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lavenderbexlatte · 3 years

Text

a handful (or two)

stray kids 3.9k words female reader insert Thick/Chubby!Reader x Lee Felix EXPLICIT/NSFW

🖤 warnings: DISCUSSIONS OF WEIGHT/BODY IMAGE/INSECURITY, unprotected sex 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

Sitting at your kitchen table in the early evening, you feel more like a soldier walking into battle than anything else.

You’ve got a list of your body measurements scrawled on a piece of paper beside you, as you scroll through an online shop on your phone. Ruffled blouses, wrap dresses, raw-hemmed jeans, tiered skirts, fitted cardigans. The clothes are cute, and your Likes list has no shortage of garments, but you’ve reached the worst part of clothes shopping:

Finding things that are actually in your size.

Korean online malls are not known for their variety of sizes, even though obviously, the people in any country who need to buy clothes have all different kinds of bodies. The cute clothes, the mainstream ones, the clothes that YouTubers and Instagram models promote, are mostly one-size. And that one size…is small.

Too small for you.

It’s a regular debate that you have with yourself. You shouldn’t even give your patronage to shops like these ones, where you have to filter through every single item and look at the detailed measurements to find the rare pair of pants that you could squeeze into. You shouldn’t play into a system that makes you hate yourself.

But you need new jeans. And in your heart, you want cute jeans from the online mall, like everyone else.

You pull up a pair of jeans in exactly the style that you want and scroll down to the measurements. You have to steel yourself as you look at the numbers.

Waist…hips…thigh…rise…length…

They’re too small.

You pull up another pair, and another, and another. They’re all too small.

“No,” says a small, dark voice in the back of your mind, “You’re just too big.”

You’re so caught up in this game of finding cute things to wear and discovering exactly how much the seller doesn’t want them to fit on people like you, that you don’t even hear your boyfriend until he’s right next to you.

“What are you doing?” comes a deep voice, right in your ear.

You jump in your seat, fumbling your phone for a second and catching it before it falls. Catching your breath, you look up at Felix, stood beside your chair gazing down at you.

“Jesus, when did you get here?” you ask, putting your phone down before anything else happens.

“Just got in,” he answers, nodding toward the door. “I called hello. You didn’t answer.”

Felix has a key to your place, free to come and go as he pleases, so it’s not exactly unusual for him to turn up like this. He’s dressed in a big t-shirt and joggers, practice clothes, obviously fresh from the studio with the rest of the guys.

“I was distracted,” you murmur.

“I guess so,” he grins at you.

You offer a halfhearted smile in return, feeling stupid for your bad mood, caused by something so out of your control. Shopping shouldn’t ruin your day. Felix pulls out your other dining chair to sit across from you at the small dining table, and you can’t help but stare at his body as he settles down.

He’s so…skinny.

You’re envious. You shouldn’t be, because your body is plenty good enough as it is. But you are. With a body like that, you could wear anything.

“What are you doing?” he asks you.

You hesitate, but Felix pays no mind to your internal struggle, reaching across the table to pick up the scrap of paper covered in your measurements. You want to snatch the paper out of his hands, which is ridiculous. He knows what your body looks like. Seeing the numbers that describe it isn’t going to scare him off.

But still, you feel that sick self-consciousness rising up as he glances over the paper, and sets it back down.

“I’m trying to buy jeans,” you say weakly.

“Trying?” Felix prods.

“Trying and failing.”

You pick up your phone, unlock it, and shove it at him, the screen still open to the last pair of too-small jeans. He peers at the listing, at the chart full of centimeters, and then down at your measurements scrawled out in your handwriting.

“They call that a large?” Felix says, amazed, and you cringe. “It’s like a half-centimeter difference.”

You know he’s just surprised since shopping for women’s clothes isn’t something he does often, and you’re sure he doesn’t know how common this problem is for you. But his words still sting a little.

“Yeah,” you say, “I think I’m done for tonight.”

You try not to let your deep-seated disappointment in the situation, and in yourself, show too much. Felix watches as you stand up and stretch. You can tell he’s thinking hard, can see that he wants to say something. But you really don’t need his commentary on this. You spend enough time thinking about your body, wanting to change your body, hating that you want to change your body…

“Do you want dinner? I went to the store earlier,” you say, determined to change the subject.

“Sure,” Felix agrees easily.

You cross your little kitchen and fling open the cupboard to dig out groceries for your meal. At least this is a task to take your mind off everything.

You don’t even notice as Felix takes the slip of paper from the table and folds it into his pocket.

--------------- Some days later, you all but trip into your bedroom after work, exhausted but hopeful.

Felix’s shoes and jacket were both waiting by the front door when you came in, which means he’s here waiting for you. He was nowhere to be seen in the rest of your small apartment, so that leaves this.

Of course, you’re not disappointed; Felix is lounging on your bed, playing on his phone and looking like the epitome of comfort in lounge pants and messy blonde hair. He smiles like the sunrise when he sees you.

“Hi, angel,” he says, as you drop your bag on the floor.

Instead of replying, you let yourself fall onto the bed beside him, flat on your back, and stretch out your poor sore limbs like a starfish.

“Long day?” he asks.

“The longest,” you agree.

“You’re in luck, though,” he says, “I have a surprise for you.”

You turn your head to look at him. “Really?”

He nods.

“Then gimme!” you quip.

Felix laughs brightly, and unfolds himself to retrieve a small gift bag from the side of the bed, tucked out of view. He hands it to you, and it’s surprisingly heavy and dense for its size. Today isn’t a special day by any means. Just a weekday, a work day, and you wrack your brain to figure out exactly why your boyfriend decided tonight was the night for presents.

“Can I open it?” you ask.

“You’d better,” says Felix, settling back down to watch you.

So you unceremoniously rip out the tissue paper packing, and when you’re met with a small pile of folded fabric, you upend the whole bag onto your bed.

There are four things inside.

A soft, oversized t-shirt, loose and comfortable and your favorite color, to boot.

A pair of thigh-high stockings.

A single thigh garter, in bright white.

And a pair of panties, also white. You unfold the underwear, to reveal a heart-shaped cutout on the back, and at the bottom…

“Crotchless?!” you ask, flustered.

Felix shrugs, his expression mischievous, “I thought they suited you.”

“What’s all this about?” you ask.

“I wanted to prove a point,” he says.

“What point can you prove with lingerie?”

“I’m proving pretty clearly that plenty of stores sell things to your measurements,” he says cheekily, “Just not that one store you were on the other day.”

Oh, my God.

You’re equal parts mortified and absolutely melting with the sweetness at the heart of this gesture. You didn’t realize that he was paying this much attention to you that day. You didn’t realize he knew how frustrated you were, how discouraged.

“They’re pretty,” you admit, turning the panties over in your hands.

“Then try them on for me.”

Felix’s tone is suggestive and low, lower than usual, and you know for certain that he didn’t just buy these things to cheer you up. He’s got an ulterior motive here.

“What’s in it for me?” you tease.

“Dress up for me and find out,” Felix replies.

Never one to turn down the prospect of some fun, you gather up the clothes and dart across the hall into your tiny bathroom. If Felix wants you to dress up for him, you need to do that alone and make a spectacle of it.

You dump the armful of clothing onto the counter. There’s no bra or anything, so you assume that Felix means for you to wear only the t-shirt. And that’s exactly what you do, stripping out of your work clothes and pulling the shirt over your head. You put on the panties, noting exactly how well they fit. The elastic doesn’t dig, and they don’t ride up, just smooth fabric and lace against your skin, hugging the curve of your ass. You try to forget about the opening at the bottom, baring you to the world; you already know Felix fully intends to use it, but you can’t believe he’s done this. It’s bold, even for him.

The thigh-highs come next, and while these also fit more nicely than any pair of tights you’ve ever owned, you have thick thighs, and the soft skin dimples around the top elastic band. You slide the thigh garter onto one leg, settling it at the top of the stocking. It only makes that indent more pronounced, soft flesh giving way under the thick white band. But you try your hardest not to feel self-conscious about it.

Felix picked these things for you. That means he wants to see you like this.

You pluck up all your courage, and walk back into your bedroom. Felix is waiting eagerly, and when you come into view, lingering shyly at the doorway, he smirks.

Honest-to-God smirks.

“Oh, angel,” he says, his deep voice nearly breaking over the syllables, “Oh, yes.”

You can see plainly on his face how much this little outfit is affecting him, and it sends a little thrill down your spine. Because truly, these clothes aren’t too out of the ordinary. The thigh-highs are new, and the panties aren’t something you would have picked for yourself, but it’s hard not to feel like you’re just wearing…a t-shirt and underwear.

It’s the intimacy, you decide. The fact that Felix carefully chose items in your most precise, comfortable sizes, and built you a sexy little dress-up kit that makes you feel as good as you look…God. Overwhelmingly intimate, you realize, and hot as hell.

“Let me see you, come here and give me a little spin,” Felix teases, twirling his finger in the air to mimic the model turn he’s demanding.

Smiling, squashing down a touch of embarrassment, you comply, coming to stand before Felix and turning around slowly on the spot. You can feel his eyes on you, and as you turn your back on him completely, you hear your bed creak.

Hands land on your waist as Felix pulls you flush against his front, and you can feel how hard he is already, filling out the front of his sweatpants. He’s always eager, always relishes the time you get to spend lost in each other, but he seems especially brazen tonight, as he grinds his clothed cock against your ass and slides his hands under the t-shirt to cup your bare breasts.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs.

You turn around in his arms, letting his hands drop back to your waist. He’s grinning at you with no small amount of lust in his eyes. You’re sure that you look similarly affected; you can already feel wetness gathering between your legs. His undivided attention, especially when you’re dressed up like this just for him, has you going out of your mind with want.

“Then show me,” you say.

He huffs out a laugh before diving in to kiss you, his pouty bow-shaped lips moving against yours roughly. Felix kisses like he’s starving and you’re one of the desserts that he loves to bake, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops ravishing you. His hands wander down to your ass, pinching hard enough that you squeak.

“Easy on the goods!” you chastise, as the spot aches deliciously.

Felix just pinches you again, harder, and guides you back toward your bed. You lay back on the mattress with Felix right behind you, settling between your spread legs. He sits back on his heels, just looking down at you beneath him in your skimpy panties and stockings. He runs his hands down your thighs indulgently, sliding a finger under the garter on one side and pulling it back so that it snaps against your skin.

“Angel, I should’ve thought of this a long time ago,” he says.

There’s no time for you to tease him, because Felix pulls his shirt over his head and discards it over the side of the bed, and you’re taken in by his gorgeous lithe body, his tiny waist and the rippling lines of his abs. No matter how many times you see him like this, it’s still exciting, that you can have someone so beautiful. He takes hold of the hem of your t-shirt next, and coaxes you upright so that he can take that off, too.

Your body is the exact opposite of his, soft where his is hard, sloping curves instead of the sharp cut of his ribs and hips and shoulders. But he leans right down over you and begins to kiss and nibble his way down your body, starting at the juncture of your collarbone. He trails his mouth over your chest, down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasp as he grazes his teeth over the bud, and he laughs gently.

Felix continues his slow ascent as you grasp at the sheets, mouthing over your stomach, soft like the rest of you. His hands hold your legs open wide for him as he moves down your body. He skips over your core entirely, choosing instead to bite sharply into the exposed skin of your upper thigh, above the band of the stockings.

“Lix!” you gasp, unable to help how your hips twitch forward at the sensation of his teeth.

He hums in response, leisurely delving forward to press a single lingering kiss to your folds, on full display in these deceptively pure white panties that hide absolutely nothing.

“Fucking love your legs,” Felix all but growls against the soft skin of your inner thigh, “Fucking love-”

Your hand flies down to grip at Felix’s hair as he bites a second bruise, this one on the tender inside of your leg. He’s never been this singularly-focused before, and you marvel at the way he’s worshipping your thighs, your waist, his hands roaming your ass and tweaking the fabric of the thigh-highs. You’ve always known that Felix liked your body – he’s your fucking boyfriend, after all. But this…

“Felix, I can’t,” you whine, “I need you, I need…”

“Oh, believe me,” Felix says, “I need it more.”

He draws away from you to push and kick his sweats and underwear off, and you watch hungrily as his cock bobs free, painfully hard and already leaking precome.

“You want – like this?” you ask, as Felix drops back on top of you, the head of his cock already nudging up against your pussy.

Felix likes it from behind, likes being able to grab your ass and watch your back arch as he drives into you. He likes you on top, so he can watch you bring yourself to orgasm using him. This is uncommon for you, missionary, you sprawled underneath Felix as he bends your knees up for better access and strokes his fingers down the length of your legs.

He nods, breathless. “Wanna see your face.”

His soft, honest admission makes your heart flutter even as you swear you can feel the arousal thrumming in your veins. You need him, need him so badly you could cry –

With a shift of his hips, Felix lines himself up and pushes into you. He’s agonizingly slow with it, just letting the head split your walls before he drags back out. He’s teasing you, absolutely doing this on purpose, and you can’t handle it. You untangle one hand from the sheets to cling to him, as he just dips the head of his cock in and out of you.

You whimper your frustration, and Felix leans in to kiss your cheeks, your nose, before pushing back in deeper, and deeper again, and finally he’s buried in you to the hilt.

“So gorgeous,” he groans, his deep voice reverbing in his chest, “You’re so good, angel, so good.”

He has one hand gripping your thigh tightly, holding your leg up beside your torso in a position that tests your flexibility more than a little bit. The other hand is digging into the curve of your hip, hard enough that you think there will be bruises.

Felix has those dancers’ hips, and core strength that lets him drive into you like he’s doing now, smooth long strokes that you arch up to meet as well as you can in his grip. He’s holding you at an angle that lets his pelvis grind against your clit every time he bottoms out. It’s not enough stimulation to let you finish, but it’s more than enough to drive you out of your mind.

“Lix, Lix, please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for.

He says something, quiet enough that you can’t really pick it up, and when you move your hand from his dip of his spine to the back of his head, Felix fixes his gaze right on you. He’s still speaking, rambling in his deep voice.

“-Let a fucking app make you think you’re not perfect cuz their fucking jeans don’t fit you,” he’s saying, “So soft, so pretty, like fuckin’ heaven, look at you.”

You can’t look at yourself all that well, but you can look at Felix, glance down to see the way he’s burying his cock in you again and again, holding himself up to look you in the eye as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Perfect,” he swears, “Taking me like a dream, angel…”

He’s never this vocal, either, and the talk has your head spinning almost as much as the brutal pace he’s maintaining. You can hear the obscene sound of your wetness around him. The desperate, weak first stirrings of an orgasm are starting to creep up on you, but you know yourself. You’re going to need more than this to finish.

Even so, you clench around Felix as he works himself into you again, and again, and he laughs breathlessly at the feeling of it.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” Felix asks, low and sweet.

You shake your head desperately, “Not enough – Lix, please, I need-”

“Not enough?” he echoes, amused, as his hips snap against yours in perfect time, “What, is this not good enough for you, angel?”

“So good, so good, just, please,” you whine.

Felix doesn’t answer you, but he does let go of your leg to bring his fingers up to your face. You’re so far gone, so hazy with lust and the orgasm that’s building but just isn’t close enough, that you barely notice him until his fingers are pressing at your lips.

He has small, beautiful hands, and you open your mouth to let him slip two dainty fingers into your mouth. You suck on the digits, knowing how much Felix likes having your mouth on him, or his on you. He’s not picky, as long as someone is licking, biting, sucking…

“So dirty,” he sighs.

Only for him, you think to yourself. You can’t summon the words to say to him out loud, but you certainly think them. Only for him.

“Don’t hold back on me now, angel,” Felix says.

He retrieves his fingers from your mouth, and snakes his hand down between your bodies to press them feather-light to your clit. You can’t help the gasp that escapes from you as he touches you, gentle and precise. The slide would have been wet and easy enough even without the extra help, but the combination of your saliva and your wetness as it seeps out around Felix’s thick cock makes his fingers glide over your clit with friction so good it’s almost painful.

Under your breath, almost like a prayer, you’re murmuring, chanting, “Please, please, please, please, oh-”

“You first,” he says, “Come on, are you gonna give me one?”

You want to, God, do you want to. You writhe in his hold, torn between rocking away from the steady delicious pressure on your clit and into the press of his cock splitting you open. Felix throws his head back as you tremble around him - your peak is so close you can fucking taste it - and groans.

“Love you,” Felix gasps, “Shit, love you, love your body-”

That’s what does it.

That view, Felix above you, so fucked out, working so hard to make you feel good. Physically and mentally, that’s what he’s trying to do. He saw you being upset for like fifteen minutes the other day and he’s putting in all this effort to build you up. He just wants you to feel good –

“Felix!”

His name passes your lips, just once, before you’re cumming hard with a strangled moan. Felix fucks into you hard once, twice, and then thrusts into you fully with a cry of his own as he cums against your walls. He’s quick to drop down and meet your lips in a messy kiss, pressing your bodies together, skin on skin.

The two of you shudder and murmur your way through your orgasms, as you marvel at how quickly he was able to bring you crashing right over the peak with him.

Once your voice comes back to you, all your can manage is another squeaking, “Felix.”

“Yeah,” he answers, decisive, like you’ve just revealed the secrets of the universe to him. “Yeah.”

He pulls out and gingerly moves off of you, but not without stroking his hands from your waist all the way down your thighs as he goes. You laugh quietly as Felix collapses onto his back beside you, wiping his brow dramatically like he’s just gotten off a hard day at work. His cum begins to drip back out of you as you sit up, which is gross, but you just want to be close to him. You curl against his side, head on his chest, and Felix accommodates you easily, cuddling into you just as eagerly.

As you readjust on the bed, settle into a more comfortable position, you notice the bruises. Tender new bruises on your hip, and along the side of your thigh where Felix had held you so tightly. It’s the perfect shape of his fingertips, fanning out along your skin.

“Jeez,” you murmur, touching the spots and secretly relishing the way they hurt.

“Sorry,” Felix grins, though he doesn’t look very sorry at all. “Just…your thighs. Your body. Love it.”

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happylittledrabbles · 3 years

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When Tomorrow Starts Without Me

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Koutarou Bokuto x Keiji Akaashi

Rating: M (non-graphic smut, cursing)

Warning(s): Major character death

Genre: Angst

AO3

—

"When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me."

He first noticed it when they were on vacation. And there's no changing the diagnosis.

He first noticed it while they were on vacation.

Bokuto’s hands are cold as they slide up his husband’s torso; spending all day out in the frigid, Icelandic air clearly left its footprint on their skin. That is how they ended up in this position in the first place: Bokuto had not-so-subtly suggested they should do this to “warm up,” and Akaashi didn’t have the courage to deny him. Losing his calm demeanor, Akaashi gave into the neediness in his body and the puppy-dog look his husband had mastered whenever he wanted something.

“They’re still cold,” Akaashi mumbles, tilting his neck to the side to give Bokuto’s lips more room to roam. He flinches as they go further and further down into more sensitive territory until the cold is too much to bear. “Ugh—stop, I’ll do it. I’m warmer.”

He pushes the bigger man off him, his eyebrows furrowing as he uses more force than usual. Has Bokuto been putting on weight? He looks the same…

He rolls on top of his husband, seating himself comfortably in his lap. Akaashi’s thighs frame Bokuto’s hips in a way that makes Bokuto shiver, and it brings a satisfied smile onto the dark-haired man’s face.

“Whatever will get those pants off,” Bokuto comments with a smirk, lifting an arm and bringing Akaashi in for a kiss by the back of the neck. Their lips pull away with a smack as Akaashi busies himself with removing both their shirts. Bokuto’s eyelids are heavy, his breath coming out as puffs as he gazes at the beautiful Greek god of a man on top of him. “You’re right, you are warmer.”

They are just beginning to move together when Akaashi’s arms, holding him up as his hands fisted the bedsheets, suddenly give out, his muscles feeling like Jell-O.

“Feels that good?” Bokuto asks with that dastardly grin of his, but Akaashi isn’t having it. He tries to push himself back up, his arms trembling with the immense effort he is putting in until they give out once again, leaving him frustrated. He would roll his eyes affectionately at Bokuto’s insinuations, but he is genuinely perplexed. He isn’t even close to finishing—they had only started two minutes ago, for Pete’s sake. He has yet to start feeling good, so…?

“I’ll take over from here,” Bokuto eventually says after watching Akaashi struggle for a few moments. He finds the sight of his husband huffing and blowing the locks of hair out of his face exasperatingly as he adjusts himself incredibly amusing, but it’s hindering their time together. He rolls Akaashi gently onto his back effortlessly; meanwhile, Akaashi’s arms are still trembling mysteriously. What the hell? Thoughts of frustration overtake the thoughts of lust in Akaashi’s mind, wondering when his husband got so much stronger than him. Had it been because he hasn’t gone to the gym in a while? It must be that.

Bokuto gladly continues their lovemaking session despite Akaashi’s difficulties, and Akaashi finally gets to that ‘eyes rolling from pleasure and not annoyance at his imprudent husband’ point. But that moment of sudden weakness stays in the back of his mind, only resurfacing in that post-sex clarity.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, scratching his lower back as he ambles over to the bathroom to clean himself up and pee. He’s washing his hands when he smells smoke.

“I thought I told you to stop smoking,” Akaashi admonishes as he stomps back into the room. He swipes his boxers from the floor and slips them back on to protect some of his modesty. He’s at Bokuto’s bedside before the other can even open his mouth to retort, grabbing the cigarette and putting it out on the decorative ashtray on the nightstand, tossing the cigarette and tipping the ashes from the tray into the trash. While Akaashi’s constantly worrying about his cholesterol and blood pressure levels, taking vitamins and supplements galore, Bokuto freely does whatever he wants. As long as he’s performing at his best for volleyball, that’s all that matters in his eyes. And it’s working out for him: he’s completely and utterly healthy. Akaashi’s thankful if not envious of such healthy genes.

“Blame it on Coach Ukai,” Bokuto replies, grinning widely at his fussy partner. “It’s his fault for putting me onto cancer sticks.”

“At least try not to do it in an Airbnb, please. We could get fined.” He flicks Bokuto on the forehead as he climbs back into bed and cuddles up to his side. Iceland is gorgeous but damn, is it freezing.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to fuck in an Airbnb, but we did that anyway,” Bokuto teases, causing Akaashi to immediately turn over and give him the cold shoulder—no pun intended. He barks out a laugh and rolls over, rubbing Akaashi’s arm and placing butterfly kisses on the soft skin of his back. He feels that it’s stopped trembling, but he notices how limp it is by his side. He’s never seen this reaction in Akaashi before. Did he do something different this time…? “Aw, c’mon, babe, don’t be like that. You very clearly liked it.”

He pauses, stroking Akaashi’s arm absentmindedly as his mind hops on the train of thought.

“What was that about, anyway? Does fucking in an Airbnb excite you that much? I’ve never seen you like that.” He grins and pulls Akaashi closer to his chest, his breath leaving the shell of Akaashi’s ear pink. “It was sexy as hell.”

However, Bokuto’s horniness is not reciprocated. All Akaashi can think about is the heavy pit that buried itself in his stomach in that moment, and he reaches forward to grab a pillow. He doesn’t exactly need it—he could just turn over and use Bokuto as his body pillow. But it’s almost as if he wants to test his muscles, see if they had come out of their Jell-O state. He hates Jell-O.

Perhaps it really did feel that good. But…his stomach hadn’t been flipping or filled with butterflies then as it usually did when they had sex—it had sunk.

…

Bright and early, the two men are back to their worldly adventures. They tour local villages, eat local food, and chat with the local people until the sky is an ombre of purple and navy blue.

“There’s supposed to be an aurora tonight, according to the locals,” Akaashi says as he figures out a map he got from a gift shop, trying to find their next stop.

“Oh, it was the bakery guy who said that, right?” Bokuto asks, peering over Akaashi’s shoulder to try and help with the navigation. However, he knows he would only make Akaashi more frustrated since Akaashi likes figuring everything out by himself. “He said we have to go to this point.”

He takes a chance at helping and saddles up next to Akaashi, pointing to a particularly tall lookout point. “Think you can climb that?”

“Just because you work out every day doesn’t make me a weakling in comparison,” Akaashi counters. He bites the cap off the marker and circles the lookout point’s name, the paper crinkling underneath his hand. As if to prove how strong and capable he is, his bicep bulges as he marks the lookout point, and Bokuto very obviously stares. He’s always loved Akaashi’s body, how muscular yet lean it is. He has curves in all the right places and strong where it matters. His body is nothing short of beautiful, a marble sculpture made by Michelangelo.

Akaashi places the cap back on and tosses a smug look over his shoulder, saying, “Remember how I constantly had to pick you up whenever you’d get depressed over a missed hit? Carrying a hundred-kilo man isn’t an easy feat.”

“Seventy-eight kilos, thank you very much!” Bokuto corrects instantly, grabbing Akaashi by the wrist and dragging him to their rental car. “Fine, then let’s see your skills. We have to be there in two hours.”

The drive is full of punk and hard rock songs, all at Akaashi’s request. Bokuto tries to compromise with just one pop song in the queue of AC/DC and Green Day, but because of his sly comments throughout the trip, this is his punishment.

“Turn here,” Akaashi says over the blaring of “Readymade” by Ado, pointing to the upcoming sign. The tires squeal as they try to compensate for the horrible Fast and Furious move Bokuto does as he turns, righting as they reach the fairly full parking lot for the lookout point. Akaashi would have cussed Bokuto out if not for a steady mix of yellow and green lights highlighting both their faces and all the cars in the parking lot, the metal reflecting the light and causing everywhere to be flooded in a mock bokeh.

He cannot get out of the car fast enough, slamming the door closed and getting a head start on the hike. He trips a few times since his eyes are transfixed on the lights, his hand reaching out for Bokuto, who had since caught up to him and helps him steady himself. He’s panting by the time they reach the tallest point, revealing a crowd of people and, most beautiful of all, a lake that looked as if it was made out of glass. The sky and the water join into one, doubling the number of lights and showcasing a waterfall of colors.

He jogs over to where everybody is seated, their chins craned up in unison as they watch with awe the lights dancing in the sky. It’s like watching a ballet, each part of the sky following its own storyline and choreography. Akaashi stumbles from the vertigo of looking up too fast, Bokuto hot on his heels and ready to catch him until he rights himself.

“Be careful,” he warns as he unfolds their blanket and sets it on the knee-high grass, wading into it and sitting down. He pats the fabric, trying to get Akaashi’s attention. “Come here.”

Akaashi blinks as if he has snapped out of a trance, stumbling forward and into Bokuto’s arms. His head is foggy, the lights flashing in his vision every time he closes his eyes.

“They’re so beautiful,” he whispers, craning his neck up again now that he is on solid ground.

“Yeah,” Bokuto replies as he leans his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Beautiful.”

But Bokuto isn’t looking at the lights.

Their rings glimmer underneath the aurora, the gold morphing into all different shades thanks to the rippling of the colors above them. It really is like looking at the ocean, the sound of the waves being replaced with soft murmurs in Icelandic and the ambient breeze twisting through the tree branches. Akaashi almost stops breathing since his breaths come out an opaque white, obscuring the lights from his vision.

…

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

…

Bokuto is nearly asleep once the lights finally fade out. They had gotten lucky—this aurora lasted nearly an hour. And Akaashi didn’t break eye contact for that entire hour. He was in love, his lips upturned into the faintest smile.

When the lights melt into the black night, he pats Bokuto on the cheek to wake him up and stands up, beginning to fold the blanket with the other still on it.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush?” Bokuto exclaims, followed by a deep yawn as he rolls off the blanket and into the grass.

“I want to leave before both of us fall asleep.” One hour of keeping his eyes wide open with barely any blinking leaves Akaashi’s eyelids fatigued, and they are hanging low as he neatly folds the blanket in his lap and starts toward the car.

“Babe, I’m fine,” Bokuto replies, followed yet again by a yawn. They share a look, and he gives in. “Okay, okay, I’m getting in the car.”

They’re driving down the slope, both their eyelids heavy, drunk on sleep.

“Turn here?” Bokuto asks, beginning to slow down as he turns to his husband, who is fast asleep. “Hey, wake up, navigator.” He shakes Akaashi’s thigh before moving up to his shoulder. “Akaashi, hey—”

He’s paralyzed by the red lights that flood his vision, and his foot flies to the brake too slowly.

…

“We see accidents like that all the time on that slope,” the doctor says disapprovingly, shaking her head as she flips through the paperwork on the clipboard. “They should start putting streetlights there.”

“But then the lights wouldn’t be as pretty,” Bokuto protests, his arm shaking in its sling.

The doctor gives him a stern once-over before going back to her paperwork. “Tell that to the claim you’ll have to settle with the rental car agency. I’ll release you both in a couple of hours. For now, please rest.” She turns to Akaashi, who is sitting in the chair next to Bokuto’s bed with a pack of ice to the bump on his forehead. “Can you start filling these out, please?”

Akaashi nods and takes the offered pen, but as he puts it to the paper, his hand begins trembling uncontrollably. It isn’t violent, but it’s noticeable enough to make him stop trying to write and stare at his hand for a second. He looks up at the doctor, who is also staring at his hand.

“Hm.” She meets Akaashi’s puzzled gaze with a sympathetic smile. “Must be an after-effect of the accident. Don’t worry too much.”

She begins to walk out of the room but stops in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at Akaashi. “If that persists, I would check with your physician back home.”

She nods a goodbye before leaving the room, escaping just in time for Bokuto to wail about having to contact the rental car company and pay for the damages. But Akaashi isn’t listening. He usually ignores Bokuto when he gets like this, but now it’s for a different reason. He’s back to staring at his hand, willing the trembling to go away. It eventually does, and he proceeds to sign the papers, but that pit in his stomach never leaves. It only expands.

