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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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pawsitivelymiraculous · 3 years

Text

Le parfum de l'amour

This is the @maribat-secret-santa-2020 piece for @saltandfluff I am so sorry for being late!

Anyway, I will be using the quantic kids, but you don't necessary have to know them to understand this fic.

The only have to know that "Melodie" is Allegra's nickname.

Ao3

It was always a bad idea to try to mess with fate. Everyone knew this. Allegra knew this, but she didn't care. Not when it was taking a toll on her sanity.

There were only so many times a person could see two literal soulmates walk past each other before they decided to take matters into their own hands.

So that's what she did.

Or well, was going to do once she could convince her friends to help her out.

"I don't know, Mel." Allan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "These things take time you know? You cannot rush it." He glanced at the corkboard that was behind Allegra and winced, it was going to be impossible to talk her out of the crazy plan.

On the corkboard, there were two pictures. One was a selfie of Marinette Dupain-cheng. A twenty-year-old who was a regular at the café where Allegra and Claude worked at. After chatting with her in the mornings, Allegra decided to adopt the girl, and she introduced her to the rest of the group. She quickly became friends with Allan and surprisingly enough, with Felix as well.

The second picture was a rather blurry photo that was clearly taken from afar. You could sort of make out the image of Timothy Drake. The sleep-deprived twenty-one-year-old who had started going to the café for about a month. All the employees loved him because he never failed to amuse everyone with his half-asleep antics.

The one thing that both pictures had in common was a coffee cup.

On Marinette's collarbone, there was a small tattoo-like mark that looked like a coffee cup. The same one that was on Tim's wrist. Soul marks . Granted, they looked a bit plain compared to most people's soul marks, but in Allegra's eyes, they were the excuse she needed to get them together.

Allegra had shipped her two favorite customers long before she noticed their soul marks. But now that she knew they were soulmates . Well, she was not going to rest until they finally met.

"I'm not trying to rush things!" Allegra insisted. "I just want to push them in the right direction."

Allan looked at her, doubtful. "That's basically the same thing. Plus do actually think that," he squinted to read the list of plans that was tacked on the corkboard. "'Locking them inside a room with no escape' is merely pushing them in the right direction? 'Cause I think that sounds more like a hostage situation."

Allegra glared at him. "You know what? I don't need your help. Claude will help me. Right, Claude?"

Claude looked at her with wide eyes. "Oh no no no. Sorry Melodie but I can't."

"Uh, I'm sorry what?" Allegra blinked. It was very out of character for Claude to turn down the opportunity to help her with one of her elaborate plans. Not to mention that in this case, they were doing it to help Marinette.

"Allegra," he said solemnly, "this is a destiny thing. We just can't interfere."

Allegra facepalmed. "You can't be serious."

Claude looked at her dead in the eye. "If we interfere we might end up," he leaned towards her and whispered " cursed"

"Oh give me a break." Allegra pushed Claude away. "Are you guys kidding me? This is Marinette we're talking about. You all can't possibly think that Marinette wouldn't want to meet her soulmate, and as her friends, we have to help her."

"I agree with Allegra."

Everyone spun around in surprise.

Felix rolled his eyes at his friends' incredulous expressions. "What? Marinette is my friend as well. Is it really that shocking that I want to see her happy?" The three of them nodded. He ignored them. "Besides, I've heard Marinette ramble about soulmates nonstop, so it's clear that meeting hers is what she would want."

Allegra was the first to react "See guys? Even Felix agrees with me!"

Felix huffed. "Yes, but I also think that your plans are ridiculous and ineffective."

"Ouch"

"I think the best thing we can do to help is to get them to interact and we-"

"That's literally what my plans are for!" Allegra interrupted.

Claude crossed his arms. "And what do you mean by 'we'? I haven't agreed to do anything."

Shooting both of them a glare, Felix continued. "- can do that without needing to kidnap them. We simply have to make it so that they have no other choice but to sit at the same table at the café. You all know how friendly Marinette is, it will only be a matter of time before they start talking."

There was a beat of silence.

"That… that might actually work," Allan admitted. "Soulmates are naturally drawn to each other so once they actually have a conversation we won't have to do anything else. They can figure out that they're soulmates by themselves." He paused and then chuckled. "We'll just have to push them in the right direction."

"But how are we going to get them in the café at the same time?" Allegra asked. "Tim always comes in right after Mari has left."

"Pft that's easy!" Claude exclaimed. "Just tell her that you need help with something and that you'll need for her to stay a while longer at the café. Since Mari doesn't have early classes on Wednesday she'll agree and- oh!" Claude suddenly slapped his hand over his mouth as his eyes widened with horror. "This does not mean that I'm helping." He mumbled from underneath his hand.

Allan laughed. "I think you just did."

"Looks like someone's going to end up cursed." Allegra singed songed. "Not even ladybug is going to be able to help you with that bad luck that's to come." She teased.

Claude pouted. "Haha, laugh all you want." He then looked up at the corkboard and grimaced. "But you're right, there's no turning back now. What do you need me to do?"

Allegra clapped her hands in glee.

"Okay so here's the plan."

~♡~♡~♡~

Just like Claude had predicted, it was incredibly easy to convince Marinette to stay at the café. All that was left to do was orchestrate everything just so that the two soulmates had to sit at the same table.

It was easier said than done but after enlisting more people to help out, they were able to make sure that the café was full for that morning.

Everything was going according to plan…

Until…

"WHERE. IS. TIM?"

Claude looked around. "He hasn't arrived yet?"

"No!" Allegra cried. She glanced down at her watch and winced. They were running out of time.

Claude frowned. "And you know, it would have been nice if Marinette hadn't chosen today to wear a turtleneck."

Allegra couldn't help but agree. Sure, Marinette looked amazing with the turtleneck and skirt outfit but did she really have to wear it today? When they needed for her to show off her soul mark?

It was like the universe was against them.

But finally, Allegra heard a tinkling sound at the door. She spun around praying that it was Tim.

And it was!

He looked more tired than usual as he stumbled around trying to find a seat.

Allegra watched as Tim danced around the tables that were being occupied just as he was about to take a seat.

One after the other until finally, a good push later, he ended up at Marinette's table.

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim was too tired to deal with this.

All he wanted was to sit down, have a couple of cups of coffee at his favorite coffee shop and finally be awake enough to continue investigating the moth guy.

But apparently, that was too much to ask because almost all the tables were full.

"Sorry man," Claude whispered as he guided a couple and motioned them to sit at the table that Tim had beelined for.

"Oh, actually I'm waiting for Adam." Felix had said when Tim asked if he could sit with him. Which was strange since Adam had said that he was waiting for Felix when he asked him.

But he could barely comprehend what they were saying, so he was not conscious enough to complain.

Tim continued on his journey when he felt someone push him from behind. In his half-asleep haze, Tim lunged at the chair that was in front of him hoping that it would break his fall.

It took him a few seconds to recover. He wanted nothing more than to pass out right then and there, splayed out on a coffee shop chair as everyone stared at him wondering if he was drunk.

He too wondered if he was drunk, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so if he was drunk, he was not going to figure it out on his own.

When he finally looked up, his eyes met with a pair of beautiful bluebell eyes.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette watched as a guy stumbled around the café until finally flopping onto the other chair at her table.

It was clear that he was sleep-deprived. She had seen enough videos that her evil friends had taken when she was in a similar state to know the poor guy probably hadn't slept at all for the last week or so.

Marinette wanted nothing more than to drag the guy to the nearest bed or couch and wrap him up in a bunch of blankets. Just because she didn't comprehend the term "self-care" for herself didn't make Marinette any less of a "mom friend"

But she had to remind herself that she didn't know the guy, so it might be considered kidnapping to drag someone somewhere against their will.

Too bad.

The best she could do was offer him her own coffee.

"Hey, I think you need this more than I do at the moment." She said, pushing the drink his way as he stood up.

He mumbled something that could be interpreted as a "thank you" and eagerly took the drink. His eyes lit up when the heavenly liquid touched his tongue.

It was almost miraculous how quickly the caffeine took effect.

Actually, it was Marinette may or may not have mixed a little concoction she made with Tikki that helped her when she stayed up late with her regular coffee.

The guy blinked. "This. Is. Incredible."

Marinette laughed "Yeah, it's what I always get. Though you still look like you need to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah whatever." He waved her off. "But seriously, what is this called? I need a gallon of this."

"Sorry," Marinette said sheepishly "but I'm afraid that's a secret, you know, I'm kind of everyone's favorite, so I get the miracle coffee." Okay so that was a lie but what else could she say?

The guy pouted. Marinette had to admit that he looked adorable.

"Well, then I'm sure you can get me some then... um"

"Marinette."

"Ah, nice to meet you, coffee goddess, I'm Tim."

Marinette's cheeks heated up. "Uh, coffee goddess? Shouldn't they be the coffee gods and goddesses?" She pointed at Allegra, Claude, and the others.

"Nah, you have blessed me with this amazing coffee. Claude didn't even help me in my time of need."

"You know Claude?" Marinette asked, surprised.

"Yep, I've been coming here since I arrived in Paris, so I've gotten to know Allegra and Claude a bit."

"That's funny, I've never seen you. And I come here every day." Marinette said.

"Huh, that's weird. I've never seen you either. "

And from there they kept talking. Like they were old friends and not just acquaintances. Marinette found out that Tim had come from Gotham city. That he was in Paris because of business. Meanwhile, Tim learned that Marinette was an aspiring fashion designer and a college student who was close friends with almost everyone from the café.

Hours passed and the two were still deep in conversation completely oblivious to the crowd that had gathered behind the cafe's counter to watch the soulmates.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this before." Adrien, who had arrived after Tim, whispered to his cousin.

"I was under the impression that your father needed your assistance for the upcoming fashion show. I was not about to ask my dear uncle Gabe if I could steal you so that we could set up our friend and his future competitor, Marinette Dupain-cheng, with her soulmate."

Adrien hated to admit that he had a point. "Fine, but can you at least catch me up to date? Who is he?"

"He's a rich guy from Gotham city. He's pretty cool though he's basically Marinette when it comes to coffee which is honestly kinda scary now that I'm seeing them interact." Allegra whispered.

Adrien looked down to look at her. "Alright, I guess I'm going to have to do my own research since you guys are useless. What's his job? Why is he rich? If his from Gotham then who knows, maybe this guy is actually dangerous and wants to take Marinette as ransom for-"

"Oh please Adrien, stop with your theatrics. Do you honestly think that I would allow this if he was dangerous?" Felix interrupted.

"I mean-"

Felix glared at him.

"No?"

Felix sighed. "Timothy Drake is Marinette's soulmate, and I can assure you that he's clean. So don't worry about Marinette."

Allegra shushed the cousins. "Guys, I'm trying to listen here you know?"

"Um, you could probably hear better from up here" Felix nodded in agreement.

"Thanks, Adrien, but I don't want to risk Marinette seeing me and then remembering about time and stuff."

"Ah"

"Speaking of time, it's been years since I last ate, I'm hungry." Claude cut in.

"Claude! You're supposed to be with the customers!" Allegra whisper-shouted.

"Whoops."

~♡~♡~♡~

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Marinette eventually remembered the reason she had stayed in the cafe. Not only that but when she looked at her watch she realized that she was running late for class.

After Marinette's rushed exit, Tim went back to investigating Hawkmoth. But while they were trying to concentrate on their own thing. Marinette with her class and Tim with his research they found themselves zoning out and thinking about each other.

It was strange, they had quite literally just met.

Why had they made such an impact on each other?

~♡~♡~♡~

It wasn't until Marinette was getting ready to go to bed that she found the answer.

"Tikki is… is that what I think it is." Marinette's voice trembled as she stared at her reflection on the mirror.

Tikki gasped. "Oh Marinette, I think it is!"

Staring back at her was her soul mark, which no longer was a regular coffee cup but rather a gorgeous cup with beautiful red flowers that surrounded a somewhat familiar symbol.

"But, how? I mean they're not supposed to change… right? And why?" Marinette's eyes widened. "Does this mean that I met my soulmate? Who is it?"

Tikki giggled, "You seriously don't know?"

"Umm no? Should I?" Tikki continued to giggle as her holder looked at her confused. "Who is it Tikki?"

"Oh Marinette, how many new people did you meet today?"

"Uh, I don't know? I mean surely I must've passed by lots of strangers in the street." Marinette panicked. "Oh no Tikki! What if one of them is my soulmate? I'll never find out who they are!"

"So you don't remember meeting anyone else?"

"I don't think so, well other than ohhh- "

"Exactly"

~♡~♡~♡~

Tim could not believe what he was seeing. Gone was the plain coffee cup he was used to seeing, the daily reminder of the fact that he was still painfully single, it now had an intricate flower pattern that surrounded a symbol.

He recognized that symbol.

After weeks of researching and tailing the red Parisian heroine, he knew that it was the Ladybug symbol.

But why was it on his soul mark?

Unless…

No, the heroine couldn't be his soulmate, Tim hasn't even officially met her. Nor had he even seen her today.

The only blue-eyed girl he had met was Marinette.

Marinette

No, it was impossible. Except it wasn't. Tim had only known the girl for a couple of hours, but he knew that Marinette would make a great heroine or vigilante.

But, he… he was probably hallucinating, right? Tim hadn't slept for weeks, so surely he was just seeing things and his soul mark was still a plain coffee cup and the Marinette conclusion was just wishful thinking.

Right?

Because otherwise, his first meeting with his soulmate was him acting like a sleep-deprived zombie and Tim could not allow that.

Well, one thing was for sure, he really needed to get some sleep.

~♡~♡~♡~

Three days.

It took three days for Marinette to find Tim.

She looked everywhere. The coffee shop, Le Grand Paris Hotel, the tourist areas, and when she was ladybug she looked down from all the rooftops trying to find him.

But he had vanished, leaving Marinette worried sick that he had either A. Gone back to Gotham B. Died or C. Been so horrified that she was his soulmate that he decided to move to a remote island and changed his name in hopes of never seeing her again.

Gosh, she was starting to sound like her fourteen-year-old self.

But finally, she saw him, sitting on a bench, not far from her own home, looking down at his wrist.

He looked at his wrist like it was some puzzle he needed to solve. Marinette also noticed that he looked a lot more refreshed, so he must've finally gotten some sleep.

Marinette cleared her throat. "Well, you've been a very hard person to find Mr. Drake."

Tim looked up. "Ma- Marinette!"

"We need to talk."

Tim nodded his mouth hanging wide open as he stared at her soul mark.

"How do you feel about coffee? There's a coffee shop that's not very far from here, I hear their coffee is divine.

~♡~♡~♡~

Bonus:

(this was going to be a scene on the fic but I didn't know how to add it but it has important info sooo)

*They are at the coffee shop*

Marinette: So you're red robin.

Tim: And you're Ladybug

Marinette: Should I be worried? Like doesn't this compromise our secret identities?

*Claude and Allegra appear with some pastries*

Claude: Yooo Marinette! So you found your soulmate! Crazy right? We totally didn't have anything to do with it!

*Allegra elbows him*

Claude: So uh, congratulations! I um feel happy for you.

*looks nervously at Allegra who is glaring at him*

Claude: Bummer about the soul mark though…

*Allegra keeps glaring*

~♡~♡~♡~ Permanent tag list ~♡~♡~♡~

Claude: What? It's just a plain white cup!

Bonus bonus:

(here's a bad doodle and my crappy handwriting)

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

@charme-de-malchan, @theatreandcomicfreak, @m3owww, @elliebelliegirl, @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @waffleyunsure, @technicallyburninggarden, @azuremayscarlet, @vroomtaka, @emimar7, @ichigorose, @maskedpainter, @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry

#maribat #timari #tim x marinette #maribat secret santa #ml x dc #mlb x dc #quantic kids #My writing #my trash writing #my art #my trash art

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

Homecoming: Part Two

Continued from PART ONE

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister, Variego

Summary: Endless Ending. Back on La Huerta for the first time since the world's resurrection, there are some heart-to-hearts with old friends in order.

Word Count: 4680

Chronology: After 'The New Taylor' and 'A Ride to Remember', sort of midway through 'Inheritance'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

Thanks for reading!

“Howdy there, pilot. Have you thought of a name for her yet?” Taylor asked as she stepped into the cockpit, squinting as she adjusted to the bright light that shone through the large windows as they soared over the Caribbean.

“You comin’ in here to annoy me is just part and parcel of my La Huerta jobs now, ain’t it?”

“Oh, Top Gun, so sentimental,” she teased-- but really, like she could talk.

Jake rested his hands behind his head and looked out over a familiar green spot in the blue expanse, now fast approaching. “Well, she’s no ‘Delilah’, that’s for sure. If something comes to me, it comes to me. But like I say, it ain’t the same. It’s not as if you people are about to let me hide from the world with this baby as my only friend.”

“Damn straight.”

“Thought as much. Well, everything’s reading as normal; think we might make it, sans freaky storms this time.” Jake turned to his visitor with a smirk. “I’m still gonna want you to get your ass in a seat. A landing’s a landing.”

Safely in her seat-- Estela by her side, and little Fenix in a pet carrier tucked against the seat in the next aisle-- Taylor felt her stomach doing violent flip-flops as the green spot in the ocean came closer, beginning to take on detail. Rivers she’d bathed in snaking out to the sea, Atropo looming, and the now-abandoned Celestial-- still standing by all appearances unchanged-- in its shadow.

Estela was calm and quiet, contemplative as the small plane descended. So much about this journey was familiar, and yet, everything had changed. This time, marching towards her destiny wasn’t a lonely trail to a foregone violent conclusion; this time, the future was all a big unknown other than the fact that it would be anything but lonely. She wove her fingers with Taylor’s, feeling nerves flowing through, and gently squeezed.

“Almost there, querida.”

With a gentle bump, the plane was on the ground, and Taylor gave a small sigh of relief. She didn’t want to be rude about Jake’s flying ability, but until that point, she’d finished every ride with him in either a crash, a near crash… or plummeting into the sea. That she was something of a nervous flyer was, she thought, pretty damn reasonable.

In no time at all, the cabin door had been swung open, and the warm Caribbean air welcomed the small group home.

“And here I was worried I’d need to replace another plane. It seems the pilot can fly one of these things after all; that’s a fiver I owe you, Grace.”

“He of little faith,” Grace laughed, though it was quite clear she was at least somewhat giddy with relief. “Jake knows what he’s doing.”

No sooner had Taylor set her feet on La Huerta soil than a familiar figure was running towards her, streaking out of the cover of the foliage at the side of the runway.

“Diego! Ohmygod!”

Diego flung his arms around his friend and held her tight. Last he’d seen her, she’d only just clawed herself back from death’s door; Taylor was going to get hugged, and she was going to get hugged hard.

Estela set out into the humid air, immediately aware of the sounds of the jungle; insects and birds, rustling of leaves. Even the smell of the soil was distinctly La Huerta. She hadn’t expected to feel like this, but… she was home.

_____________________________

An almost comically deep miaow made Estela jump. Engrossed in what she’d been writing-- and the frustrated doodles she’d been swirling on a separate piece of paper-- she hadn’t noticed Taylor’s cat, Madam, joining her on the wooden bench outside their home.

“I must be making myself crazy, hey Mierdita? I guess you’re here to make sure my senses stay sharp… or you’ve come to complain to me about Nixie.”

“Mow.”

Estela giggled and scooped the little cat, presently bright orange in colour, though that was subject to change, and hugged her to her chest. It was nice to have the company. Taylor was down on the beach, catching up with Diego for the first time in far too long. And what Estela was doing… for the most part, she needed to be left in her own space to do it. The little cat might have been a distraction, but from the number of doodles Estela had scribbled, it looked as though her productivity had already peaked for the time being.

“You’ll just have to learn to forgive Taylor. You know she likes to surround herself with lots of friends.”

Madam nimbly climbed her way up onto Estela’s shoulder, and enthusiastically rubbed against her face.

“I’m glad I can make you feel better. I guess I wasn’t getting anywhere with writing this anyway….”

With a little sigh, she tucked the unfinished letter in her hoodie. She’d written so many letters to her mother-- one for every week she’d been working here on the island-- but to find the words to say goodbye, to get some kind of closure, did not come easy. Maybe with a little more time to think….

“Hello?”

Estela looked up to see Varyyn outside the front of the house. “Haalta, Varyyn. I’m round the side.”

With a low growl, Madam ducked down into Estela’s hood and pressed herself against her neck. She eyed their visitor with great suspicion from her perch.

“It looks like your little friend is happy to have you back,” Varyyn said as he approached, “--and less pleased to see me.”

“Don’t worry; she has a lot to say, but it’s all talk. She won’t bite.”

Varyyn, rather daringly in Estela’s view-- though he did regularly hang around with a hulking smilodon, so maybe he was just good with cats-- reached and tickled Madam under her chin.

“I have been wanting to find you,” he said. “Diego had told me you were preparing a memorial for your mother.”

‘’S a long time coming,” Estela grunted. “And maybe it’ll be a long time still; I don’t want to do anything extravagant, but it’s got to be right.”

“That is fair. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“No, no. I don’t mind,” she said, gentler. “So long as it’s in progress. Finally. I couldn’t exactly get any kind of closure until I’d dealt with Rourke, and then… I needed to go home. I dunno… maybe it was easier to feel it as anger, because the sadness was too much to bear if I let it take its place. When I let myself really feel it….” A tear rolled down her face, and she brushed it away. “I don’t know if I can say I’m at peace with it all… I don’t think I ever really can be. But I’m better. I brought over the letters Mom sent me when she was here on the island, to bury. And I then thought of writing again… to say goodbye. All I’ve gotta do now is find the words. Anyway,” she finished hurriedly, “you wanted me for something?”

Varyyn nodded sagely. It wasn’t lost on him the intimacy of what was being shared. Perhaps the violent death of his own mother had given Estela a sense of tragic kinship with him?

“Seraxa and I talked at great length. It had… troubled me that there had been no acknowledgement of your mother’s sacrifice. She must have felt very alone standing against the Hydra, but we will not see that bravery forgotten now.”

He reached into his satchel, and brought out a neatly folded set of clothes.

“To wear the traditional uniform of our warriors is the greatest of honours. We wish to pay tribute to your mother as a hero to the Vaanti, if you will accept this gift.”

Estela’s eyes grew wide, and her bottom lip wobbled. “I--- um, thank you.” That’s the best you can manage? “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you.” In Varyyn’s nod of understanding, the look in his eyes, it was plain to see he felt the depth of her gratitude.

A gentle smile came to Varyyn’s face, as though he was relieved. “It is your choice whether you would like to wear this in her honour, or simply keep it as part of your memorial.”

Her cheeks flushed, Estela hugged the folded uniform to her chest. There were just… no words to adequately say what the gesture meant. For Estela’s own protection, any trace of Olivia Montoya’s connection to Everett Rourke had been wiped from record; and with it, all evidence of the courageous last stand taken. But here she was remembered.

“I don’t think I’ve told you…,” Estela choked out after a little while. “I mean, it’s not as if I’m the best conversationalist… I don’t know what to say to people half the time.” She shook her head. “But, anyway, I always found you impressive. When your mother died… it was sudden, and brutal, and somehow you had the strength to honour her by taking up her mantle. Immediately. And you always seemed so together, however much you were crumbling on the inside. You had to be.”

“I had good friends to lean on. And I had Diego.” Varyyn chucked darkly. “It is terrible, but when you all came back through the gate, as much I was very sad for you all, and for Diego, that everything you knew and loved was gone… there was a very selfish part of me….” He stalled.

“Fair enough,” Estela said, not about to force him to finish a clearly uncomfortable sentence. “It had only been a couple of days. How’s anyone supposed to bear that much loss? While carrying the expectations and fears of your people? Diego gave you comfort when you needed it most. And… then you gave him the same.”

“Yes.”

Having that shoulder; it made all the difference. It made living through the worst of horrors bearable, and then, somehow… it made the act of living on, in hope, possible. Varyyn had Diego. She, Estela, had her Taylor. And they all had one another.

