#at my old apartment i had no adjacent neighbors and the apartment above mine was an office so. No sounds

[thathopelessromantic]

your hand in mine

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Rating: Teen+ (for blood/injuries and minor language) Pairing: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yagi Toshinori | All Might (EraserMight) Note: Part of the EMMB 2021

The difference a year makes

A developing relationship told in seasons

AO3: (X) Companion Playlist: (X)

Summer

My love, he caught me crying Freedom can die so hard When you have a broken heart -God in Jeans, Ryan Beatty

Shouta is determined to ignore the sounds coming through the adjoining wall to his apartment. But it’s hard. There was an adjustment period to living in the apartments on campus, to stay close to the students in case of another attack. In his old apartment, the hours he kept were so erratic he rarely, if ever, ran into his neighbors. Now he knows all of them, some to a degree he never needed to know a coworker. And aside from the occasional hero work, they kept essentially the same hours. So even through the walls of the apartment, there’s usually the buzz of life around him – friends and co-workers settling down after a long day, cooking, cleaning. There was an adjustment period to being so aware of the people around him, but he thought he had well…adjusted.

He’s reconsidering that position now.

He’d like to blame it on the neighbor in question. Yagi, All Might, made so much noise as All Might, announcing his every arrival and departure with a booming voice or the crushing of some man-made structure not meant to withstand the superpowered strength of a 225 kg giant using it as a landing pad or springboard. But Yagi Toshinori as himself, at least while alone, seemed to make up for all the noise he made as his alter ego by being eerily quiet. Shouta had gotten so accustomed to hearing silence from the apartment to his right he thought it was empty. Originally, he thought it just made sense for All Might to take it for show like all the other teachers, but actually spend his time at his real home, some lavish penthouse in the Might Tower or something equally as ridiculous and extravagant. Though now that he was retired, and essentially quirkless, that trip from Tokyo to Musutafu was probably a little harder to manage every morning. Still, it seemed silly for the previous number one hero to be slumming it in glorified student dorms with the rest of them.

But Shouta was wrong about that fact too, just as he had been with many of his assumptions about the old hero. He had spent the last few months reassessing most of his assumptions about All Might, but he tended to fall back into old habits without evidence to the contrary. When a violent crash came from the otherwise silent apartment a few weeks prior, he rushed in, assuming an intruder. Instead he found Yagi in the middle of a starkly decorated living room amongst the splintered pieces of a coffee table he had fallen through. Yagi had insisted it was an accident, and an unusual one at that, and begged him to leave the subject. Shouta agreed with little argument, helping him clean up the mess, and going back to his apartment without much fuss. But he before he even realized it, Shouta found himself listening for signs of life in the adjacent apartment after that.

Occasionally he could pick up the sound of running water or the quiet beep of an oven timer or microwave. Very rarely, a quiet radio or TV station would drift through the walls. Most of the sounds would easily get lost in the bustle of every day life between a dozen or so heroes coming and going, or could have been mistaken for someone else’s noise, so it wasn’t a surprise that Shouta had missed the fact that it came from All Might’s apartment. But once he knew to listen for it, he couldn’t seem to stop listening for it.

It wasn’t…worry, exactly, that had him keeping tabs on Yagi, but he couldn’t find another word for it. He just couldn’t stop wondering how long Yagi had lived there before he realized. Couldn’t stop thinking about how dark, how cold, how empty the apartment was when he burst in before. Shouta wouldn’t have thought he ever considered what All Might’s house might have looked like until he saw how the retired hero was living and it struck him distinctly as wrong.

The coughing he hears tonight cuts over the quiet music Yagi has playing and he wonders if he normally plays it to cover the sound of his coughs before he banishes the thought from his mind. He has a week’s worth of lessons to plan still and papers to grade and what Yagi chooses to do in his own apartment is none of his business. And he is an adult who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and doesn’t need Shouta of all people fretting over him. But all of Shouta’s logical reasons for why he should ignore the sounds coming through their shared wall can’t seem to stop him from hesitating at every harsh sound, from looking to the door and considering going over every time a coughing fit lasts more than a minute or so.

Eventually, Yagi seems to settle for the night and the coughing fits interrupt the slow music less and less. Finally able to focus on his work instead of his neighbor, Shouta lets the quiet sounds from his apartment fade into the chorus of background noise. So when, almost an hour later, there’s a new coughing fit followed by a large crack of something on the other side of the wall, Shouta is on his feet and moving to the door before he realizes what he’s doing.

He freezes in the hallway, staring at the closed door of Yagi’s apartment. No one else came to investigate the sounds, which seems strange to Shouta. It seems…impossible that no one else heard that and he knows for a fact their other neighbors on this floor are not particularly good at minding their business. But no one else comes to see what’s happening, so Shouta stands in the hall staring at the door feeling torn between an obligation to check on Yagi and a nervous, clawing sensation that makes him want to turn and never step foot back inside All Might’s apartment.

The coughing and some other muffled sounds continue through the door and eventually Shouta’s sense of obligation to help wins out because he knocks on the door, calling for All Might. No one answers.

Shouta knocks again, harder, but still after a few minutes he gets no response. Finally, he tries the handle.

The door swings open easily, unlocked.

Shouta has a lecture building in his head on the basic safety of locking your doors as he steps through the doorway. Like the last time, All Might’s apartment is dark. There’s a single pair of shoes in the entrance way that leads to the empty kitchen. The table pushed to the side of the room is identical to the one in Shouta’s apartment, but whereas his is covered in bills and homework in need of grading, All Might’s is empty. Only a single chair sits at the table meant to seat four.

Shouta steps through the kitchen into the living room, calling for All Might. He can hear someone coughing, and swearing as he gets close enough to make out the muffled talking, but still no one replies. The table Yagi had fallen through weeks before still hasn’t been replaced, so the only thing in the living room now is a large couch that looks virtually unused and Yagi’s briefcase on the floor besides it. Moonlight pours into the room from the glass balcony doors painting the room a cold blue despite the summer heat. Shouta can almost imagine the room, cold and dusty, the single piece of furniture covered in a sheet, it’s previous occupant gone, without enough of a fingerprint to even be forgotten within the space.

Shouta shakes the thought from his head and moves further into the apartment. Finally, down the hall to the two bedrooms, he sees light seeping into the hallway from the open bathroom door.

“All Might? It’s Aizawa. I heard a crash. I was just coming to-” Shouta feels the words catch in his throat as he takes in the sight before him. The laminate countertop and sink basin are broken in half, and water soaks the floor of the bathroom from a burst pipe under the sink. There is no mirror on the wall above the sink, which strikes Shouta as odd in the moment, though it is perhaps the least weird thing happening in the bathroom in that moment. All Might…Yagi stands in the middle of the room, the bottom of his pants are soaked with water. His hands, clutched in fists at his sides, are bloody, though if its from breaking the skin against the sink or from wiping at the blood dripping from his mouth, Shouta isn’t sure. The blood there is smeared across the bottom half of his face, the deep red staining his clenched teeth and seeping through the cracks in thin, dry lips that hold back his coughs. There’s a furious, wild look in his eye as the curses Yagi was spewing die on his lips and Shouta isn’t sure if he looks more ready to yell or cry.

But through all of that, it’s the bright red, gnarled scar on the side of Yagi’s chest that seems to be eating him from the inside that makes Shouta take a step back in shock. Yagi’s baggy clothes hid most of his form like this, even with his more updated wardrobe fitting him better. But the crater in his chest mangles his form. Even if he was standing up straight, if he even can fully stand straight with that much scar tissue stretched across his torso, it was obvious the scar had made his chest uneven, like it was slowly collapsing into itself, ribs and organs giving way to nothingness.

How many years had he lived like this? How many years had he worked like this?

“Aizawa,” Yagi grinds out hoarsely, the single word sounding like gravel in his abused throat.

It pulls Shouta out of his shock regardless, and he takes a few steps closer, as if they could both forget his broken composure. “I’m sorry for coming in unannounced. I heard the…crash. But there was no answer and your door was unlocked.”

Yagi stares at him for a long time and Shouta isn’t sure if it is because he doesn’t know what else to say, or just that he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

“Can I…help with anything?” Shouta finally asks.

Yagi pops his jaw a few times before he tries to speak again. “If you could…call someone…about the water…”

“Of course,” Shouta starts to pull out his cell, hoping he remembered to keep the stupid thing charged for once, when Yagi starts to speak again.

“Could you also…grab some towels…and a…a change of clothes?”

Shouta looks up but Yagi isn’t looking at him anymore. Just staring hard at the wall in front of him as if it had personally caused all of this. Shouta looks down again at the slowly-flooding room and wonders if Yagi even owns enough towels to make a difference.

“In the closet in the bedroom?” Shouta guesses.

Yagi nods once, stiffly.

Shouta takes the opportunity to flee for a moment gratefully. He calls Nezu and the maintenance number they had all been given when they moved in as he goes to the bedroom to rummage through the closet. He doesn’t turn the light on in the bedroom, he’s not sure why he doesn’t want to, maybe just to afford Yagi even a sliver more of privacy after tonight. But it doesn’t make a difference. The moon is full tonight and enough light comes through the open window to show that nothing is in the room except for an unnaturally large bed, the dark plain sheets slipping to the ground, and a bedside table covered in enough pill bottles to fill a small pharmacy.

There are only two more full-sized towels in the closet and a single hand towel, so Shouta just grabs all three. He’s not sure the clothes matter that much, so he just grabs the first pair of pants he sees that don’t look like slacks and a t-shirt.

He returns to the bathroom. The water is still steadily pouring in and there is no way the three thin towels will make much of a difference, if any. Still, Yagi takes them from him, dropping the two full-sized towels onto the ground. He uses the hand towel to wipe off his arms and chest first, though dry it doesn’t do much to help the blood that seems to be everywhere.

Uncaring of Shouta standing there, Yagi undoes the belt that keeps his jeans on his body and they drop to join the already-soaked towels and the stained lump between his legs Shouta thinks might have been his shirt. Yagi steps out of them, gingerly walking through the water until he joins Shouta in the hallway. He drops the hand towel to the ground, mopping up what water had already begun to leak out of the room. Shouta doesn’t mean to stare, but like every other part of him, Yagi’s legs are unbearably thin, nothing but skin and bone and scar tissue, the pale pink and white lines crisscrossing over his calves and thighs like a roadmap.

Yagi holds out a hand for the clothes. Shouta realizes his mistake in not looking carefully a moment later as he pulls on the jeans and dark t-shirt obviously meant for All Might’s pre-retirement body. Shouta feels an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Yagi barely blinks at the ill-fitting clothes. He wraps a fist around the waist band of the pants to keep them up and shuffles past Shouta into the dark living room.

Shouta follows hesitantly behind him. “Nezu said he would be here soon,” Shouta says as Yagi falls miserably onto the couch. He drops his head to rest on the back of the couch and sighs, exhausted. Despite his open, splayed position, Yagi’s body is still tense, coiled tight like he’s ready for a fight at any moment.

“Can I do anything else?” Shouta asks.

Yagi licks his lips. “A glass of water would be appreciated.”

Shouta nods, heading into the kitchen. He turns the light on above the stove for something to see by, but he worries the overhead light would be too harsh in this odd darkness. He finds a glass easily enough, Yagi only has things in two cupboards. He opens the fridge, but it’s empty. Not empty like Shouta’s is “empty,” as in home to just a water pitcher, some old condiments, and his latest package of jelly pouches, but completely and entirely empty. Shouta closes and opens the door again as if it would change the contents of the fridge. He opens the freezer above, just to check, but expecting more of the same. There Yagi has an ice pack and ice tray with two ice cubes left.

Shouta fills the glass at the sink and returns to the living room. Yagi’s position hasn’t changed at all, though he turns his head to watch Shouta reenter the room. He sits up to accept the glass once Shouta is closer, and at that distance Shouta can see there are cuts across his knuckles. They don’t seem to be actively bleeding any more, but they’re not a pretty sight regardless.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

Yagi takes a drink before he answers Shouta. “Under the sink in the kitchen.”

