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shiny-jr · 4 years

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❝ ʙ ᴜ ᴛ ᴛ ᴏ ɴ s ❞

Yandere!Husband x Reader - Kade

Note: I merely wanted to share one of my most popular oneshots from my Quotev account. Yes, it is inspired by Coraline. This story was originally published as a 1,000 follower special, so it’s quite lengthy meaning it will be split into different parts. I hope you enjoy!

Warning: there will be violence, gore, profanity, and other things such as. You have been warned.

Part Two.

Act I

Slim, cold hands held a rag doll. The black button eyes seemed to stare into his very soul and a permanent smile had been stitched onto the doll’s lips. Carrying the plaything to his desk, he began working oh-so-diligently.

Opening his kit of tools, he placed the doll atop the center of his desk, its back overturned. Cutting clear through the small dark black clothing on the doll, the small figure was soon made bare. Nimble fingers pulled at the raven hair strands, leaving the doll bald. Proceeding with the next step, he unstitched the black button eyes and removed them from their place. Next, he cut a straight long line at the mouth, and by hand, he removed every single piece of cotton used to stuff the doll until the figure was nearly as flat as paper. Turning the figure inside out, he then added sand to replace the cotton. Threading a needle, he carefully stitched the mouth closed and made it appear like a gentle smile. Pulling open his drawers, he scanned the dozens of pairs of buttons in his storage, selecting a black medium-sized pair to fit for the eyes before stitching them into place. Gingerly he threaded each strand of (h/c) yarn to fit for hair on the doll’s head, precisely measuring each strand to make it fit perfectly.

The man hummed, voice silky and slightly deep but appealing to the ear. Continuing to hum as he worked steadily, he remained focused on the task at hand. With scissors he cut out the design of the small clothing, stitching it together and sewing it so it would be flawless. Once done, he fit the clothing onto the small doll and then placed the tiny figure on the windowsill, prepped and ready for his newest guest.

________________________________________________

"Un, deux, trois~ Un, deux, trois~" An older man hummed as his fingers danced on the black and white keys of the piano, creating a melody with his foreign counting and humming. Smiling in accomplishment as his mind formed the next notes of the melody he would compose for his circus. "Un, deux-" Stopping abruptly as his train of thought was disrupted by the screeching of tires outside, causing him to become startled and his fingers to bang horribly against the piano keys. Scrunching up his nose in irritation, he pushed back his seat and approached the window to see who had ruined his creative thought process.

A little red car zoomed down the small dirt road, honking its greeting as it was tailed by a large moving truck. The small car disappeared around the corner of the aged house, leaving the larger automobile to park and the workers to begin unloading all the furniture and cardboard boxes as the new residents entered their new home for the first time.

The foreign man huffed and closed his curtains, wishing to ignore all the sounds of the outside world and focus on creating a masterpiece of melodies for his circus. Two elderly women who lived below used the stairs to catch a peek of all the commotion, pleasantly surprised to see the new neighbors had finally arrived. They kindly waved to the men who transported the boxes and furniture inside.

When all was inside the house, one mover held up a clipboard with a paper in need of signing. A young man inside took the ink pen and signed his name in smooth cursive. However, before he could close the door, the mover stopped and extended his hand out for a tip. The young man merely sighed and handed him a dollar bill before slamming the door shut, no longer wanting to deal with the hassle of the movers or furniture in need of unpacking.

A young woman closed the back door, deciding to take a stroll and explore the new environment. After all, it was a major change from her previous home and habitat. Shrugging the olive green jacket closer to her form, her gray cotton blouse and black jeans provided extra warmth, and the black rubber boots kept her feet clean from the mud. Stepping down from the porch, her (e/c) hues scanned the surrounding area of the garden, all dead and shriveled up. Everything was dull and almost gray, as if the life had been sucked out of all things in the area. Stepping along the cobblestone path, she analyzed the scenery. Instead of bright city streets brimming with life, her surroundings were that of gray dying woods and sad, forgotten apple carts. There was no music or endless chattering mixed with honking cars; all was silent here. Here, they hadn’t the luxury of malls and boutiques on every corner; it was at least a few miles to the closest town.

Sighing in defeat, she frowned and slowed her walking pace. The scenery wasn't a beauty to paint either; it didn't exactly spark any inspiration or motivation. Nearly jumping in surprise when a small pebble bumped against her boot, her gaze traveled to the rocks and she rose an eyebrow. "Hello...?"

Silence…

"Anybody...?"

Only silence filled the air…

Frowning at the lack of response, the young woman picked up the small pebble that had tumbled to her feet. Weighing the rock in the palm of her hands, she eyed a set of boulders sitting along the slope of the hill beside her, she shrugged, and then tossed the stone back up to where the boulders stuck out. A pained yeowl and angry hiss emanated from behind the stones. A white cat with brown and black patches hopped atop the boulders and glared at the woman.

(Y/n) shuddered and averted her gaze, speed walking away deeper into the woods to avoid further angering the feline. However, when she stopped and turned around, the cat yowled at her from atop a stump, frightening the woman for a moment. She pouted. A staring contest ensued between her and the strange cat. "This is the worst..." Crossing her arms over her chest, in the pit of her stomach she began to feel a thick growing desire to return back to her old home. "I lost my friends, the city—comfort, and all I get in return is you? He said this would be better. How is this better...?"

The feline stared, tilting its head. A low rumble emitted from its chest, its tail swishing back and forth slowly. Its mottled fur caused it to stand out, as it was probably the most colorful thing she saw since arriving in this plain little town.

She rubbed her arms, sighing as she murmured, "At least I still have Kage. That's something, isn't it...?" In reality, she was unsure. Her marriage with Kage was still young, but she knew she loved him. Although, recently she began to wonder if that love was noticed by him. She loved him deeply, but recently he’d become so engrossed in his work that it seemed like they were drifting apart.

Kage had explained before moving to this gray town that maybe this change would be for the best. A new environment, a fresh start. Someplace for them to mend their relationship, to grow closer. A new home for them to begin anew. They even hoped the work would lessen and they could spend more time with each other. Yes, he was trying, but she feared the worst.

Blinking as she felt a drop of water, she looked up and saw the gray clouds shifting. Water droplets began to fall from the sky, creating a light drizzle. The cat scampered off, probably to find shelter from the oncoming rain. Shrugging on the hoodie of her green jacket, she jogged back to the house. Her rubber boots slipped in the mud, and she scraped her palm as she caught herself. "Damn it!" Grunting in the process as her sleeves were now dirtied and hands injured, she stood up and wiped off the mud. Great, just her luck! She already hated this place!

________________________________________________

(Y/n) quietly shifted through some of the boxes, organizing the packed furniture in the cozy living room. However, she glanced at her husband, Kage. He was as quiet as ever, typing away on his computer. Kage was an author, a well-known one who’d published many wonderful books while he was still young. They had barely said a word to each other since arriving yesterday, and she desperately craved attention. Anything to fill the silence suffocating her. "Yesterday, I ran into a cat while I was taking a stroll. I'm pretty sure it was wild or something."

"Uh-huh..." Kage continued to type away, his pale fingers swiftly dancing across the keyboard. Never taking his gray eyes off the screen, he feared he would lose his focus. In his mind he pictured a lovely sunset at the beach and a young couple walking on the sands, a scene that was picture perfect. He blew a strand of his wavy black hair out of his vision, revealing his handsome face. The light of the screen was reflected in his smokey-gray eyes, and he anxiously bit down on his full pink lips, his well defined cheekbones highlighted by the laptop’s blue light.

"What if it was feral?"

"That's great... I mean, interesting..."

She saw he was fully invested in his writing, not giving her enough attention to respond with a proper reply. However, that did not deter her. Placing down a portrait of herself and Kage on their first date back in college, she stared at it fondly. Turning her attention back to her husband, she waltzed around the room as she mused, "Isn't it the perfect weather to go out?"

At her musing, he took one single glance outside. Beyond the large windows, rain poured, hitting the glass and drenching everything outside. "It's the perfect weather to catch a cold in," he replied, slowing his typing process. The sleeves of his white hoodie jacket drooped down his wrists onto the laptop.

Taking a seat across from him on a small cushion seat, she asked, "When was the last time we properly went out together without work?" Appearing downcast, she added with a sad frown, "Kage, isn't that why we moved here? To spend more time together?"

Kage stopped typing completely and spared his wife a brief glance. As soon as he saw her dejected frown and sad eyes, he sighed, "No- No, don't you do it. Don't give me those puppy eyes, (Y/n). You know that I—... Damn it..."

"You're great at writing romance novels, but you're not exactly a prince charming..."

"I'm charming to a certain degree, thank you very much. Please, just give me time. I'm very busy with this novel." For once he managed to ignore her pleading look. He knew she would be upset, but he needed to finish this one chapter, and then all his time would be hers. "The clothes still need unpacking, you know. To pass the time, you can finish that. I don't want to leave all the unpacking for later."

"You're no fun..." She pouted, crossing her arms in disappointment.

Remembering the strange item he found at the front door while his wife was out for a stroll, Kage reached by his feet and picked up the object resting there. He held it up for her to see, it was concealed and wrapped in newspaper. Holding it out for her to take, "You left this on the porch."

"Me?" (Y/n) accepted the item, curious about what it could be. She didn't recall forgetting any items. Most of her belongings were in her backpack or stored away in packed boxes. But curiosity has been known to kill a cat or two. Seeing that Kage had gone back to writing his novel, she unwrapped the newspaper, revealing an old fabric doll. A doll that looked oddly like her.

The color of its fabric skin was identical to her skin tone, and its black button eyes were wide and unblinking. A gentle smile graced the doll's lips, and strands of (h/c) yarn decorated its head, each one appearing to be precisely measured and fitted to make the doll more identical to her. Even its tiny clothing was exactly the same as hers: her favorite olive green jacket and current gray cotton blouse and black jeans covered its form, and on its little feet sat a matching pair of black rubber boots.

The young woman raised an eyebrow, slightly disturbed at the uncanny similarities. "It looks like me... This isn't mine, Kage."

"Oh? Don't look at me..."

An idea popped into the woman’s head. (Y/n) smiled mischievously, lounging on the couch right beside him. Holding the doll up, she examined it thoroughly and giggled. "If it's not mine and not yours, maybe it's from a secret admirer~?"

Kage stopped completely, freezing in place. Glaring at the doll, he appeared upset and envious now. Frowning, he looked to her and muttered, "If it is, I'll beat him into the next dimension."

"I'm just kidding!" (Y/n) laughed lightly, noticing his faint blush as he turned back to the screen of his laptop. She was happy she got a reaction out of him, that he cared and was protective enough to be upset at the mere thought of his wife having a secret admirer. Although all jokes aside, she was really curious about the mysterious origins of this odd look-alike doll. "But seriously, where did this toy actually come from?"

"Don't have a clue..."

She huffed and stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles on her clothing as she declared, "You know what? I'm going to explore this house. There has to be something interesting in this dusty old place!"

Lifting one hand, he lazily waved without tearing his attention away from his work. "Good luck..."

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

After spending nearly one boring hour wandering the halls and exploring her new home, she had not found a single thing of interest. The rugs were overdue for a wash and were blanketed in a layer of dust; the windows fogged up easily and leaked, dripping rainwater in the hallway; and the bathroom wall was insect-infested while the water looked rather unsanitary. She waltzed into the last explored room, a large spacious area that was probably once a guest room.

(Y/n) planned to make the entire room a library for Kage. She wanted the area to be a place where he could store his prized novels and favorite books, a room they can retreat to when looking for a moment of peace and quiet. The walls would be lined with shelves and shelves of books, and cozy seats and warm blankets would decorate the floor. So far, only a few shelves had been set up against the wall. Many of the others lay face down, waiting to be lifted up. Gathering an armful of books, she began to organize them in alphabetical order. Fingers tracing over the spine of the novels, she stopped at twenty books. Before she could gather a few more to organize, she stopped upon noticing the look-alike doll had disappeared from its place atop a few empty boxes.

(E/c) hues scanning the room, she frowned and turned. Where had it gone? Had she misplaced it? It was atop the boxes just a few minutes ago. Turning around, she noticed the little black button eyes peeking at her from behind a shelf waiting to be set up. It's lifeless eyes unmoving, the doll peered at her quietly from behind the piece of furniture. Stepping closer, she kneeled down and carefully picked up the doll. Her eyes trailed off to the side, and there against the wall she spied a smooth bronze knob. A door knob.

She pushed aside the shelf, the closed door was revealed fully. Wallpaper covered the surface, but the knob made it obvious that an entrance was there. Tracing her fingers along the wall, she could feel the outline of the curving designs on the door while the tip of her fingers collected dust. What could this door lead to? Wishing to know immediately, she called out loud enough for Kage to hear, "Kage! There's a door over here!"

Kage groaned and rubbed his head. Just when his fingers had matched the pace of his imagination and he had a good pace, his train of thought was snapped in half by the shout from upstairs. The young man grumbled, "I'm pretty busy right now!"

Examining the keyhole, she attempted to use the knob. It squeaked as it turned just slightly but not all the way, meaning it was locked. The door refused to budge. “Kage!”

The young man winced once he was called again, further prying him from his work. Realizing she was not going to stop anytime soon, he put aside his laptop on the couch cushions and rose from his seat. Stomping across the halls into the spacious room, he examined the door his wife was so fixated on opening. Turning his gaze to (Y/n), he glared and frowned. This only served to irritate him further. He’d paused his work for a locked door?

“Aren’t you curious too?”

“Frankly, no.” Kage replied curtly, eyeing the knob and doorway. “If I open this stupid door will you leave me alone?”

“Yes...”

The young man sighed as he fished his keys out of his pocket. Chiming and jingling, the keys shifted as he searched for the one that would open this damned door. As he looked, he mumbled to himself, “Unbelievable... Kage do this, Kage do that...”

Finally he held one single, strange-looking black key. The top was round and identical to the black buttons eyes stitched on the look-alike doll. The bottom half was thin and it fit perfectly when it slid into the keyhole. The wallpaper tore as the door was pulled back, and (Y/n) watched it open with bated breath. Her curious eyes peering at the opening door as she gripped the doll.

Creak . . .

Concrete. Just bricks and concrete filled the space behind the door. It certainly wasn’t the secret room that she had hoped for. “But...”

“Logically, it most likely would’ve led to the basement or attic where our neighbors live.” Brushing himself off, Kage tucked his keys away. “We’re done here.” Without another word he returned to the living room to resume his typing, leaving (Y/n) alone.

(Y/n) frowned, knowing he was upset at and irritated with her. Closing the door, she tossed aside the stupid doll. No longer could she go pester Kage as she promised she would leave him alone if he opened the door. All she could really do now was waste the rest of the day setting up the library. Maybe her husband would be in a better mood later on.

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

. . . . . .

Tick!

The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the dark silence. The steady beat matched her even breaths, but she was unable to attain sleep. She was instead left to stare up at the ceiling and contemplate the events of the day.

Kage was still as busy as always; he had fallen asleep on the living room couch with his computer screen glowing and filled to the brim with pages upon pages of text. (Y/n) knew better not to wake him up, so she merely saved his file, charged the laptop, placed a pillow under his head, and wrapped him in a blanket.

While she had retired for the night in the bedroom, the look-alike doll sat perched on the nightstand. Leaning against the lamp, it lay limp but continued to watch the woman with its black button eyes, even as she shifted on her side and reached for the small framed photo on the nightstand.

(Y/n) admired the photo, missing the moments and memories of the past. How things used to be. Before Kage became an author—when he was just a bookworm in college. When he had so much time to spare and spent it all on her, when he used to be so shy but affectionate instead of distant like now, when they felt so close—like nothing could ever tear them apart. (Y/n) longed for those days.

Creak . . .

The wooden door slowly opened, the old hilts creaking as a dim light seeped through the slim crack. Gingerly placing down the framed photo, she sat up and raised an eyebrow. “Kage...?”

. . .

No answer. Deciding to investigate, she slipped off the bed and slid on her slippers. Shrugging on a jacket over her short-sleeved shirt, the hem of her long loose pants brushed her bare ankles. Stepping into the hallway, she whispered, “Kage? Are you up here...?”

. . .

Looking left then right, she spotted the guest room at the end of the hall. Straight ahead, she saw the hidden door opened a crack. She was perplexed, as she was certain she had closed it shut. Curiosity filling her, she decided to venture forward to close it. Lighting flashed outside illuminating the room, thunder shook the ground. Still she reached forward and turned the knob, pulling the door back. There were no concrete or bricks obstructing her view like before, instead the door led out into a slim lengthy hallway that glowed a reddish pink. Like something out of one of her husband’s fantasy novels.

It felt like something or someone was calling to her from the other side. This was a dream. That was it, and nothing more. Mustering up her courage, she stepped inside. Each time she took a footstep, the ground beneath her feet glowed red. The deeper she traveled, the more she noticed tiny petals fluttered and rained down from above. A faint breeze brushed by, carrying a few petals along the way. Warm and gentle like a hug, its warmth beckoning her further inside.

When she reached the other end, she carefully pushed the door open and crossed the threshold. The space she now found herself in looked nearly identical to her own soon-to-be-library, however, the design was somewhat different. There was a plush couch set in front of a roaring fireplace alight with warm, red and orange flames. Lights were hung on the walls, and their dim glow was an inviting yellow. Strings dangled from the lights, holding clipped polaroid photos. Upon closer inspection, she realized the photos were of her and Kage. Pictures of memories from their first meeting in the college library, their first date at a local cafe, shopping and picking out clothes for each other, reading at home by the warm fireplace. In each photo (Y/n) could be seen as clear as day, but Kage’s alluring smoke-colored hues were concealed by a pair of dark sunglasses or hoodie.

Raising an eyebrow at the space she entered, she felt a slight tinge of worry. This was most definitely not her soon-to-be library. Kage wouldn’t leave his work to decorate. She waited for something, anything to awake her from this fantasy where she would jolt up in bed and think, What a strange dream.

“Every day, I imagine a future where I can be with you~ In my hand is a pen that will write a poem of me and you~” A voice sang. The tone was so familiar: silky, slightly deep, but very appealing to the ear. Complimenting the ringing of the piano’s melody, the lovely tune drifted throughout the house. “The ink flows down into a dark puddle... Just move your hand- write the way into her heart~!”

(Y/n) took quiet steps, following the lullaby-like melody that lured her deeper into the home. Her furry slippers muffled the creaking of wood beneath her feet. Her (e/c) hues examined the walls of the hallways, decorated as they were with beautiful framed paintings and photos all from memories of which she was fond of. Prying her gaze away, she stopped at an open room, the source of the singing. Peeking in, she spotted a familiar figure seated at a piano, his back to her and his slim fingers dancing along the black and white keys.

“But in this world of infinite choices, what will it take just to find that special day? What will it take just to find that special day~?”

(Y/n) blinked when the music stopped, his fingers pausing a top the piano’s keys and his beautiful voice fading into the air. Seeing the figure turn to face her, she was finally able to examine this man’s features. Strands of wavy black hair rolled down his neck like a waterfall and were partly brushed to the side to reveal his hues. Full lips a shade of light pink that curled into a smile and well-defined cheekbones complimented his facial structure. This man was identical to her husband Kage, yet one thing was off. Those stunning gray hues she loved to admire, were replaced with black button eyes.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, (Y/n)!” The doppelgänger smiled welcomingly, standing from his seat. He wore a white hoodie and tangerine colored cargo pants with simple yellow tennis shoes. Even his clothing matched her husband’s usual sense of style, but this was not her husband Kage. “Please, tell me what you think. Did you like the song I wrote for you? I spent quite some time thinking about it, attempting to properly convey my feelings with a sweet melody.”

“Who are you...? You’re not Kage, he doesn’t have...” (Y/n) took a step back, eyeing the young man with suspicion, unable to look away from his black button eyes.

He smiled fondly at her, pointing to the objects that had caught her attention. “Buttons? Do you like them?” Noticing her concerned frown and hesitance, he cooed, “Did you hit your head, dear? My name is Kade, not Kage. I’m your other husband~” When he reached her, he gently rubbed her head, his nimble fingers weaving through her locks before he lightly tapped her nose, “Boop!” Chuckling at her flustered expression before placing a chaste kiss on her forehead, he added, “I’d never dream about hurting even a single hair on your pretty little head~”

(Y/n) was rigid, still in place. She did not reel away. No, instead she felt a familiar warmth budding in her chest. The heat that had warmed her when Kage used to give her affection when their relationship had just begun. Gazing up at him with question, she raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean other husband...?”

“Dear, you are my precious wife.” Tussling locks of her hair, he continued his explanation. “Everyone has a significant other.” Hands trailing down, he intertwined his long slim fingers with hers and smiled lovingly at her. “I knew you were going to wake up hungry, so I took the liberty of making you a late dinner. Come on, let’s hurry before our meal gets cold.”

(Y/n) was led through the hallways, following this strange man that very much resembled her husband. There’s no way these spacious rooms and extensive hallways resided all within the home, it was impossible. This had to be a dream. A dream in which her mind conjured someone like her husband, possibly as a result of her lonesomeness and lack of Kage’s attention.

The kitchen was warm. Dark coffee colored bricks of the wall matched the mocha counters and iron gray kitchen utensils. Lights hung from above, reflecting against the surface of the center table which was smooth black marble, and each chair was cushioned with a pillow. A heavenly scent of freshly cooked food wafted in the air, it smelled simply divine and nearly made her mouth water.

Kade lifted her hand he held, guiding her to one of the seats around the counter. Like a gentleman he helped her into her seat. However, as soon as she was seated, he took a glance at her and smiled. Lifting her hand up, he placed a kiss on the back of her hand before taking a strand of her hair between his fingers, it curled around his thumb as he hummed, “I hope you're hungry. I’ve made enough for a king’s feast!”

The odd button-eyed man proceeded to gather plates and the meal he had cooked. Leaving (Y/n) to simply stare and wonder at the odd scenario she was in. The young woman examined the kitchen once more. It was squeaky clean and flowers seemed to decorate every corner, either in vases or simply sprouting from somewhere. This was a beautiful kitchen, like a remodeled version of the one in the house she moved it.

(Y/n) perked up once she heard humming. The man named Kade hummed the same song he sang earlier, his hands busily working on the final preparations for dinner. Laying out silver utensils on a white cloth napkin, with plates so clean one could see their own reflection, topped with an empty glass for wine. Finally, the main course. In the middle of the counter he set a large plate of spaghetti with meatballs, a bowl of salad off to the side, a basket of bread, with a small tray of various pastas. And with so many more delectable choices laid out in front of her, just for her choosing.

(Y/n) merely blinked at the sight before her, shocked beyond words. Her husband never did anything like this. Kage always forgot to eat with how his job occupied all his time. Even if he did occasionally remember, the most he would do was heat up instant ramen. “You... You did this?”

“Of course, who else would? I couldn't just let you go hungry." Kade chuckled as he poured her a bit of red wine that matched the palette of the diming lights, red and pink illuminated the entirety of the kitchen as the love song he wrote by hand magically played on harp strings originating from some unknown source.

The scent of the home cooked meal smacked her sense of smell, causing her to look down at the multitude of plates once again. It all appeared so delectable, as if it had taken hours to prepare it all. It made her stomach grumble, causing her to low her gaze in embarrassment.

He laughed lightly, amused at her timid behavior and cheeks red with embarrassment. "Don't be shy, darling~ Eat as much as your little heart desires." Swiftly he served her a plate of the main course, the spaghetti. The dish was topped with the perfect amount of smooth red sauce, meatballs perfectly spherical andhinted with tiny herbs that had been gently sprinkled over the top.

It did look appetizing, and she really did wish to try just a bite. It appeared so much better than sloppy mashed potatoes and a soggy sandwich she had for dinner. As the odd button-eyed man sat down and served his own meal, she failed to notice his observant gaze. Instead, she picked up her fork and twirled the tip of it on the plate, collecting a few strands of the spaghetti. Hesitantly she sniffed it, still cautious, yet nothing smelled off. So with her hunger gaining the best of her, she tasted the bit on the kitchen utensil. It's taste was simply divine, better than anything she had ever tasted before. Bright (e/c) eyes trailing up to the young man, she swallowed the portion in her mouth and commented in delight before she could eagerly fork more of the meal, "This is so good! How did you make this?"

"With a determined mindset and... oh, something else too. But I can't really reveal that..." Gaze traveling away to the opposite wall, a small pout etched onto his pink lips.

Lowering her fork as she took another bite, curious about what he could possibly mean. "Why can't you tell me?"

Knowing his little facade worked, he smirked playfully and rolled his eyes as he drawled, "Well... It's a secret ingredient. I use it in every meal and it works like a charm, making every dish perfectly flavorful and savory..."

Intrigued by his words, and she did not miss that playful smirk. Raising an eyebrow in interest, she propped her head up, knuckles supporting her chin. "Hm... Now I'm really curious. Can't you tell me? I won't tell another soul, promise."

"Well, I suppose since you are my wonderful wife, it's only right that you knew...~" Finally his gaze traveled back to her as he looked left then right, before leaning in close after he saw no one else was around. His positive features turned serious as his black-button eyes locked onto her (e/c) hues, whispering quietly, "I'm about to reveal to you a great secret, one for you and you only, dear. Are you ready to hear this valuable piece of information?"

Eagerly she nodded, entranced yet a bit disturbed by his buttoned gaze. Managing to respond meekly, "Yes, I am."

"The secret ingredient... is my love for you!" He grinned, planting a quick kiss on her nose while she was entranced into the moment. Black button eyes watching realization dawn onto her, her cheeks flushing red again but the slight smile on her lips proved her bashful joy. His words only furthered the embarrassment for her, "Isn't my love so sweet? It's only available for you, and I do everything for you whole-heartedly~"

After (Y/n) was over her initial embarrassment, she remembered Kage still had to finish writing his novel. She hated for the moment to end, this was the most fun and attention she had in such a long time, but he must’ve been busy. “We should probably finish soon... I know you’re busy with your book, and I wouldn’t want to bother you for too long.”

“Hm? Oh, don’t you worry, dear. I’ve already finished writing, so my attention and time is all yours.” He smiled reassuringly, ignoring his meal as hegaze was glued to her form. Humming lightly, basking in the moment where nothing was said and his song continued to play gently in the background.

(Y/n) felt slightly unnerved by his unwavering gaze, forcing herself to look away, at anything else as she was uncomfortable staring into his button eyes. It served as a reminder that this was some strange wacky dream. Unable to continue her meal, she wiped her hands on the white napkin before momentarily glancing back at him, his gaze still concentrated on her while a smile played at his lips. “Is... Is there something wrong?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no! I just... can’t help but admire you. I truly am the luckiest man on the face of the earth, to be wed to such a perfect woman~ I'm very happy to be with you again, (Y/n)."

Unsure about the entire ordeal as he gently took her hand, choosing her choice of words cautiously. "Again...? I'm sorry, but Kage is the only husband-"

"I am your other husband!" Kade stated, emphasizing his words. There was a brief sign of visible irritation and impatience before it vanished in an instant. Calmly he stood, his slim pale fingers carefully tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Leaning forward, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "I've always been existent, but I've never been noticed by you. Finally, I've been blessed with the chance to greet you. After all this time, I welcome you home, my dear~" Behind him, lights twinkled like stars, almost like tiny fireflies floating through the air. Magically with the dim white light, a phrase was spelled out in neat fancy cursive, "Welcome home!"

Red flags. This entire situation was unsettling, and the way he momentarily held anger frightened her. Pulling away from his touch, she stood from her seat and took a few steps back. Wearing a small smile to conceal her nervousness as she managed slowly, "I see. Um... I'm actually kinda tired right now. You know, with unpacking and moving the furniture." This wasn't right, she had to leave. This Kade figure was posing as her husband, and it was wrong.

Standing upright, he blinked before nodding in understanding and smiling so lovingly. Linking his arm with hers, he led her away from the kitchen and through the hallways. "Of course, of course! Say no more, darling. Let's go, let me take you to our bedroom."

"Right..." For a moment she did not believe him. A shared room? It sounded far-fetched. Technically, she did share a room with Kage, but he always fell asleep in the living room or another room so it wasn’t like they slept beside each other. “Okay, that sounds... normal...?”

When Kade pushed open a door, she was taken aback by the contents inside. It was dim, illuminated by the same familiar floating lights from the kitchen that twinkled and sparkled gently. It was decorated neatly and a perfect cozy place. With one corner topped with dozens of Polaroid photos, the young man with her in the photos had his eyes concealed yet again.

Pulling back the soft covers of the bed, he allowed her to hesitantly lay down on the plush mattress. She wasted no time in pulling the blanket to her chin, resting her head on the pillow. About to flutter her eyes shut in an attempt to end this dream, but she stopped when she saw Kade kneel to his face was at level with hers. “Uh... Thank you for the meal, I guess I'll go to bed now...?”

"Wait a moment, love. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Kade took her hand, his black-button eyes glimmering in the dim light as he examined the cut and scrape against her palm. The injury from when she fell as she explored earlier. Tsking as he shook his head, chuckling lightly as he picked a bottle from the nightstand drawer. Sprinkling a few droplets on her hand, he hummed, "You're so clumsy, dear~ What would you do without me?"