…

It’s Akaashi’s 36th birthday three days after the accident, and he’s celebrating it by helping Bokuto wrap his arm in plastic wrap in order to go to The Blue Lagoon. It has been thirty minutes, and Bokuto is yet to be satisfied by the amount of wrapping.

“What if it gets wet?” he whines. “I don’t want to interrupt the healing process. I have a game to play in two weeks!”

“Have you told your coach yet?” Akaashi asks pointedly, to which Bokuto grumbles something in response. “That’s what I thought. You’re not going to play for a while. Probably eight weeks.”

“Eight weeks?!” Bokuto shouts, causing everybody within a twenty-foot radius to turn their heads to the Japanese man so clearly in despair.

“You should’ve just stopped the car on the side of the road,” Akaashi replies, immediately regretting his words. This would only start a fight. And it does.

“If you could’ve just woken up,” Bokuto retorts heatedly, snatching his wrist back to do the wrapping job himself. “There wasn’t anywhere to pull over, anyway. We would’ve been the ones rear-ended if I stopped.”

“Okay, well—” Akaashi stops himself, his hands dropping to his lap as he turns his head to gaze out into the picturesque lagoon. He knew this argument would happen eventually. He swings his eyes back to Bokuto, who has put his finishing touches on the wrapping. “Can we not fight on my birthday?”

Bokuto huffs. “We aren’t fighting,” he explains but pauses, realizing he’s only furthering the argument. He purses his lips and nods, standing up from the beach chair and adjusting his swim trunks. They can’t go naked like in the bathhouses at home, so the rough fabric feels strange on his skin, especially when he submerges himself in the warm, milky blue water. He sighs, keeping his wrist elevated as he uses his other hands to splash the water in his face, running his fingers through his hair. He looks over his shoulder, watching as Akaashi busies himself with taking off his shirt, revealing his toned body that still had healing hickeys from a few nights ago. His muscles flex as he spreads sunscreen on his skin, causing Bokuto to roll his eyes and grin affectionately. Akaashi, forever concerned about skin cancer.

“Come on, babe. I’m waiting for you.”

Akaashi’s heart hurt a little from the fight, but it warms at the expectant look on his partner’s face. He nods and puts the sunscreen down, dipping his toes in the water before stepping into the pool and involuntarily letting out a long sigh of relief. All his muscles relax, and not in the strange way they did before, as if they were Jell-O. No, now they relax as if they’re softened butter, melting into his body. He rests his arms up on the edge, letting his head hang back like a ragdoll.

“Better?” Bokuto asks.

“Better.”

…

They stay nearly the entire day at the lagoon, switching between being inside the lagoon and the various spas and restaurants around the pool. Bokuto treats Akaashi to a couple’s massage until he gets kicked out of the room by his husband for groaning too loud and for making too many weird comments. He stays in the bar until Akaashi sits next to him, looking completely refreshed, his skin practically glowing in the soft haze of the sunset provided by the large bay windows.

“You look relaxed,” he comments. He hesitates to touch Akaashi, feeling as if he needs to wash his hands beforehand, but finally rests his hand on his bare shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pregnant.”

“Yet again, mood ruined,” Akaashi replies, except it comes out as a joke rather than an admonishment. He leans on the bar and asks for a beer. “I don’t want to go back home.”

“Why not?” Bokuto asks, cocking his head. “We have to get back to Emiko. She’s waiting for us.”

It’s hard to believe that Bokuto isn’t related to their dog, Emiko, because he looks exactly like a dog at that moment, his still-drying hair flopping over like ears and his bushy eyebrows raising up his forehead quizzically.

Akaashi chuckles and sips at the foam, licking it off his top lip. “This place brings me some kind of…peace. I want to live here one day. Or at least come back.”

“We’re definitely coming back,” Bokuto replies with an emphatic nod. “I couldn’t get enough of looking at your face as you watched the aurora. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The aurora?”

Bokuto turns his head to see Akaashi staring back at him with a thin white foam mustache on his top lip after taking another sip, clearly unaware of how endearing he looks.

He smiles softly. “Yeah. The aurora.”

…

“So, you say you’re having tremors?”

Akaashi never thought he would muster up the courage to go to the doctor. But he finally does after about a month, and as he’s sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms, he regrets he ever came.

“Y…es,” he replies haltingly. “It’s probably nothing, but the doctor in Iceland said I should get it checked out, and it’s just been so strange. I have probably just been overworking myself at the gym. I’m not twenty anymore, ha. Actually, I think I should just go—”

“Keiji, please sit down.” Akaashi does as he is told and watches his doctor pull out a forearm exerciser and sets it on the table. “If you can.”

Akaashi raises a brow but shrugs and reaches forward. He grabs the forearm exerciser and uses it as usual before putting it back on the table.

The doctor watches on silently, a finger on his top lip as his eyebrows furrow together. He puts the forearm exerciser back in his desk drawer and clasps his hands together. “You seem fine. I’ll just take some urine and blood samples from you to rule some things out. If you notice anything else, please give me a call.”

After peeing in a cup and giving up some of his blood, he practically glides out of the office. It seems as if there’s nothing wrong with him, which is exactly the diagnosis he was expecting. He had been over-exaggerating, and the doctor back in Iceland was definitely correct: his trembling hand had been a result of the near concussion he received. He drives back home and greets Bokuto with a grand smooch on the lips and musses up Emiko’s floppy ears before going into the kitchen and cooking them a beautiful three-course meal. He’s happily eating, but Bokuto finds it harder to eat. Not because of the cast on his wrist, but because of something else.

Akaashi is being a lot messier than usual. Dropping food back into the bowl, getting sauce on his face. He’s probably still excited, Bokuto thinks, but the ramen going down his esophagus turns into a pit that buries itself in his stomach, and he can’t shake the feeling. No matter how much Akaashi kisses him or hugs him or cuddles up by his side as they watch a movie, he still can’t smile to his full potential.

…

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

…

It’s a few days later when Akaashi’s joyous mood crumbles. Doctors only call after tests when something is wrong. And sure enough, while in the middle of working on his computer, Akaashi’s phone rumbles on the desk with his doctor’s name lit up on the screen.

He’s once again sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his hands gripping the arms much tighter than before. He’s doing the breathing technique his therapist taught him for his anxiety, but it only makes him want to pass out.

“Your blood tests came back alright. No HIV, hepatitis, your vitamin B12 levels are good, and no cancer from what I can—.”

“Oh, my God.” Akaashi exhales out all the anxiety in his chest, nearly doubling over from the weight taken off his chest. He looks back up at his doctor and grins. “That means I can go, right? I’ll get going—"

The doctor holds up a hand to get Akaashi to be quiet. “These blood and urine tests are only to rule out diseases. But I wouldn’t have called you into the office if I hadn’t found something.” His doctor takes a sharp breath as he shuffles his papers around as if he got a paper cut. “Your CK levels are abnormally high.”

Something in Akaashi drops. His stomach? His heart? All he knows is that he’s heavy like a bag of rocks, and he feels strapped to the chair.

“What…is that?” he asks, his chest so tight, he’s afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. No better place to have it than in front of a doctor, though.

“Creatine kinase. It’s an enzyme that’s released into the blood when there’s some muscle damage. It’s released when you’re either having or had a heart attack—”

“Dr. Hirose, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“No, you’re not, Keiji,” his doctor says with a look of pity on his face. It makes Akaashi’s panic heighten. Pity? “Or when you do a lot of strenuous exercises—”

“That’s what I said! It’s because I’ve been exercising—”

“Keiji,” his doctor breathes forcefully, giving the dark-haired man a stern look. “Or it’s a sign of a degenerative muscle disease. I’m going to schedule you for an MRI in two weeks. If it really is because of strenuous exercise, then nothing will show up. I just want to make sure there aren’t any tumors or pressure on your spinal cord.” His doctor scribbles something down on the notepad in front of him and crosses something out on his clipboard. “In the meantime, lay off the weights and rest at home.”

“O…kay.” Akaashi leaves, hope still bright in his chest. He goes through all the workouts he’s been doing over the past few months, and he nods his head to himself as he confirms that he has overexerted himself a few times. Now he has permission to just laze around at home instead of pushing himself to go to the gym. Doctor’s orders.

A week passes with nothing of note. Bokuto finally gets his cast taken off, brandishing his newly healed wrist like a trophy. Akaashi claps, unamused, but can’t help the smile that forms when Bokuto kisses him until his breath is taken away, using that wrist to grip the small of his back and press their fronts together.

“You still need to do physical therapy,” Akaashi reminds him, but Bokuto rolls his eyes and thanks the doctor before pulling his husband out of the clinic and into the car.

“That can wait,” Bokuto says, pulling Akaashi in by his tie and almost knocking his glasses off by the sheer force of his kiss. “Now let’s celebrate.”

Ever since that vacation, Akaashi hadn’t tried to go on top. He’s been scared that the same thing would happen, and it’d be on his mind the entire week. He had just gotten cleared by his doctor—the last thing he needs is for his arms to go weak.

After scolding Bokuto for smoking and after cleaning himself up, he walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He flinches at a pain in his ass, evidence left behind of Bokuto taking ‘celebrating’ to a whole new level. It isn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed it, but damn, the aftermath was painful.

He grabs the filter pitcher and lifts it up, and the second he does, his right arm gives out. He watches helplessly as the pitcher cracks on the edge of the fridge and freefalls onto the floor, the top coming off and spilling four liters’ worth of water all over the kitchen. Not to mention the giant crack in the plastic. If they tried to fill the pitcher to full capacity next time, it’d surely split open.

Akaashi doesn’t even notice when Bokuto skids into the kitchen or when he yells at Emiko to stop drinking the water. He doesn’t notice when Bokuto grabs the roll of paper towels and begins to mop up the water or his husband’s arms around him, whispering explanations or jokes or whatever nonsense he says to cheer him up. He only snaps out of it when he feels Bokuto’s finger on his cheek, lifting a tear from his skin.

He turns around in Bokuto’s arms, looking up at him, his bottom lip quivering. “I’m not okay, Koutarou.”

Bokuto wishes he could deny it. He so desperately wishes he could say ‘no, babe, you’re overreacting.’ To see that relieved smile on his face like he had on when he came home from the clinic. But he can’t. Because he knows that Akaashi isn’t okay.

“Let’s go back to bed, babe. I’ll get you some water. Go rest,” he says softly, ushering Akaashi away from the distressing scene and bending back over to dry the rest of the floorboards. But he can’t help it when he wets the hardwood further with his own tears.

…

Bokuto skips physical therapy to go with Akaashi to the hospital despite the latter’s many attempts to go alone. Akaashi had managed to convince Bokuto the previous times that he was just going in for a routine checkup, but now Bokuto’s not falling for it.

“The MRI is painless,” the doctor explains, beginning to help Akaashi sit down, but he waves away any help.

“I can walk, thank you.” Ever since the incident in the kitchen, Akaashi has grown more defensive of everything he does. If Bokuto asks if he needs any help, Akaashi fires back with ‘do I look like I need help?’ or ‘I’m not helpless.’ He has always been snarky, but his current demeanor is callous, uncaring. There’s no love in his sarcastic remarks, just hurt.

He lays down on the bed, shifting around until the doctor tells him to stop. It’s quick, and, like his doctor said, painless, and he’s out in less than five minutes.

“The results will be out in two days,” his doctor warns after coming out of the small glass room adjacent to the machine. “If you get a call from me, that doesn’t automatically mean bad news.”

“Okay.” Akaashi hasn’t mentioned the pitcher incident to his doctor. He knows it’s the stupidest thing he can do. But if he doesn’t mention it, treats it as yet another injury sustained from overworking himself, then maybe it doesn’t exist. And it doesn’t, not on paper.

The next few days pass by like molasses. Akaashi doesn’t get any work done, and each time his phone rings, he nearly passes out. When he finally does get the call, he actually does pass out, and Bokuto has to pick up the phone for him while trying to wake him up.

“Doc? Hey, it’s Koutarou.”

“Oh, Koutarou. If you could pass along to Akaashi that the MRI is all clear, that would be great.”

As if on cue, Akaashi wakes up and snatches the phone out of Bokuto’s hand, holding it up to his ear. “What, Dr. Hirose?”

“I said that your MRI is all clear. No tumor, nothing messing up your discs. There’s nothing wrong with your brain or spinal cord.”

Akaashi is out again like a light.

When he comes to, he’s in bed, the covers up to his chin. He sits up groggily and wipes his eyes, turning to see a bowl of mochi on the nightstand, nearly melted.

“Bokuto?” he calls, his voice hoarse. He reaches over and brings the bowl into his lap, nibbling on a mochi. Despite the mochi being cold, he’s warm. He can only picture Bokuto picking him up and tucking him in before making his famous mochi. It’s one of the only things he knows how to make, and he knows exactly when to make it.

Bokuto pads into the room, followed closely behind by Emiko. The two are twins, Akaashi swears. Emiko hops up onto the bed and nuzzles Akaashi’s arm before collapsing onto his thighs, laying her head down with a grunt.

"Hey, you feeling better?” Bokuto asks, walking over and sitting down cautiously at the foot of the bed as if Akaashi’s made out of glass. “I made you mochi to celebrate the clean bill of health.”

Akaashi smiles and nods, scarfing down another piece of mochi. “Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled by the sticky rice dough. The sight is enough to make Bokuto laugh and scoot closer, wiping a bit of ice cream from the corner of Akaashi’s lips and lick it off his finger.

“I’m going back to practice tomorrow,” he continues. “My physical therapist says I’m good to go. So we’re both doing awesome.”

Akaashi grins and leans forward, pulling Bokuto in for a kiss, burying his fingers in the white-gray hair. They continue to eat mochi together, making small talk and eventually watching a movie together, but Akaashi still isn’t fully happy. When Bokuto falls asleep, he gets up to put the bowl in the sink. Before he can finish the trip, he drops the bowl onto the carpet. The thud is muffled, Bokuto too deep in sleep to wake up. But Akaashi, who was drowsy before, is now fully awake. He looks to his right arm, his hand trembling and his forearm cramping up. He simply bends down and picks up the bowl with his left arm, puts it in the sink, and silently slips underneath the covers. He snuggles up next to Bokuto, much closer than usual, resting his head on his chest.

“Mm, Keiji,” Bokuto mumbles, more asleep than awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies a little too quickly. He grips Bokuto’s tank top in a fist, savoring the warmth of his husband’s skin against his cheek. “Just want to be close to you.”

“Mm,” is all that Bokuto replies before draping an arm lazily over Akaashi’s waist, burying his nose in the other’s dark hair.

Akaashi closes his eyes, but he doesn’t think he sleeps at all.

…

It’s a pretty normal month, but Akaashi’s knees are roughed up with all the tripping and tumbles he’s taken. He doesn’t tell Bokuto or his doctor, and he thanks God it’s nearing autumn so that he has an excuse to wear long pants. They bought a new pitcher, but Bokuto can’t help but notice Akaashi never gets near it. It’s particularly difficult to keep a straight face and not notice when Akaashi’s spoon trembles as he spoons sugar into his coffee or when food has made its home on his face whenever they eat. He needs to receive an Oscar for his acting abilities because every time he’s left alone, he can’t help but bury his face in his hands and pray.

It’s another month before Bokuto sits Akaashi down and stares hardheartedly at him.

“You need to go to the doctor.”

Akaashi, who already knew what the conversation would be about due to Bokuto’s seriousness when he sat him down, crosses his arms and shakes his head. “No. Why? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Really, Keiji?” Bokuto using his actual name means serious business. “You think I don’t realize you dropping everything? All the stains on your shirt? How you can’t even fucking talk sometimes?”

“Hey. Don’t…curse,” Akaashi says, and, as if his body wants to prove a point, his words slur together.

Bokuto slams the table, sending both Akaashi and Emiko’s heads snapping upwards at the loud bang.

“It hurts me, too. You think you’re the only one suffering, but you’re being so goddamn selfish. Because it hurts seeing you like this and not do anything about it. Listen, I’ve been trying to ignore it, too, hoping it’ll just go away. But it’s getting worse, Keiji, whatever this is. And I’m not going to stand by while you kill yourself.”

Bokuto’s eyes well with tears, and it only takes his husband getting emotional—which only happens in a sports-related context—to get Akaashi to pick up the phone and call his doctor.

“Muscle weakness and slurring speech?” his doctor asks, pausing to ponder something. “Come in tomorrow. I’ll get an EMG appointment set up for you.”

The two men look at each other, and Akaashi stands up and walks to the bedroom with Emiko, slamming the door closed. Bokuto takes that as a sign that he’s sleeping on the couch.

…

“This will cause a bit of discomfort,” the neurologist says gently before conducting the test. Akaashi shifts in his chair each time the instrument sends small electrical shocks in his wrist and frowns when the needle is inserted in his arm.

“Move this way…and that way…perfect.” The neurologist is studying the screen, and Akaashi is studying the neurologist. He’s studying her facial expressions, the way she moves, anything that will give him an indication of the meaning behind the squiggles onscreen. Bokuto squeezes his shoulder even though the neurologist told him not to touch him, planting a butterfly kiss on the shell of his ear. Finally, after over half of an hour of uncomfortable tests, Akaashi is instructed to go to his doctor’s office.

“I’ll send the results over to your doctor now,” the neurologist says. Yet again, there’s that look of pity. The pit in Akaashi’s stomach expands until he feels bloated and barely able to walk to his doctor’s office. He uses Bokuto’s hand for balance, but he finds that his right arm can barely sustain his weight anymore.

“Your EMG test is abnormal,” his doctor says lightly, but just the word ‘abnormal’ is a shot to the face.

“What does that mean, doc?” Bokuto asks, seeing that all of Akaashi’s mental strength was zapped out from the tests.

“It means that the EMG showed electrical activity even when your muscles were in a resting position,” the doctor replies, setting down the paperwork on the desk and resting his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes flicking between the two men. “You have a degenerative muscle disease. This is consistent with your CK levels, which show muscle damage. I want to do a few more tests, but from what I can see, you might have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”

“What the fuck is that?” Bokuto shouts, practically jumping out of the chair and snapping his fingers in front of the doctor’s face. “Japanese, please!”

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, tugging on Bokuto’s sleeve, and even if he didn’t have degenerating muscles, he wouldn’t have been able to stop Bokuto in the state he’s in now.

“ALS,” the doctor clarifies, and both men freeze into place like statues. “Motor neuron disease, Lou Gehrig’s disease—there are many names. I’m not saying you have it for certain, but all the evidence points to it. Your accident back in Iceland certainly didn’t help. Now, I want to discuss treatment—”

Akaashi grabs the nearest trashcan and vomits into it, and no matter how much he throws up, the pit in his stomach stays, growing ever bigger.

…

I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

…

It seems coincidental, but the second Akaashi receives the diagnosis from both his primary doctor and a second opinion from a neurologist, his symptoms worsen tenfold. He can’t drink coffee anymore, having burned himself too many times from spilling hot coffee all over himself. He’s going to physical therapy every day, taking a handful of pills every day, going to an ALS clinic every day. He works whenever he can. He tries to go to every one of Bokuto’s games. Climbing up the bleachers is rough, and he tries to arrive before the teams come out of the locker rooms so Bokuto doesn’t see him like this. He attempts to write posters—keyword: attempts. His handwriting comes out more like a scrawl, his fingers failing him and letting the pen slip through multiple times. They said this would happen back at the clinic. Loss of fine motor control. It’s one thing to hear it, it’s another thing to experience it.

If somebody didn’t know better, they’d think a child wrote the poster board. But instead of a child holding the poster and cheering on their father, it’s Akaashi, pointing at Bokuto when he jogs onto the court with as much of a fist as he can hold. Bokuto grins when he sees his husband, but his face visibly falls when his eyes drop to the poster. He misses the first shot, saved just in time by their outside hitter. He turns back to the game, but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is on his husband, who had just been given a death sentence, and he’s watching it all unfold.

Because that’s what it is: a death sentence. Stephen Hawking gave hope to everybody with ALS, as they say every day at the clinic and physical therapy, but he knows the statistics. He studied them until he fell asleep at the kitchen table: only about 20% of people live five or ten years after diagnosis, a far cry from Hawking’s 55 years. Hawking’s survival rate is as much of an enigma as the black holes he studied.

Akaashi knows all the statistics by heart. Memorization and Stephen Hawking won’t change the fact that he will die far too young.

He cries and laughs all the time. It’s not even because he’s sad or seeing something particularly funny; it just happens. In the rare moments where he’s particularly entrenched in his work or watching a titillating movie with Bokuto and can forget about his life, he’s interrupted by a bout of laughter or gobs of tears, and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, dragging his now-limp foot along with him.

Bokuto accused Akaashi of being selfish for not seeking out a diagnosis, but now the guilt has fallen onto him. He’s more selfish than Akaashi is, pitying himself for having a sick spouse. He feels guilt every single time he cries because he needs to be strong for Akaashi. He needs to be the one supporting his husband. He needs to try and get his mind off the stress. He needs put on a brave smile when he’s faced with Akaashi’s worsening symptoms. But he can’t help but suffer for Akaashi, absorb all the pain he’s feeling every time he can’t speak or struggles to lift a fork. Sure, it doesn’t hurt physically, but it tortures the mind. It must be torture to count down the days until your muscles lose all functionality and you’re left limp in a wheelchair, on oxygen until your diaphragm or heart give out because they, too, are muscles. Bokuto has a list of all of Akaashi’s symptoms, and his Internet history is full of experimental treatments, made up of both Western and Eastern medicine. They try acupuncture, chiropractic, essential oils, anything.

“Hey, I found this tea that might boost your CK levels—”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi breathes. His chest must be acting up again. “Enough. No more of that.”

When Akaashi doesn’t feel the symptoms as intensely, he tries to initiate sex with Bokuto every chance he gets. If I don’t do it now, when’s the next time I’ll have the strength to? he reasons to himself every time. Bokuto accepts, of course—not necessarily because he’s constantly horny (he used to be, not so much now), but because he has the same reasoning as Akaashi. He doesn’t mind being ravished at nearly every moment of the day if it means he’ll still have the hickeys to remind him of their intimacy together on the days Akaashi is too weak.

“I want to try being on top again,” Akaashi purrs in Bokuto ear one day, feeling particularly invigorated after a good physical therapy session. Perhaps all those pills he’s been taking are kicking in. Perhaps he’s getting better.

“Are you sure?” Bokuto asks, breathless. He’s never had to work this hard during sex before, and even though missing practice may have something to do with his lost endurance, he doubts it.

Akaashi nods, watching Bokuto flop onto his back before sitting up and tossing a leg over and beside Bokuto’s hip. Even though he had just been laying there and having Bokuto do all the work, he’s already breathless from that one move, his arms cramping up as he leans them on Bokuto’s chest. Flashbacks of their time in Iceland spot his vision. If only he had known back then that he had this disgusting disease…

He shakes that out of his head. He needs to focus on the now. And now, Bokuto was staring up at him with worry, his hands lifting up to Akaashi’s hips to provide him stability. He needs to wipe that worry off his face, and the only way to do that—

“Shit.” And he’s crying uncontrollably again. His arms give out, and he face-plants onto Bokuto’s chest, his left leg useless by Bokuto’s side while the other cramps up. “I can’t—”

He tries to push himself up, shifting his hips backward to try and continue, but the mood was gone. “Just give me a second—”

“Keiji.”

“Hold on, let me just—”

“Keiji.”

“One second! God, y-you act like I can’t do—ugh, did you go soft?”

“KEIJI.”

Akaashi’s head snaps up, his hand stopping its stroking to see Bokuto sitting upright, staring him down. “…What?”

“Stop.” Bokuto’s crying. “Just stop.”

“What, why? If you had just given me a second—”

“It’s not exactly sexy watching you struggle to hold yourself up because your muscles are degenerating.” Bokuto gasps at what he just said, his hand flying up to his mouth much too late. Akaashi just stares at him, his mouth in a small ‘o’. All Akaashi does is slowly sit up straight—as straight as he can—and stare directly into Bokuto’s eyes.

“If you hadn’t gotten into that fucking accident,” Akaashi grumbles, wrestling one of the sheets and wrapping it around himself as he uses all the spite in his body to get off Bokuto without falling over. Luckily, his muscles participate, and he’s off the bed, stumbling to the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re bringing that shit up again?” Bokuto exclaims, lifting his hand up in a show of exasperation. “Don’t tell me you’re blaming your stupid disease on me because I couldn’t wake you up.”

Akaashi whips around and stares daggers into his husband, his lips pulled into a scowl. “You heard Dr. Hirose. It certainly didn’t help.”

“I didn’t help? You know what isn’t helpful? Seeing my husband slowly die in front of me, knowing that the person I love more than anything in this goddamned unfair world is leaving me alone, and there’s nothing I can do about it except watch. To think that I contributed—to have you tell me I made this worse as if I’m the one who’s killing you—to know that no matter what fucking home remedy we try or expert we see, we can’t change anything!” He sniffs. “So it doesn’t matter how it fucking happened, it happened.”

SLAM!

The sound of the bathroom door echoes throughout the apartment, and Emiko scuttles out of the room in fear. Bokuto follows not long after because he knows he’s not welcome there, but also because he can’t stand the sound of Akaashi crying anymore. His sobs are quiet and muffled, no doubt trying to hide them, but he’s doing a terrible job. Bokuto doesn’t do that good of a job either.

He’s sleeping on the couch again. This time, Emiko sleeps with him, snoring away on the loveseat next to the couch.

He tries to sleep, but it’s as if something is blocking his ability to. He sits up with a prophetic realization.

This is so fucking stupid. We don’t have time for this.

They don’t have time for arguments. They don’t have time for pettiness. They don’t have time for anything, really, least of all this.

He tosses the thin blanket off his body, standing up and striding over to the door. His hand is almost on the knob before it turns and the door opens, revealing a disheveled Akaashi with a bright red nose and bloodshot eyes.

“I’m—”

“Sorry.”

Akaashi moves first, diving into Bokuto’s arms and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Bokuto moves cautiously before giving in and wrapping his arms tightly around Akaashi’s frail form. He really does feel like porcelain compared to the built and fit man he was before. He loved Akaashi’s muscles. He’d have to learn to love his bones eventually as well.

…

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

…

Akaashi’s parents come to stay with their dying son, and it’s morbidly silent. Usually, it’d be a joyous time, full of large meals, traveling, and laughing. But Akaashi’s mother can’t stop fussing over her son’s crutches, telling him he should get a walker, and Akaashi says he’d rather die earlier than he already is than use a walker that’s made for old people.

Finally, Akaashi’s father suggests they all take a walk in the park to brighten their spirits. Bokuto, who has taken the season off to stay with Akaashi—against his wishes, but a dead man’s wishes don’t mean much—agrees wholeheartedly. He puts on a wide smile, and even though it’s mostly false, it gets the rest of the family smiling and hopeful as well.

The cobblestones are a little rough to walk with crutches, but Akaashi manages. His forearms are still relatively strong compared to his legs, which degenerated far faster than his arms, even though the latter started to go first. The forearm holders in the crutches are uncomfortable, but Bokuto ordered padding, which should be coming in a few days.

Something to look forward to.

He doesn’t notice Bokuto giving the evil eye to anybody whose eyes linger on the strange man with crutches for too long, puffing up his chest intimidatingly until nobody has the courage to look in Akaashi’s direction.

“It’s a nice day,” Akaashi remarks as he stops in front of the pond. He smiles and giggles softly at the ducks waddling along the bank, hopping into the green water and fluffing up their feathers. A duck followed by an orderly line of yellow ducklings waddles past, stopping by to pick at the grass. “Hey, look, Mom, a mama duck.”

He lifts his arm to point, but the crutch goes along with his arm, leaving him destabilized. Luckily, his father is on his other side, and he holds him up without making too much of a big deal, keeping his face front.

“Oh, will you look at that,” Akaashi’s mother coos, getting out a bag of seeds from her purse along with her phone. “Koutarou, be a dear and take a picture of us with the mama duck, please.”

Akaashi’s smile fades. He knows his mother only used the mother duck as an excuse to take as many pictures as she can with her dying son before he’s six feet under or ashes. He’s yet to figure out which route to take. She had been taking pictures the entire trip. He has to remember to go through her phone and delete all the ugly pictures of himself before she prints them out to use at his funeral.

“For sure, Mama Akaashi,” Bokuto says, taking the offered phone and holding up the phone, waiting for Akaashi to turn around. “C’mon, Keiji, lemme see that pretty smile.”

Akaashi smiles, tries to think of the mama duck to get his smile to look halfway real, but when Bokuto shows them the photo, it looks horribly forced. He looks awful, anyway. A smile can’t save the way his body’s contorted with the crutches, how skinny he’s gotten, how sunken his face has grown. Eating has become more and more difficult. The movement of eating used to be the only problem, but now it’s swallowing. He’s mainly eating soups now, and he didn’t even have to tell Bokuto because Bokuto always knows before he does what he’s feeling. The perks of being together for nineteen years.

He turns back to the pond in search of the mama duck, but she had disappeared in the time they took the photo. Akaashi’s face falls, his hand clutching the plastic bag of seeds. A bit of pollen tickles his nose, and he sneezes into his elbow.

“Oh, Keiji!”

His head snaps to his mother, whose hand had flown up to her mouth to suppress her gasp. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

He follows her line of sight down to the crotch of his pants, which had darkened and become wet.

He had peed himself. Slightly, but enough to make him never want to step outside ever again.

The warmth on his legs hadn’t been the sun after all—it had been his bladder leaking from the force of the sneeze, with its host none the wiser.

He had read about the loss of bladder control as a symptom since the bladder is surrounded by muscles, and the bitch of the disease targets those. But he never expected that to happen to him. Bladder incontinence only happens to older victims. Urge incontinence, however, doesn’t have as small of an age range when it comes to ALS.

