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andromedasstarship · 3 years

Text

in the stars - chapter 5

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader

warnings - canon-typical criminal minds violence, stalking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drinking, angst

summary - “Please,” he said, staring you straight in the eyes. “Don’t go.”

a/n - i really love this chapter! cant wait to hear what yall think :DD also for reference i aged jack down just a year so hes 3 when haley passes away, about to turn 5 when reader & aaron get together. i dont claim any dialogue straight from Emma as mine! (emma dialogue is in italics)

masterlist / series masterlist / read it on ao3

chapter 4 / chapter 6

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You were hyper-aware of the new way the team was looking at you as you entered the conference room. You shot a very anxious glance up towards Aaron, grateful for the very brief- but soft- glance he gave you before the business side of him took over again. You could feel the ghost of his hand hovering over that protective spot on your back again as he led you up towards the table.

It felt like your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, upon seeing the seemingly endless piles of photos in front of you. Your brain was struggling to process everything that was laid out in front of you and you felt your heart rate start to pick up; seeing it in person was worse than anything your mind had created in the drive here.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes shot up to meet the voice and you saw Spencer looking down at you with a look that was just on the edge of pity. “We tried to sort the pictures into piles of time relativity. Would you be able to go through them and help us create a firmer timeline?”

You nodded at that, vaguely aware of Aaron pulling a chair out behind you. You gladly slid down into it. Seeing Emily start to pick up one pile and push them towards you made you nervously laugh, the stress of the moment and how uncomfortable you felt forcing it out. When the entire team gave you a weird look you said, “Sorry, it just reminded me of last time.”

You gently picked up the stack of photos, trying to hold them as lightly as possible. The knowledge that the unsub had packaged these himself sent a shiver down your spine. You knew it was silly, but you somehow felt that by touching the photos you were somehow also touching the remnants of the unsub.

The first stack you easily dated as around four years ago, just from your hair; you’d drastically changed it for a role. You thumbed through the photos and could feel the knots in your stomach growing even tighter. Most of the photos were blurry and relatively distant from you, as if the unsub was still getting comfortable with what he was doing.

“This was four years ago, I had to change my hair for a role and I’ve never had it like that before or again.” You said quietly, pushing the pile back to Emily.

She nodded, giving you a gracious smile before pushing the next pile towards you. Your face fell immediately; something the team equated to how much more personal these set of photos seemed to be. You fanned the stack out in front of you. There weren’t many, as if even the unsub could recognize the inappropriate- ha!- nature of capturing you like this. In all of them you looked worn down, as if a cloud was following you everywhere you went.

“This was about two years ago.” You said flatly. It took a moment, but you could see everyone connect the dots in their head and suddenly the room felt very small.

Thankfully, the next pile was rather average and you guessed that this was just an ‘extra’ pile of photos that didn’t really seem to fit into a cohesive timeframe. As you scanned over them, one caught your eye and you pulled it a bit closer to you. You pointed a finger at the sign behind you.

“This is an exclusive club house, it’s difficult to get into. Security’s intense and everyone that enters has to sign in.” You informed the team. JJ reached out and grabbed the photo, putting it to the side for later.

You turned your attention back to the pile, making sure to give each photo a proper amount of attention, desperate to notice something useful.

“This one,” you said, pulling a blurry photo of yourself out of the pile. You were moving too fast for the camera to properly capture you, but you recognized the outfit. “I was wearing this the day Officer Reynolds told me you all were coming, isn’t this the outside of the station?” You said quietly.

JJ moved that photo to the ‘save for later’ pile as well. You gently re-stacked the pile and passed it towards Emily, waiting for the next one.

You watched as Emily seemed to be literally holding her tongue as she pushed the next pile towards you, a certain playful glint in her eyes. Once you were able to look at it, you couldn’t help but snort. You could feel Aaron tense up besides you, but you could find the humor in it. The ‘Aaron’ pile.

You fanned the stack out like you had done with the others, giving special attention to the details behind you. These were much more difficult to place and a much smaller pile, considering how careful the two of you had been.

“These must’ve been in DC?” You questioned, not really expecting an answer. You looked up towards Aaron, raising an eyebrow as if to give him the opportunity to share his thoughts. “Whenever he came to LA, I had an iron grip on our security but it was a whole different field in DC-”

Your sentence fell flat as your eyes went wide, nearly surging out of your seat up towards Aaron. He gave you a worried look, unable to place the sudden anxiety that had taken over you. “What about Jack?” You asked worriedly, “if he knows about you he must’ve found out about Ja-”

Aaron stopped you, putting a very gentle hand on the top of your shoulder, “He’s okay, I promise.” He said, using his hand to lightly push you back into a seated position. You nodded at that, eyes still wide, but your body seemed to deflate, the tension slowly leaving you.

The rest of the team was quiet, recognizing the personal nature of the interaction. But it was impossible for them not to notice the way your bodies reacted to each other. The way your body’s natural response to a stressor had been to move closer to him and the way he angled himself in a protective stance around you near simultaneously.

Emily pushed the final pile in front of you and you couldn’t help the corners of your lips pull up in a soft smile. You fanned out the stack of photos, taking a good look at all of them. They all seemed to either be promo photos or film photos of your time filming Mamma Mia in Greece.

“This is definitely from Greece. But some of these are definitely promo photos, it’s why I’m ‘posing’ in a few of them.” You said, pushing out one that visually made your point.

“What about this one? It feels a lot more intimate than a promotional piece.” Emily asked, pulling one out from the stack. In it, you were standing on the dock, face close to the camera. You had a big smile on your face and your thumbs up.

“On set, we had a handful of little disposable cameras that everyone could use.”

“Do you have any memory of who owned the cameras?”

“I…,” you paused, eyebrows scrunched tightly in thought, “I don’t know. The studio distributed all the photos after the movie came out. They’re pretty public at this point, it was five years ago.” You said weakly, feeling really disappointed in your lack of help. “I’m sorry.” You added.

Morgan stepped up closer to the table. “Don’t be okay? Now we know that the unsub has connections in Hollywood and we know he must be wealthy enough to fly to DC on a whim if he thought you were there. That helps narrow things down.” He assured you.

“Are there any specific photographers that you’ve noticed? Or any guy you feel like you’ve seen too many times and it’s no longer a coincidence?” Spencer asked.

You shook your head quickly. “I’m really used to cameras flashing in my face.” You said impishly. “I can remember a lot of fans that I meet, but if it’s just someone behind a camera I don’t think I’d really notice it at all.”

You felt Aaron move away from you and towards the computer at the end of the table. He clicked a few buttons and suddenly a woman's face popped up on the screen. You recognized her immediately from all the stories and photos you’d seen. Penelope.

Aaron brought the computer closer to where you were and her mouth dropped open for the second time today.

“Oh my god! Hi! Wow! I am, I am such a fan. I just-, you’re always so-”

“Garcia.” Aaron interjected but you raised your hand at him, giving him a ‘shoo’ gesture. The rest of the team had to stifle their laughter.

“Hi, Penelope right? I’ve heard so much about you.” You said sweetly, leaning a bit closer to the camera.

“Wow! Okay, I can’t believe this is-”

“Garcia, I need you to pull up visitor logs from a clubhouse that Y/N used to visit. I want you to cross reference it with other visitor logs of recent film sets she’s been on and her housing development. She’ll be able to give you a more comprehensive list.” Aaron interjected, and this time you let him.

You turned back to the screen, giving Garcia another smile. “The clubhouse is called Royal Blue, the picture couldn’t have been more than…, I think three years ago? But I’m not sure.”

“Alright…, okay the visitor logs seem to be locked tight, but never too tight for me. What are some of those movie sets?”

“The earliest photo is what? Five years ago?” You asked, looking around at the agents for approval. “Yeah, five years. So Mamma Mia, to start, Little Women. I’m working on Emma right now.” You droned, listing various movie sets you’d worked on in the past five years.

“Oh my god! I have so many questions about Mamma Mia. Like what was it-,” Garcia’s question trailed off as she caught sight of Hotch giving her a firm stare from behind you. “Right sorry, alright. I will break into the clubhouse and cross reference all of these lists to see if anyone comes up more than once. It was so nice meeting you, I hope we get to-. Alright, hanging up now!” Garcia said in a rushed voice. You watched her click a button on her end and the screen went black.

You leaned back into your chair, staring up at the rest of the team . “So…,” you said, drawing out the word, “what now?”

-----

“What are you doing?” Aaron’s asked, voice coming out from behind you.

You comically froze, hand just short of picking your keys up from the table. You slowly turned to face him, straightening your tote bag over your shoulder. “Oh! There you are, I was just on my way to come find you.” You said lightly, trying to diffuse some of the tension in the room. Aaron didn’t say anything, waiting for you to go on. “Johnny and I have plans tonight.” You said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world

On your part, you’d already forgotten about the whole ‘I’m on a date’ aspect on your earlier phone call with Aaron. In your mind, there wasn’t anything inherently suspicious about you going to spend time with him in the evening.

Aaron was viewing the entire situation in a very different light. When he had first come around the corner, he noticed how nice you looked. When the two of you had finally returned to your place you immediately went up to your room, disappearing for quite some time. He had originally thought maybe you were upset, the cognitive interview hadn’t revealed anything and even though he knew you didn’t really believe in their accuracy, he also knew how badly you wanted to be of ‘use’ for the case.

In your time upstairs, you had changed your outfit and styled your hair just enough to give it that ‘unstyled-styled’ look. It’s not like you were glammed out or anything, the only reason you’d put on a nice outfit was on the off chance you were photographed- hopefully not by the unsub-, on your way into Johnny’s apartment.

“And what is it that you’re supposed to be doing?” Aaron asked, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible.

“Um, nothing much,” You said with an awkward laugh, when he was still looking at you expectantly you tilted your head. “I’m supposed to go to his place and we’re gonna run lines for the scenes we’re filming this week.” You explained.

“I can’t endorse you going out at night. Especially to someone’s home that we don’t have eyes on.” Aaron said firmly.

You rolled your eyes at that, picking up your keys. “Johnny’s fine, he’s been in the same place as me when nearly all the bodies were discovered.” You argued, putting one hand on your hip.

“With the recent development in the cases, I can’t let you do this.”

You started to walk towards him, intending to go around him. “Aaron-”

His hand shot out and gently grabbed you by the arm, stopping you from getting past him.

“Hey!-”

“Please,” he said, staring you straight in the eyes. “Don’t go.”

Your mouth fell open slightly in a mild form of shock. ‘We’re just running lines, I really need-”

“I’ll do it with you.” Aaron interjected hurriedly. “We’ve done it before, I’m not too bad at it, huh?” He said teasingly.

You pondered that for a minute. You and Aaron had run lines together plenty of times in the past, it was always something you got a kick out of, seeing Aaron try and morph into whatever character he was reading for. And while it wouldn’t be as productive as running them with your actual co-star, you reasoned it’d still be good enough. And as much as you hated to admit it, Aaron probably had a point about you not going out, especially in the evening.

“Fine. I just need to go call Johnny and tell him something came up.” You huffed, pretending to be more annoyed than you were.

“Here,” you said, reaching into your bag and pulling out your script, “I already have most of my lines memorized, I’ll just need you to fill in if I miss any. I have a pink sticky note denoting the scene we were going to start with. You’re reading as Knightely. I’ll meet you in the living room, alright?” You said, pushing the script into his hands as you walked around him towards the kitchen, pulling your phone out at the same time.

----

“No, I’m just saying I think it’d be more believable or whatever if we did a few more like nonchalant meals before like, running errands together or something, ya know?” You said lazily into the phone, holding it between your ear and shoulder as you used your hands to mix up a drink for yourself. Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of the Dalmore. You reached out with one hand and carefully pulled it down, still remembering exactly how Aaron liked to take a drink.

“What meal really screams ‘we’re dating’? Dinner? That’s like the longest meal of the day, that’s gotta show some sort of commitment.” Johnny asked.

“Hm…,” you droned, “well we just had a lunch. If we want to kick it into high gear, we should do breakfast. Perfect ‘just spent the night’ remedy.” You said with a snort.

Aaron cleared his throat behind you and the sound made you jump. You pulled the phone away from your ear and saw you’d been blabbering for nearly half an hour.

‘Oh. Sorry.’ You mouthed to Aaron, before pulling the phone back to your ear. “Hey Johnny gotta go, but we’ll figure it out later! Yeah…, for sure, bye!” You hung up and placed your phone on the counter. Then you grabbed the drink you had poured for him, holding it out.

“It’s Dalmore.” You said plainly.

“I’m working.” He responded.

You rolled your eyes at that and held it out more aggressively. “Take it.”

You watched happily as he begrudgingly took it out of your hand, though you knew it wasn’t too difficult for him. You picked up your own glass and tucked your phone into the waistband of your pants. “Ready? Sorry, got carried away.”

While the two of you walked back into your living room, it was obvious something was bothering Aaron. You briefly wondered if something had developed in the case that he wasn’t telling you.

‘What is it?” You asked.

He looked down at you, confused. “What is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, you have a tell.” You explained, stopping to look up at him.

“I do not have a tell.” Hotch replied annoyedly.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“If you want to be a baby about it, fine you don’t have a tell. Tell me what’s wrong anyway.”

“I’m trying to understand why you lied about not having a boyfriend nor seeing anyone recently. We’ll need to fully vet Johnny and look into his files, even if you don’t see it becoming serious.” Aaron near spat.

You snorted. “What do you mean lied?”

“You very clearly told me you weren’t seeing anyone, yet today has proven those claims to be false.”

“I know that sometimes, I like to be a huge pain but I’m serious, what are you talking about? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Your co-star, Johnny? You told me you were on a date with him today. I just heard you on the phone make plans to stay with him overnight. I saw the pictures of-”

“Stop! Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually believed that.” You said, unable to hold back the laughter that bubbled out of you.

“Believed it? You’re the only who told me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed you read through the lines. Johnny and I have been going on publicity dates. We’re just friends.”

“What were you supposed to be doing tonight then?”

“We were legitimately going to run lines. Maybe get ice cream, we’re trying to determine the best ice cream in LA.”

That’d explain the outfit, Aaron thought.

“And the phone call I just heard?”

“We were debating which meal screams ‘dating’. He thinks it’s dinner. I think it’s breakfast, ya know, cause it implies you spent the night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that, before.”

“Don’t you remember when I had kinda the same thing with Timothee during Little Women? They made us hang out a bunch so the tabloids could just do their thing. I just assumed you’d fill in the blanks.”

Aaron was staring at you as if you had two heads. It was almost like you could see the gears turning in that head of his. Internally, he was more than embarrassed for how upset he’d gotten over the idea of you with someone else.

When it seemed that Aaron had nothing else to say, you started to walk again, not stopping until you were both back in your living room. You plopped down in ‘your spot’ on the couch, playfully patting the space a few cushions down that Aaron typically sat in.

“Crack open that script, I hope you looked through it. If you’re making me stay home, you better be useful!” You said pleasantly, trying to change the atmosphere into something more playful.

Aaron awkwardly sat himself down on the couch next to you, picking the script back up. As you watched him flip the script open and further acquaint himself with the lines you couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang in your chest. It was such an unavoidable reminder of the way the two of you used to run lines together when you were still dating. You had learned early on that Aaron best showed his affection through acts of service and he actually wasn’t that bad at delivering a line. Since the two of you were rarely together in person- it’s not like you’d let him waste a visit with you building a shelf or running an errand-, running lines with you was the easiest way for him to feel useful.

-----

Four Years Ago

“Okay Jack, you ready?” You asked, smiling down at the young boy standing across from you. He was dressed up in his winter clothes, despite the blazing heat of the summer. You and Aaron had tried to talk him out of it, but he demanded it’d be the only way for him to fully get into character. And who were you two to deny him? The sweet boy nodded, barely being able to contain his excitement as he bounced up and down on his feet.

“Alright, places everyone!” You yelled out, holding the diy paper clapperboard Jack had made for you. You held it out from your body and did a very exaggerated clapping motion. “Action!” You said, quickly throwing the clapperboard to the couch.

“Carrots!” Jack said, his voice more than enthusiastic for the role.

“Huh?” You said, heavily overselling your voice and reaction. Even with the one simple word, Jack was already in giggles, struggling to keep it together.

He leaned in closer to you, standing up on his tiptoes. “Behind you!”

“Oh! Right, excuse me.” You said, stepping to the side and gesturing to the ‘carrots’ behind you.

You made your voice really low to play the next part. “Woh, a real howler in July, yea? Where ever could it be coming from?” You asked, placing your chin in between your thumb and pointer finger.

Jack kept giggling at your ‘deep’ voice, he held his ‘script’ up to his face to read his next line. “The North Mountain.”

You jokingly ran a hand in front of your face, signaling a character switch. “North Mountain.” You stage whispered. You ran your hand in front of your face again, going serious. “That’ll be forty.” You said, holding your hand out with a ‘gimme’ gesture.

Jack smacked your hand gently to ‘give you’ the money. But after his face fell ever so slightly. “Can we skip to when Daddy gets to come in??” He asked, giving you those big eyes you couldn’t possibly say no to.

You stood back, putting your weight on your back leg with one hand on your hip. “Hmm.., I think that could be arranged.” You reached over to grab the clapperboard. “Alright everyone! Back to places, but let’s start at ‘Hi everyone’, okay?”

Jack nodded excitingly and turned back to where he knew Aaron was standing, partially hidden by the hallway. “Places daddy!” He urged, pointing to where he should come stand.

Aaron came out from around the corner and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand, trying to hold in the laughter. Aaron had a big white hat on his head and had let Jack put a small orange dot on his nose. You and Jack had definitely double teamed poor Aaron, dragging him into your little ‘movie game’ as Jack liked to call it. The three of you had started doing this a few months ago, Jack loved ‘running lines’ with you and you were more than happy to oblige him. It had started when a sleepy Jack had stumbled into the living room one night when he couldn’t sleep and he saw you and Aaron running lines for one of your other movies. Jack had taken to it so much you ended up ‘hiring’ him to help you with your more child friendly roles.

“Alright, alright. Quiet on set!” You said, making a big deal of you bringing your index finger up to your lips in a ‘shush’ motion. “Action!”

“Hi everyone. I’m Olaf. And I like warm hugs.” Aaron recited robotically , very clear that he was reading directly from the paper. You smacked your hand back over your mouth, unable to control the giggles. Once you started laughing, Jack fell into his own fit of laughter; both of you fueled off the others amusement.

Of course, when you finally pulled yourself back together, a quick look at the way Aaron was standing with fake annoyance across his face and his arms crossed tightly against his chest sent you back into fits of laughter.

“Are you two done?” Aaron asked, no true malice in his voice.

It was rare that the three of you all got to spend time together. He’d been wary of introducing you to Jack. It wasn’t really a ‘you’ thing, but it was more of how Jack would be able to deal with it. There were the typical worries, what if you and Jack didn’t get along? Or what if you two did get along really well but then you and Aaron broke up and it hurt him even further? While you never intended to try and replace his ‘mom’, you still worried that your chaotic schedule would somehow hurt him, skewing his perception of yet another ‘parental’ figure. Not to mention the issues with him being able to keep your identity and presence in his life a secret; he wouldn’t even be able to tell people like Uncle Rossi that his dad was seeing someone.

But now, you’d been with Aaron for over two years. And Jack had known about you for about a year now. And everything had been going perfect. Jack was a stellar secret keeper, the unfortunate events of his childhood maturing him faster than any child deserved and he was able to fully understand the importance of the situation. The two of you had taken to each other quite quickly and every night the three of you would have a ‘bedtime’ call; even on the nights when Aaron was busy with a case you’d still call Jack on your own. You loved spoiling him with whatever hot new toy was popular among kids his age or getting him special early copies of movies before they came out. Aaron used to get on you about it, saying it wasn’t necessary, but you argued it was the most necessary thing in the world.

And now here the three of you were. Nestled away in Aaron’s apartment in DC. You had just flown in after wrapping up a shoot abroad and were just in time for the start of summer. Even though your career was at a seemingly new high, you had managed to secure a relatively empty summer. After long consideration and planning you and Aaron decided it’d be a nice treat for Jack to go spend a month or so with you in LA. You’d consulted heavily with many of your friends who kept their children completely hidden from the spotlight and had hired an airtight security team to assist you the entire time. Aaron was supposed to come out when he could, but you were all aware of how turbulent his poor schedule could be. Schedule permitting, you all would spend the next three days at Aaron’s apartment before you and Jack took off.

“Daddy! You sound like a robot.” Jack said, scolding Aaron. His voice brought you out of your thoughts and you looked down at him with a big smile.

“Daddy’s just no good at this huh?” You asked, shaking your head. “He’s no match for our talent, Jack!”

“This is really hot.” Jack said, holding up his arms. He must’ve been sweating his butt off in all those winter layers.

“You’re kidding me! I wonder who could’ve seen that coming.” You said sarcastically, reaching over to pull off his big hat and zip down the first of multiple jackets he put on. “I’ve heard that ice cream cools you down…,”

“Ice cream!’ Jack exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. He didn’t even look to his father for ‘permission’, knowing by now you had the most sway in the house.

“Go put on some normal clothes okay? Wouldn’t be fun if you passed out in your ice cream bowl, huh?” You told him, ruffling his hair before he dipped under your arm, making a mad dash for his room.

“He hasn’t even had lunch yet, you know that right?” Aaron asked, giving you a fake stern look as he walked over to where you were standing.

You rolled your eyes at that, reaching up to snatch the white hat off his head, letting your arms fall loosely around his neck. “Does it upset you that I’m always the cool one?” You asked teasingly, reaching up on your tiptoes to press the gentlest kiss on his lips.

He gave you one of his small smiles, reaching down to press a second kiss to your lips. “How was your flight in?” He asked, one of his hands wrapping protectively around your waist as the other one found its way by your hair, gently stroking down it the way you liked.

You let your head relax against his touch and pretended to think for a moment. Instead of answering you reached up again, pressing your lips against his, pressing yourself closer to him. You both thought you could stay this way forever; it being the first time you saw each other, in person, in nearly two months.

“Gross!” Jack’s voice seemingly cut through the two of you. Aaron was the one to pull away first, quietly laughing so only you could hear.

“Later.” He promised in a whisper.

You loosened your grip on him, turning to face Jack. “Oh Jack! Funny seeing you here, ice cream, right?”

-----

Present Day.

“Page 103, right?” He asked, skipping to the bright pink sticky note you had used as a place marker.

You jolted out of your memories, feeling the heat rise up your neck as you prayed it wasn’t too obvious you had just completely zoned out.

“Yep!” You squeaked out, “page 103, line 19, you start.” You said, waving your hands.

“And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my enemy, you will not ask me why, you are, you are determined, I see, to have no curiosity but I cannot be wise-” He started, keeping his eyes near glued to the page.

You frowned, shaking your head a bit. “Stand up.” You ordered, already getting to your feet.

“Excuse me?” Aaron asked.

“Stand up,” you repeated, motioning upwards with your palms. “This,” you said, motioning between the two of you, “doesn’t feel right if we’re seated, we’re supposed to move around in this scene, it’s supposed to be painful.” You explained.

He slowly stood up, looking at you for permission to start again.

“From where you left off, please.”

“I must tell you, Emma, what you will not ask! Though I may wish it unsaid the next moment-”

“So do not speak it.” You cut in. “If you wish to speak to me, as a friend or to ask my opinion as a friend I will hear whatever you like.”

“As a friend, Emma. That I fear is a word, tell me Emma. Have I no chance of ever succeeding?” He asked, looking up at you for further approval, you nodded and he continued. “My dearest Emma, my dearest, you will always be my dearest most beloved Emma, tell me at once. I cannot make speeches, if I, if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more-”

“Let’s do a different part, yeah?” You interrupted, voice incredibly tight. You ducked from his gaze, reaching to bring your glass to your lips.

“Isn’t this the scene you have to practice?” Aaron asked, raising his brow at you.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, taking a long sip, “any practice as the character will be helpful.”

“If this is the one that’s troubling you, we should go over it.” He pressed.

“Page 56, start at line 9.” You ordered, throwing back the rest of your glass. “Read it over, I’ll be back.”

Before you could fully turn to go and refill your glass, Aaron lunged forward and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. The sudden movement caused you to stumble, throwing your hands out to steady yourself against his chest.

“You’ve been drinking a lot.” He stated, repositioning his grip on your arm.

“Am I not allowed to have a drink or two in my own home?” You challenged.

“What are you running away from?” Aaron asked, his voice so gentle it made your knees weak.

“You.” You whispered, after a long pause. You looked up at him with sad eyes and only found confusion in his. “I can’t, I-, don’t you see how funny it is? Your character is desperate for mine to be with and my character is the one to deny yours.”

Your confession pulled sharply on his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not sure there were any words to appropriately apologize for how he had treated you.

“Why didn’t you ever call?” You asked, voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear you.

“I, I-” He stuttered, unable to think of an answer fast enough.

“I waited for weeks,” you said, looking up at him with a look that nearly brought him to his knees. “I waited so long and you never called.”

He brushed the hair out of your face, letting his hand fall gently against your cheek. His thumb caught a stray tear that had started to fall, softly brushing it away. “I don’t know.” He responded, his voice as quiet as your. “I don’t know, you didn’t deserve that.”

You pressed your face into his hand, closing your eyes as you felt more tears managing to sneak past you. He was finally admitting words you had dreamed of hearing for years, but yet you were unable to find any joy in them.