“We’re lucky we found the right people.”

___________________________

As she slogged through the soft white sand, Taylor wasn’t sure what was going to give out first, her legs or her lungs. Using her best friend’s hand as an anchor, she kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Hey, Taylor, you know, it might be easier to have a real conversation if we sat down for a bit.”

Diego was polite and tactful, but what he meant was clearly; ‘You are an absolute wreck; sit down before you put yourself in an early grave’.

Taking the hint, Taylor flopped down heavily, squinting against the bright sun as she tried to get herself comfortable. While she struggled to get her breath back, Diego sat himself down close by, patiently letting her recover.

“I swear the beaches in San Trobida aren’t so much of a work-out,” Taylor said apologetically. “Not as soft. I have actually gotten a lot fitter, if you can believe it.”

Diego put a hand on her shoulder. “I can actually. You did a pretty good job of covering up how much you were struggling those last few days you were here, but I really don’t think you were fooling anyone. You do look better. Last time I saw you, it was hard not to get the impression that one stiff wind could have you over.”

Taylor snorted with laughter. “Damn, and I thought I put up a good front.”

“Not remotely. You are incredible, my friend, but a talented actor you are not.”

This was wonderful. The warmth of the sun of her body, and the easiest of company. Taylor reclined back, her arms propping her up in the sand from behind.

“Well, now that I’m not having to focus on not falling over… how’ve you really been?”

Diego stared wistfully out to sea, all the while playing with a little lock of his hair that Varyyn had braided for him. “’How have I really been’ as in not the brush-off, ‘oh, I’m good’ answer?”

“Yep. And I promise I’ll keep my own bullshit in check as fair trade.”

“Okay. If that’s how we’re doing this.” Diego fiddled with his hair for a little while longer as he contemplated his answer… and where to start. “I’m good.” As Taylor rolled her eyes, he added quickly; “ I am good.”

“Yeah?”

“Going back home was the best thing I could have done; it made me realise just how much I actually belong here. I’ve found my people. And Varyyn. I don’t have to tell you how cut up I was to be away from him; you could see it. Heck, even Grandma Bhandarkar saw it-- I have never been force-fed so much in my life, and I grew up with my abuela!”

Taylor chuckled. She was eternally grateful that the extended Catalyst family had been there for Diego when she couldn’t be, through one of the most pivotal periods in his life. “Did you… did you manage to talk to your parents at all?” she ventured gently.

With a sad smile, Diego shook his head. “I called from Raj’s place. I did speak to my dad, and honestly it was better than I expected. But he said Mom’s not ready.”

“Oh, Diego….”

“No, I knew she wouldn’t be ready.” He gave a little sigh. “That big, scary conversation’s done now, though, and I feel kind of… lighter. Like… I can start to accept how things are. If Mom and Dad were ever going to accept who I am, you’d think the year and a half I’d disappeared off the face of the earth would have done the trick.”

Taylor put an arm around Diego as he sniffed. “You know it’s all them, yeah? None of this is on you.”

“Yeah… I know. I came back here and… Varyyn just looked at me like I was the most beautiful person in the world. I could not have felt more loved. So, yeah-- I’m good.”

“So,” Taylor said gently, “what happens next? Do you still want to come back to Hartfeld with us in September?”

Diego huffed out a long exhale. Now, that was a question.

“The only really honest answer I can give you is… I don’t know. Could not be more conflicted.”

“That’s… that’s fair.”

“I keep thinking about that vision we saw when I took my action figures from Vaanu. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be that comfortable in my own skin, but it wasn’t like I was just seeing it-- I could feel it.”

“Yeah. It was kind of, just… radiating off you. You were just one-hundred percent genuine Diego, no holes barred… and everyone just loved you for it.”

“Look, I know that whole thing was just Vaanu trying to manipulate you into sacrificing youself--”

“Diego--”

“No, it’s okay. Because even if that’s all it was, it doesn’t matter. The more time I’m here with Varyyn… and people are respecting me as me-- you should see the queues of kids that form when I re-tell the original Star Wars trilogy….”

Taylor chuckled fondly.

“...The more I realise that, actually, that could be me. If I wanted it.”

“That really could be you. Without a shadow of a doubt. It would just mean…”

“Leaving Varyyn? Shattering both our hearts into a million pieces? Yeah, that’s the sticking point.”

Putting her head on Diego’s shoulder, Taylor offered what support she could. “What… what does he think?”

“He really loves me, so he’s unhelpfully understanding about the whole thing. It would be so much easier to know what I should do if he’d just say he’d rather I stay here!”

“So inconsiderate.”

“But, well, he said how much I light up when I talk about what I saw in that vision. And he lights up when he talks about that,” Diego said with a resigned laugh. “He says if I stay here, I shouldn’t be giving up every part of me.”

“He’s right,” Taylor said. “It’s you he fell in love with, and it’s you the hordes of Vaanti children seek out whenever they need smiles put on their faces. One way or another, I think you should always feed the real you. ‘Cause that guy’s pretty great.”

Diego glanced away, bashful, but unable to hide his smile. Again, he started playing with his hair.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, Taylor. How about it’s your turn. Do you have a plan? I guess Vaanu didn’t bother showing you what a future on Earth could look like, hey?”

Taylor gave a soft humph. “No, they certainly did not. That’s something I’m just going to have to figure out myself.” She frowned. “They just showed me enough to put the pressure of ensuring the happiness of everyone I love on my shoulders,” she said bitterly.

Catching her tone, Diego raised an eyebrow. “That’s really getting to you.”

“Yeah,” she heaved. For a moment, she considered what she wanted to share. “Look, I haven’t exactly talked about this before…. All those visions I saw, just about all of them showed you guys rocking your dream careers. Except for, well….” She trailed off, sadly.

“Except for Estela and Aleister, right? Now you mention it, that does kinda say a lot about the impact Rourke had.”

“Exactly. It makes me so… so angry,” she said, than added with a dry laugh, “I don’t have the energy to be angry. Seeing you all die in my dreams doesn’t help either; all I can think is that he did all that. ”

“So, you’ve put it out there now. Maybe that’ll help you move past it?”

“I sure hope so. Letting that fester isn’t going to be healthy for me, and it sure as hell won’t do Estela any favours. She’s been amazing. There’s been so much she’s had to move through. I think I’ve been so focused on her that it only just recently sank in how much I’m simmering in hate for that bastard. And I don’t want to let it out and feed into her own feelings. Does… that make sense?”

“That sounds pretty natural,” Diego assured. “Being protective of your family is pretty much wired into you; kinda makes sense that it would get you all fired up-- and that you want to shield Estela from even more hurt and anger. I’m here, you know. If ever you need a best friend to off-load on; I’m your man.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said softly, and boy, did she mean it. A little smile came to her face at the sound of Furball yipping as he chased a euphoric Fenix up and down the shoreline. Bad feelings passed quickly, for there was just too much beauty in the world she had fought for and won. “All things considered, I’m doing really well. Since I ramped up the self-care, I’m getting less nightmares-- I know they’re not proper nightmares, it’s just my brain replaying memories that aren’t even all mine. But they’ve gotten better.”

Diego shook his head, incredulous. “Honestly, I don’t know how you managed to sleep with that going on at all.”

“With great difficulty is how,” Taylor laughed. “Poor Estela is now pretty used to me waking her up, screaming and crying.” She smiled softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her; she has this magic way of just… chasing away all the horrors. I guess it’s because I feel safe when she’s holding me.”

“N’aww!” Diego’s eye twinkled. “I really am the best wingman around. I’ll happily accept tips for match-making services given.”

Taylor snorted. “I feel like we can take some of the credit, but fine, thanks for the help. I’ve seen hundreds of different versions of me and Estela falling in love… and it’s surprising how many times it was you who gave me the push.”

“So, you really do owe me one.”

“I really do.”

Fenix ran over, panting heavily, and flopped down into Taylor’s lap. A little way behind, Furball trotted after.

“Hey, Diego?”

“You’re missing your buff wife?”

“That, and I’m absolutely starving. You wanna head back to Catalyst Village?”

Diego looked out at the darkening sky. This day had flown. No doubt, the days to come would fly too, and in no time at all he’d be faced with leaving Varyyn… again. Then his stomach growled loudly.

“Apparently, you’re not the only one. Come on-- d’you need a piggy-back?”

Indignant, Taylor plopped Fenix down in the sand and got to her feet. “I certainly do not.”

“Okay… reframing that. Would you like a piggy-back?”

Ooh, that smirk. “Oh, all right,” she relented. “In the time it would’ve taken me to walk back, I’d have already died of hunger.”

So, they made their way back up the beach; Diego giving a more-weary-than-she’d-care-to-let-on Taylor… and their two furry companions leading the charge, drawn home by the scent on the wind of food being cooked over an open fire.

___________________________

“A toast!” Aleister pronounced loudly, holding aloft a glass of Breath of the Moon. As his friends and family around the fire raised their matching cocktails, he thrust his own glass ever-higher with slightly-tipsy gusto. “To new beginnings! To reuniting with comrades! To bringing about justice!”

Estela leaned over and whispered in Taylor’s ear. “You see why I thought you should only take a little sip of this stuff?”

Taylor sniggered. “I’d make a toast to the fact that we have a whole house to ourselves again.It’s gonna be a lot easier to get our sex on when your brother and sister-in-law aren’t in the next room.”

Giving her wife an exaggerated wink, Estela huddled closer, delighting in the giggle she stirred. Somehow, everything felt easier here. It was is if just to be in this place brought her back to the best of herself, to the sense of peace within herself that had once felt like an impossibility. Now, with Taylor, in their home and surrounded by people they loved, it was an inevitability. This time would refresh her-- it would them both-- and ready them for the greater steps that lay ahead.

It seemed the feeling was catching,for everyone was relaxed and laughing as they cooked skewers over the crackling fire and sipped their cocktails. In the firelight, Varyyn’s face seemed to glow with affection for his beloved husband beside him-- who himself was bubbling over with the simple pleasure of being surrounded by friends. Estela wondered about the two of them… what the future might hold. A year could go by so quickly-- she learned that the had way when she’d been counting down to Taylor’s self-sacrifice-- but away from the one you loved, time would stretch agonisingly. She did not envy the choice Diego was faced with; that they were now with him to offer support though that… that mattered.

Opposite them, Jake was back to ribbing Aleister, something even more fun now that the target was a little sozzled. No amount of back-and-forth teasing could hide the genuine --rather unlikely-- friendship that had formed; Aleister, blessed with both wealth and contacts in high places, had made himself a pivotal force in the fight to clear Jake’s name. The more Estela had gotten to know her unexpected sibling, the more it became obvious to her that at his heart, Aleister was driven by the same protectiveness of those dear to him that powered her. It was something, she’d come to realise, that Rourke had cemented into them both-- not through any passing of genes, but by fierce resistance to the poison he’d inflicted. It had taken time… and it had been painful, but in their budding kinship, Estela had found undeniable comfort.

Taylor took Estela’s hand, and laid a weary head on her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you,” Estela laughed softly. She could feel the smile on Taylor’s face; so open and radiant, full of tenderness for the people surrounding her, and it spoke wonders.

With her free hand, Taylor gently chinked her glass to Estela’s.

“Cheers. To being home.”

“To being home.”

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #estela x mc #diego soto #varyyn #variego #aleister rourke #jake mckenzie

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peaches-writes · 3 years

Text

group huddle!

member: jeongin wc: 1.7k genre: fluff, college au, it’s actually ot8-centric lmao warning: explicit language, flop humor note: might make it a longer fic in the future anyway i think it’s cUTE + @skzwriternet

There’s a violent dust of pink and an awfully hidden grin on Jeongin’s usually nonchalant face as he stares dreamily at his phone, anyone with eyes within the vicinity of the dormitory’s common area can see clearly. It’s been some ten minutes, Jisung notes as he looks up from his own phone to check on the youngest, and it seems as if it’s going to stay this way for an hour more, Felix concludes this time when he passes by to help Minho in the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Chan asks Changbin as the two peek their heads out from the former’s bedroom door on the other end of the hall. Even with the distance, the two could still tell that something is up and it’s not just the ceiling this time. “Do you think uncle and auntie sent him something? Cute pictures of cats? A motivational video, maybe?”

Changbin snickers with a shake of his head, rolling his work chair back inside the room first before Jeongin could snap out of his daze and notice everyone’s eyes on him. “Hyung, it amazes me sometimes how your mind works.”

“What?” Chan pouts, mirroring Changbin and heading back to the song they’ve been working on. “What does that mean this time?”

“It means that maybe the kid’s smiling at his phone because he’s actually looking at someone.”

“Like a celebrity?”

“A crush, Bang Chan. I’m talking about a crush.”

Jeongin is actually looking at his conversation with you which is quite close to Changbin’s idea. What was his reason for being anxious just fifteen minutes ago is now the source of his giddiness as your message history clumsily yet endearingly shifts from a very impulsive love confession from Jeongin to a shy and awkward reaction from you.

“They like me too...” Jeongin mumbles under his breath as he waits for you to finish typing more messages, the simple gesture of saying it out loud making him smile even wider. He’s unconsciously tapping too loud on the sofa with his socket feet, something Seungmin and Hyunjin from the nearby study table would’ve called him out for had he not been looking adorably excited over something, and swaying gently from side to side in his seated position just at the thought. “Cute, cute, cute, cute!”

“Innie, are you talking about me, hm?” Minho suddenly chimes in the younger’s train of thought as he enters the common area with plates of side dishes. Felix follows behind with his own set of dishes to serve on the dining table, rolling his eyes all the way. “Get off your phone, it’s dinner time, buddy.”

Jisung, watching the exchange from the other end of the sofa and using it as an opportunity to speak. closes his phone and scrambles over to Jeongin with a back hug and a curious gaze to the youngest’s phone. “So watcha got there, anyway, huh? What’s our baby smiling at?” He asks cheekily, eyes widening and voice gasping dramatically as his eyes caught a clear glimpse of the screen before Jeongin closed it frantically. As if on a comical cue, the phone also lights up right after it’s closed with a message from you. “Ooh, Y/N! Aren’t they your classmate from your lab—“

“Hyung!” Jeongin belatedly clamps a hand over Jisung’s mouth, catching the entire dormitory frozen in their places when he then looks up; literally, Felix has a big bowl of rice hovering right above the dinner table and a piece of stolen kimchi is right in front of Hyunjin’s open mouth.

Jisung shrugs innocently at Jeongin as he topples over the sofa, even raising his hands up in surrender for emphasis. “What?” He mumbles through the hand on his mouth.

By this time, Chan and Changbin have left Chan’s room to join everyone at dinner, getting caught frozen right at the common area’s end of the main hallway. “Y/N?!” Changbin exclaims into the brief silence, briefly taking away everyone else’s attention from Jeongin. “Yeah, aren’t they that kid you hung out wi—”

Given the distance this time, Jeongin instinctively resorts to yelling to silence the other older boy. “Yeah, yeah, I get it! Can you guys—ugh, now you two have done it!” He groans, running his free hand through his dyed blue hair once before puffing out his cheeks.

“I’m a little lost here...” Chan frowns, head turning in all directions his seven other roommates are positioned for help. Next to him, Changbin slaps a hand to his forehead.

Another brief pause then follows, albeit now for allowing Felix to finally set the heavy rice bowl down and Hyunjin to quickly eat the kimchi before Minho could reprimand him for it, before Seungmin clears his throat and calmly suggests, “How about a group huddle?”

Jeongin would’ve said otherwise had his phone not lit up again with another influx of messages from you.

y/n [8:06 PM]: im sorry its just

y/n [8:06 PM]: and ah this is so embarrassing to say but

y/n [8:06 PM]: it’s my first time doing this and i really like you too

y/n [8:07 PM]: but what now? what do you want to do?

“Fine,” The youngest ends up sighing in defeat, unclamping Jisung’s mouth and begrudgingly standing up from the sofa to head over the dinner table. Jisung follows closely in tow, eyes still wide but this time nonverbally relaying the contents of the messages to Changbin who simply snickers.

At this, the rest of the dormitory gathered to the dining table in a speed never before seen in the otherwise slow boys, Seungmin glaring at everyone to ‘shut up’ the entire time they get settled.

“So what’s going o—?” Chan tries asking in genuine confusion before getting dragged off the seat at the end of the table by Minho while Felix shushes the two sharply.

Jeongin slaps a hand to his forehead this time as he sits at Chan’s usual chair, clasping his hands together in front of him after until everyone’s seated. “Hyungs,” He calls for everyone slowly and firmly, taking in a deep breath before continuing. The rest of the table holds in their breath with equal seriousness. “I have a situation but can we please eat first?”

Half an hour later when the dishes have been cleared out and Changbin has accepted his destiny of washing the dishes for another night, everyone migrates to the living room side of the common area to finally discuss the ‘situation.’ Changbin, Minho, and Chan have a hostile Jeongin held down on the sofa by the wrists, Hyunjin has somehow stolen the youngest’s phone over dinner to display right in front of the TV, Seungmin is 'emergency messaging’ other important people (aka Yedam from the floor below as well as Daehwi and Chenle who both just need to know all of the campus gossip), while Felix and Jisung prepare a very unnecessary PowerPoint Presentation on the spot while the entirety of Seungmin’s laptop screen is projected on the TV.

“I just—” Jeongin sighs as he struggles to adjust in his seated position because of his elders’ playful grips on his arms. “I-Is this really necessary? I’m calm, I swear, I just need to reply to Y/N‘s text!”

“It’s going to be a very long presentation and we have to make sure that you don’t run away, Innie!” Minho, who sits on Jeongin’s immediate right while he’s seated on Chan’s lap, exclaims before linking their arms. ”This is for your own good! The future of your first relationship is at stake!”

“Also, I’m on it—texting Y/N, I mean.” Hyunjin dismisses as he types away on Jeongin’s phone, prompting more protests from the younger. “Oh hey look, they’re free on Saturday! Innie, where do you want to go on Saturday?”

“That’s good, Hyunjin! Ask them what kind of flowers they like too!” Jisung snaps his fingers in satisfaction before going back to cramming with Felix. “Ah, this is so exciting!”

Finally giving up in his physical struggle, Jeongin groans. “You don’t have to ask, they told me that they like tulips last time.” He sighs in defeat before turning to Changbin with a glare. “And what do you have to say for yourself, exposing me like this?”

Changbin shrugs innocently, linking his arms with Jeongin as well. “What do you mean? You’re the one who ended up agreeing to this.”

Meanwhile in front, Felix begins manning the most bare minimum PPT the entire dormitory’s ever seen while Jisung stands in front with his best impression of a salesman pitch. “Okay, everyone shut up we’re about to present!” Jisung grins with his hands clasped together in front of him. Everyone topples over in laughter at this. “Alright, alright, we’re all settled? We’re all cool? No one needs to go to the bathroom? Can we start?”

“I’m just saying, why is Jisung presenting when he’s not even in a relationshi—?”

“Anyway,” Jisung immediately cuts Jeongin off with a more passive smile, comically making an ‘I’ll see you later’ gesture to him after. Felix almost bangs his head on the laptop’s screen in laughter while moving the slides. “Questions will be entertained after the presentation, including questions about mine and Felix’s credibility and about going to bathroom so don’t even try, Minho. Felix and I made this really quick but we promise it’s going to be worthwhile and definitely fool-proof! Our baby Jeongin will be dating soon, can you believe it?”

The slides that follow are labelled according to the parts of a standard academic research, everyone’s quick to notice and react positively to.

“Does it go with a thesis stateme—oh, it does!” Chan laughs the hardest as the senior who’s currently working on his thesis, almost loosening his grip on Jeongin in front of him. Fortunately, Jeongin doesn’t even try to escape as he places his hands in front of his face in embarrassment.

“Yes, the visuals are admittedly half-assed because of the time constraint but it’s the content that matters!” Felix wiggles his eyebrows and laughs as well. “ Take notes for your thesis defense, hyung.”

The crowd ‘ooh’s at the sudden attack.

“So back to the topic,” Jisung points out once he’s managed his giggles, snapping his fingers to the change in slides. “Good evening everyone, I am Han Jisung, with me is Lee Yongbok, and we are presenting our guide to dating!”

m.list

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sunsetcurbed · 3 years

Text

i’ll keep us together (whatever it takes)

Pairing: Alex/Willie Words: 9,237 Rating: T Warnings: none read on AO3

Summary: “Willie,” Julie’s voice sounds. “Hey, Julie,” Willie greets. “I—uh—“ “Can Alex not see you?” she whispers. Okay, so… right. Right. This is a thing. (*) (or: alex has changed, and he's all but taken away from willie. willie doesn't settle for that.) I found out that apparently tumblr doesn’t post link posts in the tags unless they get a lot of notes so I’m reposting this as a text post and also posting the fic here on tumblr as well! Fic under the read more. :)

(*)

"Hey," Willie cheers, watching as Alex walks into the garage, head hanging down. Alex doesn't look up, just walks over and flops dramatically on the couch. Willie laughs at his boyfriend, and follows over. "Hey, hot dog," he calls again. Alex still doesn't look up. Furrowing his eyebrows, Willie crouches down next to him and reaches out to shake Alex's shoulder.

His hand passes through.

Willie draws his hand back quickly in surprise, and stares down at it. He reaches again, and again, his hand passes through Alex.

He scrambles to his feet and looks around. Something's wrong. Something—he's not sure what's going on, but something…

He steps back, and back, and back, until he's standing in the middle of the studio, and rushes through the open door. He stands in the driveway for a minute, struggling with his thoughts, until—

"Willie," Julie's voice whispers.

His head snaps up and he sees her walking down the pathway from her house. They found out last year that Julie could see all ghosts, and that her power extended beyond they band in that aspect. Unfortunately, Willie didn't share their powers in becoming visible when playing an instrument, which was one of the first things they tried, right after trying to rid Willie of Caleb's stamp. Neither had worked.

"Hey, Julie," Willie greets. "I—uh—"

"Can he not see you?" she whispers.

Okay, so… right. Right. This is a thing. She already knew about it, which—

"No. Why can't he?"

Julie walks towards him and offers a smile. But it's—it's a sad smile, one that Willie knows is accompanied by bad news. Suddenly, he regrets asking. "He's alive."

What?

No, seriously, what?

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know… unfinished business. Does… do you know if 'crossing over' means back to the world of the living?"

"I—I-I don't know? I wouldn't think so? I've never see someone cross over. I just thought…"

"We did, too," Julie says. "But the guys… we signed today. With a record label."

"What? That's awesome!" Alex had mentioned Destiny Management but he hadn't said they were officially signing.

"It is," she says, but her voice doesn't sound like it. "After each one of them signed, they came back to life, though. Heart, blood, eating, sleeping, everything."

Willie shakes his head. "But they should have…"

"We always thought that when they did their unfinished business, they'd… go to heaven, or whatever. But apparently crossing over, at least for them, meant crossing over back to the living."

"So Alex…"

"He's not like me," Julie frowns. "He can't see you."

"Fuck," Willie curses. There's a noise in the studio, and Willie turns around and sees Alex through the window, walking towards the driveway. "I—I gotta go," he stammers, and then he's gone from there and landing in the sand on the beach, where he had thought he and Alex would spend their time tonight.

Fuck, he thinks. All the pain the last year and a half has brought—the battle with Caleb for his soul, the fight between them all with Caleb, defeating the man who'd held him captive for years, and finally getting to be with Alex, stress free—all that pain and stress were for nothing, weren't they? Because Willie doesn't even have Alex anymore, the person who inspired him to fight back. The person who made it worth it. The person who was there to hold him after Caleb's hold on him broke will never be able to hold him again.

Not unless—

Willie's got work to do.

(*)

The next time Willie sees Alex is at the skate park, three months after it happened. Alex is leaning on the fence, staring at the bowl with sad eyes. He watches the people in the park fly up and down the ramps, and clings to the fence with a tight fist. Willie skates out of the park and passes through the fence to stand next to Alex.