(Y/n) pressed themselves closer to the bed, using the blanket to cover herself from her toes to her nose, peeking out as she remained anxious under the odd man's watchful gaze. Averting her gaze, breaking the eye contact as she pulled her treated hand underneath the safety of the warm covers. "Thank you again... and goodnight...?"

Kade merely tilted his head. No longer was his expression innocent and joyful, his smile seemed somewhat strained,as if it would break its positive curl at any given moment. However, again it was gone in an instant, and he hummed in delight. “Goodnight, my dear. Sleep tight~”

. . .

(Y/n) had closed her eyes and everything went dark, she had fallen asleep almost instantly. Only when she fluttered her eyes open, feeling groggy and sluggish as she did not wish to leave her bed.

“Huh...”

Slowly she sat up, looking around only to see the walls practically bare and the room nearly empty. Much of the furniture had yet to be unpacked, still lying dormant in the many boxes littering and stacked on the floor.

It was a dream, she realized. An odd dream.

The young woman scratched her head, her fingers becoming tangled in the mess of her bedhead. Blinking sleepily as she stretched, a yawn escaping past her lips. (E/c) hues traveled across her dull room, only now noticing the look-alike doll propped up against the lamp on the nightstand. Its black-button eyes were similar to the man's own strange eyes from her dreams, that just seemed to stare her down. A bit unnerved, she reached over and picked up the doll, eyebrows furrowed as he recalled the details from her dream. It felt so strange and odd, but the attention was nice and the man named Kade seemed well-mannered.

(Y/n) sighed and placed down the doll atop of her sheets, mind wandering into what she had experienced into her sleep. Unconsciously she scratched her hand, eyes slowly trailing down to the flesh on her palm, only to see it completely clean and injury-free. No cuts and no scratches, the injury was gone. She gasped and examined her own skin, recalling it was the exact spot where Kade had applied that ointment to treat her wound. "How did...?"

She ran out of her room, hurrying to the guest room in which she planned to be a library. The same room in which the strange door was located, the one in which she traveled through in her dreams. Staying quiet to make sure she didn't accidentally awake Kage if he was still asleep downstairs. As soon as she reached the door, she swung it open, expecting to see that magic hallway that glowed red and pink. "Aha!-..."

Concrete and bricks greeted her, making her smile vanish and causing her to go silent. That... That was impossible! As if choosing not to believe the fact the entryway was concealed, she pressed her hand against the surface. Her healed palm touching the firm surface, clear evidence that there was no magic hallway. Slowly she closed the door, puzzled still at this predicament she found herself in. Was she going crazy believing in only a fantasy from her dreams, or was Kade actually real?

________________________________________________

The kettle boiled, whistling as steam escaped with the increasing heat until her husband removed it from the stove. As he continued to make his morning tea to freshen him and prepare himself for another full day of writing. The young man remained silent at the counter as his wife spoke of a vivid dream she had.

"It just felt so... real! You were there, but you weren't really you. It was like a carbon copy that called himself Kade!"

"Buttons for eyes, hmm?" Kage poured himself a cup of tea, raising an eyebrow as he saw her nod. Taking another momentary glance at her as he sighed, "Interesting, I suppose... Certainly creepy, but interesting." Taking his seat at the table, he took a sip from his tea, allowing the warm liquid to soothe his nerves and stresses. "(Y/n), are you sure you just weren't so hungry that you dreamt of that meal?"

Swallowing the bite she had taken of her muffin, she replied, "I was not hungry!" She huffed, stirring the straw in the cup of her morning beverage. She continued on the topic of her dream, recalling the choice of clothing Kade wore and what he did throughout the dream. "You were also playing the piano too, and you had these tangerine-colored cargo pants on!"

Kage frowned, wincing in disgust as he placed down his cup, "Tangerine? Ugh... Dream version of me has no style. I've learned all my style from you. If it's not good enough, I won't wear it. And I most definitely would not wear tangerine cargo pants." He scoffed, rolling his eyes as a slight smirk formed on his lips, "You should share some of that magical ointment with me. There's a chance it could clear up this writer's block I have."

(Y/n) smiled, rolling her eyes slightly. She could imagine him wearing those tangerine cargo pants. More importantly, she was glad she could have such a calming peaceful moment with her husband. This was the first time they shared breakfast in months. This moment was really needed, it eased her worries and stresses. Before she could speak up and continue their pleasant conversation, she watched Kage stand and carry his tea with him. "Where are you going?"

"Back to work, my novel won't write itself." The ravenette picked up his newspaper and other papers holding scribbled notes. Looking through what he had written with his free hand, humming lightly as he admitted, "Although, your dream you told me about just gave me an excellent idea! I have to go write this down before I forget!"

"What am I supposed to do now...?" (Y/n) sighed, throwing away the wrapper of her muffin and mindlessly twirling the straw in her beverage. Slouching slightly, she used her hand to prop up her head by her chin. Perking up when she heard Kage shuffling in the living room, calling out a response before he would become silent because of his work.

"Why not go introduce yourself to the neighbors downstairs? You should go on our behalf. It would be rude if one of us didn't say hello."

The young woman recalled the married ladies downstairs. They were old and strange, but welcoming and kind, yet it seemed they bickered often. "Didn't you say they were crazy?" To be completely honest, those two were a great deal different from her last neighbors. Standing up, she placed her cup in the sink to wash later. When she did not receive a reply, she called out once more, "Are you even listening to me?" She peeked out into the living room, spotting Kage completely engrossed in his novel already with his eyes glued to the screen and fingers already typing away.

It was too late, he was already lost in his work. The only thing left to do was do as Kage advised and that was to visit the old married couple and introduce herself on her and Kage's behalf.

❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂ ❂

(Y/n) shut the front door behind her, stopping when her foot hit something that was laid out on the front porch. Looking down, she was puzzled when she saw a small stack of packages was what she hit. Eagerly picking it up, she imagined gifts sent from her friends back home only to see across the top it was addressed to someone by the name of Yakovich. Shuffling through each one, every package had the same name. "Yakovich, Yakovich, Yakovich, Yakovich..."

Abruptly a strange scent smacked her senses, causing her to raise her eyebrows and eye the packages she held. Holding the packages higher up closer to her face, she sniffed and reeled back once the pungent odor wafted through her nostrils. "Ew!" The look of disappointment from before was replaced with disgust as she lowered the packages in her arms. If she recalled correctly, a man with the same surname that was printed on the packages, happened to live upstairs in the attic space.

Well, she supposed now was a better chance than ever. Might as well go introduce herself to both the upstairs and downstairs neighbors. Traveling up the stairs on the side of the house, she kept the packages far from her face and turned her head away to avoid smelling whatever was inside with the horrible smelling contents. Once on the high porch, she knocked on the wooden door. Waiting a moment before calling out, "Uh... Hello? Your packages got left at our door!..." She took a step back, waiting patiently for a minute or two before leaning against the entrance to see if she could hear anything. "Would you like me to leave it here or-? Ah-!"

The door swung open with her weight, revealing a dark disorganized space only illuminated by a window and a dim lamp. Abruptly a man appeared behind the door just as the young woman stumbled up. The man stepped out quickly and slammed the door shut, "Secret! Famous jumping mouse circus not ready!"

(Y/n) stood up straight, eyeing the strange man. This was the guy named Yakovich who lived in the attic...? He spoke with an accent. He looked as if he hadn't seen the sun's light in months, his skin was dry and pale with tired bags underneath his eyes. Tall but lanky and slim, and wore a simple old white undershirt turned yellow overtime with jeans that were dirtied with unwashed food stains.

"Circus...?" She snapped her stare away from the man standing in front of his door, remembering the reason why she had come up here in the first place. "Oh, but I brought up your packages."

For a moment he appeared disinterested until she mentioned the packages he had been expecting. A grin spread across his lips and replaced his disinterested frown, partly concealed by his mustache. Eagerly he snatched the packages, relishing in the odor that emitted from the boxes. Murmuring something in a foreign language as he smiled in content.

"Huh...?" For a moment she was concerned, was Kage correct saying that the neighbors were crazy?

"New cheese samples." Yakovich clarified as he placed down the packages, popping his fingers as he stretched his bony arms upwards. Then picking up one box, he leaned forward toward the girl and scolded, "Very clever using this mix-up to sneak my home and peek at mushkas!"

"Umm... Mushkas?" She racked her brain for some help on foreign language, she didn't quite recognize the word.

The neighbor nodded firmly, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. "The mice!" He then stretched, shifting his arms from side to side.

"Al... Alright..." Perhaps this was the best time to introduce herself, it was now or never. "Uh... my name is (Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n). I'm sorry my husband Kage couldn't introduce himself, he's been busy with work lately."

He nodded, stopping his stretches as he extended his arms out wide and announced, "I am the stupendous Yakovich! But you, you may call me Mr. Y. Stupendous already know that I am!" This man was certainly... interesting to put it nicely. "Here is the predicament, little one, my songs I wrote go: oompaoompa! But tiny jumping mice only play toodle-too, like that! Is nice, but not so much stupendous. So now I switch to stronger cheese and soon! Wham!" Abruptly he picked up his packages and pulled a beetroot from his pocket, placing the vegetable in the girl's hands, "Have beet, make you strong." Mr. Y kicked open his door and backed inside, bowing as he stepped back, "Dasvidaniya, (Y/n)."

Just like that, Yakovich disappeared inside him home, slamming the close door as the bell on the door frame chimed. (Y/n) blinked, unsure what to make after that strange encounter. Looking at the beetroot, she tossed it over the railing and jogged down the steps. Walking along the dark grass surrounding the home, she stopped in her tracks upon hearing a voice.

"Hey, (Y/n)!"

The young woman looked up just in time to see the odd man swing effortlessly on the railings and metal stairs until he landed flawlessly beside her. Yakovich leaned closer, whispering breathlessly as he stated, "The mice asked me to give you word message."

"The... jumping mice?"

"They are saying-" He looked left then right, making sure no one was listening in as he continued in quieter whisper, "Do not travel through strange door."

(Y/n) gasped lightly, blinking in disbelief. How would they know that she...?

Mr. Y shrugged, inquiring curiously, "Do you know such a thing?"

The only strange door she could think of was the one in the guest room. The one in which she traveled through last night, where she met Kade and that strange world. "The one behind the wallpaper...?" She thought about it for a moment. When she had checked it for the first time upon arriving and even the time this morning, "It's all covered up. I can't enter it even if I wanted to."

"So sorry, it's nothing." Mr. Y brushed off the warning from the mice as he shrugged, slowly climbing the metal steps as he mused, pointing to his head for emphasis on his words, "Sometimes the mice are little mixed up." The young woman watched him as he strolled atop the high patio to his door. He continued, "They even get your husband's name wrong, you know? They call him Kade, not Kage. Not Kage at all!" He threw up his hands before returning inside his home, "Maybe I work them too hard."

(Y/n) stood for a moment watching the still door and empty high patio. Frowning lightly, she decided to brush it off for now and continue her task of introducing herself to the neighbors. Now, only the two old women who lived in the basement were left. Brushing down the wrinkles on her outfit, she hopped down the steps that led to the front door of the elderly couple's abode. Intaking a deep breath, she dearly hopped Kage wasn't right about these two like how his predictions were correct about Mr. Y. Lifting her hand, she reached forward and tapped her knuckles against the wood-

"Woof! Woof!!"

She stumbled back, frightened at the sudden movement. Little dogs, black Scottish Terriers, jumped up and clawed at the door as their barking alerted their owners to the guest at their door. As soon as the door clicked opened, the three little dogs scattered into the open towards the guest. Jumping up, they panted and rested their front paws on her leg, eager for a pat or scratch behind the ear.

"Oh, cease your infernal yapping!" The old woman scolded, watching as her pets began to settle down and simply circle and sniff the guest. She stepped back, using her cane for support as she gave a smile with wrinkled dimples to the young woman, "How nice to meet you dear! My, what a lovely sight you are. Do come in." Copper-colored locks were short and brushed to her lower neck, tucked in by the fuzzy green coat she wore which matched the makeup she wore.

As she took a step back, (Y/n) followed the elderly woman inside to the small dark hallway, closing the front door once she made sure all three dogs had returned inside. Giving a smile, relieved that the old woman seemed normal at least. "You must be Agatha. I remember the contractor mentioned you."

"Ah, yes! Wilma, put the kettle on!!" The old woman smiled welcoming to the young girl, sending her a wink before shuffling past the red curtains.

(Y/n) hesitated as her eyes landed on an old board advertising an act of two stunning women. The lady on the left was short and had beautiful wavy red hair that curled around her ears and shoulders, while the one on the right was tall and had magnificent blonde locks that ran down to her hips like a waterfall. Beside the red-head was the name, Agatha! and by the blond was the name, Wilma! Slowly she removed her jacket, no longer needing it now that it was warm down in this basement. Pushing past the red curtains, she could then see that her initial thoughts were incorrect and Kage was spot on once again.

Inside was a large living space, where the trio of pups immediately rushed to claim spots on the velvet sofa. Vintage music played in the background, matching the dim lighting and giving off a calming chill air to the whole place.

An elderly woman stumbled out of the kitchen, placing her glasses on to assist her in her vision as she eyed the stranger, "Agatha, I think you're being followed!"

"It's the new neighbor, Wilma." Agatha explained as she shuffled towards the velvet seats, leading the guest along the way. (Y/n) shyly offered a greeting wave to the other woman, before the copper-haired woman continued, "Her name is (Y/n)."

(Y/n) eyed each poster and old advertising board, noticing that each and every one of them depicted the same two young ladies, the red-head and blondie. Perhaps those were the elderly couple in their prime, back when they performed in shows at theaters.

"She'll be having the oolong tea!"

Wilma protested, picking the beverage, "No, no, no, I'm sure she'd prefer jasmine." Adjusting her glasses, she could now better see the young guest, noticing and admiring her shining locks and bright youthful eyes. Turning to see her partner frowning in disagreement.

"No, oolong."

The white-haired old woman ignored her, deciding as she picked up an extra cup. Turning away so she could not see Agatha's eye-roll and annoyance, "Jasmine it is then!"

Agatha shuffled over to the velvet couch, waving her pets to move as she urged, "Come on, off with you, boys!"

“I’m sorry my husband Kage couldn’t join us.” Now that the couch was empty, (Y/n) took her seat and placed her coat beside her. Eyes wandering the room, she finally took notice of the shelves lining the walls on each side of the couch. “He’s been so busy with work lately, and—“ Eyes going wide, she gaped at the realistic figures of Scottish Terriers dressed in white cloth and topped with a plastic golden halo over their heads. There were so many of them lining the shelves, it was unnerving as she saw each were even in different poses. "Are those dogs real...?"

"Ah, that’s alright, dear! And those? Those are our sweet departed angels~ Couldn't bear to part with them,” Agatha took her own seat on a single couch. She spoke so casually about her dead pets that it was scary. Smiling lightly as she sat just in front of the shelves, “so we had them stuffed.” Proudly she gestured to the stuffed dog corpses, beginning to list off the names of the pets, “There was Amish the Third, and—“

Drowning out that disturbing conversation, the young woman saw Wilma approaching. The new neighbor now wary of the tray the elderly lady placed down, a bit more than concerned after hearing that the old couple kept their dead pets.

”Oh, go on, have some.” Wilma slid the tray forward, posing dramatically as she boasted, “It’s hand-pulled taffy from Brighton. Best in the world!”

(Y/n) picked a small round pastel colored piece of candy, surprised to see as soon as she picked the singular piece, the bowl and other pieces came right along with it. She continued to ignore the dog names Agatha listed,while attempting to pry off the single little piece. Seeing that each movement was like quicksand, it became stickier until she accidentally flung it upwards and it stuck to the ceiling like glue.

”I’ll read them if you like?” Agatha smirked mischievously, catching her off guard.

The young woman blinked, realizing she had missed some of what she said. “Read what...?”

“Oh, your tea leaves, dear!” As if planning this to happen, the copper-haired elderly pulled a small top hat from beside her. Placing the hat on her head, she continued, “It’ll reveal your future!” Agatha watched as the new neighbor seemed unsure, but the elderly woman encouraged, “Go on, go on! Drink up! Not all of it though!”

Deciding why the hell not, she went along and picked up her teacup from the tray. Holding it delicately as she downed the warm fresh liquid, drinking drown to the last drops until the very bottom of the teacup was filled just a bit.

“Now let’s see what fate has in store for you!” Agatha took the teacup from her hands, squinting down as she moved the cup so the remnants swished back and forth. The dim lighting cast an eerie glow on her wrinkled face and chubby cheeks. The copper-haired woman gasped, “Ohhh... Oh, (Y/n)! (Y/n), my dear, dear, dear child! You are in grave danger!”

Wilma reached over and snatched the top hat, mistaking it for the teacup. Noticing the poor young woman’s frightened reaction as she scolded her partner, “Oh, give me that cup, Agatha! Your eyesight is going!”

”My eyesight?” Agatha scoffed, offended at the mere thought. Grabbing Wilma by her coat sleeve, turning her to face her and taking back her top hat as she snapped back, “You’re blind as a bat!”

The white-haired old woman ignored the insult as she accepted the teacup, placing on her glasses which she squinted through to properly examine the tea leaves. “Let’s see, let’s see... Ah! Not to worry, child! It’s good news!” Wilma assured as she readjusted her glasses, taking a better look as she announced, “I see a tall handsome beast in your future? But... aren’t you married already?”

”I am! I can’t picture myself with anyone other than my husband.” She attempted to brush off her prediction of her future. Perhaps it was better if she hadn’t allowed them to read her fate in the first place.

Agatha rolled her eyes, pulling on Wilma’s sleeve again as she received the teacup back. Pointing out the spots as she clarified, “Wilma, you’re holding it wrong. See? Danger!”

(Y/n) watched as the old couple squinted to analyze the bottom of the teacup, both with their own opinion on what it meant. Although, she was curious, “What do you see?”

”I see a very peculiar hand...!”

Wilma huffed, turning the cup around as she replied, “Well I see a giraffe!”

Dismissing the thought, Agatha hopped off her chair, “Giraffes just don’t fall from the sky, Wilma!”

”Well, what do you ladies recommend I do?”

The two elderly ladies began to list their own superstitions, warning the young woman as they discreetly pushed each other to be at the center of attention.

”Never wear green in your dressing room!”

”Acquire a very tall step ladder!”

”And be very very careful-! Now! Was there something you came to tell us?”

(Y/n) shook her head no in response as they leaned forward in interest. Standing from her seat and picking up her coat, she watched as the trio of pups jumped at the opportunity to settle themselves on the couch. “No, I guess not... But thank you for the tea, it was very nice meeting you.”

”Toodle-oo!”

”Cherry-bye!”

The young woman made her way to the exit, shrugging on her coat as she stepped into the dark hallway. She could hear the elderly couple begin to chat away, bickering once again. The noise of their voices conversing only vanished once she exited the basement and stepped up the concrete steps into the foggy day.

Stepping along, she noticed that with each step the fog swished from beneath her feet and below her knees like a blanket of clouds decided to cover the earth like snow. Fishing her phone from her pocket, she checked the time. Only an hour had passed, it was now 9:45 in the morning. It wasn't likely that she would get another moment with Kage like that unless he took a rare break at a random time, or until the next morning as he was preparing his tea. Sighing, she kicked the dirt with her rubber boots, kicking a rock that struck something in the distance.

"Hisss!" A familiar puff of fur jumped up onto a fallen tree, angrily yeowling and hissing at the young girl.

She must've kicked a rock or pebble to the cat on accident, she realized. It wasn't her fault, it's not like she noticed the feline with all the fog on the ground. As she stepped closer, the cat arched it's back, warning the human to stay away. "Oh, stop it. I'm not gonna do anything. Scaredy cat." (Y/n) scoffed, crouching down so she looked up at the stray. "Come to visit? I don't have any food for you."

The cat slowly relaxed, the feline steadily sitting down on the mossy bark. Only now did she notice this cat had different colored eyes, one was yellow and the other was blue. It’s unwavering gaze concentrated on her.

”Don’t tell me you’re a neighbor too? That makes you the fourth one.” She held her head up, propped up by her palms as she looked up at her supposed neighbor.

The stray cat licked its paw, no longer interested in the human. A light purr emitting from its chest, prying its gaze away.

(Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms as she stood, "You don't listen either, you're just like him. At least, you both don't listen for long..." Seeing the feline look at her once again, she was not surprised to see him jump off the fallen tree and disappear underneath the blanket of fog, only his tail poking out marking his location as he wandered off. Leaving her alone once again.

End of Act I

#yandere #yandere guy #yandere male #yandere scenario #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere author #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere au #coraline #shinyjr #shiny-jr #yandere husband #buttons

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insomniamamma · 3 years

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“Surf City Goodness”: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: This is the same AU as “Ferris Wheels Are for Old People” and “Liminal” but you don’t have to read those to read this one. Ezra loses his arm in an automobile accident which kills his brother, Damon and orphans his niece, Cee. Reader lives across the street from Ezra and they’ve been friendly for sometime but now it’s something more. Set after “Ferris Wheels Are For Old People” This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape ‘s Writer Wednesday.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of sex. Mentions of drug abuse. Mentions of traumatic injury/surgical scars. Mentions of Reader’s ex. Cee needs her own warning, but mostly this is just fluff. Ez and Cee and Reader enjoy a trip to the beach. I will include some songs from Cee’s playlist at the end.

Iggy Pop's voice warbles out of the speakers. "I wanna go to the beach, I don't care if it's decadent, I don't know where my spirit went, but that's alright..." "This seems a bit bleak, Birdie," says Ezra. "Quit your griping, you'll get your surf city goodness soon enough," says Cee and grins. Part of the deal they've worked out is that Cee gets to pick the music for any road trip longer than two hours, otherwise it's NPR until the signal fades and then whatever classic rock they can pick up. The three of you are crammed in the cab of Ezra's battered Ford Ranger. Cee is the smallest so she sits in the middle. The truck's bed is full of gear, air mattresses and sleeping bags and towels, a cooler filled with food and another filled with beer. I don't know what conditions we'll find exactly, Ez told you, We haven't been back here in some time. "If there's spiders I'm sleeping in the truck," you said and Ezra smiled, and pressed his remaining hand over his heart. "Never fear, Sunshine, I will protect your from our arachnid friends."

"Hey Sunshine!" Ezra calls from his front porch. You look up from your laptop to see Ezra and Cee laden with grocery bags. "Hey, Ez, you need a hand?" He smirks. This is an old joke between the two of you. When Ezra first came home, with Cee and without his arm, they were unloading Cee and Damon's things, bags and boxes and you, without thought had asked if he needed a hand, it just came out and you'd clapped your hands to your mouth, and then spluttered, I'm so sorry I didn't mean--and Ezra laughed, of course I need a hand. I'm down to just the one. "Always," he says. You loop the plastic bags over your arms, sweating packages laden with ground beef and bratwursts and chicken thighs. "You all having a party?" "We're going to the beach," says Cee. "You should come with us. It'll be fun." "Jesus, Cee," he mutters and then collects himself and smiles, "I had meant to ask you before this one jumped the gun-" "It's fine. Really." "You still working remotely?" asks Ezra. "For now. There's some talk about keeping my department remote." "Good thing or bad thing?" "Good thing," you say, "I like working in my pajamas." "Good thing because you could come with us," says Ezra. "Ez--" "I'm dead serious," he says, "Cee's got a four day weekend. We've got decent internet. Damon saw to that before...well, before. Mind you, this will probably be something of a working vacation. Ma's house has stood empty sometime. Damon used to keep it up but..." Ezra trails off. It's a small town. Damon's drug problems were more or less public knowledge. You think of the files you still need to edit, but for once you're ahead of the game. None of that is due until midway through next week. You've got some wiggle room if things go south. "Yeah? Yeah, fuck it. I'm coming with." Ezra smiles wide, revealing his dimples. And that's how you end up in the cab of Ezra's beat-to-shit truck listening to Cee's fun and somewhat baffling playlist.

"Talk to me, baby,I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh, Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy, I-I-I-I-I keep on hopin' we'll eat cake by the ocean..." "Is this a parody?" Asks Ezra, "Like a Weird Al Yankovic thing?" "No," says Cee, "It's an actual song. One of the Jonas brothers did it." "Someone greenlit and recorded this on purpose." "Yep." "A song. About eating cake on a beach." Cee gives you a sly look. "It's a metaphor, Ez," she says, "They're eating something but it's not cake." You have to hold in a laugh, watching the gears in Ezra's brain grind, watching his eyes go big. "Ohmygod! Cee!" Cee cackles and you snort laughter. "You are fifteen years old! You are a minor child! You should not be going there! You should not even know that there exists!" Ezra's cheeks go red. Cee is wheezing, eyes screwed shut with laughter, her own cheeks flaming, "You. Should see. Your face," she says. "It's not funny!" "Oh, it's funny," you say, "She got you good." "Come on, Ez," says Cee, "You think I can't recognize a poorly veiled sexual reference when I hear one? It doesn't take a genius--" "You are a terror," says Ezra, and Cee grins, proud of the title, "And you--" he arcs and eyebrow in your direction--"Are not helping matters." You give him your brightest smile. "What can I say? I thought it was just a song about some goofballs eating cake by the ocean." He huffs, but you can see the smirk creeping up his cheek as he drives.

The house at the end of the driveway is small, a cottage really, single storied and built up on stilts like the others around it, painted a faded robin's egg blue with white trim. The garage is underneath the house, room enough for one car and next to it is a room built to shelter the water heater and plumbing. A wooden staircase snakes up to a deck that wraps the entire structure. Sea grass sprouts in clumps from the sand. It's hot inside, a stale heat, and the first thing you do is open all the windows. "I think there's a couple box fans in the storage space," says Ezra, "I'll go fetch them." The back deck overlooks the ocean, pale expanse of sand and the gentle lap of blue-green sea, a wooden staircase reaches down to the sand below. The day is bright and hot and shot through with high cirrus clouds. You and Ezra have stripped the sheets from the beds and popped them in the washer, loaded the dishwasher, put fans in the windows. "This is cleaner than I expected," says Ezra, "Maybe Damon cared more than I gave him credit for." Ezra's face clouds. You take his hand, squeeze his fingers in yours. You know little about Damon other than the town gossip and what Ezra himself has told you. You don't understand the convolutions of their relationship, you just know that Damon is a slow-healing wound, and that it does Ezra no good to pick at it. You tug at him. "C'mon. Let's get changed. Cee's already got her suit on."

"Turn around, Birdie, let me get your back." Cee rolls her eyes but does as she's asked. Ezra sprays sunscreen across her bony shoulders and rubs it in. "I found a boogie board under the deck," says Cee, "And some toys from when I was real small. I found those floaty things you all used to put on my arms, remember those?" "I do," says Ezra, "Damon chucked you into the surf without so much as a by-your-leave. It scared the hell out of Ma but you laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You're good to go, Little Bird." "Thanks, Ez." And she's down the stairs, heading towards the surf. "Your turn, Sunshine," he says and you turn your back to him. He presses a kiss against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, that one place that makes you squirm and shiver, right on the line between erogenous and ticklish. "Menace--" you say and then squawk when the cold spray hits you, soothed by the passage of his calloused palm across your shoulders, gently gripping the nape of your neck, and you lean back against him briefly, relishing his solidity, his warmth, his hand rests lightly on your hip. "Let me get your back," you say. Ezra turns his back to you and shucks out of his t-shirt. He's already ditched his prosthetic arm. Don't know how seaworthy it is, he'd said, as expensive as it was I don't care to find out. You shake the can of sunscreen and blast him with it. "Christ! That's cold!" "We gotta make sure Cee reapplies after a couple hours," you say, smoothing your hands over his broad back, relishing the slide of his tanned skin beneath your palms, "She'll burn to a crisp otherwise." You press your fingers into the tight muscles of his neck and he makes a contented sound like a purr in his chest. "You're always so tense right here," you say and dig your fingers in, feeling the thrumming muscles loosen somewhat under your touch. Ezra leans back into you as you did to him moments ago, your arms snake around his shoulders, tuck your face against the side of his neck. This thing with you and Ezra is soft and languid and you're not sure how to define it. This is not the fevered, clawed territory of young lovers, the sort of push and pull you had with your ex, the idea that love had to keep proving itself somehow. With Ezra there is nothing to prove. He seems content to ride this gentle wave, to let things play out in their own time. "Turn around," you murmur against his skin, "Not done with you yet." "Now, I am perfectly capable of applying--" he starts, but you see his eyes drop, and know it for what it is. You've known Ezra for a while. The two of you were always friendly, since you moved in across the street from him. Ezra before was even more exuberant, had a swagger about him, confidence in his own skin that is only just now trying starting to return. Ezra before would preen under your gaze if he caught you looking at him while he repainted his deck or put down mulch in his garden, Ezra now shrinks from your eyes. You can see the self-doubt seep in. The worry about his scars, that the loss of his arm makes him less, somehow. "I know," you say, "Maybe I just want an excuse to get handsy." He arcs an eyebrow at you, that brief flash of doubt replaced with his more familiar smug smirk. "Well, have at it, by all means," he says. You spray him with the sunscreen and start rubbing it in, smoothing over his freckled shoulders, down his upper arms, mindful of the tender skin at the end of his stump, the dips of his clavicles, his broad chest, littered in angry pink scars that shout in contrast to the rest of his skin. Punched indentations along his ribs where they'd stuck in tubes to drain the air and blood out of his collapsed lungs. You work your way down along his soft belly and back up his sides, a hissed intake of breathe and you stop. "Does that hurt?" "Nah. Tickles." "Mmm-hmmm. I'll have to remember that so I can use it to my advantage later." "Oh and I'm the menace," he says, his arm curls low around your hip, pulling you nearly flush with him, and you complete the motion, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him tight against you, your chin notched over his shoulder. Cee is creeping up the stairs with a battered plastic bucket in her hands. She shoots you a grin and you know exactly what she has in mind. You back up a little, cup Ezra's stubbled cheeks in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose. "Surprise," you say and take a big step back. There's just time enough for that little furrow to start between his brows and then Cee dowses him, a whole bucket of seawater poured directly over his head. He splutters. His eyes go big and round. Cee is doubled over laughing. "Oh," he says, blinking salt water out of his eyes, "Oh that's it. Today's the day, Cee! I am going to drown you!" "Gotta catch me first, old man!" says Cee and pelts down the beach. You run after them, their bright laughter peals through the warm summer air. Ezra grabs Cee and dunks her into an oncoming wave. She emerges splashing great fans into Ezra's face. "It is only proper that I took my vengeance," says Ezra, holding his hands out to deflect the spray. "I don't think the Geneva conventions apply here, you douche-canoe," says Cee. "Oi! That language--" This is your opening. You grab Ezra around his waist and push off backward into the oncoming wave, pulling him down with you. The two of you come back up, coughing and laughing, arms slung around each other. There's no shadow in Ezra's eyes now, you press your lips to his, the waves roll over you, the tide dragging at your bodies while you and him remain still. Press of your lips to his, your tongue licks out and tastes salt on his lips and he opens for you, his hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you against him, his tongue stroking against yours, no battle for dominance, this, just the plush heat of his mouth, the heave of your chests when you finally break apart, waist deep in the ocean. "I--" says Ezra and Cee's splash hits at face level. "Gotcha!" she crows, and starts running. "You miserable little rat!" He hollers, chasing her through the surf. You stand hip deep in the water and laugh. You're not sure what you and Ezra are to each other. Lovers? Friends? Family? Whatever it this is, it feels right and good. It feels like being home.