“You didn’t deserve that.” He repeated, sliding his hand towards the back of your head, pulling you firmly against his chest, while his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist. You let your body relax into his, slowly bringing your own arms up loosely around his neck.

You felt him gently press the faintest of kisses to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry angel.” He mumbled into your hair.

You pulled your head out from under him, looking up at him with big eyes. The two of you were silent, basking in each other's presence. Your eyes flickered down to his lips multiple times; something he duly picked up on. Just as you began to push up on your toes, nearly pressing your lips to his, eyes half closed in anticipation, his phone rang out.

You froze, falling back onto your heels with a small sigh. “Answer it, I’m getting a refill.” You said, pulling yourself out of his grasp. He gave you an uncertain look, as if he wanted to pull you back in and ignore the call completely.

You wagged a finger in front of him, shaking your head. In on fluid movement, you grabbed your glass and nearly ran out of the room

-----

It took you ten minutes to calm yourself down and another five to hype yourself up to return to your living room. And that was after you had made yourself a new drink.

When you entered the living room, Aaron’s back was to you; still locked on the phone. The tension was clear in his shoulders and your eyes drifted down to his free hand that you knew would be clenched in a fist. It was.

“Thank you Garcia, tell the team we’ll be there soon.” He said, pulling the phone away from his ear and hanging up.

“Aaron?” You asked.

He rolled his shoulders back, trying to loosen some of the tension from his shoulders for your benefit. He slowly turned back towards you, his face pulled in frustration.

“LAPD just reported another body.”

-------

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aoifeanamadan · 3 years

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 6488

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

Everyone knew Dream hated him, really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter Three: Rusty Swings

Dream was a winner, it was what he did. Ever since he was a kid, losing had always felt unnatural. It was wrong on a molecular level. The shame of it, the loss of control.

When he was younger, he used to challenge his older brother to wrestling matches. His brother thought it was fun, just some rough and tumbling. Dream on the other hand, Dream treated it like the Olympics. He would abandon any kind of formality if it meant he would win.

He would kick and scream, clawing and biting his brother. He ignored the feeling of skin under his nails, just focusing on winning. After the first few times, Dream’s brother stopped saying yes when Dream asked to wrestle. He counted that as a win.

He had the same spirit when it came to soccer. He had captained the school’s team to two state championship victories in two years. The entire school knew him, the entire state. They were the best team, in every soccer team of the entire state. They were winners.

It wasn’t all him, they were a great team, but Dream elevated them. When Dream got better, he brought everyone else along with him.

When college scouts came to watch their games, they were there to see Dream. But they couldn’t ignore the rest of the team. They worked as a unit, weaving and dodging as if they were all a part of one common entity.

Soccer was Dream’s life. He had been playing since he was a kid. It was easy. When he was playing soccer, he knew what he was doing. There were no big decisions to make, it was just get the ball in the net. It was as natural and breathing.

His talent was a huge added bonus, but even without it Dream thought he would still be playing.

Soccer was Dream’s life, but he now had other commitments. Well, one other commitment.

George.

More specifically, trying to figure out how to tell George he was going to need to reschedule the mandatory time they were meant to spend together. George was, in fact, the one who had managed to broker the weekend slots. He had saved the both of them from having to stay back after school three times a week. And, he had done it just so Dream would be able to keep going to his soccer training.

Considering all of this, it really was an annoying oversight that the soccer team had a training session scheduled for the exact time Dream and George had agreed to meet up. The fact that Dream had been the one to schedule it last month made it even more annoying.

So, Dream thought he justifiably worried about asking him to further change the arranged time. He had spent almost four days trying to figure out what to say, and how to say it without sounding like he was spitting in George’s face, when it struck him. The solution was so painfully obvious.

Dream was nothing if not consistent. He did the exact same thing he always did, the same thing he had always done. Lying on his bed, throwing his balled-up socks into a drawer across the room, he texted Sapnap.

Dream (10:41 am)

Ft?

Sapnap’s name was on his screen in seconds. Dream accepted the call.

“Sapnap, please help me.” Sapnap didn’t flinch. He just smiled warmly down the phone, a quiet giggle passing through the speaker.

“Okay Dreamie-Boy, calm it down. Whatever it is, it is not the end of the world. Chillax.” Sapnap had never stopped using chillax as if it was a regular verb, not since he started in 2011. Dream decided that right then was not the time to mention it - even if he wanted to.

“I can’t figure out how to reschedule with George.” Sapnap’s bark of laughter was not reassuring in the slightest.

“What?” Dream didn’t like the glee coming from Sapnap’s voice.

“I can’t figure out how to tell him I need to change our meeting time!” Dream hated the way his voice whined. “Dude.” Despite his best efforts to hang onto his panic, Dream felt the calm seeping in. The familiarity, it was an inevitable comfort. Sapnap continued. “You are a senior. ” “And?” Dream tried to throw one of his washed pairs of socks into the open drawer across his room. He missed. “I swear, sometimes you act ten years old.” His words were laced with annoyance but on his phone screen, Dream could see Sapnap smiling. He rolled his eyes. “Well, what do I do , Sapnap?” Instead of an answer, Dream was met with a change of scenery. His phone screen went to a close up of Sapnap’s face, to a blurry screen saying Paused. Sapnap had paused him to go to some other app on his phone.

“Chillax, and-” Dream’s frustration tipped over the edge.

“ Chillax is not a real word! Stop saying Chillax!” Dream groaned as another pair of socks missed his drawer. “Okay, well, hurtful. I know you don’t mean that. And I’ve texted George.” Dream froze.

“You what?” His words were full of warning. Saapnap either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“I just texted him, just there!”

“Sapnap! What the fuck? What did you even say? Oh my god, why would you do that?” Dream was cut off by a telltale ding emitting from his phone. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move.

“I heard that!” Sapnap’s singsong taunt came from Dream’s screen.

George (10:48 am)

Cool

“Anything to say?” In FaceTime, Sapnap’s face was getting too close to the camera. Dream had to suppress his smile, he had to deal with George.

“Yeah, fuck you. And George says it’s cool.”

“Fuck you do, Dreamie-Weemie, Sapnap works his magic again!” Dream let his smile pass through, barely. Begrudgingly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sapnap was laughing as he hung up the phone. Dream was left alone with George’s text. He figured it was polite to reply.

Dream (10:49 am)

Sorry for not texting you myself

George’s reply was whizzing through the air in seconds

George (10:49 am)

its fine

Despite his common sense, Dream found himself replying. Every time George texted a reply, no matter how dry, how unenthusiastic, he kept trying to keep the conversation going. Eventually, he all but forced George out of his virtual shell.

Even as he was getting into Sapnap’s truck over an hour later, his face was stuck in his phone, in the conversation he had coaxed George into.

George (12:09 pm)

iron man will always be the best superhero. the whole mcu was built on his back that's just common sense

Dream (12:09 pm)

You sound like a nerd

George (12:10 pm)

well dont be rude

Dream (12:10 pm)

ughhh you sound like bad

You’d probably love him actually

George (12:11 pm)

Dream?

Dream didn’t think before replying

Dream (12:11 pm)

yeah ?

George (12:11 pm)

you know me and bad are like good friends

Dream ignored his burning cheeks as he got out of Sapnap’s truck and approached the soccer team. He had not known that.

The team were ready to go, as usual. They were dedicated kids. Dream had them running laps once he put his bag, and phone, in the changing room.

They were midway through a practice match, half of the team versus the other half, when Dream noticed him. George was leaning on the edge of the fence surrounding the pitch. He was early.

For Dream, an audience didn’t change his performance. He was good, he was always good. Behind all the training and technique was pure talent. A lot of the time, other players’ would bring along their girlfriends or some of their friends to hang around the training. Dream couldn’t have given less of a shit.

But there during that practice match, Dream felt something new. He hadn’t felt it at the State Championship. He hadn’t felt it when the scouts were analysing him. He hadn’t even felt it in his first-ever game back when he was 6 years of age. It was a kind of pressure, light and inconsequential. It was George’s eyes on him.

Normally when he was playing, there was a kind of understanding. The scouts knew he was good, the girlfriends and parents, the friends and families, the teachers, the coaches, even the other teams. They all knew Dream was good. They all expected him to play well. George was different. George didn’t give a shit what Dream was doing. He barely glanced at him. Somehow, the boy was more interested in his phone than Dream’s quest towards a hat trick.

He didn’t mind it, not really. It was just new. It was as if someone had gotten inside his mind and moved all the furniture ten centimetres to the left. If anything, he appreciated it. It kept him on his toes, gave him something to prove. It was another chance to see if he could up his game. Anytime he felt George’s eyes on him, it made him run faster, kick further, push harder.

The time went quick, and before long it was all over. Dream’s team had pummeled Sapnap’s, except for one goal. Sapnap had seen Dream’s weakness, he had stolen the ball right from under Dream when he was glancing over to see if George was looking.

After the handshakes, the water mixed with good-natured teasing, the lightening speed showers, Dream was left alone. His hair was dripping onto the hoodie he had pulled on. He was the last one in the changing room, he always was.

He told everyone it was because he was the captain. If anyone ever needed to talk, there was a sure place they could catch him alone. All they had to do was run back, claim a forgotten boot or hat, and he’d be there.

That was a part of it undoubtedly. But, if you stripped the layers back, peeled Dream’s skin away to look down at his pulsing core, you’d have seen privacy above all else. He kept to himself, minded his business. Other than Sapnap and Bad, no one fully knew him. And even that was pushing it. Sapnap and Bad knew the version of him that he showed. They saw some bad bits, but they’d never see the Dream that he hid.

They wouldn’t know the Dream that scrolled through Instagram on a Sunday night. They’d never know the Dream who cried when his toast got burned on a particularly stressful morning.

They saw him, the real him, but only the entertaining parts. They saw the anger and the tears, the elation and the subsequent fall, but they never saw him be boring.

If someone’s boring, they can be left. It’s easy to leave someone you don’t care about, and it’s easy to not care about someone boring.

So Dream let them see him, the real him, but only when it was entertaining. No one saw him alone in his room, watching podcasts on YouTube and folding his washing. That was the kind of person it was easy to leave. He couldn’t be that.

He kept it all to himself, the parts that didn’t fit into the Dream personality. Anything that didn’t match ‘State Champion Captain’. Anything that didn’t scream ‘Golden Boy’ was for his eyes only. No one can ruin something they don’t know about.

Dream was able to change his clothes quickly. He brought his body wash from home and he didn’t wash his hair. But, apparently, he wasn’t fast enough. Before he had his shoes back on, George was barging in, Sapnap trailing behind him.

“Sorry, I did try and stop him.” The grin on Sapnap’s face told a different story. Dream just rolled his eyes, grabbing his gear bag and leaving. They didn’t follow him out the door, but the room echoed. He could hear talking, mainly Sapnap.

“Wherever you guys end up going today, can you keep an eye on Dream? The adrenaline from training hypes him up too much. He might say something stupid and get punched.”

It was nice, to hear such solid proof that Sapnap knew him in the best way Dream would let him, that he cared so loudly.

“Oh, I get to see Dream being punched?”

George promptly snapped Dream out of his appreciation. Before Dream could move away from the door, they were walking on top of him. George’s smile dropped when he saw Dream eavesdropping, but Sapnap’s got bigger. He swiped for Dream. Despite Dream’s aching legs and exhausted lungs, he managed to dodge. Before Sapnap could swipe again, he was jogging towards the truck.

While Sapnap chased him, screaming about his stalker tendencies, George looked away, following slowly behind them. He had the decency to blush, slightly. Maybe manners weren’t completely dead just yet. Sapnap said his goodbyes before Dream could beg for a lift. He said he had ‘ errands to run ’. Which errands fell on the shoulders of an 18-year-old boy, Dream didn’t know.

Suddenly, it was all real. It was just George and Dream, staring at each other on an empty soccer pitch. Any words Dream tried to force out died in his throat. These were uncharted waters, George and him alone and civil.

To be George’s enemy was easy, but this new thing. This budding acquaintanceship. It was more complicated. It was so much easier to just go back to how it was, bitter and stinging. It was like a wound that had scabbed over, and Dream could never resist picking at a scab.

“Why are you here, George?” His tone was harsher than he intended, a cold contrast to the playful banter he had with Sapnap. Dream tried to ignore the split second of hurt he could see on George’s face.

“Sapnap got the time wrong.” George’s face was closed off again quickly. Dream felt guilt knocking at the door of his morality. He turned the key in the lock, determined to keep it out.

“Oh.” Dream hoped George couldn’t read minds. Because if he could, he would be able to see the way Dream’s conscience was floundering. This vague hatred was a lot less comforting when alone with someone.

Before Dream could ponder on George’s telepathic capabilities for too long, he was walking away. George’s back had turned on him.

Before Dream could make his protests known, George had turned his head in Dream’s direction.

“Come on, it looks like rain.” Dream glanced up, the sky was clear. He didn’t mention it. Instead, he followed George as he walked to the bus stop.

George took him to a café. It was a small place, quaint and cosy. The outside was a murky turquoise with glass panes everywhere. A pretentious coffee house. Dream thought it was a bit on the nose, even for George.

A tip jar was knocked over while George was ordering their drinks. Dream could hear the harsh clatter from the isolated table he had snagged them in the furthest corner. George’s face was burning red when he sat down with his americano and Dream’s hot chocolate, no marshmallows extra cream.

While George retrieved his things from his shoulder bag, folders, paper, pens, Dream started to think about the assignment. They were more complicated than they seemed, the speeches and the boys. The speeches had to have a five-page accompanying essay to explain how cooperation was beneficial, and to support all the points made in the five-minute speech. That was a page per speaking minute, if Dream’s maths was correct.

He tried to think, to plan how to go about it all. It was harder than he had expected. Most of what they had done the first day had turned out to be useless, upon Dream’s inspection when he got home. Before he could reach his epiphany, George was tearing him away from his introspection.

“I swear, if you keep doing that, I’m going to sew your eyelids to your kneecaps.”

Dream looked blankly at him, frozen in his confusion. George didn’t lessen up.

“Tapping your pen against the glass. Stop it.”

Dream hadn’t even realised he was doing it, an old nervous habit. Or it would have been, if Dream was the kind of person to get nervous.

He and George sat there, staring at each other. George didn’t look as embarrassed as Dream wanted him to. Dream didn’t look as sorry as George wanted him to.

“Please.” George looked like he had to force the word out of his mouth. The same George as always. Dream rolled his eyes, but he put down the pen.

“So,” Dream started them off. He was past the stage of letting any awkwardness seep in. “The speeches.” It took George a second to catch up, his mind was still at the counter where he had picked up all the coins individually.

“The speeches.”

The place to start seemed obvious to Dream,

“Tell me about yourself.”

George looked up at him, curious eyes and slouched spine. One of his eyebrows, just one, shot up. Dream rushed to clarify.

“I mean, for the speech. So I can write the speech.” George’s face didn’t change with the explanation. It was still staring at him from across the shitty coffee table. His brow was furrowed and his smile was appearing out of nowhere, slowly. Dream hated it. It was all so jarringly new, having someone in front of him who he couldn’t read.

George had this new kind of power over him. He’d felt it during the soccer training but here it was so much clearer. In the air between them, Dream was sure it would suffocate them both, that mantra of ��what is he thinking ’, over and over. A constant roar. He was certain George could feel it too, he was giving himself away.

This wasn’t how Dream was meant to act. Dream was confident and collected, funny and commanding. Dream was the captain of the state goddamn champion team. Dream wasn’t on the edge of his seat, waiting to hear what George was going to say.

Before Dream could think himself off a cliff, George was breaking in.

“I fold my socks.” It seemed like a simple thing, but it stopped Dream mid-thought. It disarmed him completely.

Later, he would realise it was the idea that George did things that Dream didn’t know about that had caught him so off-guard. It was the realisation that Dream didn’t understand him as well as he thought he did, that he hated someone he barely knew.

From there, it got easier. George knew all the words to Doja Cat’s “Say So”. Dream had accidentally become a bit of a Barb, a title he had to explain to George, after his sister went through a Nicki Minaj stage. George pirated films from the internet. Dream had been leeching off his aunt’s Netflix for years. Dream thought zodiacs were stupid, but he always found himself looking his up. George loved astrology. They both liked the stars.

George proved Dream’s hypothesis from their meeting, the one held the previous week in Sapnap’s house. George was actually funny, and Dream didn’t mind being around him.

Eventually, George noticed the barista’s eyes shooting them daggers. Apparently, ordering a hot chocolate and an americano is not enough to warrant an hour of sitting time. They had to leave. George shouldered his bag and nudged Dream. He was trying to suppress his smile. It was all so different to the George Dream had known.

“Come on, let’s go.” He was already standing. Dream nodded up at him.

“Better to leave than to get kicked out.” George’s smile lessened.

“Is it?”

They walked through the streets, excited in a boring place.

They ended up in front of one of the city’s deserted playgrounds. No one wanted their kids to play somewhere you could find needles. Once he saw the empty swing set, Dream was running. George was zipping quick behind him.

Once they were on a swing set together, the competition was inevitable. Dream was swinging higher than George, but George was trying his best to dispute that.

Dream was throwing his full body weight into the swing, feeling his heels skitting along the floor, his legs careening through the air. He figured this must be what it feels like to fall, to jump. This floating feeling in his stomach, the lurch of it all. It must be what it feels like to fly.

George’s gleeful shrieks covered up the warning creaks of the rusty swing set. Dream wasn’t used to this kind openness around him. It was all so new, the giddiness. He tried to shift his swing into George’s path, the way his sisters used to when he was a few years younger. He got a slight kick in the back in response, but it was enough to dethrone him. He was left sprawled on the floor, George cackling behind him.

The time went too fast. Before long, they had tried everything in the playground. Dream was too tall for half of them, but he tried anyway. When he had stood on the swings, trying to copy George, he had banged his head on the bar supporting them. He could walk while doing the monkey bars.

They were back on the swings before long, swaying more than swinging. George was trying to make his swing work without any movement from him. Dream’s swing was drifting left and right. He didn’t do anything to put it back on the straight and narrow.

Dream’s mind was eating at him. The logic of it all didn’t add up. This was George, George , and George hated him. So why was he here, an hour over their mandatory time, on a rusty set of swings with him. Having fun, together.

“George?” The chains of the swing crossed over each other, trapping Dream between them. He threw his body weight the opposite way to free himself. A slow final battle.

“Dream.” George was looking at him, the same way he had been back in the café. All open eyes and open heart. Dream hated it.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question, Dream couldn’t bare a question. He just said it, hoping George understood.

George hummed in response, eyes locked on his shoelaces.

“I don’t.”

And that was it, that was what Dream was afraid of. This was skydiving without the parachute, he was freewheeling. Here he was vulnerable, here he was showing a soft spot. It was weakness.

He had always hated George, since age ten. And the reason, the pit of it all, it had always been because George hated him first . And George had kept hating him, for the last eight years. Without that, there was nothing there. Their hatred was the only thing binding them. But, it was apparently one-sided.

“Oh.” It was strangled. It was all Dream could manage.

“I could never do it.” George was still looking at him, unreadable. Always so unreadable.

“What?” Dream couldn’t look back at him. His eyes were locked on the soft ground below him. His voice was too strained.

“Hate you.” George’s voice showed no strain at all.

Dream hated the muffled ‘ Hmm ’ that left his throat in response. He didn’t understand how George could just say it.

Dream swung wordlessly, back and forth. Before the words had even entered his brain they were bubbling out of his mouth.

“Same.” It wasn’t eloquent, but George’s face showed that he understood. He had never hated him, not truly. Not in the real way, the irreversible way.

They were quiet then, just swinging together. George’s voice broke through the blanket of sedative still.

“You’re definitely not how I thought you were.”

Dream jumped at the opportunity.

“How did you think I was?”

George thought Dream was cocky. All he did was talk shit, and he could never back it up. Dream was quick to point out the two-state champion trophies his team had one, but George shook his head.

“No, not like that. I mean like, outside of sport.”

He was loud in class, talking over the quiet kids. And he never smiled at strangers in the halls. He never had his homework done on time, and he never got in trouble for it. He was mean, rough around the edges. George didn’t say cruel, but Dream could hear him thinking it.

He had figured that was what George thought he was - tough, angry, mean. But his edges weren’t that worn yet, he hadn’t learned enough to be tough.

He wanted to climb inside George’s skull and rearrange the pieces, sort it all out. It was true, a lot of what George said, but he wasn’t cruel. He was never cruel. He didn’t mean to talk over people, he was excitable. He didn’t notice the people in the halls, or the favouritism from the teachers

Above all, George thought he was fake. The act he put on, the loudness and confidence. He didn’t believe it.

Dream had thought the same about George. Alongside elitist, pretentious and stuck up. Also, plainwell rude. George listened as he explained it all.

“I just thought you thought you were like-” Dream looked up at the sky, letting his legs tilt-up above his body. He could feel blood rushing to his ears. “I don’t know. Like you acted like you were better than everyone else.”

George snorted. Dream’s head snapped towards him, incredulous.

“Kettle calling the pot!” George was smiling despite it all. It made Dream laugh as well.

“Actually though, why don’t you ever get involved? Like, ever.” Dream sat back up properly on his swing.

George just shrugged.

“I'd feel safer facing off a fucking pack of wolves." George’s voice was quiet, heading straight towards the ground. His feet kicked against the dirt. The swing wobbled.

Dream didn’t say anything, he didn’t think it was his place. He had never thought anything like that, it had never crossed his mind. He was Dream, being self-conscious wasn’t in his DNA. He wouldn’t have been able to bare it, the separateness of it all. He wouldn’t have been able to look in through the window at school life from the outside. But the way George was talking, muted and thoughtful, it made him want to understand.

Before he could think up a response, George was nudging his ankle.

“Come on, we should go. Before the sun sets.” George got up, started to collect his things.

Dream hadn’t noticed the shortening Autumn sunsets. He grabbed George’s sleeve.

“Watch,” he breathed, sacred. George’s limbs slowed, sinking him back to his swing.

Together, they watched the sun setting. The airy blues fading to dusty pinks, heavy orange. Before the sky was black, George was dragging Dream with him, mutters of Well, I’m not going to get mugged tonight Dream.

They ended up in the library, underused and underfunded.

Dream followed him inside, straight past the glaring librarian and up the stairs. He wasn’t used to it, following someone. Especially not George. But he knew the way and Dream didn’t, so he walked quietly behind him.

They turned a corner, and there they were. They were standing in a long corridor of computers, old and dusty. Dream wasn’t sure if it counted as a corridor, there was a wall at the other end, where the other opening should have been. There were long continuous desks on the two walls, and a computer every meter. They made the room thin enough to make them have to stand single file. He was practically standing on top of George, his toes brushing against George's heels.

Out of nowhere, George turned towards him. Dream flinched more than he would’ve wanted. They were left there, in the silence, George staring straight at him. Dream was a deer in headlights. He didn’t dare to move. They were barely inches apart.

“Dream, the door.” George’s voice was raspier in a whisper. His face was so close, Dream swore he could count the boy’s freckle. His lungs were burning, he had forgotten to keep breathing. “Dream?” George’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Right. Yes. The door.” He spun around, reaching for a doorknob to shut them inside the one ended corridor, but he was met with an empty space. There was no door. He heard George sigh in frustration. Dream felt his ears burning, he hated it.

“There’s no door.” He whispered it into the silence in front of him. George laughed, muted and soft.

“Here, show.” George tried to worm his way past Dream to get to the door, but the corridor was too narrow. His elbows banged into Dream’s gangly limbs, his knee hit the desk. His whispered shit came at the same time as the bang. They both froze, ears straining for any kind of ‘shhhh’ coming from downstairs. Nothing came. Either they both had bad hearing, or they were in the clear.

George managed to shove his way past a blushing Dream, where he easily grabbed the sliding glass door.

“Bullshit,” Dream muttered as George came back down the corridor towards him. George’s small, airy laugh accompanied the sound of Windows 8 booting up.

“Come on, get a seat. We’re under time pressure. I didn't expect you to be here for this.” One of the old computers was loading up a chess website.

“Wait, explain what’s going on now so you don’t have to midway through-” Dream paused. He didn’t know if whatever George was doing actually had a midpoint. “- midway through whatever you're doing.” Dream ignored George’s rolling eyes.

“Speed chess. Chess plus speed. Not hard to figure out Dreamer.”

Dream didn’t think George had noticed his quiet nickname, it made his heart stutter.

“Speed chess?” Dream looked at the screen. Rightfully so, there was a chessboard on it.

“Speed chess.” George pressed start.

Dream watched the pieces move, whizzing across the screen. It was like soccer, the speed of it all. The pace. Dream loved the quickness. Before he could catch his bearings, there was a banner on the screen and a smiling George was talking.

“So, that’s speed chess. But now I have to play an actual game. Against an actual person. It’s a tournament, every week. Normally it’s after school, but it got moved this week. And, Dream, I swear to god if you ruin this for me-” Dream cut him off before he could finish the thought. He knew George well enough now to know where it was going.

“I know, I know, you’ll kill me, no one will ever find my body, blah blah blah.” Dream ignored the way his heart lit up when George laughed.

George logged in and hit start.

Dream didn’t know anything about chess, he had never played and he never planned to. But he didn’t need to be a genius to tell that after a minute, George was losing. It was the furrow of his brow, the frown line set in his skin. It gave him away.

