in over their head and many times, they know better. Every time, it's just that the feeling of finally belonging is utterly intoxicating.

Vivian/Vincent has two extremely successful parents who didn't inherit but instead built up their wealth and they aspire to be just like them, to a degree that is well and truly unhealthy. Their mother specifically is an over-achiever and applies mountainous pressure for them to follow in her footsteps, especially academically. Vi is completely capable of achieving what their mom expects of them, but they were already an extremely sensitive perfectionist so this has made them intensely critical of themself. This is a large part of why they are such a rigid, no-nonsense person and that in turn has made them one of the most disliked people among their peers—which is a huge personal failure to them since their father is a very well-liked and socially successful person in town.

And the Emersons are peak privilege: inherent high social status, brains, looks, charisma, athleticism, and massive wealth. They could never have been anything less than extremely popular, just by virtue of their last name and the nature of the town's social dynamics and politics. And they do enjoy that privilege (esp Curt lol). However, it should go without saying that being so high profile, even (or maybe especially) just in the isolated scope of your hometown, isn't always a boon. Their family's and their own perceived failings are widely discussed and privately mocked and/or celebrated. Real friends are scarce while fake ones and snakes are plentiful. Plus their dad is a gigantic dickhead who sees his kids as extensions of his own status and reputation and not much else. Public shortcomings make for an unbearable time at home and the world outside the estate is at once overly accommodating, full of assumptions, and even subtly hostile at times—all unrelated to their own actions or character.

And with the MC, I think the narrative will make it clear there are several ways that story can go. You start off with irresponsible parents that have lost their wealth due to their own mismanagement and material ambitions—how that affects any individual MC should differ based on choices and consequences!

So why bring any of that up when I was supposed to be talking about my cut OC? 😂😂

Leo was going to be the unwelcome recent addition to his uncle’s household, the son of a brother his aunt hates for (petty af) Reasons, and she took that resentment out on him directly by restricting his access to nearly every aspect of the family's wealth. Especially material goods and living conditions. He was basically treated like the help, tasked with playing nanny for his many younger cousins and burdened with doing the homework and providing academic cover for his dumb as rocks cousin in the same grade as you all. To sum it up, he was basically a victim of trafficking at the hands of his own family with his uncle out of town enough to feign ignorance to how bad his wife was treating his nephew and his aunt going out of her way to keep him busy, at home, and isolated. This is sadly a super common form of trafficking in Francophone African cultures (although I don't think most people view it as trafficking. and I’m sure the same is true of other cultures but I don’t want to speak outside of my purview). And like I mentioned above, it’s how my own mom's (and idek how many cousins') child/teenhood went.

It’s a perspective on modern wealth, privilege and greed that I really, really wanted to tell. I am confident in saying it hasn't been explored in interactive fiction yet (though correct me—and direct me 👀—if I'm wrong) and out of all the wealth/greed explorations I came up with, it's the one I have the closest personal ties to and the strongest feelings about. The characters and plans I had for it were detailed and I'm proud of them but at the end of the day... I just couldn't find a place for Leo in the story at large.

Leo was, in fact, the last main character I came up with, when I had already designed and fleshed out the larger story and started crafting the timeline of major events. I think the worst thing I could have done for a story and perspective that I care about this much is shove it into a plot that didn't have room for it at the very base level, regardless of how well the character or his story is written. Shoe-horned characters always stick out. I didn’t want to disservice Leo by having him be the character that did nothing or could be removed from the main plot without affecting it at all, y’know? That’s so much worse than just forgoing the indulgence, imo :((

ugh.... Leooooo 😭 I'm so sorry bb, I failed youuu 😥

#lovely anon #answered #hotmess #ok I am truly so sorry for going on and on like this #writing #ch design #ty for this question it was really nice to revisit this stuff 😃#and a nice reminder to not look back lol #scrapped

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deniigi · 4 years

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i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

“So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.

No one was stopping them.

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

---

This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

---

Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

---

Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

---

Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

---

Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

---

Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

---

Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

---

“Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

---

Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

---

“So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

---

Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

---

Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

---

Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

---

About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

---

Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

---

He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,” he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

-----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

#samuel chung #jack murdock #matt murdock #mike murdock #inimitable verse #fic #ficlet

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kweebtrash · 4 years

Text

Hey Beautiful Stranger

Pairing: StarvingArtist!Johnny X Reader(with some characterization)

Genre: lots of angst, some fluff, and smut

Features: imperfect, awkward, fluffy sex with tons of kisses and caresses and uncertainty.

Word Count: 17k

Summary: Johnny had lost it all, became invisible to the world, felt like nothing and absolutely defeated. He tried to stay positive but it was a joke. A passerby, huffing and sprinting through the dingy train station catches his eye and he wonders what life would be like happier with her. He wanted what he used to have, to feel loved, like he was someone’s someone.

A/N: I sobbed while writing this so good luck. Also will put some sort of moodboard/gif beneath the title eventually. Also also this is based in New York

Johnny Only Masterlist Other Stories Buy me a Ko-Fi

April 17

The heels of my boots clacked wildly against the dirty subway platform. I was late. Incredibly so. After a night of drinking with some friends I had slept through my alarm. My head was still buzzing and my stomach swished with nausea. Work was the farthest thing from my mind but I couldn’t call off. The friends I had gone out with were also my coworkers and I couldn't risk them ratting me out. I had to at least pretend my body wasn’t on the verge of collapsing and that I was a fully functioning adult who hadn't been irresponsible. It's only 8 hours, I kept telling myself. Only 8 hours. And then an hour long commute to and from during rush hour so you’d be packed in between a bunch of hot, sweaty strangers in business suits or school uniforms. My so-called pep talk had failed miserably and for now I settled on reaching into my purse to retrieve my headphones and block out the world before I became more frustrated and grumpy at the irritating commuters. Without stopping, I fished around for them but when I pulled them out they were a jumbled mess. I scoffed loudly, ready to scream at my first world problems and inconveniences. As I fumbled through the knots and twists I heard a voice behind me.

“Hey beautiful stranger.”

I rolled my eyes. Fucking annoying cat callers. This early? I didn’t even look that good. They would go for anything with a pulse if it meant getting off on harassment. I ignored the voice and continued on my way, staring down the tracks and waiting for my day to be over.

April 18

I managed to wake up to my alarm this time. There was no rushing or haphazard throwing on of clothes. There was even enough time to stop at a food cart on the sidewalk and get a cup of coffee and a bagel. Starbucks was way too expensive for me and I saw it as a delicacy. The street carts ran by immigrants, though not the most top notch as far as health codes, reminded me of my childhood home. My mom knew all the cart owners and spoke to them everyday, on the corner, on her way to work, when we walked through the city and got hot dogs, all of it gave me a spark of happiness to start my day. I recalled how weird I was as a kid. I never wanted to eat the hot dog buns. Instead my favorite cart owner would wrap two hot dogs in aluminum foil for me, always laughing at my pickiness. After a ruffle of my hair my mother and I would be back on our way, continuing our shopping or park adventures.

I liked mornings like this where I could cherish the little things. It made me feel somewhat less lonely. My small and overpriced apartment was always empty save for myself. I spent nights either quietly on the couch or sometimes going out but it all still felt empty and like a routine. These moments reminded me that I was actually alive, a semi functioning person who had some cosmic role in this universe. Or maybe I was just a weirdo enjoying her bagel.

My descent on the subway stairs wasn’t as lively as yesterday. For whatever reason there was somewhat more room on the platform. I started heading to my usual waiting spot when I heard that voice again.

“Hey beautiful stranger.” It couldn’t have been the same catcaller from yesterday? What were the odds of that? Unless he had the same morning commute I did. That would be weird but it was the city and plenty of people had jobs to get to. That still didn't give him permission to try and cat call me. I turned to look back at the voice and was taken aback with surprise.

He was young, around my age, his brown hair a little greasy from days unwashed but he was beautiful. He was smiling brightly, making his small eyes close and crinkle. It seemed so genuine for a homeless person.

I didn’t know why he was happy sitting on a dity blanket in a subway with a small cup in front of him. His only possession beside his backpack was a good sized keyboard that laid across his lap. A homeless performer. That was common down here. Sometimes it was the only way for them to make a buck or two and hope that it was enough for some food. His sweetness made me stop then I looked at the cup rather guiltily. I didn’t care to give him any money; hell i had no idea if i had spare change or singles. Instead I gave him a tight lipped smile which he responded to with a slight nod.

I began my walking once more, a little faster this time. I wanted to get away from him. Sometimes seeing homeless people irritated me, sometimes hearing the homeless performers drove me mad because the subway was already chaotic and I just wanted some peace. But he made me feel something else and for whatever reason I felt tears prickling at my eyes.

April 19

“Hey beautiful stranger.”

I stopped and turned towards him, staring him down. His eyes were still bright. His smile was still warm. What the fuck did he have to smile about? His cup was only filled with two pennies. He couldn’t do anything about that. So why did he seem so...happy?

“What do you keep saying that?” I decided to speak to him.

“Because it’s true.” His fingers pressed down against a few keys creating a beautiful little melody.

“Do you say that to every girl that passes by? Like to try and get them to give you money.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s true.” He repeated.

My cheeks flushed in an embarrassing way and I hoped he hadn’t noticed. “Well I’m not giving you any money. You shouldn’t guilt people into doing that. I know you guys can blow up as soon as someone denies you.”

“‘You guys’?” He didn’t stop playing nor did he look up at me from his seated position. “What do you mean by that?”

“Like...um…” My voice softened as if the word was a slur. “You know, you homeless guys.”

He laughed. It was an awkward laugh yet it almost made me want to start laughing. Infectious. “I’m not trying to guilt you. I just hope you have a nice day.”

I was taken aback. He wanted me to have a good day while he probably sat here for hours with nothing to do but play his keyboard. I had no idea how to respond and that was when he finally lifted his eyes. Warm again. Warmth and sweetness like the perfect cup of coffee on a winter day. The kind that makes you grip both your hands around it tight and blow through the little hole on the cover until you were able to taste the cream and sugar without burning yourself. It was like a recharge of energy.

The banging and rocking of the train suddenly appeared in the background. It was my train and if I didn’t leave now I would miss it. I couldn’t hear what he said through the noise but his lips moved around those words again. Beautiful Stranger.

April 25th

He was there everyday and I ignored him everyday. My headphones were always in and I tried to keep my head forward. I never had my music playing. Without missing a beat my eyes would shift towards him as I passed by. Those full lips never failed to curl into a smile. His favorite words to me were always said. Eventually I wanted to hear those words as much as possible.

April 26

“Hi.” I greeted him this time.

His eyes widened when he saw me. “Hey beautiful stranger.”

I kneeled down and held out a five dollar bill. It felt weird to put it in the battered coffee cup when he was sitting right there and I had struck up the conversation. He stared at it for a while as if he was reluctant to take it from me. “You don’t have to.” His voice was so low, so small, so ashamed.

“It’s okay. Take it.”

When his hand didn’t move from the keyboard I grabbed it, turning his palm upward and setting the money in it. His hand was rough. Calloused. Dry. But his fingers were delicate. I found myself focusing on them as they curled around the bill. His gaze was still in his lap and with the same tone he whispered a thank you.

The train barreled into the station earlier than I expected. My time was up and I couldn't say more to him. I rose to my feet and bit my lip as if I was nervous to ask someone on a date. I wondered why I felt nervous. There wasn’t anything to be nervous about. Maybe it was because I didn’t want him to feel like it was charity. Was it charity anyway since he was technically asking for it and I responded? The cup was an invitation for exchanges and yet from his reaction I realized that he wasn’t happy. Of course not. He didn’t want to be asking for money but he still wanted to be positive, if not for himself then to spread it to the people around him.

May 1

As I shuffled down the stairs amongst a crowd of people I noticed him. He wasn't awake or playing his keyboard. Instead he was curled up on his dirty blanket, fist wrapped tightly around the strap of the case to his prized possession. The hood from his sweater was inching off his head with every shift of his body and his eyes kept squeezing shut as if to block out the bright lights above him. I don't know why I found it strange. He needed sleep at some point but I never thought that he would be sleeping here.

I stopped beside him and removed my headphones. "Hey...are you ok?"

His eyes opened instantly though they still strained against the fluorescence above me. "Hey beautiful stranger." His voice was lower, scratchy with sleep. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deeper and his cheeks looked more sunken.

"You don't look so good." I squatted down to his level to get a closer look at him. "You aren't playing your keyboard."

"No inspiration today." He mumbled.

"Your cup isn't out either…"

"What's the point? I get ignored anyway." All the positivity he had seemed to have drained away faster than rain in a sewage gate.

"I'm not ignoring you, am i?"

"You're different." He turned his gaze upwards and finally the faintest of smiles was on his lips. "The lights make you look like an angel."

I looked towards the ceiling at the rows of lights above then back at him. "Trust me i'm no angel."

"You are. You just don't know it yet."