Only now, standing in wet underwear, does he realize how these diseases are sanitized. The movies he watched of HIV, ALS, cancer…none of them show how disgusting they actually are.

“Get me home,” Akaashi whispers, his eyes welling with hot tears of humiliation. Sweat prickles on his hairline and the back of his neck, a panic attack in the works. Every single pair of eyes is on him. Everybody’s staring, laughing, pointing. Everybody’s full of pity. Oh, poor thing, he can’t help it. He’s never been more embarrassed.

Humiliated, humiliated, humiliated…

“Come, Keiji,” his mother murmurs, leading him to the public bathroom. “Let’s go to the bathroom while your father and Koutarou pull up the car.”

Nobody questions the old woman as she enters the men’s bathroom, mostly because of the man in crutches who reeks of urine next to her. She takes him into the biggest stall and sits him on the toilet, beginning to undo his belt until he stops her weakly.

“Please,” he says, his breathing heavy. “Let me have a little dignity left.”

He has a few months left until he needs a 24/7 nurse to transfer him to the toilet and wipe his ass. He will postpone that until the last minute.

She waits outside while Akaashi cleans himself up. She listens for any sign of struggle and nearly jumps with surprise when the door opens, revealing her son, who smells a little better. The pee is already beginning to dry down.

“Let’s get you in the shower,” she says when they get home. Bokuto places a hand on her forearm, signaling for him to take over, and attempts to wrap an arm around Akaashi’s waist, only to be rejected when Akaashi dodges and nearly trips over his crutches.

Bokuto frowns but proposes, “Come on, let’s take a shower together.”

“Don’t get near me,” Akaashi says as he ambles over to the bathroom. “I’m disgusting.”

Bokuto laughs and shakes his head. “Akaashi, babe, I’ve had to clean up your vomit three days in a row before, both from food poisoning and booze. You literally brush your teeth while I’m shitting in the same bathroom. A little pee doesn’t hurt. Don’t act like a princess—”

“Please, leave me alone,” Akaashi begs, throwing his crutches on the floor of their bedroom and using the doorknob as support as he steps inside and closes the door. Bokuto knocks on the door and tries the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“Keiji,” he mumbles, hoping his quiet voice carries through the door. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“Keiji,” he repeats.

“I’m not letting you bathe me or wipe my ass. I’d rather slip and crack my head open in the shower before letting you do that.”

“Keiji,” he repeats for the third and last time. “You remember what Kuroo said? He was a terrible officiant, but he said some good things.”

The other side is silent.

“In sickness and in health. ‘Til death do us part. I’m here for the long game. I’m not leaving you.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Remember what I said in my vows?”

Again, silence.

He clears his throat. “Keiji Akaashi, I will love you until we’re two wrinkly old and ugly grandpas. I will love you, even if we both lose our hair and all our teeth. I will love you, even if we forget each other. Because I will remember you the next day, and I’ll fall in love with you all over again.”

Bokuto feels the light spring breeze on his face, almost as if he’s back at their wedding venue. He feels the ancient cobblestones underneath his feet, smells the cherry blossoms surrounding them, tastes the red velvet cake on his tongue when Akaashi smashed it in his face. Nothing has changed. Except they’re not going to be wrinkly old men.

“Really puts everything into perspective, huh? A little piss and shit won’t ever change my vows,” he ends, rapping the door yet again with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, Keiji. Open up and lemme see you naked. That always makes me feel better, at least.”

The lock tumbles and the door slowly creaks open to reveal Akaashi in his boxers. He clearly wasted no time taking off the soiled clothing.

“I needed to take a shower anyway,” Bokuto says with a shrug, stepping inside and closing the door. He strips down to his boxers before walking over and turning on the shower, but as he’s walking back, he feels just how healthy his muscles are. He used to never think about his muscles, except maybe when they were sore from the gym or how to make them bigger to impress Akaashi. Now he feels horrible every time he exists next to Akaashi, almost as if he was mocking his disease or bragging about how healthy he is.

“You know what will cheer you up?” Bokuto asks, ignoring the guilt blooming in his chest. He drops his hand to pinch Akaashi’s rear, causing the man to explode into a red blush.

“Koutarou! My parents are here!” Akaashi whispers harshly, swatting Bokuto’s hand away. “Besides…I won’t be able to…s-support myself.”

“I’ll do all that, baby,” Bokuto drawls flirtatiously, wrapping his arm around Akaashi’s lower back for support and using his other hand to push down both their boxers.

“Koutarou, stop,” Akaashi pleads, the corners of his eyes leaking tears. “I’m…I feel so ugly. I smell.”

“That’s what the shower is for.” Bokuto grins before leading his husband over to the shower, carefully helping him in, shielding Akaashi from the water with his back as he checks to see if the temperature’s good. Once he approves, he moves to let the water drizzle over Akaashi’s pale frame. Akaashi uses the support bar Bokuto installed a couple of days ago for balance as he steps forward into the water, closing his eyes as he feels the stickiness between his legs wash away. He lets out a sigh at Bokuto’s hands on his skin, the smell of fresh cucumber drifting from the lather on his shoulders.

“Turn around,” Bokuto commands, and Akaashi obeys, his eyes still closed. However, they fly open when he feels his body lifting up and the cold wall of the shower pressed against his back. His hand shoots out to grip the support bar, glaring at Bokuto.

“Could’ve warned me,” he grumbles, letting out a gasp when Bokuto ignores his complaint and dives straight into his neck to leave marks. “Not there! My parents will see them!”

“It’s turtleneck weather,” Bokuto replies easily.

Akaashi nearly succumbs to Bokuto’s seducing until he remembers something. “What if I shit on your dick?”

Bokuto tosses his head back and laughs, causing Akaashi to laugh along nervously.

“That’s what the shower is for,” he repeats without a second thought, going back to his seducing. His hand overlaps Akaashi’s on the support bar, squeezing it as both of them forget the trauma of today and melt into each other’s bodies. The sex is a form of amnesia because as Bokuto sets down a thoroughly fatigued Akaashi on the counter to get them both towels, Akaashi can’t for the life of him place why he was sad earlier that day.

He, thankfully, didn’t shit on Bokuto’s dick. And—Bokuto’s right—it’s chilly that night. It gives Akaashi the perfect excuse to cuddle up on the couch in a turtleneck, concealing the evidence of their spontaneous lust in the shower. The night is full of hot chocolate with marshmallows and caramel drizzle, just like Akaashi likes it, cheesy rom-coms he and his mother adore, and playing around with Emiko that he forgets that he’ll die in a few months or years. He talks and talks and talks until his vocal cords are sore the next day. Tonight, he isn’t Keiji Akaashi with ALS. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who can barely form a sentence anymore. He isn’t Keiji Akaashi who will die before he reaches middle age. He’s just Keiji Akaashi.

…

The sense of normalcy continues for the rest of the year. His symptoms seem to have plateaued, and thankfully, he doesn’t have any more run-ins with urge incontinence. Bokuto attributes the slowing progression to his daily physical therapy sessions, and he finally feels comfortable enough to go to practices again and leave Akaashi to his work. Typing is difficult, and it takes him three times as long to edit a page of a manga, but it feels nice to be of use. To not be completely inept and earn his own keep. He always hated being doted on, but he’d have to get used to the idea soon enough.

Akaashi’s parents go home a month after their arrival once they see their son’s condition stabilizing, making him promise to call them every day and tell them updates. He struggles to muster up the courage to call their closest friends to break the news because he knows that the second he says the words ‘I have ALS,’ they’d be knocking down the door. And that’s exactly what happens.

“Why the actual hell didn’t you tell us the second you got the diagnosis?!” Kuroo shouts, causing Kenma to smack the back of his head and apologize for his partner.

“The man’s sick, Tetsurou. Don’t scream.”

Akaashi appreciates the gesture since Kuroo’s voice is much too loud for their little apartment, but he also doesn’t want to be labeled as ‘sick.’ He’s already had enough of being treated like porcelain from Bokuto; he doesn’t want his friends to do the same.

“Kuroo, calm down,” Bokuto warns, but he was in the same position Kuroo not too long ago. When Akaashi refused to go to the doctor and admit he had a problem. He can’t blame the frustration. “He’s doing fine. The crutches are working out well, and his motor skills are good enough to type and write. He’s improving.”

The initial shock of the diagnosis undoubtedly made every single symptom seem worse and did nothing to slow the progression. It racked Akaashi’s body like cancer, and he wishes he did have cancer because then he might have a shot of surviving and living a normal life. Cancer seems like a blessing compared to the curse his body harbors.

“Well,” Kenma starts with a sympathetic smile. He picks up a controller from the coffee table and sits down next to Akaashi, handing it to him and picking up a controller for himself. “Ready for me to kick your ass in Mario Kart?”

Akaashi laughs. Genuinely. Not caused by those random bursts of laughter or crying he gets. He was so worried about getting treated as if he’s breakable that the comment caught him off-guard—of course Kenma would beat him. Not only because he’s a savant at anything video game-related, but because Akaashi literally has almost zero motor skills left. And Kenma knows this very well. They ate together. Kenma watched Bokuto help wipe Akaashi’s mouth and cut up a bit of the tougher side of the steak. He winced every time Akaashi dropped his fork, the clatter causing the conversation to come to an abrupt stop. And yet, he still proposes to beat him in a game that is all about motor control. Because Keiji is still Keiji. And he deserves to play a game of Mario Kart.

Kenma, of course, wins. Bokuto promises to avenge Akaashi’s honor, but he, too, loses his honor when he’s defeated horribly by the video game developer. Kuroo is the only one who puts up a good fight before ultimately losing as well from all the practice the two do on a daily basis. Kuroo and Bokuto busy themselves playing another round while Kenma helps Akaashi stand up, and the two walk over to the small patio in the kitchen.

“Have you been smoking?” Kenma asks, motioning to the ashtray populated by a few cigarettes as he sits down. Akaashi sits down across from him, his hand absentmindedly stroking Emiko.

“No, that’s Bokuto’s,” he replies with a disappointed shake of the head. “I’m trying to get him to stop. But even if they…were mine, it wouldn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

Kenma stiffens. He can sense the distaste dripping from Akaashi’s tone like acid. He knows Akaashi would never wish sickness on Bokuto, least of all lung cancer. But Kenma can tell how frustratingly ironic it is that Bokuto, whose diet consisted of the most sugary and fatty foods before Akaashi stepped in, who smokes nearly every day, is the perfectly healthy one. He’s healthy, not the one who meditates and does yoga and cooks homemade, healthy meals every day. Even Kenma has a frown of consternation, irritated at how unfair the world can be.

He needs to ask. He needs to be able to brace himself for when the time comes. “How long do you think you have?”

Something Akaashi always appreciated from Kenma is that he never beats around the bush.

“The way I’m going, Dr. Hirose says three years. I’ll hopefully make it to my 40th birthday,” he explains, staring down at his hands. “I’ll probably n-need…a wheelchair in a year. And a 24/7 nurse a few months after that.”

He’s planned out the whole timeline in his head. He finds that expecting changes in his body is a lot less shock-inducing than just waiting for them to happen.

“I won’t be able to talk soon. Sometimes I d…on’t want to talk anymore. My vo…voice is starting to sound so ugly.” He thought he didn’t have any more tears to shed, but he finds himself choking back tears, his eyes red-rimmed.

He was trying to speak as much as possible before his voice eventually gives out, but he was never talkative to begin with, so it all comes off as fake. As a desperate attempt to redeem himself, say all the things he never got to say his entire life. He compliments Bokuto every day. Tells him how amazing of a job he’s doing. Bokuto is, of course, pleased to receive the compliments, but they’re soured when he realizes why he’s receiving them in the first place.

He baby talks Emiko, even though he only ever spoke to her like an adult human. Baby talking allows him to showcase more of his vocal range, which is getting smaller and smaller each month. But after a while, he goes days without uttering more than ten sentences. What’s the point if he’s going to lose his voice anyway?

Kenma reaches forward and grips Akaashi’s hand in his before letting go, gazing into the sunset splashing rays across the horizon. “You should make a bucket list.”

Akaashi lets out a sigh. Finally, somebody who doesn’t bring up Stephen fucking Hawking. Somebody who’s realistic, who offers solutions instead of false hope. He’s going to die whether he likes it or not—he needs to stop pitying himself.

“A bucket list isn’t a half-bad idea,” Akaashi says, stroking his chin pensively. He needs to shave, but last time he tried, he nicked himself so many times that he looked like he had a beard of toilet paper. “I don’t even know where I’d go. It’d be so expensive, too.”

“Are you going to use that money when you’re dead?” Kenma asks. “You have a savings account, right?”

Akaashi nods.

“Problem solved.” Kenma smiles and gets out a small leather-bound notebook, handing it to his friend. “I brought this for you. For your bucket list.”

Akaashi’s looking down at the notebook, but when he looks back up, Kenma’s crying. He’s never seen Kenma cry before.

“Go live life, Akaashi. Live the life people who live eighty years will never have.”

…

First, it’s the Alps in Switzerland for New Year’s. Akaashi’s strapped to Bokuto’s chest as they ski down a hill made for children, but Akaashi can’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tries. He’s laughing, begging Bokuto to go again. Bokuto agrees, but he’s wary of anything and everything now with Akaashi’s declining health. His bones have started to rise underneath his skin, and the dark circles under his eyes are growing ever darker. The common flu could have him bedridden for a week.

Bokuto still has hope that Akaashi will live for years and years. His stabilizing condition only further cements that hope, and if he doesn’t pay too much close attention, he completely forgets about Akaashi’s condition. They say that people who get it early in life live longer…

Akaashi can’t drink with his medications—and even though his motto is now “I’ll die anyway,” he’d much rather complete his Switzerland trip before offing himself. So he’s left to take care of Bokuto, who gets much too drunk off eggnog, and Akaashi loves it. He loves being the one fussing over somebody else. He loves being the stronger one, the caretaker. And now, he finally has a reason to take care of Bokuto and drag him to the bed.

“Keiiijii!” Bokuto sings at the top of his lungs, reaching his arms up as the bedroom spins around him. “Keiji Akaashi, I loooove youuu!”

“I love you, too,” Akaashi murmurs with a chuckle, balancing his crutches against the wall and flopping onto the bed.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Well, that’s quite a change in mood. Akaashi laughs and quirks a brow at Bokuto, whose arms had since dropped to his chest and his eyes closed.

“I’m not leaving—”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Bokuto slurs. His hands fly up to cover his eyes. “Why…why couldn’t it have been me? God, it’s all my fault. If we hadn’t gotten into…that crash. Of all people…why you? Live forever and forever for me. Please don’t leave me, Keiji, please…”

He continues blabbering until snores overtake his sobs, but Akaashi stays silent. Bokuto says it hurts him to see his husband’s decline, but it also hurts him to see Bokuto suffering so much. Perhaps if he died earlier rather than later, Bokuto wouldn’t be hurting as much. He’d have more time to get over him and fall in love again, preferably with somebody without a terminal disease.

He crosses off “go skiing” and “go to Switzerland” in his notebook and smiles as he goes to sleep.

…

Second, it’s Brazil. They coincidentally run into Hinata playing volleyball with his Brazilian friends on Copacabana Beach, but his expression doesn’t change when his eyes drop to Akaashi’s crutches. He just grins even wider and holds up the volleyball in his arms for Akaashi.

“Wanna play a set?”

He gets on Bokuto’s shoulders and misses nearly all the blocks and hits. It’s less about his condition and more so the fact that he was a setter and hadn’t played professionally in nearly fifteen years, but that doesn’t discourage him. He accepts Hinata’s ‘another game?’ proposition until Bokuto puts a stop to it, afraid he’s overworking himself.

Bokuto gets drunk, yet again, off too many caipirinhas, and Akaashi, yet again, has to take care of him. But he doesn’t complain once. As Bokuto sleeps, he gets out his leather-bound notebook as crosses both “meet up with Hinata one more time” and “go to Brazil” off his list. Slowly and surely, his list is being whittled down. It’s bittersweet: he feels accomplished whenever he crosses something off the list, but that just means he’s growing ever closer to his expiration date.

…

Third, it’s Italy. It’s been nearly a year since he was first diagnosed and add on two months for when he first started noticing symptoms. They’re celebrating Akaashi’s 37th birthday in a fancy seaside restaurant, the salty breeze making both their faces glow. They’re in their own little world, ignoring the other customers who either stare at them or ask to be moved to another table.

Bokuto now has to feed him nearly everything, spooning minestrone soup and twirling pasta onto a fork before putting it into his husband’s mouth. He fixes Akaashi’s bib, which has “what’s cookin,’ good lookin’” embellished across it, per Bokuto’s suggestion.

“This…is goo…d-d,” Akaashi says with a giggle, accidentally spitting out a bit of soup that dribbles down his chin.

“I know, right?” Bokuto’s heart aches at the sight, but he forces his acting skills to their maximum as he lifts a napkin up to clean Akaashi up. “We’re coming to Italy every…er, we should come back.”

He keeps catching himself saying presumptuous things that only make Akaashi draw back inside himself. Things like “I can’t wait to do this every day with you,” or “we need to come back here in three years” because, frankly, three years is a stretch.

“I wan…t the c-calamari,” Akaashi continues, seemingly not noticing Bokuto’s slip-up.

“Okay, we’ll have the calamari next. But save me some, okay? Your eye is bigger than your stomach,” Bokuto recites in a motherly voice, making Akaashi laugh again.

“Okay,” Akaashi replies, his eyes sparkling.

Bokuto hesitates to leave to go to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner, but Akaashi practically pushes him out the door with the little strength he still had. They’d have to switch to a wheelchair soon.

“I’ll be fine,” Akaashi promises in his now-unnaturally low voice. “I’ll be…on the couch.”

Bokuto bites the inside of his cheek before relenting, bidding goodbye and practically sprinting to the grocery store. When he comes back, his arms carrying a bag full of fruit and pasta, he shouts Akaashi’s name. No response.

“Akaashi?”

He hears a groan, and he can’t drop the groceries fast enough before running in the direction of the sound, coming across Akaashi on the floor in the bathroom, his pants halfway hiked up his legs.

“I h-had to p…ee,” Akaashi sobs into the terracotta tile, and Bokuto bunches him up in his arms, and he finds that his husband’s body feels much too similar to the bag of groceries. Dead weight. He weeps in Bokuto’s arms for a few more moments, and Bokuto’s about to get up before Akaashi lets out a choked wail.

“I don’t want to die!” he shrieks, almost intelligibly with how fast he gets it out in order to not slur his words together. He hits Bokuto’s forearms as hard as he can, which Bokuto barely notices with how light the taps are. He shakes his head, gobs of ugly fat tears and snot trailing down his face. He’s unraveling; all the fear and dread in his body bubbling to the surface like boiling water. The water runs down the sides of the pot, stoking the fire even more until everything eventually burns down into embers. That’s what’s left of Akaashi now. Embers.

“I d…on’t want to die. I’m s-sca…red. I don’t wan…t-t to die…I don’t…”

Akaashi thought dying was what he wanted. But the second he was alone in the dark bathroom, hopelessly and utterly alone and lying on the cold floor, he realizes that death is the furthest thing he wants. He’s scared. He’s been putting off his true emotions for too long. He’s always been terrified.

He dissolves back into quiet tears, hanging his head low over Bokuto’s forearm. For a while, all Bokuto can do is stare, biting his bottom lip until it bleeds in order to keep a stoic face for his husband. But he’s crumbling, too.

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto coaxes into Akaashi’s hair, stroking the locks and cradling him like a newborn baby. For every smile Akaashi gives, he weeps five times. The ratio used to be backwards. He wonders how much bigger the disparity in the ratio will grow.

Bokuto doesn’t leave him alone for longer than five minutes after that.

…

They can only do one more trip before Akaashi needs to be transferred to a wheelchair, according to Dr. Hirose.

“There are many comfortable and intelligent varieties,” he says, but nothing makes Akaashi want to die more than the thought of no longer being able to move on his own.

They end up in England, where they meet up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Yikes, you look horrible, Akaashi,” Oikawa says with a grimace, motioning to Akaashi’s outfit and bib. “Just because Bokuto has to dress you now doesn’t mean he should get to pick out your outfits. Cargo shorts, really?”

Akaashi laughs and turns to Bokuto, shaking his head. “You h-hear…d the man. I…ge-t-t to choose.”

Bokuto rolls his eyes and glares daggers into Oikawa’s soul as he takes out a tissue to clean up the drool in the corner of Akaashi’s mouth. “I picked out this outfit with a lot of love. I think it shows off his model legs. Doesn’t it, Iwa?”

But Iwaizumi isn’t taking the news as easily as Oikawa. He’s still visibly processing how quickly his friend’s health went downhill, and his hands are fisting the sides of his jeans.

“Um, yeah,” Iwaizumi replies after nearly choking on the lump in his throat. “Maybe a vest would be tasteful.”

Akaashi taps Bokuto on the chest, which would have been a slap back in the old days. He raises his eyebrows in a ‘you hear that?’ motion, finding body language is a lot easier and less awkward for the other person in the conversation than attempting to speak. He ignores Iwaizumi’s reaction—he understands it. He’s gotten enough of those reactions to just laugh it off. But the lingering stares and pitiful glances still hurt.

When they get back to their hotel, Akaashi crosses off “go to England” and “see Oikawa and Iwa one last time” in his journal. Bokuto helps him brush his teeth, holding up a cup of water for him to rinse and spit into and wipes the toothpaste foam off his face.

“Look at those pearly whites,” Bokuto says, grinning in a way that bares all his teeth, and Akaashi copies as much as he can with his limited range of facial muscles. They dissolve into laughter, and Bokuto sits his husband on the foot of the bed and places a pajama set on the bed. “Alright, now because of stupid Oikawa, I have to get your approval on everything you wear because I have ‘horrible fashion taste’ or whatever. So, what do you think?”

Akaashi is silent, and Bokuto meets his gaze and sees his cheeks are dusted with pink.

“Koutarou…” Even with his slurred and irregular voice, his name still sounds like pure gold on his tongue. Akaashi blinks slowly, tipping his chin back and lifting his arms up haltingly until his hands find support by clinging to Bokuto’s face. “Ma…ke love to…to me.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, and he fights the urge to step back in surprise and tear Akaashi’s hands off his face. He closes his eyes and covers Akaashi’s hands with his own, detaching them from his cheeks and bringing them back down to his lap.

“I can’t do that, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers.

“Why not?” Akaashi asks, his lips pulling into a frown. “Am I…too ugly?”

His face is so skinny. His eyes bulge out of their sockets, his eyelashes even longer than they were before. His lips are chapped, and there’s a growing sore in the corner of his mouth. Bokuto can see the blue-green veins running underneath his skin, feel the spots he missed when he helped him shave this morning.

But he couldn’t be more beautiful.

“Never,” Bokuto breathes, squatting down to be eye-level with his Greek god. “I’m just scared I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Akaashi continues. “I can take it.” When he still sees hesitation in Bokuto’s eyes, he practically begs, “One last time…pl…ease. Hawking still…fu-ucked while in…h-his wheel…wheelchair.”

Bokuto laughs, and Akaashi can see the last glint of reluctance turn into amusement.

“You’re not even in a wheelchair yet,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi nods eagerly. He sighs, the phrase ‘one last time’ echoing in his head. It really will be the last time they make love. Because even though Stephen Hawking was still a womanizer in his wheelchair, Bokuto doesn’t think he’ll have it in him.

He undresses Akaashi slowly, unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt, letting Akaashi fumble with the last few buttons. He tries to take back as much of his autonomy whenever he can, and Bokuto gladly allows him.

Akaashi watches as Bokuto stands back up and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it drop onto the floor, and leans over to press kisses onto his abs. He runs his fingertips over the muscles, both in admiration and in jealousy. He remembers when he used to have ab muscles like these, how much Bokuto loved touching them. He looks down at his own torso, wincing at the sight of his ribs slicing his skin.

He smiles as Bokuto carries him up the bed, laying him down delicately like a baby. He whimpers at the warmth on the crook of his neck, his shoulders hiking up and his body racking with pleasure. He hasn’t felt so beautiful, so worthy of love, in so long, and it’s all thanks to Bokuto’s soft caresses.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asks, and Akaashi has a feeling that question will be recurring throughout this session.

He gazes down at his husband, who has reached his happy trail, and nods. He gathers up all his energy to say, “I’ve never felt…better.”

It’s slow and tender, both because Bokuto is afraid he’ll break Akaashi and because it’s their last time together. He wants it to last forever. He wants to imprint every touch, every sound, every taste into his brain. He wants Akaashi tattooed on his body, wants any evidence that he was here, that he was loved, that he was strong until the very end.

He guides Akaashi’s arms to cling onto his back, holding up his bony legs as he locks lips with a particularly noisy Akaashi.

“The whole hotel can probably hear you,” he jokes, and Akaashi needs to catch his breath before responding.

“Good,” he finally replies, using the last of his strength to push Bokuto down into a deep kiss.

Akaashi’s tattooed on his body alright. After Akaashi falls sound asleep directly after finishing, Bokuto cleans him up and dresses him in the pajamas in case it gets chilly during the night. He pulls the covers up to his chin and kisses his forehead, brushing a few locks of sweaty hair out of his face. He smiles and heads to the bathroom, immediately spotting the hickeys Akaashi must have left on him while he was fumbling around with the pillows to make sure he was completely comfortable. He turns around to see scratch marks all over his upper back. He needs to stifle his laughter in fear of waking Akaashi, but it’s more than endearing to see how his husband marked him up. He needs to stop himself from going to the nearest tattoo artist and getting the scratches tattooed immediately.

He slips back into bed, and Akaashi responds by turning over and flopping his limbs over Bokuto’s torso. He smiles and wraps his arms around the love of his life and dreams of him with gray hair, wrinkles, and sunspots. All of which are considered to be the worst things to happen while aging, but what he wouldn’t give to see all three on Akaashi. That would mean he lived long enough to gain them.

…

Akaashi hates the wheelchair. It gets him places faster, yeah, and it’s very high-tech, but at what cost? He can barely move around the apartment without bumping into something and knocking it onto the floor. Bokuto rarely ever leaves the apartment anymore, so he’s always there to help, but Akaashi is still stubborn about doing everything himself. He asks Bokuto to buy him a grabber tool, but when his forearm strength eventually dies out, he has to swallow his pride and call Bokuto into the room to pick up the fallen bowl of cereal.

He celebrates his 38th birthday in their apartment, Emiko on his lap and in the process of trying to steal a slice of cake. She, unlike her owner, loves the wheelchair. It means a seat plus access to human food when he’s in a good mood.

“Mom, Mom, you’re…miss…ssing it,” Akaashi drawls, waving sloppily at the phone Bokuto’s holding up to FaceTime his parents. “I’m gon…na blow it-t out.”

“Go and blow it out, honey!” his mother encourages over the speaker. “Koutarou, did you use sparklers? You better not have, or so help me I’m flying over there—”

“You wound me, mother-in-law,” Bokuto exclaims dramatically, his hand flying up to his chest as if he has just been shot. “Hath you no trust in me?”

“Not after you did that on my birthday,” Akaashi’s mother retorts, giving him the evil eye. “Now flip the camera back to my baby boy!”

“He’s always had a pair of lungs on him, haven’t you, my boy?” his father shouts, and Akaashi laughs weakly.

Almost as if to disprove his father’s words, his lungs fail him in the middle of blowing out the candles. The flames pop right back up mockingly, stronger than ever. Akaashi attempts again but only manages to blow out a few.

“I bought the strong kind, I think,” Bokuto mumbles, trying desperately to make the situation better and to cover up the sound of Akaashi’s painful wheezing. He leans over to prepare to blow the rest out. “Let me just—”

“I want to do it!” It’s rare when Akaashi gets out a full sentence nowadays, which makes his faint shout even more potent. “I want…to do-o it.”

Bokuto steps back slowly, nodding encouragingly and lifting his hand up. “Okay. Go ahead, Keiji.”

Akaashi straightens himself as much as he can in his chair, leaning close to the cake and inhaling for a good few seconds before exhaling it all, leaving himself lightheaded, and with one candle still dancing tauntingly in his face. He slumps back in his chair, thoroughly exhausted, and feebly lifts a hand up to signal Bokuto to go ahead and blow the last one out. Bokuto obeys, and they both say quick goodbyes to his parents before cutting the cake silently.

“I’m…sorry,” Akaashi speaks up after a while, his mouth full of red velvet cake.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Bokuto instructs, wiping up the creamy mess around Akaashi’s mouth. He pauses, letting out a sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re frustrated.”

Akaashi stays silent, slowly and methodically chewing his food ever since he had a choking scare a week ago. He swallows, but he doesn’t open his mouth for more. Bokuto raises a forkful of cake, but when he sees Akaashi’s mouth closed, he sets it down and slips his hands into his husband’s, his thumb running over the bony joints.

“Have you thought about joining a support group?” he asks. Akaashi scoffs, and he can see that he’s thinking all sorts of nasty things that he’d yell at Bokuto, but he doesn’t have the energy to bicker anymore. Fighting with each other is now a privilege since by the time Akaashi gets out a comeback, they’ve both had enough time to cool down and think about their actions.

“I know you don’t like the idea,” Bokuto says, speaking Akaashi’s thoughts to life. “I know you think it’s stupid, that it’s only for pussies.”

“I…would…n’t put it-t li…ke that.”

Bokuto chuckles and shrugs. “Something like that, then. But maybe if you vent to them, you’ll feel better. You won’t have to bottle everything up inside.”