A/n: Here is a sampling of Cee’s beach trip playlist:

“I Want To Go To The Beach” by Iggy Pop

“Telstar” by The Tornados

“Cake By The Ocean” by DNCE

“Rockaway Beach” by The Ramones

“Misirlou” by Dick Dale and his Del-Tones

#writer wednesday #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x f!reader #ezra and cee #prospect au #prospect contemporary AU

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foodieforthoughts · 3 years

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Sand and Stars - Chapter Two

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, smut in future chapters

A/N: Hello peeps! I hope you are enjoying this series. Please comment and reblog if you like it. It’s always good to hear that your work it appreciated. And massive thanks to @thelastsock for being my beta, who is immensely talented and the sweetest person ever! ❤️

<Chapter One

Title: Chapter Two

As the golden rays of the sun peered from the horizon, the living quarters came to life. Olivia was the first to jump into the shower, with Sloan and Sierra joining in by occupying the other booth, sometime after.

They had the food truck retrieval on their agenda today. But before that, the ladies, and everyone else in their unit had to carry out their scheduled morning workout.

Olivia walked to the gym downstairs feeling fresh after the much needed shower. Everyone had retreated to their quarters last night, matted with sand and sweat, only cleaning themselves with a wet towel owing to water scarcity in the camp. As she reached the open doorway to the gym, she instantly spotted Schmidt lifting weights with the other men. A boombox sat on a table on one corner, blasting rock music from its speakers.

“The level of testosterone in this place is maddening,” Sloan groaned from beside her.

Olivia whinced as the song played a displeasing high note of an electric guitar. The gruff laughter of the men, along with the loud music was not the first thing she wanted to wake up to. “How about we go to the roof instead?” Olivia suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

Half an hour into their workout, Sloan groaned under the heat. She pulled her blond hair up in a bun and sat on the ledge of the rooftop. Olivia got a couple more of her crunches done, the back of her t-shirt sticking to her body with her sweat. Sierra was staying put in a plank, Olivia always admired how this woman, even after bearing two kids, had an excellent core strength.

“Look at these guys,” Sloan commented, looking down from the roof. “They so bulky and unkempt.”

Olivia sat up, crossing her legs and grabbing her bottle of water. “You checking out the SF guys?”

“Yeah. Yesterday one of them, BJ was he? Was staring at my ass as I walked past him.”

Sierra stood up from her plank position and walked up to where Sloan sat. She ran a hand through her brown bob and looked down at the men. “I don’t know, they look rough and tough. Like, come on, they aren’t exactly Abercrombie & Fitch, but some of them are easy on the eyes.”

“Syverson, you mean?” Sloan nudged her friend. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you let out that low whistle when he spoke.”

“You know I am weak for the southern twang. And has a buzz cut ever looked that sexy on anyone?”

Olivia rolled her eyes watching Sierra fan herself while Sloan shook her head in disbelief. Pushing herself off of the floor, Olivia stretched her arms above her head. “Tell that to your British husband.” She poked the tip of her empty bottle in Sierra’s belly.

“Come on, Sarge. Tell me you didn’t find the Captain sexy.” Sierra wiggled her eyebrows at Olivia, giving her shoulders a shake too.

“Maybe she’s missing Captain Coop,” It was now Sloan’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. She jumped down from the ledge and grabbed her own bottle. “Tell us, Sarge. Is he good in bed?”

“I think he’s so vanilla. Syverson seems like hot chocolate. Yum.” Sierra content with her comment, laughed along with Sloan. With her arm perched on Sloan’s shoulder, Sierra waited for an answer from their Sergeant.

“Guys, we have important work to do today.” Olivia let out her braid, letting her sweaty hair dry. “Come on,” she tilted her head towards the broken door of the roof.

Both women rolled their eyes at her, not stretching the topic further. Although when they were walking away, Sierra added a cheeky “I bet Syverson is an ass-man,” making Olivia shake her head.

But now that she was alone, she allowed herself a moment to think. She wouldn’t lie to herself, she found Sy to be very appealing to the eyes. The command he had over his men was also palpable. He hadn’t addressed them in front of her, but even in a laid-back manner, they seemed to be respectful of him.

With a warmth creeping on her already flushed skin, Olivia's thoughts turned to how he had checked her out. He was trying to be discreet, but she had noticed how his gaze had washed over hers when she had stood in front of him in the office. But, she was no innocent maiden either. Like for instance, when he had been looking down towards the map, pointing out the routes and places to hit for the food truck, she had noticed a few details about him. They were subtle attributes like the bridge of his nose, how his lashes looked thicker than hers, how his scruffy beard concealed most of his face, making her fingers tickle with the urge to touch it.

Olivia let out a slow breath, turning to look beyond the compound. It was not the time, or the place to be thinking about the physical features of her captain. They were in the middle of a war and she was here for a particular mission. Besides, she wasn't sure they were on good terms right now.

Shouldn’t have lashed out at him about being checked out when I was doing the same to him.

Her eyes fell towards the Humvees getting prepped with ammo and men getting ready to head out. She was bunching up her damp hair, to tie it up in an army regulated 'bun' to avoid violation of the dress code, when she caught sight of the Captain.

Sy stood in a black t-shirt and cargo shorts, holding a cup in his hand. A green spray-painted German Shepherd stood near his feet, wagging it’s tail and tongue lolling out of it’s mouth. The more Olivia looked at Sy the more she leaned towards agreeing that Sierra was right. Buzz cut hair never looked so good on anyone she had ever met.

Olivia’s mouth fell open when Sy looked up towards the roof, directly at her. Her hands fell down to her sides as they both stared back at each other. She watched as a smirk appeared on his bearded face while he brought his cup up to his mouth. Even from this distance she could notice how after taking a sip he licked his lips, darting only the tip of his tongue out.

“Yo, Red!” The sudden call from Schmidt standing just below the one-story building, wearing his gear and black sunglasses covering his eyes, broke the semi-trance Olivia had going on with Syverson. “We need to roll out.”

She nodded at her comrade, throwing a last look at a smiling Sy, before heading down towards their room. This was unacceptable. Get your head in the game, Liv. She scolded herself, a frown forming on her face as she ran down the stairs.

It was almost sundown when the troops finally came back to Warhorse. Olivia let the chopper hover over the camp while the last of the Humvee travelling behind the tarp-covered truck, entered the compound. They had noticed a few cars driving up to the mountain while the on-ground crew had spoken to the truck driver. Olivia was aware that they weren’t supposed to fire until they were getting attacked, but her fingers had hovered over the trigger to their machine guns attached to the chopper as a precaution.

Luckily for them, the cars had driven off without any sort of trouble. The rest of their route back had been mostly uneventful with one of their men singing “Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain” making everyone laugh over the comms. Olivia, unlike her own no-nonsense superiors, usually let her unit members have fun from time to time. She believed to earn respect, it wasn't necessary to make them bend the knee to her.

As soon as the skids hit the dirt, her eyes seemed to lock onto Syverson. He stood near their main wing in the same clothes, patting on the backs of his men as they walked back to their building.

“That seemed easy,” Schmidt cracked his neck, shrugging his shoulders to loosen his muscles. She could also feel the stiffness in her neck from sitting in the chopper, tensed and worried about the ground force. “This will feel like a vacation, huh Red? Work only once a week.” He laughed, joining the other men as they jumped out of their vehicles.

She smiled at him, stopping to watch the SF men helping her guys to unload the contents of the food truck. She spotted a body walking towards her from the corner of her eyes. She chose to look on ahead, counting the number of crates being offloaded, without glancing to her side.

“You did good, Red.” Sy’s gruff voice sounded from beside her. The use of her nickname sent weird sparks down her spine. “You scared off everyone with your chopper blades.”

Olivia couldn’t help but let herself smile. She would like to believe she did scare off the insurgents. “Would that suffice for everyone?” She jutted her chin, indicating the cartons of food being placed on the ground.

Sy let out a heavy sigh. “Will have to. Can’t let the locals suffer because of us.”

“What if they don’t care about us helping them?”

“We still do it. That’s our job.” She looked to Sy after he spoke. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed together as he observed his boys taking the cartons to storage. Her eyes lingered on his, the evening sun making them look like two limpid pools of blue. She was aware she was staring but in a deeply cliched moment, she couldn’t avert her eyes.

“Like what you see, Sergeant?” The smugness in his voice was unmistakable. She quickly looked away and down towards her shoes, vaguely noticing the sand stuck to the eyelets and the scuff marks on the toe caps.

Even though her ears warmed up from being caught red-handed, she was quick in gathering her wits around the awkward moment. She looked up again without much consideration towards him and turned to walk away. But before she was out of his ear shot, she couldn't resist adding, “I’ve seen better.”

Sy’s laugh, loud and filled with spirits, made her bite her lip as she smiled and sauntered back to their designated wing. Two things she was glad about right now. One, about Schmidt being right, this definitely felt more like a vacation. And two, Syverson and her weren’t exactly butting heads.

Olivia refused to accept it, but it really warmed her heart and she looked forward to the coming days.

Chapter Three>

✨Series Masterlist✨

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Tags: @wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @summersong69 @awhitewolfandhisvibraniumshield

#henry cavill #Henry Cavill fics #Captain syverson #Captain Syverson fanfic #Sand and Stars series

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aizawaskittenwhore · 3 years

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𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

pairing: cartel!shota aizawa x fem!reader

words: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, this will be a cartel!au, so mentions of c*ke and distribution...yeah lol, suggestive content towards the end of the chapter (vague description of a bj), angst, cheating, aizawa just ain’t shit in this story LMFAOOO

a/n: this is the third fucking time i’ve tried to post this so if it doesn’t work i’m gonna cry. but I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE and i can’t wait for you all to see what i’ve got planned. so uh...strap yourselves in it’s about to get crazy. sorry ms joke </3

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐚’ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

The salty, warm breeze from the ocean whipped its way through Shota’s onyx locks, tossing them around with a gentle force. Miami was gorgeous from the water, skyscrapers alight with the buzzing energy of the city, streets crawling with good food and even better looking women. Gorgeous full lips wrapped around martini glasses, criminally short dresses clinging to any skin it was given. He didn’t care much for the nightlife, opting to observe the partygoers from a distance.

He wasn’t here to socialize.

He was here to work.

His wrists draped over the edge of the rail that separated him and the water, a small portion of his weight against the cool metal. When Hizashi suggested that he get a yacht he nearly spat out his whiskey, face contorted in an expression of annoyance and disdain. Shota didn’t understand why someone would need such a flashy boat, it was merely a watercraft meant for travel and or fishing. This wasn’t the 1400’s where one’s worth was tied to the size of a man’s ship. Just another glorified pissing contest for rich people with too much money, and not enough couple’s therapy in the world that could keep them home for days at a time.

It’s not as if he was in any position to judge though, his pinky coming to rest just below the silver band that rarely inhabited his ring finger these days. He doesn’t entirely know what possessed him to wear it, whether it be the ever-crushing guilt from lying to his wife, or the text he’d received from Emi this morning that read:

“Make sure to bring me back a mojito! Don’t work yourself too hard, and remember how much I love you!💕”

If only she knew that these tri-monthly “Inter-Departmental Hero Conferences” were just fronts for selling a literal boat-load of cocaine.

Turns out, yachts were really good for that.

In the span of just five years, superhuman society was nearing it’s peak. Upon the graduation of all the students in the 1-A Hero Course, and Izuku Midoriya’s induction as the new Symbol of Peace; the world began to see an astronomical shift. Crime rates were the lowest they’d ever been, with Japan and the States sitting at 2 and 4.5 percent, respectively. Newly minted Pro Heroes roamed the streets, bringing security to those who needed it and striking fear into the hearts of those who were on the wrong side of the law.

But this utopia came at a price. With the sudden influx of fresh and talented pros, crime decreased exponentially, leaving little villain-based work for Heroes to get paid for. Hostage situations and evacuation efforts took backseat to helping older women across the street and assisting young children with their schoolwork. Soon enough, peace became a burden for those whose careers surrounded chaos.

Aizawa was no exception to this dilemma. Once Midoriya and his classmates graduated and obtained their Hero Licenses, he’d ended his tenure as an instructor at UA. He felt that he’d done his civic duty as a teacher and a Pro, and produced some of the finest Heroes the world would come to see. So he began to settle down. Surprisingly, he’d begun to tolerate Joke’s incessant laughter and boisterous personality, and soon fell in love with the eccentric woman. Between patrols and giving advice to aspiring Heroes at the community center, he and Emi explored all the the world had to offer; swapping out steel-toed combat boots for soft plush flip flops against hot sand. After three years he’d proposed, much to Emi’s delight (and Ashido’s upon hearing that Mr. Aizawa could actually tolerate another human being). The ceremony was small, and intimate. Shinsou serving as the ring bearer, and Eri as the flower girl. Mic even shed a few tears during the toast, though he’ll deny it if Kayama ever brings it up.

For a while, things were good. Life was good. Emi was glowing with the energy of a new life blossoming inside her, and Shota fantasized about meeting his little girl, counting all of her dainty fingers and toes, and doting on her for all to see.

Or at least it was, before agencies began to close. Paychecks got smaller and smaller. Heroes were struggling to find work and their pockets began to struggle along with them. With Emi on maternity leave, and Hero society coming to a standstill, things were looking grim. He needed to provide for his family, his wife, his children.

He needed a plan, and fast.

Luckily, Hizashi always did have good standing with everyone’s favorite Bird Boy. So he called in a few favors.

“Just for a couple months man! We stir up a little bit of noise, make a couple ripples and bam! Crime rate’s back up, and we get back to makin’ money. It’s temporary. Nobody will ever know, I’ll make sure of it. I got you.” Hizashi pleaded, an arm slung across Aizawa’s shoulders as he pensively gazed into his glass of amber liquid. He’d done some vigilante work here and there in his twenties but this....this was outright criminal. But what choice did he have?

Just a few months, he’d said. If only it’d worked out that way.

“I was getting worried you wouldn’t show, Eraser!” Zhu thundered, hands clapping joyously at the other man’s timeliness. “That’s some boat you got there, let me guess...the wife’s idea?” He queried, eyebrows waggling emphatically as Aizawa descended from the metal ladder and onto the wooden pier; eyes rolling into the back of his head at Zhu’s...excitable personality. The two had known each other for about two years or so, having gotten acquainted over the course of Shota’s many trips between Japan and the States, and sometimes South America. Zhu Kanaka was a man of the lower ranks, opting to use his easygoing disposition to negotiate deals for Takami “Lord of The Skies” Keigo, better known as Hawks. Standing at a solid 6 foot 4, with thick black locks that spiked into a point reminiscent of an onion, thick bushy brows and a set jaw, you’d think he wouldn’t hesitate to punt anyone like a football.

At least until he opened his mouth.

“As it turns out, Emi hates the damn thing. Makes her seasick. Hizashi talked me into getting the fuckin’ eyesore.” He intoned. His left hand palmed his slacks for the emergency pack of cigarettes he kept in his back pocket for when he was stressed during a deal, although he never really needed them anymore after Eri said she wanted him to quit. He still held on to them though, just in case. “The hell you waiting for? You know the deal man. Let’s see it.” He muttered, silently willing for Zhu to get on with it so he could get in a bed. Three and a half hours on a goddamned boat (that you didn’t even want to begin with) will do that to you.

“Someone looks like he needs a nap. Alright, I got ya. Count it, make sure it’s all there. I had Thing 1 and Thing 2 back there pack it, so you might wanna double check.” Zhu quipped, jerking a thumb towards the two young men currently engaged in a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors; the pair of them flushing upon receiving one of Aizawa’s infamous stares. Two thick black duffles were handed to his two bodyguards, the men immediately unzipping and checking the stacks, a mental tally steadily climbing higher and higher as they sifted through the cash.

“He’s good. Four hundred thousand in each bag. It’s all there, Eraser.” Sato affirmed, Toru nodding alongside the man. “Good. Go ahead and call Jamie, tell him to bring the car around. Zhu, I’ll send Sato and Toru to help your men unload our shipment. It’s a hefty one, so you’ll need the assistance.” Shota offered, shoulders visibly relaxing at the thought of getting some alone time in an empty hotel room.

“Yeah that’d be great, thanks! How long you in town for?”

“Until about 3pm tomorrow. I’ll be on my flight back to Kyushu then.” He states, right arm extending to clasp the other man’s hand in a firm grip. “You’re goin to that meeting the Big Man’s holding in a few days right?” Zhu queries. “Unfortunately, yes. Gonna miss my little girl’s first doctor’s appointment for this shit.”

“No way! She had the baby?!?!? Congratulations man! How’s it feel?” Zhu exclaims, eyes alight with joy for his friend’s new addition to the family. “Feels good. She had a smooth pregnancy, everything worked out fine. Hana’s beautiful, and healthy. I couldn’t be more proud.” Shota brags slightly, heart swelling at the thought of his little girl and how proud he was to know he’d helped in making someone so...ethereal. “Wow. Raising another kid, you flying out all the damn time, along with whatever else you got goin on?? No wonder you look like shit.”

Red eyes and floating hair caused Zhu to immediately retract his former statement.

“Aw I’m just joshin’ Eraser! But I hear ya. It’s a lotta’ sacrifices that go into this, but they’re who we do it for. All of it. Ya know?” Zhu amends, eyes shimmering with the reflection of the city lights off of the water.

Did he even know who... or what he was doing this for anymore?

Shota found himself asking that question more and more often as of late.

“...Right.”

“Anyway, you’re probably spent, so I’ll leave you to it. It was good seeing you man, send Emi my love!” Zhu shouted as he slowly walked towards the men unloading his boat. “Likewise. Tell Macie and the kids I said hello.” Aizawa responded dryly, body screaming for some kind of relief from this exhaustion.

“Will do! Oh, by the way! You might wanna bring some cooler clothes and sunscreen with your pale ass, I hear Guadalajara’s pretty sunny around this time of year! See you in a few days man!” The male laughed, throwing him a wave as he slowly disappeared into the darkness of the port. Massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation, Aizawa nodded in acknowledgement as Jamie pulled up alongside him; his hand reaching for the handle and dragging his siphoned body into the backseat.

Jamie could sense his employer’s weary expression, and didn’t make any attempts at conversation, merely opting to start making his way to the hotel while smooth jazz floated through the car. Forehead against the door of the towncar, Shota typed out a quick message to his wife:

“Alcohol is the last thing you need sweetheart, and I love you too. Got another meeting in a few days, mandatory. I’ll in be in Mexico, so I’ll miss Hana’s appointment. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to the two of you.”

Sent.

The message sat for a few seconds before Emi read and typed out a response:

“Aw, bummer! </3 Dont worry, work is much more important right now. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures!”

“You don’t have to make it up to us, you caring is enough. Get some sleep old man, me and the girls love you. xoxo, Wifey 😘 ”

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve any of them.

This he knew. And yet, it didn’t stop him from responding to the unknown number that texted his phone every time he happened to be in town.

“Same time and place? Desperately in the mood to play....My toys just aren’t as good as yours, Eraser. ;)”

His heart sank. A beat passes. Then two.

Calloused thumbs move fluidly across the screen. He’s done this far too many times.

“Be there in 10. You know the routine.”

And in retrospect...he would’ve been way better off just blowing off Guadalajara and going to Hana’s appointment.

Because while he wrapped her slick ponytail around his hand, as a head that wasn’t his wife’s dipped between his legs, he didn’t think this would be his last moment of peace. Shoved down the throat of a woman who’s name he had long forgotten, settling for calling her whatever pet name he felt like adorning her with, her hands clawing at the soft and sleek cotton of his trousers.

Aizawa never anticipated that this would be the last time he would be in a room without immediate reinforcements, and be content.

The last time someone he didn’t trust with his life knew his location, and he wasn’t terrified.

The last moments of peace in his world before it all went to hell.

Temecula, California;

1:36am

The office floor was barren. Dark, coffee stained carpet congealed with the bacteria of old and new; giving it a sad beige color from the creamy foam-like white it was when the building was built. Cubicles cluttered with miscellaneous paperwork from separate departments, all of it raining down from desk to desk like a fresh layer of snow on the first day of winter. Tired, weary hands typed at a computer with precision and accuracy, the warm glow from the screen illuminating the buttons on her blouse as she plowed through each document. Her body raged for a moment of rest, but she couldn’t give in. Not when so much was at stake, not when so much needed to be done in so little time.

After a few minutes, and approximately twelve sips of bittersweet lukewarm coffee, the fingers came to a halt. A sigh of relief was freed from her body as she pushed the enter button on the dusty, tan keyboard and began to pack up for the night. Since the computers were set on an activity timer, there was no need for her to physically shut it down. After 30 seconds of no visible movement, the screen flashed a message declaring that the activity would be suspended within the next 2 minutes if no motion was detected. Content with her work, she slung her work bag over her shoulder, and trudged towards the elevator, mentally clocking out for the night.

As the elevator slowly carried its passenger down, the computer continued its countdown before discontinuing its power, leaving the following words for nobody but its future recipient to read:

Drug Enforcement Agency Operative Travel Request:

Agent: L/N, F/N

Current Operation: Potential formation of a rising cartel under the leadership and or affiliation of Pro Heroes Hawks, Endeavor, and Eraserhead. Agent has been undercover for eight months and twenty-seven days.

Investigation Status: Active

Location of Travel: Guadalajara, Mexico

Reason for Request: Possible gathering of multiple Hero-Run plazas to discuss further movement. Will gather more intel and gain trust of suspects involved/acquire more resources for investigation.

Travel Request Status: Accepted.

#shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x female reader #aizawa x you #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #nyafterhours

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yourlocalauthor · 3 years

Text

What Comes Around Goes Around

Chapter Two: Coincidence?

Pairing: Topper x OC (eventually?)

Warnings for this chapter: Cursing, stalkerish behavior and I believe thats it?

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: Here’s chapter two! A little boring but I swear I’m building up.

Jo stared at the name flashing across her screen, her face riddled with confusion, and an uneasy feeling bubbling inside, even after her phone went dark. What was his deal? First he storms off, and then he just adds her on snap? Typical Kook mentality being an ass and then expecting forgiveness. He had some audacity, two years of shitty treatment, and just because he helped Sarah and John B, and gave them a ride, he thought he could just what? Be all buddy buddy?

“Jo, who was it?” Elle repeated shaking her friend to get Jo out of her trance.

Jo placed her phone on her nightstand, shaking her head. “No one important, go to sleep you two I don’t want you waking up at noon.”

“Yes Mom,” Jess groaned half asleep. All three girls began laughing, as they settled down into some much needed rest.

*RING RING RING*

Jo’s hand instinctively reached for her phone, hitting it until the alarm stopped. Her head pounded and she felt even worse than last night. With a groan she peeled her bed sheets off, and managed to successfully make herself get up. Fishing through her closet which was basically just shorts and bikinis. She hardly ever wore a shirt, there was just no need to when she had her bikini top on. Instead she chose to keep a few in her car, just in case she’d actually need it. She walked over to the bathroom taking a quick shower to wash off yesterday’s party. She came out of the bathroom, dressed, cleaner, and not as groggy. She made her way into the kitchen making herself a light breakfast of yogurt and granola and making her secret hangover cure. The recipe came from her mom’s boyfriend, Justin. It was a long story but basically he let her and Elle crash at his place, after one of the first parties they went to. The morning after Jo woke up with what was probably the worst hangover of her life, and he gave her the recipe.

Jo ate quickly and left the pitcher in the fridge, leaving a note for Jess and Elle and walked outside taking in the morning. It was cool, with a warm breeze, Jo’s favorite type of morning. She loaded up her gear into her truck, shutting the back a bit harder than she meant to, scaring some birds.

“Oops,”

She slipped into her truck, starting it up fast and reversing out of her driveway. She loved getting to the beach as soon as possible, before any tourists or locals were there to crowd up the parking lot, and the beach. Plus it was nice being out there alone, having her mind clear, just her, the waves, and whatever lay beneath them. The water was beautiful in the morning, the sea salt smell and cold water was the perfect way to wake her. Typically she never went alone, but with no one seeing JJ in weeks, Kiara stuck with her mom, and Heyward not letting Pope go anywhere it was pretty much her only choice. Not that she blamed any of them… they all had other things to do and things just weren’t the same. Jo turned on her radio, the sound of Ryn Weaver’s ‘Pierre’ filling her car. She pulled into the parking lot as the song finished, greeting Snappy, the toll collector, and one of Jo’s favorite people on the island. He was a fifty year old, slightly pudgy Asian man who’d been working the toll booth since forever. His name wasn’t actually Snappy, everyone just called him that because when he had just started working the booth at 19 he saved a bunch of tourists from a snapping turtle that was stopping them from getting to the beach. It cost him his pinky finger, and gave him this gnarly scar in the words of John B on his hand. John B was actually the one to tell her the story the first time he took her to this beach. Smiling sadly at the thought of her friend, Jo pushed the gas rolling forward as the gate lifted.

“Be safe Jo, the waves look a little stronger today.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine Snappy take care.”

“I never doubted, just part of my duty to warn you. Ooh and tell your mother I said hello.”

“Will do,”

She shouted as she pulled into the nearest parking spot, laughing. Snappy was truly the best, and always let her in no matter what. Plus he was one of the few adults that didn’t seem to be bothered when she and John B and everyone else came around. At least when they used to...

Jo hopped out of her car, unloading her board and her bag, the salty air filling her lungs again. She made her way down the wooden path, of course being the first one at the beach. The beach was beautiful being the only one, not a blanket, tent, or umbrella in sight, perfection. Jo kicked off her shoes, letting her toes wiggle in the sand, setting down her bag with a dull thud on the sand. She stripped herself of her clothes, standing in her black bikini soaking in the early morning sun. She stretched out like a cat, smiling before sprinting with her board to the water. Met with warm water, setting her board down Jo began paddling out. Once she was out far enough, she stopped waiting for the perfect wave.