I changed the subject quickly. His compliments, though sweet, seemed off, as if he was fading from this world. "Are you ok?" I asked again. I could see his eyes watering slightly and instead of looking at my face he was now fixated on my morning bagel. "Are you hungry?"

He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and shrugged quietly. Against the normal ruckus of the subway station I could hear his stomach growling. "When was the last time you ate?"

"It's fine. You're gonna be late. Just go." It was unlike him to sound this harsh.

"Please answer me." I was concerned now. I had never been concerned about a homeless person on the street. There wasn't anything I could do to make their lives easier, or so I thought.

"I dont know...two days maybe?"

"Two days?!" I practically shrieked. "How have you not eaten for two days?"

He glared at me instantly. "I told you. I'm ignored. People dont give a fuck about me. I try my damndest and get nowhere...not anywhere...nothing."

Maybe that was why his cup was gone. Not enough money to sustain what little he had. I held out my bagel to him. "Take this."

"No."

"Take it."

"I dont want your fucking bagel."

The first time I truly touched him, touched his soul even; a gentle graze against the stubble on his chin to lift his head. "Take it. Please. My coffee too."

His lips trembled as a few tears fell. He wanted to be strong. He really did. He wanted to try his best and survive and yet he couldn't. We were all trying to survive, in our own way, on our own level of importance. His resolve was gone as he took the food from me with a small sniffle. My train was coming now. "Will you be here after five?"

He scoffed slightly. "Where else would I have to be?"

"Just stay here ok? I'll come back." I promised. I already had an idea of how I wanted to help him further. My investment in him still baffled me but I decided to pursue it. The gratefulness on his face when he took that first bite was enough to solidify my resolution.

May 1, evening

The first night I sat with him. I set out a small picnic of granola bars, apples, a couple bottles of water, a cold sandwich I had gotten from a local deli and a bag of chips. Of course he rejected it at first. I told him it wasn't much but it was all I could do for now. He said he didn't know how to thank me. Maybe he would write a song for me one day. Play it for me as I walked by so he knew he had been waiting for me. Hey beautiful stranger. He laughed at my suggested title.

"Yeah, hey beautiful stranger...hey beautiful angel."

May 15

I found myself waking up earlier and earlier just so I could have enough time to talk to him before my train arrived. I would sit beside him on his blanket, knees to my chest as I listened. His name was Johnny and he had been a college student studying music. He had a good life. He had friends he made music with, he had a family he spoke to, he had love in his life. But then he lost his job and his roommates moved out without a warning. He couldn’t pay for the expensive apartment on his own. He tried and tried to get another job somewhere, anywhere. He had decent qualifications so why wouldn’t anyone accept him? Rent got behind and he sold everything he had to try and make due, everything except his keyboard.

His parents had gifted it to him when he got accepted into college. It was the one thing that meant the world to him. I loved to watch him play. Sometimes when I came to visit him he would show me a new piece that he thought of. Said I was his muse. I didn’t think I had done anything inspirational or artistic enough to warrant a song being produced about me but Johnny did. Occasionally I would catch him scribbling in a small notebook that he had but whenever I questioned him about it he would hold it far away from me. It always made me laugh that he was shy about his creativity but my curiosity grew with each moment his stub of a pencil touched paper.

“How do I even inspire you? I’m not special.” I said on this day as I tried to make a grab for the notebook teasingly.

He kept it against his chest and shoved me away gently. “That’s not true. Of course you’re special. You’re the only person that sees me.”

“Sees you? Everyone can see you. You’re right here.”

“No, you see me. You know I'm real.”

A silence fell between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable but rather a sudden overwhelming sadness. He wanted to be seen. He wanted the world to see him yet I was the only one. Was I his world?

“Do your parent’s know about you...about this I mean?” I said finally.

“No...I’m too embarrassed to talk to them. Not that I could anyway. I don’t have a phone. I know they would be disappointed in me. I haven’t been able to save up enough money to go back either. So I'm just,” He shrugged and sighed deeply. “Stuck.”

“Is this the only way you make money? Or try to?” I looked at the cup that had a few more coins than it did yesterday.

“Yeah...I’m also too embarrassed to ask people outright. Like, you know when you’re on the train and people go through the cars and ask? I can’t do that. I tried once and it felt even worse than anything i could ever imagine. I felt so...pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic, johnny. You’re far from it. You’re someone. You’re someone’s someone.”

“Am I your someone?”

I straightened up quickly. “M-my someone? I-I just meant like-”

“Or do you have someone?” His grip on the notebook grew tighter as his lips turned into a thin line. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I just-ignore what I said, please.”

This was the part in our routine where the train came and I left him. I really wasn’t sure what to say. I had been someone’s someone before. Someone's that never lasted, never cared, never let me live. Romantic someones. But who was Johnny’s someone? I was the only friend he had. When he couch hopped after he was evicted he had friends-until they got tired of him not being able to find work. I considered us friends, better than those people who left him. But what could I do?

“I gotta go…” I said just as soft as he had the first time I gave him money.

He never responded and I got on the train that day feeling strange. I was lucky enough to grab a seat and as I sat down and squeezed my purse to my chest I wondered what he felt. It couldn’t be love or anything like that. That was preposterous. I liked him as a friend, as someone I talked to everyday, as someone I had gone accustomed to. But what if he had grown too attached to me? Was that healthy for him? He was always hiding behind a smile. There wasn’t really telling what level his mental health was on. He could see me as someone to cling to and maybe if I left him his heart would be broken. I wanted him to find success on his own. Of course, I would support him but I didn’t want to be a crutch.

I rubbed my forehead as I felt a tension headache starting to come through. I was overthinking this. He just needed a friend, I was his friend, end of story. He was a genuine person but there wasn’t any way I could be interested in him like that. It just wouldn’t work. I felt a little bad thinking that but it is what it is. We were just friends.

June 2

17 days. I hadn’t seen him for 17 days. I worried so much that sometimes I would cry at night for him, which surprised me. It was normal to be worried for a friend but to cry? I guess it couldn’t be helped. He could be dead. He could be gutted somewhere and no one would find him. He wouldn’t even be able to have a funeral. He would stay forgotten like he was afraid to be. I wish I could call him, speak with him, hell even send him a letter. Anything that would let me know he was okay. Alive and as well as he could be.

I curled up on my side and pulled my thin bed sheet over me. The rain outside had made the city much colder. What if he was stuck in the rain? What if he couldn’t find anywhere to hide? Silent tears continued to fall down my face and as a lightning bolt struck I fell into another cycle of scary thoughts. “Please…” I hiccuped. “Please just give me a sign that he’s okay.” I said out loud to my darkened bedroom. It was some sort of prayer. Not a religious one but something for the universe to hear. I hoped the wind could help my words travel. Spin and turn and twirl around buildings, weave through people, and finally fall on Johnny’s ears.

June 7

I dropped my coffee onto the platform. The milky brown liquid swam into cracks and splattered onto shined leather shoes and heels. The expletives and damnations fell on deaf ears. I couldn’t believe it. I ran to him, crashing into his chest and forcing him to take a step back. “What the-?” He realized it was me then and his tension relaxed. His large hand fell on top of my head and I heard his heartbeat increase against my ear. “Hey beautiful stranger.”

I pulled away and landed a punch to his bicep. “What the hell is wrong with you?! I haven’t seen you in weeks! I was so fuckin-”

He pressed a finger to his lips, shushing me before he giggled. “You’re making everyone think you’re crazy. Calm down.”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down!” I pouted and looked away as my eyes watered. I blinked the tears away quickly and sniffed. “I was just worried.” I said quietly. “I didn’t know where you were or if you were hurt…”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I’m not used to people caring this much.” He set his keyboard case against the wall and his backpack on the ground. He hunkered down and unzipped it, pulling out the blanket he always sat on, only this time it was a lot cleaner. He opened it up and laid it on the platform before sitting down and patting the space beside him. I quickly joined him and pouted.

“You made me drop my coffee.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s say I owe you one, ok?”

“Where did you even go?”

“Well, I got word of this place that helps homeless people try and get jobs. So I got one but it was temporary. Nothing really came of it even though I showed up everyday on time and did what I needed to do. It was bullshit. I made some money though and even slept in a motel. It was awesome.”

“Motel’s have phones, you know.”

“Yes but Johnny’s doesn't have beautiful stranger’s phone numbers.”

“Hush.” I nudged him, knowing that he was right. “Give me your notebook and I’ll write it down.”

He reached into his bag and dug around for it before squinting at me. “You’re trying to see what i've written, aren't you?”

“Me? No! This is for emergencies! My phone number, you know!”

“Then tell me it, I’ll write it down myself.” He hunched over the notebook and made sure I couldn’t see anything.

I giggled and leaned over his back, trying to reach for it. “Johnnnyyyy! Come on! Just let me see it once! Have you finished the song?!"

He turned his head and because I was so close his lips stopped mere centimeters before mine. He sat silent and contemplating and yet I was the first to pull away. "S-sorry." I said meekly.

"No, no. It's okay. I was...um…" He held out his notebook and the pen and I jotted my number down quickly.

"Don't forget me now, ok?"

"I won't ever forget you. I thought about you all the time. I had this stupid dream that you waited for me here everyday." He laughed solemnly. "Its kind of dumb."

"I did, on occasion, for as long as I could before I had to get on the train. Sometimes I waited for a bit when I got off work."

"Really?" Johnny's eyes widened in shock.

I nodded. "I don't know...I was just worried but I said that already."

"It makes me happy that you care. Really happy." He smiled for just a second as it quickly turned into a frown. "The train's here. I dont want you to miss it."

"I'm not going to work."

"What do you mean? You have to. I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Eh, I'll call in sick or something. I think I want to spend the day with you." I said.

"With me? What the hell for? You wanna sit on a dirty ground until your ass goes numb?"

"No I want to eat, go to the park, maybe get some ice cream….with you."

He sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I haven't really done anything like that in ages. Just spending the day having fun."

"Then let me remind you, Johnny. Come have fun with me."

"I can't…" He replied. "I don't have much money left."

"I don't care about that. I'll treat you."

"No." He said sternly.

"Johnny, it's ok. I don't mind."

"I don't want you wasting your money on me."

"It's not wasting money when you're with a friend. Were friends, right? I mean we better be since I've talked to you almost every day for like 2 months."

"Yeah, we were friends but…"

"No buts. Please?" I held onto his arm and leaned my head on his shoulder making comically puppy dog eyes and pouting. "Please?"

"Ok. I'll do it. But only if you stop looking at me like that."

"That's my "i get what I want" face. It never worked once on my mom. Glad it worked on you." I bounced to my feet and held out my hand to help him up. He grabbed it and hauled himself up before stuffing the blanket back in his bag. "Your stuff must be heavy. Do you want to drop it off at my place?"

"Your place? Your house? Like me, go where you live?" Johnny asked as if he was frightened.

"Yes? What's wrong with that?"

"You trust me enough to do that?"

"Well youre not gonna murder me are you? If you were I'm sure you would have done it a hell of a lot sooner."

"No, im not going to murder you." Johnny replied as he rolled his eyes. "Just that...the last time i was at a friends house i was getting kicked out."

"I'm not kicking you out, I'm inviting you in, silly." I took his hand in mine and tugged on it just a little. "Come on."

He grabbed his belongings and followed as I led him out of the subway station. This was the first time I had seen him outside, in the sunlight that beamed through the city pollution. He was even more beautiful to me now. His skin glowed like warm amber and his eyes had honeyed as the light refracted through them. I had always thought he was good looking but why did he seem so ethereal now? I almost missed the stoop to my apartment from staring at him for so long. I hoped he hadn't noticed. "It's here," I announced to not only to stop myself from being a creep but to alert Johnny that he almost walked too far as well.

I set the key in the lock of the front door and opened it, allowing him to walk through first. After three torturous flights of stairs we arrived at my tiny apartment that seemed like a room more than anything. "Well...this is it. Sorry it's not great or anything."

"It's amazing." He set his keyboard and backpack down and looked around in bewilderment, like he had never seen a home before. "It's cool that you have your own place."

"Rent is not cool. And neither are utility bills." I joked. "City living is shit."

Johnny shrugged. "Expenses aside it's not too bad. I lived in the suburbs as a kid and came to the city for school."

"I've lived here all my life and I'm still over it."

He chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets. "So...we're here. My stuffs here...what do we do?"

"Do you want to freshen up or something? If you have clothes to wash I can do that for you."

Johnny looked down at his outfit; faded and torn jeans, a dull grey-green shirt, and a hoodie tied around his waist. "Oh." He bent his feet on their sides and rocked a little. "I guess I should look somewhat better if we're gonna go out together."

"You look fine! I just meant if you wanted to shower or something! I'm assuming it's kind of a luxury?" I winced at my words, hoping I didn't sound offensive.

"Better than me bending over a sink in a mcdonald's bathroom that's for sure. But if you're offering then that would be pretty cool. You don't have to wash my stuff though. I'd feel weird if you'd do all that for me."

"It's nothing," I shrugged. "Just leave your clothes outside the bathroom door. Do you have any other clothes in your backpack?"