Akaashi ponders it for a moment before opening his mouth again for more cake, and he thinks about it for the better part of the night while he watches Bokuto perform magic card tricks that he learned on YouTube in lieu of going to volleyball. In the morning, he gives Bokuto the go-ahead to find a group. He doesn’t really have any other reason to get out of the house. He can’t travel, and their small neighborhood barely has any wheelchair accessibility. When Bokuto finds one and signs him up for the following afternoon, he can’t deny that he’s excited to go.

“Hello, Mr. Akaashi, I’m Fumi Sugita,” the woman greets, and he lets out a sigh of relief that she doesn’t put her hands on her knees to talk to him like a child. But he supposes it’s because she’s literally the leader of an ALS group—she most likely knows how to talk to people in wheelchairs.

“Call him Keiji,” Bokuto says for him, and Akaashi confirms with a nod. He’d have to switch to communicating with the computer installed on his wheelchair, and even though the voice isn’t as robotic as the older models have it, it still isn’t his voice. Who is he kidding, his own voice isn’t even his own voice anymore. But he still hasn’t set it up yet.

“Alright, Keiji, let’s get started. Mr. Bokuto—”

“Koutarou.”

“Koutarou, please wait in the living room or come back by 3:15.”

Bokuto nods and places a kiss on the corner of Akaashi’s lips. Kisses are rare now since Bokuto’s so busy keeping house and taking care of Akaashi’s needs. Plus, there’s always something smeared across his lips or a painful sore from too much accumulating drool that it’s flat-out unpleasant to kiss him. But Bokuto got him pristine for the group session, and he didn’t even nick him while shaving. He’s getting better at it.

“Be nice,” Bokuto whispers, and Akaashi rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“Everybody, this is Keiji,” Fumi introduces to a room filled with people in varying stages of ALS. A chorus of slurred and robotic greetings follow her introduction, and Akaashi awkwardly waves as he maneuvers his chair with the joystick into the circle.

“We were just talking about fun things you can do in a wheelchair,” Fumi continues, motioning to a woman in a similar model wheelchair to him. “Do you want to show your trick off, Haruko?”

The woman nods eagerly and sticks her tongue out for concentration as she fiddles with her joystick, the chair moving backward, then forwards, then spins in the blink of an eye. Another woman shows off her trick: typing 80085 into her computer, which proceeds to read it out as “boobies.”

That earns a chuckle from Akaashi. Perhaps this isn’t too bad.

After the third session, Akaashi has grown quite close to Haruko, especially after she gladly showed him how to do her spinning wheelchair trick.

“My…hus…band thought-t it wa…s cool,” he says, and Haruko laughs. Akaashi had to tell Bokuto to stop making him do the trick over and over, but it was reluctant since he hadn’t seen that look of pride and excitement on the man’s face in a long while. Bokuto makes him promise to learn more tricks to show him, and he goes so far as to take videos to send to their friends and family. Kuroo replies with That’s dope, Akaashi! Parkour! and that makes both men crack up laughing.

Kuroko looks at her computer, waiting for the eye-tracking technology to start up, and flicks her eyes around the screen.

“I’m glad he liked it,” the robotic female voice replies. “How long do you have left?”

It’s a common question among the group. It’s never a sure answer since everybody still prays they have Hawking’s luck, but there’s usually an empty space when it gets near the time a person says they have left.

“A…year,” Akaashi says, and he suddenly has the urge to just use the computer to have a semi-normal conversation again. He’ll ask Bokuto to set it up tonight. “But…I wan…t to m-make it to-o my 40th…birthd-day.”

“That’s a short time,” Haruko says, her previous smile down turning into a frown. “I mean, I have shorter, but it’s more real hearing it out loud. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Akaashi nods, and that’s the end of the conversation until he can get the computer booted up and figures out how to use it.

After the fourth session, Akaashi approaches Haruko with a brand-new set of communication, and he proves it by picking up on their conversation left from yesterday. “I have decided what I’m going to do.” The voice is, of course, robotic, and Bokuto tried to call Kenma for help on how to fix it, but Kenma’s advice only made it sound creepier. But it’s worth it to carry a conversation and not hear how awful his voice sounds. He tried to use his voice until it gave out, but it became impossible. He had to swallow his pride, and it worked out. He can now hold a regular-ish conversation.

“And what’s that?” she asks, a look of intrigue on her face.

“I want to be cremated and buried under a cherry blossom tree I loved as a kid,” Akaashi replies, a sense of tranquility washing over him. The thought of dying always used to scare him before he was diagnosed, as it does to everybody. But now, he can’t think of anything more peaceful. “I used to read books underneath it, and I fell in love under it for the first time.”

His mind wanders to that one picnic in the humid spring weather. How reluctant their touches were because they were both in love but were too scared to admit it. How the sun lit up Bokuto’s face just in time for him to confess, highlighting the deep blush on his face as he picked up a cherry blossom from the blanket, tucking it behind Akaashi’s ear. How Bokuto smiled and laughed out of pure relief once Akaashi confirmed his feelings as well. How they cuddled, savoring each other’s touches before they had to leave for university. How the light filtered in between the branches of the cherry blossom tree until the horizon swallowed it. How he wishes he could go back to that memory one last time.

“I want to be cremated, too,” Haruko says, breaking Akaashi out of his thoughts. “But tossed in the ocean to be fish food.”

They both laugh, but Haruko interrupts the moment by asking, “Have you told your husband yet?”

Akaashi shakes his head, letting it droop forward in a show of embarrassment. “He still thinks I’m going to be the next Stephen Hawking. Sometimes I get mad at him because he gave us all false hope.”

“I wouldn’t want to live that long like this anyway,” Haruko retorts. “I’m tired. I’ve made my peace. My family has made their peace. I just want to close my eyes and open them in Heaven. Or Hell. I’m not jinxing anything.”

Akaashi stays silent, and the two cease their conversation when Fumi comes by to feed them a few pieces of fruit while both their caretakers come to pick them up. When she leaves to tend to the other people, Haruko turns back to Akaashi.

“’When tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see; if the sun should rise and find your eyes; all filled with tears for me’,” she recites, and Akaashi cocks his head in confusion. “It’s my favorite poem now. I’ve always loved poetry, but this one resonates with me. You should look the rest up.” A man walks into their peripheral vision, a grand smile on his face when he spots Haruko.

“Come on, babe, I made soba! Let’s go before it gets cold,” he says, and Haruko grins and starts her wheelchair toward him. She spins around and lifts her eyebrows in a sign of goodbye, and Akaashi tips his chin in acknowledgment.

Bokuto isn’t too far behind Haruko’s boyfriend, nearly doubling over with how out-of-breath he is. “Sorry, honey, there was a ragin’ line at the grocery store. I had to elbow a middle-aged woman out of the way for a box of crackers.”

Akaashi laughs, and Bokuto laughs with him. He tells him all about his day at the grocery store, the never-ending tale lasting all the way back home. And while Akaashi usually loves listening to Bokuto’s intriguing tales, he finds his mind wandering to the poem Haruko quoted. When Bokuto is washing the dishes, he tries to look up the first lines of the poem as quickly as he can, and when he finds it, he reads it over and over until he can recite it by heart.

When Bokuto lifts him out of his wheelchair and into bed, draping the blanket over him, Akaashi clears his throat. Bokuto slips into bed and listens attentively, brushing the hair out of Akaashi’s eyes.

“I w-want…to be crem…cremated,” Akaashi says. He pushes on, even though he feels Bokuto stiffen next to him, the mattress sagging under the added weight. “Un…der the cher…ry bloss…som tree.”

Bokuto wants to argue. He wants to scream and yell and repeat over and over that Akaashi’s not dying, he’s not going to die anytime soon until it becomes true. But he knows better. He’s been to group sessions of his own—partners of those with ALS—and knows that denial is the first stage of the grieving process. But all this knowledge doesn’t make the air in the room any less heavy whenever the morbid subject is brought up.

He’s about to reply to Akaashi when he continues. “’When…tomo-rrow start…s…without me…’” He recites the lines Haruko told him today, slowly but surely, until he’s panting with exertion. Usually, he’d be crying whenever the subject of dying is brought up, but just like Haruko, he’s made his peace with the idea. He used to be terrified of the idea of death, but now, he’s expecting it like a visit from an old friend. It’s comforting to know that their suffering will be over soon. He wants Bokuto to be happy. He can see how stressed he is, how he’s been losing weight alongside the actually diseased person. He’s grown paler, and his smile carries the weight of an eighty-year-old man’s. He’s tired. They’re both tired.

Bokuto, however, doesn’t take it as well. He hates seeing how accepting Akaashi has grown over the idea of death. Fight a little harder, he wants to shout. Fight like you mean it. Fight like you want to live.

But Akaashi has no more fight in him left to give. He can no longer make fists with his hands. He can’t move his legs at all. He’s lost almost all his facial muscles. ALS is the grand champion of this fight, and Akaashi isn’t getting up from the floor.

“What’s the rest?” Bokuto asks, but by the time he’s finished wiping away his own tears, Akaashi is asleep.

…

Sleeping next to Akaashi is nearly impossible now. His wheezing is loud and sharp, the sound a constant sheer whistle in Bokuto’s ear. When they get him an oxygen machine, it isn’t much different. The tank makes clicking noises every time he inhales like a clock, ticking down the time until it goes silent, meaning Akaashi took his last breath.

Akaashi snores up a storm, which he supposes is payback for all the times he complained about Bokuto’s snoring. But Bokuto can’t risk moving to the couch and missing Akaashi’s last breath. Akaashi had chosen to have Do Not Attempt Resuscitation status, even though every single bone in Bokuto’s body screamed at him to stop the notary from signing off on the papers. He wanted to claim that Akaashi wasn’t mentally fit enough to have given permission, but he knew that Akaashi would never forgive him if he did that. The official paper framed above Akaashi’s nightstand mocks him every day, jeering at him, saying, “The love of your life will die, and you legally can’t do anything about it.”

Dr. Hirose tells Akaashi he should finish putting all his final touches on his will, but Akaashi hasn’t even started it. Yes, he’s accepted that he’s going to die—it’s another thing to put it on paper.

Akaashi spends his 39th birthday in a musty office, trying to think of everything he owns that will eventually go to Bokuto. Bokuto waits outside the office as he speaks with the drafter about his will. He covers his ears since he can still hear the muffled robotic voice from Akaashi’s wheelchair. If he hums a song loud enough and squeezes his eyes tight, he almost forgets where he is.

Each week, Akaashi recites one more stanza from the poem. Bokuto has to suppress the urge to just look it up and read until the end, wanting to hear it from Akaashi’s mouth. Each week, Akaashi gets sicker and sicker, his mouth nearly freezing up multiple times through his recitations. He chokes on a noodle during lunch one day, and the near-death experience knocks him out for a few weeks, having to skip multiple group sessions. When he shows up again, people nearly drop their food out of pure shock. Akaashi had left an empty space in the group, and nobody questions an empty space. They just move closer together, as if covering up that the space was ever there.

But Akaashi notices Haruko isn’t at the group session. When he asks Fumi, she just purses her lips and shakes her head: the universal sign of ‘they passed away.’ He wonders if she’s in Heaven or Hell. He wonders if he’ll meet her wherever she is and hear her real voice.

Akaashi isn’t too far away from dying either. He’s filled out the paperwork. He’s made funeral arrangements. He’s contacted the cremation place. He’s said all that he needs to all his friends and family. All there is to do now…is wait.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says one day as Bokuto’s giving him a sponge bath. He remembers a time where he said he’d rather slip and die in the shower than let Bokuto bathe him, hire a nurse, fight tooth and nail to the very end. He never expected he’d be so tired by the end. He thought he’d go out with a bang. But it’s quicksand instead: slow, inescapable, and exhausting.

“Yes, Keiji?” Bokuto asks, his breath hitching in his throat. He tries not to cry around Akaashi anymore. When Akaashi’s absentmindedly watching a game show on TV, he feigns needing to go to the bathroom and instead locks himself inside and sobs into the sleeve of his shirt. He wishes he could one day wake up and be the one with ALS, for Akaashi is the last person on Earth deserving of such hell. He feels so helpless—none of his kisses or hugs or feeble attempts at jokes are enough to save Akaashi. He’s going to die, and there’s nothing Bokuto can do about it except watch his soulmate slip through his fingers like watching Akaashi lobbing a perfect set his way, and no matter what he does, Bokuto’s hand goes straight through the ball. The ball falls pitifully on their side of the net—match set point. The point is irreversible. There’s no way to get it back. There’s no way to win the game. They can reflect on the things they did wrong in hindsight all they want—“we should’ve done this,” “we could’ve done this better”—but there’s nothing they can do to change the game. They lost. Both of them.

“I want to go to Iceland again,” Akaashi says. “That’s my final wish.”

The words ‘final wish’ is a gut punch, and Bokuto has to take a few seconds to reel from nausea swirling in his stomach. He squeezes the sponge in his hands until all moisture dissipates from it, his nails digging into the foam. He tries not to splash the computer as he wets the sponge again.

“Dr. Hirose won’t let that happen,” Bokuto replies, returning to lightly wiping Akaashi’s skin.

“He can’t deny a dying man a final wish,” Akaashi defends. “You can’t deny me my final wish.”

Bam. Straight to the heart. Akaashi always knew exactly what would get Bokuto’s blood pressure through the roof. Because that’s exactly what Bokuto is trying to do. If they do go to Iceland, Akaashi will either die onboard the plane, in Iceland, or on the plane back. He’s not surviving the trip. He will die there. And Bokuto will be left cold and alone.

“Okay,” Bokuto relents, bowing his head so Akaashi can’t see the tears pricking his eyes. “I’ll book it tomorrow.”

…

The arrangements with the airline take longer than Bokuto ever thought since the subject matter is a dying man. He shouts one too many times into the receiver that Akaashi doesn’t have that many days left, and even after repeating and emphasizing that point, it’s as if his brain blocks that fact. It substitutes it instead for the idea that they’re simply going on another vacation, and the two of them are coming back together, not with one in a body bag.

He doesn’t let any of the flight attendants touch Akaashi or his wheelchair. He’s the one who folds up the wheelchair. He’s the one who lifts Akaashi into the first-class seat. He’s the one who touches him because any touch could be his last before his husband turns cold.

“Comfortable?” Bokuto asks, buckling both their seatbelts. “I’ve never been in first class before.”

Akaashi nods, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest. However, his eyes flutter open when Bokuto snaps his fingers in front of him, shaking his head.

“No, we’re watching Despicable Me 2. No sleeping on my watch.” Partly because he wants to watch their comfort movie together one last time, and partly because the mere sight of Akaashi’s eyes being closed gives him indescribable amounts of anxiety.

Akaashi rolls his eyes, which is one of the few things from his past he can still do now, and leans his head against Bokuto’s shoulders as they start the movie. Akaashi wheezes for a laugh since they couldn’t bring his oxygen tanks on board (it isn’t as if he’s going to need them for much longer, anyhow), and Bokuto senses the other passengers shifting uncomfortably in their seats. He couldn’t care less. He’s embarrassed for the other passengers, shifting away from a dying man. Pathetic.

He’s evidently fallen into the anger stage of the grieving process.

When they get to the hotel, the first thing Bokuto asks is when the northern lights will appear. The woman says possibly in two days. He bites his lip and looks down at Akaashi, who blinks slowly to reassure him that everything is alright. He’ll hang on for a little while longer.

They lay in bed those two days, Bokuto listening to Akaashi’s breaths and Akaashi savoring the warmth and fullness of Bokuto’s torso in his arms.

“Are you scared?” Bokuto asks, his voice cracking in the middle.

Akaashi holds up two fingers, meaning ‘no.’

“Will you miss me?”

He holds up one finger, meaning ‘yes.’

“Are you happy?”

One finger.

“Do you regret anything?”

One finger.

Bokuto reaches for his phone and opens the notes app for Akaashi to type. He does it so slowly, Bokuto nearly forgets what question he asked.

“Making you sad. Making you worry.”

“Oh, Keiji,” Bokuto whispers, setting down his phone and hugging Akaashi close, resting his chin on his oily hair. “You’ve only ever made me happy. And annoyed when you’d steal my secret stash of Oreos.”

A sharp breath comes from Akaashi, signaling a laugh.

“It’s the thought of you being gone that makes me sad. You never made me sad. I’m just worried about myself.” Bokuto chokes back a sob. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re gone.”

They fall into silence again, until Bokuto asks one last question.

“What’s the end to the poem?”

He looks down, and Akaashi’s sound asleep on his chest. He slowly and steadily picks up his phone and takes a picture. Akaashi looks…normal in the photo. He looks peaceful. He doesn’t look tired at all. He looks ready.

They arrive at the same lookout point where they had that transformative crash. It seems only natural to end where everything started. Bokuto sets out a blanket and sits down on it and next to Akaashi’s wheelchair, leaning his head against Akaashi’s forearm.

“Are you excited?”

One finger.

“Me, too.”

Before long, the light show starts. Akaashi gasps, but it isn’t one of those ‘searching for breath’ gasps. It’s one of amazement, his eyes widening as the colors dance across the sky, resuming the previous ballet dance they saw three years ago. His eyes, which had since gone dull many years ago, shine like he’s a child. They shine like mirrors, reflecting the aurora in their blue irises. He wants to tell Bokuto to look.

But Bokuto, once again, isn’t looking at the lights.

“Keiji,” he starts, the lights illuminating the wet film over his eyes. “What’s the end of the poem?”

Akaashi’s head lolls to the side to meet Bokuto’s gaze, the corner of his lip twitching into a smile.

Flashes of their life together, all culminating to this moment, streak across the sky in the form of the aurora. White for Fukuroudani’s volleyball uniform, where they first met and became the closest of friends. Green for the pistachio mochi Bokuto always made when Akaashi was sick. Purple for the color of the petunias at their wedding reception. Yellow for Emiko’s collar. Pink for the cherry blossom tree where they confessed their feelings for each other, where he realized his setter was the love of his life. Blue for Akaashi’s eyes. Black for the ink used to sign Akaashi’s will.

Instead of saying the end, the computer recites the poem from the beginning.

When tomorrow starts without me And I’m not here to see If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me.

Akaashi wheezes painfully.

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today While thinking of the many things We did not get to say.

Akaashi’s eyes close. I know how much you love me As much as I love you Each time that you think of me I know you will miss me, too.

Akaashi’s hand on the joystick goes limp.

I promise no tomorrow For today will always last And since each day’s the exact same way There is no longing for the past.

Akaashi’s head drops.

So when tomorrow starts without me Do not think we’re apart For every time you think of me Remember I’m right here in your heart.

Akaashi dies before the computer finishes the poem.

He dies 301 days before his 40th birthday. He dies under the northern lights that he first fell in love with more than three years ago. And a part of Bokuto dies with him.

…

Akaashi’s father digs the hole underneath the tree and watches as his mother tips her son into the earth. The ashes land in a neat pile. Fitting. Everything Akaashi ever did was neat and tidy.

His mother breaks down before she can fill the hole. Emiko rushes to her side, their whimpers resonating together.

His father helps his wife out of the way, and Bokuto takes over. He takes one last look at what remains of Akaashi before scooping the earth into his hands and tipping it over, scooping and patting until the hole is filled. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the dirt underneath him darkens. He nearly collapses on top of the hole before Kuroo catches him by the shoulders. But even Kuroo can’t stop the tears. The two men sob into each other’s shoulders until they have no more tears left to cry.

“Petunias were his favorite,” his mother says. She hands Bokuto a bouquet to lay down. He complies, his body on autopilot.

He sits next to the pile of dirt, even when everybody else has left. They all bid him goodbye, kissing him on the cheek, giving him hugs. But he doesn’t register any of it. He just keeps his hand on top of the pile of dirt, hoping that Akaashi is sitting right next to him, his hand on top of his.

Akaashi gives him everything he owns, minus his money. His money is reserved for his parents—to provide them medical care for when they get old because they’re afforded that luxury—for his favorite nonprofits, and the biggest sum is split among various ALS foundations. Bokuto is left with his wheelchair, his crutches, his medications, his too-smart computer, his photos, and most bittersweetly of all, his memory. His body shape etched into their mattress. His scent—eucalyptus and black tea—that bursts out whenever he opens his closet. He’s everywhere and anywhere Bokuto goes. But he can’t bring himself to leave the apartment.

He buries Emiko next to Akaashi underneath the old cherry blossom tree. It’s bare-bones by now, having shed all its leaves and flowers in the autumn. They say Emiko’s death was from grief, but she was growing old as well. It seems as if everybody’s leaving him. What did he do to deserve this? To see all his loved ones turn into ash?

He enters the depressed state of his grieving process. He’s often too tired to eat the food his neighbors and friends bring him. He stopped smoking, which is what Akaashi would’ve wanted, but it’s less so about making Akaashi happy as it is he can’t even lift an arm up to grab the carton and put a cigarette up to his mouth. He just stares at the other side of the bed, his hand resting on the indent left by Akaashi’s body, wishing for his love to fill it once more.

When he finally gains the courage to get up and clean out Akaashi’s closet, a note falls out of one of his jackets when Bokuto tosses them into a pile on the bed. He picks it up and opens it. Inside is a horrible scrawl, barely decipherable. But Bokuto knows the poem all too well to need to decipher it.

When tomorrow starts without me…

The poem has haunted his every waking moment. He never really listened to Akaashi tell the poem. Mostly because it was too difficult to follow along with how little he could speak by the end, but also because he was too focused on savoring every little moment with him, ingraining it into his head. But as he sits down on the floor and stares at the poem, he now has the time—all the time in the world; wretched, wretched time—to read it in its entirety.

Each day is difficult. But with each day, he gets out of bed quicker and quicker. He eats bigger portions and more frequently. He brushes his teeth. He goes to the volleyball courts to say hello to his former teammates. When he spikes a ball, he instinctively turns his head next to him to seek out his setter. But with each day, he eventually stops looking. But Akaashi isn’t gone. He’s in his husband’s heart, just like the poem says. Akaashi’s body is no more, the ashes gone to feed the nature around him. But his spirit is more than alive. It thrives.

Every time he passes by the tree, he swears the tree grows a few more flowers. And every time he visits the aurora on his annual trip to Iceland, he swears there’s one more flash of light than usual in the sky.

#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#angst #heavy angst #chronic illness #bokuaka #haikyuu bokuaka #akaashi #keiji akaashi #haikyuu koutarou #koutarou bokuto #bokuto #haikyu #haikyu fanfiction #fanfiction #haikyuu #hq angst #hq

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dc41896 · 3 years

Text

There You Are

Something I thought of inspired by the song “There You Are” by Zayn. Hope you guys like it☺️!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: Bit of angst, drunk reader, fluff mixed in

Need you when I'm broken, when I'm fixed

Need you when I'm well, when I'm sick

Friends that I rely on don't come through

They run like the river, but not you

The erratic knocking at his hotel room door makes Chris turn on the bedside lamp as he sits up annoyed and confused. Picking up his phone, the time read 2:17 am making him mentally groan as the knocking continued.

“Hold on!,” he called out as he slipped on his sweatpants draped over the lounge chair in the corner and pulled his hooded jacket over his arms before lazily zipping it up. Coming closer to the door, he slightly pauses now hearing humming mixed with faint giggles only making him more confused and eyebrows knit together.

Although warped due to the view from peephole, he could see you clad in your satin like, short, black dress leaning against the door swaying to the song coming from your smiling lips. You ran into each other earlier at a wrap party neither of you knew the other would be attending, and briefly talked before going your separate ways for the night agreeing to try to meet later to catch up on lost time.

So why you were here at his hotel room, he had no idea.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?,” he asked once opening the door to see you visibly drunk, heels in your hand, as you continued to sing to yourself and dance as if he wasn’t there.

“I jus keep em satisfied on the weekend,” you giggled leaning forward until your head was nearly at your knees. If it wasn’t for Chris reaching out to hold you up by your waist, your body would’ve eventually touched the floor as well. Head tilted, you dreamily take in those familiar features that always made you weak. His soft beard covering that sharp jawline, barely noticeable freckles speckled near his adorable nose. And the cherry on top, his bright blue eyes shielded by those infuriating long lashes that you, and probably every woman in the world, were envious of.

“Hi,” you whisper being met with his small smile.

“Let’s get you inside.”

His arm moves to wrap around your waist holding on a bit tighter noticing your unsteady footsteps. Really they shouldn’t even count as footsteps since you barely moved your feet, instead letting them slide along the carpet as he took a couple steps back.

“You feel sick?,” he asked closing the door behind him with his foot before padding across the cool floor with your chests firmly pressed against each other’s. Shaking your head no as he carefully sits you on the edge of the disheveled bed, you instantly fall back laughing with your arms stretched out bringing them up and down trying to make snow angels.

“Comfy.”

“Glad you feel at home,” he chuckles to himself removing your phone from your purse. Luckily he knew your passcode would be your birthday from being friends for so long. “I’m gonna call your boyfriend to pick you up okay?”

“We broke up,” you sigh, stopping your arms movements.

“Oh...I-I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Last year.”

“Wait you broke up last year?,” he repeats stepping closer to the bed leaving your phone on the dresser next to your purse. “But earlier you said-,”

“I lie.”

“So,” he starts as he sits next to you. “You’re out here on your own and came here all by yourself?”

He couldn’t help but think of everything that could’ve gone wrong during your journey making him want to hold you close being glad that you were, for the most part, okay.

“Mhmm,” you nod looking up at him with innocent, doe like brown eyes as if you saw nothing wrong with what you did. Fingers raking through his messy hair, he quietly sighs sympathetically peering down at you.

“It’s good you made it here safely, but promise me you won’t do that again.”

Whispers in the background, behind closed doors

I got myself in a mess and without you I'm in more

Oh, I'm a little drunk now, that's why I went to war

Oh, yeah, you are my sober when I'm on the floor

“...I’m a terrible person,” you slur, back still pressed against the mattress.

“No you’re not. That’s just the shots talking,” he replies returning beside you with a bottle of water from the minibar. “Here, so you’ll start to feel better.”

“But I am,” you insist holding onto his arm as you sit up. “I hurt people.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips and the amused look that spread across his face. You were one of the nicest people he’d ever met, so to hear you, or anyone for that matter, call you terrible, or anything bad, only made him want to laugh since clearly it had to be a joke.

“Who did you hurt then?”

“You.”

There was an awkward silence as his eyes slowly shifted from you to the plastic bottle in his hands. He wouldn’t say you hurt him those few years ago, but he was definitely left with unanswered questions. Your friendship seemed to slowly be turning into something more as texts became more frequent and calls became longer, lasting into the early hours of the morning. You even started visiting his place more after being prompted with his many invites, and persuaded by pictures of the beautiful scenery that surrounded him.

“Ugh so jealous😩! Rather be there than stuck with this meeting” you’d reply to his small video clip of the sun shining down on the terrain in front of him and Dodger during their hike.

“Come by after and we can go again😋”

“Hmm...maybe I will☺️. Don’t tempt me with a good time lol”

“😂 wasn’t trying to purposely tempt you, buttt not gonna lie and tell you not to take the bait😉”

One day though, the mood between the both of you shifted as he felt you become more distant. Chris thought that maybe it was something he’d said or done and tried to talk with you about it, but you kept avoiding it.

So much so, that you eventually left without a warning not telling him until he tried to come see you.

“Don’t worry about that, get some rest.”

“You’re so amazing, and kind, and-and beautiful! I was scared, and always I run,” you sniff hanging your head. “You d-deserved better, I’m terribully.”

Palms finding your cheeks, he gently tilts your head so you’ll meet his soft eyes while his thumbs wipe away the couple tears that just started to fall.

“Hey, you’re not terribully okay? Yea we have some things to talk about, but we can do that later. Your mind doesn’t need the stress right now.”

His calm voice and sweet words only make you feel worse as a few more tears fall to meet his hands.

“And you’re patient. There for me,” you add playing with the zipper on his jacket. “I mess up.” Noticing your slight shivers, he moves to his open suitcase getting one of his sweatshirts.

“Think you can put this on by yourself?,” he asks to which you nod yes. “Go ahead and change. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

Only you know me the way you know me

Only you forgive me when I'm sorry

“Y/N? You okay?,” he asks a few moments after no longer hearing you shuffle and stumble about. Peeking in, he softly chuckles shaking his head at the sight of you sleeping across the bed in his sweatshirt. He gently lifts your head placing one of the many hotel pillows under it before pulling the comforter over your bare legs.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble sinking your face further into the side of the oversized hood pulled over your head.

“Shh, get some rest.”

Taking one final look at your still body to make sure you were okay, he moves towards the couch with head cycling through all those feelings he thought were buried deep enough he’d eventually forget. Who was he kidding though? Even after everything that happened between you two he knew those feelings would always be there.

And seeing you tonight practically glowing; looking every bit as angelic as he remembered only confirmed it.

———

Eyes slowly opening to the dimly lit room, your instincts to quickly sit up and take in your new, unfamiliar surroundings are halted by the pounding in your head. All those shots definitely weren’t as enjoyable now as they were going down.

You let your head roam to the best of your ability eventually falling on the navy blue hoodie keeping you warm, bringing back last nights events along with embarrassment and shame as you groan.

“Okay new rule, no more drinking when you’re out since apparently you get diarrhea of the mouth and spill all your emotions when no one asked.”

“So I guess that’s a no to bar hopping tonight then?,” you hear making you sit up with a wince and a few ow’s. Standing in his seemingly shmedium black tee over dark jeans and sneakers, his Boston ball cap shades his face but not enough that you can’t see his dazzling smile.

“H-hey.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, besides my head feeling like I’m gonna have a brain blast in the worst way that is,” you answer making him chuckle as he moves closer to the bed.

“Yea I kinda figured, which is why I got breakfast for you.” Setting down the plastic bags in his hands, he pulls out takeout containers still steaming from the top causing you to mentally aw at his sweet gesture. “Hope you’re okay with waffles, eggs, and bacon. I wasn’t really sure what your go to was.”