Shouta turns back around to retrieve it. He also finds a dry dish cloth in a drawer that he dampens at the sink. He’s wringing the towel out when there’s a quiet knock at the door before it swings open. Nezu stands on the other side with a plumber.

Shouta bows his head in hello. “Principal.”

“Aizawa-sensei!” Nezu replies brightly. “Thank you for being such a dutiful neighbor and checking on All Might.”

Shouta follows Nezu and the plumber back into the living room. The small principal shows the plumber to the bathroom, waving off Shouta’s offer to show them the way, before he returns and stops at the couch. His head just barely rises above Yagi’s knee as he looks at him in concern.

“How are you, Toshinori?”

Shouta freezes at the familiarity in his tone. Yagi’s expression changes ever so slightly as he looks down at Nezu.

“I’ve survived much worse than this, old friend.”

Nezu laughs off the comment, good naturedly, but the laugh sounds hollow even to Shouta. “Yes, well I suppose that’s true.” Nezu reaches over and pats Yagi’s knee. “I’ll let Aizawa-sensei here clean you up a little while I look at the damage, hm?”

He scurries off back down the hall before either hero can argue. That had been Shouta’s plan, even before Nezu announced it, but now he hesitates, frozen and staring at the old hero before him. The towel he brought drips slowly but steadily down his hand and onto the floor. He’s not sure Yagi wants his help, and normally he would prioritize the man’s injuries over his personal hang-ups in the moment, but he already feels as if he’s intruded too much into the man’s space, into his privacy.

So Yagi breaks the silence, holding out a bloodied hand towards him. “I can clean up the blood,” he offers.

“I’m not worried about a little blood,” Shouta snaps, unthinkingly. Irritated back into movement, he sets the first aid kit on the ground besides the couch and grabs Yagi’s outstretched hand. Mindful of the open wounds, he wipes at the blood furthest away first, where it dripped past his hand and down his wrist before drying in dark, cracking trails.

Yagi’s eyes glint for a moment and Shouta thinks he almost looks amused.

Shouta has to rinse out the towel twice before he’s finished with both of Yagi’s hands. The wounds on his left knuckles started bleeding again as he washed his hands, but thankfully it was a slow, sluggish bleed that didn’t go far. Satisfied with his work there, Shouta starts to drop the towel but Yagi’s hand darts out catching it before it can hit the floor. Shouta stops, surprised by the quick movement, as Yagi looks for the cleanest spot on the towel before wiping at his own face.

Shouta watches for a moment before he remembers himself and busies himself with going through the first aid kit. In comparison to the rest of Yagi’s apartment, it’s surprisingly well stocked. Yagi drops the bloodied towel uncaringly onto the couch cushion besides him as Shouta pulls out some antibiotic ointment, a gauze wrap, and some clasps.

When he looks up, Yagi is watching him curiously, like he’s still trying to figure out Shouta’s bizarre behavior. And there’s still blood around his mouth. Shouta sets the supplies aside, picking the towel back up. He steps between Yagi’s long legs, carefully holding his chin in place.

“You could just tell me I missed a spot,” Yagi reminds him quietly as Shouta wipes gently around his mouth.

“This is just more efficient,” Shouta says harshly. He tries to look only at the bottom half of Yagi’s face where there’s still blood, but he can feel his bright eyes boring into him.

Finally, Yagi says, “You haven’t asked.”

Shouta’s hand clenches around his chin, a reflex, a flinch, before he forces himself to relax. He looks up finally meeting Yagi’s eyes. The bright blue sears him in the dark. “It’s none of my business.”

“You can ask, Aizawa.” Yagi replies and it’s the use of his name that gets him. They’re All Might and Eraserhead to each other. Co-workers. That’s all they were supposed to be, ever. But Shouta’s aware Yagi’s slowly become Yagi more than he is All Might to him, and even if he leaves now, doesn’t ask any more, insists on knowing nothing else, he now knows something big about All Might that he imagines very few know. He can’t unlearn this secret, so he might as well have the whole story.

“What happened…to your side?”

“My first fight with All For One was six years ago,” Yagi starts and it takes all of Shouta’s self control not to react. Six years. “I crushed his head and damaged his body, originally I believe to an extent that he could not recover, though, obviously, I was wrong.” Yagi makes an odd, self-deprecating smile. “In return, after the fight I lost my stomach and part of my left lung, among some other irreparable damage to my respiratory system. I could still fight, but I was weakened considerably…it limited the amount of time I could use my quirk. And eventually left me like this.”

“…Why?” Shouta isn’t entirely sure what he’s asking until Yagi tilts his head and looks at him as if the answer is the most obvious one in the world.

“I’m…I was a hero. It was my job. I couldn’t retire yet.”

Shouta feels some kind of emotion welling up in his chest, choking him, as he looks at the weathered hands he’s bandaging and thinks of all they’ve done. All they did while withstanding this immense pain and loss. But he doesn’t know how to articulate that. Doesn’t know how to say thank you in a way that matters, in a way that he’ll even believe. So instead he says, “You’re an idiot.”

Yagi’s head drops back against the couch and he laughs. Not the same, booming laugh of All Might, but something somehow familiar and comforting all the same.

“Thank you, Aizawa,” Yagi says.

Shouta isn’t sure exactly what Yagi is thanking him for, but he can’t quite bring himself to ask.

X

Fall

Please don’t be afraid I will always be here I will cry your tears Share your sweet, sad fears Please don’t look away Take my hand in your hand Come and rest my dear I will always be here -Always Be Here, Ha Jin

Eri clutches tightly to Shouta, one small hand twisted in the capture weapon around his neck while the other holds the front of his jumpsuit. Her head is tucked against his shoulder, hiding her face from the world, but even through the layers of his clothes he can feel how she’s burning up. Her quirk had started acting up the night before, after a nightmare she hasn’t wanted to talk about. Shouta was able to stop it quickly enough, thankfully, but she’s been sick since he woke her from the nightmare and he’s running out of ideas for what to do.

She’s so impossibly light in his arms, and clutches so desperately to him, he can’t help but wonder how many times she had actually been held and cared for like a young child should be before she came to live with him. If she had been comforted at all the last time she was sick like this. And the thought makes him hold her a little tighter, a little closer to him.

He felt a little bad to disturb her when he picked her up and carried her from bed, but he needed help. And he couldn’t leave her alone. The hallway is quiet, most of his coworkers taking advantage of the last few hours of their weekend to relax, so he realizes it might be a long shot for someone to be home to help, but he knocks on Yagi’s door anyways.

It only takes a moment before Yagi answers. His bright greeting trails off when he sees Eri, Shouta’s own haggard appearance probably not helping matters.

“Hello, Aizawa, little Eri-chan,” Yagi says quietly.

Eri twists in his arms and for a moment, Shouta is worried this was a terrible idea. When they first met, Yagi’s size and appearance had made Eri a little nervous. She’s gotten better with him, and with people all around, but even when she hasn’t been battling a fever and a nightmare, she has bad days when everything is too strange or just too much for her to handle. But instead of getting more upset, Eri turns just enough to peek up at Yagi from behind a thick curtain of hair. She waves meekly to him once.

“She’s been sick since last night, and nothing I’ve done has gotten her fever down,” Shouta says instead of a greeting. “Could you look after her for a little while I get Recov-”

Before Shouta can finish his question, Eri’s arms tighten around him and she shakes her head, kicking weakly against him.

Yagi smiles softly, stepping back to open the door wider. “Why don’t you both come in, and I’ll see if I can’t get ahold of Recovery Girl another way.”

Yagi leads them through the kitchen to the living room. There’s an old standing record player pushed against the wall playing something soft and low. The rest of Yagi’s décor has been updated, as well. There’s a new table in the middle of the room with a cup of tea and some papers, as well as a thick book full of brightly colored tabs. The couch, where he gestures for Shouta to sit with Eri, now has a  shocking number of pillows piled on it and a few brightly colored blankets thrown over the back. Yagi makes sure they’re both comfortable, or as comfortable as they can be, before he goes to call Recovery Girl. Shouta can just barely make out the low timbre of his voice in the other room as he talks.

“Yagi is going to get a doctor to come check on you, but she’s a friend, nothing to be afraid of.” Shouta tells Eri quietly, brushing back her hair. It’s damp with sweat and sticks to her in messy clumps. “Do you remember Recovery Girl?”

After a moment, Eri nods against him.

Yagi returns before Shouta can ask something else, his phone pressed against his chest as he crouches down besides the couch. He looks between them.

“Recovery Girl wanted to know if there was anything else besides her fever?”

“Her quirk started up after a nightmare, that’s when it started. And she hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

As Shouta finishes talking, Eri signs to him. Pressed against Shouta as she is, it takes him a moment to realize what she’s trying to do.

Almost immediately after they were (pretty) sure they weren’t going to lose their jobs at U.A., Hizashi pitched a fit that sign language was still not a required part of the curriculum for hero students, protesting and appealing to school boards and other pro heroes until things changed and people saw the sense in heroes being able to communicate, not only silently with themselves if there was a need, but with any deaf, hard of hearing, or nonverbal civilians a hero might interact with during a job, and hero programs across the country slowly began adding it to the curriculum.

Shortly after Eri came to live with him fulltime, they began to teach her sign language as well, not only so that she might be able to communicate with Hizashi no matter what, but also because they quickly realized sometimes she had bad days and talking, holding full conversations was just too much for her to handle. Even just simple signs like “yes,” “no,” “food,” and “drink,” made navigating those bad days a thousand times easier.

Shouta tilts his head as she signs again, hoping to see enough of the movement to interpret for Yagi when he picks the phone back up and says, “She says her chest hurts. Aizawa said it started after a nightmare that triggered her quirk and that she hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”

Shouta blinks a few times in surprise, but Yagi doesn’t acknowledge him. He nods a few times while Recovery Girl talks on the other end. Eventually, he thanks her and ends the call.

“Recovery Girl said to try and make her as comfortable as possible, and to try and get some food into her, but I don’t have any medicine safe enough for someone so young, so she’ll bring some by soon.”

“Thank you.”

Yagi smiles softly at Shouta’s quiet thanks. He rises to his feet, muttering mostly to himself, a habit Shouta is sure he’s picked up from Midoriya, about what he has on hand to help Eri feel better. He leans down to brush a comforting hand over Eri’s head. His hand is giant against her tiny body, but she leans into the touch rather than shying away. Yagi hesitates, and for a moment, Shouta thinks he’s going to get a similar, gentle touch before Yagi steps away, promising to return in a moment.

Shouta repositions himself on the couch so they can recline, but Eri still refuses to let go of him, and eventually he has to accept letting Yagi take care of them. Yagi helps replace a cooling patch on Eri’s forehead, wiping down her face and neck with a soft washcloth as best he can. He asks Eri a few times if she wants something to eat, or if anything sounds good to her, but her sleepy, subdued signing in reply doesn’t give him much of an answer. Yagi, thankfully, takes it all in stride, running another gentle hand over her back.

“That’s alright. I happen to be an expert now at making yummy things, even when food doesn’t sound good. Do you trust me?”

And for the first time in almost two days, Shouta hears Eri’s quiet voice again in a soft “yes.”

Yagi shares a triumphant smile with Shouta before he offers a pinky to Eri. “I’ll cook you something that makes you feel better in no time, okay?”

Eri reaches out to complete the pinky-promise, her tiny finger barely able to bend around his.

 Shouta doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up again. He’s disoriented for a moment, trying to remember where he is and why he isn’t in his own home. He’s used to dozing off in random places, stealing a few minutes of sleep where he can, but falling deeply, completely asleep in somewhere other than home feels...wrong. The quiet record still playing in the corner is what brings him back. Yagi’s apartment. Eri isn’t lying against his chest any more, but when he sits up, looking for her, he sees Yagi on the opposite end of the couch, the small girl cradled against his chest, fast asleep. His eyes are closed, but he rubs slow circles over her back, humming quietly along with the music, so Shouta knows he’s awake.