"Uh.. " He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously. "Dirty underwear."

"Oh please." I waved it off. "Use whatever you want and I'll load the laundry as you shower."

"Well...alright…" He kicked off his shoes and carefully walked towards the direction of the bathroom as if he was still too scared to be here. I made sure he had everything he needed before I grabbed the clothes he took off and left outside the bathroom door. After, I went to his bag to get the rest of the laundry. I set his blanket aside as I figured I'd wash that as well before finding his underwear and some socks. While rifling through his bag I saw his notebook and temptation struck. I could read it. I could find out what he thought about me, what he wrote about me, the songs or poems he created. But I didn't.

June 7, evening

First we got breakfast. It was a little more advanced than the normal bagels and coffee we exchanged; pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast. He scarfed it down in minutes, trying not to talk in between bites though he wanted to tell me all his adventures. He didn't stop hustling even as he worked. Once he clocked out he put away his nicer clothes in exchange for his normal ragged jeans and t-shirt and went onto street corners and other stations to play.

That area wasn't as bustling as it was here. Occasionally people would stop to listen to him and he once earned 20 bucks in one week. A new record, he said. He was proud of that. Proud to have an audience, to capture people's attention again. To feel like someone. But still not someone's someone. That phrase had resonated with him since I said it. I hadn't even given thought to the impact it would bring. Words just flowed freely when I was around him and I felt every syllable. He wanted to find the person he could be someone for. Maybe magically while he was playing on the street or bumping into them on the sidewalk. He was a bit of a romantic and said if he were to ever star in a movie he'd want to in a romantic comedy.

Goofy. A klutzy little thing. Giggling and tripping on air as we trailed along the park after breakfast. I thought about holding his hand. His fingers had become a fascination to me. Piano fingers. Stretching across keys from pinky to thumb. Hands that seemed warm to the touch but when I brushed against him they were cold as ice. He said he was always cold no matter what the temperature was, like his body couldn't produce enough heat to save his life. It contrasted to my constant warmth and I offered him my hand to feel.

My previous thoughts had come true as he took my hands in his. Mine seemed to disappear beneath his fingers and while I focused on our skinship he was gushing about our temperature differences. My heart skipped a beat. A millisecond off rhythm yet alarming enough for me to realize that his charm and sweetness was deadly. The beats continued to be off as he dropped my hands yet remained as close as possible to me. What did he have to talk about? Everything. Anything. He just wanted to be heard. I couldn't focus on anything but him and that was a problem.

I took his picture by the small pond of the park. He outstretched his arms and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and shouting "I'm the king of the world!" as if he were on the titanic. It took several tries for him to be serious enough for me to get a steady picture and in the end he opted for a picture of us together. He had the longer arms so of course he held the phone out, thumb poised above the circle button as we got into our pose. I leaned my head close to his chest and made a small peace sign. Our smiles captured our summer ridiculousness and preciousness of our moments together.

I told him when he was able to get a phone I would send it to him so he could have it too. He had wanted to keep his old phone, even without the service, to look back on the things he'd done and people he spent time with but when the feelings got to be too much to bear and the money was scarce he sold it. He missed it. He liked taking pictures. Scenery, his friends, dogs especially. He went wild for all the dogs walking around the park. He always asked the owners if he could pet them. He was like a kid at the zoo, all excited for cuteness and rough licks. Sometimes I would have to tear him away from them as I could sense the owner's irritations of how long he wanted to stay with their pets.

Ice-ys were next; the cold semi solid that wasn't quite ice cream but soft enough to melt in your mouth the moment it touched your tongue. They were doused with saccharine sweetness that I'm sure was from corn syrup but made them delicious nonetheless. I told him my own stories of how when i was young i HAD to get rainbow flavored. My mom always asked what the rainbow tasted like (technically cherry but dyed in different colors) but i always made up some imaginative mystery flavor that changed each time. He liked my memories. Said they brought about his own. When he was happy with his mother, always following her and never leaving her side. He was a mama's boy and wasn't afraid to admit it. I thought that was cute. Supposedly mama's boys were supposed to treat women better though i wasn't sure how true that was. We walked along the rest of the park until we reached the playground. It was beaming with children but in the waves of screams and giggles we found solace on a pair of swings.

We swayed back and forth gently, finishing our ice-ys. I had upgraded my rainbow flavor for the definitely more adult flavor of coconut while he chose something akin to cotton candy. The breeze rolled in making suffering in the summer heat a little less miserable. But as the sun set and the night grew cooler I jumped at the idea of heading to one of my favorite bars.

"A bar? Holy shit." He laughed as if it was some magical land. "Getting shitfaced sounds great right about now." It was only because he was riding on the wave of happiness after being so long in the dark. That perfect smile was genuine now, no longer a facade to hide his pain. He wasn't much of a partier in college but when he did go he went all out. He was Mr. Social Butterfly, spinning around from girl to girl or high fiving friends and strangers. Sometimes he would get lucky. "Ah, sorry…" he was abashed now. "I probably shouldn't talk about that. Makes me sound like a fuck boy."

I shrugged. "We all have our hoe moments."

We both laughed at my comments and slipped inside the semi dim bar. It was more of a music venue. Bands would play calming music and it had a chill vibe. There was rarely a time where someone acted out and it was honestly the best place to relax at. Johnny loved the music as soon as it met his ears. It was jazzy, bassy, paired with smooth vocals of a woman whose abundance of curls sat like a royal crown on her head. He started to sway a bit while I turned to the bartender and ordered us two beers. "Do you want to go sit at that table?" I nodded in the direction of a corner that was just barely illuminated by a hazy purple light. He agreed and we made our way over, sitting down and beginning to sip away our troubles.

I couldn't even remember how long we stayed there. We were way past the amount of alcohol we should have had and our conversation turned into nothing but giggle fits and touching. My hand would meet his and hed stroke the back of it or entwine our fingers until the intimate moment made him back away. I didn't mind it at all. I was starting to fall in love with his fingers. As my eyes closed to soak in the music I could see his fingers trailing over my naked body as he kissed a heated traill against my skin. I came crashing down instantly to pull myself from that thought. What the hell was that? Why would I even think of such a thing? It was the alcohol. Of course it was. I always had the potential of getting handsy when I drank. It was a logical explanation to an illogical thought.

"I should uh, get going." He chuckled softly. "I had a really nice time today though. Amazing even." His eyes smiled at me and my heart dropped into my stomach. No. Please dont look at me like that. With those eyes I've seen cry and think and pray for a better day. I tried to make today that day and seemed to have succeeded but I didn't want to let him go.

I shook my head quickly. "You're not going back to the subway station. No way."

"Well i have to get my stuff back at your place but i have to go back sometime."

"No...stay…" i thought that he hadn't heard me over the music and the nearby conversations but he had.

"Stay? With you in your apartment?" There he was with those incredulous questions, shocked at caring gestures that i'm sure had underlying selfishness.

I nodded this time. "I don't mind. I want you to stay tonight."

"I...uh…" he wanted to protest. It was easy to see but his mouth snapped shut and he wouldn't look me in the eye. He returned my nod, keeping his head down.

I slid out of the chair, standing on wobbly feet and extended my hand towards him. He took it and our swaying bodies made our way outside only to be smacked by a torrential downpour. It was a full on waterfall from the sky and Johnny and I were soaked in seconds. I frantically looked around for some sort of shelter as the bar was hitting towards closing time. Around the corner was the back door to the bar that was barely covered by an awning. I dragged Johnny towards it and we plastered ourselves together, shivering harshly. "What should we do?!" He asked.

It was almost hard to hear him through the rush of rain. "We can't walk to the subway and take the train. We'd be soaked even more!" I realized that we weren't even an inch apart when he looked at me, searching for a normal solution to our current problem while I zeroed in on his lips.

He licked them like a nervous habit. "Do you have enough for an uber?"

"I should!" I had paid a semi hefty amount for our plethora of drinks but i was sure i could afford it. Johnny hovered over me, trying to assist in protecting my phone from any water that might fall on it as I tapped open the app. I could feel the soft puffs of breath he produced against my cheek and it was like he was even closer to me if it were possible. "It's about ten minutes away." I said softly.

"C-cool." He replied through chattering teeth. "We seriously need to get warm."

I swallowed hard. "Y-yeah. Maybe some coffee will help sober us up when we get back to my place."

"Sobering up is good. We should definitely do that." He chuckled.

We fell silent. I could hear my heart thundering and feel Johnny's as I pressed my hand to his chest. He became curious at my actions and with a tilt of his head confidence washed over me as hard as the rain had. The moment our lips met he cupped my face in his large hands, holding me as if he would never dare to let go. We were hungry for each other. Desperate for our tongues to meld and lips to tear into moments that would freeze in time. I fisted his soaked shirt in my hands before they snaked around his neck while his fell to my hips. Fingertips dug into my jeans like he was clawing at me. I was lost in him and it wasn't until the buzzing of my phone broke us apart. The driver had messaged me that he was in front of the bar and was ready to go.

Johnny cleared his throat but stayed quiet as he walked into the rain again and slid into the car, soaking the poor driver's backseat. As the ride progressed I looked over at Johnny but he was focused on staring at the blurry city lights outside the window. My mind was suddenly plagued with thoughts of him feeling potentially regretful. But he had initiated it and I reciprocated...was that bad?

By the time we arrived at my apartment it was no longer a torrent but still quite heavy. We ran as fast as we could to get inside. Our bones were still trembling but he went to the bathroom while I went to my room to discard the clothes that were now stuck like a second skin. I left him some oversized sweats that I had for him to put on while I shuffled quickly into a hoodie and shorts. While I waited for him to finish getting dressed, I started on two cups of instant decaf. Just as they finished and I was heading towards my couch Johnny sat down and graciously took the mug from me. After a few sips we both gained warmth but still felt the awkward presence that lingered between us from our interrupted kiss.

He started the conversation we both didn't seem to want to have. "I'm sorry about the kiss. I crossed a line and-"

"I wanted it." I cut him off. "This whole day...i-i don't know what it is about you but there's something. At the bar when we touched, on the swings at the park, listening to all your memories. I don't know what to think about you anymore."

His mouth hung open and he stared at me like a wide eyed rabbit. "I uh...um…you dont-we shouldn't…" He seemed to have no idea how to form the words he wanted to say but when i heard the negative conjunction my stomach started to twist into knots. "I'm not good for you."

"Says who?" I scoffed.

"You know i'm not. You don't need someone like me. You need someone who can take care of you and support you. I'm a good for nothing."

"Shut up." I snapped. "I've never thought of you like that."

"Yes you have. When we first met. You wanted to ignore me. You thought I was a nuisance. You can't lie to me about that. I know that feeling all too well."

He was right. I had felt that initially but it had been so long that it seemed like it never existed in my mind. "You're right but i don't think that now, Johnny. And if i say i want you then i want you." I set my coffee cup down again and scooted closer to him but he backed away instantly.

"Please...don't do this. I can't handle something like this. It's…"

I took his hand in mind and looked into his eyes, silently begging him to see what I saw in him. He was going to be someone's someone...perhaps even mine…

His voice was trembling and he pulled away from me to cover his face. I couldn't bear to see him cry again but if he truly didn't want me then there was nothing I could do except hurt in secret. "I don't want something good to come into my life then leave again…" He said after swallowing his fear.

"I wouldn't leave you...you said I see you remember?" I laid my head on his shoulder and took his hand back to fold our fingers together. "You're as bright as the sun."

"Only when I'm with you. I feel so human it's insane."

"Will you please stay with me tonight? I'd worry so much if you left now." I said softly.

Johnny still seemed hesitant but he had relaxed more as he felt our skin against each other. "O-okay. I'll stay but um...should i just sleep on the couch?"

I looked up at him and chuckled. "Well...i wouldn't mind continuing what we started at the bar...in my room." The remnants of the alcohol had made me a bit bold but I wanted him to continue with his emotions of humanity. I wanted us to feel each other like we both needed something so desperately to hold onto. That vision I had at the bar had replayed in my mind a few times since we had gotten home and I couldn't seem to shake the need. To have his body against mine, to feel him inside me, so deep he could rut into my heart and see the bubbling culmination of confusion that had been brewing there. I too was scared but willing to share a sliver of passion and end to hopelessness.

Johnny returned my giggles and tried not to look at me. "It's been awhile. It's gonna be so bad. Like really bad."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. It's been awhile for me too so we can both be awkward about it." I found a smidge of comfort in his lack of confidence. At least we shared that in the moment.

"Fuck…" He breathed out. "You really want me?"

"Stop finding it so hard to believe that you’re worth attention and attraction and...um...well...sex." The shyness was definitely hitting now.

He set an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me to him. "You're insane, you know that?"

"You can keep your wrong opinions to yourself, mister. But in all seriousness if you don't want to, i understand." The sudden realization that I was perhaps pressuring him hit and I began to backpedal. I was coming on too strong, too hooked on the physical though still tethered to the emotional. Maybe I was in too deep. The uncertainty was getting unbearable at this point.