"You...do not look happy." Dream didn’t know how to help him, but judging by George’s gritted teeth, commentary was not the way to go.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Before another minute had passed, there was a banner on the screen pointing out George’s loss. The ‘ Better Luck Next Time, Player!’ didn’t feel very sincere to Dream.

One glance at George and it was clear he was disappointed.

“Sorry, George.” Dream lowered his eyes from the screen. It felt disrespectful to even look at the message of pity. George shrugged his shoulders, shook out his hands.

“It’s okay, I have another game. I just can’t get a perfect score now, so I probably won’t win this time” His voice was dejected. It made Dream want to help him.

“Well, I mean, don’t be sad. Just, like, turn it off. Change it to anger.” George looked at Dream, brow furrowed again.

“Dream? That’s not, that’s not normal.” Dream froze. This was it, he was giving himself away. He wanted to reach out and scoop the pieces of him that he'd let out back between his ribcage. He didn’t want George to know about the switches and levers inside him, the careful calculation of his personhood.

Instead, he laughed lightly.

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t explain it very well-” Before he had to think up some other way to explain his inner workings, George was distracted. Another game was starting. Dream didn’t feel upset for the distraction.

The more Dream watched him play chess, the more he wanted to understand chess. The only thing he had to go off of was George’s closed face. As far as Dream could tell, he wasn’t doing well. The stitch of the skin next to his eye gave that away.

George’s mutterings of ‘ Shit ’, ‘ Fuck ’ and the classic ‘ Godamn it ’ also helped Dream reach his conclusion. George didn’t leave much up to the imagination.

Just as Dream was about to make his condolences known, all the stitches and the lines disappeared. George’s eyes widened then creased, and then out of nowhere the banner was back on the screen.

Except that time, it read ‘ Congratulations, Player!’

Dream couldn’t keep it in.

“Fucking clutch, bro!” George laughed at the congratulations.

“Careful Dreamer, you’re inner frat boy is showing.” He was grinning, giddy with the excitement of it all.

Dream tried to ignore the way the nickname froze his brain for a second, how every neuron stopped in their tracks to drink it in.

George got up from the chair. His smile was subtle but he couldn’t hide the energy, Dream could see him balling up and releasing his fists. He was just as excited as Dream at the win, just in a different way.

“Come on. I’m not playing anymore, plus I have to be home before my mother thinks I’ve been kidnapped.” Dream hadn’t thought about what his mother would say when he got home.

The guilt he felt, vague and untouchable, at being five hours late was pushed to the back of his mind the second it entered.

As Dream stood up, he felt his leg tangled between the chair and table. But it was too late. The second he pushed himself up he went careening back down to the floor. Before he knew what was happening, he was sprawled on his back, face on the dusty carpets. Instead of getting the sympathy he expected, George was standing above him, trying his best to contain his howls of laughter.

Dream cracked before he did. They stayed together, Dream lying flat on his back and George leaning against the desks, trying to muffle their shrieks.

Eventually, the librarian was standing above them. Dream wanted to say she looked more disappointed than mad, but she didn’t. She just looked mad. It was always so much harder not to laugh when you weren’t allowed to.

Dream tried his best to keep it in as she escorted them out but he didn’t stand a chance. The second he saw George’s foot catch on the last stair, he was a goner. George said only bats could have heard the frequency Dream reached when George fell.

Dream was like a tea kettle, crouched down next to George. George himself was a mirror of Dream in the computer room, sprawled on the floor, letting out sounds between groaning and snorting.

The difference was this time they had a stern librarian right next to them, shaking her head.

Eventually, the boys managed to bring themselves to their feet and stagger towards the door. Everything was setting them off.

“Shhh, boys.” Her voice was stern. Dream howled into George’s ear. He was leaning on the other boy to keep from collapsing.

“We’re already fucking leaving.” It was breathed into George’s ear - just for him to hear. There were tears brimming. George snorted, calling out to the woman at the desk behind him.

“Sorry Dorothy,” Dream’s wheezing upon hearing her name didn’t do their sincerity any favours.

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving!” The second they got out onto the library steps they were heaving. George had to sit on the step, he was in stitches.

It took them a while to calm down, for the giddiness to dissipate. The cold was a big help, as was the dark.

After they calmed down, Dream looked at him. He was slouched against the library wall, hair messy and cheeks red. His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back against the stone. The calm that filled him up when he was around George, it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t a regular thing. It compelled him.

“I’m sorry.”

George’s eyes opened to look at him, still smiling.

“Huh?” The way his head tilted to the side reminded Dream of the dog he had when he was younger.

“I’m sorry, for hating you.” George shook his head at Dream’s sudden apology.

“You don’t have to be.” But Dream still was, in every inch of his body. He wanted to take it all back, the years of bitterness. Even if it was replaced with nothing, it would take away his guilt.

George went home, and then Dream went home. The second he was in the door his mother was lecturing him. It all went in one ear and out the next The moment Dream’s head hit the pillow, it was a gearbox. There were new parts, cogs turning and wheels spinning. Dream couldn't stop thinking about it all. And, above all else, was the nickname. George had called him ‘Dreamer’. It was immortalized, cast in amber by his mind.

The next Monday, there was a routine soccer training after school. It was two days after Dream’s adventure in café’s and swing sets and speed chess but that day was still burned into the forefront of his mind. He was with Sapnap, doing a slow drill together, just passing the ball while they waited for the rest of the team to get changed. Dream decided it was time to let him deeper into his brain.

“Sapnap.” Sapnap passed the ball back to him gently.

“Dream.” He was smiling at him, always smiling.

“I have to tell you something.” Dream didn’t like the way his voice sounded. Sapnap and sombreness didn’t go together.

“Famous last words!” Sapnap had proven Dream right, he was still smiling at him.

“Well, I’m kind of- I’m making friends with someone. But I don’t know how you’ll react to who it is.” Sapnap was still smiling.

“Come on, dude. Just rip the plaster right off!” Sapnap jumped up and down on the spot, waiting for Dream to pass the ball. Dream passed it.

“It’s George.” Sapnap’s face didn’t change, but it froze.

“Put the plaster back on!” Sapnap kicked the ball, more towards Dream’s head than his feet.

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dream #dream smp #georgenotfound #dream/george #dreamxgeorge #rpf

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catboymingi · 4 years

Text

and the damsel in distress - veninder chap. 2

navi/masterlist

story masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: angst, fluff; eventual best friends to lovers

word count: 7.2k

warnings: language, insecurities, past trauma mention, somewhat suicidal thoughts (very briefly, one sentence)

a/n: after ages of exams where i focused on smaller writings i finally am updating... this chapter is a ride but it is the ride i decided to take

yo var det mig / der’ dummet sig? - was it me / that messed up?

when you woke up and unlocked your phone you immediately wished you hadn’t woken up, ever. you had more than a hundred messages from various chats, and while you wished you could just ignore them forever you knew that you’d have to deal with it tomorrow latest, and you’d rather do it without an audience. so you had no choice to reply, opening the private messages first and telling all your friends that you’d reply in the group chat, before you opened that one.

[y/n]: sry for that. forgot my wallet, had no way to get home in time

[y/n]: nothing happened tho

the reply came almost immediately, as if they’d just waited for you to come online.

[saranghoe]: u literally didnt even try 2 call dibs n now ur staying the night?? seems suspicious

[model contract when???]: yeah literally!

[y/n]: as i said, better than sleeping on the street

[model contract when???]: just dont go near them again. ever

[y/n]: fine

[y/n]: deal

you hated the idea, but you knew that if you didn’t agree your life would be a living hell. and that was definitely not something you wanted, knowing how they’d made life hell for other people and knowing that there was no way anyone could protect you from that. so, the next thing you did was click on ‘hyung hate club’, not even bothering to read the messages before leaving the group. you didn’t like this, but it was better this way. as much as you liked the boys, you liked being able to go to uni in peace more, and you knew that would be impossible if you so much as breathed in their direction from now on. you sighed, putting your phone down and laying back onto your bed again, wanting some peace for yourself, but you weren’t granted that. less than a minute after you’d laid down your phone buzzed, once, twice, thrice. knowing that you wouldn’t be able to relax until you knew what was up you sat back up, checking your phone to see messages from an unknown number. curious, you clicked on the notification.

[unknown]: y/n???

[unknown]: im mingi

[unknown]: whats wrong??

you weren’t sure whether to be happy he messaged or scream into your pillow. in some way it was nice he cared, but that also meant it would be harder to avoid the boys. and that meant that, no matter how hard you tried, your friends would have a reason to be upset.

[y/n]: why?

[unknown]: you left the gc?

[unknown]: what happened

[y/n]: nothing dw, im all good

he saw the message but didn’t reply right away, which made you think that maybe he’d accept your reply. but then you saw him typing again, and a message you didn’t expect at all appeared on your screen.

[unknown]: did i mess up

[y/n]: wdym

you genuinely had no idea what he meant, or rather, how he could’ve got the idea that he’d messed up in any way. he’d been nothing but kind to you, there was not a single thing he could possibly have messed up on. but when a new message popped up you knew he was genuinely worrying about it, and you felt bad for not being able to tell him the real reason why you left the group chat, why you had to avoid them.

[unknown]: like did i do something wrong

[y/n]: not at all

[y/n]: its not abt you dw

you hoped he’d leave it be with that, but of course not. he wanted to know what was wrong, he wanted to know why you suddenly didn’t seem to want to talk to him, or any of them for that matter, anymore.

[unknown]: then what is it

and while you were thinking of a good excuse, mingi seemed to have caught on to what exactly the problem was, as was made apparent by his next message.

[unknown]: its your friends isnt it

there was no way you could reply to that decently, so you didn’t, staring at the screen in frustration with your friends and him and mainly yourself. you wanted to say something, you really did, but you had no idea what. tell him you were sorry? tell him to leave you alone? tell him that sometimes life just sucked and you had to deal with it? none of that would’ve been a good reply, and in all honesty you also didn’t want to have to deal with the emotional turmoil it would inevitably bring.

you didn’t notice that you’d spaced out and your phone had locked itself until it buzzed in your hand again, another message from the unknown number you now knew to be mingi. it just read ‘got it’ and you felt awful, scared that you’d hurt or upset one of the only people in forever that had shown genuine care for you. but of course you’d had to mess it up.

the next day came and you still felt bad, somewhat fearful as well. your friend group’s chat had returned to the usual topics, but you still weren’t sure how they’d react to you when they saw you again. you were hellbent on acting as usual, hoping that if you acted like nothing happened they would as well, and it was somewhat successful, getting weird stares every now and then, but no more comments than usual. you wouldn’t let yourself relax just yet, but this was a good sign, at least.

but then came lunch. you tried to act casual, not wanting to let on to the fact that you were horrified that one of the boys would shout out for you at any moment. your eyes darted around aimlessly, mainly looking for a certain giant sporting bright red hair, simply because he was easiest to spot out of the group you’d spent saturday night with. when you still hadn’t spotted him when you sat down to eat with your friends your shoulders relaxed, but it had been a mistake to think that they’d forgotten about you.

you hadn’t noticed that yunho was on his way towards you until he was standing right there, having moved surprisingly inconspicuously for someone his height. but there he was, staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t judge. you tried to avoid his eyes, feeling so incredibly guilty for ignoring him when he and his friends had been your saviour when you needed one, but you couldn’t help it. even now you could feel your friends’ angry stares on you, when you hadn’t even acknowledged the boy’s presence.

“y/n”, yunho suddenly spoke up. you couldn’t help but look up at him at that, knowing it was a mistake, but your head moved by itself. and he noticed, a small smile appearing on his face now. he nodded his head as a sign that he wanted to talk to you with a little more privacy, and you knew that if you didn’t go with him he’d try to sort whatever he wanted to sort here, in front of your friends, which would be way worse than leaving with him for maybe two minutes and returning, convincing them that you told him never to come up to you again. so you got up, but before you could actually go to a more private area he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. you hit his back in a desperate attempt to let you down, but deep down you knew that your punches wouldn’t affect him in any way. so you gave up, hanging like a sack of potatoes, feeling everyone’s curious stares on you.

he first let you down at their table, hongjoong scolding him that a less dramatic approach would’ve done the job as well. wooyoung and yeosang were laughing while the others looked at you curiously, and you were still deciding whether or not to kill yunho right there.

that decision was made for you when mingi spoke up.

“you told me you’d see me at lunch.” you couldn’t quite decipher his tone, whether he was angry or disappointed or hurt, but you knew it wasn’t a positive emotion you heard in his voice. you hated that you were the reason for his upset, but you also hated that your decision about how to deal with the dilemma you were in had been made for you, by people that knew nothing about your situation. you weren’t them, you didn’t have a support system, you didn’t have the option to choose who you were friends with, you didn’t have any of the things that were a given for everyone else. you had to take what you got and make do with it, and they’d just made that significantly harder for you.

“i told you i couldn’t”, you replied, your own voice a mixture of sadness and anger. you wanted to be able to, really, but it wasn’t something you could change. and the fact that he’d seen how your friends had reacted to you doing something they didn’t like and still didn’t stop this, maybe even actively encouraged this, made you angry, even though maybe it shouldn’t. he hadn’t had any ill intentions, but that didn’t really matter to you when you knew he wouldn’t be affected at all by whatever happened as a reaction to this. that he - they - had started a battle you’d have to fight.

no one said anything to that and you thought the conversation was over, that they’d realised that you wouldn’t be able to join their friend group or talk to them at all unless necessary, so you turned around, managing to take a single step before someone grabbed your wrist. you turned around again in surprise and saw that it was seonghwa, whom you’d assumed to be kind and soft-spoken, definitely not the kind to do this. but here you were, being kept from leaving by his hand around your wrist. it was mingi who spoke, though.

“they’re not being nice to you. you deserve better.” and you knew, you knew all that, you knew everything he could tell you to convince you that they weren’t the right friends for you, but that didn’t change anything. and you’d had enough hurt, enough mistreatment in your life to want to avoid it at all costs now. if that meant giving up a bit of your happiness but getting to keep your peace of mind that was a price you were more than willing to pay. but the boy looking at you with softness in his eyes didn’t seem to be willing to have you pay that price.

“sit down.” seonghwa had let go of your arm now, moving a little so that you’d fit next to him. it wasn’t an order, more of a suggestion, but you were too tired, too exhausted to potentially risk a discussion you might not be able to win, so you just complied, resting your head in your palms. and because of that the boys at first didn’t even notice that you didn’t have your food, or any of your things, since it didn’t seem like you wanted to eat anyway.

it was san that noticed, already having finished inhaling his meal when you hadn’t even started yours. the surprise at that was what made him realise that there was no meal for you to finish.

“yunho!”, he suddenly yelled out, making everyone’s heads snap up, even yours. “you forgot y/n’s things when you kidnapped her!” at that realisation, panic made its way onto your face. you had no idea what state your things would be in by the time you’d reach them. your phone, your wallet, all your notes were in your bag, and you’d just left it with your friends that without a doubt were plotting how to ruin your life by now. you jolted up and towards the table they’d been sitting at, but when you saw they’d already left your panic only increased. your bag was still there, carelessly kicked underneath the table when you’d been sitting with the others, but you had no idea what the insides would look like. you probably looked like a maniac all but ripping it open, fumbling with the zipper with shaking hands and ransacking your bag to make sure you still had everything you needed, checking your wallet and phone to see just how fucked you were. everything was still in order, though; it seemed like they’d forgotten about your bag, in part thanks to you having kicked it out of sight thoughtlessly. you almost cried at the relief, and mingi, who’d followed you after your sudden exit to make sure you were okay, wasn’t really sure what to do. he kneeled down next to where you were still crouching on the floor, staring at your bag and its content as if it were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and just looked at you, waiting for you to realise he was there as well.

when after a while (was it seconds? minutes? it felt too long for mingi) you still seemed to not have noticed his presence he carefully tapped your leg, making sure his hand was visible before he actually touched you. you seemed so spaced out that he was pretty certain any sudden touch or noise would scare you to no end. but even though he was so careful not to be too sudden your head still shot up with a force that made him fear you’d break your neck; you’d half expected one of your friends to be the one touching you, so your anxious reaction was at least in part caused by that. but when you saw that it was only him you relaxed a little, though your heartbeat still would not return to normal.

“you okay?”, he asked you once it seemed like you wouldn’t drop dead from shock or kill him if he said anything, worry apparent in his voice, and you could understand him, really - this wasn’t a regular reaction to forgetting your bag with your friends. but you didn’t have regular friends either, so it evened out.

“i guess.” you grabbed your bag and got up, wanting nothing more than to get out of that awkward situation, and the tall boy followed suit.

“wanna join us for the rest of lunch?” he expected you to say no. you knew that you should say no. and a look at where you’d sat at the table confirmed that you didn’t even have anything to eat anymore - they’d probably thrown it away as soon as you left. so there was no reason to go, there was no reason to make yourself even more of a target. but maybe that was why you ended up saying yes. you’d already become a target, so now you might as well spend time with them, you didn’t really have anything to lose anymore. and the smile he gave you when you agreed to join them made you think that it’d maybe be worth it, even.

the others looked at you in surprise when you returned to their table, mingi having a triumphant look on his face. they didn’t say anything, though, scared of putting you off and causing another somewhat-freak out like the one earlier. of course, to them it didn’t make sense, they had no idea just what your friends could do. they’d never been their victim, and they’d never been around to see what their victims had to deal with. but you knew. and the thought of it almost sent you into a panic attack, so you let yourself fall onto the bench (a loud ‘thud’ could be heard, so you really hadn’t been gentle with yourself) and put your head on the table, ignoring how greasy it probably was, your focus being on stopping your breath from speeding up before it was too late. you couldn’t see the looks they gave each other, but you could imagine them. you were a mess, a scared, traumatised mess, and that less than 48 hours after first having met them. you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they told you to go sit somewhere else, or got up and left themselves. but they were still there when you lifted your head again, looking at you worriedly, but without judgment.

mingi was the first to speak, having put the pieces together by now.

“they’re that bad?” you knew whom he meant. he’d seen the message, he’d been the one to figure out they didn’t want you to talk to them, he’d seen the way you’d rummaged your bag, so it wasn’t hard for him to figure out what, or rather whom, you were scared of. yet he couldn’t imagine why you were that scared of people supposed to be your friends.

“worse.” you tried to mask your fear with a bitter tone, but it didn’t exactly work. the boys didn’t exactly know how to react to that, trying desperately to come up with a way to lighten the mood.

“you have eight bodyguards now.” you weren’t the only one surprised when it was jongho that spoke up, but the others were quick to agree, telling you that the girls had to get past them first. ‘mainly jongho, to be fair’, as wooyoung elaborated. and while you still weren’t feeling good about it, you were feeling better now, the fearful expression replaced by a smile. san, not wanting to waste that chance, asked you if he could re-add you to ‘hyung hate club’, and you couldn’t resist the puppy eyes he gave you, so you agreed. as soon as he did so mingi got his phone out, resending the message he’d sent when he’d brought you home. ‘pyjama party this weekend n y/ns still coming’. your reply was an emoji rolling its eyes, but the smile hadn’t left your face. then you saved his number, asking the others to send a message with their name so you could know who was who.

“they’ll never shut up”, hongjoong informed you casually as he sent his name, and while you knew he was telling you, indirectly, that from this moment on you would never be able to have a moment of peace and quiet and no notifications you were happy about this fact, because it meant that at least you wouldn’t be lonely.

“i have my ways.” you grinned at him as you said that, then you went to save all the numbers in your phone. doing so brought your attention to the time, and you noticed that it was time to leave for class, your happy expression immediately disappearing as you realised that they wouldn’t be around to protect you during class. And class was the place you couldn’t escape from; you needed the credits, and part of you also didn’t want to have to give up on something that always brought you joy just because you had to fear you wouldn’t be left alone.

“i need to go.” your expression didn’t go unnoticed, and seonghwa and yeosang, who had this period off, told you they’d be right there if something happened, you just had to send a message. they also insisted on bringing you to your class, and while you did feel a little like a child that needs their parents to bring them everywhere because they’re scared by themselves you also really appreciated it. so you took off with your two bodyguards, waving at the others as they left for their own classes.

“it’ll be fine”, yeosang said after a couple hundred metres during which neither of you had said anything, and you looked at him with doubt apparent in your eyes.

“it will”, seonghwa stated, a lot more sure about it than you were. “and if not, you know we’ll be right there.” that only did little to reassure you, but you had no choice either way.

you reached your classroom way too fast, and you could feel your breath speed up as soon as you walked towards the door, hesitating. maybe you should just drop out of uni and become a shepherd in a secluded village somewhere in a strange country in europe. maybe that was a better plan. but the choice was made for you as one of your now ex-friends waved towards you, a cheery expression on her face that would have fooled you, had you not seen that same expression on her face countless times before, knowing that it meant nothing but danger. but it was too late to turn around now, so all you could do was pretend you didn’t know what you were about to face.

“hey!” your tone was at least as fake as her expression as you greeted her back. then you went to your seat, and for the first half of class things actually went okay. you were tense, you were stressed, you were scared, but nothing happened. but then the teacher told you that it was time to do group work now, and things went downhill. you were grouped by how you were seating, which included you, one of the girls, and two classmates you barely ever talked to, whose names you didn’t even know, but whom you had nothing against, at least. but they would soon have something against you.

as you were working, one of them had her laptop out to take notes and prepare a presentation, as was the task. and that gave your ex-friend an idea. it was an expensive laptop, and you, as always, had a cup of water on the table, fairly close to the middle so it wouldn’t be able to drop by itself. it wouldn’t have to drop by itself, though. first, the girl next to you dropped her pen and kicked it over to the other two, pretending to have done so in an attempt to retrieve it and be able to pick it up.

“i’m sorry, i dropped my pen! can you maybe pick it up, i can’t reach it.” an apologetic smile was sent their way, as if to say ‘sorry for the hassle’. both girls opposite you ducked at the same time, trying to see where the pen was and who would be able to pick it up more easily. that was what she’d planned, though; as soon as they were no longer able to see you, she spilled your water. over the laptop that was still on the table. and as if that wasn’t enough, she got up, yelling your name loudly, asking you why you’d done that. everyone was looking at you by now, and the girl whose laptop had been sacrificed quickly tried to dry it off with her sleeve, asking for tissues, trying to save it. no use, it seemed like it had broken right away. and everyone thought it was you. that you’d broken the laptop on purpose.

“she was writing her thesis, y/n! i knew you were jealous, but i didn’t think you’d go that far!” you just stared at the scene around you wide-eyed, not even fully realising that this was real. by now even the teacher had come to look at what exactly was going on, and your lack of self defense was a seemingly obvious sign of you actually being the culprit.

“i think you should leave the class now. and you will have to replace the laptop.” all you could do was stare at who used to be your friend, unable to believe that she would do this to you. you hadn’t even actually done anything, and you’d been friends with these girls for almost a year now, yet she’d had no hesitation to ruin not only your reputation but also you financially. she was fully aware that you were barely scraping by. she was fully aware that you would never be able to replace the laptop. she knew all that. and she still did it, just because you’d dared to talk to someone they’d called dibs on. you couldn’t believe it.

you didn’t really remember how you’d left the class, and were surprised to find that you’d remembered to pack all your things back into your bag, that you hadn’t forgotten anything. you’d just left, going who even knew where, dropping on the floor when your legs didn’t want to carry you anymore, and starting to cry. and you stayed there, crying, losing all feeling for how much time had passed. this had been your last class of the day, so you had nowhere to be, and you didn’t want to be anywhere, either. you wanted to vanish. you wanted to die, in all honesty. if it continued like this your only choice was dropping out, basically having wasted the past year and all the work and money you’d put into your studies.

you were so caught up in your crying that you hadn’t noticed your phone buzzing with message after message, first paying attention to it when someone called you. it was seonghwa, who’d been there to pick you up after class only to see that you weren’t there. you didn’t feel like picking up, so you pressed the red button through your tears. he tried again, with the same result, and first when your phone started buzzing continuously with new messages you took a look at the group chat. now you found out why they were calling you - they’d tried to get you after class, but you weren’t there, and now you’d neither read their messages nor picked up their calls, so they all were quite worried at this point. you felt sorry about that, so you decided to send a message saying ‘sorry for worrying you’, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say that you were fine. it seemed like any sign of you being alive was already a success, though, lots of relieved messages flooding the chat. you hoped that maybe they wouldn’t ask what happened, but of course they did.

[hongjoong]: what happened?

[y/n]: i dont want to talk abt it

the chat was quiet after that, no one really knowing what to say. but, again, mingi sent you a private message.

[mingi]: where are you???

you didn’t want to explain anything and you didn’t want to pretend you were fine, so you just sent him your location, his ‘ill be right there’ coming just a few seconds after you’d sent your message. you were somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to be alone right now, but you also dreaded having to explain what happened. for now, though, you should probably focus on looking a little more like a person and a little less like you’d just spent the past hour crying. even though you had it didn’t have to be obvious like that, so you tried to clean off the streaks of ruined makeup on your cheeks, using your phone as a makeshift mirror. once you were done you tilted your head to see if there was anything you’d missed, but it was okay. it wasn’t good, but it was the best you could do right now. then, you waited.

you’d put in your headphones after roughly two minutes of waiting, way too nervous at every single sound that surrounded you, but that also made you miss mingi shouting your name once he’d arrived, and the sudden appearance of his large frame in your field of vision did surprise you quite some, flinching visibly before you took out your headphones and looked up at him, trying to smile but failing miserably. and he immediately caught on, sitting down next to where you were sitting on the floor and looking at you silently for a moment.