"I miss you, too," he says, knowing that Alex can't hear him. "I mean, I haven't gone to Julie's studio looking for you like you're here, but. It's different when I can see you. You're living with the memory of me. I'm living with the reality of seeing you and hearing you, but not being able to interact."

Alex looks away from the skate park and towards the beach. His fingers curl tighter around the chain link fence until his knuckles turn white.

"I'm trying for you, man," Willie says, his voice high and tight. "I don't even know if I'll become human again like you did, but it's worth a shot. Even if I don't become human, at least I'll cross over and I won't have to be alone anymore. Maybe? I don't actually know where I'd go if I didn't become human again. I might still be alone. There might not be anything waiting for me. That's not as scary as having to live for an eternity without you, though. Or, not without you, but. Like this. Having you but… not really."

Alex draws in a shaky breath, and Willie poofs to his other side to get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are wet and he's chewing his bottom lip. He's doing everything he can not to cry, and that breaks Willie.

"I'm sorry," Willie whimpers. "I know I meant it way back when, when I said we never should have met, but that was because I almost got you guys killed. Once you were better, I didn't think I could ever feel that way again. But maybe I was right, even beyond that. Maybe it would be better if we'd never met. It'd be better for you." He reaches out a hand for Alex, but quickly drops it back to his side when he remembers he can't make contact anymore. He draws in a deep breath, but it hitches involuntarily. "But we did meet. We did, and now you have to live with the consequences of that. Is that what they are? Consequences? I guess so. I wish I could undo this all. Not—not you getting a second chance at life. You deserve it. But… I wish I could undo us."

Alex releases his grip on the fence and walks forward, right through Willie. Willie spins on his heel and watches Alex take a seat on a bench a few feet away. He looks up and around and finally, the tears fall from his eyes. Willie feels sick.

"No, I don't," he says in a rush. "God, I wish I wished I could undo us but I could never willingly give you up, Alex. No matter how much it hurts. Even though you're hurting I know you'll move on. That's how it works, right? God, we were only together for a little over a year, we only knew each other for a year and a half. That's hardly a lifetime love story, right? You'll find someone better—someone alive, and… and…"

And Willie can't do this anymore.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, taking in one last look at Alex's tearful face before poofing away.

(*)

The next time, he finds Alex at his grave. At Alex's grave.

See, Alex had asked him to go with him back in January. He'd needed to see what his tombstone said (Alex Mercer / December 18th 1978 – July 21st 1995 / Your song will live on forever.) and come to terms, fully, with his death. Willie had been more than happy to go with him, to hold him through his tears as he saw that his parents had actually put something dedicated to him, even if it was as small as an acknowledgment to his music. Ever since Alex crossed over, Willie has come here a few times a month to talk to the boy, because it's easier talking to a grave than it is to a person who won't respond.

When Willie reaches the grave, Alex is just standing there, staring at the headstone. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Willie. Instead, Willie looks around for another tomb with flowers on it. When he finds one, he plucks a single flower from the bouquet and walks over to Alex's grave again, and lays the flower down on the headstone.

Alex gasps. "Hello?" he murmurs. "Is… Willie?" he asks hopefully.

Willie doesn't have the heart to ignore him, so he picks the flower up again and hands it to the boy. Alex takes it reluctantly. "I miss you," Willie says, even though he knows Alex won't hear him.

"I miss you," Alex says, and Willie blinks. "God, I—I'm not even allowed to be upset about crossing over because I… I get to be with my band, and I'm, Willie, we're fucking going on tour. We're only opening, but we're touring. They think we'll be headlining our own tour in the next year or two. How am I supposed to be upset about that, right? But I—but I am. Because I have to do it without you and that's—that's not fair. That wasn't part of the deal, right? We were supposed to be fucking ghosts together. Not… God, I feel so ripped off. Julie said she could still see you, she didn't want to tell me but didn't think it was fair to keep it from me. Why can't I? Why the fuck can't I? I was a ghost and I can't see you anymore? Just because—just because I have blood in my veins again? You made me feel alive. You brought me back to life. And now I'm in this weird pseudo life phase where I'm actually alive but I feel just like I did when I came back as a ghost. Before I met you."

He shakes his head and Willie takes a step closer. He reaches out, but before he can try to lay a hand on Alex's arm, he remembers. He drops his hand.

"Reg says I'll move on, used that stupid 'you'll never forget your first ghost' line again, but that only worked when we'd known each other for two weeks. Two weeks and I was already moping over you, and then you were taken away after an entire year, after I—after I—it's not fair," Alex huffs. "I sound like such a child but it's not. Julie and Luke got their happy ending. Fuck, even Reg has someone now. Of course it probably won't last—after all it's his third relationship in five months, but. But he has that option. And I—Ray's making us go to school to finish off senior year and this kid from chemistry asked me out but—I'm not ready for that. God, I'm scared I'll never be ready for that. Luke told me to go for it, that maybe I need to be with someone to get my mind off of you, but I know that all I'll do is compare the two of you."

Tears are falling freely from Alex's eyes, and Willie wants nothing more than to reach up and brush them away, just like he did the last time they were at this grave together. He takes the flower from Alex's hand, plucks a petal off, and uses it as a towel to wipe Alex's face dry. Alex tosses his head back and laughs.

"Thank you," he says. He's quiet for a long moment, and Willie thinks he said everything that needed to be said. But then he draws in a deep breath. "I… I think one of the worst parts is that I never got to say goodbye. That I'll never get closure. Did you get as much out of our relationship as I did? Was it worth it to you? Are you hurting, too?" He pauses. His voice drops in to a whisper as he asks, "did you love me like I loved you?"

Willie frowns, and hands the flower back to Alex. Alex wraps his fingers around the stem, and toys with the petals with his other hand.

"See, I don't even know what you're trying to say, here," Alex admits. "I'm hoping you're saying yes, but maybe you're not. What if you're not even Willie, just a kind ghost who noticed I needed someone?" Willie grabs the flower out of Alex's hand, raises it up, and bonks Alex's forehead with it. "Okay, maybe not," he says, and there's a laugh in his voice, but there are tears in his eyes. He laughs then, but it comes out as a sob instead and he stumbles back. "Fuck," he says slowly.

Willie twirls the flower between his fingers and watches as Alex just… stares. He's just staring at the flower, disbelieving.

"I… God, I'm so relieved you're here, but it hurts so bad that I can't see you, you know? But—do you have it any easier? Being able to see me and hear me but knowing I can't see or hear or feel you? I feel like that'd be just as hard. I remember how helpless I felt when I was a ghost. This isn't—this isn't fair. Last year we had eternity together. And—that just gets ripped away? Do you even care—" Willie hits him with the flower again. "—okay. So you do. We both cared. So much. And… now look at us. I'm essentially talking to myself, on the verge of a panic attack, and you're… You're visiting my grave. I'm visiting my grave. Fuck this is all so fucked. I miss you."

Willie hands the flower back to Alex, hoping that he'll pick up that Willie misses him too.

Alex stares at the petals and draws in a breath. "I just wish—"

"Hey, mijo," a new voice comes in. Willie whips around to see the approaching figure, a tall, slim man with greying hair. He recognizes him as Julie's dad, and while he's never directly interacted with the man, hanging around with Alex and the band so much last year meant he could at least pick him out of a crowd. Julie's dad walks up beside Alex and looks down at the head stone. "Wow, that's really you."

Alex laughs. "Yeah. I really died. That's why I come here. To remind myself my entire experience as a ghost wasn't some weird fever dream. That it…" he looks down at the flower and holds it up to Julie's dad. "That it was all real."

"That'd be some fever dream," Julie's dad chuckles, clapping a hand on Alex's shoulder. For a moment, Willie expects the man's hand to pass right through, but when it doesn't, he cringes. Yet another reminder. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yeah, thanks for coming to get me. Can I just have one more minute? I'll meet you at the car?"

"Of course, mijo."

Julie's dad walks away and Alex stares at his headstone. "I miss you, Willie. I hope you run into me again," he says with a light in his voice, and Willie is taken back to their very first meeting. He reaches for the flower and takes it from Alex, bopping his face one more time. Then he passes the flower back, and Alex looks at it with wonderment on his face. "Bye," he murmurs, and then turns to walk towards the parked car waiting for him.

Willie waits until Alex slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door before drawing in a shaky breath and poofing away.

(*)

He can't stay away after that.

He knows Alex is living with Julie now (the Molinas, according to the painted stone next to their porch) so he stops by after school hours to just… see him. Alex, of course, has no idea that he's there, at least not at first. But then Willie starts to get bolder.

Alex will be sat at the dining room table doing his homework and Willie will see him answer a calculus problem wrong. When Alex walks away for a snack, Willie will take a piece of notebook paper out and redo the problem(s). When Alex gets back he looks around with a frown. He clearly isn't sure if it's Willie or not, and Willie's not sure he wants him to know, not until a few weeks in when he finds Alex crying in the studio. He's clearly on the verge of a panic attack, something that Willie'd seen many times, and helped him through multiple times. He's never felt so helpless, watching Alex breaking down and not being able to do anything.

He can, though, he realizes.

He goes into Alex's notebook and grabs a pen.

Hey, hot dog.

Alex drags in a shaky breath when the pen starts moving by itself, and once he reads the message he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Willie," he whispers.

What can I do to help?

Alex smiles at the paper. "Nothing, you're—you being here helps."

Do you need to do breathing exercises? You can follow the pen.

"No," Alex shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Just—just talk to me?"

Can't talk. How's writing?

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I meant, asshole."

Guilty.

"How have you been? Where have you been? Why is this the first time you're—that you've actually contacted me?"

I've been around. I'd say correcting your calc homework counts as contacting you. It's me saying "wow you suck at math, which you've told me in the past but now I have hardcore proof."

He can't tell him that he's been trying to work out his unfinished business. He can't give Alex hope where there might not be any—not when there's no promise that Willie will figure out his unfinished business, and not when there's no promise he'll come back to life. He wants Alex to know he's trying—trying for him, but it's not fair. None of this is fair, but that'd be… really unfair to Alex. Especially if he's sitting here hoping for Willie to come back to life and one day he realizes it's been months since he's heard from Willie and Willie has no way to tell him that he's crossed over, but not to the living. It's all… it's too complicated. Willie doesn't even think he'd be able to put it into words.

"Hey, I've been doing pretty good in calc!" Alex yells. "I have a B, thanks."

"Thanks." You're welcome. I'm the reason you have a B.

Alex opens his mouth, then shuts it. "You know, you're probably right. You working out those problems is actually really helpful and helps me understand what I did wrong."

I've always needed to see someone do the math before I got it, maybe you're the same.

"Probably." Alex sighs, running his hands through his hair. He's stopped crying, but his face is still red and puffy, and his breathing is still labored. "How have you been though? I… you can see me, I can't see you. Are you okay?"

I miss you, but that's to be expected. Life Death has been a lot lately. I'm surviving okay though.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Alex asks, voice genuine. Willie bites his lip. God, he—this is why he fell in love with this boy. Even on the verge of a panic attack he wants to help someone else.

No. You being here helps.

"Hey, that's my line."

I'm stealing it.

Alex laughs, and his breath evens out a little bit. "Should have known, you can't be as smooth as me."

I'm sorry, who had the gay panic when we met? And every time we saw each other for literally the next four months? Who RAN AWAY after kissing me? You want to talk about smooth?

"Those were very weak moments in my life, I ask you to forget everything before we started dating and only remember me as charming."

Oh, trust me, the gay panic was very charming, too.

"See, maybe it was all a ploy. My gay panic was me being smooth."

I wouldn't take it that far.

"Too late you already admitted it."

Willie laughs and reaches for Alex's hand, forgetting for just a moment. It passes through the other boy and he grimaces. He draws his hand back and tucks his hair behind his ear, and stares at the paper in front of him.

So what's it like recording an album? Everything you ever dreamed of?

"Oh, man, it's so cool," Alex gushes. Words fly out his mouth so fast that Willie struggles to keep up, but he just lets Alex's voice wash over him. The switch has been flipped—Alex is no longer panicking, and Willie's loneliness has ebbed.

It carries on like this for nearly an hour, Willie fills up two and a half sheets of paper, and Alex is careful to fold each one and stick it in his pocket. Willie knows he'll be storing them somewhere in his room. It's what Willie would do, anyways, and in certain regards, Alex and Willie are very similar. He's careful not to reveal too much to Alex, though. He doesn't want Alex to feel guilty, or to cling to hope, or…

He doesn't want to tell Alex he loves him on a sheet of paper. He can't do that to either of them—that'd be giving Alex too much to cling to, and it'd be taking away Willie's dream of telling him face to face. So when it's time for them to say goodbye (Alex looks at the clock, frowning. "The band is gonna be here in ten minutes for practice.") Willie simply scribbles down I'll see you around, hot dog. Alex's face goes soft, and Willie can't stop staring at it.

He wishes he could stay for band practice, but he can't face Julie. He can't, not when it'd break him to be able to talk with her and not the one person he really wants to talk to. He also thinks it might be too hard on Alex, to see Julie see Willie, and know that he can't. It'd be too hard on both of them, so once Alex says goodbye, he poofs away. He ends up on the streets of Hollywood and looks around. He sets his skateboard on the ground and skates off, aimlessly.

He has nowhere to go, nowhere to be.

(*)

Willie keeps correcting his calc homework, but now Alex knows who it is and starts thanking him. They have a few more half-written, half-spoken conversations over the next few months, but Willie tries to limit them so Alex doesn't get too attached.

(He laughs as he thinks that, understanding that Alex has always been attached, and interacting with him is only encouraging that. But Willie can't stay away, okay?)

He sees Luke and Reggie some, after all, the boys spend a lot of time in the studio together, especially when Julie is hanging out with Flynn. Willie never talks to Alex at these times, but sometimes he'll speak out loud, answer parts of the conversation that the guys are having, even though he knows they can't hear him.

(Yeah, okay, he's dangerously attached, too.)

He avoids Julie at all costs, he doesn't want her to know, and he knows Alex hasn't told any of them because Alex has said he hasn't told any of them, so. Willie believes him and knows why. Because Alex knows Julie would ask Willie to let Alex move on, and… honestly, neither Alex or Willie are ready for that.

"Technically you're still my boyfriend," Alex says one day. "We never broke up."

It's almost our two year anniversary.

"Yeah," Alex nods. "Two more months. God, it's been nine months without you?"

Not technically without me. I've been around a lot.

"It's been nine months since I last saw you," he amends. He rubs his eyes. "That's too damn long."

It's been nine months since I've held your hand. :(

Alex shakes his head. "I always felt bad for Julie and Luke, but… I never… it never clicked how hard it must have been before she could touch us. At least she could see and talk to us, though. Why can't I have her powers?"

Would her powers really be worth it? Because I can tell you that it SUCKS being able to see you but not being able to touch you. It's torture.

"Maybe you only say that because you've never had to sit alone talking to a piece of notebook paper before," Alex shoots back, but he's smiling.

He's been doing that a lot lately. Smiling. Willie knows it's because of him—he knows Alex and it's not hard to put two and two together. It's hard to miss the way Alex physically brightens every time he knows Willie is there, and the way he reaches for calculus homework before anything else, and leaves his calculus out sitting next to him when he's working on all of his other homework, as if calling for Willie. It works, too, most of the time. When Willie's not out trying to resolve his unfinished business, he's around the Molina household, avoiding Julie.

That had created an issue—Alex quickly realized that Willie disappeared whenever Julie came around, so he stopped hanging around Julie as much. Julie had tried apologizing for "whatever I did, Alex, I'm so sorry." Alex had to patiently tell her that it was nothing—he was just dealing with some personal problems and he ran away from the guys, too. She had tried to offer help, but he said he dealt better with problems on his own, which Willie laughed at when Alex recounted the conversation because Alex was helpless dealing with his issues alone. He told him as much and Alex flipped off the air in front of him.

This piece of notebook paper is offended. What's so bad about talking to notebook paper?

"I can't kiss a sheet of notebook paper," Alex points out. "Well—technically I could. Don't think it'd measure up to kissing my boyfriend, though."

Willie grins. It's impossible, and he knows he can't let it go on like this for much longer—it's been nine months of trying to figure out his unfinished business and he feels no closer than when he started—but it feels so good to be Alex's boyfriend still. He puts the pen to the piece of paper, and then picks it back up because—no. He still can't tell Alex he loves him. He's planning to leave Alex a note once it hits a year, telling him goodbye and asking him to move on. He'll be doubling his efforts to try and solve his unfinished business in the mean time, but he thinks—how cruel would it be to leave Alex with the knowledge that he lost someone who loved him, too? Because Alex has said he loved Willie—back Alex's grave he had asked if Willie loved him too and.

You wouldn't be able to kiss air, either.

"I could certainly try."

Willie shakes his head fondly, and then hears the studio door open. Alex lunges forward and grabs the pen out of the air, but it's pointless because when Willie turns around, it's Julie standing there. Her eyes are wide and her jaw is dropped.

"Hey, Julie," Alex greets. "What're you doing?"

"I left a song out here that I wanted to show Flynn," she says. "What are you doing?" She aims her voice like she's talking to Alex, but she's staring at Willie.

"Homework," Alex answers.

"Really?" she quirks an eyebrow.

"What else would I be doing?"

"I don't know, care to tell me?" This time, it's one hundred percent directed at Willie, and he flinches.

Alex frowns, still playing the part. "I don't—"

"Not you," Julie cuts Alex off.

"Julie…" Alex sighs. "Just leave him be."

"Can I talk to you outside?" There's no question who she's talking to.

Willie gets to his feet and walks out the door. Alex glares at her from where he's sitting on the couch, and flops back on to the cushions, crossing his arms in a pout.

Julie turns around and marches out to the driveway and whirls on Willie when he gets out there. "This isn't fair to him."

"None of this is fair, Julie," Willie says. "We're dealing the only way we know how."

"He—he said he was moving on. He said he was doing better!"

"He… technically is doing better," Willie says. "Maybe not moving on, but—"

"Willie, you need to let him go," Julie frowns.

"That's not your choice to make," Alex's voice comes from the studio doors. He pushes the door open and steps out. "I get you want to help, but leaving me and Willie be would be the best thing you could do to help."

"Alex…" Julie whispers. "It's not fair to you."

"You think I don't know that? You think the fact that Willie is dead and I'm alive has escaped my notice? Because it hasn't. I have to talk to a sheet of notebook paper to have a conversation with him. I have to guess when he'll appear, and hope each day that he will. I don't get to see him smile, or look at me, and I can't hold his hand, and I can't feel him against me. But despite that, I'm happy with him. Isn't that what you should be focusing on?"

Julie sucks in a breath. "Alex—"

"Julie," Alex cuts her off. "I understand where you're coming from. The amount of times I told Luke falling for you was a horrible decision, but he reminded me it wasn't a decision. You can't pick and choose who you love, and… I'm willing to go through this for Willie, okay? You can't protect me from everything, and I'd never ask you to. I am asking you to leave this be."

She looks away from Alex, and turns to Willie. "Are you really okay with how this is going?"

"I… For now," Willie answers. "I've been trying to figure out my unfinished business to see if I'll come back to life, too. It's all I've been doing when I'm not with Alex for the last nine months. If I can't figure it out within the year since Alex came back to life I am going to stop this, okay Julie? I don't want him to hurt. I'll tell him to move on, I'll tell him that I can't do it anymore, but until then, I want to be there for him. These may be our last months together," Willie whispers. "Please don't take that from us."

Julie sighs, long and loud, but her shoulders drop. "Fine," she says, throwing her hands up. "Whatever. I—I just don't want you guys hurting."

"If you think Willie being here hurts me, clearly you don't remember you and Luke in the early days."

"I do, though. I remember how much it sucked when I reached out and my hand went right through him. I remember thinking that we could never be together—even once I could touch you guys, it still… sucked. Alex, I do remember the early days, and that's why I just… I just don't want you hurting. And… falling in love with a ghost when you're human… it hurts."

"But it's also worth it," Alex reminds her. "You turned down Nick, even when you couldn't touch Luke. Because you knew it was worth it. Even thinking you were going to lose Luke, you still chose him. And I'm choosing Willie, even though I know I could lose him. Even though it sucks that he's a ghost. Willie is worth it."

Julie looks at Willie. "Is this worth it?"

Willie nods. "I might have to say goodbye soon, but it's not like we're making bad memories. Alex and I won't live to regret the time we had together if this doesn't work out. And it might take us time to move on, but this will never not be worth it."

Julie narrows her eyes. "Does he know?"

"Know? About the unfinished business?" Willie asks. "No. I don't want to get his hopes up."

"Good. Keep it that way."

"Keep what, what way?" Alex demands, looking between Julie and the space of air she's looking at.

"Something I can't tell you," Julie says, still looking at Willie. "Willie wants to keep it quiet, too. Hopefully I can tell you one day, but until that day comes, it's mine and Willie's secret. It's for the better."

"Didn't we just decide you don't know what's best for me?" Alex huffs.

"Not in this case," Willie says.

"Willie says 'not in this case,'" Julie translates. "Just… be careful both of you, alright? You know I love you both, right?"

Alex leans back against the studio door and crosses his arms, frowning. "I know, Jules. I love you, too. And I appreciate your thoughts and wanting me to be okay, but, really. We're fine."

"Yeah," Willie says. "If I can't figure out my unfinished business I'll stop by and say goodbye to you, too."

"Alright," Julie nods. "Let me just grab that song and then you two can get back to your… date."

Willie smiles at her. He can feel on his face that it's not a full smile, that it's sad, and that it's not reaching his eyes, but… he is sad. Vocalizing his plan, to Julie no less, has made it permanent. He really only has three months to figure out his unfinished business.

It doesn't feel like enough time. Looking back to Alex, he knows it's not.

He'll never be ready to say goodbye.

(*)

His time is up.

It's been an entire year, almost to the day (he gave himself one extra week) since Alex came back to life, and Willie is here to leave Alex. He's kneeling next to where Alex is sleeping on the studio's couch, looking so relaxed and content, and Willie… he's glad he prepared beforehand. He pulls the piece of notebook paper out of his pocked and places it on the table, Alex's name in bold pen on the top.

He wrote his note before he came to see Alex, knowing that he won't have the courage to write it down when he's looking at the other boy. Especially not if Alex is watching him. No, that's… he could never do that, not when he could see the look on Alex's face. So, the idea is, in and out, leave the note somewhere for Alex to find, and never look back.

The last part is going to be the hardest.

However, he's promised himself that he won't go looking for Alex or the others anymore. Not after tonight. He's letting Alex move on, but he needs to let himself move on, too. Alex will find someone else to love, and Willie… if nothing else, he should give himself the chance to find someone else to love. Not that he'll ever really feel confident again, knowing that one of them could cross over at any minute, leaving him just as heartbroken as he is now. But… it was worth it with Alex. He can't imagine how it ever wouldn't be worth it, even as he has to say goodbye now. Alex will always be worth it, and he can't be sorry for holding on as long as he did. The time he got to spend with him has given him enough courage to say goodbye… just… there's one more thing he wants to say, that he couldn't say in his note.

"I love you," Willie whispers, reaching down to stroke Alex's hair, but freezing before he could. He's not in the right mindset to have his hand pass through Alex, not again, not right now, when he feels the cramping in his chest from the pain of this moment. Not when it's been over a year and he still hasn't figured out his unfinished business. Not when he doesn't think he ever will. There's so much he's tried, so much he's done, and he's not sure what more there is to do. He's held on to this for far too long, and he thinks it's time to let go. He doesn't want his last memory of Alex to be his hand disappearing through the boy's body. "I'm so sorry I couldn't do better for you."