"N-no, um,...it's cool. Yeah, uh, let's do...it." he laughed nervously.

I was the first to stand up and led him to my room. He followed a few paces behind, still cautious but when we got under the covers to face each other it seemed to ease both our souls. It was the biggest sense of comfort to be beside him. His long limbs wrapped around me and the coziness of my comforter provided the perfect amount of warmth to the echoes of our icy skin. When our lips finally met again it was almost as if they had never separated in the first place. Our breaths were shared between our tongues and I clutched onto him. He let out the softest of moans when he shifted me onto my back and my fingers dug into his shoulder blades more.

With our bodies plastered together the urge to see him naked took over and I slowly began to move my hands down his back and beneath his shirt. He jerked away, a little breathless but alarmed. "Can i uh...keep my shirt on?"

No man had ever asked me that before. "What? Why?"

"I’m kinda like...scrawny now and i'm pretty sure i don't look as good as i used to."

"O-oh...well if it makes you feel better though i think you look handsome."

He dove his head into the crook of my neck disguising his embarrassment with fragile kisses. I could feel how weak his body was but I didn't care. I would take care of him now. I never wanted to see the look on his face like when he felt so defeated and hesitant to take that bagel from me. I turned my head slightly to press my lips to his forehead and comb my fingers through his damp hair. "But," I continued. "You can do whatever you feel most comfortable with."

He nodded and settled against my chest, curling against my side and starting to rub the soft flesh of my stomach. With just a tilt of his head he connected us again only this time we were much slower. A tingle slithered up my spine as I felt his fingers trickle downward to pry beneath my shorts. I swallowed hard and spread my thighs, allowing his hand more room to work. Our eyes met and shared the tentativeness as the first of his fingers worked a minuscule stroke between my lower lips. I sighed softly as I sunk back onto the mattress and willed my body to relax, to accept the fact that he was almost too pure to corrupt. He was ready for it and spent his time gauging all of my reactions to his wandering fingers.

Whimpers and mewls followed the curious curls of his fingertips within me. His exploring was trying to find spots that increased those sounds yet he seemed to miss the mark each time. Gently I grabbed a hold of his wrist with one hand and guided the flow of his fingers with the other. With each command he grew accustomed to what I desired until I was gripping onto his sweatshirt with the prospect of an orgasm. "I want to make you feel so good…" he said so faintly i almost didn't hear it but when i caught the words i nodded quickly and arched my back slightly to create a pathway for more intense and deeper penetration. "I-is it o-okay if i make you wait a little longer?"

At first I only cracked one eye open, annoyed at the fact that his fingers were slowing down but then I saw the burning crimson across his cheeks. "Is it because you want to do it together?"

He gave me the smallest of nods. "If we can…"

I could accept his offer for trying to sync our orgasms though I was sure it might be nearly impossible given our natural biology. However, it meant more intimacy between him and I wanted that more than anything. I told him it was alright and he pulled his fingers out slowly, admiring the way I had coated them, already having been excited from our kisses. Meanwhile I rummaged through the drawer of my nightstand to find the few condoms I had scattered across the bottom of it. They had been forgotten but not expired thankfully. "Do you want me to help you or…?"

Johnny's head snapped up and his eyes zeroed in on the foil. He snatched it up quickly and turned away from me to fumble through rolling the condom on. Before I could even see him he was under the covers but had thrown his sweatpants aside. "Have you always been this shy?" I asked and I slipped in beside him.

"No. I was more confident before. Now i just...i don't know."

"You're not going to mess up or anything. I just want to feel you. I don't care about having some perfect experience. Sex should’nt be about perfection it should be about bringing us closer."

"Stop saying things like that or else i'm gonna fall in love with you." His eyes widened and he started to stumble over an excuse but I pulled him in for a kiss while my hand stroked over him, the lube from the condom making it easier. Faint moans fell onto my tongue in between small gasps of breaths. He felt different then what I thought he would. Though his body looked fragile he seemed to fill up my hand completely. Small doubts pricked at my mind and I wondered if I could even accept all of him.

"Will you go slow at first?" I wondered out loud.

Johnny brows furrowed as my thumb swiped over the ridge of his head and back down again. "Of course. I'll do-" A hitch caught his throat and he quickly fisted the comforter. "I'll do whatever you want."

I pumped my hand faster, watching him crumble and tremble at every sensation. His face was a vision of beauty even through his slender features. The way those hues of pink and crimson still stained his olive cheeks was the cutest and complimented the rose of his lips, now coated with his tongue and glistening. And suddenly his front teeth dug into his bottom lip in the least sexiest way possible but it was so unbelievably adorable I couldn't help but smile. Here we were, trying to fuse our bodies together somehow and all i could think about was how much i was starting to never want him to leave. I didn't want him to go back to a dingy subway and suffer. I wanted him to stay in my arms, against my lips, inside me, caressing my face and looking at me with those warm honey eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

Where along the lines had I fallen for him? When had he become the person that made my heart swell so much i felt like i couldn't breathe? Months ago I couldn't be bothered with him and now he was all I craved.

"Y-you're staring at me…" he whispered.

My hand had apparently stopped stroking and I had rested my chin on his chest as I watched the emotions ebb and flow across his face. I perked my head up and exchanged glances between his face and my hand still wrapped around his shaft. "O-oh...uh…'' I was embarrassed now and panicking about what I should do. I had definitely taken all traces of sexiness from the moment as well. "S-sorry. I was being weird and didn't realize…"

"I mean, it still felt pretty good i just wasn't sure why you were staring...Do i look weird or something?"

I quickly shook my head. "N-no...the opposite. I think you're gorgeous."

He scoffed and looked away quickly. "Shouldn't i be saying that to you?"

I threaded my free hand through his hair and giggled. "I don't know...guess we can say it to each other. I know it's true on my end."

Johnny sighed softly and took my hand away from him. Instead he placed a kiss across the back of my knuckles before scooting onto his side to tug at my pajama shorts. We worked through groping limbs and almost hitting each other because we couldn't decide if he was going to take them off or was I. Trying to do it together was a mess but I was finally released and tossed my shirt along with them. "Oh wow." Was all he said and I quickly crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"A good wow?"

He nodded and beamed at me as he pulled me close. "Come here."

I fell into his arms and felt the squeezing hold around me. I clutched at his shirt as he slowly shifted on top of me. Instinctively I settled my legs on the outside of his hips. Soon I could feel him prodding against me as if he needed a map to find my entrance. He apologized as his shaky hand moved between us to guide his head in. I tried to hide my grunt of discomfort but he stopped immediately like a prey facing its hunter. "Am i hurting you?!"

I rubbed his back gently to reassure him. "No, I just need to get used to it all. Don't worry, you're fine."

He nodded again, falling silent and giving me moments in between to rest. It seemed like hours but eventually he ventured inside all the way and I could feel the sudden heaviness in my lower stomach. My eyes fluttered shut and my head arched back against the pillow as his lips comforted my neck with kisses and careless whispers, anything to divert my attention to pleasure. His thrusts were miniscule and cautious- perfectly matching his outward personality. Everything he did turned my body to jello and soon he could thrust freely and take my breath away.

That was it. We were finally lost to the outside world and could only feel each other. Our lips seemed glued together and Johnny had preferred our hands to be enveloped in lieu of digging into his shoulders. Our palms exchanged nervous sweats while conservative moans circled around our heads like buzzing bees to honey. It almost felt like our hearts were on the same rhythm too-fast and excited, strained with keeping blood flowing to the minimal space between us. His hips were pumping faster now, a pace i didn't expect but figured he was trying to chase his own sense of pleasure. And I wanted him to. I kind of forgot about my body and what I was "supposed" to feel. Instead I shut my eyes and relaxed my soul letting him plow away at emotions and pleasures. I was floating and I wanted to stay in this magical place forever.

His breaths became shallower, his groans hiccuped in his throat and he choked out an apology. He shuddered under the weight of release and I felt the warmth flow against my walls. I smiled when he collapsed on top of me, trying to regain himself yet snuggling against my chest. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"It felt nice…" i said rather truthfully. Perfectly imperfect.

"Yeah but...that- that's not how this is supposed to go. I'm supposed to make sure that you cum. I wanted you to feel good."

"And i do feel good. I swear it. I just want you here with me."

"Why are you so damn sweet? You shouldn't be like that. You'll get hurt."

"Oh and you're planning to hurt me?" I questioned.

That instantly toned him down. "No...im sorry...my head is...i wanted you to…" He gave up trying to express himself and laid back down on my chest. I kissed his forehead and adjusted the covers over us keeping us wrapped in a tight cocoon. "You're scaring me shitless, you know that?" Johnny whispered.

"Why's that?"

"Because I definitely have feelings for you now."

June 8th

The sun came and went and so did Johnny.

July 4th

I stared up at the fireworks that exploded into various colors and patterns. My friends were giggling and trying to talk over the noise but I didn't hear anything at all. My world had been silent for over a month now. I had slipped back into the same routine I had started months ago. Crying at night, hoping and praying that he was okay. A whole month had gone without a single sight or word from him. It was like he disappeared into thin air. Sometimes it felt like I almost dreamed him up. There were days where I actually believed he didn't exist. Had I shown the world some crazy side of me born from true loneliness? If Johnny was real then i definitely knew how he felt now. Putting on a happy face while inside your heart brewed dark and stormy clouds.

I would stare at his spot at the subway station as if it was a grave, only a sight for memories and nothing more. That was all he ever would be now. And unfortunately I realized too late that I loved him.

August 23

I hate him.

I hate him so fucking much.

He won't get out of my head.

Leave me alone.

I can't want you anymore.

You're not here.

You're not real.

You're gone.

September 2nd

Trying to move on was impossible but goddammit i tried. A few sparse dates here and there but I became so uninterested. Men were so grating and irritating and even the most normal and respectful man turned into a piece of paper I wanted to crumple up and step on. Most of the day I would spend looking out the window, imagining a world different from my own. Random couples on the street were replaced with Johnny and I. It was pathetic and I was starting to hate my own damn self.

My friends had noticed how gray I had become and eventually their attempts to cheer me up or get me dates dwindled. They thought I wasn't fun anymore. I would catch them giving me dirty stares or rolling their eyes, never texting me again. I was a downer, i knew that but i had never told anyone what had happened between Johnny and I.

We were a secret. I didn't want us to be a secret but it just happened that way. No one knew that a homeless man had taken my heart for a whirlwind adventure.

November 30

You have one new voicemail

"H-hey, it's me. Uhh...well i know i haven't spoken to you in awhile. I haven't spoken to you at all actually. Um...t-that night, you know when we….you know, what i said was true and i got scared. Really fucking scared. I don't want to be with you until i'm good enough. That's the least you deserve.

Uh, well um...so a-anyway i just wanted to let you know i'm okay. I finally got the balls to make this call. I was afraid you wouldn't answer because you don't know this number. It's my mom's number. I somehow managed to make it to Chicago. I'm staying with them. I haven't told them about school or anything. Just lied and said i was taking a semester off to reevaluate my major-whatever fucking lie that was. I don't want to rely on them forever but I don't really know what to do once I leave either. I'll go back to being a piece of shit haha.

But anyway i'm okay, you know. Well i mean, now you do know because i just told you and- nevermind. Um...i'll try and call more often, okay? I would say i promise but...i seem to break those a lot. I know i hurt you but it's for the best this way, just for now. But I'm gonna get where I need to be. Just wait for me….please."

December 7

I didn’t torture myself with listening to the voicemail more than twice. I didn't erase it. I just left it and trained myself to ignore the fact that it was there. After all i had finally stopped crying myself to sleep yet this set me back majorly. I wanted to get back on track. Every time i thought i was close to moving on something minuscule happened-only this time a simple voicemail was earth shattering.

I stared up at the ceiling, another night alone in my otherwise empty bed. The tv was on low so i wouldn't feel like my apartment was empty. I thought about sneaking a cat in here once. Just to have some sort of company. I couldn't technically have pets but I would find a way. I was sure there was some cat just as lonely as I was hiding from the cold that I could take care of. I just had to pour my feelings into something more positive. Yeah. I could do that. Yeah...

I turned onto my side and closed my eyes, listening to the sitcom that filtered in. Zeroing on the conversation and fake laugh track actually put my mind at ease and for the first time in a long time i had fallen into a deep sleep.

December 16

Still hadn't found a cat, which sucked. I didn't blame them. The snow was getting worse. Inches thick and causing all kinds of dirty ice walls to appear along the side walks after being plowed. I didn’t have to face any of that today. It was my day off and thankfully I could curl up on my couch for hours on end. I started to surf through a pet finder website hoping that it might be better than going on a wild goose chase. Putting all my effort into searching for something that I could care for really helped. It was like its own version of therapy. I hunkered down more under the blankets, fluffing the pillow beneath my head to get more comfortable on my couch. I had taken on a smile as I saw a sweet kitten pop up on my search. She seemed perfect and I was instantly enamored by her bright green eyes. A saving grace.