It was a ritual, Jo lived by the idea that the first wave would determine how good her surf would be. She would always try and wait for which wave felt right in her bones to be first, something JJ and Pope would tease her all the time for. Smiling fondly Jo readjusted her focus, trying to feel the energy of the waves. The feeling of the water rocking her, soothing her. She took a deep breath watching, until she spotted it. To the left of her, a wave had begun to form and she knew it in her bones it was perfect. She paddled over to it, and managed to catch it just in time. Pushing herself up and taking in the beauty of the moment. She was right, this was the perfect wave. She looked across at the beach, and was surprised to see a figure heading to the water. Not many people came here early in the morning, even if so they typically weren’t alone. Said person was nearing, and as they entered the water she was quick to recognize the frosted tips. Topper… Her mind thought about last night and the snap request. It was just a coincidence right? This was a popular surf spot… on the cut. But it was probably just a coincidence. She shook the thoughts from her head trying to regain focus on herself and the board. But no matter how hard she’d try to refocus, she kept glancing over at him. Her lack of focus was getting to her, she felt herself wobble and was desperately trying to regain her balance, but it was no use. She felt herself slipping and soon she plunged into the water with a loud splash. She wiped out hard, her whole backside stinging from the impact. And just as quick as she had been sucked in below, she felt two arms scooping her out. She flailed around knowing exactly whose arms were wrapped around her, sending a pit to her stomach. But the salty air began filling her lungs again instead of the salt water, no matter how badly she wished she’d be left alone. She coughed and sputtered looking up at the figure holding her. There stood Topper, holding her bikini clad body like some hero. God this was so much worse than a nightmare

“Jo are you-“

“I’m fine,” she said with a small cough, already wiggling out of his grip.

“I just watched you-“

“I said I’m fine,” She snapped, pushing him away from her. “I was just leaving anyway.” She unhooked herself from her board, and grabbed it walking as far away from him as possible.

“If you think I’m just going to let you storm off like that after a nasty wipeout you’re cra-“

“I’m what?” She said whipping around, almost hitting him with her board. “Crazy for thinking you’d leave me alone because I asked? Or do you want me to suck you off as an award?”

Topper looked stunned for a moment, mouth agape and all. “What? No, I just thought you needed-“

“What I need is for you to leave me alone,” She interjected, looking at him with fire in her eyes. “Look I’m thankful for what you did last night, but let’s just go back to before.” She looked up at him waiting for a response, but he just stood there mouth open like an idiot. Jo scoffed turning back towards the beach, and just when her feet were about to hit the dry sand, Topper called out to her.

“Jo-“

She ignored him, marching herself to her stuff, collecting her shoes and bag and walked back up to her truck. When she pulled up to Snappy, he was quite shocked she was leaving so soon.

“Everything alright Jo? Did that blonde boy do anything?”

Shaking her head, Jo reassured the man not wanting him to worry. “No Snappy, it’s fine. Have a nice day. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay… Just if anything happened, if you’d want I can have him banned from this beach.”

“You guys can ban people?”

“No, but he doesn’t know that.” A smile tugged at his lips, as he hit the button letting the gate up for her.

“Thanks for the offer Snappy, but I’m fine thank you.” She rolled forward pulling out of the parking lot, the sound of Flo Milli’s ‘Not Friendly’ playing in the background.

It had only been a week since the beach incident, and Jo could not stop seeing Topper. He was practically everywhere, at the hotel when Jo would go visit her mother, or walking out after hooking up with a tourist, the beach when she was working, the country club when she was picking Justin up after work, and even The Wreck. Everywhere she was, somehow he always managed to be there. The last straw was when she was at the mini mart. She was picking up some food for herself after her surf, and when she shut the fridge and when she turned around, she ran into him, literally.

“Fuck,” Jo said as everything in her hands dropped, including the glass bottle of lemonade that now was shattered and around her feet. Topper was quick to get on his knees and help but there wasn’t much he could do.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for it… All of it, I seriously didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,”. She said, kneeling down and collecting her bag of chips and granola bar.

“I’m serious I can pay for it,”

“That was never a doubt in my mind,” She said quietly, already turning around to leave.

“What?”

“Nothing, just can you stop stalking me?”

“I’m not-“

“Right so we’ve just happened to be in the same place all week? Look stalker or not, they have restaurants and mini marts on the figure eight, there’s no need for you to be around.” The two stood there in awkward silence, Jo waiting for him to speak and Topper waiting for who knows what. And just as she turned away, he spoke.

“Look Jo, I’m sorry…. For everything, and I just…. I don’t know.”

“Of course you don't,” Jo scoffed, finally walking away to the front counter. She paid, and walked out to her truck. Topper had some nerve, who was he to just try and apologize after everything? Like he and his buddies didn’t torment her and her friends for the last two years? Men had some fucking audacity that was for sure.

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foradecision · 3 years

Text

‘ the agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food. ’ — mary shelley ; frankenstein.

HARRAN COUNTRYSIDE, DAY 175 ; 14:56:23.

“— goddamn it. of course.”

the tank is dry, nothing but stale air coming through the siphon hose. same as the last one. same as the last dozen fucking vehicles he’d checked, gutted, stripped, and abandoned, up and down this fissured backroad to nowhere. from nowhere. this whole place is nowhere.

a thin line of trees borders the gravel to his left, curtaining the wide spread of empty fields like a patchwork quilt. farmland, mostly. dead and disused. to his right, past the scrub, the ground slopes gently downward to a rock - lined creek. there’s a spitting toad nearby; he can hear the guttural heave of its bloated throat from here.

distantly, high up on a cliffside, an eagle’s cry goes unanswered.

the creek is tempting. he’s tired. sore. filthy, to the point where it’s getting to be a concern. where, if he were to walk up to the gates of jasir’s place looking the way he does right now, they might mistake him for a zombie and shoot him on sight. threadbare amusement curls the edges of that chasm in his chest, just for a second: then it’s gone again.

leaving his buggy where it’s parked, fishtailed at the road’s grassy shoulder — useless, gas gauge riding on empty — crane hangs a right and heads for the water.

a bolt is loosed from his crossbow. the toad falls before it can hit him with an acid burn. there’s a scar on his neck from the last time, an inch or so of rougher tissue that runs above the line of his collar.

he does a quick scan of the shoreline. two or three biters linger maybe a hundred yards away, but they haven’t noticed him. they’re slow. far enough that he’ll see them long before they get too close.

fuck it.

he unloads his gear. strips off gloves, vest, boots; clothing peeled from his skin layer by layer until he’s bare except shorts and the grime - caked chain around his neck, dog tags sticking to his chest. one set, of the two he was issued. deanna has the other set.

no. no goodbyes.

no goodbyes. just hold onto ‘em for me.

it’s a freshwater creek; murky and tinged green with algae, but clean. uncontaminated. he wades out until he’s waist - deep, takes a breath, and dives beneath the surface. the shock of cold wakes him up like a rush of adrenaline. he stays under until he can’t, and then he stays a few seconds more. when he comes back up, there’s a clarity to it: a sharpness to his senses, focused as the finely whetted edge of a knife. he swims again to the shallows and starts to wash.

this is day ten, since the others returned to the slums. since they’d chased a clue given to them by a dying man delirious with fever. since their last - ditch, desperate search for a cure had come up empty and every move he’d made leading up to it — everything they’d done, everything they’d lost — slipped through his fingers like fine sand. he couldn’t face them. none of them. couldn’t stomach the thought of going back, of walking into the tower to tell lena and brecken and everyone else that it was all for nothing. he just needed time. that’s what he’d said. just a little time to work through it all, get it straight again in his head. camden was still working, sure. still holed up in old town in a lab littered with corpses. he’d hit some kind of breakthrough, but his labors since then hadn’t borne fruit. bad samples. limited testing material. crane doesn’t understand the science of it. what he understands is that a month after that radio call, people keep getting sick. people keep turning. people keep dying.

crane, why do you even give a fuck what happens to these people? you don’t belong here! this is just a job for you!

no. not anymore it’s not.

there’s no contract now. no mission objective. no target. there’s just him, and them, and a long stretch of nothing.

this is day ten.

the afternoon sun hikes steadily across the cloudless sky. six hours ‘til nightfall. he fills his canteen, redresses, gathers his gear. shuffling footfalls and the solitary groan of a biter drifts downwind towards him. a pause, mid - step. a glance over his shoulder.

she trips up the slope as she tries to follow. he doesn’t glance at her again.

there’s a gas station up the road, beyond the fields and half a klick east of the creek. a ten minute walk without interruptions. all told, he makes it in less than fifteen. the pumps are a no - go, but he finds enough fuel left in a semi and a rusted jeep to fill his jerrycan two thirds of the way. gnats hum in his ears as he cuts through the tree line and he’s sweating again by the time he returns to the buggy. fucking gnats. fucking heat.

fucking harran.

the buggy itself is a battered thing. mesh and steel, spikes up front, hood rigged with electrical cylinders to fry at the push of a button. UV lights mounted to a protective cage around the single seat. at some point, the paint job was blue. it’s lost under a spattering of mud and streaks of dust, blood in varying shades: dark brown to copper to fresh sprays of red. she’s not quiet, and her suspension’s been shot halfway to hell since he flew off that overpass near the train tracks, but she’s solid. fast. decent off - road traction, even through the roughest terrain. she gets the job done.

crane turns the keys in the ignition. a loud, vibrating rev, a scrape of tires against gravel. behind him, the biter from the creek makes a clumsy lunge for the vehicle’s rear. he leaves her in the dust and drives.

he’s been doing a lot of that. driving. maybe he missed it. maybe he likes the solitude, except for that ribbon of isolation that runs through him constantly like a wound spreading poison. no: what draws him is something else.

static crackles through the radio hooked to his dash.

“kyle, can you hear me?”

the skip of his heartbeat drops back to a dull rhythm. he should have known better. communication between here and the slums is shaky on a good day, worse down here behind the mountains.

“yeah, bilal, i hear you.”

“i’ve got the parts to fix your ride, if you want to come by and let me take a look.”

“she’s doin’ fine for now.”

“you sure? it’s no trouble. hell, i can probably have her running again by —”

“yeah, listen, i’ll stop by tomorrow, alright?” he says it without the intent to follow through on it.

“whatever you say, brother. hey — don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“sure thing.”

he ends it there. veers left to avoid an upended van and a spill of toxic waste. doesn’t correct to avoid clipping the biter crouched over a strewn mess of gore, greedily devouring someone’s remains. or several someones. the buggy jumps a little. his expression stays as unmoved as if he’d just bucked over a speed bump or a pothole.

the sun is behind him now, dipping westward.

he drives.

it’s beautiful out here, in its own right. the kind of place he might’ve visited by choice, before, when the world wasn’t like it is now. the road unspools behind him, twisting south towards the dam. he hears the water before he sees it. rushing noise off to the right. he doesn’t stop. keeps going past the turnoff and down a winding side - road until he pulls over onto a patch of asphalt that used to be a small parking lot. a couple of vehicles, a truck, a trailer hitched to a hatchback with luggage piled high. he’s checked them all before. cleaned out the bags and the gas tanks, salvaged what parts he could from under their hoods. there’s a single building, a two - story cottage converted to a restaurant converted to a safe house, UV bulbs strung along the balcony railing like christmas lights.

past it, where the road dips into a curve, the open maw of a half - collapsed tunnel is just visible beyond the scattering of trees and abandoned cars, biters meandering listlessly in the afternoon heat.

four hours.

he parks the buggy and climbs up to the balcony, barricading the door once he’s inside.

no one uses this place. that’s why he’d picked it. quiet, deserted, off the beaten path. no one uses it because of its proximity to the tunnel. deep within the reeking darkness, volatiles nest and thrive. they prowl too close after nightfall. no one wants the risk.

no one except crane.

the note was pinned up on an old door used as a bulletin board at jasir’s farm. warning people away from the area, to steer clear at any cost. during the day, the hive is full. they only scatter when darkness falls, emerging to hunt, to feed, to roam the countryside freely and without borders. that’s what he’s counting on.

but there’s a trick to it. something he discovered — stumbled upon — when he went looking for sabit and found a nest instead. volatiles can breed. they’re not made exclusively through the natural evolution of the virus, but nor do they procreate in a traditional sense. hive mother is the closest comparison he can make: sentient creatures within the hives that somehow trigger the mutation. again, it’s a science he doesn’t fully understand. he knows the logistics. he knows enough. destroying those things stops the spread.

kill the beating heart, and you kill the beast.

he hefts his duffel bag onto one of the tables and unzips it, a side pocket where a tightly - wrapped pouch is nestled within the folds of a spare shirt. inside, a medical injector and tool slots that used to house five vials of antizin. the final vial is loaded into the injector. the shot is quick. practiced. another four days bought on the calendar; beyond that, the pages are blank.

it should worry him more than it does.

after he checks the alarm on his watch, crane moves to the sleeping bag unrolled on the floor and lies down fully clothed. he’s trained himself to fall asleep like he’s stepping off a curb. no thought, just muscle memory.

four hours, then he can go.

dreams are less muscle, all memory. he sees them every time: living faces turned to dead ones turned to taunting, hungry ghosts. children screaming. a little girl and then a little boy, the plush yield of a bloodstained teddy bear under the tread of his boot. you can’t go yet, i thought of a name!

someplace safe.

the monsters are gone.

semper fi, marine.

residual hallucinations blend seamlessly, threading sepia and bronze through the black and mottled grey, the arterial red. jade’s voice brushes the threads like a hand searching for fever; soft, then bleeding, then telling him to let her go, and then jade isn’t jade, she’s deanna, and she isn’t saying let her go — she’s saying let go.

no goodbyes, remember?

make it count.

you don’t know what suffering is.

there’s an old ache just under the hook of his left clavicle. a starburst of pain sings sharply outward with the waking breath he sucks in, then pushes back out. he presses the heel of his right hand against the scar from rais’ dagger, the one he didn’t dodge fast enough. that’s a running theme. not fast enough. not soon enough. not enough. his other hand lifts, wrist tipping, as the digital numbers on his watch go from 20:59 to 21:00.

he cuts the alarm.

night out here sounds nothing like night in the slums, or in old town. there, it’s all infected moans, wind rippling through tarps and rustling trash; it’s all crackling fires and the creak of scaffolding, clangs of metal as virals throw aside manhole covers to scrabble out into the streets.

here, it’s quiet. crickets chirp, cicadas chitter and hum. an owl hoots from somewhere in the trees off to the right of the cottage.

he waits by the balcony door until he hears them passing by. ragged, growling breaths. heavy steps. they come out of the nest in droves but then they scatter. then they fade into the dark.

crane hops the railing and heads toward the tunnel’s waiting mouth.

years ago, on the ground in fallujah, he led a stealth mission of five other marines to infiltrate a hostile - run outpost at the city’s downtown core. tactics he relied on then to evade detection are called back on now. he stays low. hugs the shadows. mindful of every move, every breath, every beat of his heart. the first biter he kills doesn’t have the time to react. he snaps its neck, fast and clean. drags it off into the cover of the trees and slices a deep line across its swollen belly. then a second line, stem to stern.

bandanna tightly secured over his mouth and nose, he reaches gloved hands inside the wound and begins to cover himself in gore.

the smell is overpowering. sour and almost chemical, thick with rot, seeping through the fabric. but overpowering is the entire point. dahlia claimed she had a magic potion to move amongst infected, to blend in; everyone thought she was crazy. so did he, or delusional at the least — until she’d asked him to gather what she needed to make more tincture. one whiff of those mushrooms, and he understood.

she didn’t have a magic potion. she just knew which plants were odorous enough to mask the scent of living flesh.

and if that worked, crane figures this will too.

three measured strides into the tunnel confirms it. the biters don’t turn. don’t react at all. he passes them in silence, a chameleon, unnoticed and undisturbed. this is the easy part. the deeper he goes, the more perilous the risk. virals twitch and mutter, grouped around piles of reeking carnage mounted nearly ceiling - high in some places. he doesn’t turn on his flashlight for chancing exposure. it takes his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the gloom.

he has eight hours, give or take, before the volatiles return and this excursion goes from dangerous to suicidal. eight hours is plenty.

bones. the ground is littered with them, crunching underfoot. some are smaller; animal, maybe — birds, rodents — but most aren’t. bigger things. human. skull fragments that are all teeth. the smell has gotten incrementally worse, distinguishable even through his own cloak of viscera. it’s suffocating and rank. biological. metallic like a slaughterhouse. choked with dirt like a grave.

edging a pool of stagnant water that fills the crevice between cracked slabs of cement, he pushes on.

he’s getting closer. he can hear it now. an unearthly vocalization that pitches above the rest, echoing off stone. it’s a howl and a groan and a wail and a scream all in one, wordless, feral, made of pain and desperate hunger.

he sees it near a blocked door to a maintenance hall, in front of a wide wall of concrete debris. tethered to the earth by flesh and tendon like roots. there’s no lower half: only a head and torso, its other parts impossible to identify. the head is thrown back. spikes of bone push through bloody sinew in odd places, and the jaw is split along both sides, a wide, disjointed yawn. nothing about it is human. nothing about it suggests that it once was human.

circling behind it, crane braces one hand on its shoulder and draws his blade with the other. the machete is driven clean through, back to front, gleaming point emerging from its chest.

kill the beating heart —

the death rattle is jarring, a wet, retching sustain, and then it stops. the thing stills, goes limp. he pulls his blade out again.

— you kill the beast.

there are three more of them, nestled deep within the labyrinth. he finds them by sound, repeats the same routine with each. in a way, it feels merciful. killing sabit was merciful. he wasn’t long in this state when crane had found him; too far gone to save, but with enough human left in him to plead for release.

these ones don’t plead, but release is granted anyway.

because of how deep the nest goes, of how careful he is in navigating it, it’s coming up on midnight by the time he turns around to work his way back. that isn’t worrisome: sunrise starts washing the horizon in swaths of pale peach at 5:30, doesn’t fully spread her rays ‘til six. he still has a seven - hour window, and all he has to do is reach the cottage again. the camouflage is working. his pulse is steady.

everything is playing out accordingly, right up until it’s not.

a viral staggers from behind one of the vehicles in the tunnel, an old city bus that blocked it from view. he misses it, focused on a through - path to avoid the others. it knocks into his shoulder. hard.

crane stumbles a little. it wouldn’t be enough to throw him had his footing been on even ground.

his boot slips off the edge of the crevice.

his ankle, the same one roman had fucked up months before, torques harshly in a direction it isn’t supposed to go, skewing his balance sideways.

“oh, f—”

the curse is caught before it’s anything more than a breath.

he falls. water splashes around him.

four feet away, the viral lets out a screech.

the noise. that’s all, he tells himself: just the sudden noise drawing attention. but the filthy pool around him begins to turn filthier, a runoff of blood and entrails slipping from his clothes. he freezes. holds absolutely still, unblinking, barely breathing. three more virals and a handful of shuffling biters are starting to congregate around the water. sensing some disturbance, some change in the air. one of them presses in closer. he realizes what’s about to happen a microsecond before.

the biter trips over the slab and lands in the pool with him, dousing him in a second wave. he scrambles backward, kicks it back when it lunges, but the damage is already done.

they smell him now. they see him.

crane jumps from the pool and bodies the first viral that comes at him. the tunnel fills with shrieks and groans, a ravenous stampede with a single piece of prey.

his machete cuts through the nearest throat. then he breaks into a run.

the firecrackers he throws behind him buy enough time to clear the tunnel’s entrance, to dip into the trees, to move at a flat sprint until ultraviolet lights wink at him between the black canopy. he vaults the awning, grabs hold of the balcony rail.

a volatile’s hunting cry reverberates through the moonlit night.

HARRAN COUNTRYSIDE, DAY 176 ; 6:02:45.

“lena. lena, do you copy? ... shit.”

still nothing, just the static noise of a poor signal. the transmission is weak. he curses under his breath, throws a glance down the ridge behind him, hikes further up the crest. the air thins. he stops and tries again.

“lena, come in. do you copy?”

this time, finally, the static catches traction.

“crane? is that you?"

“thank god. yeah — yeah, brecken, it’s me.”

“holy shit.” relief, even through a weak transmission, hits him center mass. “it’s good to hear your voice, mate. it’s been too fucking long.”

“i — i know, man. i’m sorry. really. i —”

“nah, nah, save that for later, okay? tell me you’re finally through with this poxy country holiday and you’re ready to come home.”

home. that hits, too. emotion swells in his throat. a dammed flood he’s been so diligent to keep at bay.

last night was sleepless. he’d kept watch until sunrise, kept alert, because it occurred to him when he’d hit the water: he doesn’t want to die. losing hope is a dangerous thing. and maybe it is hopeless. maybe the antizin will run dry and he’ll turn, and one of them will have to put him down, like he did rahim and jade, and there won’t be any stopping it. no cure. no way out.

maybe he thought he did want to die — or maybe it was just that he didn’t care if he lived.

home. come back home.

it’s not about him. it’s not himself that he’s living for.

not anymore.

“yeah,” he manages. “yeah. i, uh — i think it’s past time for that.”

brecken blows out a breath. “sanest thing i’ve heard you say in a while. look, let me grab the others and —”

“no. no, don’t do that. i don’t have a lot of time — could lose the signal again at any second. brecken ... listen, just — just tell ‘em i’m on my way, huh? tell ‘em ...”

“yeah. i will.”

“i’m sorry.”

“i know, crane."

a steady inhale is pulled and released.

he hears something. something that seems to shake the air around him, above him; something a lot like the whirring engine of an aircraft. but it can’t be that. there haven’t been any drops in months. squinting against the sun’s rays, crane scans the skyline, searching —

“hang on,” brecken says, “you hear that?”

“what? you’re not tellin’ me it’s loud enough t—”

“there’s a — oi, get ayo up here, right now! — there’s a fucking plane. what the fuck, crane, i thought the GRE weren’t dropping supplies anymore?”

“no, they’re not, they’re — wh— hang on, what do you mean there’s a plane? there’s a plane right —”

“listen, call me again once you’re close, okay? get your ass back here as soon as possible, we’ll talk then.”

“n— wait — brecken, don’t —”

the radio goes dead.

overhead, a fixed - wing transport plane banks left and makes a hairpin turn to circle the cliffside. minimum altitude over rural land is five hundred feet. it’s close.

close enough to catch a flash of color from the massive logo painted on its fuselage.

a medical cross inside a circle, bold letters spelling out GRE.

#battle journals.*#ii / i. hell is empty and all the devils are here.*#are we anywhere near this point in the arc? no #did i write this anyway? absolutely i did

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god-fucking-dammit-mizutani · 4 years

Text

Title: Bring the Sun (Chapter 2) Word Count: 19,448 Summary: Koushirou expects to spend the whole engagement party in the company of his close friends, if possible, but things don't go entirely as plan.

Happy Odaiba Day!!

Part 1 Here Continue Below or Read in Full on AO3

~*~

“It’s so cold,” Miyako complains, already turning the direct fan on the dashboard in front of her up and away. She adjusts the one in the center as well, flipping it away from herself so that it streams straight down the middle of the van. Koushirou feels the concentrated jet of air along his arm where he rests it on the center console between them. Miyako huffs a little, shouldering herself further away until she’s practically up against the side door. The residual, muggy temperature from that afternoon's heat spell lingers in the air, invited in to mingle with the chill from the air conditioner when Miyako cracks the window on her side open.

“It needs to be cold,” Mimi explains. A hollow thumping follows her declaration. Koushirou catches her lightly smacking the tupperware on the seat beside her through his rearview mirror. If he remembers correctly, it’s the one filled with the cupcakes Mimi had ordered him to ice for her just that morning.

“Nothing’s going to spoil in ten minutes,” Miyako shoots back. She lifts herself up in her seat, straining against the confines of her seat belt in order to sit closer to the fresh, less cool air. Koushirou wonders if it’s working. “But I might lose a limb to frostbite.”

“It’s not just the ten minutes,” Mimi protests with an indignant sniff, whacking the tupperware container again. Koushirou really hopes the frosting is safe, both because of all of the time he lost that could have been spent on finishing up some of his own projects, and also because he knows Mimi will be inconsolable if they’re not still perfect. “It's going to be a while before people start eating . I did not put food poisoning on my menu.”

“That’s why they invented coolers,” Miyako volleys back. There’s a beat before she whips around in her chair, looking back at Mimi between the headrest and car door, “So wait, anyway, you know about Iori’s great aunt—”

Mimi gasps, “That’s right! She’s the one with—”

“Absolutely, get this—”

Koushirou rolls his eyes, making sure to train them back forward on the road as he turns into the entrance for The Cove. He thinks they’re onto their fourth half-finished conversation of the evening, but he’s already given up on following along. Years of their friendship has taught Koushirou to not engage when they’re both this giddy. All he’ll get for trying to keep up is whiplash.

Even with just the sliver of Miyako’s window open, the smell of salt water permeates throughout the car, mingling with the intense scent of Mimi’s homemade cooking. It must be low tide. Koushirou wrinkles his nose, wondering if he’ll be able to stomach a single thing.

He follows the winding paths down towards the little beach front, past the recreational fields where children are still chasing each other along the designated pavement with scooters and rollerblades. Dusk is already settling along the farshore, pinks blending in with the gold of the sun, and soon the park will be shut down to all non-licensed activity. On habit, Koushirou turns the headlights on, barely just illuminating one of the signs telling him to turn right onto the dirt road to continue to their destination, rather than on towards the designated picnic area. It’s a narrow road, barely large enough to accommodate his mother’s van he burrowed for tonight’s purposes. His hands shake minutely, hoping no one else is leaving from the opposite direction, as he’s not quite sure how they’ll pass him.

Miraculously, no one does. The parking lot is barren save for a few wrappers littering the pavement. Miyako’s already jumping out of the car before Koushirou’s fully parked between barely there white lines, exclaiming, “Hallelujah! Finally blowing this literal popsicle joint!”

Koushirou catches Mimi’s fond smile in the rearview mirror, and feels his lips mimicking the sentiment.

Miyako’s already waiting for them at the trunk, sitting along the bumper until Koushirou motions for her to move so they can collect their belongings. She grabs quickly for a stack of colorful tupperware, tucking the top one under the point of her chin to keep them all from toppling over onto the pavement. Koushirou pulls out one of the wheeled coolers, letting it roll off the bumper and thunk heavily on the ground to Mimi's blatant displeasure.

“There’s glass in there,” she hisses, but Koushirou doesn’t really know what she expects of him at this point. Blunt strength is not, well , one of his strengths. Mimi presses the button on the block handle of the cooler and extends it until she’s able to tug the white, wheeled container closer to her side. Koushirou places a box labeled votive candles onto the back and assures her he can handle the tables on his own.

“Hey,” Miyako calls to Mimi from the bottom of the hill, already engaging her back into one of their conversations with a, “Did you know that Yamato—” before the wind picks up the rest of their conversation. All he can hear is Mimi’s loud shriek of, “What!”

Unloading the tables isn’t a terrible task since, when they’re closed, leaves Koushirou with distinct handles. The plastic is easy to handle, but the metal bars strain his grip as he shuffles them out of the trunk, careful not to scratch the paint too harshly as he pulls them down enough to lean against his leg so he can close the door. It wouldn’t do if they got robbed blind. He takes the tables back in each hand and begins the arduous task of trying to handle them as he waddles towards the end of the parking lot, which gives way to a long slope of shells and pebbles and dirt, right into the actual makeup of the beach.

Koushirou stalls for a moment, taking in the sight of it.

The designated event section has the largest pocket of beach at the Cove. It’s usually opened to the public unless a notice of events has been put up. Koushirou eyes the little bulletin board, the bright yellow paper declaring, Private Event: Engagement Party; June 12th; After hours. He smiles at it for a brief second before he looks over towards the beach just below him.

Cove is a misnomer. It’s more of an estuary, but Koushirou can’t fight the city on it more than he already has, so he let’s the thought roll right out of his head as he breathes in the sea air again. A little too much. He hopes the eventual smell of smoke and alcohol will choke out the unappetizing stench. Koushirou wrinkles his nose. Was he growing accustomed to this lifestyle now?

“Koushirou!” Mimi calls to him, standing along the cleanest, most level part of land, just before the thick dirt gives way to the unstable sand. She clicks the handle of the cooler all the way down, beckoning him over and oh right, he realizes, he’s got the fold up tables they need to start prepping.

Mimi has a practiced hand with opening them, with all those years of catering under her belt. Miyako rushes back to the car at Mimi's request, to grab the box of linens she'd had Koushirou pick up from her storage facility earlier that morning. He follows Miyako back up the hill, to grab the folding chairs they'd brought along, strapping two across his back and holding the other one in his arms. For convenience he grabs the final table from the trunk and pulls it along by the handle.

It's a mistake.

He doesn't know how he makes it without toppling head first and somersaulting the whole way down.

"We could have gone back for those," Miyako tells him far too late.

Koushirou doesn't know what to do with his hands as Mimi hems and haws over the finer details of dressing the plastic tables up with ivory skirts. It's got a lovely pattern too, some Damascus overlay in a darker ivory, just barely popping out against its similar colored backdrop. Koushirou thinks it's a shame when the real festivities pick up, such a fine nuance will be hidden by the lack of lighting.

Over Mimi's head, his eyes roam the endless structure of barely unclimbable rocks. They incave the beach on either side. Koushirou spent some of his youth here, when his mother had taken him with her for a personal beach day, scraping his hands on barnacles, callusing the bottom of his feet, all in the name of studying the local marine life in the tide pools once the sea had gone back out. Koushirou smiles at the memory. Before computers, he had thought taxonomy would be his calling.

When Mimi finishes with the first table, Miyako digs around into the still unopened cardboard box, pulling up a small, fake candle in each hand. She smiles at Koushirou asking, “Want to help me set these up?”

Koushirou smiles back, unsure.