“I’d honestly take anything right now,” you softly laugh carefully removing the lid to your waiting food. “Thanks Chris. Not just for the food, but for last night too.”

“Anytime.”

Even when I messed it up

There you are

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, have asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader #chris evans

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arcadianstuff · 3 years

Text

School rivals p.t 7

This is a long one ! I honestly have no idea how many parts this is going to have but I’ll make a master list for my works so far if you guys want ? Anyways enjoy !!

"Hope you don’t mind love." You could practically hear the smirk in Douxie’s voice as his arms circled around your waist, the intimate touch brining a blush to your cheeks. Thankfully, Douxie couldn’t see it. Sat behind you on your motorcycle, he was oblivious to the way your cheeks had reddened.

"Not at all Casperan," you tried to brush off the growing warmth inside your stomach and smirked as you took off down the street,"hold on tight !"

The wind rushed past you both, it’s cold touch sending chills down your spine as the feeling of flying had you hollering a little. Perhaps you could’ve been quieter given that the town of Arcadia was just starting to come alive in the early morning. Mr. Benoit's cafe was opening to feed the morning commuters and caffeine deprived college kids. A couple of high schoolers littered the streets, clearly not excited at the prospect of attending morning lessons.

Three said high schoolers shot you and Douxie withering glares as they trudged up the steps of Arcadia High school.

"No fair Jimbo, (Y/n) and Douxie get to go off on an adventure and we have senor uhl's Spanish tests first thing." Toby wailed, wallowing in his own self pity before stuffing a Nougat Nummy in his mouth. It wasn’t the best breakfast.

Jim had been focused on the retreating forms of his sister and Douxie but spun around, face paling at Toby words.

"What do you mean a test ?!" At his distressed yells, Claire giggled a little and pat her boyfriend sympathetically on the back.

"Come on boys. I’ll try and help you study in the like...20 minutes we have before class ?" The two said boys just grumbled gratefully at her offer, and the three kids trudged up and into the school, overwhelmingly envious of you and Douxie who’d escaped the clutches of the American education system.

It made you giggle a little that Douxie was clutching a little tighter to you as you sped down the streets, heading towards the canal where Blinky had told you to meet him. Again you became acutely aware of the warmth emitting from Douxie, the feeling of his breath on your neck not helping to keep your blush down

In those moments before you reached the canals, you contemplated the way your relationship with Douxie had changed. Only a week ago the two of you had been enemies, or at least disliked each other. Annoying each other, always trying to one up the other or get a good dig in. And yet here you were, his arms around you as w began the adventure that you’d felt like you’d been waiting for your entire life. Maybe without the murderous ancient spirits and weird glowing trolls.

Things were changing. You just hoped you could adapt fast enough.

At least Arcadia didn’t seem so boring as it once did, in fact you didn’t feel the same longing to escape the confinements of the tiny town you’d grown up in. Maybe....just maybe you might call this place home a little bit longer.

Hidden under the shade of the bridge, you spotted one hulking form and another much smaller one. With a roar from your bike, you came to a stop next to them giving Douxie a fright at the sharpness of the stop. Said wizard looked a little paler than usual as he dismounted your bike. In fact he almost looked like he was going to be sick.

"Oh don’t be such a baby my driving’s fine." You rolled your eyes at the wizard's behaviour who just gave you a flabbergasted look.

"You drive like a bloody mad man love." Douxie retorted, feeling a little shaky as he approached the two trolls. Luckily, the enjoyment he’d felt at wrapping his arms around you had dulled the fear of your reckless driving. Thank god your mum and never seen you on your bike because she’d smash it to pieces if she saw the way yiu drove.

"Ah yes miss (Y/n) and Hisirdoux." Feeling the growing tension and sensing an oncoming argument, Blinky decided to interject quickly, very aware of the time pressure enough were under. He needed to get you both to the sword as soon as possible.

"Hey big guy." You smiled up at Aargh who waved one of his yeti sized hands at you, a smile lighting up his face. You’d take a liking to the pacifist.

"Hello sister of Jim." He responded, waving at Douxie as well.

"Okay no time for formalities I’m afraid. We don’t have much time if what you, miss (Y/n), are saying is true." The happy atmosphere between friends was shattered at the troll's serious demeanour, his eyes hard. Yet again you were reminded of the severity of your situation, the pressure beginning to weigh you down.

With a sharp nod, you matched the troll's serous expression with your own, brows furrowing as the troll pulled out a decaying sheet of paper. The ancient scroll rolled out into a fading map, which you quickly realised was of Arcadia.

"Here you will find Excalibur," Blinky pointed to a spot not to far from your current location the group of you peering down at the map,"but I warn you (Y/n), if you pull that sword from the stone you will have a responsibility that you cannot shed."

For a second you met the eyes of the wise old troll. Blinky had his doubts at first about you, he’d been aware of your existence much like he’d been aware of Barbara's, except you’d never met them like she had. But you’d managed to survive against all odds, and clearly had a will of steel. He just hoped you had it in you to face what was coming next.

"Thank you, both of you." You smiled up at the two, before departing, Douxie again thanking them as he followed you from out under the bridge and into the sunlight.

There was obvious signs of tension that hadnt been there before, like the way your shoulders were tensed and your hands had balled into fists, nearly crushing the map you held in one of them.

He wanted to say something, anything to comfort you. When had he gone from insulting you to ranting to comfort you ? Honestly, he had no clue.

Clearly, the two of you weren’t aware of the fine line between love and hate.

————————————

"Are you sure about this love ?" The wizard glanced between you and the shining silver emerald of the sword not to far from you. His question was laced with worry as he watched you stare at the weapon with unreadable eyes.

It’s golden hilt shone in the sunlight, practically glowing like a firefly. Douxie repeated his question but it fell on deaf ears. It was like a glass dome had descend upon you, blocking out everything except you and the sword. Yiu couldn’t feel the wind on your face nor hear the chirping of the birds hidden in the trees. There was only you and the sword which drew you in like a lot to a flame.

Tiny, undeterminable whispers began to fill the air as you moved closer to the sword, growing in volume with every step you took. With wide eyes Douxie watched you appraoch the swor,d almost as if yiu were in a trance.

"Love ? (Y/n) w-wait !" The wizard lunged for you, to pull you back away form the sword, but it was too late.

A blast of light threw the man backwards, his back colliding hard with the grass. His body racked with coughs as he pushed himself up, swearing at the sharp pain that shot up his sides. But the swears died on his lips as his gaze fell on you.

The moment your hand wrapped around the sword it felt like everything was right. A power you’d never felt before rushed through your body, lighting your veins on fire as with ease you pulled the sword from the stone. A feat Jim hadn’t been able to compe,the but you had.

Excalibur was yours to wield.

"Excalibur is yours now child. Do better than I. Bring honour to the Pendragon bloodline., something I could not." The whispers finally took form onto a distinguishable voice, that of a man's.

"A-Arthur ?" Your question was never answered, and you were left to stare at the sword in your right hand in both horror and wonder.

It was surprisingly light for such a strong looking weapon, and the blade gleamed dangerously as it caught the sun. With an experimental swing, you sliced through the air the move to feeling as natural as holding the sword did. This made sense. The weapon, the magic it all felt right to you. Maybe this sienhat you’d been searching for so long.

A smirk lifted the corners of your lips as yiu souna round to face the flabbergasted wizard, who stared at you in of wonder, awed at the sight before him.

"So what do you think ? Am I a knight in the making ?" You joked, laughing a little as you teasingly pointed the tip of the sword at Douxie's chest who merely smirked back at you and gently pushed the sword to the side.

"I wouldn’t quite say so yet. Would you like a little training ?" He asked cockily, enjoying the look of surprise on your face as his wizard's staff materialised in his hand. Sometimes you forgot that the man was a powerful wizard.

Your smirk grew and you placed both hands on the sword, taking a defensive stance to which the wizard mirrored you. Like a stand off scene in an old western movie, you glared at each other waiting in anticipation to see who’d make the first move.

Of course you did, taking the boy by surprise as you rushed him, swinging the sword in one hand whilst kicking out a leg to knock him over.

Thankfully, Douxie hadn’t exactly been lazing about the last nine hundred years, and with practiced ease he deflected. A loud clash of weapons sent the birds hidden in the surprising trees up into the air, whilst Douxie used his other hand to grab your extended keg that had been aimed at his side, to push you off balance. With a cry of surprise you fell to the floor, letting out a squeak as you rolled to the side to avoid Douxie’s wizard staff.

"Are you trying to kill me casperan ?." You shot him a nasty glare, sprinting up to your feet. If you hadn’t dodged his attack he’d have torn into your shoulder.

However the wizard didn’t even look a tiny bit guilty and instead shot you an easy grin, twirling his staff in an effort to show off.

"Seems more like you can’t keep up with me. It’s okay love maybe you should stick to soccer." He quipped, sniggering a little at the way yiur face turned red from rage.

With a small war cry you rushed the boy again, not faltering in your onslaught of attacks, dodging and parrying him with the skills of someone who’d been wielding a weapons for decades. There was no doubt about it. You were descended from knights and magical beings.

Douxie's eyes widened in slight worry as he started to struggle to keep up with you, the tide of the battle was beginning to shift. Neither of you paused for a meonnt and slowly you began to back Douxie up, who started retreating backwards as you became to difficult to oppose. A victorious smirk crossed yiur face as the boys back hit the bark of the tree behind him, which you’d backed him up to effectively rendering him defenceless. He had no where to run and you could tell he knew he’d lost. Your grin only grew as he swore.

"Give up Casperan ?" Your sword was pressed against his staff, the two weapons shaking with the pressure you both were applying. You tried to push it down, out of the away, whilst Douxie was trying to shove you back, give himself some space to defend himself. There was mere inches between the both of yin and he could see the gleam of victory in your eyes.

Douxie knew what he was going to do next would piss you off beyond belief. Which is exactly why he did it.

"Not quite yet love." You didn’t have time to react as the wizards free hand came up, the cuff on his wrist glowing with a bright blue as a ball of energy there you off of him.

With a thud you hit the ground, not to hard but your pride was still bruised as the wizard smirked down at you. Yiu recsne door yiur sword, ready to basically butcher the i furnishing wizard, except your hand was met with empty air as yiu looekd sirens anxiisjlt for yiu wepoan.

"Oh, looking for this love ?" His condescending tone had you scrambling to your feet and rushing the taller wizard as he held the sword up and out of your reach.

"Oh come on Casperan don’t be such a duck." You grumbled, infurtsted as you jumped up to try and reclaim your weapon which he held up and out of your reach. "Seriously how old are you ?"

"Well I’m about 919, give or take a few years." The wizard jokingly said, biting back laughter as he watched dying fail again and again at reaching the spa on. Thank god for the slight height difference between the two of you.

However you suddenly stopped, an incredulous look on your face.

"Wait hold up. You’re 919 ? How is that possible ?"

The man only shrugged in response to your question, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Magic love.” He teased you, laughing as you rolled your eyes.

A part of you felt this sense of sympathy for Douxie. You’d no idea he was so old, and instead of being shocked at his age because of its abnormality you felt sad for him. How lonely to have lived so long.

Noticing the way your brows were furrowing in thought Douxie felt the atmosphere shift, no longer playful and lighthearted. It seems like your little training session was over. He lowered your sword to his side, offering the hilt of the sword to you.

Gaze flickering between him and the outstretched hilt, you gently wrapped your hand around the weapon. Though you’d had it mere minutes the blade felt so right in your hand.

There’s always been something you were searching for and maybe now you were starting to find it. Not in leaving and going far away but here. This was your destiny.

“Tell me about Merlín.” Your demand caught Douxie completely off guard, startling him further when you smiled at him and sat down.

Patting the grass next to him, you watched the dumbfounded wizard plop down beside you. He was come play taken a sack by your sudden friendly behaviour. This was new territory for the both of you.

“If you what tell me about your life...I know we weren’t on the best of terms but...maybe we can be friends ?” Eyes focused on the blade in your hands, you missed the way Douxies eyes widened comically to saucers.

This was followed by a lopsided grin as he felt the last bits of ice between you two thaw.

“I’d like that a lot.”

—————————-

Another part done ! I realise I’ve gone off track in terms of following the TV series plot but I hope that’s okay. Their new enemy and the storyline will be linked to what happens in the show. Stay tune for next chapter when we learn more about the new foe !!

#douxie x reader #trollhunters #douxie #tales of arcadia #toa #hisridoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan x reader #x reader #toa wizards

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tu-mint · 3 years

Text

Amendment

A/N: Sooo I’ve been meaning to share my Mortal Kombat stuff on here for a while, I wanted to wait for the movie to come out first 😅🤣

TW: mentions of torture & sexual assault

In which Shang Tsung and the Black Dragon are officially put down and Earthrealm's defenders are able to return home, but Raelynn is stuck in her thoughts, but one of the young Kombatants is able to help her reconsider the negativity in her mind. (Based around MK11 & Aftermath but w/ a twist?)

Raelynn knew this all too well. With her entity as a half god, a change in time would do nothing to erase the horrifying memory in her mind back in the Black Dragon's dungeon -- at least, that's what it felt like. Hours upon hours of nothing but brutal beatings, each kick, punch, and swing as harsh as the last. While it wouldn't have hurt too much being that she was stronger than the average mortal, the bindings fused with the dark power of Shinnok's amulet extracted much of her godlike strength and left her as a helpless bait to be shredded and mauled at by the jaws of vicious and starved predators, desperate to take a leap at the prey before them. It still seemed unbelievable how she was alive even after all the bruises and cuts and blood...but she managed. After all, those shallow wounds were all but nothing comapred to--

The demigoddess shivered involuntarily and inhaled sharply. Thankfully, everyone aboard was too immersed in their own activities to notice her sudden actions, but she knew she wasn't stable enough with where her thoughts were treading. Her eyes searched for her son who was currently speaking in a group of the younger Kombatants. A yellow strip of cloth with an intricate design she couldn't make out was fastened around his bicep, and she wondered where it had come from until her eyes peered at the young male he stood beside. Takeda, son to Kenshi and pupil under Grandmaster Hasashi, was missing the usual yellow band that adorned his head as a reminder to those that he was a member of the Shirai Ryu clan. His short onyx locks blew freely but he didn't seem to mind all that much, instead grinning down at Haru who wore the cloth proudly. Cassie and Jacqui mirrored the telepath's reaction, the blonde pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. The sight warmed her heart and she was thankful the young fighters didn't look upon her son with irritation, but rather genuine care and happiness. When Haru had told her of the adventures and stories spent with them, a pang of guilt struck her for the early misjudgement on her part, believing they were just frivolous juveniles that only gained their high positions due to the status of their families.

Wishing not to allow her brooding to draw unwanted attention, Raelynn slipped silently to the back of the ship. Her efforts did not go unnoticed by Raiden who stood near the hull of the ship, but he decided against speaking with her in that moment.

He recalled the time he had found her, bound like a dog and covered in welts and lacerations big and small. She was curled into a ball, shaking and burying her face into her knees. It was then Raiden became aware of the state of her clothing, torn and barely covering her form as if someone intentionally ripped and pulled at it to expose more of her. Immediately he slipped out of his own robe and pulled it across her trembling form, respectfully averting his eyes. As he helped Raelynn stand to her feet, his eyes widened as countless more bruises and marks made themselves visible, tiny splotches of smooth brown skin barely surviving. These people had clearly put her through a very long, thorough beating, and it was evident that they were in no means hoping to show mercy. No, they wanted her dead. Raiden had teleported into the SF ship and rushed her to the infirmary room. People cleared the way immediately and knew better than to question his sudden appearance as he brushed past them while carrying the barely conscious woman to a bed near the back. He knew the Kombatants would be able to handle themselves well, so he stayed and began the healing process.

It was during this time he realized that Raelynn was no mere mortal, but a half god created by the hands of Cetrion. While it was difficult at first for him to fully trust her said intentions due to her creator's betrayal upon the Elder Gods, he had seen her heart's purity during the mission. The thunder god knew that she was making the best of efforts to redeem herself of past mistakes, and Liu Kang recognized this as well. A twinge of concern fell upon him just then as he knew that she still had much she needed to recover from. Whether she would eventually open up to him or not didn't matter, he would be patient and assist her as best as he could.

Raelynn took a seat upon the thick wooden rail and swung her legs over to face the bloody depths of Netherrealm's ocean. She wasn't afraid of falling nor coming across any odd sea creatures knowing that she had flying abilities, but of course she also wasn't dumb enough to try and test her strength or reflexes. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked on at the overlapping waves, allowing her mind to space out and roam. Her fingers tapped on the rail in a rhythmic pattern, and she suddenly was reminded of something. Her hands came together and moved in a circular motion, stretching further until the form of her solar powers had become a guitar. She clutched the neck and hugged the body of the instrument under her other arm smiling to herself.

Upon visiting the islands of the Pacific in the past, she had learned about the aspect of music through vocals and tools that produced a pleasant audio. The demigoddess found that these brought her a sense of peace and tranquility, and immediately she wanted to learn the ways of this fascinating revelation. What came as an interest to her in the beauty of music was the endless techniques for a new sound, new sensations, new reactions, and day by day, there was always the creation or discovery of another. She allowed her fingers to delicately pluck and strum a mix of chords, a tingle settling in her chest at the euphoria beginning to wash over her. Her hands moved on their own accord, finding a steady tempo and following a pattern with an occasional switch. The nerves that built up in the pit of her stomach had eventually disappeared into wisps of nothingness. Her eyes began to slowly close and she hummed quietly wanting no attention to be drawn to the back of the ship. It seemed to work decently, until-

"Wow, you're part god and a singer? Gotta say I'm definitely jealous."

The woman’s fingers froze in place already in position to strum a new chord. She craned her neck just enough to glance over her shoulder at the intruder, already knowing it who it was. “My life is nothing to be envious of, Specialist Briggs.”

Raelynn heard footsteps tread closer and tapped on her guitar. The younger woman climbed onto the rail and threw a leg over the other. They sat for a moment in silence, staring off at the deep scarlet waters swishing and rolling about. “I owe you an apology, Specialist.”

Jacqui’s eyebrow quirked and her eyes fell upon the half god. Raelynn took her silence as a sign to continue. “I apologize for my behavior towards you and your friends throughout most of the mission. Even after I had caused harm upon your lives and nearly killed your fiancé, you still ensured trust in me. That I could never understand, but-"

"It wasn't easy." The half goddess shifted her attention to the soldier. Her face was impassive as she watched the waves. Raelynn couldn't tell if her expression was a good or bad thing, but she decided against trying to get her hopes up. A great deal (if not all) of her acts under Cetrion were cruel and groundless, and she held no anguish up until the time she had to come face to face with the truth of her doings. It tore her day and night, and meeting Hajoon had her convinced that she would be able to leave the life of corruption far behind and start fresh. Of course, the facts couldn't be hidden forever, and the half goddess found herself back in the deep hole of falsehood, surrounded with nothing but fabricated offers to a better life. She scoffed mentally. That opportunity was officially closed off to her. It seemed as though disaster was always a few steps away, eager to ruin her chances at something sound, and risking it a third time was nowhere near appealing.

"There were many instances where I questioned why the Chosen One defended you to such an extent, especially after it was SF that provided for your recovery." Jacqui's voice had brought her out of her thoughts. "Trust me, I was beyond ready to blast a hole or two through your head a hell lot of times." She paused. "But spending time with Haru and hearing your whole deal...I understood you." Raelynn's brows raised slightly, not expecting such a considerate response.

"I couldn't imagine a life finding out that the one who was supposed to be my caretaker, my protector, my safe haven, was actually the one who robbed me of all that. My mother..." Her words trailed off and she peered down into her lap. She tightened her jaw and bit her lip to keep from releasing the tears awaiting just behind her eyes. Raelynn almost reached her hand out in an effort of comfort but stopped, not wanting to ruin the intimacy in the moment. Jacqui lifted her head and continued. "Man, it would kill me if she'd ever done something like that...growing up believing that everything was all good and sweet, and everyone just hated her for doing what I thought was the right thing, thinkin' it was my own folks who were the crooks trynna steal me away and take my power from me..." She scoffed. "Seein' my dad as a revenant then manipulated by Kronika was betrayal enough, and it hurt like hell. Point is, I realized that you truly had no malice in you. You were just takin' orders and tryin' to keep your mother—uh, Cetrion, happy."

And it was true. Raelynn trusted completely in the virtue goddess as any child would their guardian. She worked vigorously in carrying out the Elder Goddess' wishes, longing to eventually gain any sort of praise or affection, but it was rare that those occurrences came to past. Most of her upbringing revolved around unanswered questions and the constant urge to do better, trying at all costs to win approval. But like a fool, she allowed her heart to get the best of her, put her through the worst of hells just to seek out a foolish desire that would never be anything close to genuine. That's what messed her up in the first place, and she couldn't—no, would not dare to do something as stupid as that again. It was only her and Haru. Nobody else.

"I am...appreciative of your understanding, Ms. Briggs," Raelynn spoke after a long moment of silence. "You and your comrades are owed a huge debt on my behalf."

Jacqui chuckled and shook her head, then turned to look at the demigoddess. "You're damn right we are!" The two women shared a laugh on the rail. "Actually, I believe there is a way to pay back this debt."

"How so?"

"Well, Takeda and I's wedding was put on pause due to this whole mission, and it cost a lot to find decent live music. Cassie offered, but we're trying to have a simple proper wedding, not a drunk karaoke session. And you have the voice of an angel—well, a god in your case. If you can strum a few chords and sing a few notes for a few hours, I'll consider you free of deficit."

Raelynn cocked her head and raised a brow. "That's...that's all?" She figured the woman would request of something more extravagant, like a prolonged lifespan or giving her supernatural abilities. Jaqui nodded and crossed her arms awaiting an answer.

"I...very well, Ms. Br-"

"Jacqui. That formality stuff is weird if it's not comin' from General Blade." The demigoddess was taken by surprise again. She gave a single nod and looked on at the waves which now fell into to a more mellow and calm pattern.

Perhaps it wasn't just Haru and her against the world. Every person aboard had their story, their differences, their fall outs, but they were able to cast it all aside at an effort for peace upon a world that did almost nothing for them in return. Some aspects of the Earthrealm were odd, she thought. It was going to take a lot of time to get used to these people, but maybe, just maybe...

There was a sense of hope.

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mesmusae · 3 years

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Severus: Lily

I know what Fandom says and thinks for the most part. And I know what Rowling has said. Both of which I reject. I don’t like this narrative that Severus was stalkery obsessed with Lily. I am disgusted at the “it’s a good thing harry wasn’t a girl who looked just like his mother” discussions. So let’s break down how I view their friendship.

Let’s start with them meeting. A lot of people take him watching Lily and Petunia at the park as creepy but here’s a few reasons why it’s not. 1) People watching. Literally everyone does this some. If you’re in a public place, you’re going to watch the other people there, see what they’re doing. 2) Shyness. Severus is clearly not a social person. He’s very introverted. Plus, we know he and his family are quite the social pariahs in the neighborhood. They’re looked down upon for being poor, and it seems that perhaps their family life isn’t so private either. He’s not just going to feel comfortable or safe approaching two girls who are from a much better off family. 3) Lily was doing magic in a public setting, in broad daylight. On purpose. For Severus, that’s quite impressive. And likely what caught his attention as well as being how he built up the courage to talk to her. He was like her, and it was clear he had answers that her family didn’t.

And that is how their friendship is born. It is born of this mutual thing they have in common. And Severus is getting to tell Lily everything he knows. She listens, she talks with him, asks him questions, everything. This is likely everything he doesn’t get at home. Lily has become a refuge. Which is perhaps unhealthy, but at this stage, she’s his friend.

Their first obstacle comes at the sorting. It’s clear that Severus wants Slytherin. He is starting to believe the toxic pureblood rhetoric at a young age. But then again, two thirds of his interactions with muggles are extremely negative. You have his father, who resents Severus and Eileen for what they are. He punishes them for it. And then there’s Petunia. Who is envious of Lily (and likely Snape on the magic front if nothing else) and lashes out because of it. There’s also the muggles around him, in which he gets only pity and a blind eye from as well as sneers and jdugement. And he knows he’s more powerful than them. But he can’t do a damn thing with that. So unlike most prejudice against muggles wizards, his prejudice lies in his real life experiences as opposed to people like Draco who are just raised to believe that muggles are scum and wizards are the elite but have likely never even interacted with a muggle.

He also wants Lily to come with him. Because he thinks she’s different. (Not a healthy mindset at all. But to him, she is the exception to the rule). Slytherin would not be a safe place for Lily (nor the safe place that he is expecting it to be for him). Though, I think if she’d been in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff it would have gone over better to him than Gryffindor.

The rift here begins, I think for a couple of reasons. 1) James and his group are now trying to interact with lily. With James of course later in the years growing romantically interested as well. And while we know that Lily is rejecting James’ friendship and romantic advances throughout school, Severus has a lot of mental health issues. Thus, I think his issues stem more from jealousy and fear. Fear that Lily will one day decide that he isn’t worth her time. Maybe she’ll think that James and his gang are in fact better. And that would leave him alone again because 2) Slytherin is not the Sanctuary he thought it would be. Slytherin was supposed to be his home away from “home”. He’d be amongst his kind. Except that Slytherin is a pureblood and very rich house. Most of the purebloods come from Old Money. Classism is a massive part of that. So not only is Severus not a pureblood, but his family is poor. He wears hand-me-downs that are often described as feminine blouses, meaning they’re probably coming from his mother. Add to that, his only friend is a muggle-born. Which he is obviously judged and mocked for. But he’s loyal to Lily. To a fault, honestly.

So he’s not only severely separated from his only friend from the start, but bullied by both the marauders AND his own housemates in Slytherin. And unfortunately, Lily is the cause to some degree on both sides. (that is not to say it is her fault. IT IS NOT HER FAULT. James’s decisions were his own, as well as the actions of those in Slytherin around Severus. And Severus’s actions in response are his own).

Now at some point, his feelings turned romantic. And unfortunately, Severus did not have many sources to look at for what it really means to love someone. Because his parents certainly aren’t the answer. And everything else would be at a distant. Also, again because he has so little and because of those fears of losing her, he is slightly possessive about that. He sees James as a threat.

And he’s having to find some way to fit in when it comes to Slytherin. And he finds that with potions. A particularly difficult class, but he didn’t struggle. And he was quite adept at defensive magic as well as dark magic, thus starting to give him value to his peers. And he of course starts to fall into the classic “bullies are often people bullied themselves.” He starts to partake in bullying the muggleborns, using the word, mudblood, etc. just to fit in amongst his own peers. And Severus is not stupid. He’s also not blind (well, in some ways he is). He is bound to see that pureblood rhetoric against muggleborns is bullshit. His issues lies with muggles themselves more so. And still a lot of wizards. At this point in his life, he’s become bitter, quick to anger and defense. Anyone who does him the slightest wrong is against him. He’s learned not to really forgive.

So let’s talk about the event. Snape’s worst memory. Where James is tormenting Severus, yet again. When Lily comes to his defense, and James tried to blackmail Lily into a date by using tormenting Severus, in a moment of weakness he lashed out at her. He used the term mudblood in regards to her. (And was then publically humiliated and shamed for it by James and the group).

Yes. He waited in the hallway all night for her outside the Dormitory. To apologize. Regardless of anything, he did not want to hurt her. So he apologized. And when she rejected him (Which i think had less to do with him using the word against her and rather the fact that there had been a rift growing for years and this was just he last straw). But he accepted that. I think he knew their friendship was over and had been for quite some time. He left her alone, and thus was completely intergrated into Slytherin and those who were molding him and shaping him.

Now. Just because they stopped being friends, doesn’t mean the caring stopped. They had their childhood memories they formed together. Severus was always going to have those feelings for Lily. It does not make it obsession. And I think of it like this.

I have a friend, who was more the Snape to my Lily. She was kind of an awful person, awful friend, and there came a point we cut each other out. (I’m not saying i’m entirely innocent in the destruction of that friendship. But I do view her actions as far more Severus’s toxic side than my own. But that’s besides the point). I did not stop caring about her altogether. Especially not immediately. Especially not right out of school. I still think of our friendship often. I think that if she came to me needing something, I would likely help her, even if I have a feeling she wouldn’t do the same for me.

So that is what I view Severus’s feelings towards Lily. Except stronger. Because Lily was the only light in his life. She was the only good thing. The only positive influence he really had. Adults were never on his side. His peers were rarely on his side. So losing Lily, he clung to what little he had. The death eaters who took him in under their wings over the years. Those who were promising him power and control, something he rarely had in his life.

But that care is what got him. He heard that part of the prophecy, and of course he kept track of his friend. Wizarding circles are small anyway. It probably spread without intent. He was scared for her. So he did his job, reporting the prophecy. But begged for her life. In his fear he didn’t think about James. The man that ruined his life and tormented him every chance he got. And he didn’t think about her child, not born yet. Because his reactions were emotional in knowing that Lily’s life was in danger.

So he went to Dumbledore to have her protected. And yes. Then her family was brought to his attention. And he did not hesitate to agree to keep them safe too. Listen. If Snape really wanted Lily for himself. If he really didn’t care about her at all, it would have been a fight to protect, at the very least, James. He would have argued against it. He instantly agreed because someone reached to the logic in him. And he agreed to risk his life to be Dumbledore’s spy. He signed on to do that for the rest of his life. He signed on to do whatever it took to protect Lily and her Family. So when it was just Harry left, he did everything he could. (that doesn’t mean he went about it right. But he did do his best to protect Harry). Until his very last breath. If it was just about Lily, he would have stopped the moment she died.