Three raps pulled me out of my comfort zone and I tilted my head up wondering if it was my apartment door getting banged on or someone else's. The apartments were so close together it could truly be confusing at times, especially with the echoes from the hallway. I heard it again and decided to check anyway. I didn't expect anyone though sometimes my aunt did send me packages for christmas. Could just be the mail guy.

I sighed as I left my warm nest and swung open the door. "Hello?"

His hand was raised as he was about to knock again but he slowly lowered his fist. He smiled, a nervous smile, which tugged at the split skin of his lip where dried blood had crusted. I could only read his expression through one eye as the other was swollen shut and decorated with ghastly purples and greens. He wiped his nose of blood and runniness from the winds that had been chipping at his exposed face. I had no idea what to do or say, if i should move or not. He didn't seem to either but streaks of silent tears were already falling. Then i noticed something more astounding than his beat up face- the fact that he didn't have his keyboard with him.

I quietly stepped aside and let him in. His pants and shoes were soaked from trudging through the snow and I could tell he was freezing. I was just about to tell him that he needed to get out of them when he collapsed on his knees in front of me. He held onto my waist tightly, shoving his face into my stomach as loud sobs wracked through him. I pulled off his beanie and petted his hair back, keeping his head close and not caring that the lower part of my shirt was now stained with sadness and smudges of blood.

He passed out after that, unexpectedly, and I had to drag him to my room and set him in my bed so he could at least sleep comfortably. I had tons of questions but for right now i had to focus on getting him into dry clothes and cleaning up his wounds as best as i could. He looked like he had gotten his ass kicked and badly. Johnny didn't seem to be the type that would get into a fight so it worried me more. Once I tucked him in I made sure to put an ice pack over his eye in hope that the swelling would go down and he'd be able to open it soon. I wasn't going to get anything out of him now so i left him to rest. Just when I thought I could leave him in my past he had a terrible way of showing up again.

December 17

He slept for over 12 hours and though he was starving he had to chew a bit slower due to his injuries. We hadn't said anything since he had woken up and I had plated him some breakfast and coffee. I was over being patient but I knew I had to wait for him. Besides i had a multitude of emotions i had to decide which to start with; the anger of leaving me for months, the pain from him saying he wouldn't hurt me, the worry i had for the state of his being, the love that shattered my heart every aching moment i looked at him, and somehow the small pockets of lust that wanted me to love him harder than anyone ever had before.

When the last bite of pancakes were gone he took a final sip of coffee and sighed. "I got mugged." He stated flatly.

Ok, one question answered.

"I uh...i left Chicago around mid-September, figured i couldn't really ride on the college lie with my parents anymore. I also felt like I was bumming off their money and I hated that. When i got back here i tried to busk in different areas but winters are always the harshest. It's too cold to want to play, people are rushing to get home and stay warm. If i could have negative zero dollars in my pocket that's what i have. I'm dead broke. But i kept trying and uh…" His voice wavered and he cleared his throat quickly to push back tears. "Two nights ago, i was trying to find a place to sleep in the park and i got mugged. They took….they took my keyboard and my backpack and now I really have nothing. I didn't know where else to go so if you want me gone i get it. I honestly exp-"

The worry came first and then sadness and then the heartbreak. I rushed to squeeze him tight. I reciprocated the tears he left behind yesterday and it seemed like they would never stop. Johnny cradled the back of my head and sighed softly against my ear. "God, I've missed you so so much."

"Why d-did you leave!!?"

"You know why!" He pulled away to cup my face in his hands. "I told you, i wanted to take care of you and be in a better place before we got together."

I shoved at his chest and growled. "Yeah and look where it got you! You dont have shit and you come back after months of me not knowing where you were! This is the second time I thought you were dead. I've cried night after night for you! It felt like I could barely function without you! You made my life a living hell for the past six months and here you are at my door looking like a punching bag and I," my voice cracked and went up an octave. "And i still love you…"

"You know ive never ever wanted to hurt you. I want us to have a life together." His thumbs wiped away my tears and he crushed me to his chest once more. "You're the most amazing person i've ever met. I just want to be good for you."

"I should beat you up just for saying that. Just fucking shut up with that shit already. You are good enough for me because i fucking say so!"

"No I'm not! I can't do anything for you!"

"You can fucking love me, you complete fucking idiot!!"

"I do love you! I was scared because I was in love with you! I was scared you'd abandoned me like everyone else! I was scared that I would get my hopes up too high! I was scared that I could never get my shit together! I'm always scared!!! Always!"

We realized that our shouting wasn't even a fight at all, just frustrated feelings that needed to be expressed yet still held passion.

Suddenly I started laughing, leaving Johnny confused until he started laughing too. We were both crybabies who desperately wanted each other. No, now I needed him. Relationships were supposed to be 50/50 but even though I carried the burden of 100% I would help him get back on his feet until we could get to that even level. "You're not some pet project or charity or a nuisance. You made me fall in love with you by just being you. You're my musician, my goofball, my excited idiot that loves puppies in the park, the person that listens to me. I won't pretend to understand everything you've gone through but please Johnny...its okay to ask for help, even when help has failed you before. Believe in the fact that I want you here. I want you to stay here and i'm going to help you."

"I'll make up for it. I'll do chores, laundry, groceries, whatever you need from me." He said and I realized that he wasn't fighting me anymore. "And i'll get a job as soon as i can. I want to...i want to get a new keyboard even though it can't replace the one i've lost."

"You know what, I can accept that. I'm always too tired after work to do shit. And I can use the help."

"Ok, ok i get it! Ask for help!" He took my head in his and kissed my forehead. "Will you help me?"

December 20

The first few days were hard. I asked him to continue to rest while I went to work. It seemed like he wanted to get up and move, that he was restless and fidgety but I soon realized that his fidgets were actually his fingers ghosting over a pretend keyboard. Sometimes he would mumble to himself, maybe about notes or lyrics then go back to "playing". It was his coping mechanism and eventually I gave him a spare notebook. I wanted him to write his ideas down at least. The gesture had brightened him up immensely and he took to writing in it as soon as I left for work.

I was able to concentrate somewhat more at my job but mostly all i could think about was getting back to him. I wished that i could text him, just to see how he was doing but neither of us were able to afford a second phone just yet. Still I worried secretly if he had run off again. I hadn't told him about that feeling; i didn't want to guilt him but it was one of my biggest fears at this point. He had been worried about people abandoning him again though I was feeling the exact same thing. Would he abandon me again?

I had to finally get those thoughts away from my brain when my train pulled into the station. My usual route had some complications or whatever and was shut down; a normal occurrence but a most irritating one. I had to take the longest way home possible, through places I hadn’t been to in years. I saw a chain clothing store and decided to peek in just for a bit. Johnny was wearing my sweats 24/7 because nothing else fit him and staying in the clothes he had on his back before wasn't exactly comfortable. We washed them every other day or so but i'm sure it was starting to get annoying. I managed to find a few shirts on clearance and some stretchy shorts left over from the summer. I wasn't sure of his exact size but i'm sure this would be fine.

I checked my phone and realized it was getting late. It was another bus ride away from home so i had to catch up soon. I walked a little faster as I looked up the schedule. One would be coming in about 10 mins or so and I needed to haul ass. With my winter boots shuffling through snow I had passed by another store, a pawn shop. Normally i couldn't care less about it but the window made me stop and stare. It drew me closer and with the smallest of squints I could see initials carved into the side and a familiar faded sticker.

I rushed inside, presenting myself at the counter and scaring the shop owner. "Keyboard. How much?"

"150." He said, barely looking up at me.

150?! The fuck?! "I'll give you 50."

"Take it or leave it, toots. This isn't a bartering system."

I leaned in closer, glaring at the middle aged man. "That keyboard is stolen property. You're lucky I'm even offering you money for it. You're going to give me that keyboard for 50 bucks or else I'll call the cops on you and they can do a nice investigation of this place. I'm sure you have more shit that people have reported missing."

"The cops won't do shit. It's not stolen if I buy it."

"Then is it stolen if i buy it back?"

He glared at me and I returned the look until I turned around and booked it. I grabbed the keyboard and the case beneath it before throwing the money out my purse and over my head. I ran as my lungs burned and arms strained while carrying the heavy thing. He was on my trail and gaining traction but I got lucky. My bus was just about to take off from the nearby stop but I caught it in time to jump on, leaving the shop owner behind. God in heaven, don't have him call the cops on me. But technically I bought it right?

December 25

The day I brought the keyboard home, Johnny had been in the shower and I was able to rush inside and hide it under my bed. I pulled shoes and any other thing in my room that would block the view of it, just in case he got a little curious. I doubt he would have but I was still precautious.

When christmas morning came around i was excited, practically hopping around like a bunny. I could barely wait for him to get up and join me on the couch. Around noon he stumbled out of my room, his hair sticking up in random places and the sleep barely out of his eyes. I let him trudge to the bathroom to freshen up and took the opportunity to drag the keyboard to the kitchen to hide it temporarily.

Finally when he sat down I jumped in front of him, a smile plastered across my face. He looked at me, concerned. "Are you...okay? You're acting weird."

"I got you something!"

He groaned and sat back against the couch. "Why would you do that? You know i wanted to get you something but couldn't."

"Yes, yes, i know. We promised not to celebrate but this is important okay?! Just accept it and let me do this. Please?!"

With a heavy sigh he agreed and I told him to close his eyes. When he complied I got the keyboard and held it in my outstretched arms in front of him. "Ok, open!"

The swelling in his injured eye had gone down and all that was left were faint bruises. I was happy that he could take this in with both eyes so I could see the happiness behind those pools of honey. But instead they were covered in tears and his throat seemed to have closed up entirely. Carefully, as if he would hurt it, he took the keyboard from me and held it close to his chest, a few keys pressing down and making a chaotic sound. It somehow complimented his tears that drifted into sobs. Slowly I sat beside him and rested my head on his shoulder as I rubbed his back. We stayed like that for a while and I covered him in cozy kisses until he found his voice again, quiet but enough to express himself. "Y-you dont know how much this means to me."

"Oh, but i do. And I almost-probably- got the cops called on me because of it."

"What?!" He shot up quickly and rubbed at his stained cheeks while I laughed.

"It was in a pawn shop. I guess whoever had beat you up sold it for some quick cash. I offered the owner a different amount and he wouldn't take it. So….i kinda, maybe, sorta stole it back but i also still gave him money! So it cancels out."

"What in the actual fuck?! Are you crazy?!"

I smiled again and this time placed a soft kiss on his tender lips. "Absolutely."

He set his keyboard down on the coffee table and now wrapped his arms around me. "What the hell am i gonna do with you?"

"Hmm...maybe kiss me under the mistletoe?" I added another kiss to him though he held it long enough for me to pull him flush against me. We were lost in each other again, nothing but tongues and lips and caresses. We only stopped when Johnny pulled away for a small reloading of air. "How could i ever thank you enough? You've done so much for me and i-"

I slid onto his lap which silenced his self doubt. "Don't. You know how I feel when you get like that. Just enjoy this moment with me. I want you to be happy."

"I am happy. So incredibly fucking happy." Now it was his turn to smile, one that reminded me of our (first date?) time at the park together a summer ago. I loved that smile. I loved when his heart beat wildly and we laughed while dancing and cleaning the apartment, when he let me be the big spoon while we cuddled because it made him feel safer. I loved him more than the moon loved the sun.

Johnny held onto my hips while I circled my arms around his neck. We knew what was potentially coming next, a celebration, a renewed reconnection that we hadn't had ever since he returned. His way of thanking me in the only way he knew how- creating a passion in my soul that ignited all the slumbering sparks in my body. His determination was strong this time as was his confidence. I could tell in the way he shifted his hands down to grab my ass without a single trace of blush across his face. "Can we do this?" He still searched for consent of which i obviously was going to give him.

"As long as you're okay with it. It's a bit emotional now, no?"

"The best emotions though. Not to sound cheesy, even though I probably do, but my heart kinda feels like it's gonna explode."

"Yeah, you're right. It is cheesy. And dorky. But i think i expect that from you already."

He rubbed the back of his head and chuckled. "Well...i know that hasn't changed at all."

"You arent blushing or stuttering though. That's changed." I pointed out.

"That's because I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of losing you because i won't let you go again."

"You better not or else I'll hunt you down."

He didn't say any remarks and instead captured my lips in another breathless kiss. The caresses had turned into gropes to my ass and thighs, even snaking up to my breasts and dragging his blunt nails down my back. I shuddered at every heated touch. If this is what he was like when he was in college i surely would have gone after him and this was just a make out session.

He took control of my hips and forced me down gently but enough where the center of our bodies could touch. I gasped against the heat and the slow shift of his body beneath mine. My neck started to splotch as blood bloomed to the surface with every suck or bite. He had never had the chance to mark me before. Now that his stamp was on me I craved more to be littered across my body wherever he wanted. His hands disappeared under my shirt and I felt the iciness of his fingers circle around my breasts. "Will you take this off for me please?"