He tries placing them in what feel symmetrical to every one that Miyako puts down, but it feels like every time he walks away, Mimi comes up behind him to straighten them out and replace each one. She’s rearranging his last votive when someone shouts down toward them from the top of the parking lot.

Daisuke waves enthusiastically at their little group before taking the plunge down the slope, kicking up dust and shells with the velocity of his footwork and the large cooler trailing behind him. He almost takes a tumble across one particularly stubborn cluster of beach debris, but rights himself without missing speed. Koushirou wonders if that’s something they teach you in college soccer just as Daisuke narrows in on their location.

Mimi yelps as he reaches for her first, easily lifting her above the ground as she giggles out her own greeting, squeezing her arms around Daisuke’s head. In the breeze the offensively pink tassels of her coat’s sleeves rustle, shielding his head as if they were a curtain. He rights her back on the flats of her sandals and wryly Koushirou wonders how long Mimi will keep them on before she shuffles them off to some unknown corner of the beach, possibly to be swallowed up by the brackish waves.

Koushirou doesn’t really know how to greet him, so he offers Daisuke a small smile when their eyes meet. They’ve only met a handful of times so he doesn’t know if that makes them acquaintances or friends. He wonders if Daisukes even considers him in his sphere of people and swallows, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t really be here.

His trepidations don’t last long as Daisuke envelopes him in a hug instead, calling him, “Iz-man!”

It’s nice, Koushirou thinks, trying to relax against the tight grip around his midsection, arms pinned to his side, that Daisuke has a nickname for him. Or at least partially remembered some part of his name. It’s that, or the bear hug, making his head dizzy. But he does, actually, think it’s charming.

“Congratulations, Daisuke,” Koushirou offers up when he can breathe again.

“Thanks, man,” he gets in return. His grin is a thousand watts bright and it makes Koushirou think of a different one, a little more tamed but no less bright, and he feels uncharacteristically restless.

Koushirou frowns. Much like Miyako, Daisuke knows everyone. At least, everyone knows him . An infuriatingly symmetrical smile flashes in his mind, and he wonders how vast Daisuke’s pool of people reaches.

He’s forgotten all week to ask Miyako for the stranger’s name, but now that he’s remembering it doesn’t feel appropriate when Daisuke pulls her into a tight hug as well, promising her into a round of shots later in the evening. He should have let Mimi ask one of them on his behalf back when she had offered, instead of insisting it would feel more organic to ask on his own.

“You really outdid yourself, Mimi,” Daisuke whistles as she begins pulling even more tupperware out of a reusable grocery bag and a couple silver chargers to dress the tables. “I’m kind of glad Ken talked me out of the ramen stand idea. It looks so good.”

Koushirou can attest to that last bit. He’d been the guinea pig back when Mimi was putting the menu together, and the volunteer when she had needed someone to sample each batch as it came out of the oven this morning.

Mimi leans over her work, moving some of the hors d'oeuvres out around on the platter to get them to look more presentable. Her curls slips over her shoulder, obscuring her face, but Koushirou can make out the pleased flush she’s sporting. He smiles.

“It tastes amazing!” Miyako says, suddenly beside Koushirou. She props her arm up on his shoulder like it belongs there. “Because I helped her cook all day!”

Daisuke wrinkles his nose. “So you ruined Mimi’s cooking on my special day.”

“Hey!”

“Miyako is a great assistant,” Mimi comes to her defense, lifting her own head high again. “And her family was nice enough to donate most of the ingredients.”

Miyako grins as if she’s won, crossing one of her legs over the other and leaning deeper into Koushriou’s personal space. He thinks there might only be an inch separating them by height now, but Koushirou’s certain that makes all the difference to her. Since she gained a few inches on him early on in high school, Miyako has never let him live it down.

“Anyone want a beer?” Daisuke wonders, lifting the lid of his own cooler. He pops a cap of one off with the bottle opener keychain Koushirou had bought for him as a Secret Santa present, at the party Miyako had hosted last year. She’d insisted he would love it and Koushirou’s chest swells with pride that it is, in some way, useful to him.

“Later,” Miyako decides for both of them. “We’re gonna go stake a claim at the bonfire,” she relays.

Miyako pushes one of the camping chair bags against his thigh, smiling back at him. Koushirou takes it from her, noticing the bright blue strap already fastened over her bright pink sweater, a vibrant contrast already to the bright orange binding tape along the fabric’s edges. Koushirou doesn’t know much about fashion, but somehow Miyako pulls off the oddly bright colors. Mimi always tuts that she missed her chances of making it big as a model, but Koushirou’s glad he’s got her around the office, sending him barely work appropriate emails and gossiping about their less than appetizing co-workers.

“I’m driving,” Koushirou adds in helplessly, taking the chair from Miyako’s grip.

“You’re always driving,” Daisuke complains, tipping back his drink. “Next time I’m gonna get you to do shots with me,” he tells Koushirou with a very blatant pointing motion.

Koushirou smiles back politely. It’s a slim to none likelihood, but telling Daisuke those statistics will either fire him up, or dampen his mood— and Koushirou just doesn’t think he can do that tonight of all nights.

“I’d love to,” Mimi throws in, “but I can’t until after I put out the dessert.”

Daisuke groans. “You’ll have to make up all that time,” he’s telling Mimi as Miyako drops her arm from Koushirou’s shoulder and easily loops it through his own arm, tugging at him gently.

“Let’s go get close to the fire so we can have a front row view when all the drunks start falling in.”

“You’re going to be one of those drunks if Daisuke has anything to say,” Koushirou snickers back, allowing Miyako to lead the way. She shushes him, reaching for their third seat as they pass by it, leaning up against the buffet table.

Towards the center of the beach someone has jammed four stakes into a large square with tape looped about each pole, framing a small hill of dry wood. Koushirou breathes in. At least tonight when he inevitably left to his own devices, he’ll be able to hide his boredom by watching the crackle of a roaring fire.

He had meant to do just that last time, Koushirou remembers, before that had been welcomely thwarted. He doubts he’ll be quite so lucky this time. Koushirou wonders if people-watching is a solo event, if it can even be fun with just his own imagination to bounce off.

It’s weird, Koushirou thinks, to miss someone he can’t even place a name to.

Which reminds him, “Hey, Miyako?”

She hums distractedly, dropping the two chairs on the sand to hold her hands up in an odd rectangle, surveying the scene between her thumbs and humming again, this one with less intent to acknowledge him. She takes a step forward, and then a large sidestep to the right, as if she were performing the box step for his entertainment. “Aha!” she exclaims finally, leaning over to grab for her chair without compromising her current position. Koushirou pushes it towards her with the heel of his foot.

He unfastens the drawstrings around his own chair and shimmies the fabric down to reveal the deep purple canvas seat. They used them a lot back in high school, when the old drive-in movie theatre would host a collection of nostalgic movies. He misses when they used to marathon Star Trek with subtitles, and he and Jyou and Miyako and Iori would spend the ride home discussing their favorite episodes, arguing over which roles they would have on the Enterprise if given the chance to explore space.

“The perfect spot~!” Miyako lilts, looking quite pleased with herself as she plops into the chair to enjoy the view she’d spent so much time scouting.

“I was wondering about your house party,” Koushirou begins when she finally prompts him to continue. Miyako watches him with her head tilted slightly. Sunset drapes lovingly over the purple hue of her hair. “There was—”

“Yo,” Daisuke calls once more, jogging his way up to meet them with another wide smile. “Can’t wait ‘til we light this thing!” He says, jumping the distance towards them, his arm sweeping wide and pointed towards the designated section, just in case there were any doubts.

Koushirou’s not sure if his lips are frowning or smiling. Perhaps both.

“What happened?” Miyako asks, pulling the second chair up towards herself to undo the fastening without having to stand back up. “Thought you were goading Mimi into drinking.”

“She shooed me away,” Daisuke pouts. “Said I was fucking with her muse.”

Miyako snorts. A moment later she notices, “I haven't seen your better half yet. Where's Ken?”

“He had to pick up some extra supplies and he’s gonna grab Jun from work.”

Miyako stares pointedly at the beer Daisuke is already tipping back again. When he notices he lets out a huff, “He dropped me off first. Jun’s going to drive us home.”

Koushirou busies himself with wiping leftover sand off the seat of the chair. It's fine , he reminds himself. What would he even do with just a name?

"Hey!" Daisuke shouts. "What did you mean better half ?"

"It's an expression," Miyako exhales in a way that sounds long-suffering. To Koushirou she adds, “But it’s not wrong in this case .”

He snorts.

Daisuke makes an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat before he manages to make the accusation, “You’re just jealous!” He points at Miyako with the hand still mostly holding onto his beer bottle. She scowls back.

“Of what?” Miyako asks, standing to her feet. There’s not much of a difference between her and Daisuke, but Koushirou imagines she still makes an intimidating figure, hands on her hips and lips pursed as they were.

“That Ken—”

“That I what?” Ken interrupts them. Koushirou bristles in surprise along with his company, none of them having noticed their approaching friend. He watches Daisuke with a passive inquisitiveness, arms filled with long, wooden poles. Citronella torches, Koushirou realizes.

“Uh,” Daisuke starts. His cheeks darken, eyes meeting Koushirou’s as if he half expects to find the answer with him. Koushirou stares back.

“Nevermind,” Ken gives a short, airy little laugh. He shrugs his arms towards their group, adjusting the burden within them, and asks sheepishly, “Could one of you give me a hand setting these up?”

“Sure,” Miyako offers easily, lifting at least two of them from his arms. She carries them like two long staffs and Koushirou has to bite his tongue from declaring, “ You shall not pass! ”

Miyako smiles brightly as Ken leans in to give her a quick kiss on her cheek in greeting with a gratuitous, “Thank you, Miyako!”

“Hey!” Daisuke wails immediately, stepping forward between them. “What’s the big idea?” He turns on Ken, “You’re my fiance!”

“That I am,” Ken responds, mildly. Koushirou feels the air between them soften, watches as the heat in Daisuke’s expression melts, a long, dopey smile growing in its place, as if the words have just struck him. Ken returns it.

“I’ll take these,” Koushirou offers after a moment, stepping around his chair to pull the last few torches from Ken’s grasp. For a moment he looks at Koushirou as if he had forgotten he were there at all. He’s not sure if it’s insulting, or endearing.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his grip loosening around the rest of them. Koushirou manages to lay them across his own arms. “I wanted to set them up at the buffet table,” he explains, shooting Koushirou a gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“Indubitably,” Koushirou answers. He tries and cannot stop himself from adding, “And no kiss required.”

Miyako laughs behind him, nodding her head and telling them, “Lets get them set up before everyone else gets here.”

“I’ll light them!” Daisuke volunteers, running off before them to presumably acquire the lighter. Ken follows quickly on his heels, smiling over his shoulder at the two of them before quickly catching up to his fiance.

“It’s like I adopted another brother sometimes,” Miyako lets out a long breath when they’re finally alone, rolling her eyes. She wrinkles her nose, “Does that mean my ex-boyfriend is now my brother-in-law?”

Koushirou laughs.

“I’m really happy for them,” Miyako confesses on their walk over, her feet stepping to an unhurried beat. The edge of one of the torches smacks gently against Koushirou’s knee. He doesn’t bother to mention it, picking up his pace minutely to avoid another soft whack. Miyako makes a soft hum and continues, “In high school I thought Ken and I would work, because we were so similar, but I like them together,” she admits, her smile sincere.

Koushirou follows her eyes, watching as the two bump back and forth into each other, almost as if they’re racing without running. He can’t stop his own smile. It’s nice to see Ken like this, he thinks. Happy looks nice on him.

“It’s like they compliment each other, you know?”

“What’s taking so long!” Daisuke calls back to them, waving his arm over his head wildly. “Everyone’s gonna be here soon!”

“We have important cargo!” Miyako fires back, waving one of the sticks at him. Despite her words, Koushirou notices her pace quicken, his legs taking longer steps to keep up with her before it feels like they’re lightly sprinting towards an end goal together. He tries to hide how deep his next few breaths are.

“They just have to be fairly even,” Ken instructs them as Miyako hands her second one off to Daisuke. With a concentrated effort, she successfully stakes the first of the citronella torches into the ground, kicking a healthy amount of sand up and over the base to keep it upright. “So,” Ken trails off, taking a few steps back, carefully shuffling his feet along to keep the line, “right here,” he decides, rubbing the tip of his sneakers into the ground. Koushirou pierces the marked earth with his own torch, handing the other one off to Ken who paces back further to set it up.

Miyako finishes off with the last one as Daisuke comes down the line, lighting each of the frayed wicks. Black smokes circles along the torches head, dispelling the lovely scent of citronella and lemongrass. It masks some of the low tide, to Koushirou’s delight.

“You have such exquisite taste,” Mimi gushes. Koushirou looks behind himself and sees the newest member of their team already organizing items onto the table. He needs very little contextual clues to deduce that she is, in fact, Daisuke Motomiya’s sister, from her bright grin, to the wild, cherry-brown of her hair.

“I’ve always had an eye for design,” she tells Mimi, empathetically. She pulls several shells from a plastic bag, laying them carefully between every platter and the votive candles they’d placed earlier.

“I’m Jun!” she introduces herself when she catches Koushirou’s stare. She has the same high energy most people around Koushirou seem to just exude. He wonders if, perhaps, he’s an extrovert magnet. Koushirou smiles back politely as Jun explains, without needing to, “I’m Daisuke’s sister!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Koushirou says. “I’m Koushirou,” he adds a beat too late. Jun doesn’t seem to notice, already heading down the line of the table to place more shells.

Koushirou looks down. He is no stranger to shame, and yet every social event has him feeling as if it is their first time becoming acquainted.

Miyako passes in front of him, placing something new atop the table. From the back, it looks like a photo frame. She gives Koushirou a brief, assuring smile as she continues down along, placing smaller looking frames bundled against her chest. He plucks the object from it’s placement on the table.

Koushirou admires the frame first. It’s simple, with wooden, engraved flowers sitting in each of the four corners. It makes the colors within the actual photograh pop, the mirth on both Daisuke and Ken’s faces palpable and stark where their hands are clasped together, the gold bands of their engagement rings small, yet bright. Koushirou thinks he might have seen it before, among their engagement photos on one of Mimi’s social media accounts.

“Hikari took it,” Ken tells him suddenly, peering at it over Koushirou’s shoulder. His smile is more subdued than inside the picture, but no less happy. “She’s one of Daisuke’s friends from middle school,” Ken explains further.

“Well, Hikari has a lovely eye,” Mimi adds on her way past them, placing tongs and silverware next to each charger.

Hikari. Koushirou frowns. He knows the name. Perhaps Daisuke had mentioned her in the few times they had met.

But it’s not Daisuke’s timbre in his memories.

He places the frame back on the table in its designated spot for the evening, facing away from them both.

“I’m really grateful, Koushirou,” Ken says softly, still beside him. Koushirou looks up, but Ken has his eyes trained on the white tablecloth instead. His gaze is too steady to be searching for the almost invisible patterns.

“I haven’t been of much help,” Koushirou feels. "Mimi put most of this together."

"That isn't wasn't I meant,” Ken says quietly. “I'm just grateful you would be here. As my friend." His pale skin is an honest canvas, the bright red on his cheeks so easily perceptible.

Koushirou thinks his cheeks might be a perfect mirror. This directness must be a side effect from spending too much time with Daisuke. It's not an adverse one, he decides.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Koushirou admits, hiding his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. He doesn’t know how his chest manages to feel so light, yet so heavy simultaneously.

“Let’s get some food before everyone else gets here,” Miyako jumps up behind them, throwing her arms over both of their shoulders. Her grip is tight, but not unpleasant, where it slips and sits around Koushirou’s neck. “Come on,” she pushes, grabbing for both of their hands and tugging gently.

“I still have a few things to attend to,” Ken says, apologetically, letting his fingers slip through hers. “But you both enjoy your time,” he tells them politely.

“You’re still obligated to hang out with us,” Miyako says, making a show of pointing at Ken as she walks backwards, still dragging Koushirou along with her, “I won’t let schmoozing be an excuse, you hear me!”

“Louder than Daisuke,” Ken replies. “And crystal clear.”

“What does that mean?” Daisuke calls from the farther end of the table, holding an entire box of something for Mimi and Jun to rummage through. "What is with everyone tonight!"

The rest of their banter gets swallowed by the wind as he follows Miyako over to the coolers. She fishes out a bottle of a bright, almost enticing drink that Koushirou knows better than to test. He manages to find one of the few water bottles after shifting through mountains of aluminum and glass.

The chill from the plastic bottles bites him even through the fabric of his shirt when Koushirou tucks it under his arm so he can use both hands to fill up his plate. He smiles, remembering how appalled Mimi had been, when Ken wouldn't budge on the practicalities of paper at the beach, just because fine china would look nicer.

"I'll get half of everything," Miyako conspires with him, already scooping a large portion of wasabi potato salad onto her plate, "if you get the other half and we'll share."

"Deal," Koushirou decides, taking a healthy portion of bruschetta off it's platter with tongs.

Over the hill by the parking lot, someone calls out to their group again. Koushirou looks up in time to see another woman standing atop one of the dunes, a camera pressed over her face as a light flashes along the top of it. She pulls it back to, presumably, check the digital screen.

Koushirou’s heart stutters. He thinks, maybe, he recognizes her. He sucks a breath in as the tip of another person’s head crests over the hill—

But he has no idea who the other man is.

"I'm glad we didn't miss this lighting," the woman says on a relieved breath out as she joins their party around the buffet table. She takes a quick photo of some of the trays and Koushirou feels ashamed for having taken part in ruining Mimi's masterful plating.

"Hikari!" Daisuke shouts, waving at her from still further down the beach. It looks like he's been bathed in wires—fairy lights, Koushirou guesses. "T.M!" He calls out next. Koushirou presses down on his lips to keep from chuckling as Mimi and Jun try desperately to tame his arm, for the sake of the lights.

"I'm gonna go see if I can help out there," the new guy says with a long smile, tilting his head over in the other direction. His white bucket hat falls over one of his eyes, but he doesn't seem at all bothered to fix it. "Then I'll get us a place at the fire,” he tells Hikari, indicating to the two chairs in both of his arms.

"Alright," the girl—Hikari— answers, but she seems more invested in her photography, squatting down before the table. Koushirou catches a small peek of the digital display, of the water and the sunset captured just over the edge of the fine set-up.

"Hikari!" Miyako squeals when she notices the other woman, dropping her plate on the table long enough to envelope her in a full body hug. Hikari doesn't return it where her hands still keep a grasp on her camera, arms pushed up against her chest in Miyako's embrace, but she looks no less gleeful.

"Have you met Koushirou?" Miyako asks offhand, reaching for the very last item to complete their smorgasbord.

Hikari's eyes light up when she trains them on him and Koushirou feels his cheeks burn under the attention. "Not formally," she says, sending him a half smile. She reaches over in front of Miyako, offering her hand. "I'm Hikari."

"Koushirou," he says needlessly. Hikari drops her hand the moment her eyes notice that his own are quite full. Koushirou feels the color drain from his face. He should have put his plate down, he realizes.

"You and Takeru should come sit with us," Miyako offers, popping a cocktail shrimp into her mouth and throwing the tail out in the nearby receptacle.

"Sure," Hikari says, her eyes drifting over towards her friend. He's got their chairs still propped up against his hip, chatting amicably with Daisuke and Ken as Mimi and Jun bustle around them. "I think Takeru's trying to get some time in before Daisuke's too inebriated."

She shares a knowing look with Miyako.

"Just come by whenever," she says and to Koushirou she tilts her head towards their destination and urges him to, "let's go. I'm starving."

Back at their seats, Miyako fills in him on her side of things at work, the gossip he'd missed since they last went out to lunch, and Koushirou feels, minutely, comfortable in her companionship as they knock their knees together like a makeshift table, so they can pick from each other's plates and laugh.

"I wish Iori had decided to come anyway," Miyako laments, frowning as she scoops some of the seven layered dip from Koushirou's plate with a chip. "I know he doesn't want to be around the,” she pauses, “ temptation,” she finishes. “But still. "

"Ken tried to change the date until after his birthday," Koushirou mentions. "But then Mimi would have—" he cuts himself off there and Miyako sends him a tempered smile and agrees with a quiet, "I know."

As the sun drops below the offing, so with it does the temperature. Koushirou finds himself going back to the car for the hoodie he had brought in case , huddling over himself in the chair. Miyako seems less affected, already working down her second wine cooler.

Chairs begin to dot the landscape around them, other guests filing in. Some of them come over to greet Miyako, a few staying for a while to talk. Koushirou doesn't know where to look. Sometimes he chances to glance up, and hopes he'll recognize a face.

He never does.

Koushirou almost wishes he had chosen to risk sand in his hard drive. He almost contemplates going for seconds, even though he's still stuffed from lunch, just for the sake of having something to do with his hands, his eyes, his mind.

He's grateful when Mimi finally ambles her way over and takes the empty seat beside him. “It has been a day, ” she crows, but the long smile on her perfectly pink lips speaks volumes. Koushirou wonders if she’s been draped in much due praise over her cooking all this while.

Waves clatter along the shore, as if joining into their chatter. It’s becoming more and more difficult to discern where the beach ends and the sea begins. A few couples have begun pacing along where Koushirou assumes is the shoreline, the silhouette of their shoes clutched in their shadowed hands. He’s wondering when they’ll proceed with the highlight of the evening when Daisuke barrels between his and Mimi’s chairs, the very tip of his shoe disturbing the cup of soda she had placed between them as he skips by proclaiming, “Let’s get this thing lit!”

Between them the dark, sugary beverage bubbles and fizzes in the sand. Mimi frowns at the tilted cup.

“At least it didn’t get on one of us,” she concludes after a moment of mourning, lifting the cup from the sand just as Ken filters between them, less hurried.

He mouths an apology back towards their group, before he follows his fiance along. “I thought you wanted to wait for Taichi?”

Daisuke huffs, ducking beneath one of the ropes. “He said he’s not coming—” is all Koushirou hears before the rest of his sentence gets swallowed under new guests arriving.

It is evident to Koushirou whose idea the bonfire had been. He presses his smile into the palm of his hand, watching as Daisuke lifts the can of fuel from its hiding space, making a show of throwing it along the kindling. Ken offers him a lighter from his pocket, the two of them burning what appears to be stuffed egg cartons before tossing them into the fire.

“Candle wax and recycled paper,” Ken explains when they’ve cleared the area, standing on either side of their group. “I read that egg cartons ignite well.”

Slowly flames begin to lick up from the ground, climbing and circling the wood as it rises. Koushirou does not have words to explain the sound of the fire catching, but it is as magnificent as it is terrifying, as if they had captured a ferocious dragon and confined it to a cage. Koushirou cannot look away even as Daisuke crosses in front of him, to seek out the hand of his partner. For the longest while, there is nothing but the sound of silence and fire, each of the spectators as marveled as their group. Soon it is broken by a group of cheering, the jubilation spreading as swiftly as the flames had. Even Koushirou finds himself unable to escape it, sending several quick claps into the air before his hands feel too exhausted to continue.

“It’s quite pretty,” he hears Ken saying.

“Not as pretty as you,” Daisuke follows up. It sounds like he means it, which is worse, and Koushirou coughs into his hand to hide his personal embarrassment.

Miyako, less discrete and more inebriated, shouts, “Get a room!” over Koushirou’s head. Mimi dissolves into a fit of laughter and even Koushirou can only hold back so much, his shoulders trembling with the force of his own chortling.

“You guys are the worst,” Daisuke decides with fond exasperation in his timbre.

“You love us,” Miyako drawls, “because we’re family.”

Family.

Koushirou feels himself sober at the thought of it. He wonders if any of them consider him part of that and his cheeks feel as ignited as the flames.

Daisuke and Ken stay a bit later with them before several new guests walk by, pulling them into conversations Koushirou doesn’t even try to understand. Eventually they bid them farewell, with the promise to talk later in the evening.

“You better come back!” Miyako shouts at their backs. Koushriou thinks they’re too far away to hear anything.

“Jyou!” Mimi shouts at one point, waving her arms enthusiastically to presumably catch his attention. Koushirou looks up from his plate in time to see Jyou noticing their camp.

“Hey guys!” He calls, stopping momentarily to allow a small group to cross over in front of him. “It’s hard to see anything.”

His smile is the same as it has always been, genuine and unsure, and Koushirou finds himself grateful to see it even when Jyou looks absolutely apologetic. He comes to squat beside Koushirou’s chair after they exchange quick greetings, holding himself up by perching a hand along the arm rest. Koushirou tucks his elbow close to his side to accommodate him.

“Sorry I missed you at Miyako’s,” he offers sheepishly. Koushirou can see licks of the pyre reflected in the glass of his spectacles. “By the time I actually saw you, it looked like you were,” Jyou pauses for a moment, swishing his mouth as he seems to grapple with the exact wording before deciding, “well, you looked like you were having fun and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Koushirou feels his own face color again. “Quite alright,” he tells Jyou, eyes flickering towards the fire briefly. “I am grateful to see you nonetheless.”

Jyou beams at him before his own gaze crawls back over to the bonfire. He frowns a moment later. “You know bonfires can be quite dangerous. We should probably move back about ten feet.” He explains, “For safety. Maybe twenty.”

“Nonsense,” Mimi groans. “We’re perfectly safe right here.”

After they settle further back, Miyako shifts the conversation towards more pleasant territory, which for Koushirou means work. Eventually it leads to Jyou sharing stories of his residency, up to his plans for the summer and into the next year. Koushirou thinks most of the details are for his benefit— surely he’s already shared them with Mimi and Miyako last week. Miyako excitedly shares her upcoming vacation before the New Year, an escape to warmer climates when the snow first starts to hit.

Mimi reaches for her spilled drink, frowning when her fingers come up with the empty plastic cup. “I’m going to get another drink,” she tells them all, pushing up to her feet. “Do you guys want anything?”

Koushirou shakes his head. “I’m quite sated,” he tells her. Mimi takes his empty plate, promising to toss it out on her way.

“I’ve actually got to get going,” Jyou admits, wiping the sand off his pants legs as he too comes to stand up. He pulls his cellphone from his pocket just long enough to check the time. “I just meant to stop by to congratulate them, but I’ve got to head over to work now.”

“Boo!” Miyako calls, cupping her hands over her mouth.

“We’ll hang out more next time,” Jyou promises her even as Miyako continues to boo at him. “You too, Koushirou,” he adds, smiling back down at him.

Koushirou can’t hold back one of his own. “Indubitably,” he agrees. “Enjoy your night,” he tells Jyou as the other man starts to leave, waving back at all of them until his figure is indiscernible among the rest of the shadows beyond the fire’s reach.

“Bye Jyou!” Mimi calls out to him regardless, still waving enthusiastically. She turns back on the two of them, shaking her still empty cup and asks, “So, drinks? Food?”

“I’ll go with you, actually,” Miayko decides, struggling out of her chair with both of her hands still full. Koushirou eventually takes her mostly empty wine cooler until Miayko rights herself. “You don’t mind watching the stuff, Koushirou?” She stops to ask him. Koushirou hums in the positive as the two girls thank him. “Oh, so back to Iori’s aunt—” Miyako starts as they, too, become nothing more than shadows.

Koushirou leans back in his seat. His neck feels cold where the fire light does not touch it, an odd contrast to how warm it feels when he leans in closer. He checks the time on his phone and frowns. It’s still quite early in the evening, but he already feels drained. Koushirou considers imploring Mimi to place out the cupcakes early so they can begin packing away the essential items and be one step closer to making it home. Or perhaps he can persuade her to let him leave early, if he promises to come back in time to pick her and Miyako up at the end of the event.

He could feign a weak stomach, if needed.

Koushirou heaves out a long sigh, letting his eyes fully slip closed.

Something taps along the canvas backing of his chair, a cool shadow passing over his face where the fire had still been keeping it warm.

“Hey, you!”

Koushirou startles at the proximity of the voice. Above him is a face he recognizes, from the dimpled smile to the untamed brown hair.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asks, gesturing towards the seat Mimi had once occupied. Dazed, Koushirou nods. His companion from last week’s party looks him over once and has the nerve to look disappointed when he notices, “You’re not in uniform tonight.” He gestures along his own neck until Koushirou remembers the gaudy keychain holder and snorts.

“Took a different car," Koushirou explains. He lifts an eyebrow at his companion, doing his best to seem actively concerned. "But if you'd like, I'm sure Mimi wouldn't mind lending you her lanyard for the night."

“No,” the man laughs, “I think it looks best on you.” He plops heavily into the seat and wonders, "So does that mean you're drinking tonight?"

Koushirou looks down to the ground, where his still unopened bottle of water sits, waiting. "Still the," he stops, trying to remember the acronym that his companion had coined last week, "D.D."

"Oh man," the guy whistles, rubbing his hands together for what Koushirou assumes is an attempt to warm them. He leans closer towards the fire. Light caresses gently along one of his cheeks as he sends a grin back in Koushirou's direction. "Is this a case of the short straw?"

"It's more or less voluntary," Koushirou admits. "I'm not particular to drinking, so logically I make the best choice."