“How is she?”

To his credit, Yagi doesn’t startle at Shouta’s sudden question. “A little cooler.” He nods to a bowl on the table. “She managed to keep down about half a serving of porridge and some water. Chiyo…Recovery Girl just left a little while ago.”

“You could have woken me.”

“You looked like you could use some rest. I’m sure you’ve been up with her the whole time.”

Shouta doesn’t bother to acknowledge that, he’s right, of course. “I didn’t know you knew sign.”

Yagi looks away, considering. “When I was still…new, I was trying to help a young woman who was trapped, but she was deaf and couldn’t understand me, barely recognized me. I think I scared her more than I helped her at first,” he admits with a laugh. “I realized there was something I had overlooked in my drive to help people, people I had overlooked, and I wanted to rectify that.” He finally turns to look at Shouta. “I’m not fluent, I let my skills…atrophy a little these last few years, and even before I didn’t dedicate as much time as I could have. But parts of the body, pain or injuries, those were important for me to learn…and easier to remember.”

“…if you ever wanted to brush up on your skills, I could help you.”

Yagi laughs quietly. “Always the sensei, Aizawa.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I appreciate the offer. I would love to work on it more with you.”

Shouta doesn’t know why the word choice makes him feel suddenly flustered, but he has to look away, willing his quirk not to activate at his strange embarrassment.

“You’re good with her,” he says, changing the subject instead of acknowledging it.

Yagi doesn’t reply for a while and when Shouta looks to him again, he could swear it looks like the other man is blushing. Yagi’s expression is incredibly fond as he looks down at the sleeping girl, thankfully undisturbed by their conversation.

“I was worried I frightened her.”

“You did, at first.” Shouta confirms. There’s no point in beating around the bush. “She just needed time to get to know you better. To know she could trust you.”

Shouta isn’t oblivious to how easily his statement could be applied to himself and his relationship with Yagi. If Yagi’s expression is anything to go by, he’s also aware of the similarities between them, but he has the decency not to call him out on it.

X

Winter

I was a wolf, dear, apart from the pack But you answered my call in the dead of the night And told me you had my back, oh I can’t do this alone anymore Cause I’m not good on my own anymore -I Was An Island, Allison Weiss

“You know more about Midoriya’s quirk than you’re letting on.”

It’s an accusation. For that matter, it’s an accusation based on little more than a hunch. But the way Yagi freezes up, immediately, tensed like he’s deciding between fight or flight right there just about confirms all of Shouta’s suspicions. Or, at least, most of them.

“Ai-Aizawa, I didn’t see you there…” Yagi mumbles, slowly turning to face him.

Shouta crosses his arms and waits.

“Was there a…question?” Yagi asks eventually, when he can’t seem to take squirming under Shouta’s intense glare any longer.

“What is going on with Midoriya’s quirk?”

Yagi glances at something behind Shouta’s head, as if looking for an escape, but Shouta could definitely catch him if he tried to make a break for it past him, and he knows no one followed them into the lounge. Yagi wrings his hands nervously in front of him. Shouta knows he wants to go check on Midoriya, but he’s hoping that sense of urgency will speed up this conversation. It’s been a long time coming now, and Shouta is getting some answers.

“I can assure you, Aizawa, I didn’t know young Midoriya’s quirk could…or would produce something like that.”

Shouta leans against a desk. “I’m not buying it. You know something.”

Finally, Yagi seems to grow tired of being on the opposite side of the interrogation because there’s a fire in his eyes that hasn’t been there in a while, that Shouta realizes he…missed seeing there, as Yagi advances on him across the room.

“Where was this concern for him when his quirk was going out of control during the lesson today?”

Shouta brushes off the accusation. The second time Midoriya’s quirk had acted up, it was Yagi, after all, who insisted they let the students keep going. “We both know his explanation about power just overwhelming him is bullshit. We’ve seen what happens to Midoriya’s body when his quirk is overpowered and it’s not whatever that was.”

Yagi’s hands clench in fists at his sides and he looks away from Shouta, clenching his jaw. He reminds Shouta a little of the Yagi from a few months ago, the wild-eyed frustration welling up inside him to a breaking point. He’s just missing the blood and flooding bathroom.

Some part of Shouta feels a little guilty, intentionally pushing Yagi near to a breaking point, but this has been going on for far too long. Shouta had been prepared to send Midoriya home from day one, and from day one Midoriya, and Yagi, had been trying to convince him not to.

“Could it be you see the potential in Midoriya, as well?” All Might had asked Shouta after the first class training exercise, when Midoriya proved he could use his quirk without completely incapacitating himself for the rest of the fight. Shouta had wanted to brush the comment off, but the ‘as well’ echoed around in his head for days. How did All Might know anything about this one, random, incoming first-year? And why was he so invested in him? Why did he care about Shouta seeing his potential?

After that, it was impossible to miss the odd behavior between the two. They were constantly together, darting around corners and whispering in the backs of rooms, having lunch together when Midoriya should have been spending more time socializing with his classmates.

Even the other teachers began to notice something. He still remembers the first time someone had joked during a night out about the two being related. Yagi had almost choked on his drink, while Hizashi laughed, drunkenly, gleefully telling them about the conversation he had overheard from students that Todoroki apparently once accused Midoriya of being All Might’s secret lovechild.

If it was one or the other – some odd behavior or similar quirks – Shouta thinks he would be able to brush it off, put it out of his mind, but too many things keep adding up to there being a connection between the two of them. He just can’t, for the life of him, figure out what that connection is.

“I can’t help if I don’t know the whole story,” Shouta finally changes tactics, hoping he can appeal to some part of Yagi. “You’re both keeping secrets, badly, but Midoriya has been struggling with his quirk since he started at U.A. If there’s something about his quirk…” Shouta sighs, frustrated. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Silence stretches on between them. Shouta is starting to brainstorm a new approach when Yagi seems to deflate in front of him, body sagging against the desks beside them. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends of his bangs in a nervous tick.

Finally, finally, he says, “What happened at the training exercise today was a surprise to me too. I didn’t know it could happen…I…I have a theory, now, but until it happened today, I never even would have thought it was possible.”

Shouta lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relieved. “I can work with a theory.”

“I think it was someone else’s quirk.”

What?

If Midoriya had a quirk like Monoma and could somehow “borrow” other’s abilities, it could maybe explain similarities between his quirk and All Might’s power before he retired, but no one in either of the hero course classes had a quirk anything like what Midoriya had displayed today. There was no way he could have borrowed that from anyone recently. And before now, Shouta would have been out of other explanations past that. Now, he thinks about the Nomus they’ve interacted with, the…monsters made up of different quirks, and of Shirakumo and Kurogiri. And he feels a little sick to his stomach at the possible implications.

“What? How would Midoriya have someone else’s quirk? Whose quirk would he have?”

Yagi makes a complicated expression. “Someone from a long time ago.” He says.

Shouta isn’t sure if he wants to pull out his own hair or shake the older man for such an unbelievably unhelp answer.

“Yagi,” Shouta hasn’t figured out what he even wants to say yet, but just his name is enough to finally make Yagi look at him.

“Young Midoirya’s quirk is registered as ‘Super-Power’ in public records, but the true name of his quirk is ‘One for All.’ It’s a quirk that can be cultivated and passed on to someone else. And it was my quirk until I gave it to him when he was fourteen.”

Shouta is half convinced he’s in a dream. “You…gave him your quirk?”

Yagi nods. “Just as my master gave it to me before I started at U.A.”

“So before…”

“Midoriya was quirkless.”

Well that at least explained a few of his, and Bakugo’s, weird behaviors at the beginning of the year. Not everything, by any means, but enough.

Shouta realizes this is another secret he can’t unlearn, only this is one he walked into knowingly. He knew he was pushing for something serious, something to be guarded the same way Yagi hid his injury. It was the only thing that made sense, the pieces fall into place perfectly, filling all the holes in his and Midoriya’s pasts.

Shouta hates to ask the next question, he’s not sure it’s entirely relevant, but he needs all the information he can get to start making sense of things. Yagi seems to know what he wants to ask next, however, because he offers more information before Shouta can figure out how to word what he wants to say next.

“I was also quirkless before being given One for All,” Yagi admits. “I think it’s partially what enamored me to Midoriya. I saw something of myself in the young boy.”

And that’s perhaps the least surprising thing Shouta’s heard today. You’d have to be oblivious to miss the similarities between the two, even with their quirk taken out of the equation.

“So you knew what would happen to him until he gained control?”

Yagi grimaces at the question, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Not exactly. The quirk naturally has an effect on the body, because you aren’t born with adaptations to it, but it is also just a lot to handle. If you aren’t properly trained and prepared for it, it could, theoretically…blow the user’s body apart from the inside. But after my training, I had no problem accessing one hundred percent of the power. Meanwhile…well, you’ve seen what happens to young Midoriya when he uses one hundred percent, even now.”

Shouta closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few deep, calming breaths. There is still so much more information he needs about Yagi and Midoriya and their quirk, now is not the time for him to blow up over that particular detail. Later, definitely, but not now.

When he opens his eyes again, Yagi is glancing nervously between him and the clock on the wall. “Aizawa,” he says, and it half sounds like a plea. “I know you must have more questions, but-”

“You want to go check on Midoriya.” Obviously. “I’m coming with you.”

Yagi gives a wryly smile. “I thought as much.”

He leads Shouta to a private office down the hall. The door opens to reveal Midoriya and Bakugo waiting for them. Bakugo’s presence is a surprise, but if he shares the same feeling he doesn’t show it. Midoriya, on the other hand, jumps to his feet when he sees the two teachers, looking between them nervously until Yagi holds up a pacifying hand.

“It’s alright, young Midoriya. Aizawa knows now.”

Midoriya continues to react to things in ways that confuse Shouta, rather than relaxing or appearing relieved, he makes a complicated expression, wringing his hands together nervously as he retakes his seat.

Bakugo scoffs, slouching even further in his seat.

“I’m surprised it took you two dumbasses this long to ask for his help. Obviously you were hopeless on your own.”

“Yes, well…” Yagi trails off with an awkward cough, a bright blush high on his cheeks as he fusses with something on the other side of the room.

Shouta sees the two boys exchange a look on the couch, and it’s obvious if they didn’t already know, they definitely now know that Yagi was not the one doing any asking.

 It feels like hours have passed by the time they dismiss the boys back to the dorms. Shouta’s head is still spinning with all the new information he learned, and all the theories about the quirk and how it’s developing. He’s a little in awe of, and a little frightened for, Midoriya if he is already unlocking more of One for All than All Might ever did. He can’t even imagine how strong of a hero he might become, but it’s obvious, now, what a toll that kind of power, that kind of secret, took on Yagi and he’s concerned about how it might, or might already be, affecting Midoriya.

It’s quiet between them for a long time after the students have left while they both dwell on everything that had been discussed tonight.

Finally, Shouta breaks the silence. “I know you had no reason to trust me with a huge secret about yourself, but you could have come up with some kind of…lie about Midoriya, so I could have helped you both earlier.”

Yagi laughs humorlessly besides him. “I still don’t think I could have come up with a convincing enough lie, or one that you wouldn’t have seen through immediately.” He looks down at his hands. “Even then, I don’t know if I could have brought myself to come to you for help.’

Shouta’s first instinct is to ask why, but he’s not an idiot. He’s well aware he didn’t make the start of the year easy for Midoriya or Yagi.

“I know that’s shameful,” Yagi continues, quieter. “To have too much pride to ask you for help with a student-”

“Yagi,” Shouta interrupts, seriously. “There’s a lot you handled…badly, or just plain wrong, with Midoriya. But I was an asshole to you when we started working together. I made snap judgements about you. And, frankly, teaching is hard. I was clueless when I first started. I should have tried to help you more.” Shouta sighs, taking a deep breath. This apology has been a long time coming, but still it’s hard to get it all out at once. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you in the beginning, and…I’m sorry for making this harder for the both you without realizing it.”