None of this was about sleeping with her. None of this was about winning her over or having her. He accepted that he fucked those things up. He accepted he had no place in her life. This was about making up for his mistakes. Or at least, trying to feel like he could. I don’t think even if he lived to see Harry win and everything, that he would think he had. But he certainly seemed to be trying to show he knew he was wrong, and trying to do the right thing. Total change was never possible for Severus. But the fact that he was even able to admit he was wrong in joining Voldemort and turn to the right side, is a massive step for him.

#[severus headcanons]#[severus about]#listen #snape is a tough character #he's morally grey #he's an asshole #he did not make the best decisions in his life #or treat people the best #but it isn't so black as he's a bad guy #and if you have questions or thoughts #send an ask #POLITELY

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lasting-inkpressions · 3 years

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Why not me? (Chapter Four)

Summary: Denali has been single all his life, and has always been secretly envious of everyone around him being able to find love so easily. Rosé proposes the perfect solution for his best friend.

Note: This turned out differently from what I had originally planned.

Prefer reading it on AO3?

Denali was sitting in the corner of the deli that he and Rosé frequented, scrolling away at his Instagram feed while waiting for his order. It was one of those rare days where he only had one class to teach in the late afternoon. Instead of lazing around at home or practicing his routines in the rink, he thought that he’d surprise Rosé with lunch.

It was half way through the month, and so far their relationship had been progressing smoothly. Denali had started getting more comfortable with Rosé’s affections, and thankfully, his blushing was also a lot more under control, though Rosé seemed to have been a slight bit disappointed when he’d pointed that out. They hadn’t really progressed beyond innocent touches, cuddles and hand holding, and Rosé wasn’t pressuring him into anything that he wasn’t comfortable with either. There were the kisses that Rosé would press on him too, fairly innocent ones.

If there was one thing that he’d noticed throughout the past two weeks, it was that Rosé liked to surprise him with little gestures: kisses to the cheek when they were on the couch, waking up to a single rose on his doorstep one morning, sneaking Denali’s favourite Reese’s peanut butter cups into his locker at the rink, picking him up after skating practice. It was all so foreign to him, and yet it made his heart swoon.

The thing was Rosé had been nothing but patient and caring. He never jumped into anything, and was always careful and considerate, always mindful about matching the younger’s pace. Denali did appreciate it, although a small part of him did wonder if Rosé was truly alright with their arrangement. To him, Rosé was someone that seemed a bit more intense, yet free spirited when it came to his love life. Denali wasn’t saying that Rosé was a fuck boy, but he had seen him go home with a fair share of pretty boys clinging to his arm. But it had been a few months since the last one…

Denali’s thumb stopped moving mid scroll at that. Now that he’d thought about it, it did seem like Rosé had mellowed out in the last few months. He remembered after the Scot had broken up with his last boyfriend, he seemed to be taking home boy after boy, but he’d stopped after a while. That’s when the two of them had gotten even closer and had started spending even more time together than before. There were times when Gottmik would tease him about how close they were and how they were practically boyfriends, but Denali had always laughed it off.

After all, they were just best friends.

Besties.

“Order up for Denali!”

Breaking away from his train of thought, Denali shoved his phone into his pocket and approached the girl at the counter. Quickly checking through his order and grabbing some ketchup and mustard packets, he thanked the girl and left the deli, hitting the streets as he walked to Rosé’s office. The walk wasn’t very far, and he always enjoyed any time he could get to soak up the sun.

Maybe he’d ask their friends if they wanted to go to the beach that weekend. The weather had been perfect lately. It wasn’t too hot, and he knew Kandy would definitely appreciate seeing Joey shirtless.

…or maybe he’d try asking just Rosé to go to the beach with him instead. A beach date maybe? Something a little different. He knew he’d appreciate seeing Rosé without his shirt.

Blushing to the roots at the thought, Denali shook his head as he stopped at the traffic light.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a less than innocent thought about Rosé, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone that.

Crossing the street, it wasn’t long before Denali found himself in the elevator of Rosé’s office building, shifting his weight from on foot to the other as he listened to the faint hum of the engine, he exited once it stopped and the door slid open.

He walked forward and glanced down the corridors, trying to remember where Rosé’s office was. He always seemed to get lost in the maze of offices when he visited. Finding the glass door of the agency he worked in, Denali smiled and walked over, excited to see Rosé. Just when he reached the door, he stopped when he spotted Rosé a few feet away inside the office, the smile slipping from his face.

Rosé was sitting at the edge of his desk, arms crossed, smirk on his face as he nodded along to a young man standing before him, someone he’d never seen before. A dark skinned boy with wide eyes and a cap on his head. Denali could see the flash of a gap toothed smile as he laughed, lightly slapping Rosé’s arm and laughing at something the older had said, a slight whistle echoed softly.

Hands clenching at the sight and the sound of the paper bag crumpling in his fist, Denali felt his breath speed up a bit as he watched the two of them. He didn’t really know why, but he didn’t like what he saw. He could see that the gap toothed boy was clearly enamoured by Rosé, and Rosé wasn’t really doing anything to discourage it. Denali reached for the door handle, about to push into the office and approach them when he stopped himself.

What right did he have to do that? Sure, Rosé was his boyfriend, but it was just a temporary arrangement. It would stop at the end of the month, and after that they’d go back to being best friends. How much of a right did he have to claim Rosé as his if the relationship had an expiration date?

Biting his lower lip, Denali was about to walk away, but froze when Rosé looked towards his direction. The older boy grinned widely at him, excusing himself from the other and walked towards him. Denali concentrated on getting his breathing back to normal and tried to smile back at Rosé, almost failing as his heart continued to race. The older boy pushed the door open, eyes bright as he looked down at Denali.

“Hey Nali, what are you doing here?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Denali shoved the paper bag of food into Rosé’s hands, his own hands a little shaky as he tried to contain himself. Glancing behind at the other boy who was peering curiously from behind, Denali took a deep breath and, before he could talk himself out of it, quickly pressed a kiss to Rosé’s cheek. Pulling away and catching the surprised look on his face, Denali stammered out a quick goodbye before practically running away from him.

Rosé stood still in surprise, hand held against the cheek that Denali had just kissed as he watched him scurry off. Before he could even think about going after the younger boy, he had disappeared into the elevator and was out of sight. Frowning, Rosé looked at the crumpled brown paper bag bearing the logo of their favourite deli and pulled it open to find two sandwiches nestled inside.

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Denali panted as he practically flung himself across the ice, sweat beading on his forehead as he executed complicated move after complicated move.

He had spent the last few hours trying to get out of his head, or more specifically trying to get Rosé out of his head. After he had fled like a coward from him, not wanting to embarrass himself further or face the older boy, he had thrown himself into his usual routine at the rink. He taught his late afternoon class, and when his mind didn’t seem to be able to stop churning pointless thoughts at him, he had turned back to the ice as a means of both distraction and comfort.

There was something about the ice that always seemed to comfort him, the music and the cold ice blending together in perfect harmony.

As he executed one last double axel, he glided to a stop at the side, taking in a shuddering breath as he leaned back against the side of the rink. He looked at the clock above the rink.

7.49pm

The place was almost empty now, save for him and a few members of staff, and he was the last one on the ice.

Scratching his cheek, Denali pondered whether to keep going when large hands covered his eyes. Stiffening and grabbing at the stranger’s wrists, he relaxed once he heard a familiar chuckle behind him. Spinning around, Denali smacked Rosé in the chest, resulting in a light grunt from his boyfriend.

“Rosie! You scared me half to death.” Denali pouted, all his messy thoughts gone at the sight of Rosé’s twinkling eyes, an effect he seemed to have on him more often than not. The older boy smiled softly and brushed a strand of hair sticking to Denali’s face, leaning forward.

“Sorry Nali. Here, let me kiss you better.” Denali squealed and dodged Rosé’s lips as he skated backwards in response, his own eyes crinkling mischievously. “No way! You seem to be enjoying them more than I do. I’m putting you on a kissing time out.”

Rosé blinked, brows raised as Denali stuck his tongue out playfully. Smirking, Rosé leaned against the partition, eyes glinting as he focused on Denali’s mouth.

“Careful baby, unless you want to put that tongue to use, you’d better put it away.”

Denali’s eyes widened at his statement and coughed hard, Rosé laughing at his innocent reaction. Denali glared at Rosé for a moment before skating towards the exit, letting Rosé give him a hand as he got off the ice. He settled on the bench nearby as he started to unlace his skates. There wasn’t any point skating if Rosé was there, and it was getting late anyways.

“So what are you doing here?” He asked. He heard the rustling of plastic and he looked to the left as Rosé set a bulging bag down on the bench next to him. “Got us some of that sushi that you love for dinner. You weren’t replying my texts, so I figured you’d probably lost track of time on the ice again.”

Denali melted a little on the inside, touched by the thoughtful gesture. How was anyone ever going to top Rosé in the future? He pulled his feet out of his skates, and stood. He grabbed his skates in one hand and reached for Rosé’s hand with the other, squeezing it.

“Come on, let’s go back to my place.”

“Oh, aren’t we a little forward today?”

“Not for that, you loveable idiot.”

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The couple settled on the couch in more comfortable clothes, both having eaten their fill and whatever sushi was left stored in the fridge. Denali was almost mindlessly scrolling through Netflix for a show to watch while Rosé had him pulled against his side, arm wrapped around his waist and lightly tracing circles on the exposed skin of Denali’s hip. The younger had to force himself to ignore the way his skin heated from the skin contact and focused instead on finding something interesting to watch. Giving up after a while, he chose a random episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race and tossed the remote aside, subtly snuggling against Rosé.

Moments like these were something Denali was definitely going to miss once their arrangement was over. Sure, they’d still hang out when they went back to normal, but friends didn’t exactly cuddle or kiss each other, did they? Biting the inside of his cheek as his heart clenched at the thought, Denali laid his head against Rosé’s shoulder as he watched Bianca on the screen rolling her eyes at Laganja.

A few minutes in, Rosé stopped tracing mindless patterns on Denali’s skin. “Hey Nali?”

“Yes Rosie?”

“Why did you run off during lunch?”

Denali stilled. He was hoping that Rosé wouldn’t bring it up. How was he going to explain what happened? That he’d kissed him on the cheek out of impulse and had fled because he was too much of a coward to face his own feelings?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Rosé sighed and sat up.

“Denali, look at me.”

He didn’t want to say anything, he just wished he hadn’t had that stupid idea to surprise Rosé with lunch then he wouldn’t have realised that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to really have feelings for Rosé. It just felt irrational. He knew what he was getting himself into, and here he was. The last thing he expected was to start developing feelings for-

Nope, he was stopping himself right there. He was not going to entertain those thoughts anymore.

Denali flinched as Rosé stroked his side in a bid to soothe him. Rosé could see that there was something bothering Denali, and he was worried. He didn’t like seeing Denali in distress, and even more so if he couldn’t do anything to help.

“Baby, talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Denali.”

Turning the younger boy to face him, Rosé cupped his face, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Tell me, baby. It’s alright.”

Denali avoided looking Rosé in the eye, feeling his breathing quicken as he started to panic. He couldn’t do this, he didn’t have the courage to say it. What if Rosé didn’t feel the same way? What if all those acts of affection were just that, acts? That it was just out of sheer obligation of their agreement? Denali didn’t want to lose someone precious to him just because he couldn’t control his own fucking feelings.

No no no no, he wasn’t developing feelings. He was just confused. Rosé was first and foremost his best friend.

“Denali!”

Rosé pulled Denali into a tight hug, stroking the back of his head and rocking him. “It’s ok baby, I’m here. You’re safe, nothing bad’s going to happen.”

Denali started to sob, the tears he was trying to hold back finally falling and soaking the front of Rosé’s shirt as he struggled to breathe. Rosé just held him, humming in his ear and rocking him back and forth. After a while, Denali finally calmed down and pulled back from the older boy.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say sorry. It’s alright to feel whatever it is you’re feeling. I’m not going to ask what happened again, I’m just going to say that whatever it is Denali, I’m here for you.”

Denali swallowed and looked up, and felt his heart stutter when he saw the way Rosé was looking back at him, expression warm and eyes full of an emotion he was too afraid to hope for. Rosé wiped the remaining tears on Denali’s face with his fingers and cupped his cheeks, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m always here for you.”

Pressing soft kisses to the tear tracks on Denali’s face, Rosé rose from the couch and pulled Denali along.

“Come on baby, let’s get you to bed.”

Rosé guided Denali towards the bedroom and over to the bed, covering the two of them with the plush blanket once they lay down. They faced each other, both curled on their sides as Rosé continued to stroke Denali’s cheek soothingly. The younger boy leaned into his touch, then turned his head, nosing the palm of Rosé’s hand before kissing it. Smiling wearily, Denali let his eyes flutter shut as Rosé returned the kiss by pressing his lips to the younger’s forehead. Minutes later, Denali fell asleep, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Rosé continued to watch over Denali as the younger boy slept. His eyes took in the planes of Denali’s face, from the sharp angles of his cheek bones to the faint indents where his dimples were when he smiled. God, he was so gone for this boy. All he could do was hope that maybe a part of his feelings touched the other.

Slowly tracing the other’s cheek, Rosé stopped at Denali’s mouth before slowly thumbing his lower lip. He stilled as Denali groaned in his sleep, nose wrinkling before settling back down. He stared for a beat more before lightly stroking the corner of Denali’s mouth with his thumb. He had wanted to kiss Denali on the lips for a while now, but had refrained from doing so and instead settled for more innocent kisses. But right then and there, his control was fraying.

Rosé breathed deeply, leaning in, he paused to make sure that Denali was truly asleep before cautiously pressing his lips against the sleeping boy's.

If the moon was the only witness while Denali remained blissfully unaware in his sleep, then Rosé was going to keep this a secret between him and the moon.

————————————————————————

The angst and confusion is real here.

Had to throw in a spanner in the works, too much fluff is going to give you cavities but hey, at least it looks like Denali's finally sort of acknowledging his own feelings.

#rosenali #rpdr fic #why not me fic #inkpression writes

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padfootagain · 3 years

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A Very Rose Mistake (V)

Part 5 : How Jealousy Gets Denied

Here we go with a new chapter! I am back, people! Sorry for the long pause, but depression is kicking my arse these days, so writing is a little hard at times. Plus, this turned out longer than I thought it would be.

No warning to be applied here, except for a little bit of jealousy **demonical laughter**

Troubles are starting. It's coming folks!

I hope you like this part! Please, tell me what you think about it!

Also, if you want to explore more the area where the hike described in this chapter takes place in the Trossachs, here is a very nice website where you have a view from Ben A'an!

Word count: 4686

Holmes Chapel

2008

Harry was late.

Again.

Third time in a week, and it was beginning to seriously get on your nerves. You repeatedly tapped your pen on your desk, while looking outside your window towards Harry's in the house next to yours. His curtains were closed, you hesitated to use the red piece of glass to signal him that you needed him, but neither of you had used it in a long time. So, you didn't really dare to reach for the drawer of your desk.

You didn't want to seem childish in front of him these days. And maybe it was because of his girlfriend. Maybe it was because he had a girlfriend when you had never had a boyfriend yourself. And maybe you were also getting more and more pissed because Harry was ignoring you these days.

You didn't want to be that friend, the one who called on him and acted clingy and asked for time to be spent with. You understood that Harry was infatuated. You understood that he liked his girlfriend and wanted to spend time with her, and it was normal. But that didn't mean that he had the right to simply cancel all your plans. You were okay with the fact that you couldn't just drop by to his house anymore unannounced, in case Felicia would be there with him. But you had planned this evening to work on your essay for your English class. You had checked with him if he was free, and he had promised to come by 5 pm. It was almost 6 now.

You checked your cellphone one more time, but once again, were met with no text messages or missed calls. He hadn't even warned you that he'd be late, which he used to do before Felicia got into the picture.

You didn't want to be that kind of friend who acted almost possessive, and couldn't manage to accept the arrival of his girlfriend in your inner circle of friends. But on the other hand, you reckoned that Harry was being that kind of friend too. The kind who abandoned his friends to spend all his time with his girlfriend. The kind who got so engulfed in his relationship that he simply dropped everything else the second she asked for him. It was excessive, you reckoned, but then, you weren't altogether surprised. Harry was passionate, and loyal to a fault. He was forgiving and too kind for his own good sometimes. You didn't doubt that in a relationship, he would be a huge romantic. Maybe he had an idea of love that was a little too idealistic, a little too naïve, with too many rainbows and unicorns involved and not enough heartbreak, but you couldn't really hold it against him. You could, however, hold against him that it was the third time in five days that he wasn't meeting you when you planned to spend a couple of hours working together, and it was driving you crazy.

It was a strange mixture of feelings that you experienced, between anger and aching and something a little cold that you couldn't really describe. It felt painful, that was for sure, but more than sad, it was painted red with annoyance and fear. A little voice in your head that screamed 'danger'. You weren't sure of what the feeling meant, but you knew for certain that you didn't like it all the same.

Lost in your thought, you jumped as your mother's voice rang through the house, calling for you.

"Y/N! Harry's here!"

You barely had the time to turn to your door before Harry was stumbling in the room, clearly out of breath.

"Hi, Y/N!" he grinned, staggering in the room and throwing his backpack on your bed.

"Hi," you tried to give him a smile, but it was hard to brush the irritating feeling away as it lingered despite Harry's presence.

"Okay, so… what do we start with?"

You tried to answer his question, you really did. But you were too angry at him for behaving like this for weeks now. So, instead, you answered his question with one of your own.

"Where were you?"

"What?" he asked back with a perplexed frown.

"I've been waiting for you for more than an hour. Where were you?"

He heaved a sigh, letting himself fall onto your bed.

"I know, I'm sorry I'm late. Felicia wanted to hang out a little after my shift at the bakery."

You stared at him for a moment, before standing up to go close the door. Harry watched you with an eyebrow raised in surprise, but he didn't speak nor did he try to interrupt you.

You heaved a sigh, nervously twisting your hands together.

"Harry… You've got to stop doing that," you told him, your voice slow yet he could hear in the way it trembled that you were angry and were trying to keep your voice down. "You can't just… tell me you're gonna study with me and then disappear to go snog your girlfriend instead."

"Y/N…"

"No, let me finish! You're not being fair! I haven't seen you outside of school in weeks. You're either late or you don't show at all."

"What do you want me to do? She's my girlfriend…"

"And I'm your best friend."

"I've got to make time for her."

"I get that. I'm not blaming you for seeing her."

"That's exactly what you're doing though."

Your expression saddened, the crease between your brows fading to reveal a fragility that wasn't there before instead.

"I get it that you want to spend time with her, but we had planned to study together. You can't just cancel everything for her either, you need a balance between the two. It can't be all about her. I get it that you want to spend time with her, and that's alright. But when we agree on a time to spend with each other, you can't bail out."

"I'm not making it all about her."

"You are though."

"If you had a boyfriend, you'd understand."

You cringed at that, wincing and glowering at him. You weren't good either at hiding how his words hurt you.

"What? I'm right," he shrugged.

"You're being a dick."

"You're overreacting."

"If I promised you that I would do something for you, and I didn't do it to spend some time with my boyfriend, wouldn't you be mad at me?"

Harry tried to deny your statement, but he would have been lying. And he didn't want to lie to you. So, instead, he heaved a sigh, and it was his time to wince.

"I guess…"

"Well, that's what you've been doing ever since you started being with her!"

You were starting to raise your voice, and Harry hated it. Not only was he annoyed, but he also simply hated seeing you upset, no matter the reason behind your emotion.

He felt his own anger rising, a mere reflex to hearing your acidic tone. But he knew that it wouldn't do anything good, and he didn't mean to upset you even more. He couldn’t deny either that you were right. He had been neglecting your friendship lately, and he could see now that it was hurting you. So, he heaved a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled under his breath, pushing the words out reluctantly. "I guess you're right."

He reached in his backpack, grabbing a bag of pastries he had gotten from the bakery he worked at.

"I bought these for you, by the way."

You cautiously took the bag he was handing you, as if it were a trick of his. You peered inside to reveal a couple of chocolate muffins.

"These are my favourite," you breathed, hating the way your anger simply melted away.

He always had this effect on you. Harry always managed to do something so kind, no matter how big the gesture, that you couldn't stay mad at him.

Because you had never asked him for these cakes. He just saw them and thought of you.

For a moment, you were envious, almost, of his girlfriend. Because it had to be wonderful to be with someone who truly paid attention to people and wanted to make them happy as a reflex.

You knew that he hadn't bought the cakes for any particular reason. That he hadn't thought of anything besides the fact that you liked this flavour and it would make you happy to munch on these as you studied with him.

Your heart was beating faster, and you weren't sure why. You knew though that, as you thought of Harry's girlfriend again, you were bitter, and not only because how annoyed you were at Harry for being late.

"I know," he answered with the ghost of a smile, as if you had said the dumbest and most obvious thing.

You heaved a sigh, sitting by his side on your bed.

"Thanks."

"I'll make sure not to be late next time."

"Thank you."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his embrace.

"Are we good?"

"Yeah… we're good," you nodded, relaxing in his arms.

"Good, cause you need to help me with this history thing. It's so boring!"

"History is not boring! You're boring," you replied, your voice shushed by his jumper as you pressed your face in his shoulder.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the hallway by your door, but you didn't pay much attention to them, way too comfortable in your best friend's arms to be bothered.

Until your door was swung opened, making both you and Harry jump and break away in a hurry. Your father appeared, seeming infuriated, and when he spoke, his voice was shaking with wrath.

"I told both of you to always keep this door open!"

Loch Lomond

2020

For the first day with the entire family in Loch Lomond, Cassie and Amy took a day without any planning and proposed to go explore the shores and the wilderness around the lodge. Some members of your family were eager for a quiet day along the shores, but you wanted to go explore other parts of the region, which was why you were now sitting around the breakfast table with a guide book and your phone set on your laps, focused on finding the perfect spot for a hike.

"You've spent half an hour looking at maps, darling… just… choose a path and go there," your mother sighed, annoyed.

"What do you care? You're gonna stay here all day anyway. I want a nice spot. I want to climb and have a nice view, but I also want some forest."

Your mother rolled her eyes at you again, but chose to not say a word this time.

"I think I'm gonna go to the Trossachs and try to go to… Ben A'an. It has a nice spot, it should give us a nice view," you mumbled under your breath, talking more to yourself than to anyone else in particular. "But it's not too high so it shouldn't be too hard."

By your side, Harry was finishing to eat his pancake and drinking his cup of coffee, reading the newspaper. If he was attending your cousin's wedding, he also took this week as a well-deserved holiday. He had been particularly busy these past few months, and would enjoy to spend a calmer week. And if he usually never refused a hike or any activity outdoor, he longed for a good nap. So, when asked, he had chosen to stay around the loch for the day. Amy's grandfather was organizing an expedition to go fishing, and Harry was most likely going to join the activity. Cassie was up for the hike and was on her way to convincing Amy to join her (after all, a lot of kisses always go a long way and are hard to resist), so you wouldn't be going on your own, he could sit this one out and just enjoy a lazy day.

He was sitting next to you around the long table. He had been eyeing your hand for the past ten minutes, but hadn't dared to reach for it. Giving his usually affectionate way to display friendship, it shouldn't have been a worry for him to add a sprinkle of touches here and there for your family to better buy your dating alibi.

But the thing was, it was you. And things were different with you. And touching your hand wasn't the same as reaching for any other of his friends' or acquaintances'. He couldn't say why, didn't dare to, but it wasn't the same, so he read for the third time in a row the same line of his article while he silently weighed the pros and the cons of reaching out and taking your hand in his.

Meanwhile, Patrick was listening to your conversation while munching on his eggs.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked, studying the picture on the guide book of the spot you had found from across the table, craning his neck a little to see the picture better. "It really does look like it has an incredible view."

"Sure!" you answered with an enthusiastic smile. "The more the merrier!"

You didn't notice the frown that settled on Harry's brow. You didn't notice his gaze abandoning the article to settle on you.

"Great! That sounds like a lot of fun. I love hiking. It's soothing, to be closer to nature."

"Yeah, me too. I try to go out as much as I can to take long walks or go hiking around L.A."

"I've joined a group actually last year. We organize hikes almost every weekend. It's nice to have people to walk with."

"Oh, that's so nice! Where do you go hiking?"

Harry studied the way you leaned towards Patrick, and the way he reciprocated your gesture, the open conversation closing around only the two of you. And he wished you were leaning towards him instead.

He shook himself out of this thought, though. What was wrong with him? You were just talking about hiking…

"Just around Glasgow, but I don't think we've been to this spot yet, I'd really like to try this trail."

"Well, then, you're welcome to join us!"

You reached across the table to take a piece of bread, and Patrick accidentally did the same thing as you at the same time, your hands meeting across the table.

You pulled away in a hurry, shying away and mumbling an apology under your breath. And Harry didn't miss a bit of the interaction. He didn't miss the way you wiggled on your chair, and the way you looked away, and the way your fingers struggled a little to wrap around your cup of tea.

And he didn't miss the way Patrick struggled to hide a smile, and the way he stared at you too intensely, and the way his eyes stopped on your lips for a moment before settling on his plate again.

Harry rolled his eyes in response, annoyed. He didn't sign up to play third wheel…

"Who else is supposed to come?" Patrick asked, bringing the conversation back to life.

"Cassie and Amy! I reckon that everybody else is having a lazy day today."

"Your boyfriend isn't coming either?" he asked, turning to Harry, who was still mostly hidden behind his newspaper.

"No, he said he'd go fishing…"

"Actually, I think I've changed my mind," your fake boyfriend jumped into the conversation, folding his newspaper to place it on the table next to his plate. "A hike sounds great!"

"You're sure? You said you were tired," you asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Breakfast gave me a boost, actually. I'd love to go hiking."

This time, he didn't hesitate, and he did reach for your hand that rested on the white tablecloth, wrapping his long fingers around yours and giving them a gentle squeeze. You gave him a grin.

"Great! Then, it'll be just the five of us! It's gonna be amazing!"

You turned towards your food to hurry to finish so you could get ready. Meanwhile, Harry and Patrick's gazes met, and if no words were exchanged, the way that Patrick looked down at his plate after only a handful of seconds spoke volumes all the same.

"Okay, you said it would not be too hard…"

You couldn't answer to Cassie through your panting. You had barely started and you were already out of breath, a sharp jolt of pain stinging your side. The path was steep, making your muscles ache already and your breath catch in your throat. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all…

"Well, it didn't seem so hard on the internet…" you replied, stopping to catch your breath.

The sky was clear and blue, with only a handful of lazy clouds drifting before the sun once in a while. Bosquets around the path clothed the high grass on each sides, while evergreen pine trees mingled their green foliage with the orange, red and yellow ones of deciduous trees. It created a strange and yet beautiful mix of colours that painted the slopes of the mountains, forming a forest across the lower parts of the rocky sides. The path in itself was clear and there was no fear of getting lost, and for as long as you were careful to not twist your ankle on a random piece of rock, you reckoned that the road was quite safe. Except for its slope, that was much steeper than what you had anticipated. You expected an easy hike, and were met with a pretty difficult one instead so far.

By your side, Harry was panting as well, and you were suddenly worried about his asthma.

"You alright?" you asked him with concern painted all over your features.

But Harry gave you a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine. Not ever trusting… you again with… planning a hike… but… besides that… I'm fine," he answered, his words cut by deep breaths he was forced to take in an attempt to calm his burning lungs.

"It'll get easier soon, look," you reassured him, nodding towards the path that stretched before you, and seemed to be less steep further on.

Patrick seemed to struggle less than the rest of your party, and he turned to you as he visibly held back on his speed to stay with the group instead of going further on his own.

"I'll take your bag if you want," he offered you, nodding at your little backpack where you had your bottle of water and some cookies that would be your prize for when you would reach the top.

But you shook your head.

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? It's no bother. I'm used to hiking in this kind of terrain, it's easier for me."

Harry rolled his eyes at the comment, but remained silent, merely trying to catch his breath himself.

Despite having some steep moments, the path was pleasant and the fresh air was doing wonders on your moral. For once, you were able to forget about the stress of your PhD, and spending some time with your friends put an unwavering smile on your lips.

The wind of autumn was chilly and on the less protected spots of the trail, it bit down on your cheeks, but it was vivifying too, in a way that gave you energy to go on and continue further up the path. Without your parents around, both you and Harry were more relaxed, and you fell back into your usual banter, acting more like friends than fake lovers again. And it was comfortable. A known territory you had been exploring for decades, familiar and safe. You were in a comfort zone that the two of you had built along the years, and it felt reassuring to fall back in this old safe area of your relationship for a few hours.

As you finally reached the top after more than an hour of climbing up the rocky path, your breath was taken away not only by the physical effort you had been through, but by the sight before your eyes. The top of Ben A'an offered almost a 360°C sight over the loch and the mountains all around, a perfect mix of peaceful water, blue sky, rocky mountains and slopes painted in green, orange, yellow and red by trees in fall. A couple of ravens croaked a few meters away, perched on mossy rocks and breaking the quiet of the place. The wind, strong and howling, seemed to punch your cheeks with each ghast of air. Facing you, Ben Venue stood taller, its sloops colourful, as if the work of a painter more than of nature. Loch Katrine stretched as a long patch of water, glimmering under the vivid sun, on your right. On the other side of a forest, laid the calm waters of Loch Achray, situated on your left. You rested your back against one of the rocks behind you as you took in the view, your feet safely set against the pebbles and dirt on the ground, the grassy area, punctuated with bushes, only starting close to the edge of the slope. The top of Ben A'an, that you had now reached, was rather levelled, and all over a perfect spot for a break.

"It's gorgeous," you breathed.