"That's pretty cool of you," his companion says, genuinely smiling at him. Koushirou isn't sure if a single other person has come this close to calling him cool before, especially in response to his aversion to consuming alcohol . His cheeks feel anything but cool , so he turns away, watching the fine sparks of embers bursting and popping before them, hoping the light of it will mask the color dawning on his face. Koushirou can still feel the other's eyes on him. “Oh,” he starts after a beat, “I’m Taichi, by the way.”

“Taichi,” Koushirou repeats the name without meaning to. It feels nice on his tongue. When his eyes meet Taichi’s, the other is already grinning back at him and Koushirou tries his best to return it. “I’m Koushirou,” he adds in.

"I'll remember that," Taichi promises with a short laugh. “So, uh, which side of the aisle do you fall on?”

"Mostly Ken’s.”

"Cool," Taichi nods.

Silence passes between them before Koushirou ventures to ask, "How about yourself?"

"I guess I kind of fall on both sides," Taichi decides, tilting his head so the light shifts briefly from one cheek to the other. "Daisuke and I have been friends forever, you know? He went to school with my little sister—" Hikari , Koushirou's mind supplies "—and we were both really into soccer so I guess we kind of clicked."

Taichi pulls a water bottle out from the pouch of his black hoodie, uncaps it, and scowls the second he tips it back. “Yuck,” he sticks out his tongue as if to drive home how truly disgusting he finds the drink. “Warm water is just the worst.”

“There’s water in the coolers,” Koushirou mentions. He reaches down for his own, fingers slipping over the condensation that’s formed around the plastic now that it’s been sitting out for so long. It is nowhere near as cold as it had been when Koushirou took it from the coolers, but he offers it towards Taichi, hoping it will be a better alternative.

“Nah,” Taichi says, but Koushirou pushes it towards him once more. He smiles and asks, “You sure?” before taking the bottle from Koushirou’s grip. Taichi takes a few, long gulps out of the bottle and tells Koushirou, “Much better.” He frowns at the bottle he’d brought along with him. “I have no idea how long this has been in my car.”

Koushirou considers the clues and ventures to guess, “You’re also the D.D. this evening?”

Taichi hums in affirmation as he places the two water bottles between their chairs, gently ripping the label off from one of them. Koushriou assumes this is to keep track of the less desired one. Taichi meets his eyes as he leans back up and says, "It somehow just ended up that way. My luck, I guess?"

A couple pulls up somewhere to Koushirou's back, their chatter lending itself to the festivities around them. It is a stark contrast to the early evening that he had spent with his close friends. Most of these people are strangers. Koushirou hears the crackle of the fire, but the sound of waves has been lost to the evening now.

"So how do you know Ken?" Taichi asks, reaching again for one of the water bottles.

"High school." Koushirou frowns, wishing his social sphere had been a little more diverse as he tells Taichi, "We met in computer club. We also attended the same undergrad."

"Oh," Taichi says immediately, eyes cutting directly back towards Koushirou. "Are you still in school?"

"I got my doctorate in computer engineering a couple of years ago," he confesses. Koushirou stares measuredly at the fire. His heart feels like it wants to escape his chest.

"Oh," Taichi says again, this time with a careful slowness. Koushirou notices him cap the bottle, also slowly. He wonders if Taichi needs the time to make up an excuse, to get himself away from the brainiac buzzkill without sounding rude. Instead he wonders, "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-four."

Taichi whistles, the edges of his eyes slightly wider than Koushirou's come to know them. His heart picks up the pace, hammering away. His hands feel clammy. It shouldn't matter to him that this once, perhaps still is, stranger is off put by Koushirou's achievements. He should be used to it. It’s fine.

"I'll be twenty-six at the end of next month," Taichi says. He barks out a laugh. "You're something else," Taichi comments vaguely. Koushirou's too afraid to inquire as to what that something is, so he looks over to the sea instead. Wind whips across his nose, a chill just outside the border of the fire's focus.

"Oh, anyway," Taichi continues after a short while. "You remember my friend Yamato, right? He's the entertainment tonight so we needed a big enough car to fit some of his set, which narrowed it down to me and Takeru. But see Daisuke used to like my kid sister, uh," Taichi hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching along the edge of the fire, as if searching her out. Koushirou wonders if he counts as a stranger now, or if knowing Taichi's name has sealed some sort of acquaintanceship. "I think you saw her at the party, right? Hikari."

Ah. So he'd been right. Koushirou can't stop the self congratulatory smile crawling on the edges of his lips.

"Well she's super close with Takeru, grew up together and stuff, so even though Daisuke's got Ken now he's never fully warmed up to Takeru. Jealousy, you know? Anyway when he gets drunk he's always kind of picking on the guy."

There are a lot of actors, but Koushirou does his best to follow, watching the way Taichi's eyes brighten with no assistance of the pyre, relaying bits of his life so easily.

"...And," Taichi trails off there, catching Koushirou's stare with his own curious gaze. "What?" He asks.

"Nothing, you're still—" Koushirou pauses "—talking." He stops himself from finishing his sentence with an incredulous, “To me.” Instead he adds, "I'm just listening."

"Oh," Taichi says back. His grin is wide and sweet when he turns it back towards the fire. Embers shifts in the reflection of his golden brown eyes and it reminds Koushirou of a rich whiskey, the sort Mimi's dad would always try to pour for him when he would visit their house. Taichi stares hard at the fire for a minute before asking, “What was I talking about?”

Koushirou doesn’t think it’s a test, when Taichi asks. He’s not even sure it’s directed at him, but he remembers, “Daisuke is a belligerent drunk.”

Taichi stares back at him and this time Koushirou asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Taichi starts, an odd expression crossing his face. “Just,” he tries again, sending Koushirou a charming half grin. “I guess you were listening,” he laughs lightly.

Koushirou frowns. He wonders if people often don’t. Ignoring Taichi seems like it’d be a hard task to pursue.

"But right, they get along for the most part, just Daisuke gets rowdy after a few shots and Takeru figured he should leave early to preserve the peace, so I ended up as the Chauffeur to his highness of the Teenage Wolves. Ah, and then Hikari came with Takeru since there wasn't much room in my car with Sora, too, and, so yeah." Taichi considers the ground for a moment. Koushirou can't place his expression. "Sorry, that was a lot."

"I had no qualms listening," Koushirou tells him. Taichi cuts his gaze back up to meet his, looking almost uncharacteristically relieved. "How do you know Ken?" Koushirou changes the subject.

Taichi's face brightens even more. "Oh, well, you know Ken plays soccer, right?" Koushirou nods even if he doesn't think it's a question needing an answer. "Yeah, we're on the same team. Kid's a beast."

Koushirou raises a brow. "As in the same university team?"

Taichi hums in the affirmative. "I think I only got in because of my soccer skills," he laughs disparagingly. "But it's got a great master's program for polisci and some great internship connections."

Koushirou stares. "I wouldn't discredit your achievements," he puts in after a short moment. "It's not a particularly easy school to get in, even on a sport's scholarship."

"Yeah?" Taichi says. His eyes are back on the fire, but there's a sheepishness in his smile. Koushirou wonders if the lighting were better, if he might be able to tell if Taichi were blushing. "You know you should come watch us some time. We’re pretty good. If you want?”

Soccer in itself sounds incredibly unappealing, but Koushirou finds himself offering a, “Perhaps,” despite himself.

"Hey," someone calls out, approaching them from the other side of the bonfire. He recognizes Hikari as soon as she steps into the ring of light, the camera that had been stuck to her face a few short hours ago now lax about her neck. To Koushirou, it looks heavy. “I seem to have lost Takeru,” she confesses, gesturing back to what Koushirou assumes is the banquet area with her hand holding up a dark, glass bottle. “And our chairs,” she laughs, taking a long swig of the bottle as if she just remembered the liquor existed. “Miyako said I could sit you with guys,” she addresses Koushirou with a disarmingly sweet smile before taking another quick chug.

“Slow down, girlie,” Taichi cuts in. “Or I’ll find you on the stairs later and have to heft you up myself.”

Hikari makes a face at him. "Why are you like this every time we go out?"

"Big brother privileges."

“It sounds preferable to the need of dissimulating cat waste," Koushirou puts in.

Taichi gives a full, hearty laugh, throwing his head back over the canvas backing of his own chair.

“You two should take your act on the road,” she suggests, taking what can only be considered a defiant sip of her beer, “and leave. Speaking of,” she adds, switching her weight from one foot the other. Koushirou worries for the overfilled plate in her other hand. “Daisuke requests your presence at the buffet table, Taichi.”

“Such is the burden of being popular,” Taichi says. He makes sure to tell Koushirou, “I’ll be back,” as if it was somehow a concern he might have. Koushirou refuses to humor the thought, just sending Taichi a crooked half smile back.

“Insufferable that one,” Hikari scoffs jestingly, falling into the newly unoccupied seat. She balances the full plate of food atop her lap and throws back her dusty purple shawl from her shoulders, then hangs her camera strap along the back edge of the chair.

"I'm sorry," Koushirou says. His cheeks feel hot and shame fills his stomach. "I hadn't meant to—"

He catches Hikari mid-sip, but she's already batting her hand towards him. When she finishes she reassures him, "It's fine. I know Taichi's a bad influence." Koushirou presses his lips together, unsure how to proceed, but Hikari adds, "I did think it was pretty funny. Just don't tell him that."

Hikari smiles at him and Koushirou returns it.

"He has a way about him," Hikari continues out of nowhere. Her expression is fond when she tells him, "he's a little overbearing at times, but it always feels like his heart's in the right place."

Koushirou swallows. He doesn't quite know how to compliment her confessions so he settles on saying, "It must be nice to have so many friends in common."

She hums, "Sometimes." And then lets out a soft giggle. "It's hard to keep to secrets that way, though." Hikari smiles at him, something sweet yet conspiring. "Which means this is all between us, got it?"

He has never really had to keep a secret before. Mimi and Miyako are open books, and if even they weren't he doesn't quite know who he would share such gossip with.

Hikari holds up her hand towards him, this time only her pinky extended. Koushirou catches it with his own and when she grins at him it feels as if it transfers through their bond and he cannot stop himself from returning it.

Hikari is a comfortable presence, even in the interims of silence that passes between them. "I can't believe you've known Miyako all this time," she breathes out, taking a healthy bite of Mimi's famous barbeque brisket. "I wonder if we met before somehow."

"Perhaps," Koushirou humors the thought.

Over the humdrum of other guests, a few, strong musical notes drift through the night. Around them people start cheering, the excitement electric in the air. Hikari seems to perk up at the first sign of them, dropping her beer bottle at the base of her chair and hurries the rest of her meal into her mouth.

"Sounds like they're starting," she surmises, reaching behind her for the camera she had retired not too long ago. "I'm going to take some pictures of the band," she relates to Koushirou, stretching as she stands to her feet.

She barely takes a step before she rounds back on him. Koushirou finds it hard to tear his eyes away from hers. "You wanna come with me?" Hikari asks, tilting her head towards the source of the festivities. "I bet desserts out, too!"

Koushirou has never really been one for a great many sweets, but it’s also not often someone asks for his company and so wordlessly he follows her back.

In the distance the reception area looks, quite honestly, like a dream. Flames atop the tiki torches dance in the wind, accented by the fairylights pinned to the table. The cupcakes he had spent the afternoon decorating now sit atop their silver charges, but to his chagrin no one has seemed interested. He hopes it's not because of his lack of skill.

Not too far from the buffet a makeshift stage has been erected; fairy lights drape between several poles stuck into the dirt, something that looks like a rug has been rolled out along the sand for the band members to stand on with their equipment.

A very large group of people has already gathered before them, obscuring most of the view. It only gets more crowded as the band actually starts up, the vocals almost drowned out by the belting of guitar strings, of the pounding on the drum set.

Koushirou stands back with Hikari, closer to the buffet table. Every so often she holds the lense to her eyes and a rapid fire set of clicks sound off. Wind rushes past them, blowing Hikari's hair this way and that. He has to hold her camera at one point when it threatens to dislodge the little red clip fastening her bangs out of the way of her eyes.

"Koushirou!" Mimi finds him, dispersing part of the crowd as she rushes to his side. Her cheeks are flushed and her smile wide, the sand perhaps only partly to blame for her uneven gait. He notices that her sandals are missing and frowns. He really hopes they weren’t too expensive this time. “Come dance with me!" She urges him, pulling on his wrist with a gentle force.

"I—" his gaze catches Hikari's momentarily and she beams at him encouragingly, until he shakes his head.

She considers him for a moment, then carefully slips the camera’s tether from around her neck and pushes it into his hands. “I’ll dance with you,” she volunteers in his stead.

Mimi is fast to switch targets, excitedly taking Hikari’s hand in her own. Over her shoulder, Hikari makes a motion with her pointer finger. Take photos, is how Koushirou interprets her signal. He can hear the two of them cheering just over the music as they venture further onto the dance floor.

His fingers tap gently along the odd buttons and switches adorning the camera. He can find his way behind a firewall just fine, but operating one of these fills his chest with dread. Koushirou has no doubts that if given an hour or two he could divest the instrument of it’s secrets, but he knows he doesn’t have the time and the thought of failing Hikari, even a stranger he barely knows, is almost devastating.

“Just look through the little viewfinder," someone instructs him. “I know there’s a live feed switch somewhere but it doesn’t like to work for me.” Their weight against him is warm and Koushirou looks up to be greeted by one of Taichi's smiles. His companion taps a little raised button at the top of the camera and tells him, "Then you just click this."

Koushirou sends a wary look back at the camera. It’s digital screen is dark and gives him no help. He offers it up with a quick, "Perhaps you're more qualified," but Taichi backs away with both of his hands up in surrender.

"The only machinery I'm qualified to operate is my cell phone."

Koushirou quirks an eyebrow. "And your car, I presume?"

Taichi narrows his eyes in a not unkind way and agrees, "And my car. As far as anyone needs to know."

Koushirou considers his options for a moment and then lifts the camera up to eye level, finding the little window and surveying the crowd through it. He doesn't have the right skill for this, the equipment heavy despite being held up with both of his hands. The button at the top is almost completely unyielding against his attempts to press it that he almost drops the whole thing to the compact earth several times.

"These are horrible," Taichi laughs as they thumb through each of the photos after Koushirou manages to take a dozen or so. He groans. Taichi's right. Every face is a blurry mess, the torch lights a fuzzy glare across the screen.

"Hikari looks like she's on fire," Taichi cackles when they stumble on one of the few Koushirou managed to take of them dancing, with Mimi raising both of their arms high in the air, twirling Hikari on the unstable floor. The fire behind them has blurred across the screen, making it look as if it has consumed most of her hair.

Koushirou huffs a laugh.

She had slipped not a moment after the trigger had gone off. Koushirou smiles at the next image, of Mimi hovering worriedly over the other woman as Hikari merely laughs, the mirth bright and alive on her face even in the still image.

Taichi had found the scene uncontainably funny, his laughter belly deep and contagious. Seeing it again does little to temper the humor, and Koushirou finds himself laughing along with Taichi again as the fire settles lovingly in his wood-brown eyes, burning brightly. His fingers where they overlap Koushirou's own to view the screen better are welcome, the warmth they harbor traveling up his body and into his cheeks.

The music comes to a soft end, the last notes as crisp in the air as the wind brushing over them. This time it does not fade into another song.

"We'll be back after a short break," the lead singer informs the crowd. He looks a little like the guy who Hikari had come with, but Koushirou can’t fully discern most of his face from this distance. "We’ll keep the mic open if anyone would like to say a few words."

Taichi relinquishes his half of the hold on the camera, telling him quickly, "I'll be back." He flashes Koushirou a quick thumbs up as he runs towards the makeshift stage.

A majority of the crowd disperses over the news, lines of dancers making their way back over to the bonfire.

It is colder now, where Koushirou stands by himself. He teeters on his feet, wondering if he should hazard some photos of the speakers, if he should have perhaps not turned down the invitation to say something when Ken had first requested it of him.

Hikari comes to his side at just right the moment, her smile pushing out both of her prominent dimples. "Taichi's going to take the stage soon," she informs him, gently taking back her camera. “So let's grab some dessert and leave before he goes ham," she adds with a wicked laugh.

“Shouldn’t we stay?”

She wrinkles her nose. “He’s going to do an encore at the actual wedding, trust me. Besides I’ve been his test audience all week, I’ve got it memorized.” She reaches for a plate and fills it with several cupcakes. Koushirou wonders if it’s for their group, or just a personal serving. “I can give you the low down as we walk back,” she offers with a wry smile.

Koushirou can't decide either way when Hikari loops her arm through his and pulls him, not unwillingly, back in the direction of their camp for the evening, only stopping by the coolers to get another drink.

"These are awful," Hikari cackles, echoing her brother once they've settled back into their seats. Her face lights up at what Koushirou assumes is her devastating fall on the dance floor. She grins at him, her flush highlighted by the glow of the pyre. “But I think you captured the feeling of tonight pretty well."

Koushirou's certain he's done no such thing, but he chooses not to argue, hiding his slight smile with the bow of his head.

Across the way Koushirou can barely make out any distinguishable sounds aside from the occasional feedback on the mic. He doesn't know if Taichi is still speaking, or if he's probably joined the crowd by now. Maybe he'll stay over there for the rest of the evening and find a more suitable partner to hang around, who prefers to dance the night away instead of tucking into corners and playing antisocial party games.

Koushirou huffs at the thought.

“I won!” Mimi declares as soon as she returns, throwing both of her hands up into the air as if she has stuck a particularly flawless landing. Clutched in one of her fists is a distinctively red cup. Hikari claps on her behalf which only seems to fuel Mimi’s ego as she strikes several new vogue-like poses in victory. Miyako ducks beneath one of her arms with a pointed snort.

“What precisely did you win?”

“Daisuke goaded us into a drinking game,” Miyako explains, falling into the only free chair left. Mimi doesn’t hesitate to fall atop her lap, keeping her solo cup safely unrattled over both of their heads. “Results are debatable.”

“No they aren’t,” Mimi argues, drawing out every syllable. “ I won. I just said that. Where’s the debate?”

Miyako snorts, resting her forehead against the broad of Mimi's back. "Alright," she says appeasingly, "you won."

When Mimi dips her cup back to take a nice long sip after a final self-congratulatory whoop , Koushirou suspects it is no longer soda. About them the scent of alcohol has become thicker, rivaled only by the sweet smell of burning oak and just the right hint of smoke. Koushirou breathes it in, not missing the low tide in the least.

"Your hot friend is here," Mimi pipes up a moment later. Koushirou wants to assume she's not talking to him, with her eyes taking on that distant glaze as if she's not really looking at anything, but then she follows up with, "You know the one. Bush hair boy."

Miyako cackles into the crook of Mimi's arm where her head still rests. "Taichi," she corrects her.

"Mimi," he whispers harshly. He tries to motion with his eyes, over his head, where the other girl can no doubt hear them.

"What?" She snaps, the absolute vision of drunkenly defensive.

"Hikari is his sister," Miyako explains with little tact.

Mimi sits up straighter to look over Koushirou's head at the other member in their party. "Oh!" She says, settling back down, this time throwing her legs over the arm of the chair until her bare toes wiggle just barely out of reach of Koushirou's elbow. "Then what does she care if he's hot?"

"I love you," she adds, crunching herself up in Miyako's lap to wave at the girl. "We should dance more later."

"I'm good for the night," Hikari says. When Koushirou chances to look at her, she's pressing her lips together as if to contain her own trembling laughter. "Maybe another time?"

"With less sand," Miyako complains, rolling her head back. "My thighs are killing me ."

"My butt is going to hurt in the morning," Hikari adds, taking a swig of her new beer.

Koushirou's just glad they've changed the subject from—

"Koushirou's hot friend!" Mimi greets him as soon as Taichi slips into the light. He gives her a funny look before finally greeting her back with, "Lanyard girl!"

Mimi doesn't hesitate when Taichi offers up his fist to bump her own against it. She even imitates his impression of an explosion when they pull apart. Koushirou smiles fondly at her as she settles into giggles.

And, oh, Koushirou falters. Taichi hadn't corrected her when she declared that they were friends.

"Up," Taichi directs his sister, motioning her to move with both of his hands. "I was sitting there first," he reminds her.

"I was sitting there first!" Mimi puts in, raising her arm like she’s waiting to be called on in class. Both of the siblings send her apologetic smiles but Mimi doesn’t appear bothered as she reclines back into Miyako laps and hums around her cup.

"Finder's keeper's," Hikari says defiantly, exchanging one leg over the other as she sits up straighter. Her smile is sweet, yet coy. "Besides, Miyako invited me to sit with everyone."

Miyako says something, but even next to her Koushirou cannot discern any words. Her glasses have been displaced from over her eyes, just barely sitting on the rounded part of her forehead, suspended only by where she's slumped against Mimi's forearm. They shift precariously whenever the other woman moves around. He almost thinks to grab them off for her before Mimi plucks the spectacles from her head and rights them on her own, as if they were sunglasses.

Hikari beams up at her brother, as if somehow she’s finally won. "There’s plenty of other seats to choose from," she suggests, sweeping her hand above the sand at her feet.

Taichi frowns at her.

"You can sit here," Koushirou offers instead, gesturing to his own seat. He has no qualms with standing, or even taking some part of the dirt.

Taichi looks as if he'll decline before his gaze shifts over towards Mimi and Miyako and he seems to reconsider the offer. "You sure?" He asks. Koushirou thinks he should be weary of the way Taichi tries to press down a very obvious grin.

But he still says, "Of course," and lives to regret it when Taichi takes the chance to settle right into his seat—with Koushirou still occupying it. He mirrors Mimi's position, throwing his legs up and over the armrest and has the audacity to give Koushirou the widest, sweetest grin imaginable.

"Am I too heavy?"

And that's— well. It's unfair, really. What is Koushirou supposed to say to that? Yes?

“No,” is what his mouth decides on without his consent.

"On guard!" Mimi calls, wielding her feet to smack against Taichi's as if they were fencing with swords. Taichi takes the cue, leaning back a slight bit to tap against her until Mimi is no more than snorts and giggles, her curls almost sweeping against the dirt as she sways back in Miyako's lap.

The arm of the chair groans against the excessive weight as Taichi finds a comfortable position. He grins up at Koushirou as if nothing were amiss, but it feels to Koushirou as if the whole world has been turned on its axle, the blood pooling in his cheeks almost enough evidence to prove his theory.

"Let me know if it gets uncomfortable," Taichi tells him.

Koushirou won't. He knows this about himself.

"We can switch later," he offers.

"I'm fine," he answers politely.

But he's not. He's really not. His head is spinning. Where does he put his hands?

Koushirou decides to leave them where they are, along the arm rests, though it almost makes it feel as if he's carrying the man princess-style and he doesn't know how to digest this information.

Taichi grins at him as if he is privy to Koushirou's every thought, leaning deeper against the armrest. His weight against Koushirou's arm is almost pleasant. "How's work been treating you?"

"Fine," Koushirou answers simply. Swallowing feels unnecessarily difficult.

"Yeah? Not getting accosted by any aliens on your way home?"

Koushirou squints at the man in his lap before he remembers. He levels Taichi with a dramatically withered expression. "I'm not their intended target, sir."

"You're right," Taichi looks briefly aghast. "I should have been more careful lately, huh?"

"I know a former Russian agent who may agree to shifting careers toward mercenary work."

Taichi wrinkles his nose. "Does that include fighting aliens?"

"Indubitably."

"Sounds like an amazing movie idea," Taichi comments after he sobers up from a quick burst of laughter, giving Koushirou a lopsided grin. "We should sell the rights to a film company. Make millions."

"Invest heavily in Cranberry juice?"

Taichi laughs. "It all comes full circle, man."

Hikari snorts at them somewhere to his right. "What are you two talking about?"

"I don't want to be left out either!" Mimi makes it known, scrambling to sit up straighter by clutching at the arm of her shared seat with Miyako. She tosses back another long sip of her drink and frowns at the cup, tipping it over haphazardly. "It's gone," she informs Koushirou, miserably.

"There's still more to drink," Hikari says over his and Taichi's head. "With Daisuke involved, I'm certain of it."

Mimi stares in the direction of the fire, several clips in her hair glinting like stars in the night where the light catches them. She makes a clicking sound with her tongue, still trying to decide if it’s worth it to take the long trip.

"Sora's still over there," Taichi mentions. Koushirou perks up at the unfamiliar name. "I'm sure she'll dance some more."

"That's right!" Mimi shouts. "I forgot about dancing!"

She takes a few minutes before rushing off to try to coax Hikari to join her, but it's to no avail.

"She sure has some energy," Taichi comments with a shrill whistle.

"I heard she made all the food tonight," Hikari adds in, humming appreciatively around her first bite of a cupcake.

"All morning," Koushirou confirms.

Miyako mutters something, leaning over to one side now that there’s no one keeping her up. Her eyes are just barely open and her gaze is straight on the fire. Koushirou thinks her glasses might still be on Mimi's head and he frowns, hoping they don't end up as the same fate as Mimi's sandals.

When Taichi wonders if she's fine, Miyako just waves them off.

Drunk , is what Koushriou deems her. She's always the most quiet when she's had enough to drink. He smiles at her, ready to offer if she wants a ride home when someone else walks up to them with a casual, "Hey guys!"

Koushirou recognizes him from earlier, when he came down to the beach with Hikari. Takeru, if his recollection doesn’t fail him.

"Sorry, I totally spaced," he says to her. She only smiles back at him and motions to the open space next to her chair. Taichi leans his neck all the way back to look at their new member, waving his greeting at the blond who returns it without question. "I got caught up talking to Daisuke and Ken and then helping out my brother with the equipment," he titters. Takeru places the two chairs down along their line of seats already, positioning them on a slight tilt so when he finally sits down Koushirou can still clearly see his face.

Mostly . Even with the additional seating, Taichi does not relocate a comfortable seating arrangement. Koushirou thinks he'll need the rest of the week to process this.

Takeru catches his stare under the brim of his hat, smiling up at him. "I'm Takeru," he introduces himself with a long wave and an equally lengthened smile that sets Koushirou at ease.

"That's Koushirou," Hikari says offhand, taking a large bite of the cupcake on her plate. Koushirou almost takes the chance to tell her of the frosting sitting on her cupid's bow, but Takeru pulls back his attention with an enthused declaration of, "I owe you my life!"

Koushirou stares.

Takeru stares back up at him where the lawn chairs he'd carried don't stand quite as tall. Taichi in his lap let's out what can only be described as a cackle after a spell of silence.

"No," Takeru pushes on, "you don't understand."

Koushirou doesn't. He's no longer sure of what he does understand.

"Plan 9 From Outerspace is now my favorite movie ever."

"We rented some of the movies you recommended to me last time," Taichi explains. He rests his head on the canvas backing of the chair. Koushirou can feel the ghost of Taichi’s laughter just along the shell of his ear. All he can manage to do is look forward. "Takeru really likes bad movies."

"He's watched it at least 3 more times afterwards," Hikari adds, licking away all of the evidence of pink frosting from one of her fingers. "So thanks for that."

“Just doing my civic duty of spreading the gospel of execrable science fiction,” Koushirou finds himself adding in his own defense. A moment later his cheeks color. The only person he knows with any certainty is Miyako, and he’s not entirely sure she’s awake anymore.

But Takeru just asks him with a definite shine in his eyes, “What else have you seen?”

“You don’t have to worry,” Taichi tells him softly. Koushirou makes the mistake of turning to look at him, because Taichi is just far too close, his eyes ((disgustingly)) soft for anyone’s good, but least of all for Koushirou and his poor heart. “Not with them.”

"Have you seen The Brain from Planet Arous? " Takeru wonders, calling Koushirou's attention back.

"Absolutely,” he manages. “Easily in the top ten."

They fall into a pattern then, of going back and forth on their favorites. Takeru even takes out his phone to jot down some of the new one's he's never heard of. Koushirou keeps his notes mental, rather than bothering trying to reach for his cell phone in the pocket of his cargo pants.

"You know the truly wonderful movies are only found when you deep dive into the dollar bargain bins," Takeru says, sagely.

"Just like all quality items," Hikari deadpans.

" Listen,” Takeru insists. “Kung-fu From Beyond the Grave is cinematic genius ."

"You can't even see the whites of anybody's eyes," Taichi adds with a roll of his own. "There weren't even any zombies."

"Not every good movie needs—"

“TJ!” Daisuke’s voice calls across the distance, the feedback from the microphone deafening even all the way across the beach.

Immediately, Takeru’s on his feet.

“That’s my cue,” he says, giving everyone a calm smile. Hikari picks herself up, throwing her dusty purple shawl back over her shoulders. “It was nice meeting you,” Takeru says. It takes Koushirou a moment to realize he’s talking to him, which, well, of course he is. Koushirou’s the only stranger in their group.

“Likewise,” he manages. His cheeks burn. He hopes no one’s noticed the timelapse.

“It was fun,” Hikari adds in. Her eyes meet Koushirou’s when she says, “We’ll have to do something like this again soon.” Lovely smiles must be hereditary, Koushirou discovers, when she turns one on him.

“Indubitably,” Taichi answers on his behalf.