There's a clench in his stomach as he thinks about all he's gone through this past year. Practicing all the moves he wanted to perfect before he died. Returning to his childhood home and making connections with his family, apologizing for leaving them, apologizing for not being a better son. Visiting his older sister who ran away when he was younger. Tracking down the person who killed him from all of the newspaper articles and forgiving them. Going to his college and sitting in on all of the classes that he skipped out on when he was a student. Going back to Caleb's club and apologizing to all those he led there. Visiting the graves of all of his family members that he never got to say goodbye to. Visiting his grave and forgiving himself for his mistake.

Yet here he stands, still a ghost.

Truthfully, he didn't care if he crossed over to the living or crossed over to heaven. He just… didn't want to be here anymore. In this limbo between the living and the dead. Skating the streets of Hollywood was fun, but with Caleb gone, with the Ghost Club in his past, with Alex living… skating was all he had, and it wasn't enough to hold him to this… "life" that he was living. He just wanted it to be over—he just wanted to move on. He doesn't care what that means anymore. Just… not like this. Not this. He can't be stuck like this for eternity. He can't.

He shoves himself to his feet in a rush and walks to the door, forcing himself to not look back. It's time to move on—time to let Alex move on. Like Alex says, it's not fair, and Willie's just making it harder on both of them. If he hasn't figured out his unfinished business by now, he's not going to. Maybe he already missed his opportunity, maybe it's something that's waiting for him in the future, maybe it's—

Ow.

Willie looks up from where he landed on the floor, and sends a glare at the door. There's a noise from up in the loft and Reggie's laugh sounds through the studio. "Dude, did you just walk into the door? I know you can do dumb things when you just wake up, but come on."

Willie looks up at the loft and blinks.

Wait.

He walked into the door.

"Reggie?" he calls tentatively.

The boy pops his head out of the fence in the loft, jaw dropped. "Willie?"

"You can—you can see me?" Willie breathes, turning around on the floor and looking between Alex and Reggie. Thing one: he couldn't walk through the door. Thing two: Reggie could hear him walk into the door. Thing three: Reggie could see him.

"Alex!" Reggie screeches, throwing a box of picks down from the loft and at the couch. "Alex!"

Alex flinches when the box of picks lands right next to his head and groans. "Dude, what the fuck?" he asks, picking up the box and looking at it. "Why the fuck?"

"I'm sorry, but you're going to love me in a second because sit your butt up and look at the door."

"What are you talking about?" Alex demands as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. He looks up at the loft first, but Reggie's head peaking down at the door must interest him, because Willie looks away from Reggie at the same time Alex does, and their eyes meet. "Willie?" he whispers.

"Alex," he breathes out with a laugh. Alex is up and off the couch and striding towards him in one motion, dropping next to him with a loud thud of his knees hitting the concrete. Willie reaches towards him cautiously. He curls a hand around Alex's face, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb and laughs. "Oh my god."

Alex lunges forward and tackles Willie into a hug, holding him tight as they both start to cry.

"Hold on, hold on!" Reggie wails, footsteps thundering as he rushes down the loft stairs. "Remember, I can't poof out anymore, and I don't want to see what's going to happen next, just give me a minute to—okay, carry on," he finishes, and then the studio door clicks shut and Alex crashes his mouth to Willie's with no hesitance.

Willie gasps, and takes a moment to adjust to the feeling of Alex's mouth on his again, but after a moment, he pushes back into Alex and gives back as good as he's getting. It's easy to fall back into this, really. It's not like Willie forgot how Alex kisses, and he highly doubts Alex has forgotten how Willie kisses, so it's easy for the two of them to give and take, to push and pull. There's no learning involved, just coming home.

Alex's breath hitches and he pulls away quickly, shoving his face into Willie's neck. "Oh my god," Willie hears him whisper. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Please tell me I'm not dreaming?" he begs.

"You're not dreaming," Willie grins, holding Alex tighter.

"Yeah, but that's something dream you would say," Alex says, pulling away from Willie's neck and looking into his eyes. Alex's eyes are red and the area around them is swelling, and Willie swears he's never looked more beautiful. He lifts a hand and cups Alex's face. "Punch me."

"Wh—babe, no," he laughs, wiping the tears from Alex's face. "Punch yourself."

He's not expecting Alex to pull back and smash his fist into his forearm. "That wasn't hard enough, you've gotta—wait. My knees. The concrete hurt them. Can you dream pain? Is that a thing? Oh my god, I don't know enough about dreams, I—"

"Alex," Willie murmurs, leaning forward. "You're not dreaming. You've always trusted me, yeah? Trust me now." He presses his lips gently to Alex's, and feels Alex's lips quirk up in a smile.

He pulls back. "If I wake up from this you're so dead."

"Well, technically, if this was a dream, you'd be completely right. But right now I'm so alive." Willie pauses. "I think? I couldn't walk through the door and now you guys can see me and touch me and—"

Alex cuts him off with a kiss. After a few seconds he releases Willie's lips and sits back and closes a hand around Willie's wrist, pressing two fingers to where Willie's pulse point would be. Alex stares at his hand in amazement, and another smile spreads on his face. "You're alive."

"I am?" he asks, breathless.

"Yes, dude. What was? What was your unfinished business?"

"I don't—I don't know. The last thing I did was visit you. I've been trying to figure it out for the last year but nothing worked. Then… Wait."

"What?"

Willie feels blood rush to his face and wow isn't that a feeling. But, no. Not the point right now. He twists his wrist in Alex's hold and slips his hand down to hold Alex's. "The last thing I did was, um, tell you I love you."

"Falling in love was your unfinished business?"

"No," Willie shakes his head. "Otherwise I would have come back like, two years ago. Unless—did I really have to say it?"

"Unfinished business is weird, we were technically signed with Destiny Management for two months before we actually signed the papers, but I didn't actually come back until I signed the legit contract," Alex explains. He smiles at Willie, and then his expression drops. "Wait. You're in love with me?"

Willie feels his face soften. "I've been in love with you."

"Was it—was it you at my grave? A few months ago I—I know I could have asked you when you started writing to me but I was so scared—"

"It was me," Willie nods. "I can't believe you tried to suggest I didn't care—"

"I didn't—I couldn't—I just—everything sucked, I was doubting everything and the further I got away from you the more I was convinced that you didn't feel the same. I mean, you hadn't come to visit once—"

"I saw you at the skate park before that." He squeezes Alex hand. He lifts up their entwined fingers and presses a kiss to the back of Alex's hand. "You looked… you were so sad, and it hurt so much to talk to you. At first I thought it was better for both of us if I didn't… encourage it. I lost that plan, though. I was trying to figure out my unfinished business but I just wanted you to be happy."

"You make me happy."

Willie grins. "You make me happy too, hot dog."

Alex blushes and goes back to hiding his face in Willie's shoulder.

"Hey, have you tried hot dogs since you came back to life?"

"No," Alex laughs, then moves his head up to press a kiss to Willie's collarbone. He leans back, away from Willie's body so he can look him in the eyes. "I don't think I ever will."

"Yeah, well I'm stopping at every cross walk, even if the walk sign is on," Willie says. "What kills you makes you reevaluate your life choices."

"What kills you makes you smarter," Alex grins.

"Then why did you need me to help you pass calculus?" Willie teases.

Alex rolls his eyes and shoves at Willie, who reaches forward to grab Alex's bicep to stabilize him. "What are you doing here, man? You haven't been here in almost a month. I've been waiting for you."

Willie bites his lip and looks at the ground. "I was here to say goodbye. I gave myself one year to figure out my unfinished business and then I'd let us both move on. That—that's what I told Julie that night. That's what you couldn't know."

Alex breathes out, staring at Willie without blinking. His eyes start filling with tears and he lets out a mirthless laugh. "Well thank fuck you decided to tell me you loved me."

"Yeah," Willie nods. "Thank fuck."

(*)

They walk into the Molina household hand in hand, Alex murmuring things along the way, and Willie just listening, but mostly reveling in the feel of Alex's hand in his again.

"Ah, mijo!" Julie's dad exclaims happily. "Just in time, I was about to send Reggie out—who's this?"

Alex shifts, squeezes Willie's hand, and draws in a breath. "Ray, this is Willie. He's—do you remember how we told you I was dating a ghost before I came back to life?"

Ray (apparently) nods. "I do."

"This is him."

Ray's eyes narrow. "He came back to life, too?"

"He did. And he doesn't have anywhere to go right now, could he stay, at least in the studio? We'll find his family soon, but—"

"Alex," Ray cuts the boy off. "Of course." He looks to Willie. "Do you like tacos?"

Willie nods slowly. "Yes, sir."

Ray shakes his head. "None of that 'sir' stuff, Willie. Just Ray works. Let me go find another chair, and you can join us for dinner, bueno?"

"I—thank you," Willie says, genuinely taken aback by Ray's openness.

"Alright, the rest of the family is in the dining room, why don't you two go join them, I'm just going to grab a chair out of my office," he tells them, and then disappears around the corner.

Alex squeezes Willie's hand and smiles down at him. "Ready?"

Willie laughs. "For what?"

Alex grins and walks forward, tugging Willie along behind him. They walk through the kitchen and Willie can see the entire group as they make their way to the table—Julie's little brother (Carlos, he thinks) is sitting at the head of the table, talking rapidly with Reggie, who is sitting with his back to Willie and Alex. Julie's friend (Flynn, he's sure of that one) is sitting next to Reggie and he can tell from her posture that she's bent over her phone. Beside her, there's an open chair squeezed into the small space which Willie assumes is meant for Alex. Across the table, with their heads ducked together and talking in quiet tones are Julie and Luke, completely unaware to their presence. At least until Alex clears his throat.

Everyone looks at them, then. Reggie and Flynn turn in their seats, and Julie and Luke look up, confused. Carlos stares at Willie with a calculating look, and—

"Oh my god!" Julie screeches, shoving out of her chair so fast that she knocks it back into the window. She runs around the table and into the kitchen before launching herself at Willie. "You did it!"

Willie laughs but once Alex drops his hand, he holds on to her tightly. Despite being able to interact with her face to face for the last two and a half years, he's never got to touch her. She became one of his closest friends, but he'd never been able to give her a hug, and they're both tactile people. The entire group is, really. So he squeezes her tighter and breathes in her scent and savors in the feeling of being hugged by her. "I did," he says into her hair. "Thank you for giving me the chance."

"Of course," she says as she pulls away, but her hands don't leave him, just slide down to hold on to his forearms. "What was it?"

Alex grins from next to Willie and leans in to Julie's view. "He had to tell me he loved me."

"It took you guys two years to say I love you?" Luke says, and Willie notices him standing a few feet behind Julie. "Dude—"

"Not all of us say 'I love you' after the first date, Luke," Alex shoots back.

"But two years?"

"We were separated for one of those."

"But two years?"

"Leave them be," Julie tells him, finally dropping Willie's arms and spinning around to face her boyfriend. "It still took you months to work up the courage to ask me out. Willie asked Alex out as soon as he was free from Caleb." Willie wants to tell her that Alex had actually kissed him and ran away before Willie asked the boy out, but with a glance at Alex, who was glaring at him knowingly, he decides to save the story for another time. "At least they've got that sorted out."

Luke rolls his eyes and steps around Julie to clap a hand into Willie's. He bumps their shoulders together and grins, a trademark lopsided Luke grin. "I'm glad to see you, man."

"Me too!" Reggie cries from in back of the group. "Sorry I ran out of the studio on you guys, but I didn't—"

"You knew?" Julie gasps.

"Well, yeah? Why'd you think I ran in from the studio?"

"Considering you grabbed food, we thought you wanted a snack," Flynn says, and Reggie looks like he's considering her words before he shrugs. She turns to Willie. "I'm Flynn. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

"Same," Willie says, leaning forward to shake her hand. "We've technically met, but you never got to see me."

"So you were a ghost, too?" Carlos calls from where he's still sitting at the dining room table. Ray is sitting at the other end now, too, having squeezed in another chair on the side where Julie and Luke had been sitting. It was a wheelie computer chair and as soon as Flynn saw it she dove for it with a cry of 'dibs,' sending her and the chair flying back into the wall.

"I was," Willie confirms, following the rest of the group as they make their way back to the dining room.

"Cool," Carlos breathes.

"Yeah, super cool," Julie rolls her eyes, ruffling her brother's hair. "Dying is so cool."

"Hey, he's alive again," Carlos shoots back. "So I can say it's cool."

"Can't argue that logic," Reggie grins.

"I also agree it's cool," Alex says, and sends Willie a soft smile.

"Yeah, yeah, we know, you're happy to have your boyfriend back," Flynn waves her hand through the air as she scooches back to the table. "But can we get to the tacos now?"

"I hope you like tacos," Luke says, reaching for a hard shell with one hand and the taco meat with the other. "Because they're gonna be your first taste of food in—wait, when did you die?"

"Seven, eight years ago. 2015."

"How old are you?" Julie asks.

"With or without the ghost years?"

"Without. That's what's going on your birth certificate."

"I was a month shy of turning twenty. I was born a month before you three," he says, nodding at each of the boys individually, "died in '95."

"It's a good thing we died, then," Alex says, waiting patiently for the rest of the table to make their tacos before he makes his own. "Never would have met you, otherwise. Or if I did…"

"We don't think about that," Luke says. "Otherwise we have to talk about how much older I am that Julie and that—that doesn't work."

"How much older than Julie are you?" Carlos asks.

Luke turns a mock glare on the kid. "Did you not hear what I just said? We don't think about that."

Reggie leans towards Carlos and stage whispers, "twenty six years."

Carlos looks absolutely gleeful. "Ha! Dad, did you know that?"

Ray sighs. "I did, Carlos. Eat your food."

"You're old," Carlos hisses at Luke.

"You're a child," Luke taunts back. Even through their tones, Willie can tell this group is a family. Luke is Carlos' older sister's boyfriend, yes, but his role as a pseudo brother to Carlos is just as important as his role as Julie's boyfriend. Reggie clearly adores the kid and Willie's sure their relationship is even closer than that of Carlos and Luke's. He looks at Alex, who is looking down the table at Carlos with fond eyes, and realizes that even Alex is this kid's brother. Alex is Julie's brother. He's Ray's son. He's not just living here, he's a piece of this family, and Willie is at a meet the family dinner, even if he already knew more than half of them. His eyes flick to Ray and suddenly he wants to make a good impression.

Alex must be able to feel him tense up, so he reaches over and lays a hand on Willie's thigh. He leans in. "What's wrong?"

Willie looks at him, looks around the table again, and settles on Ray again, who is giving him a look that's nearly as concerned as the one on Alex's face.

It's been ten minutes and he thinks he's a part of this family, too.

He smiles at Ray, who returns it, and then Willie turns to Alex. "Nothing. I'm good. But hey, I love you."

Alex smiles. He presses a kiss to Willie's cheek. "I love you, too."

#willex fic #willex fanfic #alex mercer x willie #willex #jatp fic #my writing

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naptoons · 4 years

Text

Lockdown - Zabdiel De Jesus

Theme: fluff and angst I guess & google translated spanish.

Warnings: cute shit with a little sad shit

A/N: okay this song is literally the cutest and I couldn’t imagine anyone fitting this concept but zabdiel🥺 I hope you guys like the angst / fluff🖤 I love you all.

You’ve always had a crush on Zabdiel, he was always there to help you through whatever you were comfortable with telling him. He knew you sometimes better than yourself. You hated to admit you like him. Because you knew you’d end up like the other girls. Either becoming his weekdays or his one time. You didn’t want to be either. You didn’t want your heart broken again. The pain was unbearable last time, you fell hard for your ex-partner. Now you were crushing big time. Zabdiel walks over to you placing the covers over your body, laying your head on his thighs while his fingers caress your earlobe, basically helping you fall asleep faster.

“You look so tired nena, whats got you up late at night?” His voice soothing you deeper into your slumber, you brain urged you to comment “you” but your fear wouldn’t let that happen.

“Work stuff” you mumble, Zabdiel settling for a soft hum, he just draws circles on your lower back, as your ears drown out the music and laughter.

Twenty minutes later the sound of cursing and shouts dawn upon you. Later followed by Zabdiel’s voice “shut the fuck up, y/n is trying to sleep” smiling you slowly sit up snuggling yourself in the covers. Zabdiel peeks his head in the room sighing at the sight of you being awake. “I apologize for them, supposedly uno is super intense you have to scream and jump on couches” he jokes with you.

“It’s okay, I guess I slept too long anyways” you smile fixing the hoodie you had on. Time couldn’t be more awkward then it was now.

“Is that my hoodie? Wow I was hoping I didn’t lose it” his smile beams, your face turning hues of red from your nose to the tip of your ears.

“Mhm” was all you could answer, Zabdiel flops down next to you, his arms rested on the back of the couch. “So we’re going out tonight, we’re going to club then the beach, so get dress nena” his fingertips caressing your exposed skin burning you up in size. You felt like the angel in you burned the wings off. Hit too close to the candles flame. Nodding your head Zabdiel helps you up from the couch, opening the door for you to walk out. He’s a gentleman. The type any girl would fall for. His energy is contagious. The butterflies were to powerful. You’re surprised they haven’t exposed you. Richard turns his head your direction smiling.

“Sorry we woke you up precioso” he engulfs you in a hug “it’s okay, I was waking up anyways”

“Yeah Zabdiel was about to beat us up for waking you up” Joel comments very humbling

“This man hella overprotective of you, makes me think it’s something more than just a friendship” Christopher sticks his tongue out in a very nsfw gesture Zabdiel walks over to him but Christopher gets up before he can lap around there. Laughing at how they’re playing a game of cat and mouse, I walk upstairs to my room. They all decided to come over, we were watching a movie in that room and you got tired. Opening your closet door you grab the most simple but elegant. A lace bodysuit tucked into black ripped jeans. And a pair of boots.

After your shower you think about what Christopher said, those words made you feel fuzzy inside. Made you question some things and even jumped to conclusions. But you’ve cane to realization, Zabdiel is just a flirty person by nature, even his fans know that. So makes you any different? Settling for to pieces of hair laying down on each side of your ears and a slick back ponytail. Looking through the mirror you see Zabdiel slender body “maldito bebé te ves bien” [Damn baby you look good], Zabdiel stands behind you kissing your temple. Smiling you lean back on his chest playfully. Zabdiel digs his fingers into your waist adorning you from head to toe.

Zabdiel knew he needed to tell you, he felt just a strongly as you do about him, but he knew his reputation might have messed that chance up for him. “Cmon lets go!” Grabbing your hand he pulls you towards the exit, while you grab your phone and wallet in the other hand. The rest of the boys were sitting on the couch debating about something, but got quiet as we entered the room. “Aren’t y’all obviously talking about us” Zabdiel laughs.

“No se de que estas hablando” [ I do not know what you are talking about] Christopher smugly replies, you only understand half of that sentence, more or less three words. Richard gets up walking towards the front door “erick should drive, since he can’t do shit” Richard pokes fun at him, You put on a pout face seeing how they bullied him. You walk over and hug him around his waist, cheek on his chest.

“Don’t worry, at least we don’t need alcohol to have fun” you back him up

“Yep, you’re right about that” he smiles wrapping his arms around your shoulder. Zabdiel stood in the background feeling a little jealousy brewing in him. Turning on his heel he walks out the door, swiping the keys on your table you follow pursuit.

“Someone has to sit on a lap” Erick shutters

“You’re thé driver, you ain’t got nothing to worry about, I call shotgun!” You yell just as you’re about to hop in the front seat Zabdiel pulls you into him. “You’re sitting on my lap” without any hesitation he pulls you on his lap, while the rest sit down in the seats. Erick looks back at you smiling.

“Watch your head Zabdiel is built like a jungle gym” he enlightens the situation

“Start climbing y/n, see what lies at the top” Christopher chimes in, getting a smack to the back of his head from Zabdiel. You have no choice but to laugh. You feel his hand on your waist pulling you in closer. “You comfortable?” You ask looking back at him

“Yeah I’m good you?” He asks

Smiling you reply “yes”

Arriving at the club, you saw a couple of his friends, including the girl he’s friends with benefits with. She looked beautiful nevertheless, she smelled like coco Chanel, mixed with the breeze of coconut. She was never bitter to you. I guess cause you hid your feelings so well she wasn’t aware you had the biggest crush on him. Zabdiel walks over to her engulfing her in a hug, her fingernails rubbing up and down his back. It was painful to watch so you softly shoulder bumped Erick and he did the same. “I’m hungry” you complain to him

“Yeah same let’s go eat” you and Erick start racing to the dinner part of the bar, Zabdiel watched you in the distance. Smiling at your happiness even if it wasn’t with him. “Zabdiel, Cmon lets get some drinks” Isabella grips onto his arms. Zabdiel nods follow her over to the bartenders. After you finished eating Erick wanted to dance at first you declined feeling socially awkward by the crowd, but Erick promised if it was too much you guys could go back to sitting down and play with the darts in the back of the club. Erick and you started dancing the rhythm of the beat. Y’all bodies grinding and sticking to each other, blending in just like everyone else. It wasn’t so bad you thought to yourself.

“See! Was it so bad?!” Erick shouts over the music, giggling you shake your head in rejection. “No! It isn’t!” Zabdiel was on the couch with Isabella watching how you guys were glue to each other’s body. He wanted that with you. Isabella and Zabdiel are both in a jealous rage. Isabella understood that he didn’t love her, he loved you. She wanted to make your heartbreak so you’d stay away from him. Erick has left to go use the bathroom, Isabella took the opportunity to speak to you. Kissing Zabdiel on the cheek she gets up from his lap making her way over to you.

“Hey y/n how are you?” She asks

“I’m fine, hot is all” you reply

“Yeah it is hot in here, listen sweetie I have something to tell you” her hands lifelessly laid upon your arm “Zabdiel isn’t ready for a relationship, he’s told me that he only sees you as a friend, he couldn’t cross that brother-sister boundary, you know he’s the flirty type don’t take it personal” if you could throw up flowers like a Hanahaki disease. This would be the moment. All this scenarios they played in your head turned from maybes to imaginations.

“Oh, well thanks for tell me I guess” upon hearing your somber tone on the inside she was quiet glad now you would turn away from her “man”

“I’m sorry baby, I know you liked him a lot, but he isn’t worth giving your heart too, he’ll just break it” Isabella pats your back walking back over to Zabdiel” your ears becoming numb to the blaring sound of the music. You watch her sit down on Zabdiel’s lap his hands wrapped around her waist. Smiling as they have a conversation. You told yourself not to fall hard for him. Just in case something like this were to happen. Erick comes out smiling, but that smile soon fades upon seeing the way your lower lip poked out in despair.

“Hey y/n are you okay?” He asks caressing his thumb on your forearm

“Erick.. May I be alone for fifteen minutes? I’ll be at the beach okay?” you force a smile, his eyes downgrading in shades of concern.

“Sure, I’ll come get you in fifteen minutes” Erick smiles, he kisses your temple watching you walkout the door before he turns around heading straight towards Zabdiel.

Zabdiel stops laughing once he sees the look upon Erick face, he knows somethings wrong. “Que Paso ?” [what happened]

“Something happened with y/n, she looked hurt, like she heard something and was disappointed by it” Zabdiel pushes Isabella off of him. She tries to grab his hand but he swings it away.

“What did you say to her?” Zabdiel growls, usually it would cause a bundle of joy in the pit of her stomach, but this sounded like a raging monster.

“Papi I didn’t say anything, maybe she was just thinking about something” she lies, Richard smugly drinks from his cup

“pequeña eres una gran mentirosa” [ little girl you are a big liar” Zabdiel turns in his direction “bro she went and told y/n you’re not in love with her, and that you aren’t ready for love, she also said you’d just hurt her” Zabdiel’s fists balles up wanting to punch a wall or a table but calms down ready to tell her off “when I come back home, I want your shit gone, I’m changing my number as well, get the fuck outta my face” Zabdiel looks back at Erick asking where you’ve gone too.

You were sitting close by the shore not to close to be swept away but close enough the waves crashed against your toes. Wiping the tears from your eyes that blended in well with the salt water in front of you. Why did you have to get your hopes up? You thought to yourself. Hearing the sound of feet against the sand you sniffed and dried your eyes. “It hasn’t been fifteen minutes yet Erick but I’m coming” you get up from your position as you turn around you realize it’s not Erick. But the boy you’ve fallen in love with.