I nodded almost immediately then pulled my shirt over my head. I shuddered as my skin was exposed to even more cold and tried to snuggle up to him more. "M-maybe we shouldn't be on the couch. Im freezing and my apartment sucks at keeping heat."

"You're right. I'd much rather keep you warm myself." He teased with a smirk which made me roll my eyes.

"Okay, don't use those tired lines on me." I went to slide off him but instead Johnny wrapped an arm around my waist and pushed himself off the couch. I grabbed onto him quickly, afraid i was going to fall but he held me up and continued to walk to my room. "O-oh...well then." I hadn't expected that at all much less when he set me on the bed and wrapped the fleece blanket around me.

"You try and stay warm and I will get to work."

"Get to work?"

Johnny chuckled and sunk down to his knees in front of me. "Yeah? I mean...were gonna hook up right?"

"Is it hooking up when you're with your boyfriend?"

Now returned the incredibly deep crimson across his face and ears that I was used to. "B-boyfriend?!" He squeaked.

Had I just embarrassed myself? I pulled the blanket over my face and mumbled. "i- just thought...im sorry…"

"Don't be sorry. I-its okay...i just didnt think id ever hear that." He buried his face in my lap and chuckled against the softness of my belly. "I like that."

I peered out from the blanket and giggled. "Well good...jerk."

"How am i a jerk?!" He grabbed a hold of my pants and fumbled with them while we joked about our relationship title and goofy pet names for one another. I had hardly noticed that I had become fully exposed to him until he had quieted down and moved his face between my thighs. I covered my mouth quickly to try and hide the surprised squeak as I felt his tongue carefully lap against me while his hands rubbed up and down my thighs. He looked up for a moment, gauging my reaction, before sucking gently on my clit. I pried my legs open just a little bit more which gave him room to bury his face further.

Eventually I settled the tension and relaxed completely against his licks and soft rumbles, even clutching onto his hair when the tip of his tongue nudged inside me. His hand pressed into my stomach and pushed me back gently allowing him to crawl onto the bed and nudge my legs up to my chest. I placed my calves over his shoulders while he braced his arms beside my ribcage, fisting the sheets as he moved quicker. Open hot kisses were now against me, returning to suck against my clit and tease my entrance which seemed to be his favorite thing to do given my small squirms.

Just when my hips started to undulate forward he pulled away and swiped his thumb across his lips. "I see you like to misbehave more than last time."

"Excuse me?!" I blushed. "You're the one being all-!....Good and stuff!"

"Is it really good?" He tilted his head questioningly.

"Yes, and though I liked last time, this is um...kinda better."

"Good, that's what i want. I want to give you the best fuck of your life."

I wacked his shoulder as my face burned brighter. "You were a fuckboy in college, weren't you?!"

"Noooo, swear I wasn't." He moved on top of me, wrapping my legs around his waist now. "I'm just speaking the truth. Tell me anything you want me to do." He retreated to laying kisses across my neck and sliding down to my chest. This time he captured a nipple between his plush lips and sucked harsher than he had on my clit. I quickly gripped a fistful of his shaggy hair and pulled as my back arched from the bed. He slipped his arm beneath me, keeping my chest against his. "Tell me…" He breathed across the wetness on my sensitive bud.

"I-i want to...maybe return the favor?" I glanced at the small space between us where I could tell he wasn't wearing any underwear beneath his sweatpants. Johnny cupped my face gently, placing a kiss on my nose before switching positions so he was propped against my headboard. I shuffled closer to him as he tossed the sweats aside, keeping my blanket over me.

"Go slow if you need to…"

I think this was the first time I had actually gotten a good glimpse of him. He had hidden beneath the covers the last time and I moved my hand to where he was without much thought. He was still opting to keep his sweatshirt on though I really wanted to plaster kisses against his chest and create hickies across his collar bone so that way he knew that he was mine as much as I was his. I didn't question it though, figuring it was still a sensitive topic, and instead focused on the task at hand. I, myself, didn't think I was good at this particular sort of thing either. Johnny had tried his best for me and it felt wonderful. I just hoped I could get the same reaction from him.

I felt his strong hand pet my hair in encouragement as i inched my mouth closer. Carefully i settled my lips around the head of his cock and gradually built up the strength of my sucks to swallow down more of him. His breathing was shallowing, as if he was holding it in, but I could feel his eyes on me. Unlike him I was too afraid to look up and instead hoped that I didn't look a fool. His hand that laid against my hair added some pressure which forced me down more. It wasn't painful really yet i felt my mouth like it was being stretched to its limit. "I think you're doing a pretty good job yourself." He hissed through a groan.

He allowed me to slip off him and lick my lips of his taste. "It's a lot but i'm glad i can manage." I teased before kissing the tip. Johnny grabbed a hold of his base and commanded me to part my lips where he settled small rubs against my tongue.

"Is it okay when i do this?" I nodded quickly and placed my hand over his around his shaft. He pulled away and allowed me to remain so I could shift my wrist up and down the few inches I couldn't take. He liked me being focused around his head as well as every lick or even the slightest of nibbles. I even dared to flick my tongue along his slit which made his hips buck hard. "W-whoa, uh… I don't want a repeat of last time." He laughed nervously and pulled me away. "I want...uh...i wanna um...b-be inside you…" he cringed.

I cringed along with him but slithered into his lap, wrapping the blanket around us both. "Don't say that, just do it."

"A-ahh...i like the sound of that." I realized I had to leave my warmth for a second to retrieve another forgotten condom and worked it over him. "Do you wanna stay in my lap?"

"Does it feel nice?"

"You've never-?"

"No, just the regular way i guess." I admitted shyly.

"Maybe it's time to put my college education to use then."

"What does music have to do with- '' I let out a surprised gasp as I felt him guide my hips up and slowly began to fill me. The pit of my stomach seemed so full, somehow much fuller than the last time and I dug my nails into his biceps tightly. "Oh fuck…"

Johnny caressed my torso, waiting for me to adjust while he simply admired the way I looked. "It's okay. If it still hurts let me know."

"N-no um...it doesn't hurt it just feels wayyyy different. Good different. Not anything bad."

He chuckled. "Yeah i got that. Do you want to try moving? Do you know how?"

"I mean ive seen it in porn and stupid movies but maybe...a little help might be nice." I buried my face in the crook of his neck as he grabbed a firmer hold on my hips.

"Lift up with me." He whispered into my ear. I followed his directions, keeping my face hidden though my budding moans were giving my pleasure away. It took a few minutes, god knows how many, until i was bouncing on my own, Johnny's fingers bruising my skin and leaving indentations behind. The blanket fell to wayside, forgotten and uncared for as we worked together, pistoning quicker by the moment. "You f-feel amazing." Johnny choked through a moan.

I pressed my forehead to his and nodded silently. I was barely able to say any words, only clenching around the tightness inside me until I felt like bursting at the seams. The single time i caught my breath all i could utter was the softest 'more' i've ever produced. My back was no longer against emptiness but instead trapped between my headboard and johnny. I squeezed my legs tighter around his waist, giving him something to hold onto as his thrusts became stronger. Never violent, but always hard and deep enough to where everything seemed heightened.

Our tongues clashed together again, teeth gnawing at lips and skin, and hands fumbling to find one another until they were pinned against the wall above. The trembling of the wood into plaster elicited moans from us both, surely letting the neighbors in the close confines hear what was going on. My eyes squeezed shut as he throbbed against my walls waiting for the perfect moment to still his hips and let go. I hadn't expected the last hard thrust of his release and it sent tendrils of rosy hues to form across my already flushed skin. "J-johnny?"

He slumped against my shoulders, breathing against the stickiness between us. I let him gather himself, relishing with him in the beginning of afterglow though I haven't had my thrilling bliss or whatever it was supposed to feel like. Eventually he pulled away from me and pushed back his hair, a serious in his eyes that also took me by surprise. He slipped out of me slowly and traversed back to between my thighs that was smeared in my cum. "What are you doing?" I swallowed hard.

He ignored me and returned his tongue to lash across my lower lips this time joined by his fingers that thrusted almost as harshly as he had. He was hell bent on satisfying me, alternating his patterns between curling his tongue and fingers and slowing down just as I almost reached my climax just to prolong the feeling. At first it was irritating but then I saw the true colors of his actions- the build up, the extra tension, the squirming of my body and clawing of my nails against his arms. A torture so good that i could hear the lewd slurping as i finally came.

He slowed his licks down little by little until my quivers stopped, ending it was a small kiss to my clit. When he laid by my side an incredibly goofy smile was on his face. "Better?"

I nodded and instantly curled against him. I secretly was afraid he would get up and leave again but another part felt the security that he wouldn't. Perhaps if he heard those words one last time he would stay. "I love you."

January 1

A new year. A new life continued.

Celebrating by getting shitfaced and watching the giant disco ball from from the top of the tower in the center of Times square.

A countdown. A kiss. A promise.

"I want to love you forever."

"Don't be so corny!"

"I don't care. It's how I feel. I want to love you for fucking ever."

Another kiss as midnight hit, longer, deeper.

An uncaring slow burn of a fuck on the floor through trembling limbs and urges to stay close and warm. His long body covering mine as if to say he'd protect me but we both knew that he was mine to shield.

Beneath the string of fairy lights under my tiny christmas tree the living room stayed dimly lit and I could see the soft shadows dance across his face as he slept on my chest. He'd grown accustomed to hearing my heartbeat-a lullaby, he said- as I played with his hair which I promised I'd get him to cut soon.

This was magic. Between the two of us and the sappiness of the holidays it felt like the stars had shown us the miracles of coming together. I held his hand tightly as I kissed his forehead, listening to his soft snores. My own lullaby was him feeling at peace and never return to a life that was colder than the winter's snow.

February 9

"Hey beautiful stranger."

I turned my head and saw Johnny leaning against the wall of the subway station. "Why are you here?!" I asked.

"Fuckin' train got delayed. Been here an hour while they try and figure out a substitute route. I called my boss and luckily he's super understanding. He got caught in a huge delay this morning too. I think your train is okay."

"Ugh, just your luck. You leave before me but now we're stuck together." He pulled me closer to him and pressed warm kisses to my face.

"Oh darn, how absolutely terrible." He smiled and gave me a squeeze."

"Oh, here, hold my coffee. Your tie is crooked." Johnny took my usual morning coffee before I adjusted my purse over my shoulder to give me proper room to fix the unevenness of his tie. It was a royal blue, a favorite color of his and it brought out the crispness of his white button up. He looked so handsome. He was lucky I let him get out of bed this morning. "You better get home on time because i have a surprise for your birthday."

"Does that surprise involve lingerie?" He smirked. "I saw that bag you tried to sneak in your dresser."

"Well now you wont get it since you decided to be nosy!"

"Hmm, guess it doesn't matter since it would just end up on the floor anyway. Don't have time for straps and shit."

I shoved at him playfully as my cheeks warmed. "You're getting absolutely nothing then. Pervert."

He took a sip of my coffee then looked pensive, seeming to ignore my banter for a moment. "Hey, doesn't your train kinda stop near my job?"

"Oof, it sort of does but youre def gonna have to take two transfers after. The A and the 1 i think."

"Anything is better than waiting for these idiots to get their shit together. I'll go with you. And then we can talk more about tonight." He gave me a wink as he took another sip making me roll my eyes.

I ignored his pervertedness for the most part and agreed to him joining me. "Hmm sounds good to me." I laid my head on his chest while my hand reached up to swipe away a bit of coffee that had stained his chubby cheek. He was less of a skeleton and definitely more of a teddy bear now- said my cooking was the best he'd ever had though i think he was just being nice. He still felt perfect in my arms and for once we were both happy to be someone's someone.

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elitparadox · 3 years

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Life Goes On~ (Pt. 4)

↳ miya osamu x f!reader

↳ fluff, comedy??

↳ 2.6k

↳ status: ongoing

↳ parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

You suddenly appear in haikyuu after watching the show for weeks now, and you’re trying to find a way out. Deciding to make the most of it, you learn from these talented volleyball players, cuz why waste an opportunity? You weren’t meant to fall in love with any of them, but with Osamu’s alluring formosity and talent, you can’t help but rethink your life that has led up to this exact moment.

It’s Sunday afternoon. During the span of two days, you tried to contact someone who could help you, but it was no use, because of course, no one believed your story. On the other hand, you became a little bit more acquainted with Osamu and his too-clean apartment.

Sighing, you turn away from your borrowed laptop as you focus on Osamu’s pencil that was writing unfamiliar calculus signs on his homework paper.

“Wait- what am I going to do?”

“Hm?” Osamu doesn’t turn around as he responds.

“Don’t I have to enroll in your school? Which is the nearest one, I suppose. The hours will pass by too slowly for my liking, and I must receive my education”

Osamu’s gaze lands on you. “You could contact the principal and ask if you could attend for a few weeks with an excuse.. You’re a… 1st year?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fills the room as the two of you brainstorm.