"We can rent Flash Gordon!" Takeru offers, snapping the second chair up.

Hikari takes it from him with an exaggerated, "Again!" But her long, fond smile tells Koushirou she doesn't mind the idea of it.

"Indubitably," Koushirou answers for himself this time.

And then they're gone.

Koushirou's eyes watch the fire, unbelieving. It's not that he expects to see them again, that either of them will make good on their promise. It's just— Koushirou's never made plans with complete strangers before. His friend group has never branched out from school or work. It’s the second time in one evening that it feels as if the entire world has been uprooted and turned on its head.

Taichi adjusts himself momentarily, asking Koushirou, "Still alright?" as he slides more into a sitting position, his rump not quite directly in his lap anymore. Koushirou manages to nod, even if he's not sure what the question is pertaining to.

Taichi tucks both of his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and breathes out a quick laugh. "So any cool adventures this week?" He wonders.

"Do you mean more fulfilling than saving Japan?"

Taichi laughs. "Yeah, cooler than that."

"Nothing," he answers honestly. Then he remembers to ask, "And you?"

Taichi hums. “Definitely not anything that cool,” he titters. The fire looks brighter when Koushirou catches the embers sparking in Taichi’s gaze as he turns his attention directly towards the bonfire. “But I guess vigilantism is hard to compete with,” he tacks on, pursing his lips in consideration. Koushirou moves his hand once Taichi starts to bounce both of his legs along the chair’s armrest, tucking it into the space between the both of them and across his stomach.

Taichi just exudes warmth and Koushirou feels it like a salve on his tensed muscles, relaxing into Taichi's offhand stories about his week; regaling him in adventures that involve skirting his coursework in favor of midnight milkshakes or tag at the local park. They involve more extracurricular activities and less extraterrestrial lifeforms than Koushirou would prefer, but he thinks, perhaps, Taichi could spend the rest of an evening explaining a sandwich he made, and Koushirou would still find the tale no less intriguing.

"What are you doing to him?"

Koushirou looks up to see the lead singer of the band from before, regarding them with a critical eye.

Taichi swings one of his legs exaggeratedly and simply tells the other man, "Nothing. We're hanging out."

" Right ." He plops into the seat Hikari had been occupying not too long ago. "Blink twice if you need help," he instructs Koushirou in a harsh stage whisper. There's nothing discreet about it and Taichi tells him just as much. The blond seems unbothered, lifting a bottle up to his lips.

"Where's Sora?" Taichi wonders into their newfound silence, bouncing his legs again. Aside to Koushirou he explains, "Sora is Cannibal A."

"Ah." He vaguely has a face in his stored memories to pull upon.

Although Taichi can't see him, the other guy shrugs. He takes another sip, eyes entranced with the pyre before them as he relays with a heavily distracted tone, "She was hanging out with some new friend. Said they were going to collect sea glass."

"This is Koushirou by the way," Taichi introduces him, straining his neck back to look at his friend. "This is cannibal B," Taichi tells him a moment later, shooting Koushirou a secretive smile. “Or just Yamato, I guess.”

“ You ,” Yamato starts, pointing directly at Koushirou with his beer hand, “owe me six hours of my life back.”

"Plan 9," Taichi explains. "He's not so much into the bargain bin movies."

"Time is a non-refundable currency," Koushirou answers before he can stop himself. He’s starting to think this might be all Taichi’s influence, especially as the other man follows up with a firm, "Should have read the terms and conditions, man."

Yamato shoots them both a withered look.

Taichi rolls his head back once more to look at Yamato directly and wonders with a vague sense of sympathy in his tone, "Did Takeru make you watch it twice?"

Yamato scoffs in answer. Koushirou can hear the whistle of his breath through the hollow of the bottle just before he takes another chug. "Solaranite, though? It's too contrived."

"Yamato's training to be an astronaut," Taichi adds in as if he's bragging of his own accomplishments.

"It wasn't even funny," Yamato continues, sounding absolutely offended. He makes a face at the fire. "Fake science always takes me out of the plot."

"I prefer more preposterous science," Koushirou argues. "I find it preferable to spreading false information that sounds credible."

Yamato takes a short sip of his drink, the furrow in brow enough to indicate to Koushirou that he’s considering the point. Finally Yamato concedes, “I guess that’s better.”

Eventually the fire before them begins to dwindle with the absence of anything more to consume. It is the only indication of time passing that Koushirou has for the evening and he is bewildered by it when Yamato halts them in the middle of discussion on the poor science in fiction to ask, “Is she alive over there?”

Koushirou looks to Miyako, still slumped in the chair beside him. He hadn’t noticed her lightly snoring away since earlier in the evening. The fire cracks atop one of the logs and Koushirou feels his cheeks burn. Around them, everyone else has packed up and left.

"I should take her home," Koushirou says. Regret seizes in his chest the moment the words spill out and Taichi’s lopsided smile falls into a frown.

"Yeah," he agrees, but makes no move to reseat himself.

Oddly, Koushirou doesn't mind.

"Yeah,” Yamato repeats. “I should start getting the equipment back in the car," he tells them, sounding very much like that is the last thing he wants to do. He takes a final gulp of his beer and wrestles his way up to his feet.

"Here are the keys," Taichi says, pulling them out from his jean’s pocket and dangling them blindly over his head.

Yamato snatches them briskly. "Let Sora know we're heading out soon if you see her first."

"Aye, aye," Taichi salutes the blond. "And if you see a nice pair of sandals, I think Mimi's missing them!" He calls to the other's back. Yamato just throws a thumbs up to indicate he heard.

"She kicked them off as soon as the music started," Taichi explains to Koushirou's curious gaze. "I was helping move some of the equipment and they nearly smacked me in the face. Never saw where they went."

Koushirou can't help it. He can see the image so clearly in his mind, can imagine what it might be like if one of them had made their mark on Taichi’s face, that the laughter bubbles up from his chest, throwing his head back against the canvas backing of his chair.

Taichi beams at him. "You have a nice laugh," he comments, bouncing his legs once more. It’s enough to sober Koushirou up, and he is so very grateful for the diminished light of the fire now.

Ken finds them not too long after Yamato's departure, Taichi still spilled across his lap. His friend sways lightly where he stands, squinting at them as if trying to solve a puzzle. A bucket clatters against his hip as he stares.

"Closing up shop?" Taichi asks.

Ken looks down. "Yes," he says, unsure. His eyes settle in Miyako’s direction. “Is she alright?”

In answer, Miyako snores.

“I was just about to take her home,” Koushirou says, smiling sheepishly up at his friend. Ken nods, every dip of his head far too deep and long. He almost offers to put out the fire himself before Ken finally douses the embers, blanketing them in an unnatural, unadjusted darkness, a pillar of dark, gray clouds rising against the muted sky. In his lap still, Taichi seems to hold his breath. It smells aggressively of smoke and soggy wood and the same cologne Koushirou’s certain Taichi wore last weekend.

“I should get her to the car,” Koushirou continues, turning an apologetic look in Miyako’s direction. She looks so at peace.

Taichi lets out a long suffering sigh, but he complies and rolls his way off the chair. Without the other's weight atop him, Koushirou's lap feels unnaturally cold, and the sense of relief he had been predicting earlier in the evening feels, strangely, like remorse.

It doesn't last long. His thighs ache when he attempts to stand, feeling like rubber and prickling with numbness. He winces at the first step. If it counts as a step.

"You okay?" The very reason for his problem asks. Koushirou frowns back at him and Taichi only grins, shoving his hands through the pouch of his hoodie. In the dark the color is almost indiscernible against the night sky.

"I hope the aliens get you," he says. Taichi laughs.

"Come on, Miyako," Koushirou urges his friend. She only answers with a defiant groan, falling deeper against the side of the chair. Koushirou shakes her shoulder gently, calling to her once again. It’s to no avail.

Taichi laughs heartily. Ken chuckles besides him.

Koushirou glares.

"Miyako~" Taichi coos, coming up on her other side. He reaches gently for one of her arms, coaxing her to sit up further. Miyako makes a garbled noise, huffing as Taichi places a hand across her back to keep her from slouching back into the seat. Her head rolls over on to her own shoulder and she blinks up at him.

Koushirou has no idea what she says next, but Taichi laughs. "Koushirou's going to take you home now. To sleep in a real bed, okay?"

Miyako nods. Or she's drifting back off. Koushirou isn't really sure, but Taichi somehow manages to convince her to stand. Miyako rubs at her eyes, giving several hard blinks before she starts to attempt to walk forward, her gait unsure. She slurs out a quiet, “Sorry,” when she sees Koushirou watching her.

“Let’s go to the car,” Taichi suggests, throwing his arm around her shoulder as they start towards the parking lot. Koushirou isn’t sure if it’s to keep her upright, or just a friendly gesture as he asks the girl, “Did you have fun tonight?” Miyako nods.

"Incredible," Koushirou breathes out.

Taichi back at him, grinning. "Just your local drunk whisperer hard at work."

"I’ll help," Ken offers, “with the chairs”. Koushirou just about tells him to not mind it, but the other man is already folding up one of their seats and stuffing it into the respective bag and so he merely says, "Thank you," as he follows suit with his own.

They meet Taichi and Miyako at the pavement of the parking lot. Miyako’s eyes are barely open as she rests her head against the side of Taichi’s shoulder.

"Which one?" Taichi asks. Koushirou points out his mother's SUV, it's lights blinking at them from where he had parked it earlier that evening.

He tosses the chairs into the back, and then leans out of the way for Miyako to crawl into the middle seat, her eyes bleary when she takes one quick look back at him before dropping her head onto the seat.

“On your side,” Ken prompts her over Koushirou’s shoulder. He sounds tired and on just the right side of gone as he expresses the concern, “Don’t want you sick.”

She mumbles a little something, but complies regardless of her words, shifting over onto her side. Koushirou wishes he could fall asleep that easily as her light snoring recommences. He pulls the scratchy, old blanket his mother always keeps draped atop the seat back and lays it across Miyako.

"Have you seen Mimi?" He asks Taichi and Ken, peering at the parking lot around them in case he can see the silhouette of other party goers. Koushirou wouldn’t put it past her to have found another group to weave herself into, but there's only two other cars in the lot now.

Taichi shrugs, turning his own head as if to survey the area as well. Ken looks pensive at the question.

"Jun," he starts, then stops as if he's forgotten that he was talking at all.

"Your hangover is gonna suck tomorrow, buddy," Taichi snickers. Ken opens his mouth and then glares at his teammate instead.

"What about Jun?" Koushirou presses. He makes sure Miyako's legs have been sufficiently scrunched out of the way of the door as he slams it shut.

Ken snaps to attention. "Wanted to know what to do," he says. At Koushirou's confused stare he remembers to add, "With your stuff."

Koushirou feels his gaze turn in the direction of the reception area on instinct. They hadn't come up with a plan after everyone started drinking.

"Jun was forcing Yamato to help," Ken continues, "with our stuff. And the band. Di’you?"

Koushirou stares. "Did I what?"

Ken presses his lips together, clearly finding the activity of speaking with sober people very frustrating when Taichi guesses, "Have Yamato load the car?"

"Yes," Ken says, pointing at Taichi.

He shrugs when Koushirou raises an eyebrow at him. "It's a superpower."

Koushirou considers it for a while. He’ll never get all the items up by himself, or with a drunk Mimi alone. Not before sunrise. It would be a great help, but Koushirou finds it hard to balance against his overwhelming need to apparently suffer.

"I would appreciate it," he finally says, dropping the keys into Ken’s awaiting hands with a smile.

Ken heads down the long slope of the hill first, his feet catching momentum on the incline. Somewhere near the bottom Daisuke halts him with an enveloping hug, the two of them swaying in something almost akin to a lumbering box step. Koushirou can just barely hear the cadence of their laughter on the wind and it brings a smile to his lip.

"I've never seen Ken so drunk before," Taichi titters beside him, warm and steady.

“Yeah,” Koushirou agrees, peering along the beach as well, hoping to find a familiar silhouette. Although the beach is almost as empty as when they had first come mere hours ago, looking upon it now feels different, as if an imprint has been left on the canvas even though so little evidence still stays.

“I think I found our missing persons,” Taichi says, pointing just further down the opposite end of the beach, where two shadows hazard along the rocks.

Koushirou lets out a huff. “Of course.”

“You know Ken used to refuse to drink at our club parties all the time,” Taichi says, shaking his head. Moonlight is their only guide down along the shore, but it seems to favor Taichi, illuminating his face, his smile, in a way that makes Koushirou's heart flutter. He kicks up sand with his now bare feet, sandals clutched in his hand. Koushirou takes to the higher shore, not willing to get water logged into his sneakers. “I tell you that Daisuke is a poor influence,” Taichi scoffs, clutching a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“I don’t believe so,” Koushirou finds himself speaking out loud. Taichi hesitates on the sand for a moment, and as if there is some invisible thing connecting them, Koushirou finds himself coming to a halt as well. “Not that I condone excessive consumption,” he feels the need to explain, “but in recent years I’ve observed Ken laughing more.”

“Yeah?” A wave licks up along the edge of Taichi’s foot. Koushirou imagines it must be freezing this time of night, but the other barely flinches. “Daisuke’s been a little more mature,” Taichi tells him, “since he met Ken. I went to visit him the other day and he cleaned the house for me.”

Koushirou laughs at the way Taichi says it, his eyes slightly widened as if it were relaying a horror story instead.

Taichi lets out a short laugh of his own. “It’s like they were made for each other, I guess.”

Koushirou wrinkles his nose. “I’m not quite sure I believe in any such providence.” He looks up for a moment, trying to decide on the right words. Stars wink back down at him. He never sees them in the city. Koushirou almost forgets to continue, but Miyako’s words come back to him. “I simply believe they compliment each other.”

He catches Taichi's eyes on him. "What is it?"

Taichi's gaze lingers for a moment longer before he trains it towards the farshore. A grin brightens his face as he tells Koushirou, "Nothing." He picks back up on their previous pace, settling one of his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. Koushirou falls into step beside him. “I think you’re right.”

Just as the beach erodes into rocks, Koushirou pauses. "Mimi," he calls out to her silhouette. The tassels on her jacket wave in the wind, an easy tell even as the woman pivots atop one of the rocks to look back at him. "We have to go home," he explains, hollering it over the wind as it whips past them.

A different voice calls back, "We're looking for sea glass!"

"I want to be a mermaid princess!" It’s clearly Mimi who declares this, speaking as if it explains absolutely everything.

Taichi shares a look with Koushirou.

"You won't procure any up there," Koushirou tells them. In the dark he can see a soft light glowing as one of the women turns it in his direction. It's not Mimi's silhouette and so he suspects it must be Sora. The light goes out once more and he realizes she must be tapping open her homescreen, instead of the flashlight app. Taichi snorts beside him.

"Who are you?" Sora calls back.

"Koushirou?" He responds, unsure.

"Koushirou!" Sora repeats it back. He watches as she stumbles along the rocks as carefully as he assumes someone with enough to drink can manage.

Koushirou frowns as Mimi's shadow disappears behind the far off landscape and he means to call for her when instead Sora greets him with another enthusiastic, "Koushirou!"

She leaps down from the nearest rock and with little warning envelopes him in a tight, warm hug. Koushirou feels his shoulders tense. She smells heavily of liquor and a flowery perfume. "I'm so glad to meet you," she coos.

When she pulls away, her eyes are as warm as kindling doused only by the intensity of her inebriation. "Likewise," Koushirou says in answers and she beams back at him.

"I'm still sorry we had to leave early last time. But you know Taichi's—"

“Yamato's probably waiting for us,” Taichi cuts in with his lips half quirked up, laughing humorlessly. She opens her mouth as if to continue but then presses her lips together as if she's thought better on it.

"We'll talk more next time!" Sora assures him, with a light, sweet smile. She passes Koushirou to encircle her arm through Taichi's, tugging him away instead. Both of them send Koushirou a quick wave overhead but before he can return it they’re already locked into another conversation. He almost thinks he hears Sora requesting, “We should stop for ice cream!”

Taichi scratches the back of his head and Koushirou hears him tell her, "I think you'll regret that tomorrow."

But mostly next time is ringing in his ears. Koushirou wonders if any one of them will think of him after tonight.

He'll probably never see Taichi again. And that's just as well.

"Sora!" Mimi's voice hollers over the wind. Her silhouette slips back into view over a formation of rocks and Koushirou beckons her to continue back towards him. She leaps off the nearest edge, but doesn't quite have the grace Koushirou usually expects from her and ends up dropping to the sand on her rump with a small yowl. It reminds him of when she and Miyako would jump from the swingsets and miss the landing, on late nights when there was nothing else to do in town but haunt the local elementary school playground.

"Where did she go?" Mimi wonders, looking around wildly after a quick recovery. He wonders if she's drank enough to cushion the pain. "We have to find Sora," she tells Koushirou, her eyes large with alarm when they settle on him. Tears pool in the edges of her eyes.

"She's safe, Mimi," he assures her, reaching for one of her hands to help pull her up. Mimi gives him no help, keeping all of her weight there on the sand. "Taichi's taking her home," Koushirou explains further. "We should be going home, as well, Mimi."

Mimi looks up at him, her vision cloudier than the last time he had seen her, but something in his words must have struck a chord because she sniffles, biting at her lower lip. Her hand slips through his old and she crumples onto her back, throwing an arm over her eyes as her hair fans against the beach. In the dark the light pink blends almost naturally into the beach.

"I want to stay here," Mimi says suddenly. The giddy, intoxicated energy in her timbre has dissipated for a softer, somber note. "With you," she chokes out.

Koushirou isn't sure which here she means. He sits beside her on the beach, just far enough to keep his shoes from being touched by rogue waves as they roll up along the shore.

Mimi hiccups into the silence. Koushirou only sees the track of tears rolling down the side of her cheeks where moonlight catches on the droplets.

He runs a hand along her hair in imitation of the way he's seen Miyako combing through it, on the few occasions Mimi is anything but a perky drunk.

"There's sand in your hair," Koushirou tells her to dispel the moment when the grains filter through his fingertips. Sand has already crawled up her feet, clinging in patches to her ankles. She throws her arm off and away from her eyes to look up at him, her expresion twisting and pulling in a show of agony. His heart feels as if it pulls right along with it. "Mimi—" He tries, but it's too late.

Mimi chokes on another sob, the tears on her cheeks rolling much swifter now. Even in the dark he can see where they dampen her hair that clings to her cheeks. She rubs at her eyes with the full, plump of her palms and snuffles. "I promised—I wasn't going to—"

Koushirou isn't sure what she means, but he tries again with a soft, "Mimi," before the woman slaps both hands to either cheek and sits herself up.

"I'm not going to be sad," she tells him, resolutely, puffing her cheeks up in the same way she always does, when Mimi wants to show how determined she is.

"It's alright—" Koushirou tries again.

Mimi shakes her head, and true enough sand drops from every curl. She frowns.

"I'm going to sober up," she informs Koushirou, getting up slowly to her feet. "And wash my hair."

He looks up at her, "Where?"

"In the water," she says simply, and before he can do anything, she's already splashing into the brackish water, just far enough to throw her head beneath the surf without actually diving in.

"Mimi," he manages to call after her, ready to scramble up to his feet after her.

Over the waves Koushirou hears a distinct chiming noise. He used to follow the same sound when he would lose his mother in stores, back when she insisted he accompany her on errands when he was too young to remain home on his own recognizance.

When he looks behind him, half expecting to see her now, to tell him it's time to head in for the day, it is Taichi instead, smiling back down at him. "Hey," he says, dropping to the sand beside Koushirou. He indicates to Mimi with a tilt of his head. "Still on that quest to become a mermaid princess?"

"No," Koushirou deadpans. He breathes in, reminding himself Mimi should be fine if she stays close, that the current is sedentary enough he could pull her out if he needs to. Koushirou breathes out, heavily through his nose. "Washing her hair."

Taichi laughs instead of asking anything further. Koushirou supposes he's used to these drunken activities. "I'm a good swimmer," Taichi assures him as if he knows exactly what Koushirou had been thinking. "I'll wait with you until she gets out."

Koushirou stares. It does, in some way, make him feel better. He falls back into sitting, crunching his legs up to his chest and cutting his gaze back to Mimi, tossing water against her face to wash away what he suspects is any trace of her crying.

“I thought you were heading home,” Koushirou says. Taichi holds up the set of his mother's keys between them, the metal clattering in that familiar song. Koushirou takes them back and stuffs them into his pocket, eyes still watching his new companion.

“We were,” Taichi admits with an easy-going smile. His fingers dig into the sand between them, his eyes locking onto Mimi as she kicks up another wave on her way back in. “But Daisuke was adamant someone made sure you got your keys back.”

“Daisuke?”

“Yeah. Ken and Jun kept insisting they could just leave them under one of your tires, but Daisuke kicked up a huge fuss. Said he didn’t want you to think he was irresponsible.” After a moment Taichi adds, “I kind of think he might be trying to impress you.”

“Me?” Koushirou looks down to his lap. “How peculiar.”

Taichi leans forward, resting his cheeks atop his knees as he regards Koushirou. In the slim lighting his lashes appear longer than Koushirou remembers them being. “I don’t think so.” He hums in thought. “Ken seems to think pretty highly of you, you know? Makes sense Daisuke would want you to like him."

"No part of that is sensical to me," Koushirou says. Ken is far more unique— a perfect blend of athletic and genius without compromising either talent. Daisuke is sharp wherever he chooses to lay his attention, be it on sports or cooking ramen, and his personality is radiant, bordering on charming.

Koushirou's eyes fall back on the water. Mimi's hair is dripping wet now, and Koushirou suspects it's still full of sand, only clinging tighter now than it had been. Tomorrow she'll complain it smells of salt, but right now she's laughing again and Koushirou finds his heart singing along to the melody of it.

In a year from now, he wonders, if she'll be laughing on a different beach, with other friends who like all the same things, and Koushirou will be nothing more than a fond memory.

If he'll even be that. He's never quite understood, why she even bothers with him. Koushirou's always chalked it up to some whim of hers, and he's been skirting by on her kindness all this time, always waiting for the day she'll correct that one mistake.

Koushirou rests his forehead against his own knees. She would never do it to be cruel, he knows that. Somehow it makes the possibility worse.

Beside him, Taichi shifts closer. His presence is warm, as if Koushirou were on the beach nearing midday, rather than midnight. "Makes perfect sense to me," is all he says for a while. Koushirou looks up at him, but Taichi is watching the waves.

He doesn't know why this stranger puts up with him either. Camaraderie, Koushirou is certain, has already run its course somewhere on this beach. Perhaps as far back as Miyako's living room floor.

“You're really impressive," Taichi admits. "So of course people want you to like them." He relaxes his legs a bit, pushing his bare feet through the sand and leaning back on his arms. Taichi deserves to grace the cover of one of those teen heartthrob magazines Mimi used to tape on her walls, back when reading magazines was an acceptable hobby outside of waiting rooms. "I mean who else can say they've saved the world just by drinking cranberry juice?"

A joke. Of course . Koushirou huffs out a laugh despite himself. "When did it become the world?"

Taichi hums. "Just now."

"I had assistance in that endeavor you know."

"Still," Taichi says with a short shrug. Koushirou wishes he could pin a name to the way Taichi looks at him, something soft and winsome. "You should give yourself more credit. I barely know you and I think you're amazing."

And, well , "You are truly overestimating me," Koushirou assures him, but his cheeks burn from more than embarrassment, his own smile overwhelming as he tries to hide it against the fabric of his cargos.

Taichi hums goodnaturedly. "Probably not." It must be a talent, to sound so unperturbed when saying such incredulous things.

"Taichi!" Mimi waves the moment she notices their newest member. He gives her a curt wave back just as Mimi slops her way up through the surf to meet them. She hesitates along at the cusp of land just before the shore. Her white dress pants are darkened up to her knees, curls stuck to the angles of her sharp face. She doesn't look any more sober.

"My feet are going to get—" Mimi starts. She frowns down towards the sand, her toes wiggling as another wave comes up behind her, curling about her ankles as if beckoning her to return. "Dirty again," she finishes, miserably.

"Would her majesty like a chariot?" Taichi offers, getting to his feet and bending slightly forward just before her.

Mimi sways on the sand, considering the offer with a far off gaze.

"Jump on," Taichi urges her and it seems to do the trick. Mimi's face brightens and she leaps forward, throwing her arms over the man's shoulders and hopping until Taichi loops his arms under her knees. He bucks her up higher when Mimi begins to slide back, squealing and laughing and being of no immediate help. Koushirou presses an uncertain hand to her back when they make it further up the beach.

"You ready?" Taichi asks, tilting his head back as if to see her directly. Mimi cheers her consent, lifting one arm up into the air. She returns it quickly around his neck the moment Taichi begins to move down the beach, his still bare feet kicking up dark water and sand as they go, his heels leaving heavier imprints along the ground. Koushirou holds back a few paces, watching warily for any signs that Mimi might fall, but Taichi is usually quick to adjust, and Mimi howls with laughter every time he hoists her back up.

By the hill up to the parking lot, Taichi hesitates. Koushirou falls right behind him.

"Think we can run it?" He asks Mimi. She immediately points up toward their destination and shouts, "Onwards!" as if commanding a loyal steed.

Taichi complies, sand and dirt kicking up behind him as they race toward the top. All Koushirou can hear is the sound of Mimi's delighted laughter.

He makes the decision to not run after them. The most exercise Koushirou is used to in a single day is the long trek between his desk and the copier down the hall. His thighs burn as he trudges up the hill after them. Tonight has been the equivalent of him participating in some iron man marathon and his body will not be happy with him come morning.

He's surprised, and proud, that he isn’t heaving when he makes it to the top of the hill.

"What took you so long?" Mimi asks, hovering at her side of the car. Taichi looks back over his shoulder where he had been leaning on the car's hood. Koushirou levels her with a look.

"I didn't procure a ride on the express route."

"Maybe next time," Taichi offers cheekily. Koushirou says nothing to that as Mimi moans about how cold it's become.

On the foot rack underlining the doors, Koushirou spots a familiar pair of sandals sitting there, waiting for him. Wordlessly Taichi takes them from him across the car hood and drops them into Mimi's lap the moment she clambors into the passenger seat, still dripping wet. She stares at them, as if they had just materialized from thin air.

Taichi slams the passenger door closed.

Koushirou's opening the door to his own side when it startles him by opening wider. Taichi grins at him, his fingers sitting over the top of the door as Koushirou feels himself plop back into his seat. Taichi leans partially in through the door, his cologne tickling Koushirou's nose in a not unpleasant way.

"Eat a little something when you get home," Taichi tells Mimi, "and drink some water. Double that for her," he points to Miyako in the back seat. Koushirou looks to Mimi's head and feels himself wince when he notices the glasses aren't tucked nicely over her head anymore. Most likely they're nestled between some rocks or lost in the sea somewhere. He hopes Miyako still keeps spares.

Mimi grins back up at them . "Roger, roger," she says, giving Taichi the gesture to say okay. He laughs as he pulls back. But he doesn't leave. His hand remains on the door, swinging it slightly. Koushirou looks up at him, feeling suddenly shy. "You too, okay?" Taichi says, his grin melting into some sort of smile that has Koushirou's heart stuttering to a halting beat.

"I'm not inebriated."

"I know," Taichi laughs. "But it's good advice either way."

Koushirou isn't quite sure what to call the emotion that sweeps through him in that moment, his lips not sure themselves if they want to settle into a smile or a large, toothy grin. Instead Koushirou offers the same okay symbol Mimi had thrown up and repeats, "Roger."

Taichi's smile brightens even further, as he bids Koushirou a goodnight, shutting the car door after a quick check to make sure his limbs are tucked safely inside. Koushirou hears someone shouting in the distance, the words muffled on his end through the glass of the car, but he presumes it must be Yamato calling for the other man to hurry up. Taichi waves at one of the cars still in the lot, jogging over to it and disappearing around the other side.

"Are we leaving?"

Koushirou rests his head on the steering wheel for a second. His chest feels light and heavy all at once, a dizzying combination made worse by the thundering beat of his heart.

Despite the brisk summer evening outside, the car has kept some of the earlier warmth. It smells stale and too much like new car , even though his mother's had it since he was in highschool.

"Can we at least turn on the radio?" Mimi's looking at him with eyes still drowned in liquor.

He breathes out and turns on the engine. Mimi cheers, plugging her phone into the auxiliary cord and filling the silence with the most blaring song she has on her playlist, belting out the lyrics all the way home.

Koushirou doesn't mind. It keeps him from thinking about other things as he unconsciously mutters along, letting his spatial memory lead them to soft beds and floors that aren't made of dirt and sand. Miyako stays asleep even when they accidentally drop her on their way in the door to his place— mostly because Mimi tips over trying to slip off her sandals and takes them all down in a domino effect. At least she had something to break her fall, Koushirou thinks wryly, but he’ll take the darkening bruise on his elbow as a souvenir.

"God," Mimi groans after Koushirou gives her the full rundown the next morning. He knows her well enough that when she clutches at her head, it is not from the hangover, but mortification. "I can't believe this."