Yagi stares at him, astonished. Obviously when this revelation first happened in the teacher’s lounge, the last thing he ever anticipated happening was Shouta apologizing. But it needed to happen the same as this secret needed to come out. They were supposed to be partners when it came to teaching this class, and it would just keep getting harder to do that with so much unsaid between them.

“I…Thank, thank you.”

Shouta has to look away, he can’t bring himself to see whatever expression accompanies such raw emotion. And he forces down the guilt that wonders why such a simple apology brings about such a reaction. It won’t do him any good to dwell on the past, he just has to do better in the future. They both do.

“What’s important now is that going forward we’ll figure these things out, together.”

Yagi nods, sounding more than a little mystified as he agrees, “Together.”

X

Spring

Oh, be here when I sleep When I dream, when the devils meet Oh, be here when I wake up When I wake up, when I wake up Whatever makes you stay Whatever makes yu smile Whatever makes you come and be with me a while -Whatever Makes You Mine, John Van Deusen

Shouta has every intention of going straight for his own dorm and passing out after his patrol. It’s late enough that Eri should be asleep and he doesn’t need to wake her just to carry her a few feet down the hall to her own room in his apartment. But as he’s swinging by the building, he can’t help but notice the light is still on in Toshinori’s room. Surprised that Toshinori would still be awake at this hour, Shouta drops down onto his balcony, peering in through the glass door. The small living room is dark and he can only make out the faintest shapes with the campus lights behind him. Shouta debates with himself for a moment before he lets himself in through the sliding door.

Eri’s coloring books and crayons are spread out across the small coffee table besides what Shouta is pretty sure are Toshinori’s unfinished grades. Part of him wishes Toshinori would encourage Eri to clean up after herself a little more, but he knows that’s a losing battle with Toshinori. They both like to see the young girl more comfortable in her living spaces, and Toshinori is too soft on her to impart any real discipline. And when Shouta thinks of the first time he saw Toshinori’s apartment, the cold, empty space that barely seemed worthy of being called a home, he understands why Toshinori waves him off of trying to clean up. “I like the mess,” Toshinori admitted once with a laugh. “It makes it feel lived in.”  

Shouta leaves the mess in the living room as it is and goes to the spare room first. Eri is fast asleep in the extra bed. Even just a twin mattress seems giant with the small girl curled up near the top of it, surrounded on all sides by pillows and stuffed animals. He recognizes a few she must have brought with her from his apartment, but the rest are ones just for Toshinori’s. The night light Toshinori got for the nights she stays over casts small stars across the room. A few of them shine against her pale hair.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Shouta continues down the hall towards Toshinori’s room. The door is cracked, an open invitation for Eri to come in if she needs something, and it leaves a sliver of light across the hallway floor. Shouta knocks on the open door, but Toshinori never replies. Confused, Shouta pushes the door open the rest of the way.

He finds Toshinori sleeping more soundly than he’s ever known the ex-hero to be in the time they’ve known each other. He's sprawled on top of the duvet, head below the pillows and one foot hanging off the bed. In a loose t-shirt and faded blue jeans, it doesn’t look remotely comfortable, and yet he looks so peaceful, Shouta is hesitant to wake him. For once his sleep doesn’t seem to be interrupted by wracking coughs or twisted nightmares.

Shouta rummages, as politely as possible, through the closet for a blanket. He drapes it carefully over Toshinori, making sure it falls over the foot hanging off the bed, and around his bare arms. Shouta swears it seems like his hands are moving on their own as he brushes Toshinori’s wild bangs away from his face.

The man beneath him stirs, and Shouta freezes, hand still curled to tuck Toshinori’s bangs behind his ear. Bright blue eyes blink open, but there’s something unfamiliar and hazy as they flit over Shouta’s face. A slow smile spills across Toshinori’s lips and it’s the softest smile Shouta’s ever seen on him.

“Shouta!” Toshinori says in a sleepy whisper that makes something in Shouta’s chest squeeze. Toshinori must still be asleep. That didn’t explain everything perhaps, like the use of his given name or that dreamy smile, but God it certainly left fewer questions for all of that than if he was awake. “What are you doing here?”

“Just giving you another blanket. Go back to sleep.” Shouta snaps quickly, pulling his hands back.

Toshinori catches his wrist before he can move too far. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he says with another one of those gut-twisting smiles. “You should rest too.”

Toshinori shifts on the mattress, not that there wasn’t already plenty of room - the bed was unreasonably large even if Toshinori’s unreasonably long body didn’t fit quite right - and tugs gently on his arm. Shouta had every intention of arguing with him on the matter, so he has absolutely no idea what possesses him to listen to Toshinori and lie down besides him.

Satisfied, and perhaps even a little smug, Toshinori pulls part of the blanket to drape over Shouta’s shoulders as well.

“Okay, go back to sleep now.” Shouta insists stiffly, already making a plan of escape for once Toshinori is unconscious again.

Instead, Toshinori reaches out, cradling Shouta’s face in one of his large hands. Shouta feels his entire body freeze, he’s not even entirely sure he’s breathing, as Toshinori touches him ever so gently. A thumb runs carefully under his eye, as if Toshinori could sweep away the bags there with a single touch.

“I know this is just a dream,” Toshinori says softly, his fingers feather light as they trace over Shouta’s skin. “But I hope the real you can feel just a little more rested for it.”

“I’m…I’m sure I will.” Shouta swallows thickly. “So don’t worry so much and sleep.”

Toshinori finally, finally, takes his hand back and Shouta can breathe a little easier. He snuggles deeper into the blanket, closing his eyes.

“Good night, Shouta.”

Shouta doesn’t dare speak again until he knows he is fully asleep. Carefully extracting himself from the blanket, he folds it back over the sleeping man on the bed.

“Good night, Toshinori.”

Shouta moves on autopilot back to his own dorm, not even fully sure of the path he takes or who he might have passed on the way. His mind is still in Toshinori’s room, in bed beside him. He lied to Toshinori. There’s absolutely no way the “real him” was getting any rest tonight. Not with the memory of his gentle touch and soft smile still fresh in his memory.

Shouta only just barely registers the whistle from behind him as he unlocks his door. Turning around, he finds Hizashi standing in his open doorway across the hall. With a teasing grin, Hizashi makes a show of looking at his (watch-less) wrist to check the time and whistling again. Hizashi is far too…awake for someone in a robe and bunny slippers at three in the morning, Shouta decides.

“Coming home so late, Shou? And in the same jumpsuit from yesterday? What were you up to, hm?”

“I’m always in the same jumpsuit.” Shouta mutters, already regretting acknowledging him.

Hizashi slides up next to him, leaning against the wall to look him in the eye. “And the late hour? The sneaking in?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Shouta still curses the day Kayama taught him that.

“I work late hours. And not all of us can make as much as noise as you do.” Shouta pushes open his door and takes a step in, hoping, despite what all prior experience has taught him, that Hizashi will take a hint.

“But you weren’t still working, were you? You were with a certain someone-”

“Go to bed, Mic.” Shouta interrupts as he feels his quirk activate, shutting his door before the blond can push any further. He can hear Hizashi’s laughter even through the closed door.

He waves at his face, willing the heat to leave his cheeks and for his stupid quirk to deactivate and stop giving him away with glowing eyes and floating hair like some damn anime character. How could he be more embarrassed being caught coming home from, what, tucking Toshinori into bed, than he would have been from an actual walk of shame?

X

Summer

 I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved mysel Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you without any strings attached -Two, Sleeping at Last

The evening air is cooling down, a reprieve from the last few sweltering summer days as Shouta steps outside the dorm. He isn’t sure when he got so good at understanding Toshinori or predicting his behavior, but he already knows where to find him when he realizes the old hero is missing after the class dinner. And sure enough, he finds him on the bench outside the dorm. The setting sun sets his light hair aglow.

Toshinori seems to hear him coming because he turns around to watch Shouta before he says anything.

“It’s not that cold out tonight, Aizawa-sensei,” Toshinori says instead of a greeting. “You can’t scold me for being out in the cold this time.”

Shouta rolls his eyes at the accusation as he approaches the bench. “Not everything out of my mouth is a scolding.”

Toshinori stares hard at him for a moment, and Shouta can’t meet his eyes when Toshinori replies, strangely quiet, with “I know.”

Toshinori shifts further down the bench, making room for Shouta to sit besides him. Silence settles between them as they sit together, watching the vibrant pink of the sky slowly be overtaken with a pale violet.

“The first time I found you out here, you told me you had decided to live again,” Shouta says, breaking the quiet between them.

“Why are you bringing that up again?” Toshinori asks, almost in a whine, turning away from Shouta for a moment as if embarrassed. It feels so long ago that they had that conversation, when they agreed to train Eri together, though its become more like co-parenting, and when they both truly bared some of their souls to each other, but Shouta remembers it all so clearly. Especially Toshinori’s first confession.

He’d seen the hints of it before, the emptiness of Toshinori’s apartment, his baggy clothes that didn’t fit his new life, the causal dismissals of himself and his health. But that confession brought all those strange quirks about the number one hero into jarring clarity, painting a coherent picture of the life he had that Shouta was willfully ignorant of before. His new dedication to life is so obvious in comparison. The person on the bench besides him is not the same one Shouta started working with a year ago.

“You seem just as serious now,” he admits. “I’m wondering what other new revelations you’ve come to.”

Shouta doesn’t expect Toshinori to reply at all, let alone clue him in on any of those new revelations if he has come to them. Toshinori doesn’t owe him anything, let alone an insight to his most intimate thoughts, but after a long moment, Toshinori takes a deep breath as if preparing for a large declaration.

Instead he looks down at his hands and says softly, “I’ve been thinking about a lot recently but I’m still confused and torn about most of it.” Toshinori pauses for a moment and Shouta knows there is so much more that isn’t being said. But he doesn’t know how to help Toshinori say it, if that’s even what he really needs from him, so he just reaches for him instead. His hand against Toshinori’s is dwarfed in a way he doesn’t think he will ever get used to. But even bony and thin as they are now, the skin scarred and knuckles crooked from repeated breaks, not unlike his student’s, those hands still feel safe to Shouta. Those hands helped him carry the weight of the world for all those years and they show the strain that weight left on him. But they are still gentle. Their touch is soft enough to wipe the tears from Eri’s cheeks after her latest nightmare. Their touch is tender enough to ruffle their students’ hair and send their worries away without leaving behind any of that weight.

Toshinori’s hands are safe, and Shouta can’t help but wonder who held them when he was young and helped make them that way. Who taught him to use such strength and gentleness in tandem.

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” Shouta finally says. “I know sometimes it feels like we have to, when the students are counting on us, nothing feels more like a failure than having to admit you don’t know, but you don’t have to have all the answers. Especially not right now, not here with me.”

Toshinori looks up from their hands. His expression is raw and open, but also incredibly soft and fond, and Shouta doesn’t feel capable enough to be on the receiving end of such a look.

“I’m still confused and torn,” Toshinori starts again, softer this time. “But one thing that I know for sure, is I’m tired of listening to my anxieties and worries. I’m tired of doing my best to ignore all the things I’ve wanted. I’ve decided I want to just follow my heart, but to do that I will have to be a little selfish, so…I’m sorry.”

Shouta thinks if anyone deserves a chance to be selfish, if anyone has earned that, it’s Toshinori. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Yagi. You can be a little selfish sometimes.”

“Then…can I love you, Shouta?”

#bnha #mha #erasermight #emmb2021 #embb2021 #aizawa shouta #yagi toshinori #all might #fic #rita writes #fluff #hurt/comfort #6.29.21

[neoneversleeps]

bad guy | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x reader - bad guy

genre: angst, fluff, smut

warnings: cheating, swearing, semi-public sex, fingering, oral (female recieving)

description: 

The damn leather jacket that hangs over your desk chair is what compels you to finally come face to ace with the man whose heart you broke months ago. The outcome of the encouter however, is not what you had expected in the least. 