“Oh hey Zabdiel” you couldn’t talk to him right now, you didn’t know how you could talk to him. Things would be awkward. It already was awkward but you always played it off by flirting back. Now you couldn’t do that. Trying to walk past him he grabs your wrist making you stand in front of him, as he towers over you. “What don’t you wanna go back inside? Your girlfriend is probably worried”

Zabdiel rolls his eyes “you know damn well she isn’t my girlfriend”

“Well Isabella is waiting”

“Can’t you see I don’t give a fuck about her? Y/n I’m here cause Erick told me you were out here”

“Your point?” You didn’t mean to be cold,but you wanna let him get close, your heart is already broken. Twice could make you run away from him.

“For fuck sakes y/n I like you” Zabdiel bluntly comments.

Shaking your head you feel the tears roll down “no you don’t Zabdiel, I don’t wanna be just another girl to you, I want more then that I deserve more than that, I don’t want to feel my heart break no more” your voice floating in the window “cause the minute that we touch lockdown, Zabdiel because I am in love with you, I might never want to let you go”

Sniffling you drop your arm still in his grasp “just tell me please, you got someone else, so I can make easy to not go there” you let out one last comment.

“ I can’t lie to you. I don’t have anyone else and I’m not in love with Isabella, it’s always been you, you idiot” not giving you anytime to respond, the sun and the moon met, as his warmth cascade over you, his fingers placed gently on both sides of your cheek, holding the both of y’all together like glue, the waves crashing against the both of your feet’s. A gust of wind flowing in between you two. It was something and more you’ve always dreamt of. Pulling away from your space, a string of saliva becomes a divider between you two. His eyes swimming in love, but also in beauty because of you. “Y/n i meant what I said, I’m deeply and utterly in love with you, fuck more then I should be, it scares the hell out of me, but feeling that jealousy tension today I know that this feels right”

“You were jealous?” You ask curiously

“That’s all you heard?” Zabdiel laughs “yeah, I got very jealous today, what Christopher said is true, I’m very overprotective of you”

“I love you too” honey voice came from your lips, instantly melting Zabdiel, his smile so milky and delicate. Leaning in he crashes his lips upon yours with only one hand on your jawline.

Erick has to drive us home, everyone was drunk besides him and I. Zabdiel was tipsy he could’ve drive but he wanted you to sit on his lap again. Getting out the car the cold wind hit my body. We said out a little longer, playing with the water, kissing, watching the moonlight against the water. It was something that only happened in movies. “Here” Zabdiel wraps you up in his jacket, smiling up at him he kisses your forehead. Something that always gave you butterflies. Even with him bring your boyfriend now. Erick Opens the front door for us, while everyone followed pursuit.

“Finally you told her z! Told you she felt the same” Christopher slurs his words, You giggle in how shy he is by that comment but he just picks you up taking you to his room. Closing the door behind him you scope out the room. He’s done some remodeling there were things you never seen before in his room.

“I added something you’ll love” he speaks

“Hm, what is it?” You reply

“Change into my hoodie and you’ll find out”

“I’ll do that if you take a warm shower with me” innocently you plead

“Oh, already?” Zabdiel jokes with you.

After the shower you and Zabdiel were cuddled up in his bed “so where’s the surprise?” you ask he reaches over on his nightstand grabbing what looked like a remote. He clicked it and stars appeared on the celling. Looking just like the skies you saw at the beach. Astonished by the view your eyes turn into a galaxy. And he loved it.

“How is that for a surprise?” He mumbles against your skin “so now when you come over, we can do just this” he wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling you into his chest.

“What more would you do for me?” You smile

“Whatever you want me to do, you have me on lockdown”

#cnco imagines #cnco #cnco imagine #zabdiel de jesus #zabdiel

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sadienita · 5 years

Text

Destiny Has Nothing To Do With It - Part 3

Seungcheol x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of divorce, minor fighting

You didn’t want to go on a date with Seungcheol, that was the last thing on your mind but you also didn’t want to back down, especially when it was the only thing cheering up Bom.

“This is stupid,” you muttered, tugging awkwardly at the dress.

“You look cute!” Hyelin yelled over skype. “He’s gonna love it!”

“You do look really nice,” Bom hummed. Emily nodded in agreement.

“I should take this off,” you said. All three of them started screaming no at you. When you got home looking shaken Bom had asked what happened and when you told her about the date she immediately wanted to help you get ready. You knew she had talked to Seokmin once or twice this week. It wasn’t perfect but she was trying a little more and you knew staying away from him was wearing on her.

Helping you get ready for a date seemed like a perfect distraction and chance to ease her nerves which was the only reason you agreed. You had half a mind to wear sweats since he made a comment about you being cute and you didn’t want any more of that. Bom had suggested a bunch of options but Hyelin had insisted on the dress.

Then again if you knew that Bom was going to involve Emily and Hyelin you wouldn’t have agreed in the first place.

“It doesn’t matter what I wear,” you muttered.

“Of course it does it’s a first date!” cried Hyelin.

“It’s an only date,” you grumbled. “I can already tell this is a mistake waiting to happen.”

“Please try and be excited,” Bom pouted.

You sighed, deflating a bit. You did this for her so you should probably act excited. You sat in front of the mirror while she hummed and did your makeup and Emily tackled your hair. It was nice getting all dolled up, sure, but you couldn’t help but feel anxious about what it was leading to. You didn’t want to go on this date. You didn’t want to get to know Seungcheol. You wanted him to disappear. You wanted to never hear from him again.

You watched the time tick later and later, your nerves growing by the second. You would have been smug about the fact that he didn’t have your address but you knew he could get it from Seokmin. And if he didn’t have it Bom would have given it up easily. Everyone seemed to think that was such a good thing for you, but all you could see was a million ways it might fall apart.

As if on cue, the clock hit 8 and there was a knock at the door. You groaned and sunk into your chair while Emily rushed to answer it. Hyelin and Bom gave you encouragement as you grabbed your bag and slowly made your way to the front door. You knew Bom was spying behind you to see how it went and she would probably tell Hyelin everything the second you left.

You did your best to ignore the way your stomach did flip flops seeing him dressed nicely and holding a bouquet of flowers. Seungcheol bit his lip as his eyes traveled over you and you felt your face heating up.

“Not a word,” you mumbled.

“I can’t eve-”

“No.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Alright then.” He let you grab your jacket. The only one that would go with this dress was your lightest one but Bom had still insisted that it was the only way to complete the outfit and your sister, of course, agreed. Seungcheol offered you his arm and you took it slowly as he walked you out to his car.

You climbed in and fiddled with your bag, as he started the car and pulled onto the road.

“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” he chuckled.

“No,” you sniffed.

You caught him frowning out of the corner of your eye. “You know you could have cancelled, right?”

You shifted in your seat. “It’s… I’m… you know what, it was just easier that I came tonight.”

He glanced at you curiously. “Alright.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. You stared out the window and tried to calm your nerves, missing how Seungcheol’s hands were shaky and he was sure you could hear his heart beating out of his chest. You barely paid attention to where he was driving, only really cluing in as he pulled into the parking lot for a pretty popular restaurant

You perked up, looking at the restaurant sign. “How did you get reservations that fast? Isn’t this place booked for a few weeks in advance?”

He blushed. “I made them just after I met you and just hoped I would get you to agree to a date in time.”

His optimism really astounded you. He was either reading you really well already, or he was an idiot.

You were inclined to believe the later.

Seungcheol got out and rushed around the car, opening you door and helping you out. You couldn’t hide the blush on your face but the smile he gave you was different, sweet and a little nervous. Maybe he hoped that letting down his guard would convince you let down yours.

He walked you inside and you were seated quickly. You quickly poured over your menu, in part to pick dinner and in part to avoid talking to him. The food was a little pricey, then again everyone you knew who had been had said it was really good so maybe it was worth the cost. You debated over items for a few moments, deciding in the end to treat yourself to something a little more expensive since you rarely went out. You both brought your menus down at the same time and you quickly sipped your water, avoiding his eyes.

“I know you told me not to say anything, but you really look beautiful tonight,” he said. His voice had none of its usual bravado; it was a little shy and subdued.

“Yeah, you too,” you mumbled awkwardly.

He frowned at you. “Look I know you said it was complicated and you had to come, but if you really don’t want to be here that badly then you can go.”

You looked up at him in shock as he continued. “This is your out. If you really hate me that much for no damn reason then you can go. Tell them it was awkward and it didn’t work out or whatever.” The bitterness was clear in his voice.

You felt the guilt wash over you. You didn’t mean to make him feel like shit but he clearly did. This was much easier when he was smug and resistant and annoying. Now he was being sincere and you couldn’t help the way it made your heart ache.

“No. I’ll try,” you mumbled. “I’ll try for tonight.”

He smiled at you as the waiter came to take your orders. As much as you expected the night to be awkward the conversation flowed so easily with Seungcheol. When you actually let yourself enjoy his company you found he fit with you like a puzzle piece. The longer the dinner went the more you wanted to be comfortable with him, but there was still a lot of anxiety nagging at the back of your mind, eating away at your mood the better it got.

You liked the way he joked with you so easily. You liked that he cared for his friends as fiercely as you did yours. You liked the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room and that was all he cared about. The feeling was almost addictive.

You were cracking jokes as the cheque came and you almost didn’t notice him taking out his credit card to pay.

“Hold on, we’re not splitting it?” you asked.

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh why, because I’m a girl and I can-”

“Because,” he said calmly, locking eyes with you. “I asked you out, I made the reservation, I pay.”

You crossed your arms and fell silent. You didn’t like his insistence to pay and your nagging anxiety was latching onto it. You barely responded to him as he took you home. He tried to start a conversation but to no avail and when he finally pulled into your driveway he sighed.

“Alright, what did I do wrong?”

You eyed him, not responding.

“Look if this is about the cheque then I’m sorry. I wanted to treat you and I didn’t think you’d be upset if I took care of dinner. If you want to pay next time-”

“As if they’ll be a next time,” you muttered.

“What the hell is your problem?” he cried. “I’m really trying here! I honestly want to get to know you and you’re making a big deal out of nothing!”

“It starts with nothing!” you yelled, your anxiety mixing into a nasty brand of anger and fear. “It starts with you paying the cheque without asking me and then you hold it over my head for months. Until I do something nice for you and then I make you feel guilty and that’s how this goes until we’ve been together for fifteen years and we’re both bitter and I regret marrying you and we can’t stop fighting and our children hate us for staying together, but even more when we get a divorce!”

He processed your words slowly. “Who? You- You know that’s not going to happen to us, right?”

You could feel hot tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “You don’t know that! You have no clue what you’re-”

“You’re scared,” he said cutting you off, a look of realization in his eyes.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, far more weakly than you wanted to. You got out of the car, ignoring how he called your name as you stormed inside and started to cry.

At least Bom had the good sense not to ask how the date went.

#Seventeen #seventeen imagines #Svt #svt imagines #s coups #s coups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #soulmate au #seventeen soulmate au #soulmate!seventeen #soulmate!svt #soulmate!seungcheol #is it fate #destiny has nothing to do with it

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ofheartandmind · 6 years

Text

A Galaxy of Lies

Read Part 1: Here

A/N: I found one discrepancy in part 1 that was part of a earlier draft, that got left in the final. Sorry about the confusion, but just so we’re clear, reader is not the youngest. She has two older brothers, and one younger one. They’ll be mentioned more as the story progresses

Also if your wondering where I get the inspiration for reader from, think Cersei from GOT, but like A LOT less incest. In fact, no incest.

Warnings: None

Part 2

Your first up close impression of the First Order was that it was an actual dumpster fire. In fact, a section of their mammoth flagship, The Supremacy, was literally on fire and missing its right half when your ship arrived in a docking bay. Upon exiting hyperspace your pilot had been forced to maneuver around a surrounding belt of debris. And in the end that had turned out to be the missing half of the ship, blown to smithereens.

“A casualty of their indiscretions with the rebels,” king Muhaperr murmured while you gazed out a window at the devastation.

The two of you sat in a veiled booth located at the center of the vessel. His highness had chosen to make a humble entrance. Delivering you to Kylo ren in a simple passenger ship and not one of the hundreds of embellished star cruisers belonging to the crown. At the entranced was a small squadron of guards, and then seated in back of you and your father were five of his retainers. A representative of the council had also come along as well, one Lord Galenea.

A small party, as not to offend your hosts.

Looking down at your folded hands you couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the jewelry and gown your maids had forced on you. Today you were going to begin force training to become the apprentice of Ren. However, when you had attempted to slip into your armour, a sleek and durable outfit, you had been stopped.

“His highness has requested we dress you in your finest, milady,” your head-maid supplied.

Though you had been displeased, you had not become your father’s right hand by disobeying or questioning his orders, so you submitted with a scowl. The gown was new; constructed totally of iridescent crystals from a enriched mining planet in the Ahakista system. The slightest amount of movement made the garment shimmer, and with the added moonstone rings on your fingers and a matching necklace you appeared lovelier than any star in the galaxy.

But these were not just warm parting gifts from father to his daughter. Your father did nothing that would not significantly benefit his cause. And if you had any doubt of that, if you may have believed for a second the king cared about how you felt, that was shattered by your twit of a brother.

Alezach was twenty-five, five years your senior with, what you considered, a mind ten years beneath you. He was an entitled fool of a prince who thought himself the perfect choice for the crown though he was quite far from the oldest or the smartest. He had marched into your rooms and scared away your ladies before you had departed early this morning.

“Look at you sister, all dressed up for a date with destiny” he purred, circling you.

You rolled your eyes at his attempted to intimidate you. Alezach had been validated far too long by the misogynistic views of Maniru. Your fear of him was so little, you didn’t flinch when he grabbed your face and squeezed it between his grubby hands.

“Always remember little sister, you are a pawn. The force you might have, but father cares not what petty rocks you can lift with your mind. He’s dressed you up to appeal to that beast, Ren’s lustful senses. A pretty face to distract him until you slit his throat. That’s all you are, a knife waiting to be used.”

Yes, Alezach was right. Even now sitting right beside your father as you prepared to disembark the passengership, you knew your brother had spoken the truth. However that didn’t make it any less satisfying to throw his pathetic form against a wall with the force.

As you exited the craft,your family’s guards formed a protective enclosure around you and your father. Now out in the open you started to truly experience the First Order’s might.

Hundreds of tie-fighters and smaller battle cruisers lined the floors, ready to be deployed at a moments notice. AT-Walkers equipped with fearsome looking blasters starred you down. Dozens of models of newly advanced weaponry were stacked about the room, and in the distance you could see engineers milling around like ants, creating more. Before you could venture further to look, your father halted you with a firm grip on your elbow. The message was clear, stay back and be silent for now. Your inhaled deeply, keeping your annoyance a unseen.

Towards the middle of the hangar marching was heard. And then the gleaming white suites of at least fifty stormtroopers came to a stop and stood at attention before your party.

Then in perfect succession they parted, separating to form two straight lines on opposite sides. From this a man appeared and the troops pair by pair saluted him as he approached. His hair was a burning shade of red that stuck out considerably more because of the severe amount of black he wore. He was a stranger to you, but your father seemed to know him well you noted, watching as he glided forward to heartily shake the redhead's hand.

“Your majesty,” the man drawled, “welcome aboard. I hope your travel was, restful. I am aware our coordinates are very...cluttered at the moment.”

King Muhaperr’s chuckle was deep, startling a few bustling officers as they passed.

“Oh yes, yes. But think nothing of it General Hux, it was fine journey, thank you for having us.”

General Hux raised an eyebrow, a curious look fell onto his face. “Us?” he questioned. “Forgive me, much has happened and I was not all the way briefed on your visit. This is visit is diplomatic in nature yes? To strengthen the ties of our alliance?

Your father’s smile was large, comforting even. Though the general did not lose his suspicious look. “My visit is all of those things and more, general. The First Order has always been a crucial variable in the fight for the galaxy and I have come today to acknowledge that fact, and to reward it.”

His are stretched out behind and when he called your name you moved to answer the call. Your steps were dainty, though this wasn’t the man you were meant to seduce a little sway in your hips didn’t hurt. The humming of machinery seemed to melt into quietness as you came into view. The officers that had been at work behind the troopers all paused, watching you.

“May I present a gift. My only daughter, princess of the kingdom of Maniru.”

The general blinked owlishly, both blown away and taken back. He was still taking you in seconds later until something chivalrous must of bite him in the ass. He dashed forward and cupped your hand, placing a kiss on its center. He bowed slightly, “my princess, how lovely to meet you.”

You curtsied in return, “Likewise. I am glad to make the acquaintance of the famed general Hux.” All the suspicion the man seemed to have possessed earlier vanished at just the bat of your eyelash it seemed. He beamed at you before turning to your father.

“Surely this marriage proposal is unexpected, my king. But I am honored and accept it all the same,” Hux said, enthused.

The retainers who had also exited the ship began to whisper amongst themselves at the general’s foolish assumptions. King Muhaperr raised his own eyebrow this time, but said nothing. Instead they all looked to you, knowingly.

“How dare you,” you growled, shocking the red head still cradling your hand. You could feel something break inside of you after a day of aggravation. After dealing with everyone dictating your actions and rubbing your misfortune in your face, this was the final straw. This alway happened when your temper was tested, the force would well out of you, almost uncontrollably. Clenching and unclenching your hands, you brought one up to eye level, curving your fingers to constrict the man’s airways. Hux’s eyes widened in realization, as if this had happened to him before.

“I am no ones bride, you presumptuous man!” You spat.

When the storm-troopers finally comprehend what is going on, they cocked their blasters, and in response your guards rushed forward to defend you and the king. But as soon as everything began it stopped, and your arm was forcible lowered back to your side. Hux was released and inhaled, before flopping to the floor.

It was then that your nerves fluttered, and your skin seemed to vibrate as if in anticipation. Something powerful was getting closer. The hangar was still quiet, shocked at the uproar and making it easy to hear an eerie sound of heavy footsteps. The direction of where they came from had your attention immediately. The vibration seemed to rise, entering your head and connecting the dots for you. So this was what it felt like to be in the presence of another force user.

The footsteps grew louder and when the officer and troopers instantly dropped to their knees, you knew who had come.

The first time you saw the supreme leader Kylo ren you noticed he was a hulk of a man. He had barrel like chest with wide shoulders draped in black robes. He was taller than any person you had ever met as well. His scared face, while handsome was actually, quite melancholy; made that way by the natural pout of his large lips.

But what struck you the most was how he stared right at you. Not your father, or general Hux or any other man. But you, the woman always fighting for the spotlight.Without looking away from you he chuckled, only then glancing down at the flustered Hux.

“General, what were you thinking?,” Kylo ren asked the man, then looked back to you. “Your gift? No, she’s mine.”

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren imagine #tlj spoilers #the last jedi spoilers #ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #star wars fanfiction #kylo ren fanfic #reader insert #kylo ren

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foxesandferrets · 6 years

Text

Baby Fever

@ainu, Claudia and I were talking about Kagehina and cats, and thus this silly thing was born. Thanks for always giving me inspiration, I love you guys <3

(Cat name by Ainu)

******** ********

Kageyama wasn’t sure how he ended up there, with the smell of way too many animals in much too small a space filling his nostrils as Hinata looked around the room with wonder in his eyes. Except, he did know. He knew exactly how it happened, he was just baffled at how he let it get this far.

It had been several nights ago, when Hinata stretched across the couch and plopped his head in Kageyama’s lap, forcing him to move the sports magazine he was reading out of the way so he could pout up at him. The pout was met with a frown, which made a smile tug at Hinata’s lips, but he pushed it away.

“Tobiooooo,” he whined, adding puppy dog eyes to the expression.

“Your head is digging into my hip,” he answered, pretending to be uninterested.

“Oh, sorry.” Hinata scooted down, resting his head on the soft part of Kageyama’s thigh before looking back up. “Tobiooooo! I want a baby.”

Kageyama froze, going rigid as his face turned red hot. “You what?”

“I want a baby,” Hinata repeated, his pout spreading into a wide grin. “A cute chubby one that we can dress up in tiny volleyball clothes and spoil rotten. What do you think?”

“Shou,” Kageyama sputtered, suddenly feeling like some huge responsibility was weighing on his shoulders. A baby? He could barely take care of himself, and his mom still made monthly trips to make sure their fridge was full and the two of them hadn’t been crushed under a tower of unwashed clothes. “We...we aren’t even married. We can barely afford rent. You’re still in school. I work at a gym!”

“But I really want one,” he continued, rolling toward Kageyama to bury his face in his stomach. “Won’t our love be enough to support us?”

“Not when we need diapers and baby food and doctor's visits and cribs and,” Kageyama paused, stress crashing over him about how he would manage to provide for his dumb boyfriend and their nonexistent child. “We can’t. There’s no way. Shou we’re only 25 for fuck’s sake.”

“Fine, no baby,” Hinata mumbled against his shirt. “I’ll just wallow in sadness until the day I can love a tiny human and teach them all of my volleyball wisdom. But until then I’ll need something to fill the void in my heart. I think a kitten will do the job.”

Kageyama sighed a breath of relief. A kitten he could do. A kitten is manageable. And kibble and litter are much less expensive than formula and baby clothes.

“Fine.” He absentmindedly let his hand fall down to Hinata’s hair, running his fingers through that fiery orange that never burns. “We can go to a shelter this weekend.”

“Great!” Hinata rolled back over, beaming up at Kageyama as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Look at this cute food and water bowl set I found, it has little fish on the sides. And this cat tree! It’s three levels, and there are feathers hanging from the top and a built in scratching post! And-,”

“Wait a minute,” Kageyama said, realization dawning on him. “You never wanted a baby, did you? You wanted a kitten all along and knew I’d say no.”

“No take backs, you already said yes!”

“You little bastard.”

Hinata blew a kiss upwards, but Kageyama just glared, not wanting to accept his defeat but knowing he’d lost. “I learned it from some boring show about marketing my mom was watching when I visited. It’s called door in the face technique. You start with something big, knowing it’ll get turned down, and then you give your real offer and they’re more likely to say yes. And it worked!”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t get used to it, I’m onto you now,” he mumbled, reaching for his magazine.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say.”

Hinata had spent the rest of the night picking out collars and toys for the kitten and shoving his phone in Kageyama’s face to gush about how cute they were. Eventually he had to wrestle the phone away to keep him from spending their food budget on a pink and gold self cleaning litter box.

On the drive to the shelter saturday morning Hinata was practically bouncing out of his seat, which wasn’t that much more distracting than his usual fidgeting, but enough to make Kageyama worry it was a driving hazard. As soon as the car was parked Hinata flew out, bounding up the concrete steps and through the shelter door. Kageyama followed, making sure to lock the car and taking the steps at a slower pace, and met up with Hinata behind a door that said plainly: ‘Cat Room.’

“There’s so many!” Hinata looked around amidst the roaring meows, frozen in place as he tried to choose where to start. He settled on the loudest one, a little black kitten with white sock paws that was practically screaming through the bars of his cage. Kageyama wondered how so much noise could come out of such a small creature. Hinata reached a hand out to the kitten, sticking his fingers through the bars despite the clear ‘Do not put hands in cage’ sign hanging above it, and quickly drew it back as the kitten latched on with clawed sock paws and shoved it into his mouth made of razors.

“Ow! Bad kitty!” Hinata frowned down at the thin line of blood forming on his finger. “Tobio! He cut me.”

“Read the sign, dumbass,” Kageyama answered, pointing at the paper. “They put that there for a reason. Cats are evil.”

“They are not!” Hinata gasped, looking offended. “They’re sweet little angels.”

“They’re killing machines, urged on by their anger over the fact that they’re too small to kill a human.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hinata said, turning back to the cages but keeping his fingers to himself. “He’s just grumpy because he thinks animals don’t like him.”