"Yeah," Harry nodded by your side, still out of breath after the last push that had been needed to reach the top.

You turned a worried face towards him.

"Are you sure you're alright? You're breathing funny."

He coughed a couple of times, but rolled his eyes at you.

"I'm fine, mum. Just out of breath because I've finished climbing up a mountain just now, you know?"

It was your time to roll your eyes at him.

"Well, sorry to get worried about your malfunctioning lungs."

"They're not malfunctioning!"

"You're asthmatic! They are malfunctioning."

"You're out of breath too."

"I don't sound like I'm about to die."

"I don't either. You've clearly never heard someone dying. That's not how it sounds."

You exchanged a playful smile, while he joined you, resting his back against the rock and enjoying the view.

"In all seriousness though," he went on, still struggling to ease out his breathing. "I might let you choose another hike after this one. It's a very nice view."

"Ha! I knew it!" you cheered, giggling.

Cassie and Amy were admiring the view over the loch as well, holding onto each other. Patrick was drinking some water a couple of steps away from you. But as you felt your body cooling down, you decided to use the last remnants of adrenaline of your long walk to climb on top of the rock you were resting upon, thus reaching the true top of the mountain. There would truly be nothing above you then but the blue sky and the occasional crows flying by. It wasn't a very elegant endeavour, as you struggled to climb up the rock. Harry hurried to grab your waist to steady you, scolding you as you slipped.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a deep frown, worry oozing from his deep voice.

"Climbing!"

"Y/N, it's not a good idea, it's slippery."

"Shut up and help me up!"

He rolled his eyes but helped you anyway. Because he could never say no to you anyway. Never had been able to since you were five years old and you asked to play with his favourite toy. So, he secured his hold on your waist, helping your movements to secure your climb, ready to catch you if you were to fall. But you didn't fall, instead reaching the top of the last rock to climb. You took a couple of steps on the top, to reach the highest part, now enjoying a view of both sides of the mountain, water and forests and steep sloops of mountains seeming to lay at your feet just for you. The wind was even more violent at the top, almost deafening, but you didn't mind. You felt so confident for some reason, your usual problems seeming millions of miles away. Standing there, at the top of Ben A'an, it felt like you had reached the top of the world itself. You let out a laugh as you opened your arms wide, letting the wind blow against you with all its strength, turning your face up towards the sun to let its warmth bloom across your cheeks.

And down the rock, still on the path, Harry was looking up at you, listening to your laugh carried across the sky by the strong wind. He took in your dishevelled looks after your climb, and the way the wind caught in your jacket, blowing it away from your body. The way the sun got caught on your skin, and the way your lips split in a glowing smile. A thin layer of sweat glistened on your face, illuminated by the sun. And your carefree stance made you look absolutely unreal.

There was a deep rumble in his heart. A bright, luminous kind of aching that he had been trying hard to forget for years. And he had succeeded. After years of trying, he had made the feeling go away.

So why did he feel like this again now?

Looking at you with arms spread, embracing the world, it seemed, with a happy and free expression written on your features, he just couldn't stop the feeling from settling in his heart once more.

You were beautiful. Radiant. Something about you made him unable to look away. And he hated it. He hated the fact that he felt like this about you. But he couldn't help it. So, he stared at you as you laughed away in the wind, an uncontrollable yet fond smile on his face.

Sometimes he wondered how you could even be real.

And for a moment, he was so entranced in you that he didn't notice that Patrick was staring at you as well.

Harry helped you climb back down, a safe hold securing your movements, and you held onto his shoulders too for leverage. Landing in his arms, so close to him, made him fiercely blush, but he reckoned that if anyone noticed, he could always blame the wind.

But then he was your fake boyfriend for this week. Which meant that he was allowed to be this close to you. He was allowed to hold you for a moment longer than what was needed, and he could always claim that it was to keep up appearances, instead of him simply longing to have you close. And if he repeated this excuse enough times in his head, maybe, just maybe, he might believe in it himself too.

As your gazes met though, it was impossible for him to pretend, and reflexes came rushing back as Harry stepped away from you, an embarrassed blush blooming all the way up to the tip of his ears. You were distracted from his reaction though as Patrick handed you a bottle of water.

This time though, Harry didn't miss the way Patrick looked at you as you thanked him, accepting the water bottle. He didn't miss the way his gaze lingered for too long on your fingers wrapping around the plastic, nor the way he glimpsed at your lips as you brought the bottle to your lips.

When he felt his blood boiling in his veins, Harry attributed the symptom to mere annoyance. Because he hadn't travelled all the way from LA to Scotland for a week, lied to your parents, gotten dragged in all that mess, taken the risk to face his own mother's judgement about the whole ordeal too as your parents were close friends… to end up playing third wheel for you and Patrick. And that was all there was to it.

Maybe the way his heart stomped in his chest was a bit too violent for mere annoyance, but it wasn't a safe choice to call the feeling jealousy, after all.

**********************************************************************

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#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writing prompt #event #4700 followers

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unaccomplishedwriter · 3 years

Text

. THE HERO YOU NEED .

. Chapter Three .

. Chapter Two Here .

Merlin’s beard, you had no idea what was going on. As a fourth year, you were somewhat expected to know how Hogwarts worked at this point. That included finding your way to the very hard-to-find Potions classroom. Only after catching one equally late sixth year and asking for directions did you find out the elusive class was located in the literal dungeons on the other side of the school. No matter how quickly you rushed there you knew you would be late, and from what you’d heard from the Golden Trio about how strict Professor Snape was, you would no doubt face punishment for your tardiness. As you flew down the halls in a flurry, your first meeting with the trio overtook your mind.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me I have the meanest professor for my first lesson!” You whined to Cedric. He rolled his eyes at you, plopping down on a nearby loveseat in the Hufflepuff common room. Just a few minutes ago you’d learned that the place was connected to the Hogwarts kitchens, something that once again brought you back to your time at Ilvermorny. The kitchen staff in the American school was of the free variety, various creatures employed in order to serve mealtime for the school’s students. You and your group of friends had long befriended the head cook, along with the rest of the kitchen staff, and often snuck down for late night snacks whenever you needed to endure particularly long nights of difficult studies. The house elves of Hogwarts seemed rather sweet, but you couldn’t help but turn your nose a bit at the archaic and in humane form of “employment” as well. Though you were sure they were treated fairly, you kept the thought at the back of your mind that you’d surely offer one or two a scarf, though you weren’t quite certain it would work. “Snape isn’t so bad as long as you do what you’re told... and don’t look particularly lost. Or dumb,” Cedric sniggered, breaking you from your thoughts. You shot a pointed look at him, finding your place on the armchair adjacent to him. “Mind you, a dumb look on my face is the first thing people notice about me half the time,” you joke. He grins in response, and you’re once again charmed by how handsome he is. The boy seemed as if he’d stepped out of a storybook, the picture of the knight in shining armor or Prince Charming so often wrote about.

“He’s a fine teacher, just a bit cold is all,” he reassures. You allow his words to settle you into a tentative ease, though you feel it deep in your heart that your Potions class won’t go quite the way you’d like it to. As if sensing your unresolved tension, Cedric perked up, making a suggestion.

“I believe you share that class with a few Gryffindors in your year. We still have quite a bit until curfew. Would you like me to introduce you to some?”

You leapt at the suggestion, eager to make new friends. Specifically ones who could save you through the torture of weathering Snape’s class alone. Cedric guided you to a very specific portrait of a particularly large woman, where he cajoled some unsuspecting Gryffindor into sharing the password, allowing you entrance into the Gryffindor common room. As you expected, the boy was popular enough that no one seemed particularly bothered as you waited around for whomever he wanted you to meet. He easily slipped into conversation with those around him, and you were envious of his congeniality. You had expectations set upon yourself by your mentors and peers back in America to be something similar, though the effort for you was a lot more draining than Cedric made it look. For some reason, your mind drifted to the Malfoy boy, whom you sincerely doubted gave the time of day to anyone he deemed bothersome or not worth his breath. Despite this, he possessed a magnetism that allowed him to easily control whatever room he was in. You could admire that type of personality, though the narcissism and self-importance was something you could do without. It didn’t take you long to realize that the two boys each had traits that you could only hope to emulate, confidence and charm. Though it manifested in different ways for the both of them, you couldn’t help but be drawn in. If only you could find a happy medium between their two ideals.

“Oh, (Y/N)! These are the people I was telling you about,” Cedric started, getting up and making a beeline toward three students who’d just entered the common room. There was a rather cute boy with dark hair and round glasses, a distinct scar on his forehead. Even you, an American, knew who this boy was. The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. His green eyes pierced through you, a curiosity settled deep that he couldn’t quite hide. Next to him was an endearingly cute red headed boy, shaggy locks being impatiently shaken out of his eyes. He seemed a bit standoffish, giving you the idea that he wasn’t much comfortable with those who’s motives he was unsure of. And finally, a pretty girl with curly brown hair stood to the far left, clutching a pile of books to her chest. She stared at Cedric rather crossly, a pout forming on her lips.

“Mr. Diggory, it is quite inappropriate for a Hufflepuff to be in the Gryffindor common rooms. Though, as you’re older, I’m quite sure you know this already,” She huffed, tightening her grip on her books.

Harry gave her an embarrassed shush before turning back to Cedric, nervously sticking his hands in his pockets. The redheads boy roll his eyes before digging out a bag of treats from who knows where, stuffing several into his mouth.

“Well get on with it then, Diggory. What do you want?” He said gruffly, crumbs flailing from his mouth. The disgusted look on the girls face coupled with the increasingly embarrassed look on the other’s drew out a giggle from you, until it was your turn to be embarrassed once their three pairs of eyes landed on you.

“I want you to meet someone,” Cedric exclaimed proudly, once again slinging an arm across your shoulders.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said softly. “I’m (Y/N) Hightower.”

“Hightower?!” The redhead’s eyes bulged. “As in the American Wizarding family Hightower??”

“The very one.”

“Blimey! Well it’s nice to meet you. Ronald Weasley, by the way, but call me Ron,” the boy reached out a crumb-filled hand to you. You genuinely wanted nothing more than to laugh, his brashness setting you at ease. Harry seemed as if he’d rather crawl in a hole and die, while the girl could stare a hole into Ron’s head and it still wouldn’t be enough to describe how piercing her glare was.

“Excuse his manners,” she clipped, smacking Ronald’s hand down. “I’m Hermione Granger. A pleasure to meet you.”

You elected to shake her much cleaner hand instead, tickled by the entire interaction. Ron looked positively insulted by Hermione’s interruption, choosing to sheepishly wipe his hands on his pants in response. Cedric and Harry snickered at his misfortune, before each receiving a sharp look from Hermione in return.

“Nice to meet you too Hermione,” you greeted, clasping her hand. The girl gave you a tight-lipped grin, clearly not keen on warming up to you just yet.

“And you are?”

Cedric raised a brow at you as you turned to Harry. The two of you had touched on the topic of the infamous boy’s attendance at Hogwarts before, but if anything you could empathize with the annoyances that came with being high profile. The amount of times someone introduced you to yourself was astonishing. You much preferred giving your name yourself, thank you, and you were fairly certain it must be the case for the boy in front of you as well.

“I’m Harry,” he said shyly, gripping your hand. “It’s nice to meet you (Y/N).”

“Well, now that we’re all acquainted, let me tell you why we’re here,” Cedric drawled, once again placing his arm around your shoulders. It’s quickly become a habit of his, though you certainly didn’t mind. Your familiarity with Cedric was only growing stronger, the older student proving to be somewhat of a homing beacon for you in the ginormous castle. You’d felt guilty for taking up so much of his time, but he insisted that you weren’t a bother. You were excited to possibly make new friends so you could stop inconveniencing him.

“(Y/N) here is obviously new, and her first class is with you guys...which means Snape is the teacher. I trust you know what that means I’d appreciate it if you guys looked out for her,” he continued.

“I’m not a child, you know,” you huffed.

“And I am an excellent student. Snape will love me,” you sniffed, crossing your arms.

“What happened to “I heard he’s terrifying! Save me, Cedric!”” He mocked, ruffling your hair. You screech in response, tackling him to the couch. The other three watch on in amusement, entertained by your antics. After a few more moments of rib-aching jabs and pinched skin, you removed yourself from Cedric and rearranged your robes.

“I swear, I’ve known him less than a week and he already reminds me of an annoying older brother,” you apologize to the trio, smoothing down your hair. This elicits another wheeze from the boy, still clutching his ribs you spent so much time “taking care of”.

“It would be quite nice to make friends, though, if that’s all right with you.” You finished shyly. Hermione marched forward and grabbed hold of your arm, steering you back towards the door. Was she kicking you out? Was she that bothered by your presence?

Your mind raced along nearly as quickly as your heart as she ignored the calls of the boys behind you.

“We’re going to the library,” she called out, not turning around. “We need a break from you buffoons.”

The small grin on her face wasn’t lost to you, a matching one spreading across your as well.

“I actually brought a few copies of my favorite books from Ilvermorny about natural magic and rituals. I figured Hogwarts wasn’t quite as well stocked on American magical literature, Native or otherwise. Would you like to stop by my room to grab them?” You offered. Hermione gasped in response, excitedly chattering about how interested she’d been in magical practices from other cultures recently. As she continued on, you found yourself smiling again.

You supposed you made a new friend.

You and Hermione agreed that you’d meet her at the library once you picked up your books, as she wanted to stop by the owlry as well. You made your way down the corridors, walking slowly in order to take in the architecture of the castle. Hogwarts was definitely built beautifully, if not a little hauntingly. It much suited the castle to have a few ghosts flying around indeed! Your neck was bent back at an almost 90 degree angle as you stared up at one of the arches at the top of the wall.

There was a particular arch that didn’t align properly with the rest of the ceiling, and if you stared hard enough, you could see a thin line running from the arch all the way down the wall. Following the line, you didn’t realize that you were headed right for a group of students in front of you until you crashed into one of them, falling backwards.

“Watch where you’re going, filthy mudblood—” someone snarked, choking in the middle of their sentence. You look up from your place on the floor, not surprised in the least to see those same grey eyes you’d been thinking about so often once again staring back at you. Three others stood behind him, two hulking boys most certainly well loved by their mothers of their figures stood for anything, and a rather dashing darker skinned boy, who eyed you up and down. It was the first time you’d seen both disdain and interest in one facial expression, causing you to roll your eyes for the millionth time since stepping foot into Hogwarts.

“You want to finish that sentence, Draco?” You drawled, picking yourself up off the ground.

“W-well, blood traitor then.” He stuttered. “Anyway, watch where you’re going!”

“Or what?” You teased, stepping forward until you two were face to face. You could feel his soft breath on your lips, adding more excitement to the blood pounding in your ears. You don’t know what came over you, but suddenly you felt the urge to challenge the boy to his limits, just to see what he’d do.

It seemed as if Draco didn’t know himself, his hands nervously gripping around his robes. You smirked at him, backing off a bit.

“I’ll let the name-calling slide,” you offered. “But I expect you to be better than that. We aren’t controlled by our parents, remember?”

Your comment was in reference to the conversation you had with Draco on the train about expectations set on the two you.

“They act as if I can’t be in control of my own life,” he’d complained. “It’s ridiculous.”

You’d nodded along sagely, long familiar with controlling parents. “No matter what our parents say, we make our own choices. We decide the type of people we’ll be,” you reminded him.

A few minutes later, Draco indeed showed you who he was choosing to be at the moment, which was the perfect little prejudiced elitist his parents raised him to be. Nevertheless, as he stormed out of your cabin, you couldn’t ignore the spark of hope you felt that he would come to his own conclusions and change the ways his parents set upon him.

After all, Draco Malfoy was his own man, and with intelligence to match the ego on that boy, he was sure to find that out for himself one day.

“What would Hufflepuff trash know anyway,” he finally said. “You were all talk, but in the end you were afraid of your own power and chose to be a coward. Cowards do belong in Hufflepuff after all, I guess.”

You’d be lying if you said he words didn’t sting, and you felt a lump building in your throat. The train ride to Hogwarts had been a long one, and for some stupid reason, you confided in Draco more than you admitted to anyone else before. The ache in your chest had your nose starting to sour, unbelievably put off.

Initially you thought the two of you were kindred spirits, so you’d told the boy everything about your life, even your insecurities. So for him to use them against you in this manner...

“Everyone thinks so highly of my future. But when my wand chose me, some of them became...”

“Scared.” the blond finished for you. You nodded back sadly, clutching said wand between your hands. “My wandmaker’s creations have a propensity for dark magic. It made their owners powerful, but a lot of them strayed to the Dark Arts as a result.

“No doubt because people kept telling them that’s all they’re good for, like they’re trying to tell you!” Draco shot to his feet suddenly. You stared, dumbfounded, before he realized he was standing in the middle of the compartment awkwardly. His face turned scarlet as he slammed himself back into his seat.

“Sorry. It’s just, that Picquery lady, right? She made something good out of herself didn’t she?”

Excited that he’d actually listened, you didn’t realize that you had scooted yourself closer to the boy.

“Exactly! She’s my role model. People were intimidated by her at first, but then she made herself an indespensible figure of her time! And I’m certain she would have been sorted into Slytherin had she went to Hogwarts. But recently...” You felt as if your parents sending you to Hogwarts was counterproductive to the kind of witch they wanted you to be, but when you questioned them, all you got was silence in return.

“The Dark Arts have been on the rise again, especially here. And if I’m sorted Slytherin of all houses as well, I think..” you trailed off. Draco gloomily stared back at you, knowing exactly where you were going with this.

“You said you didn’t like people assuming the worst of you based on your wand, yet you’re doing the same thing for an entire House. You’re really going to deny who you are just because of the opinions of others?” He sulked, slumping back. You looked back at him in a daze, shocked to have someone spell out your internist thoughts so clearly.

“I guess you’re... right. But do I accept who I am, or do I place myself in the position to be the person I want to be?” You questioned, sulking as well. Draco studied you for a second, only just realizing how close the two of you were. He grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Well, I’d say we’re both bloody amazing, so we’ll sort ourselves out at some point, don’t you think?” He winked, laying on all the cheese in the world. You broke into a fit of giggles, utterly charmed.

And only a few moments later was the magic broken, when any previous talk about believing in each other was overshadowed by Draco’s own prejudices after he’d just lectured you about your own. How...

“Hypocritical. That’s not exactly the type of person we talked about being, was it Malfoy? But I’m sure you’re making your parents proud,” you seethed, forcing your way through his group. You’d had enough of the conversation, and had had enough of putting your hopes into Draco Malfoy.

Draco was completely floored at your use of his last name, and the utter disappointment dripping from your voice. It had been a full minute of him staring at direction you’d left in before he felt a harsh shove to his shoulder, whirling around to see an incredulous Blaise Zabini in his face.

“Who the bloody hell was that? You’re getting acquainted with Hufflepuffs now?” The other boy questioned, brows raised to his hairline. Crabbe and Goyle grunted in affirmation, looking to Draco for answers as well.

“No one of concern. She’s just a filthy blood traitor,” he spat, as if he had to convince himself of that fact as well. He tried to ignore the throbbing feeling he felt in his chest, becoming increasingly more uncomfortable as he friends continued to rib him for answers. He was used to disappointing his parents, but why did the thought of disappointing you bother him so much?

“She was pretty hot though,” Zabini sniggered, earning a sharp look in return. Officially fed up with both himself and his friends, Draco stormed off, his mind a flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings.

Snapping yourself out of your memories, you’d finally made it to the dungeons. And when you flung open the door to the Potions room, the first thing you saw was the blue tie around the neck of a Ravenclaw student.

Sitting next to her was a Slytherin boy, who’s face was enough to give away that he was clearly unhappy with the seating arrangement. You stood in the doorway panicking, searching for the familiar head of curly hair wrapped in a red and gold scarf, only for your heart to drop as she was already sitting next to a girl from your own house.

Dying inside, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt something hard slam into your back, nearly knocking you off your feet. Indignant, you look up to once again see a familiar head of blonde hair and even more familiar grey eyes staring down at you, eyes wide in shock.

That shock quickly turned to apprehension as you heard heavy footsteps coming your way, turning back to see black robe covered feet stopping in front of you. And by the soft “shit” you heard coming from Malfoy’s mouth, you lifted your head, coming face to face with who you could only assume was one very disgruntled Professor Snape.

And, but of course, you were a couple of very late students.

* * * * * * * *

[Author’s Note: Keep in mind that I’m going to be making a few changes to canon in this story. I’ll give warnings and point them out as they happen :) Also, this was entirely written on my phone while drunk, so if there’s any errors of formatting issues just remember that my name is T-Pain :)]

comment or send in an ask to be tagged! I can respond to asks but not comments as this is a side blog lol

Tag list: @dreams-in-blxck @fire-lady-livi @welpshitshit @redheaded-hobbit @iriaeden

If your name is in black it wouldn’t let me tag :(

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #slytherin #hufflepuff #gryffindor #ravenclaw #Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #the wizarding world of harry potter #x reader #romance #Cedric Diggory #angst #Tom Felton #Draco #Malfoy #Hogwarts

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turnaboutimagines · 4 years

Note

ahhh hallo!! It’s 🌺 anon! I hope i’m not overloading you when requests have only just opened them again but if it’s okay for me to request something then could I maybe request scenarios for Miles and Simon where reader catches them talking softly to their pets? I’m weak for the one shot you wrote with Miles teaching Pess to object ahhhhh the way he talks to him is so cute but also so in character

!!! 🌺 anon, no worries! When requests are open you are hardly overloading me. And I’m more than happy to write something for you, thank you for all the fun messages you’ve sent me, too, I’ve appreciated each of them. 💚 Miles is so soft for his dog……. I actually contemplated making that one a reader insert by having him get caught just like this, but I decided to not to for that piece since I was happy with how it turned out (so you can imagine how happy I was to see this request, haha). We’re on the same wavelength, you and I!Simon’s under the cut. ^^

Miles Edgeworth.

The gentle thrum of rain pattering on the roof fills your ears as you return with an elegant cup of tea warming each of your hands. Comforting. However, none of it as soothing as the voice coming from the living room.

You pause in the archway, smiling at the sight of Miles seated on the loveseat with Pess seated in his lap, scratching him behind the ears as he talks to his beloved pet in a low, serious tone of voice. The usual sharpness of his glare was absent, a gentle smile taking its place.

“—you’re the most adorable creature I have ever seen. You are absolute perfection.”

You try and bit down on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from ruining such an adorable scene, but you can’t help yourself. Teasing him is too easy and he’s the most adorable creature you’ve ever seen when he blushes.

“Even more adorable than me?” you ask, voice pitched with mock hurt as you cross the room.

Miles jumps, clearly having lost track of time doting on his dog while you were so kindly preparing the tea. The blush that blooms across his face would make even the burgundy turtleneck he was wearing envious. He splutters, words not coming to him like they do when he’s in court. Not only had he been caught talking to his dog, but you were teasing him, too, and with an impossible question no less. He was thoroughly out of his element and it made him all the cuter.

You let out a light laugh as you sit down beside him and pat Pess on the head, not taking your eyes off of his owner all the while. “I’m just kidding, Miles.”

“Urk, o-of course… Thank you for the tea.” The tension seems to ebb from his shoulders as he gingerly takes his cup of tea from you, giving it a tentative sip as your smile twists into a Cheshire grin.

“Pess is cuter… but you’re the cutest. Talking to your dog like that when I didn’t think it was possible for you to become any cuter…”

He chokes on his drink and you let out a triumphant laugh before cuddling up to his side and giving him a quick peck on the cheek as an apology.

Simon Blackquill.

Simon’s normally better about sensing your presence, the door to his office is cracked open (just enough to peer in, but not enough to slip inside). However, his customary ‘Come in’ does not ring out, instead you can hear him talking. Most likely a phone call, you decide. It’s when you raise your hand to rap your knuckles against the door that you pick up on what he’s saying and begin to eavesdrop for just a little bit to see if you should come back later.

“—bloody excellent job in court today. Did you see that bumbling oaf’s face when you descended upon him? Priceless.“ He chuckles, but a thoughtful pause follows as his voice grows faint, fondness blurring the usual edges. “But not as priceless as you, of course. I don’t know where I’d be without you…”

That’s definitely not a phone call. Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you push the door open. Sure enough, there’s a brief moment where you catch him in the act of scratching Taka under his beak.

Simon is quick to spin toward you in his chair (his hawk startling slightly at the sudden movement), expression softening into a genuine smile as he sees you before quickly turning as sharp as some of the blades displayed on the wall—cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

“Ah, eavesdropping were we?”

Your smile must have given you away, but you shrug in response. “…Perhaps I did, but perhaps I’m just happy to see you. Have you ever thought of that?”

“How coy,” he says, colorlessly. “You know, eavesdropping is a dangerous habit to have. One of the lads a few cells down from me told me that he eavesdropped on his business partner and heard that he was extorting money… I’m sure you can imagine what happened next for him to end up in the same part of the clank as me.”

“How riveting,” you fire back, crossing the room as you finally have the high ground in teasing him. “But… this time I overheard my boyfriend being an absolute softie for his birdie. Hardly grounds for inspiring murder…outside of maybe killing you with kisses, anyways.”

He glares at you, but the blotches of red breaking out across his face betray his feelings. “Hmph. I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, gladly.”

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anyu-blue · 3 years

Text

Hey I'm rambling about stuff in my own head again. Trigger warnings apply- specifically those dealing with therapy, dysphoria, self harm, relationships, and stuff like that. :T

I don't really understand it... For quite a while there I was fine. Content even to just let things slide. I think it was because I felt secure where I was (with Lon) and blocked out a lot that doing therapy has brought screaming to the front of my mind... But I could be wrong and I feel confused and conflicted again.

At one point (before Lon) I had settled down when my previous therapist basically gave me permission to call myself androgynous. She told me it was okay- if that's what I felt, then I could use it.... I felt very relieved and much less ruffled. There was still a nag in the back of my head, but it was quiet enough I buried it... For the most part...

Getting with Lon brought quite a few forward and I insisted he understand I am/was not a girl. He also seemed content and sweet and more than accepting... Until he wasn't.. looking back.. Lon said a LOT of weird or off things he either never came through with or downright switched on.. especially near the end. EVERYONE in his family and friend group assumed and pushed the 'girl' thing... And that nag got a little louder..I pushed back (gently) reminding Lon with little things here and there that I wasn't... But still 'she' and overwhelming compliments on my feminity buried me under them. In the end... I know it was driving me crazy (literally) and probably Contributed more to the mess than I understood at the time.

But it also wasn't a push even.. just the assumption.. I believe that because right now my hackles are raised so high every time someone says 'she' to or about me I BRISTLE. I want to yell or (depending on who it is) quietly tell whomever is doing it to stop.. tell them they're wrong... Most aren't doing it maliciously, I know.. it's just what they see. I feel pressured or pushed. It's really weird and extremely uncomfortable. It's confusing too because.. I don't know... I can't see how they don't see me as different than 'girl'... Or heaven forbid 'WOMAN.'

*shudders*

My therapist and I are exploring the feelings around when these things are said to me... And she's proposed doing something about my anger and frustration like squeezing Something or something or just outright accepting it... Basically ANYTHING other than telling people my business... But the problem is, I've told her... I want to BREAK things.. I mean I don't... But I feel the urge to. To hit. To yell. To scream. To cry. To crush. To run. But I don't. In some ways I can't.... Squeezing Something when I'm angry hurts me. My grip is incredibly weak (always has been no matter what I've tried) and everything pops painfully. Or it pinches my skin and hurts... So I've developed a reflex to do the opposite of squeeze or hit things (which certainly hasn't helped the weakness issue lol)... And even if I do try to do those things.... It's never enough. I can't go and go and go like I want to. It just makes me madder. More frustrated. It's never satisfying or as releasing as People tell me it should feel. I just want more. And more and more and more. And in the end I'm usually left a sobbing mess that's completely spent, but still so mad and frustrated... Feeling those feelings even more. Sure I'm tired enough to pass out.. but I wake up.. and everything is still there.. usually coupled with depression because it's STILL THERE... And I couldn't get it out. I don't feel better or lighter or more free.. I feel heavier.. sadder... Worse. I used all that energy and nothing came of it.

And I don't understand!! I really don't. Why I'm never satisfied... Why I've always always been so angry... I was told I was an extremely cruel child.. I remember a little too.. I always wanted to act, but was pushed down.. and even when I did, it never felt good or like it was enough.. I swear I could tear an entire house down by myself with nothing but my own two hands and I STILL would want to do more.

...

And I'm feeling all of these things with gender...

Tevs said to me she thinks I 'want to be a boy because our mother always wanted a boy and [I] always wanted her approval.' ... I can't deny that MAYBE it had an influence on me. MAYBE...

But... I don't WANT that witch's approval anymore. I don't care about her distain either. I don't want her ANYWHERE NEAR my life, it's MINE not hers.. and I'm really pissed off no one can seem to take the damn hint I am 110% DONE with her and anything to do with her. She HAS a son to raise now. And a loving husband who had her adopt him. And good friends and whatever else she has in her life. I am OUT of it. And I want to be out of it forever.

.. it feels demeaning when Tevs says that it's all from that to me.. she's done it more than once, and of course I'm upset by it every time.

... I just want to be me... And every time someone looks at me and tells me I am beautiful.. or pretty.. or a wonderful woman... I just want to cry... To go hide.. I feel so ashamed.

...

Here's the thing.. I AM attractive. I AM beautiful, hot, resilient, kind... Just about everything you'd associate a woman with... I was walking to another area in my workplace just tonight and caught a glimpse of myself as I did so in our big windows... The way I walk. My silhouette. Everything about me... Is envious.