(this fic is kind of a twist on bad guy by billie eilish)

words: ~5k

playlist ⟡

You feel the blood trickle down your nose before you even feel the impact. It takes a few seconds to actually register that you’ve just been punched in the face. Slaps were a common occurrence but actually being punched? Now that was a new one. You had to hand it to her, she had a mean right hook.

A chuckle escapes your mouth as your hand wipes off the blood on your nose. You could hear the murmurs of shocked onlookers around you. The girl seems even more infuriated after you chuckle, face contorted in anger as she opens her mouth to scream at you.

"You slut! Making out with my boyfriend for everyone to see?

You simply roll your eyes at her. This wasn't the first time you had heard those words. You hadn't really ran any background checks on the long list of hookups you had these past couple months. You couldn't bring yourself to care much, either.

"Who do you think you are, going around kissing other girls boyfriends?"

You cock your head at her, slightly narrowing your eyes.

"Shouldn't you be asking your boyfriend why he's going around kissing girls that aren't his girlfriend?"

She pauses, suddenly at a loss for words. A few seconds later she stomps her foot, not unlike a toddler during a temper tantrum, huffs indignantly and storms off, boyfriend in tow, tail between his legs.

You decide to head to the nearest bathroom, behind the club, to inspect the damage. You catch some stares as you round the corner, the people there clearly finding your bloodstained appearance more interesting than whatever else they were talking about before. You didn't shy away from any of the glances, choosing instead to sneer back at them, which made them turn their heads away without a fault.

You near the outdoor bathroom, a small rectangular construction with only one meek bathroom stall and a poor excuse for a mirror. Closing the door behind you, you lean forward on the sink and inspect your nose. It could look worse for wear, nothing broken at least. The bad lighting and smudged mirror didn't exactly let you see the full damage, but there was no cracking and no continuous pain so that was a positive. You figure it must be just a few burst blood vessels. You splash some water on your face, cleaning off the already drying blood. You look back up at your reflection. The shirt was ruined though. Bummer, you didn’t own a lot of white shirts that you liked and unfortunately, you did actually like this one.

Slightly sighing in frustration, you leave the stall to go hail a cab, ready to head home for the night.

The door of your small city apartment clicks shut as you enter. You flick on the lights and glance around. The place was in disarray to no surprise. Every time you claimed you’d tidy the whole thing up, something more important always seemed to come up. Truthfully, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You glance at the clock as you stroll into your kitchen. 2:39am. Perfect time for some plain old buttered toast. You hadn’t drank much, the alcohol levels in your blood probably close to zero at this point. Your stomach, however, was growling in demand for food. So you get to work, taking two slices of bread out of the freezer and placing them in your hand-me-down toaster.

After finishing your honourable 3am meal, you slowly shuffle past your bedroom door and into the adjacent bathroom. You discard your clothes, making a mental note to throw the bloodied shirt away instead of just throwing it in with the wash.

As you step under the shower, the warmth of the water envelops you. None of your neighbors in the apartment complex showered at this hour, so it was always a guarantee for hot water. You stand in the stream for a while, letting your muscles relax and letting the water wash aways all your sins, worries and fears. Of course the water couldn't actually wash those away, but you liked to believe it could linder them. Make them disappear even for a little while.

The bathroom floor tiles are cold against your feet after you finally decide you'd soaked up enough water for the night (morning, technically). You dried off your body, wrapping the towel around your figure before wrapping another one around your hair. You made use of the few skincare products you had for your nightly (again, more accurately morning) routine.

You pad out into your bedroom, removing the towel from your hair and trying to dry said hair with it as best you could. Your eyes flick to the jacket hanging on your desk chair in the corner of your still dark room, illuminated only by the path of light coming from the open bathroom door. It was an old dark brown leather jacket, surely worth a lot when first bought. The years of use have worn it at its edges but it still shines pristinely, leather well kept.

A face flashes before your eyes. The owner of that very jacket. Jung Jaehyun. The one boy who had managed to get a little too close for comfort. The thought of him leaves a bitter taste of hurt and regret in your mouth. A twinge of guilt twists your insides as well.

You had been meaning to give the jacket back to him, tired of it being a constant reminder of your past relationship. You had been saying that for months now though, yet you never got around to actually get it back to him. Coward. the voice in your head helpfully provides the real reasoning behind not returning the jacket. You would one day. In fact you would go tomorrow. Today? Ok, realistically that wouldn't happen. You settled for the coming week. The coming week  you would return Jung Jaehyun’s jacket.

Content with your decision, you change into your pyjamas and slip into bed, the clock on the nightstand reading 4am.

It’s a wednesday afternoon two weeks after the bloody nose incident that you finally walk down the street where the garage that Jaehyun works at is located. Ok so maybe you didn't quite adhere to the deadline you set for yourself, but you were here now, right?

You were slowly approaching Jaehyun’s workplace. The buzzing sounds  of various machinery filtering in through your ears. The garage always had its doors open, probably willing more wind to enter the hot work space. The afternoon sun stands proud in its place, rays casting a golden light onto the city and pleasantly warming its citizens. Even though you appreciate the balmy caress of the sunlight on your skin, you imagine being stuck working on a car in this heat would be most uncomfortable. Jaehyun never seemed to mind however, you couldn't remember him ever complaining about his job. He was good at what he did, although he did always talk about rising up in the ranks. He didn't want to work at a garage for the rest of his life, and you couldn't blame him. You were sure he would achieve his goals however. If there was one word you would use to describe Jaehyun, it was determined.

Your eyes search the area as you arrive in front of the garage. There’s a nervous feeling in your gut the longer your eyes search, the jacket in your backpack seemingly getting heavier by the second. Maybe you shouldn't have come.

You’re about to turn on your heel but before you can do so, your eyes catch sight of a brown tuft of hair behind the car on the far end. You would recognize that soft brown hair anywhere.

Your feet stroll over to the car furthest away from you. A red 1966 shelby. Nice model, a vintage mustang, the apparently freshly redone paint-job glistening in the afternoon sun. Now, you wouldn't consider yourself a cars connoisseur by any means, but your granddad had taught you to have an eye for value.

“Beautiful car.” You say, your fingers lightly hovering above the shiny red paint, careful not to touch. The man behind the car gets up with a chuckle. “Yeah, well, she's not mine-.” A pause. “Oh, hey, y/n. What brings you here?” The tone of his voice is casual, but obviously forced. It stings just a bit. He stands there just as you remembered him. His well-built frame stands tall, defined muscles visible in the black tank top he was wearing, honey brown fringe damp from the sweat falling just below his eyebrows. His hair had grown a little since you last saw him.

“Oh, you know. Just passing through this area and thought I might stop by. Maybe looking to buy some car air fresheners.” His face tilts, eyes narrowingly only a millimeter. “Uh huh. You don't own a car though?”

Shit. “Right well… it's for a friend. Her car always smells musty.” You recovered rather well in your defense, able to play it off with a chuckle.

“Um, okay. Is that really all? Because if yes I should get back to work before-” “No!” Okay, that was way too quick, you mentally reprimand yourself. Clearing your throat, you continue.

“No, actually, that's not all. I was wondering… if maybe you would like to go get a drink sometime?” What!? What the hell was that? You were supposed to give him his leather jacket back, not ask him out.

Even Jaehyun looks surprised at your question. His hands fly up to his hair, running them through it a couple of times, a habit you had seen countless times before. “Well I, um-” “Jaehyun!” You heard the rather shrill voice of a girl coming from your right. Soon enough the girl that had called his name was now plastered to his side, hands curling around his arm.

“Who’s this, Jaehyun?” The fake tone to her voice is so obvious you want to roll your eyes.

“Oh uh, Y/n is an old...friend of mine. Y/n, this is my girlfriend Nina.” She sticks her hand out and you take it, albeit begrudgingly, while forcing a smile. “It's nice to meet you.” The blonde smiles back, face scrunching up just a little too much to be considered genuine.

“Likewise.” She quips before directing a pout at Jaehyun. “Hyunnie, you promised you’d get off work early to go to that one restaurant I was telling you about.” Hyunnie? You internally shiver in disgust at the pet name. Jaehyun's eyes, which were previously staring at yours, suddenly flit over to Nina’s face.

“Oh yeah, of course. I’ll go get ready and be out in a sec. Why don’t you go wait in the car?” He smiles at her, dimples showing prominently in his cheeks. You hadn't seen those in a while. “Ok!” She says chirpily, leaning up slightly to peck him on the mouth. Suddenly the pit of your stomach boils with anger. Why were you angry? You surely weren’t jealous, were you? No, Y/n. You broke up with him, remember? You ended things.

She turns in your direction, blonde hair swishing around in her high ponytail. “Bye, Y/n!” The lilt in her voice almost made you want to gag but you force out a smile instead and bid her a goodbye as well.

“She’s nice.” Jaehyun almost snorts. Apparently you hadn’t managed to keep the slight disgust out of your voice as well as you had hoped.“She is. I like her.” He says the words as he looks at you. It almost feels like he’s trying to gauge your reaction. You simply nod and give him a tight-lipped smile at first, your hands digging themselves into the pockets of your denim jacket.

“Well, she’s your girlfriend. Isn’t it kind of a given that you like her?” You state more than asks, although you do feel slightly confused now that you thought back on his words. Jaehyun just shrugs nonchalantly.

“Anyways, you heard her.” He jerks his head towards, presumably, the direction of his car. “I'm heading out now.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, as if considering his options. “About that drink, text me and we can agree on a day. Just as friends though, right?”

It was your turn to be surprised now. You hadn't expected him to actually accept, especially after his girlfriend had interrupted the two of you. It takes you a few stunned seconds before you can respond. “Um, yeah of course. Just as friends.” You scan over his face, curious if you could make out any hidden emotions, but all you can see is Jaehyun’s pleasant smile.

You start to walk backwards, suddenly itching to get out of the now slightly tense and awkward atmosphere. You feel his eyes trail after you. “I’ll text you then. Bye, Jaehyun.” You turn fully after your goodbye, still feeling the burn of his gaze on your back.

“Bye, Y/n.”

You walk home that day in the afternoon sun, a weird feeling brewing deep in your stomach and Jaehyun’s leather jacket still safely stored inside your bag.

You watch the droplets of condensation slowly slide down the side of your glass, thumbs drawing idle circles on the table. Jaehyun should be arriving any minute now. The thought of him makes tiny balls of sweat form at the base of your neck. You’re nervous. Just like the day you went to see him at the garage, you were starting to regret ever texting him in the first place. Thinking that maybe you should've just ignored his acceptance of your invite.

You had tried to, really. But Jaehyun’s name on the message app on your phone had tempted you one too many times. You had caved a few nights prior, asking to meet at a relatively well-known bar in the city and now here you were, sitting alone at a table, leg bouncing in anticipation.

You heave a sigh and take up your phone. Just as you decide to distract yourself with some mindless game, you hear the scrape of a wooden chair from across you.

Jaehyun gives you a smile as he sits down in front of you, prominent dimples poking out. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in traffic. Have you been waiting long?”

You shake your head. “No worries, I only just got here about five minutes ago.” Liar. You had been waiting for over half an hour. Jaehyun glances at your glass and raises an eyebrow. “They must have fast service then.”

You don't let the nervous churn of your stomach get to you as you respond. “For a pretty girl sitting alone in a bar? The service is always fast.” You let a small smirk adorn your lips and Jaehyun chuckles at the statement. “Fair enough.”

After a quick glance at his phone screen, Jaehyun directs his attention back at you, leaning on his forearms. “So, how’ve you been?”

You lean back a bit, unconsciously (or more likely consciously) putting space between you and Jaehyun. “Oh you know, going to work, reading up on the news, getting into brawls outside of clubs, the usual.” Jaehyun laughs at what he assumes was a joke. You bite your cheek as a smile finds its way onto your face as well. If only he knew.