That was true, but Kageyama wouldn’t admit it out loud. He never had a pet growing up, and every time he’d been introduced to a friend’s pet they seemed nonchalant towards him, usually ignoring him and going about their business. He even tried to approach stray cats around town that he had seen other’s feed, but they always flattened their ears and ran away. He wasn’t sure what he did wrong, or if it was just some presence he had that scared animals off, but he’d given up on trying to make them like him years ago.

Unsure of what he planned to achieve, he walked up to one of the cages, staring down at an older tabby with a soft face and sagging belly that showed she’d had multiple litters of kittens. Thinking of her stuck in there, all alone and without her babies, tugged at Kageyama’s heartstrings. He let out an exhale before nervously lifting his hand to the bars where she could sniff at his fingers but he could pull back quickly if she went on the attack. She was careful not to touch him with her nose as she smelled him curiously, and for a moment Kageyama thought she might actually let him pet her, but before he could attempt it she turned, sticking her tail straight up in the air as she made her way to the very back of the cage and flopped down.

“Oh, whatever,” he mumbled, sticking his tongue out at the cat and feeling dumb for acting so childish. “I didn’t want to pet you anyway.”

He sulked back toward the door, resting his back against the frame and shoving his hands in his pockets. He figured he might as well just wait for Hinata to pick, it’d be his cat anyway. It wouldn’t want anything to do with Kageyama.

He watched as Hinata darted around the room, cooing and clucking his tongue at different cats, all of which came up to the bars to greet him. Some let him gently rub their heads and some attempted to chew his fingers off, but all of them interacted with him somehow. Even the momma tabby came back to the bars when Hinata peered in at her, and Kageyama tried to ignore the sad bit of jealousy that climbed up his throat as she rubbed her cheek across his outstretched finger.

This is fine, he thought, as long as it makes Hinata happy I don’t need the cat to like me too.

Hinata knelt before one of the cages close to the floor, saying something about “what a pretty baby” to a disgruntled looking ball of gray fluff inside, and just above his head, Kageyama locked eyes with a pair of round blue eyes. The cat just stared at him, sitting patiently as if daring him to come over and talk to it. So he did. What did he have to lose?

The cat, a tiny orange thing with thick downy fur, sat just far enough away from the bars that Kageyama’s fingers couldn’t reach it, watching silently as he tried. It cocked its head to the side, as if it was interested in him but not quite sure if he was safe.

“Oh, that’s a pretty one,” Hinata said beside him, startling Kageyama as he quickly pulled his hand back. “Here kitty kitty.”

The cat immediately perked up when Hinata appeared, letting out a soft mew and pressing her face against the bars. Hinata rubbed his finger on the bridge of her nose and she started to purr.

“I think she likes you,” Kageyama said, checking the tag on her cage for the gender.

“Isn't she gorgeous, Tobio?” Hinata asked, rubbing at her chin as she flopped down and rolled over, stretching her paws out past the cage bars. “Look, she has your eyes!”

As if on cue the cat looked up at him, blue meeting blue. Kageyama ignored the sudden bit of affection he felt for the kitten, knowing it would only hurt him later. “Yeah, well, she has your hair,” he said, watching as the cat meowed loudly at Hinata, standing back up and trying to force her face through the bars to get closer to him and almost getting stuck. “And your stupidity.”

“Then it’s destiny!” Hinata turned, grabbing Kageyama’s hand and smiling wide. “She’s part me and part you. She’s our baby!”

“Don’t say weird shit, Shou,” Kageyama chided, looking back at the cat who paused her escape attempts to stare at him again. “It’s just a cat.”

“A perfect cat,” he continued. “Let’s take her home.”

“Are you sure that’s the one you want?”

Again with perfect timing, the cat reached out and latched a claw into Hinata’s shirt, meowing sadly at him as if she was afraid he’d leave her. He gently removed her claw and held her paw in his hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Kageyama called for an employee who came to transfer the cat into a cardboard travel box. As soon as the cage door was open the cat practically leapt at Hinata, landing in his arms as he frantically tried not to drop her. It took a full five minutes to get her off of Hinata and into the box, meowing loudly in protest the entire time.

She continued to yell at them until they were in the car and Hinata impatiently opened the box.

“Hey, dumbass! Don’t open that in here!” Kageyama called, thoughts of cats running under brake pedals and cars spinning out in fiery death spirals flashing in his mind.

“Don’t worry, she’ll behave. Won’t you?” The cat hopped easily out of the box and onto Hinata’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck and making him giggle. “Ah, your nose is cold!”

“Just keep a grip on her.”

“What’re we gonna call her, Tobio?”

Kageyama thought of all the cat names he knew, which wasn’t many.

“Uh, Fluffy? Whiskers? Those are cat names, yeah?”

“Boo,” Hinata pouted. “Those are so boring. She needs a unique name. Something super cool, like Spike!”

“Why would you name her Spike? Tosses are better.”

“You want to name the cat Toss?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Because it sounds ridiculous, that’s why not,” Hinata told him, moving the box to the floorboard and moving the cat to his lap where she curled up and purred loudly. “Besides, if we’re gonna name her after something you do why don’t we just call her Leaving-Wet-Towels-On-The-Bathroom-Floor?”

“Well if we name her after stuff you do we can call just her Coercing-My-Boyfriend-Into-Buying-Me-A-Kitten.”

“Let’s name her after something we both love,” Hinata said, waving away the faux argument. “What’s something you love?”

“You.”

“Oh, shut up, this is serious,” Hinata said, trying to play off the way the answer made his cheeks tinge pink. Kageyama smiled to himself. Hinata was so cute when he was caught off guard.

“Fine. Uh, volleyball, milk, those little oddly shaped m&ms that end up in the bag sometimes and are way more candy shell than chocolate.”

“Those are terrible names,” Hinata giggled, his hand moving softly over the lightly dozing kitten.

“My turn. I love spiking, but you already shot that one down, eating cookie dough, when you get to the subway really early and the seats are still cold and it feels like the world is still sleeping.”

“Shou, you can’t name a cat after a feeling. Think of one word things.”

“Okay, okay. I love meatbuns.”

“Me too,” Kageyama said, turning to look at Hinata and raising an eyebrow as if to ask ‘is that it?’

“Nikupan,” Hinata said, smiling down at the cat. “We can all her Niku for short.”

“Well, it’s unique.”

“Then it’s perfect. We’re gonna take such good care of you, Niku.”

***

As Kageyama expected, Niku could not care less about him. He tried for a while, buying her special treats and toys and giving them to her when Hinata wasn’t home, but she always ignored him and eventually he gave up. She slept in their bed but always curled up near Hinata’s feet where Kageyama couldn’t reach her. And when Hinata was home she was glued to his side. They were inseparable, and even though it hurt him a little he was just glad that Niku made Hinata happy.

Though, she didn’t just love Hinata. When their friends and family came over she warmed up quickly to them too. Everyone was enamored with her, laughing as she played with bits of string or meowed loudly at them, demanding to be picked up.

But that was all fine, Kageyama decided. They didn’t have to get along. He’d leave her alone, and she’d keep on avoiding him, and everything would be fine.

That is, until Hinata went to visit his mom and sister for a weekend, and Kageyama couldn’t take off of work to accompany him, leaving him and Niku home alone for two days. It was longer than they’d ever spent together without Hinata, and Kageyama would be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of how it would go.

The first day was fine. He didn’t see her at all, no tuft of orange fur sticking out from under the couch or flash of fire as she disappeared around a corner. The only way he knew she was even there was the steadily emptying food bowl in the kitchen. That night he rolled over in his sleep, reaching for Hinata and instead getting a handful of cat, eyes flying open to find Niku perched precariously on the edge of the bed where she probably thought Kageyama couldn’t reach her. She was gone faster than he could pull his hand back, retreating out of the room and down the hall, clearly betrayed by his audacity.

The next morning was the same. No sign of Niku anywhere. Kageyama sighed, filling her food and water bowls, and left for work.

That evening, Kageyama’s heart sank as he unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen, his eyes immediately falling to Niku’s food bowl, which was completely untouched.

“Oh no,” he whispered, immediately pulling open cabinets and hoping she got herself stuck somewhere in the house. “Kitty kitty! Niku, kitty, where are you?” He crawled around the house, searching under every piece of furniture and in every nook and cranny he could think of. Normally he would feel like an idiot crawling around and meowing, but all he could see was a little orange kitten in the belly of some wild animal and Hinata telling him how much he hated him for letting his best friend get out.

The only place left to to check was the bedroom, but by that point Kageyama’s heart was in his stomach, and it sank even further when he saw the little hole ripped in the screen of the window above the dresser. “Oh shit,” he breathed, running to the window and looking out. All he saw was the alley between their building and the one beside it, shadows growing across it as the sun began to set, and a rather large stray dog sniffing around a dumpster. He knew he’d never be able to find her without Hinata’s help, and Hinata would be furious and probably break up with him when he found out.

“Niku?” He yelled, making an old woman walking by the mouth of the alley stop at stare at him, but he didn’t care.There was a high pitched meow from below, so soft he almost missed it, sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins. “Niku!”

The meow caught the attention of the stray dog, causing it to rush over and start barking at the dumpster and pawing beneath it, sniffing and snarling.

“Hey! Leave her alone you dumbass dog!” The dog paid no attention to Kageyama, too occupied by the kitten cries that were coming from the dumpster. Suddenly remembering that his legs worked, Kageyama turned and sprinted from the bedroom and back out the front door. He took the stairs three at a time, praying that he’d make it in time to save Niku, and it wasn’t until he skid to a stop halfway down the alley that he realized he had no idea how to scare the dog off.

From this angle he could see the little orange cat under the dumpster backed up against the building, the dog’s paws inches away from her. She was puffed up twice her size and hissing as intimidatingly as she could, but the dog was unphased.

“Dammit,” Kageyama hissed, searching the ground for something he could use to scare the dog. His eyes landed on a rusted metal baking tray and the broken handle of a baseball bat, which he scooped up and continued running toward the dog.

“Hey dumbass!” He yelled, banging the bat against the tray as hard as he could. The sound reverberated between the buildings, making the dog stop to look up at him. “Go eat someone else’s cat!” As he got closer the dog’s eyes went wide, the sound growing bigger and louder, and it turned to scamper back the way it came.

Without hesitating Kageyama dropped to his knees beside the dumpster, calling out to Niku. He figured she wouldn’t budge, and he’d have to stay in that alley with her until Hinata got home and could coax her out, but the second those fearful blue eyes met his he was bombarded by a ball of fluff. Her claws dug through his shirt and into his chest, but he didn’t care. She was safe.

“It’s okay, little kitty,” he whispered, standing up and clutching her to his chest as she shivered. “You’re safe now.”

Niku stayed latched to him as they made their way back to the apartment, and still wouldn’t let go as Kageyama shut the heavy window. He tried to get her to eat but she would just meow in protest until he picked her back up. Finally, he gave up and went to bed, letting her curl up and sleep on his chest, and, for the first time, Kageyama felt Niku purr.

Kageyama woke up late that night to the sound of Hinata’s keys in the door. He tried to creep silently into the bedroom, but froze when Kageyama flipped on the lamp.

“Hey, did I wake y-,” he froze, eyes going wide as he saw the ball of orange sleeping soundly on Kageyama’s chest. “Tobio! She likes you!”

“Shhh, don’t wake her. As soon as she sees you she’ll forget all about me again,” Kageyama smiled, gently petting Niku.

Hinata kicked off his shoes and changed his clothes before crawling into bed beside the pair. He laid his head on Kageyama’s shoulder, letting their fingers intertwine in the cat’s fur. “Looks like you guys had quite a weekend. What’d you get up to?”

“Let’s just say we had an adventure.”

“Boo, Tobio, no fair,” Hinata pouted.

“I saved her from a hungry dog that tried to swallow her whole.”

Hinata snorted. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. If you don’t want to tell me your cat charming secrets it’s fine.”

Hinata snuggled closer and Kageyama switched the lamp off, letting himself fall back asleep. Before it came, in that space between waking and sleeping that both exists and doesn’t, he figured he was happy with his little family, and after years of waiting, he was glad that Niku was the first animal to accept him, just like Hinata was the first boy to love him. Finally, everything in his life felt perfect.

***

Niku was slightly inspired by my wild kitty Ian, who is constantly causing trouble but is just too cute to stay mad at. You can find more of my cat pics here, or follow me on instagram!

#kagehina #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuuwriters #haikyuu!!#mari writes

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savathewolf · 6 years

Text

Hold Me Tight/Can You Trust Me?

Chapter List: (1.) (2.) (3.) (4.) (5.) (6.) (7.) (8.A) (8.B) (8.A.T.) (8.B.T.)

Chapter Three: The Morning That Won’t Change

It’s close to one in the morning when you pull back the sheets, sliding into bed with intense fatigue. After everyone had finished making their purchases, the four of you parted ways at your respective cars. The scene of Taehyung looking back over his shoulder as he climbed into the driver’s seat plays over and over again in your mind: the midnight sky alight with thousands of stars; Taehyung’s eyes reflecting the street lamps; skin glowing softly under the moonlight. He smiles shyly at you, waving goodbye. He drives away.

You’re quite sure you’ve channeled your inner tomato from the heat rising in your face, and you burrow deep into your pillow, giving a small groan. That was not how this night was supposed to go. You toss and turn, trying to get the image of his bright shining eyes out of your mind. You wonder why his eyes lit up like that when they seemed so lifeless before. You don’t remember anything particularly interesting happening. Frustrated with your never-ending train of thought, you tell yourself that there is no point in dwelling on him, that you’ll never see him again, and that’s that.

And yet, the last thing you see before you drift off to sleep is the first real smile he gave only to you.

Your alarm comes much too early in the morning. As is tradition, you flop out of bed and reluctantly begin your morning routine. Soon you’re on your way to the cafe, the warm spring air brushing your skin as you step onto the bus. You feel surprisingly invigorated when you arrive, pushing open the doors with a skip in your step. As usual, Jimin is waiting to serve you, calling out a suggestion the moment you walk through the door. “Caramel mocha?” You nod happily.

Taking out your notebook, you sit down at your spot by the window. Sunlight bathes the pages and makes them feel fresher, more inviting. Still, the words never come easily. You chew the edge of your pencil, closing your eyes. It seems like you’re always wandering down those long blank hallways.

Ding-ding. The door rings in a customer.

“Just a regular cappuccino, a little cream?”

You feel the smallest tap on your shoulder, and you look up to see Taehyung. His expression is as flat as ever.

“May I sit here? I won’t bother you.”

“Sure,” you say, watching him settle down in front of you. He stares out the window while the two of you wait for your drinks.

“So...when’s your next date with Jule?” you ask casually.

“I don’t think she liked me very much,” he says matter of factly, still looking out the window.

“Oh… I’m sorry, that’s too bad.” Stupid, why did I ask that?

He shrugs. “I’m used to it. I’m not what people are expecting.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. Jimin comes over with your respective coffees, and you both awkwardly take a sip. You wonder why he came and sat over here. You start writing again; even if it’s meaningless, at least it’s at least something to look at other than the curve of Taehyung’s jaw and his deep, intense eyes. A few minutes pass.

“What are you writing?” he asks, tilting his head in attempt to read what you’re jotting down. You snap the book shut, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

“It’s nothing really. I...I like to write poetry,” you mumble. You’re channeling your inner tomato again. “I’m not very good. It’s just...something to open up to, somewhere to sort out my thoughts.”

Taehyung holds out his hand. “Can I read a little?” he asks.

You look at him, curious. He is completely unreadable. It’s several seconds before you wordlessly hand your notebook over. The moment you let go, you want to snatch it back, but he’s already turning the pages, his eyes intensely moving back and forth over your handwriting. He reads carefully, drinking in every word, slowly making his way through your entire book.

“You would make a good songwriter,” he says after a while. “I really like this one: The wind whispers softly my destiny. I see no horizon, only endless sky. Follow me, follow me. I’m going where my heart takes me.” You grab your book back quickly, completely mortified.

“That’s enough looking. It’s too embarrassing listening to you read it,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Taehyung laughs, and your heart skips a beat.

“I mean it though. You’re very talented.” He looks at you fondly. Moments later, he resumes his blank expression. Confused, you stop smiling, taking a hasty sip of your drink, which has started to go cold. He feels impossible to read. A few awkward moments pass in silence. Your alarm goes off, and you start at the sound.

“Oh, I have to go to work now,” you say.

He nods, and you turn to head out the door, your cold drink clutched in hand. Something like disappointment creeps over you. A hand gently touches your shoulder, and you spin around to see Taehyung standing close behind you. Much, much too close. He backs up, looking even more surprised than you feel.

“Ah...I was wondering...could...could I get your number?”

He holds a pen out to you, hand trembling slightly.

“Yeah, sure. Here, let me rip some paper out for you,” you reply, doing your best not to act as wildly flustered as you feel. You open your notebook. He stops you abruptly.

“You shouldn’t sacrifice part of your book. Here, just write it on my hand.” He holds his palm out to you. You take it, writing your number carefully on his soft skin. He closes his hand around your trace, a small smile touching his coral pink lips.

“Ah...thank you.” He looks at you, eyes shining for a moment like they did last night. Nodding, you turn heel and bolt out across the road, slamming the door of the bookstore behind you and sprinting into the bathroom. You hear a small knock.

“Uh...what was that?” Hoseok asks through the restroom door.

“Nothing! I just...uh…” you stammer, not really sure how to explain what just happened. You sigh, trying to pull yourself together. “If I tell you something, promise you won’t laugh, okay?”

You hear a snort from the outside. “Sure thing. I will be one hundred percent serious. No laughing at all,” he giggles. You peek through the door, looking up at him with a sheepish expression.

“A guy just asked me for my number.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen, his mouth hanging open.

“No way!” he gasps dramatically. You roll your eyes, slamming the door in his face.

“Hey, I didn’t laugh though!” he protests. “Come on, tell me who it is!”

You peek through the door again.

“Remember that guy from last night—?”

You’re cut off by Hobi’s excited yelling. “I didn’t realize when I asked you to do me a favor it was really the other way around!” he chortles, pinching your cheeks cutely. “Aww, someone’s got herself a boyfriend!”

You smack his hands away, your face bright red. “It might not even go anywhere, okay? He asked me, I was just trying to be nice!” As you protest, Hobi’s smirks get wider.

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you completely panicked and hid yourself in the bathroom!” He pokes you in the belly. “Hurry up and get changed, miss, we have a lot of shelves to sort. And it’s nice outside so we’ll probably have some customers today!” Hoseok shuts the door, leaving you to get ready for work.

You spend the next few hours in deep regret; Hobi does not let the conversation drop and comes up with every hypothetical scenario about the future nature of your relationship. By the time you break for lunch, your eyes hurt from rolling them constantly. You plop down onto one of the fluffy couches near the back of the store and pull out a sandwich, taking a huge bite as you check your phone.

One new message.

“Hello. This is Kim Taehyung.”

You choke on your sandwich, fighting to breathe. You read the text again. Should you respond?

“Hobi, he texted me!” you shout, terrified.

“Whaaaa!” he cries, sprint and leaping onto the couch beside you. He snatches the phone out of your hand. “Wooooow! He really likes you to text you so quickly.” His eyes are huge. “You gotta text him back right now!”

You flop onto Hobi’s lap dramatically, feeling overwhelmed.

“I don’t know what to say,” you moan, covering your face with your hands. It’s Hoseok’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Say ‘Hey! Want to go out later?’” he suggests. You shake your head.

“He just had a date with a different girl yesterday, he’ll think I’m being too weird. What if I just...say hello back,” you suggest timidly. Clicking his tongue, Hobi hands you your phone.

“Come on, you’re great! He won’t think you’re being weird. At least say something other than hello. Ask him how is day’s been or something, at least.”

Nervously, you start to type, agonizing over every detail.

“Hey Taehyung! How has your day been?”

Hobi pushes send for you before you can rewrite your message for the seventeenth time. “All done! I’m going to finish my lunch, let me know when anything exciting happens!” He trots off to the register.

Within moments there’s a new response.

“It’s been nice enough. I really like this warm weather so I’ve been working outside. How about you?”

You spend your entire lunch break and the next hour after that texting Taehyung. You learn that he’s currently working on his own line of fashion, that he has a dog named Yeontan, and that his favorite color is purple. You tell him that you’re not sure where you want to go in life, that you like being out in nature, and that you love working in the bookstore because you get to read on the job.

You look up to see Hoseok taking care of your portion of books, and you realize how long you’ve been distracted. Feeling guilty, you tell Taehyung reluctantly that you have to get back to work. His new text comes through seconds later.

“Do you work tomorrow? Can I take you up on that shopping trip?”

Incredulous, you type back:

“I am off tomorrow. I’d love to go! How about we meet up at noon?”

His immediate response: “I’ll pick you up. See you then.”

Anxious, you run to tell Hobi everything that’s happened.

Taehyung looks at the texts, reading them over and over. She said yes. She said yes. She said yes. He feels queasy and exhilarated all at once, like being at the edge of a cliff looking down. He’s happy, but scared. He puts his head in his hands. This was a mistake. This was a mistake. This was a mistake. Yet for the rest of the day, his steps are lighter, and he smiles naturally for the first time in years.

At the end of the day, he drives home, his thoughts only on you.

Another sleepless night. Thoughts of Taehyung swirl around your head even in your dreams. In the morning you wake up early, springing out of bed to start getting ready. You shower until the hot water runs out, comb your hair until every tangle is gone, spend two hours meticulously putting on your makeup. You agonize over your outfit and eventually settle on wearing a semi-casual skirt and shirt with an especially flattering jacket.

You look over at the clock...it’s only nine-thirty.

It’s going to be a long morning.

Taehyung arrives ten minutes until noon. You rush down to meet him, only managing to calm down seconds before you exit the stairwell. He gets out of his car and opens the door for you, holding out his hand in case you need to steady yourself. His cheeks are flushed with a soft pink that matches his lips.

Everything about him exudes life today. This sudden change in demeanor is tangible. He talks excitedly in that slow, winding way of his. He listens to your responses carefully, thoughtfully, and responds with deep thoughts. You arrive at a very nice clothing store in no time at all and walk in right alongside Taehyung, your elbows brushing from standing so close.

“How about we both pick an outfit for each other?” he suggests. You blush at the thought.

“I don’t know if I’m all that confident in my fashion abilities,” you say shyly. He touches your hair lightly.

“I’ll wear whatever you pick out for me without complain, even if it’s terrible,” he teases.

“Oh yeah? What about that orange dress over there?” you grin.

“Well it’s not really my color but if that’s what you want…” You both laugh together.

It’s like a dream. When Taehyung laughs, his eyes form half-moons, his smile a perfect little box. Every time he looks at you, his face softens.

You thought he was excessive in picking out dresses to replace the one he ruined of Jule’s, but that was nothing compared to today. He carefully analyzes every part of you, your eye color, your height, your skin tone, and fills an entire shopping cart full of things for you to try on. You do your best to pick out flattering things for him as well. After some debating, you decide his best colors are a pastel blue and white. You’re less certain about your choices but after a while you have quite a selection as well. You both show off your outfits, taking turns changing and jokingly strutting back and forth as if you were on a catwalk.

You stand looking in the mirror at the end of the aisle. Taehyung comes up behind you with a necklace, gently fastening it on you. The single pendant perfectly sets off the dress you’re wearing. As you admire yourself in the mirror, you see him shyly reach to smooth your hair, then catch himself. His hand slowly drops to his side. A glimpse of his sad demeanor weighs down his shoulders.

You turn around. “Something wrong?”

He won’t look you in the eyes.

“No, I’m just...it’s nothing. I’m having a really nice time,” he says softly.

But for the rest of the day, he’s a little quieter.

Taehyung drives you home and walks you to your doorstep. You both stand there for a while, still talking, unwilling to part ways. You only let him leave with the promise that you’ll meet up again soon. As you watch him drive away, you catch the scent of him on your skin and sigh deeply. Late that night, you’re still awake, reliving your favorite moments of the day. A text buzzes in your ear, and you open it to read:

“Are you still awake?”