“do you want a hug?” he didn’t know what else to offer, but he wanted to let you know that he was there for you, and you willingly accepted the offer. he wrapped his arms around you then, pulling you a little closer so you could rest your head on his shoulder, and then you continued to sit in silence. it was strangely comforting, having someone there for you even when they had no idea what you were even upset about, offering you their presence and leaving the choice of whether or not you wanted to tell to you. you didn’t want to have to leave this situation, the safety you felt when embraced by mingi, who was much taller than you and who made you feel like, even just by virtue of his height, he could protect you. but you had to, you knew you did, you couldn’t spend all day wherever you were now.

“we should go home.” mingi hummed in response, removing his arms from where they were wrapped around you, and the two of you got up. he looked at you hesitantly - you could tell he wanted to say or ask something, so you cocked your head, encouraging him this way to tell you whatever was on his mind.

“they’re all worried, so i was wondering… i told them i’m going to meet you, but i think they’d feel better if they could see for themselves that you’re in one piece.” you nodded, both as a sign of understanding and to show that it was fine with you to meet them before you went home. he nodded as well, slowly starting to walk and somewhat unsure if you’d actually follow him, but you did.

you walked in silence until you reached the train station, where he bought the ticket for you again. you looked at him, about to protest, but when he told you it was his treat again you just nodded, not having the energy to argue and also glad that you could save the money seeing how very soon you’d need every single won. after that, you were silent again, sitting next to each other with your head on his shoulder, which you’d have been embarrassed and shy about if you weren’t so exhausted. you were exhausted, though, and it took all your energy to not fall asleep on him - but at least you succeeded with that, your eyes still somewhat open when he told you you had to get off at the next stop. you sat up, then, immediately missing the warmth and comfort of him so close to you. the boys made you feel weirdly safe, and you couldn’t tell why it was - maybe it was just the unusual feeling of having friends that cared about you even when you had nothing to offer, but no matter what it was, it was nice.

another thing that was nice was that mingi didn’t make you talk, didn’t even try. he’d talk, but he didn’t mind if you didn’t reply. he’d just resume his story, letting you know that he wasn’t ignoring you but that he didn’t expect anything from you. and with this behaviour you slowly started to feel better, feeling ready to tell what had happened by the point you reached the boys’ place.

“mingi?” it seemed like they’d been waiting for him to come home, shouting his name as soon as he’d closed the door behind you.

“and y/n!”, he replied, entering the living room with you in tow. you were somewhat surprised to find them all already gathered there, but mingi didn’t seem to be. he just plopped down on the couch, patting the space next to him to signal you to sit down as well. so you did, staring at your hands as soon as you’d sat down, unsure how to start. and they were unsure as well, unsure if they should ask you or wait until you started talking by yourself.

“i…”, you started, but then stopped again. this was hard.

“i’m sorry for not taking your calls”, was how you decided on starting. “i just- i couldn’t. everything was so much.” and even though you hadn’t even started actually explaining yet a small sob already escaped from your lips, and you hid your face in shame. you looked up again though when you felt a hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and looked at the boy attached to the hand - mingi. he looked at you with soft, encouraging eyes, and you took a few slow breaths before you started talking again.

“they hate me. in class, one of them spilled water on my classmate’s laptop and broke it, and then she said it was me, that i did it because i was jealous of that classmate’s good grades.” you tried very hard to stay calm while telling, not wanting to break down crying before you even finished explaining why you’d ignored them, why you’d run away from class without telling anyone where you were.

“and everyone believed her because no one saw and she doesn’t have a reason to do it but the way she framed it i do, and now the girl is so angry because she was writing her thesis and i think it’s gone now and also the laptop is broken and i have to replace it and i just… i can’t afford that and i don’t know what to do and- ouch!” mingi’s hand had remained on your knee while you spoke, but the more you elaborated the tighter his grip got, seemingly without him noticing, because when he heard you yelp he immediately took away his hand and apologised profoundly for having hurt you.

“i’m just so fucking angry that she’d do that”, he explained. “you literally haven’t done anything!” and he wasn’t the only angry one, either, all the boys visibly fuming.

“but i can’t do anything about it”, you said, sounding defeated, “but i’m so scared that i’ll be kicked out of the course because i need it for my degree and if i get kicked out due to gross misbehaviour, even when it wasn’t actually me, i’ll lose my scholarship and then i won’t be able to continue studying and i won’t have a degree either and no one will hire me and i’ll end up homeless and in debt and… and…” you were unable to continue, your sobs having completely taken over at this point. you felt pathetic for breaking down like this, but your entire future was on the line just because you’d chosen to pick your friends yourself rather than waiting for approval. it was unfair, and it was horrible, and it reinforced the belief in you that if you didn’t do what others told you to do, the consequences would be horrible.

mingi wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest - it seemed like out of the eight boys he was the one who’d taken on the role of your protector now, always taking care of you like this, ever since you first met. the others were there as well, of course, but they were more of a silent support as mingi actually pulled you in, and it was okay that way. it worked that way, his deep voice and careful touch being able to calm you down enough that you were able to breathe somewhat regularly again.

“i want to go home now”, you said once the worst was over. you were still sniffling, but you didn’t care. you wanted to go back to your bed, you wanted to hug the teddy bear that you’d owned since you were born, you wanted the comfort of your own home. being here with them was nice, and it had helped you calm down, but your own home, your own bed, was still something different. and it seemed like they could understand that wish to be in a familiar environment, because they just nodded.

“i’ll bring you.” the way he’d said it it didn’t sound like you had a choice, but it was okay. the tall boy had been there for you all afternoon, and he (and the others too, really) would probably feel better if he knew you were home safe and sound. you hummed in response which he correctly interpreted as your okay, because he got up with you and followed you to the door where you stopped to say goodbye and thank them for listening. then you left, the red-haired giant following suit silently.

the train station wasn’t far away, as you knew by now, and the two of you walked next to each other in silence. once there, he paid for your ticket again without a second thought, and while you did feel guilty about it you also were glad he did so. your head rested on his shoulder again during the train ride, something you didn’t even think about anymore; being close to him felt natural, maybe due to the fact that there’d been a lot of good reasons to be close to him in the roughly three days you’d known each other, maybe because he didn’t seem to register it as something noteworthy either.

you didn’t talk during the trip, the first time either of you said anything being when you told him, once you’d gotten off the train, that you were glad he’d brought you, and tried to say goodbye to him unsuccessfully because he told you he’d walk you home unless you’d report him for stalking if he did so. you shook your head, smiling slightly, and started walking. it was once more him who kept the (so far nonexistent) conversation alive, commenting on anything with a child-like wonder in his voice. it sounded like he’d never seen a tree before, or a street, or a house - everything seemed to surprise and somewhat excite him, and in all honesty you thought it was sweet. he managed to distract until you reached your apartment this way, but he noticed the way you tensed up as you unlocked the door. a day ago he’d have thought your fear was an overreaction, and maybe its intensity was, but after what had happened today he was fairly certain it was justified.

“do you want me to go in first?”, he asked as you wouldn’t even fully open the door, obviously scared of what would expect you. you nodded and moved to the side, giving him the option to slip inside. and a couple seconds later he was in front of you again, opening the door widely and telling you that everything was okay. first then did you relax even slightly, entering with careful steps as if you were expecting to jump out of the shadows and murder you. mingi was right, your apartment was fine, but you weren’t. you hated this, hated that you didn’t even feel safe in your own home, and that there was nothing you could do about that.

mingi soon caught on to the fact that even though everything was fine you didn’t seem relaxed at all, looking around like a rabbit expecting the fox to jump out any moment and devour it. and it was your scared expression that made the words leave his mouth before he could stop himself.

“do you want me to stay the night?” you looked at him surprised, both at his words and at the fact that he was still there - you’d forgotten about him in your worry.

“you don’t have to.” you didn’t want to be even more of a bother. you didn’t want him to get annoyed at your scaredy cat-behaviour.

“but do you want me to?”

“you don’t have anything here.” really, you were just trying to come up with excuses for not directly answering his question, because the answer would have been a ‘yes’. yes, you did want him to stay the night, but you didn’t want him to do so because he felt like he had to.

“that’s fine. it’s just a night, and i only have late classes tomorrow. do you want me to?”

you couldn’t stand to look at him as you nodded, feeling weak and vulnerable and like a burden, but he just said ‘okay’, then got out his phone and started typing.

“i’m just letting them know”, he explained when he saw your questioning expression, and you nodded again. you felt slow, tired, and you just wanted to sleep. and yet once more he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.

“you should go to bed”, he told you softly, “i’ll be right here.”

“you need sleep too!” it was first then you realised that you couldn’t offer him the luxury of choosing his bed for the night, that you couldn’t even offer him the luxury of having anything bigger than a single-person bed. but he didn’t seem to care, nodding.

“just get ready. i’ll wait.” and because you were way too tired to argue about anything at all, you just grabbed your pyjamas from your bed and left for the bathroom to get changed. you got into your pyjamas and wiped the worst stains off your face with a wet washcloth, but didn’t have the energy for anything else. this would have to do for today.

mingi was waiting for you on the floor when you got back, jacket, shirt and shoes huddled together next to him. maybe usually you’d have been a little flushed at him being shirtless, but in this moment all that mattered was getting into bed and sleeping. so you crawled underneath your blanket, moving as close to the wall as possible so he’d be able to still comfortably fit in next to you. he joined, pulling the blanket to cover both of you, and as soon as he’d done so you told him goodnight, him replying with a ‘goodnight’ of his own. he was fairly certain you’d fall asleep right away by how exhausted you seemed, but he found himself surprised when after roughly half an hour you were still tossing and turning.

“you okay?” he didn’t know if this was normal for you or something to be worried about, but he wanted to be sure you weren’t suffering silently just because you didn’t want to bother him.

“tell me something nice”, was what you replied instead of answering his question.

“what do you want to hear?”

“i don’t care. something happy.”

he thought for a moment before he started telling you about his seventh birthday, trying to remember as many details as possible so he’d have something to tell until you’d fallen asleep. his low, calm voice calmed your anxious heartbeat a little, and you stopped shifting so much. you did, however, scoot closer to him subconsciously, your back soon pressed against his chest as you sought out his comforting presence, his warmth. he wasn’t sure if you’d done it on purpose, so he didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, softly putting his fingertips onto your waist first to wait for your reaction, to see if you’d shy away from his touch. but you did the opposite, grabbing his hand and pressing it close to your chest as if it was a lifeline keeping you from drowning. he just resumed his story, not commenting on it, and you were glad he didn’t. and cuddled up like that his deep, steady voice managed to lull you to sleep.

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Girl I Met On The Internet, 2/? (Crystal x Gigi) - Strawberry

a/n: aaaa i’m so glad everyone liked the first chapter! i think this story will end up staying focused on gigi and crystal for the most part, but there is some (one sided) jankie in this chapter if you’re into that! also: just in case no one got the reference, the nickname crystal gives gigi, ‘georgia rose’,comes from the 1d lyrics “Said her name was georgia rose, and her daddy was a dentist” from their song ‘best song ever’!

gigi: are u okay :( ily crystal

crystal: yeah i just got picked on by this cheerleader that doesnt like me

Technically, she wasn’t lying. Crystal didn’t think it was too bad, considering she really only ever saw Dahlia in history class, but she still made it her mission to make that 45 minutes rough for Crystal whenever possible. This time it was pushing all of Crystal’s belongings off of her desk while she was leaving.

gigi: fuck. im sorry.

crystal: it’s fine dskjdshjgkjf i wish all cheerleaders could take notes from you and jan

gigi: yaaas me and jan invented being nice

gigi: but i was wondering if maybe you could teach me about one direction later tonight?

Crystal had tried to convince the group earlier in the week that One Direction was the best boy band ever, and had only managed to get Jan to agree. She was glad that Gigi had finally come to her senses.

crystal: finally changing your mind? amazayn!

gigi: i regret asking now. take that pun back to 2011!!!!

The rest of the day went as normal. The chat was pretty active, but eventually died down at the end of the school day. Everyone seemed to have plans; Jan was studying, Jaida was going out to hang with friends, Nicky was sleeping, and Heidi was starting a new challenge on the Sims. It appeared to be just her and Gigi, alone in the group chat.

Crystal decided to message Gigi privately, not wanting the rest of the girls to see her go into full stan mode. If someone asked Crystal about her interests, she could go hours before thinking of stopping herself.

crystal: ok miss gigi are you ready for your 1d crash course?

Crystal told Gigi everything she wanted to know and even more. A history of how they got together, way too much information on each of the five boys, telling her the best songs on each album, and making sure that Gigi knew ‘Midnight Memories’ was their best album.

gigi: but ur @ is dedicated to made in the am?? fraud!

crystal: HELPFDFHBJ

crystal: mmcrystal sounds weird… like no thanks

gigi: that was very interesting.. i’ll def listen to midnight memories in the morning <3

crystal: YAY! gigi 1d stan finally

gigi: no promises! :)

Crystal didn’t respond to that, not really knowing what to talk about now. Having a group of friends helped her be less awkward, but it definitely didn’t fix that problem completely.

gigi: do u wanna play 21 questions or something?? to get to know eachother better???

Of course, Crystal jumped at the chance to get to know the other girl better. It started very innocently, asking about favorite colors and foods. Gigi quickly changed that.

gigi: uhh… have u ever kissed a girl?

crystal: sadly no.. my state is full of straight people

gigi: same.. ur turn

crystal: this feels awkward to ask but uhhh….

As soon as she hits send, she instantly regrets it. She backtracks what she had originally typed, desperately trying to come up with another question. Crystal was not able to think of anything else.

gigi: ????

“I guess I’ll have to do it,” Crystal says, talking to absolutely no one. She types it out again, looking away from her phone as she blindly tried to hit the send button, like it would help her situation be any less flustering for her.

crystal: how long have you and nicky been dating?

Would Gigi find it weird that she asked? Gigi was the one who brought up kissing girls, not Crystal, so it would be fine. Right?

gigi: CRYSTAL WHATBDGNHSDMFD

gigi: nicky and i are not dating omg im single

gigi: she’s like my sister. plus i would never do long distance

Crystal was so embarrassed. She was relieved this conversation was taking place through a screen, so Gigi wouldn’t see her blushing face.

She was pleased that she was wrong about the two girls, but Gigi’s answer was upsetting to her.

They asked a few more personal questions before Gigi started asking Crystal would you rather questions instead. Crystal’s favorite out of them was if she would rather get a mullet or dress like a clown every day for the rest of her high school career. The answer was both, obviously.

They spent the rest of the night sending each other stupid questions, giggling to themselves. The later it got, the more Gigi would flirt with her. At least Crystal thought it was flirting.

gigi: it’s really late and i have a test tomorrow so im gonna go to sleep. goodnight, babe

Gigi always would say ‘goodnight, bitch’, and this made Crystal even more confused. The ongoing joke that lesbians had the hardest time telling if a girl is into them or not was one of Crystal’s favorites, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if that was exactly what was happening to her. There was obviously a connection between them, but it was unclear to Crystal if it was just platonic.

It didn’t hit her until later that night, while she was trying to fall asleep, but Crystal wasn’t entirely sure where Gigi lived. She knew they were in the same time zone, but wasn’t sure what state she was in. It was totally possible that Gigi lived in Missouri, but Crystal highly doubted it. Though Gigi obviously trusted Crystal enough to want to play 21 questions with her, she was still very private, and Crystal wasn’t too sure if Gigi would tell her what state she was in.

Crystal fell asleep thinking about her highly unrealistic perfect world, where Gigi lived in Missouri and where Crystal wasn’t just another Nicky.

Crystal got onto Twitter right after waking up the next morning, ready to ask Gigi if she happened to live in Missouri, but quickly got distracted with a very interesting conversation going on in the group chat.

jan!: now i may not be gay but i’m in love with a woman… 2 words jackie

jaida: i- that’s only one word

jan!: fuck

heidi: the way i can’t tell if you’re joking or not

jan!: the way i don’t think i am joking

gigi: YAAS about time u admitted that u like her

crystal: hold on i thought jan was straight?? who’s jackie???

nicky: do you really think a straight person would hang out with us?

crystal: good point

jan!: I AM STRAIGHT! i think? i don’t know i’m so confused.

heidi: jackie is jan’s local @ crystal

gigi: jan be like: im straight.

gigi: but also jan is like: wow jackie is so pretty and she’s so funny and smart i’m going to fail geometry so she can tutor me but no homo!

heidi: the delusion janice has…

jaida: not to be serious but if you think you like jackie, you probably aren’t straight baby. everyone else hush and let her talk

nicky: ^^ yeah jan what happened

jan!: first of all i did not fail geometry i just said we should study together so we did!!! and have been for months! but last night i couldn’t focus at all bc she’s so pretty all i wanted to do was k*ss her out of nowhere

In a way, Crystal could definitely relate. Gigi wasn’t her local, she still didn’t know what the girl looked like, but she still kind of wanted to kiss her. She couldn’t focus on anything besides Gigi sometimes, not like she would ever admit it.

All of the girls had sent many comforting messages addressed to Jan, saying that it was okay, and she has all the time she needs to figure out her feelings. Afterwards, everyone had gone back to being playful. Gigi also tried to convince her to make a move on Jackie, which Jan refused.

gigi: if u talk to her u guys can get married <3

crystal: gigi you’re so stupid i love it

jan!: omg did someone say stupid love??? stream!

gigi: crystal back me up :(

crystal: i might’ve found out who jackie is only 10 minutes ago but i will cry if jan doesn’t talk to her right now

jan!: better start crying bc i dont think i can even look at her now

jaida: that’s not saying much at all. you cried the other day bc gigi sent a pic of her dog

crystal: I AM A NANCY STAN FIRST AND A HUMAN SECOND!!

Crystal knew she looked like an idiot, walking to her locker with her eyes glued to her phone and a dopey smile on her face but she couldn’t care less.

The day actually went well for Crystal. The highlight of her day was finding out that the story she wrote for her creative writing class had gotten the highest grade out of everyone in the class, earning her a piece of candy.

crystal: just got candy and a 99% on my story for class… i truly have the mind of a mastermind

jaida: beauty and intelligence in one combined!

Navigating through the halls was much more difficult when your eyes are glued to your phone, but replying to a meme Jaida sent seemed much more appealing to Crystal than getting to her seventh period without worrying about bumping into someone. And bumping into someone, she did.

“What the actual fuck, weirdo?” Dahlia yelped, looking extremely offended, “Get off of your sad, cracked phone and watch where your dumb ass is going.”

Crystal just stared at her, frozen in fear. Dahlia taunted her daily, but this was very different from how she usually acts towards her. It was quite terrifying.

“I swear to God, if you ever look at me, let alone fucking touch me again-” She continued, but before she could finish her statement, she was interrupted by her friend, Georgina running over and pulling her away.

Crystal didn’t think Georgina shared Dahlia's hatred for her, and Crystal didn’t hate Georgina either. Georgina actually seemed very sweet besides the fact that she had never bothered to step in on the rare occasion Dahlia happened to target Crystal outside of class.

“Can you please leave her alone? We don’t have time for this.” Georgina groaned, looking back at Crystal, flashing her a quick smile, before turning around to escort Dahlia to what Crystal assumed was cheerleading practice.

“But she bumped into me!” Dahlia whined, not used to being interrupted like this.

“Really? Wow, funny. I don’t care.”

Once they were out of sight, Crystal was alone again. She pulled out her phone and went to check if anyone had said anything else in the chat; just Jan freaking out, because Jackie had smiled at her in the hallway.

heidi: everyone say i if you think jan should stop being a baby and ask jackie out

jaida: i

crystal: i

jan!: WTF

jan!: friendship ended with heidi, jaida and crystal. now nicky and gigi are my best friends

jaida: they would say i too if they were online and you know that

jan!: i don’t need friends! they disappoint me!

Crystal decided to not use her phone while she was walking home, not wanting to have a repeat of the Dahlia situation. Her after school routine changed a lot in the past week, making a rule to not check Twitter before completing her homework. Her Twitter addiction was getting worse, but since it was also causing her to be more productive with doing her homework, she saw no issues with it. Once she had finished, she picked up her phone to see that Gigi had messaged her less than a minute ago.

gigi: hey clown :) im done w practice

crystal: WHY AM I A CLOWNDFSHDM

gigi: u just have clown energy. i cant and wont explain

crystal: honestly yeah i see it but can i at least be your clown wife or something

gigi: yeah <3 hey clown wife! i listened to most of midnight memories and it was really good! my fave song is u and i

If that’s not love, then what is? If that’s not friendship, then what is? Crystal had never been able to get anyone to listen to anything she recommended, ever. She was filled with glee, double tapping the message to heart it. It meant a lot to her.

crystal: YAYAYAYAYA im so glad but it looks so ugly when you spell it like that

gigi: my fave song you and i* >:(

crystal: better

gigi: if i have to stop spelling it as u to make you not divorce me i will

Crystal knew deep down it was just a joke, but it made her heart race. The feeling she got every time Gigi would flirt with her was very unfamiliar, but very nice. It didn’t help that Crystal thought ‘You and I’ was one of the most romantic songs One Direction had, she couldn’t help but make the fact Gigi liked it out of all of the other songs into something it was not.

This reminded her of her late night thoughts. She had completely forgotten to ask Gigi where she lived, but the idea didn’t seem the greatest now that she was fully awake. She was still curious though, so against her better judgement she asked, without a segway or anything.

crystal: i forgot to ask but what state do you live in? asking for science

gigi: oh i live in missouri

crystal: omg me too

gigi: i don’t wanna reveal where but this is amazing.. maybe we won’t have to break the distance at all <3

Pleased that she somehow got an answer, Crystal changed the conversation into a discussion of ‘Midnight Memories’, and if Gigi agreed with the opinions Crystal had shared the night before. She did, for the most part and before they knew it, it was time for Gigi to go sleep. Had they really talked all evening?

gigi: i have to get up early so i need to go to sleep but im really glad jan added u to the gc

crystal: and im happy you asked me about one direction!

gigi: me too. ur cute when ur passionate. i hope we can continue to grow closer

crystal: i’d like that.

gigi: goodnight, my clown :)

crystal: goodnight, georgia rose

gigi: U DID NOT

gigi: my full name isnt even georgia and dad isnt even a dentist but i’ll allow it bc i know u think u invented comedy

gigi: ok gn now <33 luv u

crystal: gn!!! sleep well

Crystal wanted them to stay like this forever.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jan sport #jaida essence hall #heidi n closet #nicky doll #dahlia sin #crygi #lesbian au #high school au #social media au #girl i met on the internet #strawberry #submission #s12

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rioskingdom · 4 years

Text

Amor Pasado

Chapter 3

"I think I'm gonna puke," I slammed my eyes shut, taking the precaution of even covering them with my hand.

"Why did you come into an empty room," Cesar shouted. I heard the sound of objects being stepped on.

"Oh were gonna be judging me for coming into an empty room, not the sex-crazed teens, getting it on, in the teacher's desk!" I cringed at my own comment, shaking the thought of the kids having sex. "I have a free period, so I come into this room, it has the best signal in the whole school," When the room fell silent, I opened my eyes, moving my hand away.

Monse and Cesar both stood straight up, looking guilty as ever. "so we're just gonna go," Cesar tried walking away, Monse following close behind him but I called them out.

"how long has this been going on," I asked them.

Cesar was scratching the back of his neck, "the first time was before camp,"

"Then it started again about two weeks ago" she added. "Don't tell the crew," Monse pleaded. Why she was scared of telling Ruby and Jamal beat me, but it wasn't my secret to tell.

"Monse, I'm honestly trying to forget about it myself," I sighed, rubbing my hands against my face.

"I always did find you two very cute, even when you were kids," Both of them beamed, "You know you cant keep it a secret forever," they both nodded their heads. "Be careful where you guys are having sex, next time it'll be a teacher" I warned, as they left the room.

This room would forever be scarred in my head, not making me want to sit here anymore. I darted towards the library, while you still had a free period.

---

"You sure you dont want to go to the dance?" Olivia was picking pieces of clothing, shoving them in a bag. I shook my head, lowering my laptop screen.

"Dances aren't my scene, plus it's gonna be filled with ninth and tenth graders, no offense," she laughed, grabbing her bag. "Ok, have fun alone in this room," She giggled.

"Im gonna have so much fun, working on my homework!" Ruby came in, talking nonsense about being woke, after a few years with him, I learned how to turn my hearing off with him. Once they left, I focused on my homework. My grades had to be perfect, I had to give Cornell no reason to reject me.

There was a knock on the door, at first, I was gonna ignore it, but when I heard the second knock, I got up heading to the door.

When I opened the door, Victoria stood there, "Hey Carmen," I leaned against the doorway, examining her. "I missed you,"

"I dont," I responded, making her take a step back.

"I talked to the headmaster," she continued. "she's willing to forget the past and let you back into the school," Of course she would, hoping I dont tell the school board about her rendezvous with her students.

Her hand moved to hold mine, "we could be together again,"

I considered the possibility of returning, missing my friends, my professors, actually having a shot of going to Cornell. I looked down, watching as her hand, which once felt warm and comforting, now felt cold and stonelike. I peered up at her, my hand slipping from hers.