It’s ridiculous really, how easy you could fall into conversation with Jaehyun. It feels natural. However in your mind there’s a voice constantly reminding you that this was just what you had come to fear all those months ago. What you had with jaehyun, you had considered it a fling, even though it had felt like a relationship more than you cared to admit.

Your parents failed marriage and the many failed attempts at love on your own part had made you quite opposed to the idea of a relationship. The last time you had been with someone for longer than two weeks had been Jaehyun. You were adamant about keeping feelings out of the mix as best you could, but Jaehyun was a dangerous man. He had found a way to weasel himself into your heart and as soon as you had realised, you shut him out completely.

You wonder why jaehyun was sat in front of you at that moment, an easy smile on his face. When you think back to the night you “broke up”, you recall being rather horrible to him. The hurt expression on Jaehyuns face resurfaces in your mind and you push it down, choosing instead to focus on the conversation.

You laugh genuinely at Jaehyun’s crazy work story and watch how he leans back, the smile on his face making his eyes crinkle up. He was still gazing at you after you finished your little fit of laughter. “What?” You ask, a shy grin pulling at your lips under his gaze.

“I missed your laugh.” You don't fail to notice the way his eyes trace over your face and down over your body, lingering at the curvature of your breasts in your low-cut tee. You shift slightly in your chair and his eyes flick back up to meet yours. You both stare at each other, as if daring the other to back down.  You can feel Jaehyun's leg brushing against yours under the table.

Oh, you think, Jaehyun was a dangerous man indeed.

The bathroom wall is cold against your bare ass as Jaehyun slips your jeans further down your legs. You were unsure of how you got here, your memory going hazy after the little staring contest you had earlier. He’s kissing you feverishly, lips travelling up and down the sides of your neck as you claw at his t-shirt covered back. You audibly gasp as you feel his fingers rub at your clit through your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” You whimper as he grunts in your ear. You had slept and made out with countless people over the past months and yet none of them could make you feel even a fraction of pleasure compared to what you felt whenever Jaehyun touched you.

His mouth trails down further along your body, roughly pushing your t-shirt and bra out of the way to latch onto your nipple, his free hand coming up to play with your other one. Your head falls back against the wall as he grazes your sensitive bud with his teeth, loving the mix of pain and pleasure.

Jaehyun’s hands grab hold of the back of your upper thighs as his face hovers above your heat. He looked up at you through his lashes and you grabbed a fistful of his hair as you urge him on, the ache between your legs nearing unbearable.

A jolt of pleasure shoots up your body as you feel Jaehyun's tongue lick up your slit before pushing his tongue inside of your folds. His hands still work at your clit in small circles, applying just the right amount of pressure to the bud. You bite your lip as you try to hold back the moans that were threatening to spill, this was still a public restroom after all.

“Fuck, Jae.” You curse as he inserts two fingers into your entrance, moving to suck and kiss at your clit. You could perfectly picture his satisfied smile as he hums against your core, once again sending vibrations throughout your body. Gosh, how you had missed this.  

As Jaehyun picks up his speed, you feel the knot in your stomach twist tighter, the gasps leaving your mouth becoming higher in pitch. After a few more pumps you feel your walls contract around Jaehyun’s fingers and pure bliss overcomes you, your body going limp, almost sliding down the wall if it weren’t for Jaehyun coming up to support your weight.

“Shit, I missed this so much. I missed you so much.” Jaehyun mumbles in your ear as he turns your body. Now you stand facing the large bathroom mirrors, hips slightly digging into the border of the sink and panties still halfway down your thigh. You stare at your reflection. You look fucked out, hair and clothes in disarray, with a flurry of small marks beginning to form on your neck and Jaehyun slowly kissing down your shoulders. Looking at yourself was like a slap in the face. This was wrong, oh this was all so wrong. You broke up with Jaehyun. Jaehyun had a girlfriend.  You were fucking Jaehyun in the bathroom of the bar where you had asked to meet up as friends. Friends.

Shit. Panic floods your body and you know you need to get out. Out. Out. Out. You turn around and promptly push Jaehyun off you, nearly making him topple over in the process.

“We can’t do this! You- I - We- we just can’t!” You make quick of pulling your underwear and jeans, grabbing the purse you had previously discarded and rushing out of the room, Jaehyun still struggling to keep up with the sudden turn of events.

“Y/n!”

You hear his shouts coming from behind you but you don’t stop. Making your way through the tables, you desperately try to smooth down your hair so you wouldn’t look as disheveled. You push open the main door and the cold air of the night hits you as you step out on the streets. A shiver runs down your spine. All of this was wrong.

And all of it was your fault.

It was currently around 8pm and you’re sat on the couch in your apartment, the stark light of the tv screen casting shadows around your dark room. You mindlessly flick through the channels, not really finding anything worth watching. Your eyes keep on wandering towards your phone. All week you had been avoiding Jaehyun as if he were the pest. You Ignored both his calls and his texts. There was a twinge in your gut.

None of this was Jaehyun's fault. You had given him false hope of a relationship and broke it off. You had ignored him for months after. You had asked him out. You had made him cheat on his girlfriend. You were the one that had played with him as if he were some toy.

He cheated on his girlfriend because of you. Granted, you had slept with guys who were in relationships over the past few months, but that was different. You didn't know prior if they were in a relationship or not, they were just a hookup.

But this time, you had actually seen the girlfriend. Talked to her, touched her. And while yes, you had not liked her in the slightest, that didn't justify your actions. You were a cheater.

Just like your dad. Thanks brain, for that helpful reminder. You sigh in frustration at yourself. Maybe you should just go to bed.

You get up and switch off the TV, but just as you are about to head to your room, you hear a knock on the door.

You freeze, unsure of what to do. A few seconds later, the knocks are repeated. Deciding to just see who it is and not stand around in your living room like an idiot, you make your way over to the door.

“I broke up with Nina.”

These are the first words that leave Jaehyun’s mouth, as he stands on your doorstep. You don’t know what to respond in all honesty. Jaehyun worries his lips between his teeth. “Can I come in, please?”

You nod in your stunned silence and step to the side to let Jaehyun through, letting the door click shut behind him. There’s a pause, you don't know what to say and it seems like he doesn't either.

After what feels like an eternity spent in silence, Jaehyun finally turns to face you. “Ok, I’m gonna say something now and… before you say anything in response, please hear me out.” There’s an unsure fluttering in your chest, your heartbeat speeds up as your hands begin sweating slightly. The situation makes you anxious but after a deep breath, you nod at Jaehyun, signaling to him that he could continue.

“I know that what we had a few months back was intended to be nothing but a fling to you. I may not have known it at the time, correction, I had no idea it wasn’t serious for you at the time. We had been together for three months by then. I believed your lies, I’ll even go so far as to admit  you fooled me.” He chuckles in attempt to lighten the blow, but its bitter and it makes the guilt in your stomach rise up to your throat like bile.

“I don’t think it was directly your intention to hurt me though. You probably wanted something fleeting, a temporary boyfriend to get your insisting friends off your back. But you fell in love.” You cross your arms defensively on your chest, an innate response to Jaehyun’s accusing statement.

He sighs and pauses for a moment. “You can lie to yourself all you want, Y/n. I know you were in love. I know it because I felt it too. And you realized... and you got scared.” You feel stubborn tears prick at your eyes and turn your gaze towards the now very intriguing pattern of your carpet floor.

“Now maybe this isn’t my place to say but.... but I feel like it is. I know why you’re scared of the possibility of loving someone, of loving me, but this whole agenda you have of pushing away anything that might make you happy is ridiculous.” You can hear the anger in his voice and it pushes you to do something you know you shouldn’t.  

“You say that if you know anything about me!” You yell at him and his expression is taken aback for a second before the furrow between his brows reappears.

“Oh, I don’t know anything about you? Will you stop pretending that our relationship, which by the way, was an actual relationship, didn’t happen? Just for one second, can you acknowledge the fact that we had hour long conversations, that we actually shared our feelings? That you’ve told me about the crap you went through.”

Your breathing has become labored. You want to disagree so badly, want to argue that he knows nothing, that he’s wrong. But he wasn’t, and you sure as hell knew it. “Fine!” You scream. “Fine! Okay! I admit it. We did have a relationship! It was real! I did-” You inhale a shake breath, your voice not as strong when you continue. “I do love you and it scares me.” Tears are flowing down your face freely and you don’t hold back, you can’t, not anymore. “I’m so scared because I love you… so much. I love you more than anyone. These past few months, I- I’ve tried e- everything to get my mind off you but I can’t- I can’t and I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I mess shit up and make you confused and make you cheat-” “Hey, hey, hey” Jaehyun cuts you off as he crosses the space between you, his warm hands cupping both sides of your face. “First of all, the cheating part… we both take blame for that. And the confusion thing, well, it’s true, you did confuse me…a lot but it’s okay because you love me and I love you... and I forgive you.”

You shake your head fiercely and try to pull his hands from your face. “Don’t you get it, Jaehyun? I’m no good for you. I’m… I’m the bad guy.” jaehyun chuckles softly as he rests his forehead against yours, little puffs of his warm breath hitting your face. “You’re not the bad guy, Y/n. You deserve happiness. Will you let me give you that happiness?”

You breathe out deeply through your nose and close your eyes, feeling the anger and frustration at yourself slowly seep out of your body. Jaehyu’s touch relaxes yu and as you open your eyes to look at him, he smiles and leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short kiss, sweet and caring and delicate. The kiss is followed by another and another, until they get longer, more heated, more passionate.

Jaehyun’s calloused hands travel around your body with ease. He softly pushes you against the wall and presses his body flush to yours. His kisses trail all over your face, your neck and al the way down to your collarbone. It isn’t long before he hoists you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his middle . Everything feels natural, easy. You let yourself relax fully and fall into his touch. You let him carry you to your bedroom and push you down onto mattress, let his kisses wander further south until your squirming under his hold. You let your sounds of passion echo through your room until late into the night and finally, finally allow yourself to actually feel something.

You’re done holding back from love. You could finally admit what you were repressing for so long.

You love Jung Jaehyun.

You trace the small crack in the wall next to your bed in the dark. It was well past midnight, and yet you’re wide awake. You feel Jaehyun’s arm safely secured around your waist, the warmth of his body behind you seeps into your very soul. The room aroundyou is quiet save for the few times a car outside passes by and the shallow breathing of the man pressed up against you. Some time ago, you would have found that Jaehyun’s arm around your waist felt like a cage, something that weighed you down and tugged at your heart uncomfortable. Now, however, you find comfort in the way his skin feels on yours, the way you can faintly feel his heartbeat against your back. You feel safe.

Your eyes fall to the corner of your room, where the brown leather jacket still lay folded over a chair. You smile to yourself.

You would give it back, eventually.

#neowritingsnet #nct jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #nct smut #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #nct #nct u #nct 127 #smut #angst #fluff #fanfic

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

They’re Funny That Way

Chapter 3

A/N: Hello, lovelies, I’m rolling out this chapter about a month after I had originally planned to! Wonderful!  Honestly, though, I’m really happy with how this one eventually turned out, and I hope you all enjoy it.  We’re gonna be getting to that good shit soon, y’all, I promise.  What can I say, I love me a good slow burn.

(cross-posted to my AO3 @ marie_deneuve)

Summary: Emma finds herself locked out of her apartment, leading to an unexpected meeting with her next-door neighbor.

Arthur's mission to conveniently bump into Emma again is proving incredibly difficult.

It's hard enough simply pinning down her schedule, with how sporadically she must leave the apartment. However, luck is on Arthur's side today, and he spots her in the hallway as he is leaving to run some errands that morning. His heart stutters as he recognizes her figure just before she reaches the stairs and descends out of view.

Heaven help him, she's even more beautiful than he remembered. He hasn't seen her since that time in the elevator - well, not in person, at least.