Tap tap tap go the keys as you respond.

“Yep!”

“Coffee tomorrow morning before work?”

You wriggle happily in your bed, holding the phone close as you type. It doesn’t seem like you’re going to be able to sleep at all tonight.

Early the next morning, you burst into the cafe to be greeted by the surprised face of Jimin. He grins at you.

“Something special today. Interesting!” he calls.

It’s been ages since you ordered yourself, so you simply take a seat as you always do. He finishes quicker than usual, and sets two matching cups in front of you, winking at your confused expression. Moments later, Taehyung walks in, his face lighting up when he sees you waiting for him. He goes to the counter, but Jimin just points at the two cups and waves him away.

“Did you order for me?” Taehyung asks, confused. You shake your head. “How does he always know?” he muses, taking a sip.

“I ask myself that every day,” you shrug. Taehyung is eager to know what you’ve been writing, and you shyly show him everything you’ve penned late into the night when you’d been unable to sleep from excitement. The more you talk, the closer you lean toward each other, till your hands brush accidentally, and Taehyung’s face turns scarlet. He snaps back and launches into a sudden story about his dog to cover his awkward feelings.

The hour ticks by, and your pleasant chatter is interrupted by the alarm on your phone. You both look at each other, neither willing to move. Slowly you stand.

“I’d better get going,” you say. Taehyung stands too.

“Yeah, me too.” No one moves.

“Let’s do this again, yeah?”

His eyes light up. “What about tomorrow?”

It wasn’t just tomorrow. It was every day after that. It was little outings and texting until three in the morning when you both have to get up at seven. He took you to meet his dog, you both went and watched the latest movie. Today, he comes by your work to surprise you with a lunch he bought for you to share. Hobi smiles knowingly as you and Taehyung settle onto the couch together, sharing your food and thoughts. He’s familiar now—the pattern of his words, his boxy smile and soft fluffy hair, the way he dresses impeccably even on the most casual of days. You realize you’ve started leaning toward him when you sit together. He strokes your hair now, almost absentmindedly, like he too has grown familiar with your presence.

“Are we still on for that movie tonight?” you ask, popping a piece of chicken into your mouth. Taehyung nods happily.

“Of course we are. I’ll pick you up at seven. Let me know what you want to eat and I’ll buy it on the way,” he offers.

True to his word, he picks you up at seven p.m. sharp, and soon you’re both settled in his apartment, Yeontan curled up between you with dewy eyes begging for some of the pizza you’re sharing. When you’re done eating you turn on the movie, an award-winning foreign film that Taehyung swears you’ll love.

Worn out from the long day’s work, you find yourself more and more leaning on his broad shoulders. Spontaneously Taehyung pulls you into his lap, looking surprised at his own boldness. He cradles you sweetly, shyly taking your hand as you snuggle deep into the folds of his soft, oversized shirt. He smells faintly of lavender and cinnamon. Your fingers intertwine perfectly with his. Completely at ease, you fall asleep peacefully in his arms.

You awaken to a dark room, where a soft lilting voice is floating through the air. Taehyung is singing quietly, his voice filled with deep sorrow. He’s singing your words, the ones he read from your book, but it’s his own melody he’s composed. He hasn’t meant to wake you; you don’t know how long he’s been singing before you woke, but you stay still, listening.

“The wind whispers softly my destiny. I see no horizon, only endless sky. Follow me, follow me. I’m going where my heart takes me. I fear nothing, no harm can come when we walk together. Close your eyes, close your eyes, I will always be here for you. Beside you. My love washing over you. Together we seize the future, never waiting for the sun to rise…”

On and on he sings, like a siren in the night. You touch his cheek and he starts, but he doesn’t stop singing. You sit up to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his strong voice vibrate on your cheek. His dark eyes shine through the blackness of the room. So deep and clear. You lean up, pressing your lips tenderly against his, closing off his voice. He stiffens, shaken, but leans toward you, putting an arm around your waist, pulling you in closer.

Caught up in the heat of the moment, you don’t feel the tears trailing down his cheek.

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jhmyguardiangel · 7 years

Text

Beastly Beautiful | Jeonghan | Ch. 4

Genre: Romance, Drama, Slice of Life (SoL), AU!Jeonghan, Elite!Jeonghan

Word Count: 4.8k+

A/N: chapter 4! sorry it took long! I was preparing for school! hope you enjoy it! Be sure to read previous chapters before you read this!

T/W: none, but please tell me if there is.

Summary: Two different people, two different personalities, yet destiny puts them together.

Ch.3 || Ch.4 || Ch.5

“I think I might be interested in you.”

I’ll be at the university for two days. I need to submit my papers.- was the last conversation you had with Jeonghan’s servants.

“WHO?” Mr. Ryu flinched at Jeonghan’s roaring voice so early in the morning.

“Young Master, Miss Y/N said she’s leaving for a while, to the university.” Mr. Ryu noted. Jeonghan rubbed his nose in frustration because you left.

“She left without telling me? And me out of all people?” his eyebrows were furrowed.

Mr. Ryu sighed, “She said she wouldn’t tell you in person because you wouldn’t allow her to leave- which I totally agree on that was why she told me instead. And she also mentioned that-”

“What?!” Jeonghan shook his head. “I’m already furious that she told you!” he sat down at the edge of his bed. “Whatever. Leave my presence.”

“But young master, there is one problem.”

-------

You safely returned to Seungcheon university and you flopped on your bed. You sniffed the newly washed bed sheets, it felt like years that you haven’t been in contact with your bed even though it had only been three days.

A loud banging nearly broke your door, Sejeong, you thought. She was the only person who would do that, and the only one to enter your room. She was your only friend in the dorm after all. The ever-so-positive Sejeong wouldn’t even let the tired you rest even just for a minute or two. You grabbed your remote and pressed the button that opened your door.

“Y/N! Thank goodness you’re here! That Jeongpoop kidnapped you out of nowhere! You’re not hurt are you?” she too, flopped herself on your bed as if was her own.

You let out a laugh. “Ah, I’m fine, Sejeong. He brought me to his house and ate lunch, and that was pretty much it for the next two days.”

“Oh lunch is fin-” she paused, looking at you with wide eyes, “He brought you to his house?!”

“Y-yeah. Is that bad?”

She looked at you blankly, not saying a thing before she leaned in closer to whisper. “Was the house nice?”

You pursed your lips to prevent yourself from laughing because of her unexpected question.

“Well?”

You looked up and thought. “Hm, nothing ordinary. It was like a modern palace. Just a little richer than mine.”

She fell on her back and sighed a relaxing puff. Seriously, she’s getting too comfortable. “Lucky you, Y/N. To think a student would visit the nasty student president’s luxurious manor.” she shook her head in an accepting manner, “That doesn’t happen as much- or never, so to say.”

You fell on your back as well, still not over the fact that you volunteered to stay at the Yoon Manor for such petty reasons, one of them being an argument over a lollipop. All the more, Sejeong didn’t know about your real reason of being there, since Jeonghan said it was ‘deeply confidential’.

But a lollipop argument? Very confidential.

“Anyway, we should have lunch. The cafeterias are selling new desserts, wanna come with?”

The tired you complained for a while. You weren’t hungry, however the thought of dessert could help boost you awake for the day. “What do they have?” you stood up, reaching for your wallet. Sejeong rolled her eyes playfully, saying that you would have to find out when you get there.

-------

Jeonghan sat in the limousine, arms and legs crossed. His mood was worse than it already was this morning. He thought he could have his breakfast in bed normally like he used to, but it didn’t go that way when he heard you left for the university. Not only that, he recalled the sudden conversation he had with Mr. Ryu.

“But young master, there is one problem.”

“What is it now?” Jeonghan retorted as Mr. Ryu had an uncertain look on his face. “Well?”

“A person’s looking for you.” he pulled his tight collar in adjustment. “Someone you might know.”

Jeonghan’s ears perked, turning to Mr. Ryu in interest. “Name?”

“Mr. Jang Doyoon, the heir of the Jet Electronics International.”

“What about him?”

“He’s at the university.”

“Young Master, is there a problem?” Mr. Gok looked from the mirror. Jeonghan whipped his head at Mr. Gok’s direction in disbelief.

“What kind of question is that? Of course there’s a problem. You guys ruined my breakfast in bed!”

“Not that young master, I mean-”

“If it’s about me and Jang Doyoon, why do you ask when you already know?” Jeonghan rolled his eyes as he ate his sandwich.

“But young master, if your father hears about this, you’d be in huge trouble. Also please do protect your image, you are aware that you’re the heir to the YDH-tech in a few years.” Mr. Gok reasoned out.

“Like heck I care, father should’ve thrown me out years ago.”

Mr. Gok sighed, hearing the usual ignorant Jeonghan. “Master Yoon could never do that young master, you are his only child.”

Jeonghan scoffed and clicked his tongue, looking out at the window to see Seungcheon University few kilometers away. He rested his jaw on his palm, sighing,

“Yeah. Since Jeonghye died.”

-------

“Oh my goodness.” you licked your fork eating the chocolate flavoured mini entremet topped with a strawberry. “This is so delicious.”

“Right?” she took a bite of the same entremet. “Mingyu made this. The school chefs immediately put this on the dessert menu.”

“I don’t doubt it even just for a second. He’d be a world class chef before we know it.” you melted through the deliciousness. “Speaking of seconds-” you stood up, leaving to get more.

Sejeong laughed at your quick pace as she finishes her own.

Making your way to the dessert area, you spotted one more slice of Mingyu’s chocolate cake. You placed your tray down and reached for it until an arm made contact with yours.

“Oh were you supposed to get that?” a voice asked.

You looked at the owner’s voice. He was visually handsome at first glance, but even more so up close. He was tall and quite muscly, although lesser than Seungcheol. His aura was similar as Jeonghan’s, yet there was this spirit in this young man you couldn’t distinguish. You found yourself staring at him, so you quickly shook your head.

“Yes I was. It’s alright though, you can have it. I already had one.” you offered.

He looked at you with a flushed face, you weren’t offering him the last piece of cake were you? He was supposed to do that role, being a young gentleman. “You take it. I already had three.” he smiled with flashing teeth, and if your eyes were seeing correctly, there even was a twinkle.

You smiled awkwardly and took the last piece of cake. “Thank you.”

He stared at you for some time without realising, “Hm? Oh.” he coughed, “You’re welcome.” still smiling with his pearly whites.

He seemed cocky?

“I, I have to go back to my seat now, please excuse me.”

The young man eyed you as you went back to where you and Sejeong were sitting at, the corners of his lips tugged into a smile at how gorgeous you were. He didn’t know how long he was smiling until another young man, pulled him out of his thoughts with a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Doyoon-ah, who’s that chick?” he smirked, his eyes similar to a cat’s.

“Get a grip MingMing.” he slapped his hand. “Her name’s Y/Fl/N. Checked the new transfers list. Seems like a new face around here.”

“A very new face.” Yao MingMing said cunningly, taking an interest in you as well.

Doyoon pulled MingMing by the ear. “Back off man, I saw her first.” MingMing held his ear in pain. “Get me my phone, I’ll contact my father.”

“But Doyoon, your phone’s in your pant pocket. You could-”

“Exactly. Now phone.” he bossed, MingMing took Doyoon’s phone from his pant pocket like a puppy would obey his owner.

Doyoon called his father as MingMing stood fiddling his fingers. He snacked on the fries that were on his tray. For all MingMing knew, Doyoon probably already had a plan glued to his brain. “So what so you plan on doing, bro?”

“Simple.” he put his phone back in his pocket and took a last glimpse at you before leaving the cafeteria with an assuring smile,

“I’ll make her my wife.”

-------

The limousine arrived at the Key and Jeonghan got off as soon as Mr. Gok opened the door for him. Now to get his facts straight, Jeonghan knew that the tension between him and Jang Doyoon were ugly. Everyone in school resented him, since the history between him and Doyoon were heard of by all students.

Combing his long blonde hair back with his hand, earned him squeals from university girls- his ‘fans’, that led Jeonghan to walk a little bit faster than he did.

“Good afternoon! President Jeonghan!” their voices behind him. He looked back and nodded a blank face to shut them up.

“Did you see that?” “He nodded!” “O-m-g he acknowledged us!” “Such a gentleman!”

Or maybe not.

Wonwoo, who happened to be reading a book along the corridors with Mingyu and Jun by his side, quirked an eyebrow. “That’s something new. President Jeonghan coming to university on a Friday. He must have heard of Doyoon.”

“There’ll be a mafia at the Hall of Grandeur for sure at free period.” Jun added, shaking his head. “It’ll be a one man versus another with a myriad of Doyoon’s backup.”

“Shouldn’t we tell Seungcheol-hyung about this?” Mingyu asked.

“He wouldn’t care one bit.” Wonwoo answered, eyes still on his book.

“He should though. I mean wasn’t he friends with Doyoon?” Mingyu tiptoed to see if Doyoon was around.

“Drama’s out years ago. It’ll be ugly to bring it up again.” Wonwoo sighed.

“Crazy how the guys get the dramas.” Jun tugged his blazer. “Weren’t the ladies supposed to have dramas? Or things are just different here in Korea?”

The intercoms installed around the university screeched for a good ten seconds before a distant voice behind it said:

“Is it on?”

It was Doyoon’s voice.

“Good day to all students. Ex-student council president Jang Doyoon speaking. Miss me?” he chuckled. “Don’t mind me using the intercom, I’m just calling out for a seat snatcher named Jeonghan… Oh I mean, President Yoon Jeonghan. I believe he loves being addressed that way, given of his prideful attitude…”

You looked at Sejeong with a confused look, who returned with a quirked eyebrow.

“Hey Jeonghan. Free period’s in three. See you at the Hall of Grandeur. We have some unfinished business to take care of. Doyoon out.”

“What’s going on?” you queried, clearly not understanding what was going on.

“I heard this from Seungkwan. It appears that the ex-student council president back to have his revenge on President Jeonghan.” Sejeong pondered.

“Seungkwan really knows what’s up, doesn’t he?”

“I really wanna check it out though.” Sejeong said with interest. “Come on, it’ll be cool!”

“Count me out on this one.” you raised your hands, about to leave.

“Hey Y/N! Wanna check president vs. ex-president?” Seungkwan came running to you, followed by Jihoon and Chan.

“Okay. I guess we are checking it out.”

-------

The Hall of Grandeur quickly filled up with students since it was midterm break-all professors went home and students were meant to stay in their dorms to study. Seungcheon University was indeed a tough school. This gathering doesn’t happen often, but given with the ‘right’ timing, Jang Doyoon definitely knew how he would play his board game.

Everyone knew that Jeonghan wasn’t put for as a student council president, which explained their overfilled joy when Doyoon arrived few days ago. You, on the other hand, didn’t know who this Jang Doyoon looked like. He slowly appeared to the center of the Hall and you were surprised to see who he was- the cocky young man from the cafeteria.

“So it’s that guy..” you mumbled. Seungkwan looked at you, asking if you had said something. You shook your head in denial, avoiding to be caught.

“Ah. I missed the scent of my beloved Hall of Grandeur. But I missed the students here the most.” Doyoon proudly announced, following the cheers of the students. “President Yoon Jeonghan! Or should you even be deserved to be called that?” he clicked his tongue. “Come out and fight!”

Not even a second later, the Hall’s doors were slammed opened. Students suddenly quieted down. All eyes were on Jeonghan, who entered alone and had a face that was serious, most of it you couldn’t read. He probably knew where this was leading to. He was the smartest in school.

“Do I have to be here personally so that you can fight me? You’ve been hiding in your cage for a very long time, Jeonghan.” Doyoon’s voice changed to a heavy tone, noting that he was serious.

“As matter of fact, you’re late.” Jeonghan said as he was looking at his watch.

“Do you even know how much the students fear you since you’re president?!” Doyoon shouted in anger.

Jeonghan played with his nails. “I thought you came here to fight me, not give me a pep talk.”

“Be prepared.” Doyoon smirked. “Boys, unleash the beast in him!”

Behind Doyoon, there were eight other boys, some of them holding nunchucks and poles, ready to fight. As if it were staged, students around the them began chanting ‘fight, fight, fight’. Jeonghan on the contrary, didn’t look fazed or shaken. His hands in his pockets gave the impression that he didn’t care.

“Charge!” A young man shouted as he made his first move.

Students shouted and were much engaged with the duel. You looked to your left, Seungkwan and the others were entertained, especially Hansol. On your right, Sejeong, too, was having the time of her life. The chanting begin to fade and as you looked back at the chaotic fight, Jeonghan was standing unharmed and three of Doyoon’s guys were on the floor. One of them bleeding due to popped lips and the other two broke their arms.

“Did I tell you there wasn’t any need to bring your guys?” Jeonghan slightly smirked, but he seemed tired and weak.

“Oh I brought them on purpose, given that you have quite a weak stamina!” Doyoon’s smile was on the edge evil, and that scared you a bit. He just sugarcoated himself when he talked to you.

“ ‘Quite’ is an understatement.” Jeonghan gestured a move, challenging Doyoon’s other mates.

The fight continued and the students rooted for Doyoon and his chums. You stood there confused and didn’t want to side on anyone.

Jeonghan, you thought, was flawless when he fought with them. You even heard Soonyoung admitting that Jeonghan didn’t actually sugarcoat his martial art skills. Though that didn’t last when Doyoon himself stepped in, punching Jeonghan vigourously until he was bruised and bled on the face. He landed roughly on the floor close to the people in front of you. They backed up, revealing you slightly when Doyoon saw you.

He raised his hand to cease the fighting, which gave Jeonghan a resting before the cat-eyed young could hit Jeonghan with a metal pole.

“Seriously Doyoon?! I was getting to the best part!” he shouted.

“No. This is the best part.” he approached you and grabbed you by the arm.

You tried to escape his sudden grasp on you but obviously, he was stronger. “Hey. Miss Y/N.” he put his arms around you. “I think I might be interested in you.”

As he said that, students gasped and the corner of your eye caught sight of three girls, who reacted much more. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he circled around you. He sounded much different than he did earlier, much arrogant.

“I mean, look at you, Y/N! You’re super smart and kind, a good family background. We make a good match too.” he looked at you proudly from head to toe, then to your face, “.. not to mention you’re very, very beautiful.”

Jeonghan slowly stood on his knees but he was too weak to do so. Doyoon held your chin, his face close to yours, “Actually. I’ll make you my wif-.”

Doyoon fell on the floor, knocked out. Jeonghan already beat up Doyoon’s other friends and glared at the other students. With that glare, the rest of the students left, including Sejeong and the others.

You mouth gaped open, couldn’t believe that your friends left you alone with Jeonghan. You eyes trailed at Doyoon’s figure on the floor.

“Don’t worry, he’s unconsious.” Jeonghan said, reaching for his phone. “Mr. Gok, I’m at the Hall of Grandeur. Pick me up, will you?”

“I wasn’t worrying. I guess I’ll go back to East Wing.” you offered.

“What the heck, you’re not. You’re staying at my place, remember?” he grabbed your arm and left the Hall.

-------

The moment you and Jeonghan caught sight of Mr. Gok, he ran to Jeonghan in concern. He could run after all. “Young Master Jeonghan! What in heavens did you do?! You’re bleeding all over! Didn’t I tell you to protect your image?!” he wiped his sweating face with a handkerchief, “Oh my heavens! I think I’m going to faint!”

“Ask her!” Jeonghan shouted at him, pointing at you.

You didn’t know why, something about it irked you, definitely. “Me?! Why drag me into this?” you followed Jeonghan, irritated.

“Well obviously! If you hadn’t leave my house for some papers this morning I wouldn’t have come here!” he rolled his eyes.

“And you still came anyway!”

“I had an important call! And there you were flirting with Jang Doyoon!”

“I was not flirting with Jang Doyoon!”

“Well then good!”

Silence filled the vehicle and you were so frustrated at Jeonghan. He blamed you for him getting injured when it was crystal clear that he put himself into this mess. He could be so annoying that you wished you could slap his face all you want.

The ride back to the Yoon Manor took another three hours. You thought you could rest well after that high pitched quarrel with Jeonghan, but no, you couldn’t. You had to endure with his groaning that his body was hurting, he couldn’t move and even to the extent of saying that he was ‘dying’.

For three straight hours.

The moment you arrived at the Yoon Manor, it was five in the afternoon. Mr. Gok managed to have passed the speeding limit without being caught. Mrs. Bu came running with Mr. Ryu, same expression as Mr. Gok when their eyes saw Jeonghan.

“Young master dear! What on earth has happened to you?” Mrs. Bu exclaimed.

“Don’t care. Get the first aid kit ready.” Jeonghan left and went into his bedroom.

You walked inside and Mrs. Bu held your hand. “Miss Y/N dear, I have to cook dinner since Mr. Song is out of town. Would you mind if you attend to treat young master’s wounds?”

“Oh. I apologize Mrs. Bu. I don’t think Jeonghan would like that.” you chuckled tiredly, “We kind of had a quarrel on the way here. Maybe Mr. Ryu and Mr. Gok could do it in your stead?”

Mrs. Bu raised an eyebrow at you, yet she was giggling. “Oh nonsense!” she handed you a first aid kit. “Here, go to young master’s bedroom and treat his wounds.”

“But I-”

“No buts! Or no dinner!”

“I-” before you could interrupt any further, Mrs. Bu jogged to the kitchen. Knowing Mrs. Bu just for a few days, she didn’t want to barge in Jeonghan’s furious state because she was scared, though you wished she saw that you didn’t like it the most.

-------

You hesitantly stood in front of Jeonghan’s bedroom door. You didn’t want to do this but Mrs. Bu made it sound like her life depended on it. Biting your lower lip, you knocked on the door. No answer.

“Oh well he’s asleep.” you told yourself and began to swift your foot away. You stopped when Mr. Ryu stood nearby with his arms crossed, clearly you weren’t off the hook. You sighed heavily and knocked on the door louder.

“President Jeonghan. It’s Y/N. I’m here to treat your wounds.”

There wasn’t any answer. You opened the door, it was unlocked and the light from outside gave the room a light dimming. Jeonghan’s room was shockingly tidy. He was sound asleep, but his face and body still swell and bled. You approached closer and knelt by his bedside. “President Jeonghan?”

Still not responding, you placed your finger on his neck to look for his heartbeat. Good, he’s still alive, you thought. You soaked the towel in alcohol and water and dabbed it on his infected areas. You pushed his bangs aside, his sleeping face was as angelic even though how bruised Doyoon and his gang made him.

The room was quiet so you sang softly to lighten the atmosphere a bit. Every move you made to clean his wounds didn’t startle or woke him up, and just like an infant, he was still sound asleep. It was like his body was made out of iron, no ouches heard or twitches made by him.

By the time you finished, you stood up quietly but stopped when you felt his hand grabbed yours. “Mom…”

You flicked your head towards him and questioned yourself if you were hearing right. He said ‘mom’..

Speaking of which, you’ve never heard Mr. Ryu or the others mentioning about Jeonghan’s mother. But set those aside,

Jeonghan actually mumbles in his sleep?

You pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling. “I am so going to record this.” you took your phone out and began recording. Jeonghan mumbles a lot in his sleep.

“Mom.. Please.. don’t leave.. me..”

You stopped recording and saw how sad he looked. What actually happened to his mom? You took your free hand and took his hand off. And when you did, he somehow, consciously or unconsciously, pulled you to him and embraced you. “Oh no.”

“Did you really think I was sleeping?”

Your eyes widened. He was awake this whole time? You shimmied out of his embrace. “Well I- how did you know I recorded you? You were asleep.”

“I heard the ‘record’ button when you finished. Delete that video.” he ordered, still laying on his bed.

Recalling on what he did to blame you this afternoon, you plucked up your courage, “No. I won’t.”

He slowly sat up and raised his eyebrow. “No?”