“I guess I could do that; do you know what the principal’s phone number is? And we’ll call as an unknown number. Can you lend me your phone?”

Osamu shrugs as he enters a password, opening the calling app to the principal’s number, and hands over his phone, fingers accidentally brushing yours, making the atmosphere a little awkward.

You press the call button after quickly switching the number identity, and someone on the other end answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” quick. make up a name. You fake a cough, changing your voice tone. “I’m Kagai Yinimi, Y/N’s mother. We recently moved to Japan, and I have not yet found a school fit for Y/N, but tomorrow is supposed to be the day she needs to go to school. Is there any way you could clear a spot for her?”

“Excuse me?”

You didn’t realize you just spoke English. Then it hit you. The whisper from your dream. This situation now. You’re a polyglot. (someone who can speak multiple languages fluently) You weren’t one before. So had haikyuu changed anything about you? But most importantly, why can’t you control it?

*ahem* go with the weird-everything-goes-her-way mom tone. “I’M TELLING YOU- Y/N NEEDS HER EDUCATION! COULD YOU PLEASE CREATE A SPOT FOR HER?? SHE CAN CATCH UP, AND, UM, SHE SPEAKS JAPANESE TOO!!”

During this whole time, Osamu was looking at you with a “what the heck are you doing” expression.

You shoot him a “come help me” glance.

Osamu takes the phone from you, alters his voice tone, and says, “Sorry. My, uh, wife can’t speak Japanese yet. But she’s saying that we just moved here, and Y/N, our daughter” *pauses* “-needs a school. Is there a spot for her?”

Silence first. But after about fifteen seconds, he responds.

“Yes. However, the prefecture needs more information about this, um, transfer student. How old is she?”

“15.”

“Parents name…”

So, after forty minutes, Osamu was finally able to enter you in the school.

You feel too grateful to the point that guilt eats at you for what Osamu’s doing for you, although he did have to tell the principal lies, but only because he doesn’t know you well

As Osamu ends the call, he turns around and asks “so what was all that? You can speak fluent English?” You stare at him quizzically. “Of course I can! Do you think I’m uneducated??”

He laughs, but you notice a hint of relief. “No. But why did you speak English to the principal even though you could’ve talked to him in Japanese?”

“Uh- I- the thing is, well, I’m not sure if this theory is accurate,” you said slowly, ��but I think that if I talk too quickly, I speak English and if i speak a little slower like right now, I talk in Japanese” you shrugged. “I don’t really know”

Osamu looks confused for a second. You can hear him mutter “things are really weird right now”

“Mhm. Sorry, but it really wasn’t my fault that i’m in another dimension” like hell it wasn’t

He sighs slightly, then suddenly looks a little less pressured. How did he manage to change his expression so quickly??? uwu

“anyways, the principal says that tomorrow morning you can visit the main office and pick up your schedule. I could take you there-”

You cut him off. “Again, it’s ok; you don’t really have to do that- Uh, also, don’t I need textbooks? Once again, I apologize-”

“No,. it’s fine. Like I said, I’m glad to help- As for the textbooks, the teacher gives them out at the beginning of the school year, but you could ask the office tomorrow”

He smiles- a little weary, but still breathtakingly beautiful.

“Thanks again.” You feel an urge to hug him right then, but you don’t, instead walking back to your room. Because, after all, you need to return to your home and away from everything you’ve seen in these past few days.

Several more hours pass, lapsing into the night, and then morning. 5:30 A.M.

You yawn, stretching your arms and kicking the covers. Another day, another chance.

Wait- why was it nearly 5:30 in the morning? Didn’t Osamu say yesterday that school started at 7:50? It was way ahead of your usual wake time.

You hastily brush your teeth, untangle your hair as quickly as possible, change into your own clothes, and open the door, tiptoeing across the living room toward the other room to ask Osamu why his usual alarm was set so early in the morning.

But he’s already up, making breakfast. He turns around and notices you walking strangely about the living room.

Shoot.

You fake-cough and stand up straight, brushing off imaginary debris from your shirt. “Good morning? Um, also why is your- I mean my alarm set at this time?

“Because we have volleyball practice, remember? And you asked me for help. So it would be rather convenient to watch us practice.”

“Oh yeahhhh- I forgot. Sorry. By the way, do you live by yourself? I mean, without your parents or any siblings?”

Osamu nods, his eyes still focused intently on whatever he’s cooking.

“Okay. Uh, I was also wondering what people would think if you, um, suddenly came to school after a weekend with an, uh, immigrant, or whoever they think I am. You know what I mean?”

“Oh.” He seems thoughtful. “I could say you’re my cousin who’s staying at my apartment for around a year” He shoots a look at you. “Because, you don’t really know when you’ll be returning, right?”

You glance at the clock. It’s exactly 5:39 A.M.

“Yeah. So when does practice start?”

“You do ask a lot of questions, huh?” You can see the hint of a smirk on his cheek, making you blush. “At 6 A.M.”

“So then why are you packing a lot of food?”

“My lunch, remember?” Now he finishes preparing the light breakfast and lunch, turning around. “And yours too.”

You stare at Osamu for a little longer than usual, but quickly catch yourself, averting your eyes from his.

“Thank you again. I really don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there to help me.”

You chuckle. It was such a lucky turn of events to meet him.

“Well, we only have around ten minutes to finish breakfast and clean up, so let’s hurry.”

At approximately 6:00, you and Osamu enter a particularly large gym where a group of boys, the volleyball team, is warming up.

Whispers spread among them as they notice you following Osamu.

“Uh, ‘Samu? Who’s she?” A tall blond-haired boy, probably Atsumu, gestures toward you.

Ah, so he wasn’t the flirting type that your friends like. Better tell them after you get back. If you even get back. If they would even believe you then.

“Oh, Y/N? She’s our cousin. She’s staying at my apartment”

You were pretty sure everyone on the team noticed the glare he shot at Atsumu. And you desperately wanted to climb under a rock and never come out. Nobody would believe that story now.

“Uh, well I’m only here to observe your practice. I just wanted to see everyone’s volleyball techniques and learn from there! Since I really want to advance my volleyball skills-” You cut in.

Your insides were shaking from the looks these tall boys gave you. You personally didn’t like the fact that people would view you as only Osamu’s cousin, but on the other hand, things could get fun.

“Sorry if I’m wasting everyone’s practice time. I- I should go”

“No, it’s fine.” A silver haired boy, whom you noticed was Kita, steps forward. “It’ll be nice to have someone watching and learning from our practice. And so that some people-” he shoots a glance at the twins “-won’t fool around.”

Ah. So he noticed how serious Osamu acted in front of you.

“Thank you.” You look down at your tattered shoes.

Although a few members of the team look at you cautiously, the others smile at you kindly.

As practice continues, you notice that there isn’t a female manager anywhere in the gym. Shaking your head, you focus again on the practice rally raging on. It was amazing how you had never known any sport that would involve so much shouting to cooperate and energy to race after the ball.

You were taking mental notes on volleyball techniques when a ball whizzed past you. You could literally feel the force traveling with the ball near your cheek. But then again, you were used to that stuff.

It bounced off the side wall and miraculously ended up beside your left foot. You picked up the ball carefully, checking for the brand name, and contented, threw it toward the next server. Atsumu. You had watched their routine, and it seemed that someone on the team or on the sidelines would retrieve the ball depending on where it was. So you had no worries of being judged. But all those thoughts vanished as Atsumu frowns at you.

And without even knowing the reason why he did so, you frown right back. It isn’t a big deal, but you decide that you would get over with Osamu’s twin brother right now. But then he smirks, averting his hazel eyes from you.

Out of the corner of your eye, a boy with weird dark hair turns away, clicking away on his phone.

“So what’s the deal with my brother?” Osamu asks as he leads you to the principal’s office at 7:20.

“Oh, nothing, just that he’s kinda rude?? And he doesn’t even know me! So why does he act like I’m his enemy? Wait- sorry I didn’t mean-”

“I agree.”

“HUh?” You looked at him, slightly amazed. “Oh yeah. You fight all the time.” No surprise there. “Welp, let’s see if we have any classes together in my new schedule”

Two minutes later~

“crot this” you mutter under your breath. “What am I supposed if I only have one class with you? If someone bullies me, I won’t make it out alive!!” you complained, voice lowering by the second as students nearby shoot looks at you. You could only imagine what they were thinking that had something to do with the new student, you.

“You’re exaggerating. It’s okay though, you have a class with Kita and two with Atsumu”

“oH okay, so you’re saying I have to put up with him??”

“Ignore him” He shrugs, indifferent about your so-called situation.

“Okay....”

The first part of the day went by fine. Except for some skeptical and often rude looks thrown in your direction, the teachers seemed kind and schoolwork was a breeze.

Holding the lunch Osamu prepared for you in a paper bag, you walk tentatively toward an empty table when you hear a voice behind you.

“Why don’t you come eat with us?”

You don’t need to turn around because Osamu’s already walking next to you.

“Maybe the others won’t feel comfortable? After all, I’m a stranger who randomly appeared in their school gym to watch them just practice?? Sounds suspicious, even to me. By the way, why did you lend me a room in your apartment? I bet others wouldn’t have, out of fear that they’ll be murdered or whatever”

Osamu stays silent for quite a while, and you two are nearing the volleyball team’s lunch table. You’re wondering whether you should apologize, but he says coolly, “That’s a good question. Although this might not make any sense, I invited you to stay because from the moment I saw you, a small voice in my mind said to help you” He shrugs. “It actually happened, believe it or not. How things have gotten weird these days”

Your mind’s racing for the nineteenth time today as you sit on a metal chair between Osamu and the dark-haired boy, Suna.

You don’t realize that you’re staring blankly into space until Osamu snaps his fingers in your face and says “Aren’t you going to eat your lunch?”

You shake your head to clear up your thoughts. “Yeah. Right.”

You pull out a recyclable container from the lunch bag, fumbling with the lid holds.

It was then all hell broke loose.

And everything from here seemed like a movie on 2x speed.

You accidentally knocked down Osamu’s thermos/bottle, which was still open, and coffee spilled all over his lap and the floor.

You desperately grabbed some napkins and tried to clean up the mess while students from the other tables were bending over backwards to memorize this scene well, because it’s not every day someone spills water over someone’s lap and there’s chaos brewing in a normal high school.

Suna was capturing the whole thing on camera, and Atsumu- well, Atsumu he actually was trying to help.

But of course, that went wrong, because he somehow slipped on the floor drenched with water and landed flat on his back.

Then a bunch of girls ran over one another to help him, and a teacher nearby rushed over to smooth things out.

You figured that everything would be fine, because after all, it was a small accident, but some idiot decided it would be funny to throw his burger right in your face. See where I’m going with this? People shouldn’t follow this action, except: monkey see, monkey do. And humans are connected to monkeys, apes, whatever. So, just like in a cheesy cliche movie clip, a food fight commenced.

Fast forward a couple more minutes after lunch ends…

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You’re seated in the principal’s office on a firm wooden chair next to Osamu, half-listening to the principal’s lecture.

“First day of school and...blah blah... due to inappropriate blah blah, you are suspended-”

The moment your brain heard and processed the word “suspended” your defense mode activated and you started to protest about how it wasn’t your fault and people shouldn’t suppose that you’re a troublemaker just because it’s your first day of school here

The principal sighs. “I understand, but since we don’t have a janitor, you and the other kid-” he nods at Osamu “- will kindly clean up the mess.”

You sink in the chair, your hopes deflating by the second. “Okay.” A second later, Osamu nods in acquiesce. It would be a hard day tomorrow.

The principal seems to read your mind because he adds, “Oh- and you two start today.”

reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading :)

#haikyuu #hq!!#osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

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emerald-studies · 4 years

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Diverse Perspectives | Discussion 3

I sent some questions to @jasperwhitcock for her perspective as a POC woman and daughter of an immigrant.

[ It is required to participate and watch/read these discussions, in order to follow me. Participate or get tf out. We aren’t performative in my lil’ area on Tumblr.

This discussion isn’t representative of an entire population or meant to be super professional. It’s to share different perspectives and also is an opportunity for me to practice what I preach: intersectionality. If you’d like to participate in this series please send me a pm or an ask and I’ll get back to you ASAP. We can do a written, audio, or video interview.]

As a mixed person, do you feel isolated from your community?

J: If you mean community as in the community I currently live in, I’m fortunate enough to live in a very diverse place. Surrounding the city of Houston, there’s a lot of prejudice integrated into a lot of the suburban neighborhoods, but in terms of the city itself, I think the POC communities really uplift and support each other. I’m a concert photographer when there’s not a pandemic, and I’ve always appreciated the way latinos and black artists are respected in the indie community. Houston’s a very rap/hip hop/R&B city, so black artists are especially celebrated. There’s also great latinx bands that I know, latinx venue owners/employees, and latinx brands connected to the indie community. We’re very well represented in this area.