She has visited him every night in his fantasies - watching Murray with him while resting her head on his shoulder. Comforting him when harsh nightmares jolt him awake. Telling him that she's proud of him in that soft, melodious voice. That voice that's been echoing in his head and taunting him, driving him mad because he can't recreate her tone exactly, can't match her precise cadence on his own.

Last time they met, she had shaken his hand without a second thought. Arthur had been wearing gloves at the time as part of his work attire, and he'd been kicking himself for it ever since. She reached out and touched him, and he didn't even get the benefit of feeling her hand against his! Pressing that glove to his face as he slept that night had been mildly comforting, but it was no substitute for the real thing.

It's his one day off this week; he definitely has time for a little detour. Maybe if he runs into her somewhere along her way, makes it seem natural, she'll touch him again? He imagines how soft she must feel, how warm. He wants to pull her into his arms, tangle his fingers in her blonde waves, bury his face in the curve of her neck.

Those are the thoughts propelling him forward as he accompanies her through the streets of Gotham that morning, hood of his tan windbreaker up and obscuring his face. "Accompanies" may not be the correct word if one person is unaware of the other's presence, but Arthur isn't too caught up in semantics at the moment. No, he's much more preoccupied with following that streak of golden hair weaving through the foot traffic at a frustratingly quick pace. It's a good thing Emma doesn't share Arthur's talent for disappearing into crowds, he thinks to himself.

If anything, it's the opposite. Gotham City has a perpetual storm cloud hanging over it. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say that Gotham City is the storm cloud. Everything is a different shade of gray, the streets, the smog in the sky, even the people. She is the only splash of color for miles - all reds and blacks and spun gold, shining despite it being overcast.

He maintains several yards between them, knowing that if he gets caught prematurely, he risks scaring her off for good. The last thing he would ever want is for Emma to feel unsafe around him, and there is really no explaining this one away. Hi, I know this looks bad, but I'm that clown you were really nice to on the elevator a few days ago. Anyway, it's been a few days, and I just had to see you again because I can't stop thinking about you, even though we barely know each other. Have coffee with me?

Yeah, real smooth.

His insecurity is gaining on him, when suddenly, Emma slows in front of a store window - Cypi's Bakery, to be exact. Arthur swiftly ducks into the nearest alleyway, poking his head out to see what it is that captured her attention.

Her gaze is fixed on a chocolate croissant on one of the display shelves. She steps right up to the glass, transfixed.

It's the perfect opportunity to approach her. She's so close, it's nearly impossible not to make himself known and reach out to her. It's like the universe is dangling her right in front of his nose, teasing him. Look! She's right here! Come and get her!

What would he say, though? Scratch that, what would a normal person say? Try as he might, he can't quite find the words.

Seconds tick by, and Emma finally checks her watch, rolls her eyes, and with one last forlorn glance at the pastry, continues down the sidewalk. Several feet behind her, Arthur is rolling his eyes as well - he dawdled too long and missed his chance.

She has already rounded a corner by the time Arthur trudges out from his hiding spot, defeated. He tugs his hood down and attempts to straighten his ruffled hair with a sigh, Gothamites shouldering past him without so much as a glance.

Oh, well. Like he could have held the conversation without royally fucking it up anyway.

Perhaps this isn't a total loss - he can still buy her a gift. He knows what she wants now, after all. It will stretch his budget a little - unless he can ration out his cigarettes until the end of the week - but if it will make her smile, it will all be worth it.

He decides he'll wait a little while after she returns home, and then leave the box on her doorstep. With an anonymous note letting her know it's for her, of course.

Can't have that noisy brother of hers stealing her gifts.

______________________________________

One week.

One week, and Emma has already reached the end of her fucking rope with this building.

If it isn't the deathtrap elevator, it's the water heater. If it isn't the water heater, it's the absent staff. If it isn't the absent staff, it's the rusted spare key she's been given breaking completely off in her deadbolt, leaving her stranded in the hallway with five bags' worth of clothing and hygiene products.

Today, it's the spare key thing.

For a while, all Emma can do is stare in disbelief at the piece remaining in her hand, the way one might stare at someone running naked between the floats at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. She knows there's no one downstairs at the moment to let her in, or even to get the old key out of the lock. Eddie has the afternoon shift, so he's definitely at work right now. She could just wait at Sophie's for him to return, but she won't even be off for another hour.

It's a perfect cocktail, she thinks. And then she hates herself even more for making an alcohol metaphor when she just took that damn bartending job she doesn't really want earlier today.

She's meant to start working at The Harlequin this weekend, which means two more nights attempting to sleep on that awful air mattress before then. Her new one is set to be delivered sometime after that, and she had to pawn her wedding ring just to afford it. Despite the foul memories behind it, that ring was the only nice thing she had left. Now, she truly has nothing. She can't even get into her own home.

So what does she do? She thinks of the only honorable thing a lady can do in this situation, which would be to march back downstairs, go out to the payphone on the street corner, and call Eddie for help.

And then she does the opposite of that.

With a defeated groan, she throws down her bags and slides down the wall until she's seated on the floor. And keeps sliding until she's lying fully on her back, her bags strewn around her, pathetic puddle of bad luck that she is.

A part of her is ashamed of this private tantrum, and another part of her couldn't give less of a fuck anymore. Hasn't she earned the right to a couple meltdowns?

Emma is broken out of her reverie when the door to the adjacent apartment swings open. The person must not look down in time to notice the mess of a woman lying right outside the door, nor the shopping bags scattered like land mines.

It all happens so fast after that.

The person trips over one of the bags, and Emma has no time to brace herself before their entire body weight slams down onto her at full force.

She lets out a pained whine as the person's bony elbow meets her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Her head instinctively jerks back, colliding clumsily into the wall behind her, and she briefly sees stars.

Clearly not expecting to effectively elbow drop some woman like a WWF wrestler, the person scrambles wildly on top of her, not helping her discomfort in the least. They flail backwards until they're sitting up on the floor next to her, and Emma finally gets a good look at them as she gasps inelegantly in an attempt to refill her lungs.

It's a man, older than she is, possibly in his early forties. The wrinkles adorning his gaunt face tell a story of utmost exhaustion, and he's dangerously thin, like he hasn't had a proper meal in ages. Brown curls float a touch above his angular shoulders, and his sunken green eyes...look quite familiar. The sudden hypoxia could just be playing tricks on her, though.

Those same eyes finally seem to focus in on her, and he looks at her like he recognizes her as well. She watches his expression quickly shift from confused shock to abject horror.

As Emma finally gets her diaphragm under control, she does her best to sit up, her abs screaming in protest. That'll be a nasty bruise. "Ugh," she groans out. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry! Are you all right, sir?"

The man pauses, thick brows furrowing. "I...I landed on you, and you're apologizing to me?" he asks, perplexed, as if the person who tripped him being repentant about it is the wildest thing he's heard all week. Here in Gotham City, it probably is.

His voice is soft, and upon hearing it, Emma shaves ten years off of her previous estimate of his age. He stares at her guiltily, as if he's just waiting to be reprimanded, despite the whole ordeal not being his fault.

Damn, where has she seen him before?

"What do you mean? Of course I am, I was in your way." Emma goes to gather up her things, still seated against the door to her apartment. "Let me just move these..."

"N-no, it's...it's okay!" the man stutters out. He rushes to stand, and even helps her to move the rest of her things up against the wall.

There's a long and awkward pause before he continues. "If you don't mind, um..." His eyes dart between her and his shoes. "What were you doing out here like that?"

"Oh! Ha, good question." Emma shows him the key - or rather, what's left of it. "It would appear that I'm locked out. It was either do this or throw myself off the roof, and I'm too tired to climb any more stairs today."

Emma briefly wonders whether she should be joking that way in front of a stranger. To her relief, he doesn't seem the least bit unsettled by her dark humor. He simply grins at her bashfully. His eyes briefly light up in turn, the spark so dim and fleeting that, had she blinked, she would have missed it altogether.

And that's when it hits her.

"I've got it!" she exclaims, clapping once. "I know where I've seen you before!"

"Y-you do?" The man appears startled.

"Yeah! It was bugging me, but I remember now." She points one red-painted fingernail at him. "You're that clown! The one I saw in the elevator on my first day here!"

He actually looks relieved at that for some reason, and he visibly relaxes. "Oh, right! I, um...forgot about that." He scratches at the back of his head. "I'm surprised you recognized me - or Carnival, actually. That's my clown name at work."

The irony makes Emma giggle. This skinny, timid man in a knit sweater and loafers puts on greasepaint and dances around at parties for a living... Somehow, she can't picture it, and she's even seen him in full costume. Right now he looks like a sad accountant. Or like Mister Rogers.

Sick of craning her head up to talk to him, she stands as well, brushing some dust off the sleeves of her black cardigan. "I can't say I've ever met a clown off the clock before," she says. "Your life must be a lot more interesting than mine."

His answer comes out slightly pained. "I really doubt that... What do you do?"

"I just became a bartender over at The Harlequin." Emma rolls her eyes and shrugs, smiling wryly. "It's a job. Hopefully a stepping stone, so I can get out of here before long." She gestures to her door. "Pretty sad that I can't even manage to get in today."

The man chuckles at her dry excuse for a joke - shyly, as if he's afraid of it being heard. Emma can't tell if she's being genuinely charming or if this guy just pities her. She hasn't been paying too much attention to his body language, so far down the shitter is her initiative to do so. She just wants to curl up in bed.

Being back in Gotham has been all right so far - preferable to the alternative, at least - but she can't seem to shake the cloud of dread that manifests each time she's not immediately busy with something. She figures it's stress-related. After all, there's so much to do in the coming months, just in regards to dealing with judges and lawyers. These things take ages, even if both parties are cooperative. She's not lucky enough to have the sort of divorce all little girls dream of...

She must have started to zone out because she's suddenly brought back by the man exclaiming, "I-I have pliers!"

Emma peers at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"For your door!" he elaborates. "I can't get you into your apartment, but I can at least get your key back!" Quieter, not meeting her gaze, he adds, "And then, you know, if you need to call someone...you're welcome to come in and use my phone."

Emma blinks, momentarily taken aback by this Good Samaritan. "Uh...yeah, that would be great! Thank you!" She reaches down and starts to collect her bags. "Good thing I bumped into one of the only nice people in the city."

While she's retrieving the last of her things, something at her feet catches her eye. There's a sealed envelope on the floor near where she was sitting earlier. Curious, she picks it up, and then balks at the name of the recipient.

"Woah!" She holds the envelope out incredulously. "This letter is addressed to Thomas Wayne! ...Did you drop this?"

Based on what Emma has seen of recent headlines, Thomas Wayne is a frontrunner in Gotham's upcoming mayoral election. As if Gotham doesn't have enough problems - the last thing the city needs is a pigheaded authoritarian billionaire running things. This guy who's been so kind as to help her couldn't possibly be a fan, right?

The man appears mildly annoyed, although not at her. Taking it from her outstretched hand, he says, "Yeah, I did. It's not mine, though - my...m-mother asked me to mail it." He rushes through that last part in a low voice, and Emma realizes he's embarrassed.

If he does still live with his mother, it's only natural that a man his age would feel insecure about it. She's always found the stigma silly, personally. What is Western culture's obsession with "leaving the nest" as soon as humanly possible, even to the child's detriment? Why, if Emma's parents were still around...

Never mind that.

She has no time to reassure her companion before he changes the subject. "I'll handle it later. I should help you first." With his free hand, he pulls out his key and goes to unlock the door to his apartment.

"Hang on a second!" Emma smacks her own forehead, and he freezes. "God, I'm so rude. What's wrong with me?" She shakes her head. "You're being extremely helpful, and I haven't even asked your name! Your real name, that is - I'd imagine it's not always Carnival, right?"

"Heh, right... My name's Arthur."

"Arthur," she repeats, not half minding the way it sounds in her own voice. "It's nice to officially meet you, Arthur."