"I think its time for you to go," I mumbled. Focusing my attention on the flower pot, outside the door.

"Come on Car' we all missed you up there," She leaned closer.

"Dont call me that," I snapped at her, pushing her back. "you lost that right when I caught you screwing the headmaster," I spat at her.

"It wasn't like that, you're naturally smart," she defended herself, "I had to find a way to keep my grades up to stay in Gardensfield,"

"Are you expecting me to feel sorry?" I asked her. Whatever excuse she tried giving, it didn't change the fact, she cheated on me. Her eyes fell on my wrist.

"You took off your bracelet?" I walked away, going to my room, grabbing the bracelet that I threw on the floor weeks ago. I got to the door, handing her the bracelet.

"Have a nice life, Victoria," I slammed the door shut, resting my back against the door. My breath growing ragged as my chest felt heavy. Someone came from behind me, giving me a hug. I turned to them, seeing Abuela.

"Abuelita?" She backed up, coughing behind her, I'm assuming to not cough on me.

"Im sorry you had to see that Abuelita," I apologized, taking in a deep breath.

"no need to apologize, you should go out, have fun, forget this Victoria person,"

"I have homework," I tried to explain, but abuelita started nudging into my room.

"Nonsense, youre only young once," she was right. I couldn't go back to writing math problems. But where would I go? I'd never step foot in a high school dance. I sent Cesar a message, see if maybe he knew of a party, since he was in the gang.

there's a party at Monse, dance got canceled

Good enough excuse. I grabbed my phone, heading to Monse's.

----

I was getting lost in Jasmine's story, as I finished downing my beer. I walked to her fridge, grabbing another one.

"You sure thats a good idea, thats your third one," Monse told me. Who was she to judge?

"Hey im the adult here," I told her, keeping my sentences short and sweet.

"You're 17, "I stuck my tongue out on Monse, opening up my beer.

I looked to Jasmine cheering her on, "Jasmine, so tell me that story about your third nipple," I started drinking my beer, walking to her as she started gushing on how she discovered it. The minute I sat on the couch, I stood back up, coming to the realization that I had to pee very bad.

"I have to pee," My memory was pulling tricks on me, I couldn't remember where Monse's bathroom was. I've been here a few times, so why can't I remember the location. I stumbled into Monse's bedroom, realizing this wasn't the restroom. My eyes fell onto Cesar, who was on the phone.

"Cesar," I whispered, trying to be quiet. He looked up at me.

"Oscar hold on," he turns to look at me

"That's Oscar?" he nodded his head, "tell him he's a poopy head," Cesar smiled, saying something on the phone. I looked down, spotting a penny on the floor. It must be my lucky day.

"Yup," He hung up the phone as I reached down for the quarter. I shot up, acting as if I didn't have my hand on the cookie jar.

"Cesar I'm lost, I need the bathroom," He looked confused.

"What?" he laughed, not understanding me.

"I have to pee," His mouth shaped into an "o" taking me to the bathroom. Once I finished using the restroom, I went to the sink, washing my hands, before spattering some of the water onto my face.

I stumbled outside of the bathroom, seeing Jasmine passed out on the couch. I walked outside, taking my bottle with me, needing some fresh air.

I sat on the porch, looking at the night sky. Oscar came up to me, sitting next to me, "Aren't you a little too grown for this party," I asked him, giving him a smile.

"I would say the same to you," He said.

"I can do whatever the hell I want," I answered, lifting the beer bottle, getting ready to take a sip. Oscar grabbed the bottle from my hands, moving it away from me.

"Pendejo!" I cursed, turning to him.

"Que te pasa?" he scolded. Okay, dad.

"Nothing," I told him, but his face read that he wasn't gonna give up. By now I was tired of Oscar's bullshit. I haven't even forgiven from last week, leaving me hanging that way. My anger sobered me up pretty quickly, causing me to stand up, so I could face him.

"Oh my god, what is up with you, no quieres ser mi hermano, pero jodes de ser mi amigo, you dont want to kiss me?" I ranted to him.

"Not this shit again," He rolled his eyes, getting up but I pushed him back down so that I was the taller person here.

"yes, this shit again," I scolded him, he leaned back, resting his arms against the steps, almost enjoying my outburst.

"I said no to going back to Gardenfields because of a past relationship biting me in the ass, and now you-" I massaged my temples, feeling an incoming headache.

"I mean am I crazy? did I read the signs wrong?" He had a smirk, written on his lips.

"Why the fuck are you smirking," I ranted. He stood up, pulling me flush against him. Bending down, he crashed his lips on mine. The mixture of cigarette with spearmint caused my body to melt into his, as he held on to me, keeping me upright. As he pulled away, he brushed his thumb against my lips.

"you're not crazy," he breathed. I gasped, running to the bushes, puking the contents from my stomach.

#oscar diaz #on my block #netflix #spooky diaz

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scandeniall · 4 years

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mirrors for friends //ch.2

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wc: 1180

pairing: TBD x reader

Ch. 2 // Here We Go

3 years ago

“Atsumu move your fat ass head,” you groan, shoving your band mate slightly to see the tiny phone screen Mirrors for Friends we’re currently gathered around. The 4 of you were currently gathered in Iwaizumi’s living room, attempting and failing to all squeeze onto a tiny loveseat. You had called dibs on the couch and since it was Iwaizumi’s place, that left the remaining two members on the floor.

“Your head’s fat”

“You two shut up and let’s watch my masterpiece come to life.” Kuroo stops the two of you before you could start your usual bickering. He also ignored your comment about how you definitely pitched in, instead opting to rest his head on your knee. On the screen was a recorded rehearsal for a new song, Here We Go. Written primarily by Kuroo, the song became an unspoken anthem for the band. It’s a song about pure passion for making music, and following this dream. A sentiment shared by the rest of you.

The song even throws a direct shot at your former band mate. Some guy you and Iwaizumi had met, who knows when. One day the two of you were just hanging out in a cafe and the next you thought you had a new friend. You guys thought he had been cool, and he was a pretty good singer. The four of you were already friends had just decided to combine your musical inclinations and form an official band. Not wanting to be the only one singing, you guys sought out another member and that turned out to be a huge mistake. While the rest of you were ready to put as much into this as you could,he was the only one not ready to take anything serious. Showing up late to practices, and when he did he had either been too high to function or so hungover that even the strum of an acoustic guitar “ruined his eardrums”. On the occasion he was a functioning member of the band, he’d always have something negative to contribute.

“This song sucks, who wrote it.”

“Iwaizumi, how are you so tired after playing drums? You're sitting down”

You constantly had to act as a buffer between the dude and Kuroo. After all, at that early point he had been the only one really writing the music. So to have his lyrics constantly nitpicked by some jerk who only contributed a few measly vocals, only for your benefit. Then Atsumu has been no better. His purposeful backhanded compliments had caused a physical fight on several occasions. That hand the fact that he didn’t even try to be nice to the guy. After all, this rando comes in and starts insulting his friends? Thank god for Iwa being able to calm the other guy down enough for you all to at least get something done.

That continued on for nearly a year, and by then you all had recorded several YouTube covers as well as like 2 originals in Iwaizumi’s basement and had started building a tiny following. The four of you still hung out together a ton and one day after your fifth member showed up to practice hungover and annoyed, all hell broke loose. It had started with a snide remark by atsumu about how it was nice that he’d finally showed up. An hour late. Somehow it got to the guy arguing about how you all took this shitty good for nothing band too seriously, and how you all were probably just having weird massive orgies whenever he wasn’t around. “This band is nothing but a joke. A stupid dream by a bunch of weirdos who aren’t going anywhere in life.” That day not only did you lose your fifth member, but he reignited the fire that had begun to dull in all of you. The four of you were going to make it.

The sound of pen rapidly scribbling across paper, broke you out of your study induced trance. Glancing, up you noticed the closed laptop and textbook from the man you’d come to the library with. “That doesn’t look like peptides and amino acids to me.” The first time you caught a glimpse of Kuroo’s course work, and you were completely confused. Hell, you still are, but you’d been around the guy long enough to know that the scribbled words right now looked nothing like his little molecular pictures you’d seen him make before.

“(Y/N), Come here for a second and take a look at this.” Kuroo hadn't even acknowledged your comment, so curiosity got the best of you. Closing your laptop, and abandoning your seat, you moved so that you were leaning over his shoulder, squinting at his handwriting. “What am I looking at, all I see is your chicken scratch.” The seriousness in his voice caught you off guard as he mentioned that they were lyrics.

This will always be mine, so much more than just a dream to me And I will never be fine with letting you ruin everything And I will never fucking follow your lead Give up on you, so you can take it out on me I'm sorry that you had to watch your life come tumbling down

“It's about us. The band, and how that asshole just tried to bring us down. I was thinking that might be a verse. Heavy guitar, maybe some type of solo back and forth with drums,” Kuroo hummed out eyeing your profile. “What do you think?”

“You know I already think you're a musical genius.” You shrug, turning so that the two of you make eye contact. The soft smile filters through his face before turning back into his usual lazy smirk. “Well of course I am. However, I have this riff in my head that I need to get out. You down for getting out of here?” You don’t miss the way his tongue quickly swipes across his lips before he breaks the eye contact and starts packing up his bag. “Yeah, lets go write a song.”

---

“We’re fucking awesome.” Atsumu said, the rest of you nodding in agreement. You all had broken into a quick debrief about the performance, everyone agreeing that Kuroo’s guitar work on the song was absolutely insane.”You guys are gonna make me cry,” the guitarist joked, soaking in the praise. Before you all added songs to your live shows you always did a video recording. You all would give it your all, performing as if it were an official show. That was how you gauged if a song would translate well live. Sometimes you all would have friends come by and watch those rehearsals, but now that everyone has grown up, it was much harder to do.

“This song almost feels like a theme song for us. Imagine we opened with it.” Iwaizumi added. “Good job writing this too Kuroo.”

“What can I say, I’m a musical genius-” he had been interrupted by your knee painfully coming into contact with his back. “I helped write the song too jackass.”

a/n: yeah i hope this structure is clear. still dont know which boy im gonna go with *though this chapter is kuroo leaning if u squint, but all the boys will get a leaning chap*. And, pls note that they've been a band for 6 years, but this song was written 3yrs ago and that is intentional. Also the song is Here We Go by sleeping with sirens yes.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #kuroo x reader #mirrors for friends #atsumu x reader #iwaizumi x reader

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fanficaficionado · 3 years

Text

okay, i know i said i would be starting with things i knew and loved. hell, i even had a fic from the fandom im currently ass-deep in all lined up!! but then i procrastinated, and i lost motivation, got distracted by my scheduled post-holiday shutdown, and something else finally kicked my ass into gear. so this blog's first true introduction to the world will not, in fact, be a post where i worship the very ground my favorite fic writers walk upon.

no, today we are talking about Ascent into Madness by cesium_sheep

((spoilers, obviously))

Now im going to preface this by saying that this criticism is subjective and based in my opinion. I did genuinely enjoy this story, and i did not at any point feel the urge to launch myself into the sun with nothing but the pure force of my rage, causing the sun to explode and consume planet earth in a scorching hell-blast and decimating all life on our tiny little space rock, which even some of my favorites are guilty of because in some stories characters just love to waffle about ((especially in my preferred reading material which puts romance at a very significant focus)). This story just isn't for me.

I'm going to explain why, and believe me when i say i am being as gentle as i physically can with this story because it is not objectively offensive to my very being, It's a good read and setting aside the problems i have with it i enjoyed it.

I keep repeating that i don't hate this story because i do not want to be accused of baseless hate, not because of reputation or anything but because being accused of something i know i didn't do sets off the same sensation that i get from rubbing my fingernails on egg cartons, the one of the back of my brain being assaulted by the mayonnaise-coated fingers of satan himself. Damn i should really get to the criticism before this just becomes an in depth description of my very soul's adverse reaction to the cream in queen anne chocolate cherries.

anyways.

The thing about this story is that, to me, it feels.. unfinished. Or at the very least like it wandered off its intended course. It leaves me with a feeling of mild dissatisfaction and the taste of confusion in my mouth. I think this problem is best summarized by the fact that, in the first chapter, it is set up that rose is in some sort of hospital, and that dave thinks she is in the grasp of some delusion, and the second chapter sets up the retroactive explanation for how it got to this point. See, what i expected was to be caught up to that point in the story, reach that point in time again, and then progress from there.

But that first chapter?? With the hospital, the delusions, the brick through the window with the radio attached?? Never brought up again, not even once. It is completely discarded and never even thought about. The story even stops trying to set up that scene after a certain point.

To put it in homestuck terms, because i'm a loser, a time player, and come on we're talking about a homestuck fic here you know i have to do this, it feels like we started a loop and then branched off the alpha timeline so completely we aren't even a part of the metaphorical timeline-tree anymore. It nags at my brain man, it's one of the main things that fuelled my motivation in writing this. It feels lost and wandering and it confuses me in a bone deep sorta way.

The second thing that gets to me is the complete lack of information presented about what, exactly, the fuck is going on. I have no idea how we got from point A to point B, not just because it completely disconnects from point A not even halfway through, but also because there's a lot of plot threads thrown in haphazardly and then never extended upon. There's a mention of jake and john's respective guardians knowing something about the story's big bad and all the mystical bullshit that follows along behind him, but that is never followed up on even a little. No one questions why they know, despite this information being so rare that literally only two families and a single group of aliens seem to have access to it. It just is a thing and then whoops, hand musta slipped because that bad boy is out the window and is facing the combined nonexistent mercy of gravity and this ten story drop.

The main plot has this same problem, in feeling like you get just enough info to keep it going forward. There's a sword in rose's umbrella basket or whatever the hell it's called, and it's implied a future dave put it there for his past self, but do we get confirmation that it was him?? Do we see that loop completed?? No, it is just used as a driving force for rose to try and push the fact that dave's got Timey powers. It feels like i'm being pulled by the hand through this story because it only gives just barely enough information to keep this crazy train rolling and then goes so far as to leave fucking time loops hanging there incomplete which okay i might be getting a little peeved about that but can you blame me?? Can you really blame me at all??

Maybe i am judging the plot too harshly, after all i was forewarned not to read for the plot in the summary because it's pretty slow and wandering. So let's get into something else then, yes?? Let's hop to the relationships.

The relationships, too, fall prey to this complete lack of any meaningful focus on any piece of information ever. I'd swear the writer was allergic if that didn't seem too harsh a description. It's a whole lot of telling without any showing, a cardinal sin in writing. We get a conversation with kanaya that doesn't suffer the disconnect from all things that the rest of the story seems haunted by. It's actually really a neat little conversation and i find it kind of wholesome how kanaya talks about rose and i personally think this interaction to be entirely too short. Then kanaya mentions karkat and apparently there's some of davekat's standard romantic tension happening off-screen because dave starts to get flustered and ponders what that means. And once again a plot thread is thrown to the winds because we never get another whiff of it.

Actually on the topic of davekat, dave just naturally gravitates to karkat and then they're stuck together like glue, so stuck in fact that dave dies for karkat because dave apparently forgets the golden rule of "If you have time to jump in front of someone then you have time to push them out of the way" and then ignores the added bit i spitefully wrote on the ancient stone tablet of Things That Make Sense in neon orange sharpie that says "Especially if you have time to have a discussion about your choices with an ambiguously-dead girl. Pull your thumb out of your ass, dave, nobody has to die here, magic option number three was not the one you picked."

Of course, this is a fanfiction, these are characters i already know. I know how these characters would interact, i know how their relationship develops in-canon and i know that given the chance these fuckers become goddamn inseparable. But that doesn't excuse the fact that it is all tell and no show, we dont see how it gets from "You're one of the only familiar faces in a group of strangers and i am not about to start interacting with new people unless i have to" to "Here let me die heroically for you and then be revived for no explainable reason besides Because The Wizard Of God Says So." I have no reason to be invested in this or even give a half-ounce shit despite it literally becoming something that the climax hinges on. And then rose and kanaya are just inexplicably,, together?? Right at the end?? And while i am happy that the lesbians get to be in love everything is off screen and nothing is ever explained, not even like one time, and god it's just so confusing. I am so confused.

But again, maybe i'm being unfair, once again the very tags of this fic are telling me that the relationships are not the focus and only really tagged so people can filter it out. I suppose i should judge the characters, then.

From what i remember there are sixteen characters, excluding ((who i believe to be, as it is once again not explained or explicitly stated to be)) caliborn at the end, with speaking roles. Five of those characters retain any narrative relevance for more than a nanosecond. A good chunk of the trolls arent even mentioned by name, with eridan and i think sollux being mentioned, and who i think to be sollux speaks when rose and dave are first brought to the trolls' apartment but again, the fog of uncertainty clouds all things and i don't have my handy dandy leafblower on me to airblast that shit out of my way. Of the five characters with any focus on them, two are relegated to the role of supporting character, with karkat joining that number more often than not. That leaves us with dave and rose, who are ultimately as a whole unaffected by their experiences. They do not learn anything, they do not grow or change. Sure rose freaks out about her perception of reality, but that falls flat because it's more tell and no show again. Dave freaks out, as he rightfully should in this situation, but there is no arc. There is no significant change in anything but moving toward the boss fight with the big baddie.

There aren't any particularly interesting interactions between these characters, either, i cannot recall one time in which i laughed, or felt much of anything really. They all fall into a state of Existing while also feeling like they aren't doing a whole lot. It's more noticeable in retrospect but these characters just Do Not feel alive, they seem incredibly flat at times and it's hard to notice while you're reading but looking back it stands out so painfully and it makes me very sad.

If i'm not supposed to read for the plot, and i'm not supposed to read for the relationships, and i can't read for the characters, then what is this story meant to be read for?? The only other thing i can think of is the mystery and sorry pal, but that's a plot, which we have already established doesn't really have a whole lot going for it because while your mystery sure is there it is currently stinking up that rug you shoved half the answers under because those mysteries aren't the ones you want to focus on.

Is it simply meant to pass the time?? Is there no deeper purpose besides keeping yourself entertained as the hours tick by?? Because if so, it at least accomplished that. Despite its faults, it kept my attention for the entire fifty one chapters, and it passed my time.

There are other nitpicks i have, but that's more based around the writing style on a more technical level. The chapters are too short for my personal taste, and there are far too many cliffhangers, these things i will not condemn as the writer gave a good reason for the latter and obviously no writer is obligated to churn out 2,500 words per chapter unless they damn well want to.

Ultimately, this story is neither good nor bad. It is straightforward in that it burns any other plot threads besides the main one on the sacrificial alter of The Writer Does What The Writer Wants, it's a bit too ambiguous and under-explained for my tastes, but there is nothing egregiously offensive in it. It is a story that exists. I wouldn't read it again, but i wouldn't not read it again, and i don't even come close to regretting the time i spent reading it ((outside of the fact that it is currently almost nine am and i haven't slept but that one is my own fault)).

I scrolled passed this story in its beginnings, assuming it would not be particularly mindblowing, and now that i've read it i know that i was entirely correct. Read it if you want, or don't, just don't go in expecting something life changing. I suggest picking out a spot on your schedule where you have nothing to do and will no doubt be bored out of your mind. I sincerely doubt you'll regret it.

#homestuck #homestuck fanfic #fanfiction #god what else do i even tag this as. fuckin..#fanfiction critique #????#i feel like a child #i am but a little boy lost in the deep dark woods and i have no idea where i am going #there is no map for this shit #also as i write this tag it is now 9:52 am #a whole hour after i finished writing this monstrosity #because editing this stuff to make it somewhat coherent is a task and a half #i ramble worse than any homestuck character and i have proof too. go ahead. challenge me. i dare you. i know im right #i don't know why or how i got to the bit about queen anne chocolate cherries but i think its funny so fuck it its staying in #again if the author of this fic somehow comes across this and doesn't want this shit on my blog or wants to be tagged like let me know plea #i am trying desperately to not step on any toes or hearts here but i was not Raised so if i fuck up please just tell me #i dont wanna be publicly hung via tumblr anon attacks and callout posts that are poorly made at best and wildly inaccurate at worst #anyways thanks for reading i guess i have no idea how to tie this shit off and it Shows lol #hope i did okay #fuck it im not rereading this anymore im sending it out into the world #off you go little timmy suck it up and face the judgement of strangers

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slaxl-rose · 3 years

Text

1║THE ONE WHERE MONICA GETS A ROOMMATE

[ FRIENDS ] [ Season 1 - ? ] [ Joey Tribbiani x OC ] started: 12th/dec/2020

-> I obviously don't own F.r.i.e.n.d.s

-> This is a slow burn book

-> Updates will probably be every week. If not, every second week. (I've finished school for this year and i have a lot of time on my hands :) )

-> This book may include mature and triggering scenes

-> There are more chapters of this story published on my wattpad account @ -rogerscar

--------

"I just....I just want to be married again!..." Ross Geller sighed.

A woman wearing a wet wedding dress pushed open the door and started frantically searching the room.

"And i just want a million dollars!" Chandler says as he extends his hand hopefully.

"Charis?" Monica says as she walked up to the woman.

"Oh Monica hi! I just went to your building and you weren't there and then this guy with a big hammer said you might be here and you are, you are!" the woman rambled as she spotted her dear friend Monica.

"Can i get you some coffee?" the waitress calls.

"Decaf" Monica says as she points to her friend.

"OK, everybody, this is Charis! Another Lincoln High survivor" Monica says as she pulls Charis towards her group of friends. "This is everybody, this is Chandler, and Phoebe, and Joey and- you remember Rachel? And my brother Ross?" She says as she points to each person.

"Sure!" Charis smiles as she waves her hand at Rachel. One of her old-time friends. She then extends her hand and walks over to Ross but his umbrella opened causing the two to jump back slightly. "Hi, oh!"

Ross sits back down with a defeated look washing over his face. Joey gives him a friendly pat on the back.

Once Charis sits down in between Phoebe and Ross on the couch, everybody looks at her expectantly.

"So you wanna tell us now, or are we waiting for four wet bridesmaids?" Monica says

"Well...it started about half an hour before the wedding. I was in the room where we were keeping all the presents, and i was looking at this gravy boat. This really gorgeous Limoges gravy boat. When all of a sudden- sweet and low?" Charis looks up when the waitress hands her, her drink. She then continues her story "I realised that i was more turned on by this gravy boat than by Barry! And then i got really freaked out and that's when it hit me.. how much Barry looks like Mr. Potato Head. I mean i always knew he looked familiar, but..... Anyway, i just had to get out of there and i started wondering, 'why am i doing this? and who am i doing this for?' So anyway i just didn't know where to go, and i know that you and i have drifted apart... but you're the only person i knew who lived here in the city"

"Who wasn't invited to the wedding" Monica replies

"Oh, i was kinda hoping that wouldn't be an issue" Charis says as Ross picks up a teaspoon and stirs her coffee.

»»————-　　————-««

Later on, everybody was at Monica's apartment watching a Spanish soap on T.V and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Now, i'm guessing that he bought her the big pipe organ and she's really not happy about it" Monica says while pointing at the screen.

"Daddy, i just- i can't marry him!" Charis says as shes on a phone call to her father.

"Ooh, she should not be wearing those pants" Chandler says amused while looking at the T.V

"I say, push her down the stairs" Joey answers

Phoebe, Ross, Rachel, Chandler and Joey begin to cheer "Push her down the stairs! Push her down the stairs!"

"C'mon daddy listen to me! It's like all of my life everyone has told me 'you're a shoe! You're a shoe, you're a shoe' And today i just stopped and said 'what if i don't want to be a shoe? What if i wanna be a.. purse! or a..a hat!.... No i don't want you to buy me a hat, i'm saying that i am a hat!.. It's a metaphor daddy!"

"You can see where he'd have trouble" Ross chimes in.

"Look daddy, it's my life.....w-well maybe i'll just stay here with Monica and Rachel!" Charis says.

Everybody turns around to face Monica.

"Well i guess we've established who's staying here with Monica and Rachel" She says.

"Well maybe that's my decision... well maybe i don't need your money. Wait, wait! I said maybe!" Charis says loudly as her father hangs up the phone.

»»————-　　————-««

"OK, just breathe, that's it" Monica says to Charis as she holds a paper bag up to her face and breathes heavily into it. "Just try to think of nice, calm things"

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens..doorbells and sleigh-bells and some..thing with mittens. La,la,la something with string" Phoebe sings.

"I'm all better now!" Charis says while pulling the bag away from her face.

"And hey, you need anything, you can always come to Joey. Me and Chandler live right across the hall and he's away a lot" Joey says while placing his hand on Charis's shoulder.

"Joey! stop hitting on her... it's her wedding day!" Rachel says.

"What? like theres a rule or something?" He says.

[INTERCOM BUZZES]

"Please don't do that again, it's a horrible sound" Chandler says while pressing on it.

"Uh- it's- it's Paul!"

"Buzz him in!" Monica says immediately.

"Who's Paul?" Joey questions.

"Paul the wine guy, Paul?" Ross asks his sister.

"Maybe"

"Wait a minute.. your 'not a real date' tonight is with Paul the wine guy?" Joey asks.

"He finally asked you out?"

"Yes!" Monica says while Ross pulls her in for a quick hug.

"Ooh, this is a 'dear diary' moment" Chandler says from the kitchen.

"Charis, wait i can cancel" Monica says while looking down at her friend sitting on the couch.