I'm not saying these things because I'm vain.. I'm saying them because if I compare my body and gait and everything to the People alongside me- even the guests I see coming in- I can see it as clearly as everyone else who tells me I'm this pretty thing does... I'm not sickeningly skinny and I'm not fat. I'm not super tall nor short. I'm right in the middle with an ass and legs People tell me they'd kill to have... If I were to wear proper bras, I have a chest they'd love too- not too heavy and not unnoticeably small... But I wear ones that squish my chest so it looks like I have less (and that might be why I have such glaring problems with my ribcage sliding out of place all the time. I'm crushing everything XP).. take a guess as to why I started doing that...

I can't hide my hips... Nor my legs... I've got cute feet too. And hands... So dainty and fine- just enough bone and plump in the right places... It's no wonder I am the envy of my poor (adopted) cousin desperate to be a model and a star.. poor girl. She's beautiful in her own right, but her genes have made it so hard for her to fully dive into her confidence... My dad told me we are rivals and have always been... And my heart breaks for her because I'm not even trying... I want her to succeed!! To be the one in the spotlight!! I want to stay in the background so she can shine... But I always get pulled forward and somehow she's in my shadow (despite being taller than me).. and she can't stand to be near me.. even when I am trying my hardest to let her lead or to say things kindly or in her favor.. I can't seem to win... So I don't really have a relationship with her at all.. Though I really wanted to.

When I don't hide.. when I do 'dress up'... There's so many compliments. If I run into ANYONE from school when I do... *Gags* the compliments, disbelief, and shock... I remember EVERY prom... People not knowing who I was... Or being shocked if they did recognize me straight out. All 4 years... And it made the ostracization worse. My class was AFRAID of me. I was this shy/frumpy (also angry) little thing.. but I still remember being stared at changing after gym whenever there wasn't a stall for me to hide in.. I personally at the time thought it was because I was so ugly/fat they couldn't help themselves... Going through everything in therapy.. I realize it was because I was so skinny under all my baggy clothes.. and really pretty under the acne/hood/ugly glasses. I wasn't bullied just because I was smart/loved to learn... I was a threat and didn't even know it. The envy of my peers. And it's so sad.

I did wish to be like them.. so confident. So able to fake it. To do my makeup and wear cute things and to feel right somehow... But I never did. I tried.. but couldn't stand the clothes.. or the comments about my ass... Or all the things they focused on whenever I came close to succeeding. I couldn't seem to get it right. I just wanted to hide whenever I stood out... It never felt right.

It got to the point I was AFRAID to wear dresses and skirts. Terrified. Everything felt wrong with the world when I did. I felt like I was faking Something. Like I was purposefully being awful... Lying..

I wear some now because I was cheered up by the idea of genderqueer people and some men finding comfort in wearing them and in some ways them becoming more acceptable by all genders... Plus they're reeeally comfy sometimes. And it's nice to just be able to throw on a dress with built in pads during the summer heat wave than to worry about all those damn layers XP ... And I recognize that no one is going to question me or think I'm lying when I wear any... They don't see what I have in my head.

I do recognize that some of this stuff has trauma tied to it... And I'm confused because I don't know where the trauma ends and I (my own genuine thoughts) begin... I was not treated kindly at home- even outright being called ugly in a derogatory manner.. granted I now know those comments mostly came from a pedophile disinterested in me and the pedophile's own manipulation of my mother and her family's opinions (gaslighting and twisting to where I really was the horrible child in all ways) AND I know that I am not neurotypical which caused some other unfortunate treatments in and around my home.

I don't know where to go with it... Or why I'm so viscously against being called a girl or a woman. Why it's setting me off so bad right now. I just know that it is... And for some reason every time I'm alone or not really thinking of it... I don't think of myself as one. Not at all. And when I'm reminded.. I'm often startled by it and confused and need to process the information for a second... Despite 'being' one for all of my life... I've continually had the problem I don't expect what I see in the mirror either.. especially since puberty.

If I could show you what I think/feel most of the time... I think this would be the closest I could get- just make the chest straighter/flatter... It bugged me to no end to add that detail in and still does to this day, but I was going off the model (me lol). I don't feel like Anything... But I want to be something.. and that Something is... Not this. Not this...

But where do I go? What do I do?

I'm terrified of surgeries... I don't want massive scars (not that I mind scars- in fact I LOVE them. They're so cool!! But I don't want people to KNOW you know? Not that. Not Something that is such a private matter... I don't want to believe or go after something for it to be wrong too... And I don't feel I can afford any of it anyway 😞 even if I did want to try or actually found the right one... I would be so depressed to never be able to reach my goal.. and I feel I've held myself back due to that fear too...

I know another reason I haven't tried anything or spoken up or anything is because I have this strange desire to pass on my genetic legacy. It is such a powerful urge I am TERRIFIED of losing the ability... People tell me about adoption all the time as a great option, and it IS a great option for the children... Because I would do ANYTHING for my own... But it's this terrible terrible feeling I wouldn't feel I could claim them as my own and it would leave something still empty inside of me and I wouldn't be as loving because of it and that kills me... It sounds terrible too!!

I would do almost anything to have my own child... When it comes to pain tolerance or body changes I know I would have the hardest time than most if I were to get knocked up.. but I have that thought that it would be worth it because they are MINE.

I've thought about egg donation.. because I feel it would make me feel better to know I succeeded in passing on the line to someone better off and worthy of having children... But I feel I have too many genetic issues or would be an undesirable candidate or I'd feel terrible if the child died and then I didn't succeed...

Lol I think of things oddly... And that makes me think I don't deserve to have children or donate too... Never mind the actual process XP boy... Complicated~

So I've never tried... I am also quite poor and know I would struggle to raise a child. Even just one. And if I were to have twins (as I'm the generation that is supposed to)... I have even more worries... And I don't want a child or children to grow up with the struggles I had or worse than I had like they likely would if I just went for it.

...

I knew I felt more sure when I was with Lon because he apparently wanted/wants kids too... And it was in the plan (Maybe. Maybe not. It's possible he was the one messing with my medication alarms and trying, but also possible he just wanted sex... Because he told me before he left that he thought he was infertile for a long time (and there's some pretty strong evidence to suggest he's got weak swimmers lol but I'm not going to divulge what that stuff is) so it may have been a lie all along... But I didn't know and felt assured and safe with that path at the time)...

*sigh*

Idk what to do... I know I'm messed up about it all.. and I know my knee jerks and feelings... But I don't exactly trust myself or my memory or my reasons... I am only human... And I feel so lost.

I know what I envy... Very much.. and what I would choose if I could... But... Life just doesn't work that way... And science is so stunted it likely won't in my lifetime.

*snort*

I feel the worst thing that my dad ever said to me was when I told him and his wife that I wasn't a girl... I don't remember if I told them I was neither or would prefer to be a guy... But I do remember my dad's response... He told me 'go ahead and you do you, but I want you to know that no matter what, you're always going to be my little girl. I just can't think of you any other way, because you are. You're my little girl.'

And I just... It struck me so badly (obviously, I still think about it)... And made my heart so heavy. I... Understand... To the extent I can... And I don't want to... Lose him because I can't accept that... But.. I feel like it's only pushed me to lose myself... To.. just stay. Take the 'easy' route. To 'accept' it (except we can see how well THAT'S going).

*sigh*

I don't know...

The only thing I do know right now is I have this fantasy about... Going away for a while. More or less disappearing for 5 to 10 years... And coming back... How I want to be/see myself... And seeing what everyone would think...

Tevs thinks I only want it because of trauma. Dad thinks I'm always going to be his daughter. Everyone else is so sure I am a woman...

And maybe they're right... (I mean TECHNICALLY lol I can't exactly argue with that 😂)... And I would be trying to let my 'good looks' and all that 'go to waste'...

...

If I could trade someone... 100%... I would. I'm a pretty/beautiful/attractive looking body... (My face is debatable lol but whatever)... I wonder how come am I not happy about it...

#personal #random #ignore me #life in general #trigger warnings apply

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alittleprincehwa · 4 years

Text

since childhood ──── ₊˚.𓂸 park seonghwa

pairing ─ ₊˚.𓂸 park seonghwa x gender neutral reader

genre ─ ₊��.𓂸 angst, fluff

synopsis ─ ₊˚.𓂸 you never believed the saying " never fall for your best friend. " until now.

tags ─ ₊˚.𓂸 childhood best friend seonghwa |

words ─ ₊˚.𓂸 5k+

alexa play ─ ₊˚.𓂸 click here

You walk along the empty neighborhood. The same place you grew up in. Only the reminiscence of your youth remains intact. The lights were the only thing keeping it from complete darkness. Your feet kicked the small rocks and pebbles along your way. It was already midnight, but the caffeine you consumed early morning made you restless.

The wind rushing through you gave you shivers down your spine. Your different layers of clothing kept you from the cold of early winter. When you pass a rather familiar house, you let out a shaky breath that condensates through the chilly air. Despite your heavy clothing, you could still feel the cool winter. You recently arrived back at your hometown due to your school's yearly winter break. You couldn't pass up the opportunity.

You continued strolling through the quiet road. You often remember the pieces of childhood memory to your highschool years. You had many childhood friends since your mom was quite a social butterfly, so she insisted that you had to be friends with the neighbors.

You yourself were completely distinct from your mother. You were a shy child. You couldn't make much friends. Your worries got the best of you, making you distance yourself even further. Well that was until you met him. Park Seonghwa. Two houses away from yours. You first met him when you were playing on the community playground. There weren't much kids so it was perfect for you.

You saw a certain toy that appealed to you. You were too fascinated by the toy to see that another kid also had a plan to play with it. You ran and pick up the plaything. But before you could, another hand reached for it. You look to where the hand was from and saw a boy staring at it with sparkling eyes. He was too engulfed with the thought of the piece of plastic to play with to notice you. You could clearly remember what he wore. A plain white shirt accompanied with a pair of black pants. He had a bucket hat that fit his head perfectly.

When he did, he let out a sound that somehow embodied a growl. You were also a competitive child. You wanted to play with it, and you were definitely not letting a boy just take it. Your other hand reach out and pull the toy to your direction. The boy that was slightly taller than you, grabbed it aswell. It quickly escalated, you were both pulling for the thing and the idea of picking another one didn't seem to come to your mind.

After minutes of grunting and struggling, the other kid managed to get the toy out of your hands. What he didn't know was that he hit you on the head when he attempted to take the toy you desperately wanted. For a moment he was celebrating in victory. But paused when he heard a sniffle. You did what any child would do if they get hit, cry. Your cries going louder and louder as you felt the pain.

The boy stopped his victorious moment and looked at you. He himself didn't know what to do. He dropped the toy and scrambled to you. He teared up at seeing such a cute girl cry. He started to regret what he did. Soon his cries were mixed with yours. Both of your mother's heard the sobs of their children and rushed to help you. Your mother picked you up from the ground and checked your head. It turned out it wasn't that bad, you only needed to wear a patch on your forehead.

The other boy was even more sad than you. He felt bad for hitting you. He wanted to apologize but didn't know you. So instead, he asked his mom. He waddles to her side and nudges her leg. He begged his mom to take him to your place. His mom gave in and helped his crying son.

As your mom answered the door, you peak from the other room. You saw the same lad that whacked you awhile back. After a few exchange of words between the adults, your heard your mom call out to you. " Y/n-ah! The boy earlier came here to apologize! " She said. You pout as you walked like a penguin to the front door. You kept looking at the floor, too scared to look at him.

Your mom gestured you to wave at the fellow infront of you. You finally look up and wave at him. Your face brightened up when you saw him carrying a tub of ice cream and a poorly written apology card. You and your mom invited them in. You both settled in the living room couch. Eating the ice cream as he apologizes. " I'm sorry... I'm seonghwa by the way. Wanna be friends? " He reached out his hand as he flashed a smile You accepted the apology and shook his hand while a movie played in the back. And in that moment, you both clicked and became inseparable.

Highschool rolled around and you two were still glued together. Being caught doing the most stupid of things together. Eventually you started feeling weird around him. It was the little things he did that made him so attractive. The things you two would do together. He would walk you home everyday, not missing a single day. You two would get smoothies in a nearby convenience store, playing with the different flavors. The small things such as loosening the first few buttons of his school uniform. How he looked as he runs his hand through his hair.

You kept these weird feelings to yourself. You soon regret hiding them when he started dating. It was a sight to behold everytime he would sling his arm around another girl's waist or shoulder. You were lying if you said you weren't jealous. You supported him through his relationships that mostly didn't last long. You always comforted him during every breakup. He didn't know how envious you were inside.

He then also felt an unusual sensation in the pit of his stomach whenever you two would come in contact. It continued like that for a few weeks or so. The tension grew heavier in every moment you two would be in the same room. You couldn't speak without feeling hesitation. He couldn't touch you before his heart would beat faster. Anything the both of you did made the other fall in love even more.

It was the spring of your school year, school coming to an end soon. Most students joyful of taking a break. Others sad that they couldn't see their friends. You were one of the happy ones. Seonghwa was one of the only people you knew. Seonghwa mustered up all his courage and asked you out to watch a movie. You agreed to it as it reminded you of one of the first things you two did when you were little.

You blushed at the idea of being on a date with with seonghwa. You dressed yourself in the prettiest clothes you had and made sure you combed your hair well. You happily skip to the theater that wasn't too far away. To your surprise you saw seonghwa with another girl by his side. You were disappointed and upset. But were you surprised? No. You realized he invited you just so you could third wheel. A frown appears on your face the whole time.

You grew even more furious as a minute passes. You couldn't mute the sounds you could hear from beside you. Your blood boiled when you heard kissing sounds. You had to sit there for another hour and a half. You tried to endure the anger that was oozing out of you. You sat there beside the two. You focused your eyes on the big screen with glossy eyes.

The movie finally ended and you three, including his hook up of the week, and walk towards the exit. You fastened your pace, not wanting to be caught between them again. Seonghwa was too invested in the conversation he had to notice you were already ahead of the crowd. You storm out of the theater and walk down the sidewalk with a single tear escaping your eye.

Seonghwa said his goodbyes and jogged to meet up you. He was about to talk to you, but that was until he saw your face. He stopped, " Was the movie that sad? Why are you crying? " He asked. You scoffed at his question and continued pacing. He asked once more, hoping to get an answer this time. " Come on y/n tell me! " He urged you. You bit your tongue, trying not to explode on the spot.

You failed to stay quiet and finally say " I can't believe you had the audacity to invite me just to third wheel! " You ruffled your hair with your hand, massaging your scalp. " Third wheel? No you don't understand that was my fr- " You couldn't listen to his excuses anymore. You were fuming at this point. Steam almost came out your ears. " Bull shit! Do you think I'm deaf? I can actually hear you two making out beside me! " You yell.

You were glad nobody was there besides you and seonghwa. Nothing to be heard but your voice. Lustrous tears race down your skin. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You two stood inaudible rather than in tranquility. Not able to say anything due to the inking of peer pressure. With much silence, you finally spoke “ Don’t you get it? I like you seonghwa. “ You whisper. " I had to watch you everyday make out with a girl infront of me. But what did I do? I supported you. I just wanted you to be happy. ". You didn’t expect him to reply. You just wanted to get it off your chest. You felt relief, but pain was still lingering.

Just like when he was little, seonghwa was baffled. He didn’t know what to do. You turn your heel to lash out. But couldn’t when a hand caught your wrist. It was intuition that made him reach out for your hand. Speechless, the only thing he could do was look at you. Your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. He couldn't help but withstand the guilt. " Why didn't you tell me...? " He let out with a low tone. You look down, avoiding his sharp gaze. Your driblets of tears meet the pavement under you. " What difference does it make? " You pushed him off you. You glance at him one more time before running.

He stepped back to avoid falling. You pace the opposite direction, back to your house. You wanted to scream at him, take out all your anger. But you couldn't find the courage to do so. You could only walk farther. The distance between you both widens. You didn't believe in the saying " Never fall for your best friend. " until now. You could hardly walk, too occupied in crying your heart out. Dreading everything that happened today.

For days, weeks, you hadn't spoken a single word to seonghwa. As childish as it sounds, you didn't want to see him. You endlessly cried. An indescribable feeling lingers in your heart. He didn't mean it right? You wished all your thoughts could disappear for a day. They wouldn't leave you alone, constantly reminding you of him. You thought avoiding him would bring you peace, it only ended in chaos. You couldn't get up, you barely ate, nothing gave you the motivation to continue on. Stuck in your bed, nothing but your thoughts accompanying you.

Your mother grew worried. She'd constantly check on you and ask you if you were okay. But all she got was silence. Today perhaps was different. Somehow, you grew tired of lazing on your bed and crying. You wanted to get some fresh air. You wanted to get over him. You didn't realize it was early morning. Three o'clock to be exact. You changed out of your clothes and into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black hoodie.

You quietly tiptoed your way out of the house, careful not to wake up your sleeping mother. You let out a sigh of relief once you close the front door. You take a step as you inhale the outside air you greatly missed. You place your hands in the sewn pocket of your worn hoodie. You walk down the quiet and still vicinity. You kept your eyes on the dull grey road.

You walk yourself to the playground. Since you knew the directions, it wasn't too hard. It was from when seonghwa would knock on your house and invite you to play. You halt once you finally arrive. The walk felt like forever, your thoughts distracting you. You hum a song along the way. You look up and see the familiar place. Just looking at the playground itself brings back many memories. Your dry lips form a small smile. You walk across the sandbox and near the swing set.

You silently sit on the swings, kicking the sand to push yourself. Soon enough, you started swinging slowly. You kept a slow pace. You sigh once more while you look around. Scanning your surroundings while the sound of trees swaying could be heard. Everything resembles him. Everywhere you look, you could see flashbacks. The slides, the seesaw, and the monkey bars.

You suddenly heard footsteps. You snap back to reality. Your hooded head darts to the sound. The swing you were on also halted, your hands gripping the chain harder. Upon locking eyes, your breath hitched when you saw the familiar eyes. Your lips parted, eyes glossy. ' What great timing! " You thought. It stayed like that for a minute. Neither of you believing the other was feet away. You felt terrible. The seconds of just staring at each other. But did you look away? No, you couldn't. You felt happy to see him, by part of you wished this wasn't happening.

The head of black hair, the usual clothes he wears. His tall slim figure. Semi broad shoulders- you knew too much about him.

His black orbs contrast with yours. He couldn't take his eyes off you. His eyes were glued to your figure. You were definitely not in the best state. Your puffy eyes, runny nose, red cheeks made it obvious. Your usual cheery smile was replaced by the opposite. Your staring continues for a minute. Guilt still filled seonghwa's heart, and the look on your face made it worse. It felt as though time slowed down.

He then walks towards you, his footsteps the only audible thing you could hear. The closer he got, your eyes looked elsewhere. The swing next to you move. Still, you avoided his eyes. The heavy tension was clearly present. It took a while before either of you spoke up. Each of you had too many emotions. The sound of metal creaking, mixed with the tension you both had.

" Don't you remember? " He quietly mutters. " When we were both just little kids. " He continues. You slightly smile, it felt as if it were yesterday. Oh, how you wished you could go back to that time. Where you didn't have to worry about anything. You were just happy with him.

You let out a chuckle, a dry one. You couldn't form any words. Nothing to say. Nothing came out of your mouth. Seonghwa took this as an opportunity. There have been things on his mind that he wished to bring up to you. But he couldn't just simply talk to you. Not after what he did. He was at loss, why was he so ignorant? Why didn't he pick up on the small signs you did, like tidying your self every time you see him, how your cheeks turn a shade of pink every time the two you were approximately close to one another, and how your eyes would turn dark whenever he touches another girl in front of you. It was the little things that were important. It was the little things he missed. He couldn't fathom how much he regrets it. He berated himself. What else could he do?

He turned his head to see you. He didn't expect to see a smile on your face. He could see the hurt in it. He could feel all the pain you had to endure. He couldn't take the amount of guilt he felt. He broke down. He buried his head in his slender hands. His arms rested on his lap. Tears spilled out. As he quietly sobs before you.

Your eyes widen when you look at him. You didn't expect him to be the one crying. Concern and pity took over you. Never once in your life did you see seonghwa crying. You get off the swing and walk to his side. You kneel in front of him. You extend your arms to his face. You place your petite hands against his large ones. You could feel the warmth you've been longing for the past weeks. Your thumbs graze over his knuckles. You observe how drops stained his hoodie. " I know what you did wasn't intentional... " You spoke, breaking the silence.

You push away his hands that were covering his face. His cheeks and nose were stained with his running tears. " Hey, it's alright, it's not your fault. " You push his bangs away. Then you got to see his eyes, his eyes a bit red, his plump lips parted. " Don't cry seonghwa, it's not that big of a de- " Before you could finish speaking, seonghwa engulfed you in his arms.

He lunged towards you, wrapping his arms against you as one holds your head. You were too shocked to do anything. You both felt the impact when you fell in the sandbox. You didn't know what to do with your arms. " I'm sorry y/n. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry. " He cried against your covered chest. You grip the sleeves of his hoodie as you felt yourself tear up as well. Your bottled up feelings were too much. The bottle was too small. You inhale before close your eyes to feel your tears run down.

" I'm sorry. For catching feelings... " You sob. You were both crying at this point. With nobody around. Nothing to be heard but your cries. You ruffle his hair while you felt your jawline being stained with tears. Your clothing was starting to stain from the tears of the male before you. " Why am I so stupid y/n...? " His voice deep.

You lift his head. Caressing his cheek, you say " It's my fault for falling for you. ". You pull his face towards yours. Crashing your lips on his. Temptation got the best of you. Seonghwa's eyes went wide. Seonghwa didn't think twice before kissing you back. Butterflies appeared in both your stomach. This wasn't anything you two ever encountered. This didn't feel the same when he kissed other girls. Your lips moved in sync, rubbing against one another. His hands trail up and grip your waist.

From an outsider's perspective, it was just a bunch of adolescents having their first kiss. But for you and seonghwa, you didn't care. You wanted nothing but him. Him and him only.

You pull away for a breath before going back in. Each other's tongue moves against the others. The kiss was soft and passionate. It felt like your lips we're made to fit his. Coincidentally, you two open your eyes at the same time. You deeply looked into his. His look had a hold of you. Your eyes made him weak. You both pull away. Breathing heavily. You quickly hug him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. He sits himself and you up. Careful to you. Treating you like glass.

This was the most endearing part for seonghwa. He had no choice but to tell you. He took a sigh before speaking. " Y/n-ah... ". You hum in response. You were curious about what he had to say. Anxiety slowly eating you up. Was the kiss bad? Were you a bad kisser? But what he said shocked you. Left you speechless. You hadn't expected this.

" I'm going to Seoul. " He says.

You furrow your brows in confusion. " Wh-why? Seoul? What will you do there? " You look at him, puzzled. He took your hand in his before speaking again. " I passed y/n. I made the audition. " He said. Then it hit you. The audition. The one he took a month ago. He always dreamed of being an idol. From middle school, he'd endlessly talk to you about all the idols he listened to. You had to witness him singing. You completely forgot about it. " O-oh. " You replied. He saw your expression change. You look down. Not sure how you should respond.

" Well...congrats! " You look up and beam. You put on a smile. You were happy for him. But not entirely. Just when you were ready to forgive him. It felt like a pang. You were holding in more tears. You were happy he couldn't see through you this time. " I'm gonna miss you so much. " You hug him tighter. He takes in your scent. He takes note of how your trembling. Shaking because of the cold wind. But also because you were scared. Scared of losing him. Your one and only friend. The one you've been with since childhood. You knew you had to let go of him. But it's easier said than done. Will the distance worsen your relationship with him?

He pulls back and takes off his jacket. Revealing a white shirt underneath. He puts the warm clothing over your head and arms. You gleam inside at the scent of him. He takes you in his embrace once more. Inside his arms, you felt so comfortable. With him is where you belong. The sand particles getting in your hair. You knew you couldn't do anything and decided to cherish this moment.

And so the day arrived. The day where you had to bid goodbye to seonghwa. The ride to the airport was worse than you anticipated. You two looked comfortable, but there was definitely a bit of uncertainty. Specifically, because of the unspoken kiss, you two had shared. You and seonghwa pretended as if it never happened. Your parents drove you both. The long ride making you drowsy. You had a long way to go and your eyes were getting droopy. You had no clue you were leaning on his shoulder. By the time he realizes, you were already in deep slumber.

Seonghwa glanced at you, only to notice you were quietly snoozing. He tucked away a strand of hair behind your ear. He feels blood surge to his cheeks. And his mom seemed to notice. " Seonghwa? Are you alright? You seem red. " She asks, concerned. " N-no I'm fine! " He smiles. He instantly looks away and stares out the car window.

He secretly took glances of you throughout the entire car ride. Observing your perfect features. He knew he would greatly miss you. He'd wake up starting tomorrow knowing you're nowhere near him. He couldn't just walk up to your house again. He was gonna be alone.

You jolt awake when you felt the car stop. Your eyes were still half-closed. You look to your side and see seonghwa gathering his things. He turns to you to wake you up. But you already did that yourself. He smiles when he sees your awakened self. He extends his arm and fixes your messy hair. After that, you both just look at each other. This bittersweet moment all to yourselves. He continued caressing your hair. " I'm gonna miss you y/n. " He pouts. " Not as much as I will " You laugh. He smiles, at least you laughed before he left. He pulls you to a hug. He sneaked in a kiss on the cheek while doing so.

When you two parted ways, it wasn't a happy moment. Sure you wanted him to achieve his dreams, but part of you didn't want him to go. But all you could do was smile and wave. And so your feelings continued to latch on. You often thought about him. If his life was better there, did he find friends? For the first few months, you two often talked. But as more days progressed you and seonghwa grew busier. No time for one another. You two hadn't contacted each other in months. You could catch yourself frequently thinking if he ever forgot about you.

Five long years passed. Every day you waited for a call, at least a text. It continued like that for months. You were still hoping. Hoping he'd contact you once. That hope eventually died out. You figured he was too occupied to even talk to you. You'd be lying if you said you weren't sad.

Now it's the present.

You continued walking. Breath shaky due to the temperature. Your boots made a sound that echoes through the street. Your hometown brought back many memories. Both happy and sad. You had nothing to do, so walking around seemed to be your only option. Your surroundings were dark, but it didn't scare you.

You settled down by a nearby bench. The trees swayed with one another. You took a deep breath, your hand slips through your pockets, and grip your earphones. You connect the wire to your phone, playing your recently made playlist. The shuffle landed on a song you quite loved. You hum to the beat of the song, tucking away a thread of hair the same way he did. He may have not known, but you were awake the whole time. Trying to fall asleep but couldn't.

You chuckle at the faint memory. It may be years later but you still could recall it. Despite your best attempts of forgetting it, it popped up at the most random of times. Why Park Seonghwa? When can you stop haunting me?

You sigh and thought of something else. You didn't notice a figure moving until you felt your right earphone being pulled. Your reflexes acted up and threw a punch to whoever grabbed it. You wanted to scream, but before you could you heard a groan. You looked down and saw a coated boy with dyes hair, holding his cheek from the impact. The adrenaline wears out. You panic, you just punched someone. " Oh my god, I am so- seonghwa?! " Your eyes wide the moment he turned his head to you. He faintly smiled back, still recovering from your assault.

" What are you doing here...? You raise both your brows. " Nothing much...just wondering around. " He admits. You stood up, brushing off the dust on your jacket. " Aren't you supposed to be in Seoul? " You asked with a hint of bitterness. You roll your eyes. Seonghwa too stood up. You wanted to walk away but he ended up walking with you. " What's wrong with visiting my hometown? " He shrugged. How could he just talk to you casually after years? " It's been five years seonghwa. " You stop in your tracks and look at him. His expression quickly shifted from joyful to shameful.

" You can't just waltz back to my life and pretend that you didn't talk to me for five whole years! " You spoke. " L-look I- " You interrupted him. " And I'm not done! Yes, I get that your busy but you couldn't at least text me once? Can you imagine what I felt? I stared at my phone endlessly waiting for a text from you! " You pause, taking a deep breath. " It's late. You should get going. " You mumble. " No, listen to me. " His fingers clutch your wrist. You had no option but to listen to him. So you stood there, both ears open.

" I was also waiting. At one point I thought you got over me. I thought you found someone else... " He explains. You took a few seconds to process it. " Tch. " You grinned. Then unexpectedly you pulled the tall male into a hug. " You know I would never forget about you right? " He mumbles against his chest. He smirks just before snuggling you back. " God I missed you so much " He places a kiss on the top of your head. You felt yourself blush. When did he become so flirty? What did Seoul do to him?

" I missed you too... " You shyly say. You only hug him tighter, finding consolation in his warmth. All of a sudden you felt one of his fingers lift your chin up. You felt the world around you stop as he leaned in slowly. You didn't get a chance to pull back. But the thing is, you didn't want to. You stood still, waiting for when your lips would meet his. You both close your eyes when you felt each other's lips. He backed you up. Eventually, your back met the wall. You were trapped in between him and the wall behind you. This felt like what happened years ago. Your breathing steady as the kiss progressed. Over the years he too developed feelings for you. And your feelings for him never went away. The entire time you two shared the kiss, he was sweet and gentle with you. " You don't know how much I missed you " He seductively said before pulling you into another kiss.

You felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, conceivably asking for permission. You did as so and gave him entrance. It hastily escalated from a sincere kiss to a makeout session. You pull back, somewhat worried. " Seonghwa we can't do this here! We'll get caught! " You whisper-yelled. He wipes off the smudged lip balm with his thumb. He grins before stepping back. He laces his fingers with yours. He pulls you by his side, sauntering with him towards the path of your house. Your small figure beside his was an adorable contrast.

" Does this mean we're official...? " You ask, slightly embarrassed. You both continued walking. " Of course, love. " He leans down to peck you on the lips, " I've loved you since childhood. ".

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