Predictably, he looks flustered as he replies, "Yeah... Nice to see you again, Emma."

He unlocks the door, holding it open for her, and the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with high-end perfume wafts out. It's not her favorite scent in the world, but it's familiar - comforting, even.

Inside, gaudy pink plaid lines the walls, a sharp contrast to Eddie's taupe covered with band posters. The living room, or at least what she can see of it, is neat and tidy, despite the abundance of knick-knacks covering each surface.

Although, not a single family photo in sight, Emma notes. Some people simply don't have them lying around. She and Eddie are much the same way.

Lingering self-consciously in the foyer, she spots an older woman reclining in an armchair across the room. Arthur's mother, she presumes. Hearing the door, the woman turns and regards her, then Arthur, confusion plain on her features.

"Happy? I didn't know you were having company." Mild surprise colors her voice, affirming Emma's theory that Arthur doesn't get visitors often.

"It's just one of the neighbors, Ma! She's locked out!" he calls back. Squeezing past Emma, he slips into the kitchen and discards the Thomas Wayne letter on the counter. Rummaging through one of the drawers, he produces a pair of pliers rustier than the key that had gotten her into this mess.

"I'll be right back," he tells her. "The phone is in the hallway behind you, if you need to use it." And with that, he rushes back outside before she can even thank him.

Feeling Arthur's mother's eyes burning holes in the back of her head, she does step into the hallway, partly to call Eddie and partly to get out of her line of sight. Emma struggles to remember the number for his store, but breathes a sigh of relief when someone picks up on the third ring.

"G-String's, this is Ron."

Christ, she always forgets that's the name he decided on. "Ron, it's Emma. Is my brother there?"

Before he can answer, she faintly hears Eddie's voice in the background saying that, yes, he is still out of Pink Floyd's The Wall. "Yeah, he's right here, what's up?"

"Good. Listen, tell him I got locked out of the apartment, and I'm heading down to borrow his key." She dreads the walk. It's not far, but her arms are already sore from the shopping bags weighing them down.

Momentarily ignoring Emma, Ron starts talking away from the receiver. "Dude, it's your sister, she's locked outta the house... Okay, I'll tell her. Hey, Emma, he's on his way."

"What? I just said I'd-"

"Too late, he's grabbing his shit."

Emma groans. "Fine. Tell him I'm waiting for him in 8J."

"Will do." A pause. "So, uh... I hear you're single again-"

She hangs up.

She barely wanders back into the foyer when Arthur's mother surprises her by saying, "It's no use standing around over there. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, dear." She gestures vaguely to the sofa next to her.

Emma complies, stepping gingerly into the living room. She sits at the end of the couch, as far away as humanly possible, and sets her bags down underneath the coffee table, her arms crying out in relief.

"My brother should be here any minute," she begins sheepishly. "I'm so sorry to intrude like this, Miss..." She trails off.

"Penny," the woman supplies. "It's no trouble."

A stodgy local political forum is playing on the television. This is a particularly conservative broadcast by the sound of it, anchors harping primarily on Gotham's floundering economy and the ramifications of a potential garbage strike.

Penny is watching raptly, and Emma uses the opportunity to peer over at her. She certainly is done up to be sitting around at home. Sure, she's in button-up flannel pajamas, but she's also wearing a full face of makeup, and her graying hair, fading from strawberry-blonde, is curled. Underneath it all, the wrinkles on her face betray a beautiful visage. Emma feels oddly intimidated all of a sudden, trying to make a good impression on this woman who gives an air of having once been one of the most stunning girls in Gotham.

As if sensing her unease, Arthur returns. He hastily crosses the room and presents Emma with the other half of her key. "I'm sorry it took me so long... It was really in there."

She smiles gratefully up at him. "Oh, don't apologize. You totally saved my hide out there."

Still not quite on board with the whole eye contact deal, he busies himself by straightening up the coffee table. Lifting an empty mug, he looks up at Penny. "Oh, you finished your tea already. Want me to make more?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course!" He starts for the kitchen. "Emma, do you drink chamomile?"

She does, but politely declines, already feeling like she's taking advantage of his kindness. He only looks a little dejected by her refusal.

As Arthur bustles around the kitchen, silence descends upon the living room, save for the droning of the television. The subject has changed; the anchors have moved on from essentially blaming the working class for not making enough money to worshiping the ground their candidate Thomas Wayne walks upon. How original.

Penny practically lunges to raise the volume, startling Emma. "Did you mail my letter, Happy?" she interjects without looking away from the screen.

"I didn't make it downstairs yet." He assures her, "I'll do it before the mailman gets here."

"Don't forget. It's very important," Penny insists somewhat curtly.

"That Thomas Wayne is polling pretty high these days, isn't he?" Emma muses, attempting to make small talk.

Penny instantly perks up. "Yes, that's what everybody on the news is saying. It's a good thing he's running this year. He's exactly what this city needs, don't you think?"

Hardly, but Emma elects to keep her opinion to herself. Instead, she blurts out, "I met him a few years ago."

Penny looks positively awestruck. "You did, really? Oh, he's a wonderful man, isn't he?"

She did technically meet him, although she never spoke to him personally. It was at a benefit that Daniel had dragged her along to, so that he could network (code for smooth talk billionaires). They had conversed for a grand total of thirty seconds, shaken hands, and that was the end of that. He had come off every bit as arrogant and self-important as she would expect of the CEO of a multi-billion dollar industrial corporation. He and Daniel were two peas in a pod.

"...My husband seemed to like him."

The clattering in the kitchen stops cold.

The sudden absence of sound causes her to remember herself. "I mean, my ex - my ex-husband. Excuse me, I'm newly separated. Still getting used to it."

"So sorry to hear that," Penny tells her, not sounding in the least bit sympathetic. Not that Emma needs, or even wants, sympathy.

She instead returns to the previous subject, with Emma half-listening. Apparently, Penny worked for the Wayne family years ago, and is now chock-full of anecdotes from within Wayne Manor.

Emma smiles and nods along. Penny clearly sees her idol though rose-colored glasses, but there's no use telling her that. She must be delighted simply to have someone new to talk to, and Emma would hate to spoil it for her.

Arthur emerges with a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a facial expression that lets Emma know he's far sicker of these stories than she is. Nevertheless, he hands his mother the mug, giving her shoulder an affectionate pat.

The scene has her beaming up at the back of Arthur's head as something stirs deep within her. Something like the first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy morning, coursing through her veins and warming her from the inside out.

Before he can sit down, there's a loud knocking accompanied by a shout of "Hey, Em, you in there?"

"Ah, that's my cue." Emma gathers her things as Arthur hurries to answer the door. She says her goodbyes to Penny, but she's once again engrossed in her program and only offers a halfhearted "goodbye, dear" in return.

Eddie waits in the entryway, arms crossed, his voice booming in the otherwise quiet apartment. "Thanks for the excuse to break early today, ya lucky ladybug. You wouldn't believe some of the idiots coming into the store, you know what I'm saying?" He reaches down to ruffle her hair when she gets within range.

"Glad my misfortune was useful." She notices how Eddie completely towers over Arthur, whose hands fidget anxiously as he hangs back, unsure of what to do with himself. It's honestly sort of endearing how tiny he is, how she could probably lift him up if given the chance.

"I owe you one, Arthur. Knock if you ever need anything, okay?" Emma extends a hand, similar to their first meeting.

This time, Arthur immediately clasps her hand in his, with a grip that is equal parts firm and sweaty. "Okay, and the same goes for you." Eddie good-naturedly claps him once on the back, clearly taking him off-guard, and he drops her hand.

She's poised to head out when Arthur stops her, saying, "Oh, one more thing!"

He zips out of sight for just a moment before reappearing with a small, white box. "This is for you."

After all that, he's even giving her a gift? She starts to dissuade him, but he holds the box out toward her, close enough that social etiquette dictates she take it. And so she does, brows drawing together. "You're too nice, Arthur, thank you."

"Take care, man," Eddie says, finally ushering a confused Emma out the door.

When the door clicks shut behind them, he immediately fixes her with a long and pointed stare. For a second, Emma thinks he's pissed for having to walk all the way back home, but then he breaks the silence.

"So...you and the neighbor, huh?"

Emma tilts her head. "Me and the neighbor?"

"Lemme see this." He grabs the box out of her hands, ignoring her protests. A glance inside, and he shuts it again, raising his eyebrows at her in a nonverbal "I told you so" before handing it back and unlocking their door with a flourish.

"What? What is that face? What's in there?"

"A Cypi's croissant, Em? Oh, he's got it bad for you."

She snatches it back, indignant. "Ugh, you're delusional. I've met him once before; he probably just felt sorry for me."  Although, she had really been craving one of those since she passed by the store on her walk this morning. What a happy coincidence.

"Don't be so naive. You have any idea how many girlfriends I've hit that place up for on Valentine's Day? You don't bust out the Cypi's unless you're seriously looking to drop some panties."

"Gross. Thanks for coming to get me, but never talk to me about panties."

It's strange to think that the seemingly mild-mannered, reticent man who gifted her a croissant has such a blood-curdling laugh. It would have been incredibly rude to bring it up today, when he had so kindly gone out of his way for her. Surely, there's a courteous method to broaching the subject? It would be unfortunate to hurt his feelings and topple the precarious acquaintanceship they were building.

She is pleasantly surprised that night when the walls are resoundingly, blissfully silent.

#arthur fleck #joaquin phoenix joker #joker 2019 #joker #they're funny that way #My fic

[ecotone99]

My Neighbor Al

I always chatted with my neighbor Al. He was a sweet, lonely guy in his early sixties who lived in the apartment directly adjacent to mine. He’d pass me over a ribeye every once and while when he’d cook on this impressive grill he had situated out on his balcony.

A few weeks ago without any warning a crew of movers showed up and liquidated his belongings.

Just like that he was gone without a word, without a trace.

Al had vanished like a ghost on the wind and in his stead came unease - heavy in my bones like static from a thunderstorm.

Then, there was the matter of the stain. Spreading like duckweed next to my bathroom mirror. It was the size of a softball before I began to really question it.

Shanks, our mutual landlord started showing Al’s old place after that. Most potential tenants lost the desire to move in after one solid whiff. No amount of air freshener could conceal it, even I could smell it through the wall, it was that sugar-sweet scent of death like rotting honeycomb.

Shanks hired a cheap exterminator to check for rodents trapped behind the walls.

But he found something else.

Shanks rushed over to my place in a panic, gliding the borders of hysteria like a restless phantom. Shakily, he raised a Marlboro to his wrinkled lips and took a drag on the porch.

“Gotta talk to ya about somethin’, can I come in?”

I obliged and Shanks walked immediately past me and over to my bathroom where the stain had grown even larger. He pulled a foldable drywall saw from his front pocket and began to jackhammer it in and out of the drywall. It sent flurries of white dust twirling the air like dust motes.

“What the hell Shanks?” I began to protest,

“Just let me show ya somethin’, fore I get the police involved.”

Once he’d carved a sufficient square out around the stain, he peeled away and then tossed the loose chunk to the floor with a sickly wet thap.

“What the fuck is this all about, Shanks?”

He exhaled a burst of rich smoke from his nostrils, ignoring the question. He yanked away at the edges with yellowed fingertips.

Once he had finished tearing by hand, he began to work at the drywall with the saw again until it squelched into something meaty and the saw’s jagged teeth pulled away bloody.

He yanked another jagged strip off the wall.

Glistening in the hollow between walls was Al’s bloated, toothy corpse. A belt had been pulled tight around his neck and synched to a pipe above. I could see he was naked from the waist down, one swollen hand wrapped around his member.

And Shanks, with terror in his eyes, pointed at a series of small, fingernail slants of light shining into the little gap where Al’s corpse lay squished.

All those slants that Al used to watch me shower through.

submitted by /u/Ghostinthepantry [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/hnsnf6/my_neighbor_al/ via Blogger https://ift.tt/2O5Dhlt

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