"Please, no! go! i'll be fine" Charis reassures her.

Monica then turns to her brother "Ross are you OK? i mean- do you want me to stay?"

"That would be good" he replies

"Really-"

"No! go on! It's Paul the wine guy!"

Paul knocks on the door. "Hi come in" Monica says as she opens the door. "Paul, this is...everybody" She says as she notices everyone standing in a line behind her.

Monica motions for Paul to go sit on the couch and he does so.

"So Charis, what're you up to tonight?" Joey asks.

"Well i was kinda suppose to be headed for Aruba on my honeymoon, so, nothing!"

"Well, if you don't feel like being alone tonight, Chandler and I are going over to help Ross put together his new furniture!"

"Yes, and we're very excited about it" Chandler says sarcastically.

"Thanks, but i think i'm going to hang out here tonight" Charis says.

"Oh sure, okay"

"Pheebs, do you want to help?" Ross offers

"Oh, i wish i could but i don't want to" she says.

»»————-　　————-««

"Isn't this amazing?! I mean I've never made coffee before in my entire life" Charis says while placing two cups in front of Joey and Chandler.

"That is amazing" Chandler says

"Congratulations, while you're on a roll- if you feel like you got to make an Western omelette or something" Joey says before taking a sip of his coffee.

He scrunches his nose before tipping it in the plant that sits on the middle of the table. "Actually, i'm really not that hungry this morning"

"Morning" Charis says as she notices Monica step out of her bedroom. Paul steps out after her.

"Morning Paul" Joey says. "Hi Paul"

"Hi, Paul is it?" Chandler asks sarcastically.

Monica and Paul step out of the apartment and Joey, Chandler and Charis shuffle closer to hear what they are saying. "I had a really great time last night"

"Thank you, thank you so much" Paul says.

"We'll talk later"

"Yeah" Paul says before leaning in and kissing Monica. She waves goodbye and steps back inside. "That wasn't a real date!" Joey says while smiling. "What the hell do you do on a real date?" he asks suddenly.

"Shut up and put my table back" Monica replies while walking away.

They all move to shift the table back into it's original spot when Charis speaks up "So like, you all have jobs?"

"Yeah we all have jobs, see that's how we.. buy stuff!" Monica says.

"Yeah i'm an actor" Joey replies.

"Wow, have i seen you in anything?"

"Oh, i doubt it, mostly regional work" Joey says.

Soon, Joey and Chandler both leave the apartment and Charis sits down at the table beside Monica. "Did you sleep ok? Did you talk to Barry? I can't stop smiling" Monica says

"I can see that, you look like you slept with a hanger in your mouth" Charis says.

"I know.. he's just so... you remember you and Tony Demarco?" Monica asks. "Oh, yeah"

"Well it's like that, with feelings"

"Oh wow, are you in trouble" Charis says while smiling at Monica. "Ok, i'm just going to get up, go to work and not think about him all day"

"Or else i'm just gonna get up and go to work" Monica finishes.

"Ooh wish me luck!" Charis quickly stands. "What for?"

"I'm gonna go.. get one of those job things" She says.

Monica smiles at her and heads out of her apartment.

»»————-　　————-««

"Guess what?" Charis says as she runs into central perk where everybody else was sitting.

"You got a job?" Rachel asks

"Are you kidding? I'm trained for nothing!... i was laughed out of 12 interviews today"

"And yet you're surprisingly upbeat" Chandler replies

"Well you would be too if you found Joan and David boots on sale" she says while pulling out a box from her bag. "50% off"

"oh, how well you know me" chandler says

"They're my new i-dont-need-a-job, i-dont-need-my-parents, i've-got-great-boots boots"

"How'd you pay for them?" Monica asks.

"A credit card"

"And who pays for that?"

"uhh.. my father"

»»————-　　————-««

"C'mon you can't live off your parents your whole life" Rachel says as everyone sits around their table at Monica's apartment.

"I know that! that's why i was getting married" Charis says

"Give her a break, it's hard being on your own for the first time" Phoebe defends.

"Thank you"

"You're welcome, i remember when i first came to this city. I was fourteen. My mom had just killed herself and my step-dad was back in prison, and i got here, and i didn't know anybody. And i ended up living with this albino guy who was like, cleaning windshields outside port authority, and then he killed himself, and then i found aromatherapy, so believe me, i know exactly how you feel" Phoebe says.

"The word you're looking for is...'anyway'....."

"Alright, you ready?" Monica asks

"i-i don't think so"

Everybody starts chanting as Ross holds out Charis's card. "Cut, cut, cut, cut"

She grabs the scissors and cuts the card in half then into quarters. The group all cheer for her as Monica gets up and hugs her.

"Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You're gonna love it"

#chandlerbing #joey tribbiani #friends #f.r.i.e.n.d.s #monica geller #joey #phoebe buffay #ross geller #rachelgreen #tvshow #slow burn #angst #fluff

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant /Chapter Twenty-Six, “Old Faces”

Catch up on reading or start from the beginning HERE! :-)

Thanks for reading! c:

SNEAKY PEEK TIMEEEEEEEEE!!!

Something inside of my chest falls and for the first time in weeks, my thoughts are flooded with her. And I’m worrying about her, missing her, and wanting to hear her voice. I’m feeling all of the things and thoughts I’ve done such a great job at suppressing for the last few weeks.

Because before, only the alcohol could, but I couldn’t do that anymore. I knew she’d be disappointed. And once that thought wormed its way into my brain, I couldn’t entertain it for more than a minute. And so I dumped out the bottles and threw them in the bin.

Now, I feel myself fill with regret at that because once again I want to drown the feelings.

Because I’m hurting thinking about all of the hurt and pain she’s feeling.

“Awww, my little baby on her first day of school!”

“Oh, would you stop?” I groan in annoyance. But I can’t get rid of the smile pinching my cheeks.

“You’re looking like a lawyer already, Boops!” Skye comments as I stop in front of her at the island. She sets down her Winnie the Pooh mug and just smiles at me. It’s a rare occurrence. “And don’t you start saying that I can’t call you that. I’d say it’s rather fitting for a day like this.”

“Fine. Only today you can call me that old nickname that’s been dead for decades,” I reply before looking down at my outfit. “I’m not too overdressed, am I?”

“No, I think you look very nice. And you should dress to impress, they say.”

“Mmmmhmm,” I respond, flattening the patterned long-sleeve blouse I wear. Black jeggings cover my lower half.

“Are you excited?” Skye’s question hits me as I reach for a glass from the cupboard. I watch the golden orange juice splash into it.

“Yeah, I really am. I know I’ve already been down this road, but I feel so much more confident and excited this time around.”

“Well that says something,” she replies and I nod at her answer. The slice of bread sinks into the toaster as I set down the jar of jam with my other hand.

I grab a plate and scoop the rest of the scrambled eggs onto it that Skye left for me. “I’m dying a girl’s hair rainbow today, so there’s my big bang,” she comments enthusiastically with her sky-blue eyes twinkling. I smile at the excitement in her voice.

It finally looks like we’ve found our callings, I think to myself. A second later, I almost cringe at myself, but at the same time, I’m grateful for the happy thought.

“So most of your classes are online?”

“Yeah, but I have this one that I have to go on campus for. It’s one of the important ones,” I reply before a bite of scrambled eggs passes my lips.

Ding!

Dragging my phone across the counter, I look at my lit-up screen. A new text appears on my screen to join the others.

Asher:

Good luck on your 1st day back!!! Hoping everything goes well and you get nice teachers!!! Take deep breaths!!! Dont forget to tell me how it went :)

Sophie (Boss):

Wishing you a great first day back, Becky! We’re all so proud of you and we can’t wait to see the great things you do! Good luck!

Robbie:

Proud of u for going back Ree. Keep ur chin up. I cant wait 2 hear all about it. Excited 2 hang out with u and dad this weekend back home. Love u sis.

Daddy:

Happy 1st day of school 2 my big 25 year old! I hope ur 1st day back is gr8 Boops. Good luck! Take ur time & ask ?s. Call when u get home. I want 2 hear how it went. Love u! xoxo

A smile creases my cheeks as I read the words. I hear his familiar voice inside of my head, and warmth radiates through my chest. It makes me ache for one of his hugs and forehead kisses. I swipe right on my Dad’s text and click on the space to enter my own text.

Thanks so much, Dad! I’m really excited, but nervous. I feel like people might know I’m the dropout… But luckily I only have only one face-to-face class, and the rest are online. I hope that you are feeling better. Let me know if you need anything. I can’t wait to see you this weekend! Love you, Daddy! Xoxoxoxo

The lecture hall is smaller than I remember, and less run down. Hmmm, maybe my experience is actually going to help me to not be so afraid and intimidated, I think to myself. After walking up several stairs, I choose an empty table in the middle of the hall. Students mill around talking and checking online course content and Snapchat. Their chatter fills my ears as I set down my violet backpack and sit down. I place my laptop in front of me, along with a fresh notebook, my planner, and my little bag of pens and pencils. As I boot up my new laptop, the seats around me fill up. It’s not long before the professor takes a seat at the table at the front. His graying hair is tied into a short pony at the back of his head. The class quiets down at his arrival, but there aren’t many of us in the cohort. Around 50 or so.

Looking up behind his horn-rimmed glasses, a smile sparks behind his thick gray beard. “Oh, don’t mind me. We still have a couple of minutes until class starts, and I’m sure this bloody computer will take that and longer to start up,” he quips, and my classmates and I reply with laughter. “If everybody’s here, we can at least start with introductions. Shall we?”

“I’m Professor Alcott and I’ll be your guide for Criminal Law this semester. It’s great to see a group of smiling faces eager to dive into the nastier side of law. I practiced full-time for around 25 years until I arrived at this university. I thought I’d like to guide young minds into the law world, and so here I am. I still practice occasionally when I’m not teaching. It fulfills my craving to be back in the courtroom when I’m not in the classroom. Now, who would like to go next?”

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

“It sounds like your first day couldn’t have gone better, Boops.”

“Yeah, I actually think you’re right, Dad,” I reply, sinking lower into the welcoming sheets of my bed.

“You don’t have to say it like I’m not usually right,” my dad jokes back with a weak laugh. My smile falls at that, wondering if I’ve ever heard a hearty chuckle absent from his voice.

“I-I’m not, don’t worry . . Are you feeling any better, or are you still having those um pains you were talking about?” I ask tentatively, worry and care sewn into my words.

“I’m okay. They come and go,” he replies softly with few words.

“Are you going to go to the doctor like I’ve been begging you?”

“Yes, Becky. I have an appointment for tomorrow morning. Just like I promised

you,” he replies with emphasis in his words. I try to find the fear in his words. But either he’s doing a great job of masking it, or it’s simply not there.

“But you cancelled the last one, Dad.”

“I didn’t mean to cancel it, Becky,” he sighs. “I made it and found it got in the way of work. I forgot to reschedule it. I’m sorry.”

“I know, Dad. I just want you to get looked at. I don’t want something to be wrong,” I say quietly, feeling the fear creep up my throat. But I try my hardest to push it back down, because I can’t let it in. I can’t worry about my Dad anymore than I already am. I have school now and my job. I just can’t.

“I know, sweetie, and neither do I. Everything’s going to be fine, my love. You needn’t worry,” my dad tells me in his soothing deep voice. The same voice that lulled me to sleep with bedtime stories, explained maths homework to me whilst I cried in frustration, and told me it was okay when I dropped out of law school. He’s always been there to tell me it’s going to be okay, and now I know I need to be the one telling him it’s going to be okay.

I just hope that I’m telling him the truth.

Madley looks just the same. But it doesn’t.

New shops have opened up. Old ones have closed down. New developments have sprung up. Patches of woods have been cut down. The city park has a new playset instead of the one I grew up on. My former primary school has a new addition. Roads were redone. New ones were made.

I made the drive easily, knowing it like the back of my hand by now.

But at the same time, it’s hard. Because I have this off feeling sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach. And I can’t name it, or make it go away. It’s been there all morning, and I can’t figure out how to get it to go away.

It grows as my footsteps sound on the sidewalk leading to the front door of the house I grew up in. Shoots of grass inch through new cracks in the cement. The daffodils wilt against the steps leading to the front door.

The feeling in my gut flares, making me stop. I take a second to look harder. The cream paint that’s defined my childhood home is peeling in places. The grass hasn’t been cut in a while. I can’t remember the last time I saw it long, and not neatly cut. Patches of prematurely fallen leaves scatter the usually clean walkway. The glass window panes on the top half of the door are smudged and dirty. I don’t get another second to look harder, because the front door opens and a smile waits for me.

Perhaps my favorite one.

“Hi, baby girl,” my dad coos, letting go of the door. It creaks before closing as I watch my dad pad down the steps and wrap me in a hug.

I exhale into my dad’s chest clad in one of his typical Nike jumpers. Letting go of my suitcase, my arms find their way around him by instinct.

“How was your trip?” he asks in his deep voice. His scruffy cheek falls onto the top of my head, and he holds me against his chest.

“Good, thanks. The usual,” I reply. I squeeze him and try not to notice how my arms go around him easier than the last time. I just try to find comfort in his familiar smell of the same laundry detergent he’s used for 30 years.

“Good. Robbie just got here. I’m finishing up lunch right now, it’s almost ready,” he informs me.

“Oh no, don’t leave Robbie around food cooking on an open flame,” I joke, feeling one of his large hands comb through the hair at the top of my head.

He laughs and mine echoes his. But I’m afraid that they’re both forced. Dad releases me from the cocoon-like hug, but not before planting a kiss on my forehead. The same kind of kiss he’s given me since the day I was born. Always the forehead.

“We better hustle then,” he quips, stepping to the side to pick up my violet suitcase. I smile at him and he mirrors it as he holds the door open for me.

“I think something’s burning!” I hear Robbie exclaim in a confused tone.

“How do you even survive on your own?” I answer, toeing off my shoes in the entryway. I push them to the side with my foot to sit on the red rug. Beside Dad’s white Nikes green from mowing the lawn. Robbie’s black vans.

“On microwavable ramen, hot pockets, cereal, and chicken nuggets. Duh,” Robbie replies, garnishing an eye roll from me. But he can’t see it.

The same brown plaid couch stares back at me a few feet away in the living room. My dad sets my suitcase down by the wooden stairs a few steps in front of me.

“You just stir it, you goon!” my dad tells Robbie, padding through the living room in his classic Levi jeans. “Did I teach you nothing when it came to cooking, or did you tune out that day?”

A Chelsea vs. Arsenal game plays softly on the telly. But its only viewer is the In-Fisherman magazine sloppily laid on the couch.

“No, I’m pretty sure I was stoned that day,” Robbie replies softly with a wry chuckle. My dad sighs and clucks his tongue at my brother.

“Any day now, Ree!” Robbie shouts to me. But I hardly hear him, because my thoughts are wound up in the uncharacteristic pill bottles I see on the side table. And the brochures that I can’t make out from this distance. I recognize a few as take-away. One has lots of words that I can’t read, but it makes my heart shrink regardless.

“Hey, everything alright?”

I look up and watch Robbie walk into the room. His pale skin the same shade as mine peeks out from the trendy holes in his blue jeans. He pushes his black button-down aside to pocket his hands. A familiar Marvel shirt peeks out from underneath.

Swallowing, my lips part, “Did Dad tell you what the doctor said?” I ask nervously, keeping my volume low so only he hears.

“No,” Robbie responds quietly. And I hear it in his voice. Because it’s the same thing I just heard in mine.

“Rob,” I mumble, looking him in the eyes. I feel something pass between us, and somehow I know that he’s thinking the same thing as me.

I look up at the ceiling, trying to will the tears away, but it never works. Because I’ve tried it so many times in the last few days as I worried why my dad didn’t tell me what his doctor said on Tuesday.

“Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you lot go and wash up?” my dad announces, and I nod automatically. But I know I can’t go upstairs and wash my hands in the sink that I have for the last 20 years. And that my dad does every day.

Before I know it, the fall sunshine is welcoming me back. I don’t hear the door close with a metallic smack. All I hear are soft footsteps and the sound of sobs leaving my lips. I blink and feel Robbie’s arms go around me.

“I’m scared, too,” he confesses, tears choking his words that echo my silent ones.

“I’m so afraid that he is, too,” I reveal into his neck that soon grows slick with my tears.

“Did you notice how he looks?” Robbie asks into the crown of my head, his lips moving against my hair. I feel his warm tears meet my scalp.

“Mmmhmm. He’s so pale. And he’s lost weight.”

“Yeah, and he tries not to show it, but he’s tired,” Robbie adds in. His chest shakes underneath me and I hear him hiccup from the crying. “I dunno if he’ll even eat. It looks like he hasn’t been recently. There’s like nothing in the fridge, Ree. We need to buy him groceries. It looks like he hasn’t left the house in days.”

All I can do is nod, and I do. Because the tears are too thick, and what am I even supposed to say? How do I put these terrible feelings into words, much less ones that make sense?

“I know, Ree, I know,” Robbie coos soothingly.

But somehow it brings me comfort to know that Robbie is feeling all of the same things and having all of the same thoughts as me. Stupid twin intuition or not, I just know. And at the same time, it makes my heart squeeze harder in pain.

“Kids, come on!” We hear our dad call from inside the house.

I leave Robbie’s arms and find his tear stricken face looking down at the ground. I brush the hair out of his eyes; the hair the same dark chocolate color as mine. His eyes the same ice blue as my own meet mine painfully. I swipe my finger under them to catch the tears. His fingers wrap around my hand and give it a squeeze.

“Let’s go eat lunch with our dad,” he mumbles, his voice still shaky.

I nod and squeeze it back. The same hand I’ve been holding ever since before I was born.

My partner in crime for life.

My twin.

“Go and splash cold water on your face, it’ll help. You can always say that I splashed soap in your eye.”

“Yeah, and how’s that going to sound if that happened to both of us?” he questions, pulling me by the hand into the house with a laugh. I make sure to close the door quietly before following him up the staircase. The sound of our dad’s whistling carries up the stairs and to my ears.

I savor it.

I never want to forget the first music I ever heard, and the one that never fails to calm me. Next to his soothing voice.

My daddy.

The rest of our day was better, but worrying about my dad was always at the back of everything. Silent, yet nagging. It interrupted all of the moments.

The laughing over a plate of home-cooked food.

The jokes and stories that passed the time of washing dishes.

The traditional walk around the block.

Our visit to the local library’s book sale.

Dad’s usual drive around town filling us in on everything we’ve missed.

So and so died.

She had a kid.

They got married.

They’re building this there.

That bloke went to jail.

It disrupted watching reruns of Doctor Who on BBC.

It returned after a cozy mid-day nap at dad’s elbow, strong as before.

It nagged at the back of my head when the phone would ring.

It sat in the circles of Robbie’s eyes when they locked with mine.

It filled the empty spaces between our conversations.

That question sat at the back of my head and in the pit of my stomach all day. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask it. Because I couldn’t confront the possibility of hearing the answer I dreaded most.

“Boy, you make one good pizza, baby girl,” my dad smiles as he stretches his arms to the ceiling.

I nod, slapping an automatic smile on my face. It doesn’t stay long when my eyes carry over to his plate holding the third slice he couldn’t eat. Another detail I noticed that’s unlike him. Because I can’t stop noticing them, and each one hurts more than the last.

Before I can stop it like all of the other times, my vision grows blurry. I feel my throat take after it and I couldn’t swallow if I tried. I lift my eyes over to Robbie across the small kitchen table, and it takes a second. But he feels me looking at him and hesitantly makes eye contact with me. He nods after a second. Watching the tears fill his eyes makes the first one fall from mine.

I sniffle out of habit and see my dad turn to look at me out of the corner of his eye. That parent hearing, that intuition. Heat rises to my cheeks and I hear my name leave his lips. Then he turns to look at Robbie and sighs.

“Dad, I can’t pretend anymore. I’m sorry, but I can’t. We can’t,” I say, my voice breaking at the beginning and staying that way. Tears shadow all of my words, and they only grow worse when I feel Robbie grab my hand under the table. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay because we know that it isn’t,” I finish, finally taking the next dreaded step. I look my father in the eyes and find in them the answer I’ve been searching for all day long.

His ice-blue eyes, the same color as mine and Robbie’s, stare back at me. They too are full of unspent tears, but it doesn’t last long. Soon they are falling down his cheeks stubbly with graying hair. His long, tan fingers comb through his hair the same shade as that of the hair on his children’s heads. Gray streaks speckled throughout fall from his fingers when he lets go. He clenches his hand into a fist that hits the table. Dad stares it before he lets it relax.

Looking back up, my heart lurches when his eyes reconnect with mine. Because I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.

“I have prostate cancer . . Stage 2. That’s all they know right now.”

Dropping Robbie’s hand, the kitchen chair moves back with a whine. I put one foot in front of the other before my hand is opening the door. My resolve falls when I reach the last cement step, and my legs can’t go any further. My butt lands on the step and I fall into myself. I feel the tears spill from my eyes and coat the legs of my jeans. Loud sobs leave my lips as my entire body shudders with each one.

No. No. No. No. No

No, not my daddy.

Why my daddy?

Why my daddy who had to put up with an awful wife for years?

Why my daddy who gave his children everything they wanted?

Why my daddy who gave so much to everybody else?

He gave so much and did so much and this happens to him.

No. Not him. It has to be some mistake.

I can’t lose my daddy.

I lost my grandpa and then Harry.

I can’t lose another person I love.

I can’t imagine not hearing his voice on the other side of the phone. Or not getting his hugs that seem to fix everything. Or hearing his whistling or god awful singing.

I can’t live without my dad.

Sniffling, my fingers search blindly for my phone. Finding it in my back pocket, I turn my head slightly to look through blurry eyes. Unlocking it, I press on the app I look for. My fingers race across the screen with each number. Then, the name inside of my head shows up on the screen.

Harry

My thumb wavers over the phone icon. I swallow and feel another tear hit my cheek. How is it that I haven’t heard your voice or seen your face in almost 9 months, and yet it’s the only one I want right now?

I close my eyes and feel my forehead return to my knees. Pressing a button, my phone locks with a clicking sound. My arms wrap around my knees pulled to my chest, and I feel every tear. And every thought.

Until minutes later when a pair of arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me into their chest. I let my head fall onto them as it shakes with a sob. And then another pair of arms wrap around us. I feel a kiss to my forehead before the stubbly cheek tickles the top of my head.

“I’m not going anywhere, kids. I s-still need to see you lot get married. I need to watch you kick ass and become a lawyer. And walk Ree down the aisle, and make sure Bee names his firstborn son after me,” my dad cries, pulling his two children into the confines of his trembling chest. Robbie and I laugh, and our dad’s weak one echoes our own. “I’m gonna fight this. I might need your help, but I’m not giving up that easily. Your old man’s not a woosy.”

Laughs surround our tears as I hold onto my dad and my brother. A large part of my small world.

“I’m not going anywhere, dad,” Robbie gets out with tear-soaked words.

“And neither am I, daddy,” I echo, nuzzling my head into the crook of his neck.

I peek my eyes open and find Robbie on the other side of my knees. His head is lying on dad’s other shoulder. He reaches a hand across and intertwines his free hand with the one not wrapped around our dad. Unspoken words pass between us. After a few seconds, I know that the words we just spoke we promised to not just our dad, but to each other.

We ask questions and he answers. He’s known for only a day or two. The appointment last Tuesday was for a checkup like he said. They were able to do the biopsy later in the day. We cry into each other, feeling the same fear and pain. Uncertainties sit in the air between us as the sun sets behind the oak trees in front of us. The scene in front of me couldn’t look any different from a night of my childhood.

More than anything, I wish I could go back to one of those days. Ice lollies on the front steps sitting on dad’s jiggling knee. Him trying to get me to laugh. By his fingers tickling my ribs. His face contorting into funny faces. Or his imitations of characters I watched on the telly. His wrinkles and gray hairs gone. As well as his cute little beer belly. Mom calling for me to get in the bath with Robbie from inside the house. The Rolling Stones playing on the radio inside. Sounds of neighbor kids mingling with the music, as well as dogs barking. But we stay there and watch the shades of the rainbow paint the sky.

Although I know that I can’t go back, I let myself sit in that safe memory for a moment longer. Because sitting on my dad’s strong, tan knee in that 4-year old moment, everything was okay. And I want to enjoy that for a few minutes longer before I have to return to reality. Before I have to start living in a reality where things won’t be okay for a while, because my daddy isn’t okay. And because of that, neither am I.

I don’t know when I will be again.

My footsteps echo on the tile floor. Each one makes a sound with its own name, like in the Dr. Seuss books my mum would read to me when I was a kid.

Plop.

Klopp.

Dopp.

“Would you bloody leave already? I’m sick of seeing your bleeding face,” a voice quips from behind me.

I turn to find Myles following me. He titters with a smirk covering his stubbly face.

“Oh, would ya shuddup?” I return with a shake of my head, combing my fingers through my hair, but not much hair greets them.

“I thought you were done putting in these late nights,” he comments, his steps echoing my own now.

Pushing open the door to the supply room, I step up to the copier. “Nah, I still have sum stuff t’ finish up. Gotta prep fer my case that starts Monday,” I answer him, punching in my code on the touch screen.

A long ‘ah’ leaves his lips as he rummages in something behind me. Probably knicking some more of the nice pens before they’re gone.