“Yeah. I will not delete this.” you shook your phone, “It is for keeps. Proof that you do mumble in your sleep.”

“How dare you! I never mumble in my sleep! I ask you to delete that video, you punk!”

Somehow this amused you, for once you finally knew how to humiliate him. “This video tells me otherwise.” you laughed and teased him as you played the video.

Jeonghan fell off the bed and was nearly shouting, “That’s not me! I must be possessed! Delete that!”

“Unless you admit that I did not cause your injuries but you yourself!” you challenged.

“What?” he scoffed. “There’s no way I’ll do that!” You increased the volume louder. “Okay okay! I admit that I was the cause of my own injuries and not you.”

“Thank you.” you stopped the video and he calmed down.

Jeonghan sat on his bed. “So, what did I say during my sleep?”

You looked at him, tapping your feet onto the carpet and sat on it, “You said something about your mom. Like ‘Mom.. please don’t leave me.’” you paused after seeing his blank expression.

“So I talked about my mom, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m guessing you’re interested? In knowing what happened to my mom?” he faked a chuckle.

“Kind of. I’m also wondering why you let me sleep in the pink bedroom.”

“I don’t like talking about personal stuff, but since you are staying here for a while. I guess there’s no harm.”

You slightly chuckled, “Someone’s finally opening up.”

“Shut up, we’re having a moment here.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan stood up and walked to a drawer, he took out a box and sat down beside you. In it was a photo album, one of them was a family photo of four.

“That’s me when my sister was born. I was four at the time. She got sick as an infant because she got scarlet fever. I thought the disease was in the distant past but it turned out it wasn’t. She passed when I was seven so one could say I was depressed.”

The next page was a photo of him and his mom, playing in the gardens. He sighed before speaking. “My mother… was a strong woman, very kind and she would make cakes on my birthdays, but she had cancer when I was middle school. And she passed during one summer.”

Jeonghan stopped midway, hearing you sniff. He made a face at you and shook his head. “Why are you crying? It’s in the past now.”

You chuckled softly. “Sorry.”

“When mother passed, my father was not himself. His heart shattered into pieces. He increased workload to the YDH-tech and pushed me to study hard and I already was. He would beat me up when I don’t score a hundred in every exam I had.”

You nodded, “But there’s a rumour going around school saying that your dad’s a kind man.”

Jeonghan faked a laugh. “He was.” he put the photo album down. “When Jeonghye was born, I was so happy. I remember carrying her, but she and mother passed so my father wasn’t at his right state of mind. Until one night, he told me that he was going to remarry. I was against it. So I rebelled during high school. He got fed up and left, and moved to the another mansion up north.”

“And you still scored top grades.” you said, hugging your legs.

“And I still scored top grades.” he repeated. He turned to you, mirroring your position. “How about you? I heard your mother’s a great author.”

“She was.”

“Was?”

“I’m like you. My mother passed too, but she died when I was born.”

Jeonghan’s face softened. “I’m sorry.” Hearing this broke you into laughter. “Why are you laughing?”

“President Jeonghan, you’re saying ‘sorry’? That’s a first.”

He pursed his lips and blushed slightly. “What? I know my manners!”

“Okay.” you raised your hands.

There was silence between you two until a knock came at the door. “Young master! Miss Y/N! Dinner is served!” Mrs. Bu called out. “We have fried chicken!”

“Oh dinner’s ready. We should go, President Jeonghan.” you stood up, dusting your pants. “Or else I’ll-”

“Jeonghan.” he smiled. “Just call me Jeonghan.”

You blushed. Yoon Jeonghan, the arrogant, selfish, spoiled, and all negative adjectives you could think of to describe him, just smiled at you. You left the room in a hurry before he sees you in that flustered state. Jeonghan followed you to the dining room with a smile. Mrs. Bu, Mr. Ryu, and Mr. Gok appeared outside of his room.

“Am I seeing correctly? Young master is smiling.” Mr. Gok said with a surprised look.

“Indeed he is!” Mrs. Bu added.

“She is the one.” Mr. Ryu crossed his arms.

“The one?” Mr. Gok and Mrs. Bu asked at the same time.

“I have been trying to explain it to you two!” Mr. Ryu said happily, “She’s the one who will show young master to love again.”

“Oh! I remember young master was distant and hated girls since young miss Jeonghye passed so Mrs. Yoon told him to love again at a right time!” Mrs. Bu jumped in joy.

You went down the staircase, recalling Jeonghan’s smiling face. It suited him so much and indeed you were flustered. It’s just a dream, you told yourself as Jeonghan entered the dining room.

Just a dream.

67 notes · View notes

andya-j · 6 years

Text

Green Eyed Boy 1. “The police are across the street.” Cal stood in front of the bathroom mirror, face covered in white shaving cream and an orange razor in one hand. The room was full of warm steam from the long shower he’d taken, but after his wife’s statement he’d gone cold. She knocked on the door again. “Did you hear what I said?” “At the Daniels’ house?” “Yes,” she said, “and there are a lot of them.” In other words, hurry up. He thought of the black notebook he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, the Journal of Dead Animals. Cal was trembling. 2. The kitchen smelled like bacon. A plate of cooked strips was on the table, covered with paper towels that glistened with grease. Saturday breakfast; eggs, hash browns, toast and bacon was their tradition. Julie stood at the windows, peering across the street. He joined her. “Morning,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. Two police cars were parked in front of the Daniels’ house. Another, a sleek grey color with no light bar on top, was angled in the driveway. A detective’s car, he thought. Or the coroner. “They’re pretty old,” he said. “One of them might have passed.” “Are you going to check?” He nodded. “Where’s the kiddo?” “Sleeping in.” Cal grabbed his coat from the mud room and exited the house. It was getting colder. The furnace needed an inspection, probably some repairs. Need to get that done before too long, he thought as he left the front yard. Cop cars at the neighbor’s house never meant something good had happened. When they’d bought the house, the Daniels had been the first to welcome them. They’d become friendly acquaintances. Kyle’s peculiarities had never pushed them away, making them true friends. He hoped everything was okay. The cop cars were black with white emblems on the door. Why did they make them so ominous? He stepped onto the Daniels’ walkway and saw the group on the side of the house. The Daniels, both white haired and stooped over with age, stood next to two police officers and a man in a suit, probably the detective. The formed a semi-circle around something on the ground. Cal approached, walking heavy so that they’d hear his footsteps. “Everything okay?” Stupid question. Old man Daniels waved and stepped away from the circle. Cal saw the dog. Rather, he saw what was left of her. She lay in a heap, blonde fur matted with a crust of blood. Parts of her internal organs lay on top her carcass. She’d been gutted. All that remained whole was her face and she stared into nothing, eyes vacant, dull and dead. “Oh no,” Cal said. “Something got a hold of my dog,” the old man said. Cal joined their circle, but only for a moment. Black flies hovered over the dog-corpse. One landed on something white, a sharp piece of broken bone maybe. Cal’s stomach flip flopped. He backed away. “You hear anything last night?” the detective asked. “I heard the dog barking, but not like it was being hurt.” One of the cops, he looked only a few years older than Kyle, said, “I’m calling this one a Code WTF.” Indeed. 3. Kyle shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs in his mouth. He’d covered them with hot sauce and the splotches of red, like watered down blood, against pale yellow egg triggered Cal’s gag reflex. “So what happned?” Julie asked. “Something killed the dog.” Julie sucked in a breath and covered her mouth. In that gesture, he knew that she knew. “No way!” Kyle said. “Tore it inside out,” Cal said, “must have been a wild animal.” “I want to see.” Kyle’s chair groaned as he backed up from the table. “You may not,” Cal said. They’d wanted a house full of children, a tribe of noisy boys and girls. That had been the plan when they’d bought the fixer-upper in Manitou. “I’m not a little boy,” Kyle said. That was true. He was twelve years old, almost a teenager. “I’m old enough to see crap like that.” “I don’t want you to,” Cal said. “It’s nothing you want to look at, believe me.” Julie put both hands on his shoulders, her protective touch keeping him in his seat. “You have enough bad dreams already, honey.” Children had not been in their destiny. Julie could get pregnant, but her body rejected each baby. Her womb cast them out, the pain a little worse each time. But Kyle survived. He was their sandy haired miracle, this handsome green eyed boy. Cal sat down at the table. The smell of breakfast, however, made his head spin. 4. Later, when Kyle locked himself in his room, he took Julie by the hand. He closed their bedroom door quietly, so that the boy wouldn’t hear. “It’s happening again,” he said, his voice a tight whisper. “What are we going to do?” “Don’t be ridiculous. He was home. I sat up with him for at least two hours.” The shock was gone. She’d had time to find denial and lock onto it like a life preserver. “What time was that?” “It was around three to five,” she said. “He wasn’t roaming around the neighborhood, all right?” “After he’d had the bad dreams?” “Yes.” “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. When Kyle has nightmares, bad things happen.” In Manitou, when Kyle was ten, dogs had died. Not died – been butchered, that was more like it. A poodle behind a tool shed, a pug on someone’s porch, both had been shredded into ribbons of meat. And as the murders went on, the neighbor’s had blamed Kyle. He was the weird kid on the block, the one who faced the world with an intense, silent stare. Julie described his quiet look as one of depth and creativity. “He’s a sensitive child,” she’d say, “and so very bright.” Cal thought it was just plain strange. So did the other kids, he guessed, because they stayed away from Kyle. “You sound like one of the crazy people in Manitou.” “It’s never been a large dog before.” If any of the kids that lived on the block were capable of sneaking out in the middle of the night and turning someone’s beloved pet into a mangled pile of guts, they’d reasoned it was him. He’d never left the house, not once, after bedtime. Back then his screams had awoken both of them when his night terrors overwhelmed him. The neighbors didn’t believe that spooky- eyed Kyle remained tucked in his bed at night. They pictured him hunting, sneaking into their yards, a silver knife reflecting moonlight as he went about his work. “It’s always been something small,” he added. “The Daniels’ retriever must have weighed a hundred pounds. Whatever it is, it’s getting stronger.” “You said yourself it must have been a wild animal. You’ve heard the coyotes. A den of them must live close by.” “No coyote would torture a dog like that.” “But our son could do it while he was asleep? You’re crazy.” She headed toward the stairs, conversation over. It had been the beagle’s death that had frenzied the neighbors. That dog had died inside. And the neighbor’s couldn’t stand the image of Kyle breaking and entering to do his killing. Had we not moved, Cal thought, they would’ve attacked us with torches and pitchforks. Maybe they should have? “I’ve kept a journal. His bad dreams coincide with an animal’s death. I can show it to you.” “As his parents it’s our job to protect him,” she said, “just in case you didn’t know that.” “Please, I know you love him. I love him, too.” “Do you?” “Of course I do.” “Then shut up about the stupid journal, please.” 5. The house in Evange was smaller. With one kid rather than a tribe, a few bedrooms was all they needed. The house needed work, but he could do most of the repairs himself. Best of all it was next to a forest. He’d imagined taking Kyle on long walks amongst the trees, the smell of earth and trees inspiring father-son talks. But that hadn’t happened. Now he told his boy, “I want to talk with you about the dog across the street.” It wasn’t normal for a boy to spend all of Saturday in his room – was it? Boys had sports practice, friends, something to lure them into the world. Not Kyle. He’ demerged from his room, his eyes red from computer burn, as the sun began to set. Kyle looked back, his expression indifferent. “What about her?” “Let’s go for a walk, just you and me.” He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. Kyle looked up at him, a thin smile tugged at his lips. “When you were younger, before we moved -.” “Yeah, the neighbor’s dogs got creamed. It wasn’t me then and it wasn’t me last night. Sorry if you don’t believe me.” He’d said it without a change of expression. Anger would’ve been normal, the healthy kind of rage that accompanied denial when an innocent person was accused of something monstrous. He’d said it all so matter-of-factly. “I know you don’t mean to do these things,” Cal began, aware that his arms were shaking. “I wouldn’t hurt Macy. I liked that dog.” Macy – remember that for the Journal of Dead Animals. “I also know that something very frightening wakes you up at night. When you have these dreams terrible things happen. Do you realize that?” Kyle’s feet snapped over twigs and fallen branches. The woods thickened here. A man could get turned around in these woods, especially after dark. If the weather was cold enough, he could freeze to death a mile from home. It could happen to a boy, too, especially one unfamiliar with the woods. “I guess I do,” he said. “Can you tell me what you dream about?” “No.” “No because you don’t remember or no because you don’t want to?” “I honestly don’t know what I dream about. I know you don’t believe me. Besides, I’ve already talked about all of this with mom.” “If you dream of something… Vicious, something that wants to cause harm, maybe you can control it.” “Dad,” Kyle said, stepping out from under him. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you? I mean you wouldn’t dig a hole out here and drop me in it, would you? I really didn’t do anything, seriously.” “God, no,” he said and shoved his shaking hands deep into his pockets. Kyle gazed at him, his green eyes shone like emeralds and, like gemstones, they showed no fear. “Okay, good.” “I would never hurt you,” he said. “Would you hurt me? Or your mom?” “Can we go back inside now? It’s getting cold.” “Sure,” he said. “Answer my question first.” “Never,” he said. “I swear.” They returned to the house, father and son. Cal wondered if Kyle couldn’t remember what he dreamed about, then what had he talked about with his mother? 6. The year’s first snow arrived later that week. Cal worked late, waiting out the traffic, and got home late. “I invited the Daniels over for dinner this Friday,” she said. “And?” “They’re busy.” So now they were friendless – again. “The heater’s on the fritz,” she added, changing the subject. “The heat’s been on and off all day.” “I’ll look at it this weekend,” he said. Nothing died for a while and, because of that, denial came easy. Cal watched Julie dote on the boy. She spoke to him in sweet, hushed tones, one hand on the small of his back. “What should we get him for his birthday?” she asked one night. All the years of longing for a child made her immune to him. “He’s been asking for a couple of new video game. I don’t remember which ones, though.” Cal rolled onto his side. “All of those games are violent.” “A little violence is normal for a boy his age.” She saw nothing but beauty in his strange green eyes. Cal worked late as often as he could and drove home long after dinner was over. Sometimes, he worked until exhaustion numbed him, then spent hours awake in bed, staring into the dark and listening for the bark of frightened dogs. 7. Kyle turned thirteen. He unwrapped his presents with methodical care. They’d bought him the video games he’d wanted, a couple of sweaters, new jeans and an expensive pair of shoes. “Do you love your presents, sweetie?” Julie asked him. “I do,” he said and smiled back at her, green eyes ablaze. “Maybe we should’ve got you a puppy,” Cal said. “You’ve always wanted a dog of your own, haven’t you?” Kyle looked to his mother, then shook his head – no. “Not since I was little.” He scooped up his new belongings. Cal heard his bedroom door shut a moment later. “What was the puppy comment all about?” “He wanted a dog at one time, that’s all.” “You know what I’m talking about. How could you bring that up? What if you’d ruined his birthday?” She left him alone. Cal watched cable in the living room, one mindless program after the other. On his way to bed, he saw a sliver of light from Kyle’s door. He paused at the doorway and listened. He heard only silence. Cal opened the door. He saw Kyle kneeling on the floor. The boy wore only boxers and his pale skin was wrapped by ribbons of shadow so thick they looked like tar. The black strips clung to his flesh, knife-like points stuck to his boney shoulder blades. It retreated, whatever it was, to the darkness under Kyle’s bed. Cal thought it looked a family of octopuses scurrying to their lair. “Hi, Dad.” The boy turned and looked up at him, a slow smile spreading to show white teeth. Cal blinked. A fluid coldness washed through him. Kyle’s bedside lamp glowed in warm yellow. No monstrous shadows lurked anywhere. “What’s wrong?” the boy asked, maintaining steady eye contact. “I thought I saw something.” “Mom’s right, you’re putting in way too many hours.” “Why are you on the floor?” “I was stretching,” he said. “My back was sore.” He stared at the boy. The boy gazed back at him, pleasant, somehow patient. “You look tired, Dad.” “Yeah,” he said and backed out of the room. 8. The furnace gave out the first week of December, right after they’d set up the Christmas tree. Cal stayed home to fix it. “Enough already,” Julie said, “call a professional.” They’d slept under extra blankets, but Julie still caught a cold. The repairman arrived late afternoon. “Wiring’s shot,” the guy said. He wrote a quote that Cal barely glanced at before handing over a credit card. The repairman went to grab his tools and he went upstairs to check on Julie. She had a space heater cranked on high. “Want some medicine?” She sniffled. “Please.” He poured her a cup of orange liquid. “Where’s the kiddo?” “He’s in detention.” Detention! So he’d misbehaved. That was something normal boys did. That was good. And for a moment he forgot about the cluster of shadows he’d seen clinging like a parasite to his young son’s body. “Really? What’d he do?” “I doubt that he did anything.” She downed the cold medicine like a shot. “He tells me that Mr. Bonner has it in for him.” “Which one’s Bonner?” “Algebra,” she said. “You’d know these things if you talked to him once in a while. And what are you smiling about? For God’s sake, Cal, he’s being punished.” He sat with her until the medicine’s deadening sleep took hold . It took only a few minutes. Kyle made it home before the repair was complete; and Cal saw something new in the boy’s green eyes – rage. He let the boy slide past him, watched him sulk to the stairs and ascend to his room. His hideout. He thought about following his son. For a moment, he even imagined having a fatherly talk while sitting together on the bed. But Kyle’s slouch and sullen expression kept him downstairs. Let him calm down, he thought, get over himself. Then we’ll talk. The heat kicked in an hour later. 9. “The police are here.” On Saturday morning, Cal stood in front of the bathroom mirror, face covered in white shaving cream and an orange razor in one hand. The room was full of warm steam from the long shower he’d taken, but after her statement he’d gone cold. She knocked again. “Cal?” “What do they want?” “To talk to us.” Cal dressed and went downstairs. He recognized the paunchy man in the kitchen. He’d been at the Daniels’ house, investigating the dog’s death. “We met across the street,” the man said. Cal eyed the fat automatic holstered on the man’s hip. “I remember.” He joined Julie. “Who could forget a thing like that?” “The detective says there’s been a homicide,” Julie said. The man nodded. “At your son’s school.” Cal said, “My, God.” “When I saw the body, I couldn’t help but think it looked a lot like the dog at your neighbors.” Cal thought of the black notebook he kept in a drawer in his office, the Journal of Dead Animals. I’ll need to change the title. He was trembling. Maybe shorten it to Journal of the Dead. “You don’t say,” Cal said. “I do say. The man was torn inside out.” Cars passed on the street outside, their tires hummed against the asphalt. “So you’re visiting us… Why?” Julie said. “What do you suppose it is?” “Something evil,” Cal said. “What teacher was killed?” “Who said it was a teacher?” “I just, uh, assumed.” “David Bonner,” the detective said. Algebra. Detention. The cold fury in Kyle’s bright green eyes. The detective made small talk for a long time. He asked what grade Kyle was in, when he’d be up, if he was one of Bonner’s students… The cop’s instinct, Cal thought, would lead him to Kyle, to all three of us. He’d have no evidence, no case to take to court. But he’d know. Just like the neighbor’s in Manitou had known. Just like the Daniels’ knew. Kyle was a different kind of boy. It was clear by his disturbing, unblinking gaze. He was dangerous. “May I speak with him?” “I wouldn’t want you to upset him,” Julie said. “Let us break the news about his teacher first.” The man’s right hand moved toward his gun and Cal thought he was going to draw and fire. He dipped into his pocket, though, and pulled out a business card. “Sounds like a fine idea,” he said. “Call me when he’s ready to chat. Nothing serious, just want to know if he ever saw anything unusual.” Cal thought of shadows so thick they looked like strips of tar… The detective left and Cal asked Julie, “Now what?” “Now you make him breakfast. I still feel terrible.” 10. He’d dreamed of a son. He admitted this to himself for what felt like the first time in his life. He’d longed for an athletic, straight A student, one that loved to watch football games on Sundays and didn’t mind his father’s company. “You’re not spending today in your room, kiddo,” he told the boy after breakfast. “We’re spending time together.” “Why?” “Because we’re father and son and we should.” “But what will we do?” Cal didn’t know. “I love you, Kyle.” Automatically, the boy replied, “I love you, too. But what are we going to do?” “There’s enough white stuff on the ground to make snowballs. You think you could beat me in a snowball war?” “I know I can.” “Grab your coat. Let’s see what you got.” Cal wanted to hear the sound of their laughter mixed together in the cold winter air. Kyle remained stoic, however, his gaze unbreakable. “For a boy who hates sports, you throw pretty good.” “This is weird.” “What is?” “Hanging out with you, I mean we haven’t done anything like this for a long time.” “That’s my fault.” “It’s okay. I’m getting kind of cold.” “You want to teach me how to play one of your video game?” Together, they gunned down zombies, breaking only to warm bowls of canned soup. The sun set early and, as darkness filled the room, Cal rose to finish his plan and murder his family. “I’m going to check on your mom.” “Kay.” Kyle’s avatar smashed another zombie into chunks. “Why don’t you meet me in the kitchen and we’ll dig something up for dinner.” The bedroom smelled like sweat. Julie was on her back, sleeping. He pulled the blankets up to her chin and kissed her fevered head. “Good night,” he whispered. “I’ll love you forever.” Then he swiped her bottle of cold medicine, scanned the instructions and went downstairs. Kyle made it to the kitchen as Cal set two glasses on the table and filled them with juice. He inhaled deep. He pushed one toward the boy. “Your mom will kill me if you don’t get your vitamin C,” he said. “Drink up.” He gulped his own juice down. Kyle did the same and Cal glanced at his watch. The boy weighed less than Julie, maybe a buck ten with his pockets full of rocks. He’d just had four time the recommended dose of a do not operate heavy machinery will cause drowsiness across the counter drug. It wouldn’t take long. Cal turned the stove’s burner to ignite. The pilot ticked twice, then blue flames whooshed in a circle. He adjusted the knob, lowering the fire. “Do you want to tell me why you got a detention?” “Oh, so that’s what this is about. I didn’t do anything.” “Your teacher’s dead.” Kyle kept eye contact. “You already know that, don’t you.” “He shouldn’t have punished me. It wasn’t fair.” “Do you feel bad?” “He deserved it.” “So you feel nothing?” “Why would I feel bad if he deserved it? Dad, why…?” Kyle’s eyes went glassy as his body registered the drug. “I’m going to put you to bed, Kyle. Then I’m going to blow out the pilot light on the furnace. The house is going to fill with gas and we’re going to blow up.” The headline – Family killed by faulty furnace. Nobody the wiser. A tragedy. Kyle’s lids fluttered closed and his head dipped toward his chest. “Dad…” His head jolted up. Cal saw the panic. His eyes were round and frightened. He looked more human that he ever had. “I’ll always love you,” he said. “Daddy…” Kyle slumped in his chair and Cal caught him before he hit the floor. He cradled the boy in his arms, walked him to the living room and laid him out on the couch. Kyle mumbled something and opened his mouth as if to call out. “Go to sleep,” Cal said. “It won’t hurt. I promise.” Kyle moaned, “Ma…” Cal turned to the furnace room. He was almost there when the shadows seized him. They came from all directions, stripes as thick as tar that wrapped around his chest and torso, slithered around his arms and legs, pinning him in place. The shadows lifted him off the floor and then they pierced through his body. They felt like shafts of ice cold air and he knew, when they retracted, they’d rip him inside out. “Cal.” He tried to turn in her direction, but the shadows held him tight. “I told you it’s our job to protect him.” The shadows tightened. Cal gasped and tried to breath. “He’s just a boy and he’ll learn to control it.” The coils released him. He dropped to the floor and fell over backwards. The shadow tentacles retreated into darkness. “Just like I have,” she said. He watched her go to the sleeping boy on the couch and stick her finger in his mouth. The boy gagged. She positioned his head so that he spat up juice and cold medicine onto the floor. “Help me get him upstairs,” she said. “The poor boy’s exhausted.”

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