If you mean community as in the latinx community, I wouldn’t say isolated, but depending on the day, I might say that I can feel distanced at times. This isn’t particularly due to the latinx community itself, so much as it may be a distance that I create in my head. As a mixed person, I think there are times where you can feel confused on where you belong. I’ve brought up the quote before from the Selena movie, where Selena’s father Abraham is speaking on the potential difficulty of Selena being accepted in Mexico because of the fact she is Mexican American: “We have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time! It's exhausting!” It can be difficult at times to navigate your sense of belonging when you are in between two cultures because you want to recognize that you may have privileges someone of full Mexican descent may not have, but at the same time, your life is still very much defined by being Mexican and having Mexican blood while living in America too. You’re definitely not absolved from having latin experiences. Latina stand up comedian Anjelah Johnson made a joke in her stand up about there being a Latinx hierarchy. She said that Spanish speaking latinos are better than the rest of us who are not fluent in Spanish (such as herself), and it was funny because sometimes you do feel that that can be true. My tías will always ask me why I’m not fluent in Spanish, and my mom will be like “yeah, why don’t you?” and I’m always like… because y’all didn’t teach me! My parents speak Spanish to each other at home. My father is not only fluent in Spanish, but his Spanish is oftentimes superior to a lot of Spanish speakers according to my mom and my tíos. He used to teach English in Mexico, so there is no reason that my sister and I shouldn’t have been perfectly bilingual. The reason they didn’t teach us as children is because they didn’t want us to be speaking Spanglish. (Spoiler: it happened anyways). Around white people, I definitely feel that I am not a white person. I feel very much latina in a group of white people. But then around latin people, I sometimes feel white enough to feel a sense of shyness. I definitely feel more at home with latinx people, but overall in both groups, I definitely feel that I am mixed.

It doesn’t happen often, because I think although the majority of latinx people have pride in their background, the hyperawareness of our identities right now is relatively new, but there have been instances of latinx gatekeeping the latin identity. Growing up, I didn’t think about what I was labelled as or think about how my family structure is different to other families. I didn’t consider how in some areas, it is an abnormality to have an immigrant parent or a parent with an accent. I definitely noticed that my family was different, but I didn’t understand why until much later. My mom, her sisters and brothers, and my primos… They don’t live their lives with the awareness of being defined as Mexican immigrants. Of course, they again have pride in where they came from. They live as Mexicans and engage in Mexican culture, but overall, the way the youth today has really grasped onto the labelling of our identity is kind of a new thing. There are some young latinx people who do try to quantify and measure whether or not your experience is valid. I know it comes from a place of protectiveness of their own experience, but it’s ridiculous to gate keep because something that really characterizes latin culture is our warmth, our sense of family, our willingness to embrace other people as part of that. If you’re of latin american descent, you have a place in the latinx community.

Since your parents don’t have college degrees, do you believe college is important and/or necessary?

J: I think it depends! I think a lot of immigrant parents really push for their children to get a college education because they see that as opportunity, particularly when they did not earn college degrees themselves. I think college can be important depending on what you want to accomplish, but I also think it’s not completely necessary. For my career path as a photographer/videographer, I chose not to do college. I do think I would have enjoyed college because I like learning, but because it was something unnecessary for my job, I couldn’t justify the time invested or putting my parents into a difficult financial situation. Especially because my college education would have overlapped with my sister, and I saw how difficult it was to juggle handling my sister’s student loans. For my sister’s career path (she is studying to be a nutritionist/therapist to help teenagers with eating disorders), college was necessary.

Your Mom has been stuck in the US, unable to return to Mexico for awhile, has your Mom’s experience with immigration changed your views in some way?

J: As context, my father lived in Mexico for a decade and married my mom in Mexicali. They hadn’t planned to move to the United States, but when they came to the US to marry here so that she could have citizenship and be able to visit his family, there were complications that made it to where she couldn’t leave the country. Luckily, the time she was unexpectedly stuck in the United States didn’t last super long! Long enough to become comfortable enough to decide to settle down in California, but we have been able to travel to Mexico often. I think it really highlights how unnecessarily complicated a lot of the processes regarding immigration are. The people in the country who are very malicious about undocumented immigrants love to jump to saying, “well, why can’t they just become an American citizen?” when the reality is that every process in place has a lot of complications. Not everyone has access to the resources to be able to make these transitions happen smoothly. Also, the time it takes to acquire your visa is not an overnight thing. People severely underestimate the difficulty involved.

What do you think about the “hard-working immigrant” stereotype?

J: I hate the idea that immigrants work hard because they’re low-skilled, but I do love that there is a lot of pride in how motivated immigrants are. It’s always been a ridiculous claim that immigrants are taking American jobs. Immigrants work the jobs that the majority of Americans have no interest in doing, especially the people that make this complaint. For a country that prides itself on working to make your dreams come true, Americans neglect to recognize that immigrants have a drive that most Americans don’t have.

Which parent do you feel more connected to? Your Mother who’s an immigrant or your Father who was born in America?

J: I really do feel that I am a coalescence of both my parents, so I think I feel equally connected to each of them. I feel a very strong emotional connection and concern for my dad because his mental health suffers a lot. His mother had bipolar depression at a time where mental health was even more stigmatized, and she endured a lot of ridiculous, merciless treatments that are no longer utilized today. When he was nine years old, his mom committed suicide, and this was an event that really defined his life forever. I think that kind of heaviness passes down through your family. When my dad is not doing well, I feel really imbalanced and emotionally impacted even if I’m not home to witness it. It’s kind of like that idea of an invisible string tethering you to someone, and it’s a weight that I carry always. However, overall, he’s a very positive person. When he is going through his kind of manic highs, he’s a lot more of what I recognize of who my dad is. He’s creative, a musician, and deeply caring for other people. His mother’s death has empowered him to really try to make a difference and “paint a picture of a better tomorrow.” I’m a lot like my dad in personality, but in disposition, I’m so much like my mom. She’s tough and outspoken at home, but in public, it takes awhile for her to open up. My mom’s very selfless, kind, and very much shy and quiet. She definitely exemplifies a lot of the sacrifice that you see many immigrants make. I do like both sides of my family, but I definitely feel more at home with the Mexican side. My dad’s side is loud, vivacious, and very much funny, but I feel extremely shy around them. My sister and I have always felt a tiny bit left out. I think they’d be hurt to know we feel this way, but I definitely don’t think they do anything to intentionally enforce this division. But I think it developed because there is a bit of a cultural disconnect between my aunts and my mom. It’s also very interesting to me that when they first met my mom, my mom didn’t speak any English. It’s fascinating to consider how it might change your perception of someone to go from not being able to communicate with them to watching them learn your language. My mom enjoys the time that we do spend with my dad’s family, but she’s kind of the odd one out in that her humor isn’t the same and her experiences are so different. I think that my dad’s sister and brother’s families were able to connect in a stronger way, so sometimes my mom, my sister, and I feel just a little isolated. In those moments, I feel the most aware of my Mexican background. With my mom’s side of the family, it’s a lot more comfortable. My dad’s able to develop his humor in a way that translates well into Spanish, so he fits in very easily.

You’ve lived in a “Blue/more liberal” state and a “Red/more conservative” state, which state has affected you more?

J: Definitely the red state. Seeing how intensely and ridiculously conservative some southern people are has really radicalized me in a way. I feel overwhelmingly liberal because there’s a defensiveness that develops when you’re in a space like this where you have this intense disbelief that people hold the ideas that they do. Especially because in Texas, black and latinx culture is a major contributor to southern culture. There’s a lot to be said about how black culture shapes the south, but because I’m latina, I’m focusing on latinx culture with this question. White conservatives want our food, they want our work, but they don’t want us. I don’t understand how anyone can be all #TacoTuesday one day, and then the next, be anti-immigrant. If you really want Mexicans out of your country, then maybe you should start living your life without any Mexican influence. Stop eating Mexican food. Clean your own pool and mow your own lawn. It’s ignorant to speak down on immigrants when their life would be so altered to be rid of immigrants. They rely on immigrants. Their lives are shaped by immigrants and built by immigrants.

(I had to chime in here: )

Are you proud of your parents?

J: Absolutely. As a young teenager, I had a lot of problems with my parents. I think I still have issues I’m working through as a result, but now that I’m older, I really do feel a deep sense of admiration and respect for them. Growing up really makes you view your parents differently and understand them as people rather than just as parents. I held onto a lot of anger and resentment, but I’ve come to truly see how they really did do their best. They’ve worked very hard, and I think not having everything that kids around me did really helped me grow into a more grateful person.

Have you faced discrimination for your race?

J: Of course, but in all honesty, it really rolls off my back. I think hate that is personally directed at me doesn’t bother me, but the discrimination that does affect me is anything directed or related to my mom. I remember my parents had a customer who made a really ugly complaint to my father about my mom’s english. My mom essentially handles most of the written communication with their business, and she still speaks and types in broken english often. The majority of my parents’ clients are latinx, so it’s typically not an issue, but it’s unbelievably offensive and ridiculous the assumptions people will make about your intelligence based on your english. The customer had no idea that the woman she’d been communicating with was my father’s wife rather than just an employee. It’s really sad how someone can see someone as unworthy of respect until they’re tied to a white man, and then they’re suddenly apologetic. This is another extremely mild example, but I’ll get a few laughs when I mispronounce something or don’t know how to say certain words. People always find it funny as though it’s embarrassing –– and it definitely can be –– but people forget I learned english from a woman who speaks two languages.

As the child of an immigrant, how has the anti immigrant talking point affected your mental health?

J: I think the toll the anti-immigrant bias in the United States has on immigrant children is a relevant conversation to have, but I think I’m very lucky in that I feel very tough in the face of that ignorance (which is not to say anyone whose mental health suffers as a result is not tough!) If anything, I feel pity for the people who are so hateful that they see other human beings in such a derogatory and entitled way. Similar to what I said before, my outrage really comes from a place of defensiveness for others. The talking point doesn’t hurt me, but it hurts me that people can speak about my family and my community the way they do. It hurts me that there are other immigrant children who have to work as hard as their parents to make their sacrifices worth it, and people are so insensitive as to not respect that. I’m pretty strong, but it does break my heart when my people are disrespected. If someone were to say something to me, that’s fine, but if i saw someone mistreating a little mexican lady in the store… I may be 5’3 but that don’t mean I won’t come for your ass. Okay, in all honesty, I’m really not a violent person. I’m more of a rise above kind of person because the hate someone has in their heart is not worth our time, but some people do need a chancla thrown at them to learn some respect.

In your opinion, in what ways does the Latinx community need more support?

J: I think because the latinx community is so much so composed of hard workers, people really need to support latin businesses more. That’s a direct way to impact latin lives. There’s an abundance of latin small business owners in every category. So many white kids love going to Cozumel for Spring Break and love wearing sombreros on Cinco De Mayo, but then the rest of the year, they have no care or respect for the authentic culture. For every dollar a white man makes, hispanic women still make statistically less than white women, asian women, black women, and native women. We gotta back up these businesses. Choose local taco shops or restaurants over chains. Choose online shops and Mexican boutiques over fast fashion. And this applies to everybody. We can always support black business or asian businesses over large competitors. It really does make an impact. I also think a lot of latinx children need access to better mental health resources. I’m lucky in that because my father struggles with mental health issues, mental health in my family wasn’t exactly a taboo, but in a lot of latin families, mental health is something that is hard for older parents to validate. Latin children need those resources. A simple google search of “latin mental health resources,” bring up a bunch of organizations that you can support. I think every POC community needs to be boosted right now because although we’ve been under attack, conversations about minority communities are being had by white people right now. We have their attention, and we do need their support to enact change because they have the power as the oppressor. We need to be going to bat protecting black people right now because of the insane damage the community has been enduring at the hands of police, and we need to be protecting immigrant children from what’s happening to them at the border. I know the election is extremely controversial right now, but I would urge anyone who has the ability to vote to really consider the importance of doing so. People love to be cynical about how our votes don’t matter, and I understand that cynicism, but a lot of immigrants don’t have the luxury of voting when the results of the election will directly impact their lives. I hate that there is no option of a president that will perfectly support POC communities, but there are options whose party is far more aligned with supporting and protecting POC communities than Trump is. Trump spews hate and fuels racism and prejudice. He calls Mexicans rapists and black protestors thugs. He encourages the blaming of the coronavirus on the asians in our country. He does not need any help winning the election. We need to get this hateful man out, and I strongly encourage anyone who can vote to do so.

Let’s have a discussion! Did you learn anything new from this conversation?

Let me know here.

To close out each post, I’d like to write a lil’ paragraph about the person I talk with:

I’m so lucky to have you as a friend darling. You always bring a smile to my face when we chat. You’re funny and so smart. I admire you deeply for being able to share your perspective in a clear way. Thank you for putting up with my 2 am messages lol 🖤🖤🖤🖤Your continued support makes me feel safe and very, very, loved. I hope I encourage the same feeling with you.

You’re the best babe,

-Faithxx

#intersectionality #immigration #diverse perspectives #poc #twilight #discussions with faith

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