“Well, I’m not a workaholic like you, so I’m leaving work before 5 on a Friday,” he tells me, assuming that I care. I chuckle, shaking my head at his pompous words. The copier sounds back at me, and takes the paper away with a woosh. “Please don’t bloody sleep here again. I don’t wanna have to hear complaints from the cleaning staff. And I don’t wanna have to pay you more than I have to.”

“I pay meself, ya cheeky bastard,” I scoff, turning to find him grinning as he stands with a foot out the door.

But his smile falls and along with it comes a squeeze on the arm from him. “Really, Hare, if you need to sleepover here I don’t mind. I know it wasn’t a nice joke . . I’m glad to see you’re doing better, though. Meaning, not as many empty bottles in your bin,” Myles continues softly. My amused expression falls when the seriousness arrives in his tone. “Yeah, I noticed ‘em, mate. Glad they’re not there anymore. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Keep at it.”

All I know to do is nod. He returns it and I watch the back of his blonde head walk away. I sigh, picking up the stack of papers waiting on the tray. I grab the original and rummage in the drawers until I find a binder clip. I fasten the papers together as I take my time walking back to my office. It’s even a little quieter than a few minutes ago. When I glance at my watch, I see why. It’s 5 o’clock on the dot.

Myles is gone.

Amelia is too.

Mick’s office door is dark and closed.

So is Rory’s, to no surprise, because he probably went out for drinks with My.

Rose is still working hard behind her closed door that classical music trickles out of.

Pete nods at me as I pass him in the hallway with an empty mug. Probably on his way for a refill.

But another person is still here. I see him before he sees me, but when he does I follow him to the shiny metal sliding doors.

“Ya aren’t anxious t’ get a start on yer weekend like e’rybody else? Or did somethin’ in IT break an’ ya gotta fix it?” I ask, stepping onto the elevator.

“Not really. It’s supposed to rain all weekend, so what’s the fun in that?” Asher replies, stabbing a random button. By now, I know the drill.

Push a random button and we have that long to talk.

About her.

“Good ol’ Fall rainstorms,” I comment, and he nods silently.

I hum a tune as the elevator dings with each floor we pass. And he doesn’t say a word, and yet neither do I. Because the point of these secret meetings is for him to talk. And for the most part, I just listen. It’s a silent understanding by now, or so I think.

“Yer makin’ me nervous not sayin’ anythin’,” I say, trying to laugh and offset the awkwardness. But it doesn’t help. And neither does the distraught look on his face when he meets my eyes.

“I need to tell you something,” he confesses quietly.

“Well ya, tha’s kinda tha whole point o’ these secret elevator meetin’s,” I smile, trying again to liven up the atmosphere. But he doesn’t smile, or crack a joke.

The smile I was toting around falls, and my mind swarms with thoughts.

Scary ones.

Worrying ones.

Questions.

Worst-case scenarios.

“Asher, i-is Becks okay? Did something happen?” I hurry, the words tumbling from my lips.

“Yeah, she’s okay, Harry. I guess you could say that.”

“Well, ‘s she hurt? Did she get inna accident? Break a bone? What ‘s it?” I ask, question after question spilling out.

“No, none of that,” he answers, shaking his head emphatically. “She’s fine, physically.”

“Then what?!” I continue, prodding him for answers that he won’t give up.

But the last part of what he says gets me. It hints at what he’s about to say, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. It doesn’t pull a relieved sigh from my lips like I wish it could, but it’s not like that.

When the gleaming metal doors slide open on the first floor, nobody is waiting there. Asher doesn’t give me time to look if anybody is coming, because he presses another button. Now, I know it’s serious. Pushed another button for extra time. Something happened.

“Asher-.”

“She called me crying last night,” he begins. His voice is quiet and he sounds like he’s trying to keep the emotions out of it, but they’re heard in every word. “Her dad found out he has prostate cancer, and she’s a mess. I dunno how to help her, or if you could either. But I just hate seeing her in pain and upset,” he reveals, the words loaded and dark.

I feel my back hit the railing on the wall, but I didn’t know that I was backing up into it. Something inside of my chest falls and for the first time in weeks, my thoughts are flooded with her. And I’m worrying about her, missing her, and wanting to hear her voice. I’m feeling all of the things and thoughts I’ve done such a great job at suppressing for the last few weeks.

Now, I feel myself fill with regret at that because once again I want to drown the feelings.

Because I’m hurting thinking about all of the hurt and pain she’s feeling.

“Yeah, I know whatcha mean,” is all I can say, because how the fuck do I put these thoughts into proper words? “Did she say anythin’ else ‘bout his diagnosis? Stages? Surgery? Chemo?”

“It’s still early, she doesn’t know a lot yet. I guess nobody does. He only just told her and Robbie last weekend. She’s trying to figure out how to rearrange her life to help take care of him,” Asher explains. I nod because that’s what you do when you don’t know what to say.

I don’t get a chance to ask any more questions, because the doors slide open again. A red-headed gentleman steps off 17 and I decide to step on. Looking over my shoulder, I meet eyes with Asher. “Thank you, Asher . . I mean it.”

He nods and I return it before turning around and walking back to my office. Goodbyes past between Rose and I, her long blonde curls dancing on her shoulders. Thunder clouds boom overhead and seconds later, I hear the rain begin falling onto the skylights. It makes the sounds from another Dr. Seuss book.

Splatt.

Boom!

Dibble Dibble.

Dopp Dopp.

Country music pours from Pete’s office, bringing a confused smile to my face. But it only stays for a second, because my thoughts return to Becky. I sigh, twisting open my office door. I stop in my tracks when I hear my Fleetwood Mac ringtone filling my office.

But it stops, and only then do my feet awake. Rushing over to my desk, I drop the stack of copies next to my computer. Forgetting them and working on prep work for my case, I shuffle through the mess on my desk. I lift up papers. Move books. Toss pens aside. Rearrange folders and pads of paper. And then I find it. The screen is black as it’s cupped in my hand.

But in a matter of seconds, I awaken it and see who I missed a call from. The breath in my lungs stills and my breathing halts. My ass hits my chair with a sigh, and I wheel around to face the window. Angry storm clouds await me as rain falls hard against the foggy class. Tapping my temple with my finger, my thumb sits inches away from the screen. I debate whether to call the person back or not.

Why would I?

How can I?

Should I?

I don’t have to decide, because the voice of Stevie Nicks spills from my phone’s speakers. And the image of that person’s face fills my screen. Their smile. Their magical eyes. Without hesitation, I slide my thumb across the screen. And press it to my ear.

“Hullo?” I say slowly, barely loud enough to hear myself. Because I can’t believe it.

“Harry?” the voice replies. A question frames their familiar accent, but something else does too. Thick tears.

“Becks . . are ya okay, love?”

#the assistant #pa harry #harry styles #harry styles au #fanfiction #wattpad #fanfic #writing #harry #lawyer harry #lawyer au #harry au #one direction

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edge-lorde · 4 years

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hp update: its been a long time, boys. ud think that with this plague outbreak id have more time for shitty phone games, and ud be right! however, the time i normally might use to make tumblr posts has been taken up by reading lotr orc fanfiction non-stop for at least 1 full month. id still be in the thick of that obsession even now if only the fics would update. that is how i find you today folks, for the first time in many weeks i am staring at a screen with nothing to do. so come with me friends, theres no better way to fill the soulless void we are all in than reading a nice long tumbler post.

disclaimer, first of all, a lot has happened, i prefer to keep these updates as plot spoiler free as possible but do to extenuating circumstances i feel like it is necessary to say, [SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER BELOW]

that rowan fucking died,

i wont say exactly how, but i will say that her death was animated as were animations of myself and a few others reacting to our friend fresh corpse. obviously meant to be serious moments but the animations made it seem almost comical.

i saw at least one post going around right after this update that was like ‘how could the game devs do this to us..... how could they hate rowan so.... this is punishment from on high’ and its like.... u guys do know what a story is right? the events of a story are not typically done to punish less faithful fans, im pretty sure they were planning to kill rowan off from the beginning. this isnt disney im pretty sure the writers are not writing each chapter the night before its released by popular vote.

that little “are we drifting away..?” scene with rowan makes more sense now. there was a bit in one of the scenes where the kids all reminisce on rowans life and the mc talks about it being the last real one on one time they had with rowan. a nice bitter sweet moment. i dont hate this turn of events. its a good reminder that actions have consequences and we are way past they days of “should i wear a hat or scarf?” its YA time now.

i did manage to take 1 screenshot from this time, i had commented that before that when rowan said she didnt have many friedns that barnaby seemed to be hanging out with her without be there as a friend buffer and here was his reaction to her death:

;_;

the funniest part in all of this however, was of course cedericks reaction to rowans death “but she was so young....” LOL fuckin RIP.

lets see... what else.... i forget a lot of what happened but i think there was a time sensitive quidditch event in there somewhere? if so i dont remember it. what i do remember of the quidditch pals is that im gonna play beater now, skye is being weird and cagey about it, andre is involved.... the others are there.....

sidenote, i love the shitty b characters they throw in to be like yes you know this person but no they are not cool enough for u to even think about befriending. the first one of those is face paint kid, and now we have another, who is a former beater girl with horrible bangs named bean who didnt go to any classes for a whole season so she could just play ball 24/7 and got kicked off the team. this is a character who only exists to provide an explanation as to why there would be a beater position open but i love them on principle.

right now im in the midst of another time sensitive event, this one is a bother-your-brother-at-work-day event where recent hogwarts graduate bill weasley is bullied by myself and his younger brother charlie into letting us go with him on one of his curse breaking jobs.

so for those unfamiliar, bill works for the magical bank of england.... and his job seems to be “retrieving treasure” for said bank. in the books, there is a bit where he takes his family on one of his trips to egypt, where his job seemed to have been tomb plundering indiana jones style for the posterity of the english bank :X. i wont explain here why thats bad but its bad.

the game devs however in this instance, at least SEEM to be doing what jkr couldnt do by attempting to salvage what is left of gringotts bank and form it into not a super shitty implications factory run by horrible jewish caricatures. bills mission is to retrieve a goblin made artifact that was taken by dragons, so no going to foreign countries to steal things from other people! only going to a dragon reserve to rifle through animal nests. they even appear to be providing us with a likable goblin character, egad!

my hope for this event is that we get a plotline about how maybe, goblins arent shifty human haters for no reason, and in fact they hate magic humans for very understandable reasons, like being forced to go into hiding with the rest of the magical world even though only the humans wanted to do that, and maybe despite running the bank in england they still dont have a lot of political sway in the world of wizards and witches, and have to rely on the faith that said wizards and witches wont fuck them over at every turn, even as they see how they treat other non-humans, such as house elves, which they desperately dont want to end up like. and maybe they DONT only care about gold... maybe thats a human stereotype based on the fact that theres a long history of humans not respecting goblin ownership customs.... which i could get into..... but i wont.... i just....... very badly dont want them to suck ;__________;

i know i said its ok to still like a piece of media as long as you recognize the problems with it, and i do, but once this game is done im gonna stop hp posting all together. ive been feeling more and more uncomfortable making these posts lately.

GENERAL GAME NOTES; theres been some new layout changes and such.

most notably the stairs screen has been changed from a bulleted list of all locations to a screen with tiles picturing an image of each location along with the name + icons of all classes at each place. there is one additional location that is new and yet to be unlocked, and the dragon reservation is appearing temporarily as its own tile as well. i prefer this method of getting in and out of a temporary location to how they did it with car during the last christmas special. the stairs icon also now stays in the corner when you scroll through locations, allowing you to open the stairs menu without scrolling all the way back to the left.

they also moved a few of the buttons down into the lower left corner rather than the left side & combined the story button and sidequest button. they added a little camera button as well, just like in the dormitory, that makes all the icons in a location disappear and look better for screenshots.

the daily special add offer thing now has its own button in the top right corner of the screen, and idk if i mentioned it before but now there are daily challenges that appear in the sidequest screen that offer small rewards for completing 3 tasks per day + a better one if u get all 3. the prizes are things like 4 energy, 75 coins, 3 monster food. the better rewards are usually either more coins, 8 energy, 3 gems, or 1 notebook. i think that it does all the different color notebooks but i cant remember for sure if i ever saw the gold one up as a reward. i like this addition in any case. if you dont pick up ur reward by the end of the day, the next time u log on it will force u to stop and accept them, and if one of the rewards is energy and ur energy bar is full, it does not seem to stack beyond the bar so watch out.

the character stats page is now more zoomed out so you can see your full character instead of just from the waist up. no change to the leaderboard. rowans face in the friendship roster is now a still black and white image that says ur friend may be gone but friendship is forever u-u.

rowan has been removed from all classes. in the classes where the minigames involved her, those minigames have passed the mantle onto other friends in the class. in potions that person is now liz helping u find stuff off the shelves and in tranfiguration that person is badeea. bless these girls for helping mc get through it. touched my heart.

theres been a few fun little “i know u have more free time now so uhhhh have some energy” prizes like they do sometimes when they dont update on schedule so thats been nice. just a few days ago they gifted us 3 gold notebooks the same way. :O.

theres also been a few instances of a energy happy hour where for a limited time energy takes less time to refresh. normally it takes 4 mins for 1 energy to do this but during happy hour its like 2:30 mins. :U its all very interesting.

and that will have to do it for tonight my friends, ill do a post for the dragon event when its done because i do like it so far and i do like getting to bully bill with charlie.

until next time, remember.......

#hp #harry potter #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #bill weasley #goblins #charlie weasley #sirius business #rowan khanna #rambling #Thoughts #so sorry im still making these posts #i just want to see them through to the end now

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viovivii · 4 years

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Why having a strong dad is IMPORTANT. Every girl needs a strong daddy in their life ❤️ good book. p.s DONT FUCKING BE A DEAD BEAT

this was a good read:

Chapter 1 – You Are the Most Important Man in Her Life

I’ve said this before, but scary. I am also the most important man in my wife’s life, but she was able to make a conscious decision to choose me. Not my girls, they are simply stuck with me!

Meg states that in her practice she has seen many young girls doing terribly unhealthy things to see if their fathers will notice. Young girls crave a father’s attention and love.

Dad’s don’t need to change who they are to be great dads. They need to invest in the relationship and understand what the world is telling your daughters through TV, the internet and their friends. Your job is to protect them from the ugliness that is out there and they naturally look to you to do that.

Next, Meg shares some scary statistics. Here are a few:

What is taught in sex ed. It is ridiculous. Make sure you understand what your school teaches.

One in five Americans over age twelve tests positive for genital herpes.

9% of girls fourteen to seventeen years old experience unwanted sex, primarily because they fear their boyfriends will get angry.

5% of high school girls have had sad, hopeless feelings for longer than 2 weeks. Many physicians call this clinical depression.

6% of Caucasian, 20.7% of Hispanic and 12.4% of African American females have made suicide plans in the last year.

8% of high school students drank alcohol before the age of thirteen.

7% of high school students have used some form of cocaine.

Kids spend 6.5 hours per day watching media of some form.

Kids with TVs in their bedrooms watch 1.5 hours more TV than kids who do not have TVs in their bedrooms. I’m sure this stat would hold true for smartphones.

Meg goes on to cite numerous statistics about how families can win the war against media through strong relationships with their kids. We can win this fight!

Chapter 2 – She Needs a Hero

Despite whatever outward impression she gives, your daughter’ life is centered on discovering what you like about her and what you want from her. She cannot feel good about herself until she knows you feel good about her. She does not want to see you as her equal. She wants you to be her hero. Someone stronger, steadier and smarter than she is.

The only way you will alienate your daughter is by losing her respect by failing to lead or failing to protect her. If you fail to meet her needs, she will find someone who will. That is where all the trouble can begin.

One of the best things you can do as a father is to raise your daughters’ expectations about life. Let her know that she is God’s masterpiece and that she will do great things in this life.

Deep down, we all want authority and rules in our life. We may instinctively want to buck authority, but when our world starts to fall apart, we run to the person who is that authority in our life.

Meg also suggests putting your expectations for your children in writing, now – while they are young. Teenagers are excellent at tangling your thinking. Write down your rules now. Laminate them, carve then into stone

Chapter 3 – You are Her First Love

You are her first love. You have other loves in your life, but she does not. Every man who enters into her life will be compared to you. If you have a good relationship with her and her mom, she will choose boyfriends who will treat her well.

Always be positive. Admire her deep, intrinsic qualities. Always keep the bar high. She will live up to the standards you set.

As she grows older, don’t assume she is capable of making good decisions. Protect her so she is in a safe place to make poor decisions – kids always will make bad decisions. It is how they learn. Enforce curfew. Girls with a curfew know that someone cares and is waiting up for them at home.

Pay attention. Listen closely. It takes time and patience, but it will build bonds that will last a lifetime. Start daddy-daughter times when they are young and stick with it. Teenagers need you more than at any other time in their life.

If you stay with her, look at her and keep listening to her she will always come back for more. She will feel more attractive and rightfully assume that boys that don’t want to be with her have a problem (because you are smarter and wiser than they are). This is a very good thing.

Chapter 4 – Teach Her Humility

“Humility is not thinking less of ourselves, it is thinking of ourselves less.” – C.S. Lewis

“It is not about you.” – the first sentence of The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren.

Humility is hard and it must be modeled. It is the starting point for every other virtue. Humility means having a proper perspective on ourselves, of seeing ourselves as we really are. It also means knowing that every person has equal worth.

Take pride in her accomplishments, but don’t go overboard. Always recognize the accomplishments of her peers as well.

Make sure that she knows that her accomplishments do not define her. Her maker already did that. Trying to define ourselves with accomplishments and stuff is a never ending trap. Give her a firm foundation of who she is in God and it will serve her well forever.

Don’t let the world revolve around her.

Chapter 5 – Protect Her, Defend Her (and use a shotgun if necessary)

Let her know that she is beautiful.

Hug her. It is that important to her. Tell her you love her and how precious she is.

Every boy that dates your daughter needs to know he is responsible to you.

Be aware of the mixed messages she will receive about sex from school. Make sure that your message is the final word on the subject.

She might hate you for this in the short term, but she will thank you for protecting her and she will tell you that sooner than you might expect.

Chapter 6 – Pragmatism and Grit: Two of Your Greatest Assets

It’s OK.

Men are pragmatists. They look for solutions – often when our wives and daughters only want to be heard. Don’t negate listening, but your family needs your pragmatism, your realism, your solutions.

Daughters can become only one of two types of women; princesses or pioneer women. Praise the Lord he brought me a pioneer woman to marry. That gives our girls a much greater chance at becoming pioneers themselves.

Princesses believe they deserve a better life and expect others to serve them. Pioneers know that their hard work is how they achieve improvement in their lives. They are in charge of their own happiness.

You must teach your daughter to be a pioneer. The other option is not good and can lead to a host of bad decisions later – like marrying for money and stability.

Grit – Your family needs and deserves your best. As men, we often use up the best of us at work and have little left for home. That is not acceptable. We must get our heads right and game faces on for the job (the most important job) that waits for us when we walk in the door to our homes.

Divorce – It is the central problem that has created a generation of young adults who are at higher risk for chaotic relationships, sexually transmitted diseases and confusion about life’s purpose.

Don’t get confused and believe that going to church will keep your family together. Turns out the divorce rate in the church is about equal to that of the non-church going world. You must live out your faith at home and fight to keep your family together.

When your life nears its end your family will be your greatest accomplishment, not any businesses or buildings you may have built.

Chapter 7 – Be the Man You Want Her to Marry

Think about the standards you’d like your daughter’s future husband to meet. Pretty high, right? Do you live up to those same high standards?

It’s tough medicine to swallow, but we likely have higher standards for our daughter’s future husbands than we maintain for ourselves as husbands to their mothers. We’ve got a ton of great excuses. Work is so hard, I have so little time for me, blah, blah…

Are you always patient and kind? Are you an encourager? One day you will be walking her down the aisle to marry a man that will be very much like you. It is the way women are made. They are drawn to what they know.

Show your daughter that your relationship with your family is more important than possessions and expensive vacations. Make the family your priority.

It is a great strength to live knowing that if you lost every material possession, you would still have a life worth living!

Let her know that you will disappoint her. You’ll try very hard not to, but you will. You are human.

Chapter 9 – Teach Her to Fight

Women are emotional. This is truer for teenagers. They have emotions and impulses that must be kept in check or bad decisions will be made. As the Dad, you can help her make good decisions and make bad decisions safely through your direction and authority.

You understand how to battle impulses. You’ve won some battles and probably lost plenty. Your daughter does not know how to battle her impulses yet. That is why she needs you to make her life a safe place to learn these hard lessons.

Choose your battles carefully. Never budge on honesty, integrity, courage and humility. You can let a lot of the other stuff go.

Your daughter’s brain and her capacity for rational thought will not be fully developed until her late teens or early twenties. This is when she needs you most. Don’t get her to 16 years old and assume she is fully qualified to make great decisions.

Chapter 10 – Keep Her Connected

You, Dad, are the most important person in your daughter’s life. Keeping your family together and spending time together as a family is what will help your children avoid the traps in life (sex, drugs, alcohol, gangs). It has been proven time after time. Families that stay together have more successful kids.

Give your kids experiences. Hang out with them, have fun and be a great example. Get away from all the screens, get outdoors, have adventures, have conversations.

Hopefully, this book will help. Maybe this quick summary will encourage more dads to read the actual book (you really must – it is that good).

To all you Dads, fight the good fight.

#personal #me #myself #dads #daughters

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aoifeanamadan · 3 years

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 6488

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

Montague versus Capulet, Taylor versus Katy, Dream versus George.

It was one of those fueds, the kind you barely even had to acknowledge. The sky is blue, we breathe air, Dream hated George.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter Four: Hat Trick

Dream didn’t think texting George was meant to be this exciting. He didn’t think texting any of his friends was meant to be exciting point-blank . Not in the way texting George was. Every time his phone buzzed he was rushing to grab it, always on guard, always waiting. He had spent years calling his friends stupid for the way their faces lit up reading their phones. Now he was worse than all of them. But, it was different. This was George. And texting George was fun.

Dream was certain now that he was definitely funny. And he was smart, in the hard kind of way. He was unpredictable. Dream never knew what was coming. And he was nice to talk to. Every message sent, every message received, Dream felt them growing closer.

So, yeah, maybe his eyes were constantly scouring his phone screen. But he had a good reason. He was talking to George.

George, who said he didn’t normally talk to be people through the phone. He called it a handicapped form of communication, just as George-like as ever. Dream had forgotten to make fun of him for it, mind too busy with ‘ He doesn’t normally talk to people over the phone. He talks to you over the phone’. It meant he was special.

George (2:20 am)

i dont want to annoy you lol

Dream (2:20 am)

if you sending me memes at fuck o clock in the morning was annoying me i wouldn’t have kept sending them back

George didn’t read the message for a full minute. Staring at the tiny symbol, showing his message was unopened, Dream couldn’t bring himself to feel pathetic. In the back of his mind he thought he should, but the rest of him was buzzing. Every cell was humming with a new kind of want. He wanted to know what George thought, hear how he felt. It was overwhelming. There was no room left for shame.

George (2:23 am)

i dont want to keep you up

Dont you have that match tomorrow

Dream did. It was against ‘ Saint Joseph’s Preparatory Institute ’ a private school just half an hour away from Dream and George’s school. The kids there were spoiled in ways Dream found difficult to understand, summer homes in Italy and money thrown away on nights out in the city. The person Dream thought Geoge had been just two weeks ago was nothing compared to the Saint Joseph boys. It was as if all of them wanted to play God, a family of clashing entitled titans, a Grecian mess.

Dream was certain if anyone on his team brushed against one of their arms they’d be on the floor, crying for the referee. It was the first match of the season, only a challenge, but he had been preparing his boys for almost three weeks to make sure they didn’t give away any fouls. Even if it didn’t affect their standing in the league it would affect team morale. It was important. He wanted to win, just like he always did.

But, that night, Dream couldn’t have cared less. The match, less than 24 hours away, was pushed to the back of his brain. His entire frontal lobe was taken up with George’s words, glaring brightly up at him from his screen, awaiting Dream’s reply.

Dream (2:24 am)

ur coming right?

Dream hit send, he always did. He was a full-send person down to the bone. For him, it was easy. He did everything with complete confidence, full fucking send. He couldn't imagine it any other way, not when everyone was hanging off his every word. Shame was foreign to him.

But, the second he hit the arrow on that message, something foreign happened. His stomach knotted itself, his heart sped up. His eyes glued themselves to the screen, trapping him in the silence of his bedroom, waiting for any kind of reply. Dream didn’t understand why he cared so much about a stupid message.

No matter how hard he tried to tell himself to calm down, it didn’t work. His mind couldn’t be reasoned with. Logic was out the window, replaced with the thought of George standing on the sidelines while Dream scored a winning goal. His heart was in palpitations for an agonising 40 seconds. George’s message was the first morsel of food in a year to Dream’s hungry eyes.

George (2:24 am)

do you want me to

Dream was typing a response before he could think. He didn’t need to think.

Dream (2:24 am)

yes

It wasn’t until he sent it that he realised how it could be read. Desperate. It was overwhelming, this new way of thinking. Dream had never considered how other people might read his texts. His mind never had the time to consider how he was perceived, always racing away from him. This new thing, it was dwelling. Dream hadn’t dwelled before.

George (2:25 am)

okay

ill go then

everyone knows i love to spend my saturday evenings outside in the cold

Dream didn’t mean to grin the way that he did when he read the reply. He didn’t even notice the smile snaking its way onto his. He had never smiled at someone's texts before.

George (2:26 am)

what time

Dream didn’t mean to lie. But he did accidentally tell George to be there an hour early so they had more time, away from the pressure of his role as captain. By accident . He felt justified in his deceit, his new constant urge to make George his friend was enough to allow it. He wanted to be around him, talking and laughing, bickering and disagreeing and teasing. He wanted all of it, the before and after of the years of resentment. The new growing fondness that Dream was trying his best to ignore.

Above all, he wanted to be liked by George. He wanted the reassurance of his approval.

If George, who had hated him for years, who had been on the receiving end of his cold stares and scoffs, could like him then it would be sure. Dream could be certain that he was a good person.

They kept texting until George sent his death sentence, in the form of a digital message.

George (2:31 am)

go to sleep

And that was that. George’s status switched to inactive and Dream was left staring at the tiny dot where his green light used to be, the Daisy to his Gatsby.

Dream (2:31 am)

george

georgie

Dream forced himself to turn off his phone, it felt as if he was cutting off a hand. Giving up the hope of hearing anything more from George that night and accepting the isolation. But he could do it, almost happily, comforted by the knowledge he would see George the next day.

He recentered his weight and let his head sink into his pillow. It smelled old. Not bad, but old. Dream couldn’t stop himself from smiling, sad and gentle. He held his phone to his chest and squeezed. The metal didn’t move but his fingers ached with the force.

In the back of his mind, Dream realised it was dangerous. This smiling, this thing burrowing itself into his heart. But he couldn’t stop himself. He let himself imagine a world where he knew George fully, recognised every part of him as George. A jigsaw in the shape of a man where Dream knew the place of each part as if it were the back of his hand. It was a different kind of friendship than what Dream had known. He wanted to understand him, to uncover all the secrets he was holding so close to his chest. It felt as if knowing George was inevitable. And he wanted George to do the same to him, to see all of him and like it. To prove he could be known in full and still seen as himself, still Dream. Still human.

Dream didn’t feel himself falling asleep but he didn’t wake up until 3 in the afternoon, his phone still lying over his heart.

Sapnap collected him before George, so he had time to explain his misleading statement before George got in the truck clueless at half four in the afternoon, three hours before the match started.

George understood what had happened once they arrived at the empty pitch. Dream was thankful he had briefed Sapnap before their arrival, because without Sapnap there he was convinced he would have ended up in a morgue.

Once George had accepted and made peace with the situation, that is to say 95 minutes and multiple very stern telling offs later, Dream and Sapnap decided the only natural thing to do was warm up an hour early.

With a ball from Sapnap’s truck, they started to pass gently to each other. George only managed to claim he couldn’t play for 10 minutes before Dream and Sapnap convinced him to join in.

Dream had been sure George was exaggerating his incompatibility with the sport. Fundamentally, it was just kicking a ball. But Dream was very wrong. Dream tried to tip him the ball, a gentle touch, but somehow George still fumbled it. He managed to stand on the ball three times before kicking it past Sapnap.

They spend half an hour trying to explain the basics of soccer to an increasingly annoyed George, who thanked God when the real team started to trickle in. It meant he was released from the seventh circle of hell - soccer drills

Dream went through the motions of his pre-match routine; the warm-up and laughter and tieing of boots. The coach, their chemistry teacher, arrived ten minutes before the match started. Dream gave a particularly rousing speech and then suddenly they were in the tunnel, waiting for the referee to call them onto the field.

Normally, the time in the tunnel made any other time spent on the field feel tiny, irrelevant. It was a place that didn’t obey the laws of time. Four seconds in the tunnel made a month on the field feel like maybe ten minutes.

That day, Dream had spent three hours on the field before the match. Normally, the tunnel would have made that feel like a millisecond. A blip.

But, Dream could recall the hours spent easily. He barely had to think before George yelling at him and Sapnap rushed to mind. George trying to score a goal from the penalty line, with no goalie, and somehow hitting the crossbar . George’s sigh of relief when he saw one of the players approaching to relieve him of his place in the drill. It was all cased in amber in Dream’s brain. It was proof that he had prepared for this match. There was a time before it and there would be a time after.

Standing on the tunnel, waiting to be called out to play the first match of the year, Dream was calm.

Before he could think too deeply, Sapnap turned to Dream. His eyes were almost pleading. He grabbed ream by the shoulders and tried to look deep into his soul.

“Promise me that you won't start any fights this time.” Dream couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He never started fights, but he replied anyway to put Sapnap at ease.

“I promise I won’t start any fights.” Sapnap breathed a sigh of relief, ever the drama queen.

“Thank you.” Sapnap turned to head to the team huddle, everyone waiting for Dream’s final good luck. Before Sapnap could walk away Dream grinned, lopsided and hyper.

“I will finish them though.”

Dream was walking out before Sapnap could protest, the team behind him. Dream didn’t want to prolong their wait any longer. They knew what he was going to say, and he knew they didn't need to hear it. The atmosphere changed the second the crowd could see them

Oakland had walked out stiff and straight-backed. Proper as always. Beside them, Dream and his team’s causal jogs and crowd-pleasing waves were even more charming. Dream allowed himself a moment to revel in the cheers before locking his eyes on the ball.

Once he adjusted to the floodlights, Dream’s eyes raked over the crowds until they locked on George, leaning on the low fence. He shot him his lopsided grin and waved. He was charm personified. The crowd’s heads swivelled in search of the recipient, but no one looked at George smiling as he rolled his eyes.

Once the whistle was blown, the team came alive. The state champions ran circles around Oakwood. Dream was two-thirds of the way to his aspired hat trick by half time, with the total score at 4 - nil. Their team worked seamlessly together, everyone exactly where they needed to be. It was like watching a well-oiled machine, or embroidery at super speed.

Dream and Sapnap were shining through, their natural chemistry turned to telepathy on the soccer field. It was as if the ball was a piece of metal and they were the magnets. It stuck to them, gravitated to their feet.

By the second half, Oakwood were angry. It showed in their game. They started to slip up, losing easy balls. Their footwork got sloppy. But they also got more aggressive. Somehow, the referee was turning a blind eye to every misplaced kick and accidental shove in the back. But, Dream had trained everyone for this. They stayed calm, took their deep deep breaths and played fair.

Oakwood did not take the same approach. The more time they spent on the field, the rougher they played. Dream had cycled through six of the ten substitutes by the time the second half rolled around. He was convinced the referee had optional cataracts.

With twenty minutes left, Dream’s team were 3 goals up - the only three goals of the match. But, Dream was still a goal away from his hat trick, and he was getting tired.

The rest of the team was playing defence, just like Dream had told them to do during training. He had said it would be stupid to go for glory in this situation, three goals up and approaching the end of the match. It would be plain dumb.

Dream knew all this, thought about it even. He knew it was right, but he saw an Oakland striker, who he was not supposed to be marking, running up the field. He didn’t have the ball, it was on the opposite end of the pitch, but Dream could see it in his mind’s eye. Two easy, unlikely passes and it would be at the striker’s open feet.

There were other boys closer to him, it would’ve made more sense for them to run to mark him. It would have been easy. But Dream couldn’t stop thinking of the one goal he needed for a hat trick.

Aching feet and heaving lungs Dream ran towards him. The striker saw him coming from a mile off.

His leg connected with Dream’s, and suddenly Dream was on the floor clutching his shin.

At first, there was no feeling. Then, just as suddenly as the air had left Dream’s lungs when he hit the floor, there was intense pain.

Dream looked down at his leg, curled up on the floor. He couldn’t hear the referee’s whistle blowing. But he could see the blood.

Before he could make a scene, he was pushing himself up unto his feet. The Oakwood striker didn’t offer him a hand up.

Dream was sent off to the sidelines, limping with an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder. Someone’s mother was a nurse. She assured him it was just a surface wound. Dream saw his parents in the stand, he hadn’t noticed them before. He would’ve waved weakly, or shot them a thumbs up, but he couldn’t focus on them. His mind was racing through anger and pain and anger again.

From the bench, Dream nodded to Sapnap to take the penalty. It wasn’t a question.

He had to sit the final fifteen minutes out, screaming from the bench. The only benefit was George’s spot in the crowd behind him was right behind the bench. He was sitting with his friends, making sarcastic comments about Oakwood. It was nice to listen to, distracting.

With Oakwood playing a man down, the team won 4 - 0.

After the obligatory post-win speech, Dream enjoyed a long warm shower in the changing rooms. It was a scarce rarity for him, only his third long shower in the changing block in four years.

After, Dream was alone in the dressing room, all aching muscles and sore lungs. He was sitting on the bench, legs shaking with the exhaustion of it all. His hair was wet and his shoulders were slumped. There was a low humming echoing off the concrete walls. Dream barely noticed it. He had screwed his eyes tightly shut and had his head hanging between his shoulders. He was waiting there until it was firmly ten minutes since anyone had left, just like he always did. And he was humming, which he did not always do.

It was coming from the base of his throat. The tune of ‘Call Me Maybe’ was raspy, hidden under his breath. But it was there, soft and delicate. The rise and fall, the soft lilts. It made the cold of air of the changing room warmer, familiar. He didn’t think about it, didn’t imagine he would be heard. He just sat there, hair dripping and voice humming. It was tender and charged, too patient.

Hey, I just met you,

And this is crazy,

“Well done, you. You did great” George’s voice came from the doorway, distant and delicate. It shattered Dream’s bubble of gentle calm.

Dream’s brain froze. It caught him off guard, disarmed him. The softness of George’s tone. Too genuine. Before he could unfreeze his mind to think about it, George was talking again.

“Except when you fell. That was embarrassing.”

Dream lifted his head from the wall and cracked open his eyes. George was smiling softly at him. It made Dream feel as if he was bending back his ribs one by one to get a closer look at his panting heart. He couldn’t quite bring himself to stand.

“Brave words Mr Speed Chess.” This was easy, this was Dream and George. Sharp banter and too intense bickering. It was easier than the alternative, the thing Dream wanted once the sun went down. The symbiotic vulnerability.

Dream realised just how tired he really was, listening to his own fragile voice. He was sure George had to have noticed it too. He was sure his smile was too soft, his words too tender to be teasing.

He didn’t know what it was, this new wall he was building. This refusal to let George see him vulnerable. Dream tried to rationalise, call to mind the years of hatred and distrust. It didn’t work, he was met with the hours he and George had spent laughing, the simple rhythm they had so quickly fallen into. George’s quiet jokes, Dream’s beaming grin. There was no reason for this guard Dream was invoking. Yet still, he couldn’t stop it. The hand always hovering over his mouth, ready to slap it closed.

Sapnap was coming in behind George before Dream could leave himself exposed.

“I swear to God, whenever I see you two together it’s like I get to watch a chihuahua provoke a wolfhound." Sapnap was next to George in the doorway, grinning. Dream smiled back, heaving himself up off the bench. Dream wasn’t sure if he was meant to be the chihuahua or wolfhound.

“Fuck off, Sapnap.” He muttered it at the same time as George, shouldering his way past them towards Sapnap’s truck.

“You two are the closest thing I have to a real-life soap opera!” Sapnap was calling out as he followed behind. Despite his best efforts, Dream smiled.

Once the three of them were in the truck, they could really talk. Sapnap and Dream were trying to convince George to come to a party at one of the player’s houses in place of their normal bickering. It was only right to celebrate the win, but George was insisting he couldn’t go.

Dream and Sapnap had matching that’s bullshit looks on their faces,

Through a mix of begging and empty threats, they managed to get George to agree to come inside, just to congratulate the team.

He stuck to his word, entering, finding the team all together in the front room and saying a single ‘Great Game’. Then, he turned on his heel and made his way to the front door with his head down. Sapnap and Dream rushed after him.

By the time they caught up, his hand was on the doorknob. But, before he pulled it, he was turning his head to the space on his left. Dream and Sapnap were still standing in the doorway to his right.

“Bad?” Bad’s face lit up as he abandoned his conversation to turn towards George.

“George!” He ran to hug a laughing George.

“Since when were you the partying type?”

“Since when were you?”

Dream and Sapnap couldn’t believe they had forgotten to tell him Bad would be there.

Twenty minutes in, George was on his fifth shot. Dream and Sapnap looked like Christmas had come early. Bad looked like a concerned father spotting his child in the boxing ring with Muhammad Ali.

“George, oh my God! What are you doing?” George was drinking straight from the vodka bottle while Sapnap and George watched.

George kept drinking from the bottle until Bad took it off him.

“It’s been a boring week. I'm about to fix that.” Dream had never seen George like this.

George’s grin was devilish, the kind that would have made Dream’s heart flutter and stomach drop if he was a girl. But he was not a girl. And so he thought nothing of George’s gleaming teeth and impish eyes. Nothing.

One thing Dream realised, an hour into the party, was that George was just as clumsy with his mouth when he was drunk as his limbs when he was sober.

Dream was standing in one of the doorways to the kitchen, talking to a girl. She was nice. She liked swimming and pc gaming, not worlds away from Dream. He figured they could be friends. She left to dance with her friends and Dream left to get himself another drink. George was standing next to the spirits.

“She’s not good for you. She was a dick to my friends last year. Hell, even I would be better for you and you hate me”

He hated the way George made his breath stop with stupid comments like that. Dream gritted his teeth.

“Don’t hate you anymore, Georgie.” His shoulders were stiffer than he wanted them to be.

George grinned back at him and drawled.

“For now, Dreamer.”

That fucking grin, sprawling between his aristocratic cheekbones. And that fucking nickname. He hated the way it made his stomach flip, acrobatic routines in the pit of his stomach. Dreamer, Dreamer, Dreamer . A mantra.

“Are you drunk, George?”

George opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the cogs of his brain snapped his mouth closed before he could get the words out.

“You know what? Nevermind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

Dream didn’t know what it was, the resignation in George’s voice, the gentle familiarity. It made him mad. He made it make him mad, because the alternative was wobbly knees and blushing cheeks. And George didn't have the power to do that to him.

George grabbed his arm, slender fingers gripping strong.

“Come on, let’s dance.” He started to pull him towards the front room, where the speakers were.

“Wait, George, wait,” Dream pulled George back to him gently. He was still clinging to his arm. Dream shrugged him off as softly as he could. His touch felt like hot coals, the way it made Dream’s skin burn. He couldn’t handle it.

“Why?” Dream didn’t like the disappointment painted all over George, stitched on his face and laced through his muscles. He couldn’t hide his emotions the way he normally did. Not here, not drunk and tired looking as if he wanted to beg Dream to dance. Dream had to explain.

“I can’t dance.” George’s face didn’t change.

“Yeah, why?” He was looking up at him expectantly, which had not been the plan.

“What do you- I’m bad at it. I can’t dance.” Dream gestured to his long legs and stretched arms. George’s face lit up, a lightbulb moment. Dream realised, George had thought he couldn’t dance because of his injured shin. He cursed himself internally for not being more dramatic.

“You don’t have to be good at something to do it, Dream. Dancing at parties is fun. It’s like exercise, but for your brain.” George pointed to his two temples with both hands, grinning. Not the plan.

“It’s very literally exercise for your body.” Dream didn’t realise there was a smile on his face.

“Fine, it’s exercise for your soul. Now, come on. Dance with me.”

Dream managed to down a shot while he was dragged out by George, it felt like fire down his raw throat. Before he could say no, George was pulling him to the speakers. Dream didn’t dance, he had never known how to. His limbs were too jerky, arms too awkward. And bad dancing didn’t fit the Dream image , not cool and nonchalant enough.

But George was looking up at him with a messy grin and the speakers were thumping and the bodies around him were thrumming. He tried to justify it to himself, the lights were low, no one would see him, but Dream couldn’t have said no in a million years. Not to George, not there, not then.

It was easy to tell the song was on its outro as Dream and George stumbled in. Dream laughed easily at his accidental win.

“Oh no! There goes that idea. Come on, let’s find Sapnap and Bad.” He went to tug George out, but George tugged him back. It caught Dream off balance, making him stumble after George to keep from falling.

George rolled his eyes, slinking his way to the boy with the aux cord and dragging Dream with him.

“Hey, Toby, what’s up?” George talked to the boy, who he was apparently friendly with. Dream knew he went to their school, but he didn’t know the boy. If George hadn’t just said his name, he would’ve had no idea. He stood awkwardly behind George, unsure whether or not he should introduce himself. He was too caught up in the unfamiliar awkwardness to listen to what they were saying. Before he knew it, George was smiling Toby a thanks and dragging him back into the crowd.

“What was that about?” Dream had to bend down to whis[er into George’s ear. George didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

The iconic opening of Carly Rae Jepsen's ‘Call Me Maybe’ started to play. Dream couldn’t stop the barking laugh he let out. George smiled so widely Dream was sure his cheeks would rip open.

Dream wasn’t sure if it was the shots, or the crowds or the boy standing open and soft before him, but he felt the hardened rock around his muscles and tendons melt away. He couldn’t dance, but he could sway next to George while Carly Rae Jepsen sang one of her masterpieces.

George was his only salvation from the heaving, living heat of the crowd. His flushed face and ruined hair were all Dream could see. He tried his casual swaying, but George’s energy called for more.

Dream couldn’t help but sing along.

I threw a wish in a well,

I looked at you as it fell.

George was not a great dancer, really he just flailed and hopped. He yelled to the beat and flung his arms about him. Dream had to apologise on his behalf to a girl he had accidentally whacked. She didn’t acknowledge it.

Dream realised, no one there cared. Everyone just wanted to dance. Dream looked to George, laughing and jumping to the mirage of singing violins. It was all so intense, Dream couldn’t resist it.

His thudding, thumping body didn’t quite match George’s plasmic flow. His muses thrashed with the musical pulses, throat raw from the singing. No matter how loud he was, everyone around him was louder.

It felt like indulgence, sweeping slowly over his skin and through his veins. He had to choose to let himself enjoy it.

His dancing was horrible, but George loved it. Dream felt like it was a newfound candour, this allowance. He was bad, he was having fun. There was no contradiction. He could do both.

Where you think you’re going, baby?

Dream’s thudding stomps didn’t match George’s rough edged-grace, but he was there. And he was dancing. It felt like a win. It felt human, more human than Dream had felt in days. In those three minutes, he wasn’t the Dream. He was just another person.

He felt like one cell in the body of a giant, doing the same as everyone around him, but for the first time he liked it. He was doing the same as George, who was jumping offbeat.

But here’s my number, so call me maybe?

Dream’s panting chest felt like it was holding corporal freedom inside it. He thought his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his cell wall chest and soar away.

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.

I missed you so, so bad.

Dream couldn’t believe he had ever thought George was restrained and standoffish.

The George Dream had thought he had known for years, detached and reserved, quiet and reclusive; Dream watched in his mind as he died and was replaced with this new man. This new George had an unrelenting mind and thrashing heart. It fit perfectly with Dream’s aching body and delicate soul. There, sweating next to George as he sang his throat raw, Dream was sure George had to be his missing part. His final puzzle piece. If there was an empty cave in Dream he would stretch and chip away at it until it was the perfect size for George to settle in.

As the song ended, Dream tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts. His brain felt like a smoothie. Before he could take an internal inventory, Sapnap was beside him. It was easy to guide a panting Dream and George away from the dance floor and down a quiet hall, muttering about ‘totally unlike you, both of you’.

Dream couldn’t process the moving. He shut his eyes to keep it out, only opening his eyes for sporadic flashes of the house. He knew they were going down a hall together, but it all blended into one.

Sapnap got more and more excited the closer they got to the end of the hall. When he finally opened the last door, he was practically hopping.

Dream’s muddied brain recognised it as some kind of game’s room, like the basement in Sapnap’s old house. There was an easily ignored pool table, and on the pool table was an open bottle.

George got to the bottle first. He offered it to Dream and Sapnap before drinking from it. He coughed and spluttered as it went down.

“Gin.” His grimace was enough to deter them all.

Sapnap found a VR headset, the kind none of them had at home. They had to arm wrestle for it. Sapnap won, through methods involving plain cheating if you asked Dream. He had kicked Dream’s blooded shin ‘accidentally ’ mid-wrestle and refused a rematch. George hadn’t wanted to get involved.

Sapnap got to play on the VR first.

George was a nice drunk to be around. He wasn’t loud or annoying or excitable. He was just George, but less guarded. He thought out loud about the universe and the human condition and why goldfish were called goldfish when they were orange. Dream sat cross-legged in front of him while he spoke, slow and heavy. His brain felt cloudy, but in a nice way. A buffer between Dream and George, and everything else.

George liked to do things wrong. The more he talked about random things, the clearer it became. He ate pasta at breakfast time. He sat on chairs backwards and sideways and even upside down, laying his back on the seat and letting the blood rush to his head. He used his conditioner before his shampoo.

Dream tried to tell him, tried to enlighten him that he was living wrong.

“Well, I’m doing perfectly fine.”

Dream didn’t know how George managed to slip this gentle tenderness into everything he did. He swapped from sitting cross-legged to lying down, sprawling like a starfish. Dream did the same. He could feel their fingers brushing against each other.

Sapnap was immersed in his own digital world, but Dream was sure they were feeling the same thing, total separation from reality It was as if he and George had escaped time. They just lay there on the dirty carpet together, fingertips barely brushing.

“Ow!” The serenity didn’t last long. Sapnap had walked into a wall.

George laughed aloud. “That's going to hurt in the morning.”

Sapnap held up his middle finger, in the wrong direction. The headset was still on.

“It hurts now, idiot.” Dream grinned between them. He wasn’t used to their friendship.

“Well, at least you did your best!” Dream tried to give his positive input from his position on the floor. Sapnap shuddered.

“God, I hope not.” He went into the game again.

Dream turned his body back to the ceiling, but it wasn’t the same. The bubble was popped and he couldn’t stitch it back together.

Instead, he sat up to face George again so they could talk.

Ten minutes later, Sapnap was still alive and thriving in the game, while Dream and George were falling back into the natural rhythm of their conversations.

“Why did you think I hated you?” George’s voice was a rock skimmed on the pond of quiet. Dream was laying back on the couch, eyes again locked on the ceiling. It made it easier, not having to look at George on the other end of the couch. Their feet were tangled together. George was being gentle with Dream’s recovering shin. Dream didn’t think about it before replying.

“Didn’t you?” He didn’t see the gentle shake of George’s head.

“No. If anything, you hated me.” His voice bounced from the ceiling to Dream’s ears. Dream sat up to face him, ceiling tainted.

“No I didn’t. No, I don’t.” It was Dream’s turn now to shake his head. He wanted to lean forward and tell George a hundred times. He didn’t, he doesn’t.

“Okay, Dream.” George hadn’t sat up, still staring at the white ceiling.

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Dream looked at George, George looked up. Dream couldn’t handle the quiet, the noncommitment in George’s voice. He needed to fix it. He spoke into the silence.

“You just, you stopped talking to me. Like, overnight. So, I just thought you hated me.” Dream couldn’t keep looking at him. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. He wished he hadn’t had that vodka. It was shoving cotton in his mouth and down his throat. There was morphine in his lips, he couldn’t get his words out.

“Yeah. I was anxious. I wasn’t talking to anyone.” George’s gaze was deadset, not on Dream.

“Well, you ignored me. I thought you hated me.” Dream tried to justify himself to George, to rationalise his behaviour at nine years old. George just hummed.

“So all of that, the years of dirty looks and rolling eyes, it was because I hurt your feelings by being too quiet?” George finally looked at him. Dream couldn’t believe he had ever wanted him to. His eyes were cold stone.

“Don’t say it like that.” Dream wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His voice sounded small. Sapnap still had the headset on, he couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t coming to save him.

“Well, how would you say it, Dream?” George was still staring at him. Dream wanted to sew his eyes shut.

“I-” He looked away, but found himself looking back in George’s eyes before speaking again. “You weren’t just quiet . You ignored me.” It was all too quiet.

“You were too busy for me Dream. I wanted to be your friend, for years. Don’t try and spin this as if I dropped you. You couldn’t deal with me being quiet, with me going through a hard time. You needed my attention, you wanted it, 24/7. You were selfish.”

Dream couldn’t speak. He felt like someone was sucking the air slowly from his lungs and then the last traces of oxygen from his blood. George stood up and it was the final kick.

Sapnap must have sensed the movement, because just then he took off the headset.

“I think I saw some of my friends in another room. I’m going to go and say hi.”

“Hey, we’re your friends.” Dream had no idea how Sapnap knew to make his voice so soft at that moment. He had always had a sixth sense for those things.

“Yeah.” Dream managed to choke the word out.

“Come on Dream. Sometimes I think if you saw me bleeding out on your kitchen floor, you’d act like you hadn’t seen me.” George smiled tightly to Sapnap and left.

Dream let him go. He hated the tightness in his chest, the bitter taste in his mouth. He made himself feel angry in a way he knew he didn’t deserve to be. For the first time in his life, he knew George was right about what had happened. A lot of it had been his fault.

#mcyt #mcyt fic #dnf #dreamnotfound #dreamsmp #dream/george #dreamxgeorge #psa i actually dont ship them i just like creative writing and heat waves made me obsessed with their characters #dream #georgenotfound

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huphilpuffs · 5 years

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chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words #sorry I haven't been online much #turns out when irl is going either better or worse than just fine i don't find much tumblr time

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