"You've done worse," Koushirou says, comfortingly.

" No, " she hisses, hunching further over in her misery. Beside her on the sofa bed, Miyako groans and tosses the thin blanket over her head in a huff. Sand jumps off the sheets and pools between every crevice. It makes Koushirou's skin itch. "Not me! You! He sat in your lap for hours and you still didn't get his number?"

"That's what we're taking away from last night?"

"I raised you better than this, Izumi!"

#digimon adventures #taishirou #taishiro #sparkle garbage #tw alcohol #Odaiba Day 2020 #It's literally 11:30 pm #Also no I didn't make a mistake on that word count #tho the whole thing is arguably a mistake lol #all the emphasis is gone again #gdi tumblr

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jimin-jungshook-over-literalbae · 3 years

Text

Sunshine & Darkness *Part 4*

I bet you thought this was never coming!! But here we are. I finally finished part 4. Honestly, I think this part is the longest one so far and I love it so much. Let me know what you think!

The water sparkles and shimmers in the light of late morning. We scramble out of our cars, thankful to be stretching out our limbs after our cramped riding positions. I wasn't in nearly as much pain as some of the taller guys who had to cram themselves in the backseat. I had ended up in the backseat on Jooheon's lap since I was the shortest and took up the least space. It was somehow both comfortable and awkward.

After a few minutes of stretching, we set about unloading the two cars. Shownu leads the short walk to our camping spot. I pick up a surprisingly heavy box of food that's at least half my height. My short height and the weight of the box results in some slightly uncomfortable shuffling as I carry it but it's manageable. I pause for a moment to readjust my grip as I feel it begin to slip.

"You know, you could have just asked for help," An amused voice comes from behind me. I glance back to see Wonho, some tents and chairs nestled in his arms.

"No need. I can carry it," I smile brightly, my ponytail flipping over my shoulder as I continue my trek to the campsite. I take a moment to be glad I wore actual clothes as opposed to showing up wearing my swimsuit, especially considering all the heavy lifting.

It takes 30 minutes to unload both cars and another hour to set up our campsite. The three tents are set up relatively close together but distant enough that if one tent decided to sleep early, the other ones won't keep them awake. This had been Shownu's request since he tends to like to sleep earlier than I.M and Hyungwon. The tents are quickly distributed out. Shownu, Wonho, and Kihyun have one tent. The next one is shared by Jooheon, Minhyuk and I. The last tent is J, Hyungwon, and I.M. J and I were supposed to share originally but she shut that down as quickly as they suggested it. She hates sleeping near me because I have a tendency to want to cuddle and she hates it. The cramped sleeping quarters make me a little nervous but I'm sure it'll be fine.

"Do we want to start off with some beach sports and then go swimming or just start off swimming? There aren't many waves so we probably can't get any surfing done today," Shownu holds a bag in his right hand, a few badmitton rackets in the other.

"I wouldn't mind some volleyball before we go swimming," Wonho suggests. Shownu and Wonho set up the net while we set up teams. It wouldn't be fair to put Shownu and Wonho on the same team so it's decided that Jooheon and I are with Wonho while Kihyun and Minhyuk are teamed up with Shownu. J and I.M wander of after declining to play and Hyungwon ends up as the score keeper.

The beach we're on is an uninterrupted piece used specifically as camping groups. It's enclosed on both sides by cliffs and rock formations. I slip in to my tent to change into my swimsuit and my cover up before grabbing my camera bag and joining the boys. I set my bag in the shade by Hyungwon before joining my team. I pull at the edges of my yellow cover up shirt despite the fact that it reaches midthigh. Being surrounded by so many attractive, now shirtless, guys makes me a bit nervous.

As the game starts, it's quickly learned that I am a disadvantage to my team. My short height and lack of athletic ability show their colors pretty quickly. I wasn't horrible but I certainly wasn't good. At the halfway mark, as we're taking a break, I excuse myself from the game. Wonho argued against it halfheartedly but I just smiled and waved him off, retrieving my camera bag.

It not super hot yet, instead landing at a more comfortable and warm temperature. I can see I.M and J up on one of the cliffs bordering our camping spot. I attach a lens to my camera and snap a few pictures of them before turning my attention elsewhere. J's green and white polka dot two piece and white wrap skirt stand out well against the dark colors of the rock cliff.

Part of me wishes I had sprung for one of those water proof cameras so I could get some underwater shots but I guess that's a goal for the future. I get caught up in my photography for a while, forgetting everything else. I wander up and down the beach, taking pictures of whatever catches my attention. I do manage to snatch some pictures of the boys before wandering to a different part of the beach. At some point, I discard my cover up and step in the water. It takes me a while to get the shots that I want but I'm able to take some abstract photos I love.

I'm not sure how long I've been there when a warm hand slides across the bare skin of my stomach, pulling me back against a warm chest. I only have a moment to feel self conscious of my sunflower swimsuit bottoms and yellow swimsuit top. A piece of fabric trails down from the top to covers most of my stomach. I drop my camera in my surprise, suddenly glad I always wear the neck strap.

"Hey baby," I freeze when I realize that the voice is unfamiliar. I scramble away from the form, landing on my butt on the sand at the edge of the water. A tall figure I don't recognize looks down at me, a grin on his face. I can't stop my instinctual fear. A second figure casts a shadow above me.

"Are you okay?" This time, the voice is familiar. Jooheon helps me to my feet, his gaze on the man obviously confrontational.

"I'm okay," My voice is almost a whisper. Jooheon nods at me, his eyes still trained on the man. Jooheon's hand rests on the bare skin of my stomach, comforting me.

"Hey, sorry man. No harm done. She was separate from your group so I figured she was by herself," The guy raises his hands defensively. Jooheon's hand balls into a fist but it's me who steps forward, anger coursing through me.

"That doesn't mean it's okay," My voice is a growl that surprises all of us. Despite the fact that I have to look up at him, I glare at him," You should never touch anyone without their permission. It doesn't matter if they're by themselves or with someone else. It doesn't matter if it's Jooheon or me."

"Hey. Chill out, baby. It's not big deal, really," He tries to give me a charming smile but I'm livid at this point.

"It is a big deal and this is private property so you should probably leave. Don't make me call the cops on you," I glower at him, my hands almost shaking with my anger.

"Bitch, just shut the fuck up. Nothing happened so leave it the hell alone. Don't make me knock your fucking teeth out," His fingers close around my chin, digging into the skin.

"Wanna say that again?" Jooheon's voice is low and dark. The grip on my chin is released and the guys steps away from me. His face flickers with discomfort before he replaces it with false bravado.

"Yeah, whatever. You can keep the ugly bitch," He turns and stalks away. Jooheon moves to go after him but I place a hand on his chest and glance at him. His hand closes around mine.

"Just let it go. He's not worth it," My free hand moves of its' own free will, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly. He finally looks at me, letting out a long breath.

His hand, which is now at my waist, pulls me closer and his lips burn into mine. That fire and electricity is back again. We haven't slept together since that first night. His teeth dig gently into my bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth. A few moments later, he pulls away. My breathing is sped up and I struggle to slow my booming heartbeat.

"Sorry," He murmurs. His large hand is still tangled in my hair. I step closer to him, my head resting on his collarbone as I wrap my arms around him. He tenses for a short moment but his arms wrap around me and hold me close.

"I'm okay, I just need a moment to compose myself," I say softly, not leaving his embrace for a long moment.

"You're shaking, babygirl," His lips are close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"There might be a few too many people around for you to be calling me by that name again, baby," My lips brush lightly against the underside of his jaw.

"Maybe we can find time, later," His nose skims my jawline, and his lips meet mine again for a brief kiss.

"Can you guys stop making out over there? You're making everyone else uncomfortable," J's voice is loud and causes a blush to spread across my cheeks. Jooheon smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Cute," Jooheon finally steps away. I grab my swimsuit cover and we head back to the group. J and I.M seemed to have returned from their day on the cliffs and have started directing Shownu on where to place the bonfire. The stack takes a while to make but we're finished by the time the sun is starting to sink. It's not long until J and Hyungwon are dancing around the bonfire to music playing from Shownu's speakers. J has a large bottle of rum in her hand that she continually takes swigs from. The lighting is just enough for me to snag some aesthetic pictures without the flash. I almost slip into my headspace once again where I forget about everything other than my photography but Kihyun breaks me out of it.

"You know, you can socialize outside of your camera, right?" Kihyun holds out a plastic cup of alcohol to me. I return my camera to it's bag and shut it in safely before taking the cup.

"I just get caught up sometimes. I like the stories images tell," I sip the alcohol, feeling the familiar burn. I don't really drink that often but I have a decent tolerance, at least.

"Did you take any pictures of me today?" His curiosity seems genuine this time.

"Yeah. Here, I can show you," I set the cup in the sand and pull my camera back out. I look the gallery, finding the first one pretty quickly since I just took it a few minutes ago. His face is half in shadow, the fire light glowing on the other side. His expression is a quiet kind of thoughtfulness. The other picture takes longer to find. It's one from earlier in the day. He had just scored a point in volleyball. He's turned toward Minhyuk, a bright and happy smile on his face and the ocean silhouetting him to create a stark contrast against his dark hair. He gives me a genuine smile.

"These are amazing," Kihyun moves to the next photo, looking at some nature photos and coming to a stop on a picture of Jooheon. He's laughing, his eyes closed into little crescent moon smiles of their own. Fire light dances across his tan skin, making the picture feel more like he's an ethereal being as opposed to a human.

When I look back up, J is sitting in between Hyungwon and I.M and they're passing the bottle of rum back and forth. Shownu and Wonho seem to be having some kind of chugging contest as they drink cups of the punch that someone, I never saw who, threw together. It's pretty intense so I imagine it won't be long until they're both drunk. Jooheon sits near them, watching the contest and sipping his own drink, occasionally cheering on one or the other.

Kihyun hands me back my camera and I tuck it back in it's bag after making sure that I've powered it off. I polish off my cup of punch and debate about whether I want another one or not. I always feel it in my head first, when I start drinking. The first cup, or shot, is always the worst. It's quite warm and the alcohol certainly isn't helping with that so I decide to take a quick dip in the water, since I hadn't gotten around to that yet.

I step away from the warm fire and slip off my cover up, laying it with my camera. I slip off my flip flops as well, leaving those near the fire, and let my feet sink into the sand as I walk toward the water. The water feels slightly cooler with the sun down but it's still quite warm and I quickly make the decision to dive in once of the water is tall enough. I swim for a little while, letting the cool water warm my skin.

I lay on my back, floating on the water as my hair floats in the water as a halo around my head. I float for a while, keeping an eye to make sure I don't get too far from the shore. I only stop floating when my head bumps into something and I see an upside down (by Jay Park, Loco, Simon Dominic, and Gray) Jooheon staring at me. I quickly right myself, standing up and blushing.

His hands are warm against my water chilled skin, his forehead resting against mine. His nose skims mine, his breath warm on my cheek. I let out a small breath, my heart racing as his lips trace my cheek and then trailer along the shell of my ear, setting my nerve endings on fire. I shiver, my mind clearing of everything else as he breathes against my ear. It's always been a weak point for me and it makes my heart beat faster.

"What is it about you," His question gives me pause. I'm not sure what he wants me to say. His lips ghost down the side of my neck, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist. His tongue slides along my collarbone, fogging my mind and almost making me forget his question. He finally puts me out of my misery and kisses me, his lips consuming mine. I had been desperate to kiss him ever since our kiss on the beach earlier.

He pulls me close, moves us backward. A rough surface presses to my back. It must be the cliff but I'm too dazed to notice. I'm not sure how long we've been kissing when he finally pulls away. One of my hands is tangled in his hair and the other floats up and down his spine with feather like touches. One of his fingers is hooked in the bottom of my swimsuit but he shakes his head and removed it. Before I can feel hurt about him pulling away, he gives me a sweet smile.

"You deserve better than me sleeping with you against a cliff face just so we can hide from our friends. I'll find us some time to sneak away somewhere and spend some time together," He lets out a long sigh and runs his fingers though my hair," Come on. Lets get back. I told Shownu I would put out the fire once I came and got you. We should probably sleep soon anyway."

We make our way back to the beach. Everyone else seems to have separated into their tents, but there's a lot of sound coming from J's tent. I'm sure their still drinking and hanging out. I help Jooheon put the fire out and we slip into our tent. Minhyuk looks up at us groggily, obviously half asleep. I step outside of the tent for a minute after grabbing my bag to change in the nearby bathroom. It's basically a porta-potty and it's impossible to see but I manage.

When I get back, I notice that Jooheon has laid out a sleeping bag for me. It's in the middle of the two of them but I can't help but notice it's slightly closer to him. I grab an extra blanket that I brought with me and lay on top of the sleeping bag. Jooheon gives me a questioning look. He's laying on his side, facing me.

"I tend to toss and turn when I'm falling asleep, trying to get comfortable. It's hard to do that in a sleeping bag but it still creates a good cushion from the ground," I explain, adjusting my pillow so it's perfectly underneath my head and neck," Also, I should warn you that I apparently like to try to cuddle anyone nearby while I sleep so push me off if you need to."

"Or, we could just skip a step and you could sleep over here with me," his voice is a quiet whisper. It doesn't take anymore convincing for me to shift the sleeping bag closer to him and drape us both in the blanket as I cuddle up to him, my arm around his waist and my head on his chest. His arm wraps around my waist and nuzzles his face into my hair for a second and then I'm drifting off to sleep.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!

#monsta x #monsta x au #monsta x shownu #monsta x wonho #monsta x minhyuk #monsta x kihyun #monsta x hyungwon #monsta x jooheon #monsta x jooheon au #monsta x i.m

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me - Chapter 4

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thunderintheshadows, @innerpaperexpertcloud

While it is a more peaceful existence, it is often a lonelier one. The safety and security of seclusion at times feeling like isolation. Their property…their home itself…is beautiful beyond anything she could have imagined; surrounded by the sights and sounds of nature, the dense and lush woodlands and the pristine beach and majesty of the ocean. Aside from the noise and activity of their own residence, they are very much shut off from the rest of the world; two hundred yards from their closest neighbour, tucked at the very end of a three kilometer stretch of recently paved road. Weeks can pass by before she even sees another human being, let alone speaks to them. There’d been scares and complications during the last three months of her final pregnancy and she’d had to relegate herself to living the life of a ‘shut in’ for the sake of both her health and that of her unborn daughter; never leaving the property aside from specialist appointments. Addie had been an incredibly determined little girl; wanting to make her debut long before it was safe for her to do so. It had been nothing short of a miracle when the doctors had managed to tide things over until week thirty-four, and everyone that had been providing care had thought she’d been in the NICU for the long haul. Only for her to prove them all wrong; being released after only a week and a half.

A fighter. All five pounds, ten ounces of her.

Normally Esme would spend the first part of her morning -after the older kids had been shipped off to school- on the beach; Addie in the carrier strapped to her body, Declan toddling along beside them, allowing him to stop every so often to splash and stomp in the water or play in the sand. Today they walk the road instead, Mac’s leash secured around her waist, one hand pushing the baby in her stroller, the other tightly gripping Declan by the wrist. He is quick and has no fear and won’t think twice about bolting into the woods or onto someone else’s property.

The pavement is hot but comfortable against their bare feet. It was one of the things that she had found so unusual at about Australia at first; no one ever seemed to wear shoes unless going into businesses, and even then, occasionally footwear would be noticeably absent. It is one of the charming ‘quirks’, going hand in hand with their laid-back natures and accents and hilarious slang words. An entirely different way of life; a refreshing and welcoming change of pace. Everyone seeming much more relaxed and calmer. Friendly. Always willing to help one another out, whether friends or strangers. And while Colorado had been lovely in its own right, it often felt too ‘fast.’ That life was constantly hectic, barely given you a chance to catch your breath, never mind admire your surroundings. Everything about Australia is incredible to her; the scenery, the people, the way you just take time to enjoy everyone and everything around you.

But it is still lonely at times. Outside of her own family, she doesn’t really have a life; no relatives that can visit, no friends to talk to or hang out with. It has been that way for years; long before she’d ever met Tyler. Once her first marriage had disintegrated, she’d begun the long and arduous journey of ‘rediscovery;’ more than content with the job she had, jumping from place to place, and living out of suitcases, never forming bonds, or putting down roots. She’s older now though; almost thirty-six. And lately she’s found herself craving more. She had thought that she was perfect content with just being a wife and a mother, but her heart has begun to yearn for something extra. Mom friends that she can talk to whether it be face to face or through a text, other women she could have lunch dates and engage in ‘girl talk’ with. Needing to be more than that someone’s spouse. Someone’s mother. Needing…wanting… to exist outside of the comforts of those two realms.

And she feels guilty for that. As if she’s taking every thing she already has for granted. That she is makes her selfish for wanting more and she should just be happy with the way her life already is. She has a lot more than a lot of women in the world: a supportive, loving, and helpful husband, five beautiful and amazing kids. Shouldn’t that be enough?

��****

It is a beautiful morning. Brilliant sunshine, the sky a vivid shade of blue and cluttered with enormous, pure white clouds. The temperature is always cooler where they are; a few to several degrees lower thanks to the abundance of trees and the winds that roll in off the ocean. And she is comfortable in a pair of tattered and weather jean shorts and a hoodie over her t-shirt, one of her husband’s ball caps pulled low over her eyes. It’s become a habit that she wishes she could break herself of; a hat used more for disguise than a cute accessory or protection from the sun. That paranoia still lingers; that there could always be someone out there watching, hell bent on revenge and looking for the perfect opportunity to enforce it.

The walk is slow going; Declan routinely stopping to investigate things, whether it be rocks and sticks he finds particularly interesting, or wildlife that lingers at the tree line that he wants to watch. He is infinitely curious about the world around him, noticing everything and anything, big or small. He hasn’t met and animal or person he hasn’t liked, and vice vera. Out of the five, he’s the ‘charming’ one; able to melt hearts with those striking blue eyes and mischievous smile. Extremely affectionate and loving to everyone he meets, even old ladies in the grocery store who always seem to be enamoured by the thick red hair and the outrageously long eyelashes. While Esme may be biased -as all mothers are- he is just damn cute. A sweet little personality to go along with an even sweeter face. And she can’t resist pausing to take pictures of him with her phone; so adorable in his backwards baseball hat, loose tendrils of hair sticking out at the ears.

She sends one of the photos -of Declan holding a baby garter snake and flashing that trademark smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes (his father’s smile)- to her husband’s cell, along with a text that reads: see what cute babies you make?

The house closest to them has been up for sale for three months; a one-story white stucco place with elaborate Japanese inspired front gardens and an interlocking brick driveway. The property itself is much smaller that what they own, but no less stunning. She notices that not only has the ‘for sale’ sign been taken down, but there’s a bright blue Suzuki hatch back in the driveway; tailgate up, surrounded by boxes being unloaded by the home’s new owner. A tall, statuesque blond with vibrant pink, purple, and aquamarine highlights in her shoulder length tresses. And she watches -albeit briefly- as the woman continues to remove items from the back of the car. The couple that had lived there before had been in their eighties and absolutely hated kids and would complain about Millie and the twins ‘running wild and unsupervised’ in the road despite the fact that their father would have been less than ten feet away. Never directing the complaints to Tyler himself, but waiting until they’d see him leave and then knock on the door to confront her. So it’s nice to see someone younger. That hopefully won’t be such a miserable asshole.

The front door of the house has been left open and a pug comes waddling out; immediately noticing them at the end of the driveway, which starts off a round of barking from both the smaller dog and Mac and absolute excitement from Declan who begins repeatedly shrieking ‘oggie!’ and tries to yank his wrist out of her grasp. He’s incredibly strong for a little guy; heavy, solid, and powerful. And Mac -still barking yet thankfully not bolting- parks himself right in front of the toddler to block his path.

The woman in the driveway smiles and waves to them in greeting, and that’s when Esme makes the ultimate mistake; letting go of her son’s hand to wave back. He seizes the opportunity; taking off up the driveway the second he feels his mother’s grasp release.

“Oh my god Declan! Get back here!” she bellows, and unleashes Mac from around her waist, allowing the dog to chase after him. At the most he’ll grab the toddler by the back of the shirt or knock him to the ground. He’s done it before with each one of the kids; showing an incredible instinct -and with no training- to protect the little humans. “Declan William!” she hollers as she hurries after him and the dog. The latter now making friends with the initially startled pug; the new homeowner scooping Declan up and settling him on her hip.

“Well hey there cutie,” the blond gushes, gently taking hold of his hands as he tries to tear the unique and colourful glasses off her face. “Who are you?”

“This is Declan,” Esme responds. “And he’s not usually this much of a shit head, I swear.”

“You’re just a curious little man, aren’t you! You just wanted to come and meet Stan-Lee. Here, let me introduce you…” their new neighbour drops down to one knee and places Declan on her thigh, taking his hand in hers and then running it over the pug’s fur. The toddler giggling with the dog licks at his hand. “See that? He likes you already! He loves to meet new friends. Especially little ones.”

“I am so sorry,” Esme can feel the blush in her cheeks. “I’m usually not that stupid. Letting him get away like that. Especially on the road. Although no one but us ever comes down this far. We used to get people that would speed down here and park on our property to get into the woods. But we own all that, so my husband went out and scared the crap out of them with a hunting rifle and they never came back. You must think I’m a shitty parent.”

The blond waves off the mere suggestion. “Not at all. They get away sometimes. No matter how hard we try to stop them. Not to mention he’s crazy strong! Two? Two and a half?”

“Seventeen months. I know. He’s absurdly tall. But so is his dad. I am sorry he ran over like that. Bothering you and your dog and…”

“It’s no bother. Honest. I’m Salena,” she offers a hand, and Esme accepts it warmly.

“I’m Esme. And that’s Mac,” she nods at the German Shepherd as he playfights with the pug. “It’s actually Macaroni. Don’t ask. My son named him. And this is Adeline,” she gestures to the stroller. “Be we call her Addie.”

“Is this your little sister?” Salena speaks to Declan as she places him on the ground and takes him by the hand, leading him to the stroller. “How about you show me your little sister. I bet she’s a cutie, just like you. May I?” she asks Esme, taking hold of the corner of the blanket that covers the buggy.

“Of course.”

She peels the blanket back, then places a hand over her chest. “Oh my gracious! Look at you, pretty girl! Aren’t you just a darling! You’re just new.”

“Very new,” Esme confirms. “Only two weeks.”

“And you already look like that?” Salena looks over the top rim of her glasses as she eyes Esme from head to toe.

“Please! The clothes hide everything, trust me. I’m huge. And I feel gross.”

“You’re crazy! You look amazing. Are these your only two?”

“No. There’s three more,” she says, and the neighbour’s eyes widen. “Five-year-old twin boys and a soon to be six-year-old daughter. I know,’ she laughs. “I’m crazy.”

“I just can’t believe that body’s had five kids. Five’s the limit?”

“Four was the original limit but by husband wanted one more. I don’t know who is more insane. Me or him.”

“Well if these two are as beautiful as they are, I can only imagine what the other three look like. The red hair comes from your husband?”

“His mother. Declan’s the only one with it. The other three are blond. Or light brown. Whatever you want to call it. And the last one is all me. Which I feel I deserved after having four that look and act exactly like their father. All that work and getting fat and I don’t get one that looks like me? That is some bullshit.”

“Would you like to come in?” Salena inquires, nodding towards the house. “I have a breakfast casserole in the oven, and it is way too much for just one person, even with leftovers.”

“We shouldn’t. We were just on a walk before lunch and we don’t want to impose or…”

“You won’t be imposing at all. We can sit out back and chat some more. You’re the first person I’ve met since moving to Cookstown. I was staying a hotel right in town while waiting for the house to close. It would be nice to have a friend that’s close by.”

It’s tempting, and as much as she loves the idea of having a friend…especially a neighbour…she knows Tyler will be hesitant. He’s severely overprotective. Beginning after Dhaka and becoming increasingly worse over the years, hitting its peak after the McMann incident. In his mind, everyone is a possible threat. Including the neighbour with the funky glasses and the colorful hair.

“Just stay for a little while,” the other woman urges. “Just for something to eat and a little chat. I don’t bite. I promise.”

“It’s not that and it’s not you, believe me,” Esme attempts to explain. “This is going to sound really weird, but things went really bad before we moved here and I’m a little…apprehensive…when it comes to new people. It’s not personal. I swear. It’s all my own issues.”

“I promise I am not a serial killer. Just come in and have some lunch and let me spend some more with this cutie pie,” she tickles Declan’s stomach until he’s giggling hysterically and beaming up at her with the utmost adoration. “Just an hour,” she says. “If I bore you or I annoy before then, you can leave. I won’t hold you hostage.”

“Okay,” Esme finally agrees, as Salena scoops Declan up once more and leads the way towards the house.

****

He receives the text message just as he pulls his truck up in front of his father’s new place; a small, cottage style bungalow in a newly established retirement and nursing care community in Port Douglas. It had been bittersweet when he’d eventually found out that the old man had sold the family home. The years there hadn’t all been horrible; there’d been a handful of good memories made between those four walls. That house was the last physical tie that Tyler had had to his mother, and the new owners had bulldozed it with plans on custom build for the lot. The demolition had finally erased all the dark secrets that the place had once held. All the cruel words, all the tears, all the holes in the walls, all the beatings.

Killing the engine, his pulls his cell from the side pocket of his cargos and checks the message. A slow smile spreading across his face when he sees the picture of his youngest son, and the words that his wife had sent afterwards. If there is one thing they excel at, it’s making beautiful children. And the activities that help with the actual creation of them. He texts her back, telling her that they’ve just reached his dad’s place and have two stops afterwards close to home. That he loves her and the kids and will see them soon.

He begins to ask where she is but decides against it. It will only irritate her if she feels as if he’s keeping tabs on her and attempting to control her. She claims he’s overprotective to the point of suffocation, something that the therapist had said they’d touch on in the next session. Why he is the way he is and what he can do to either control it or stop it altogether. Tyler doesn’t necessarily want to be that way; he doesn’t want her to feel as if he’s locking her away in the house and controlling every move she makes. But he’s already come so close to losing her. Twice. And he doesn’t want to take the chance of there being a third time.

So he doesn’t ask. Even though it gnaws at his stomach that she’s out there. Off the property. With two of his kids in tow. Instead he pockets his cell, pulls the keys from the ignition, and then finishes the coffee that sits in one of the cup holders between the front seats.

“How are we going to explain me?” Ovi inquires. “Am I just going to be some guy that you hired or…?”

“He already knows all about you.”

“How much does he know? Or what does he know?”

“Your folks were friends of mine and Esme’s, they died, left us you in their will. Nice and simple. It doesn’t need to be complicated.”

The lying never stops. Not when it comes to the old life. To the old Tyler. But at this stage in the game -with his father not functioning properly in the first place- he doesn’t see the need to burden the old man with the truth. Chances are he’d be extremely pissed and/or disgusted and wouldn’t even remember what he’d been told the next day.

“And you think he believes it?” Ovi asks.

“Mate, I don’t even know if he knows who I am anymore. Chances are he doesn’t even remember I have a wife and kids. Or that I even told him about you already. But if he asks, that’s what we tell him. Got it?”

Ovi nods.

Tyler opens the compartment between their seats and fishes out the extra bottle of anti anxiety meds. It’s always smart to have them on hand; never knowing what situations or environments will bring on an attack. But he can already feel the heaviness in his chest and the dryness in his mouth, and he takes three of the pills and places them under his tongue, waiting for them to full dissolve before putting the bottle in his pocket.

It’s a hell of a way to live. Having to dope yourself up just to be able to get out of the goddamn car.

And he’s plain fucking sick of it.

****

The personal support worker greets them at the front door; a short and stocky Aboriginal woman clad in brightly patterned scrubs and bearing a name tag that identifies her as Maggie. She as kind, almost sad eyes, and a soft, pleasant smile and her grip is deceptively strong when she shakes their hands.

“You must be Trevor,” she addresses him.

“Tyler,” he gently corrects, and removing his sunglasses, hangs them on the neck of his t-shirt.

She offers an apologetic smile. “He told me he was expecting someone named Trevor.”

“Trevor was his brother. My uncle. He died twenty years ago. But I’m Tyler. His son.”

“This happens, you know,” she sighs. “Moment when they can’t remember the people in the present, but they remember the ones from the past. It isn’t personal. It’s just the disease. It’s a cruel thing; what it does to people.”

He nods in agreement, trying to at least appear sympathetic. But he feels nothing. No empathy. No pity. No sorrow that his father is slipping away. No regrets that they’ve let the years go by without even attempting a reconciliation.

“You just moved back, I hear,” Maggie comments, as she leads them from the front foyer and towards the back of the house. “Were you gone long?”

“Five and a half years.”

“That’s a long time to be away from home. What made you come back?”

“I came into some money and I was able to retire early,” Tyler explains. It’s not a total lie; that part did happen. It just wasn’t as easy as he’s making it sound. “My wife and I decided this was the best place to raise our kids.”

“Well I can’t argue with that. Is this them?” Maggie pauses in the hall between the living room and kitchen, nodding at the frame photographs on the wall. “Your kids?”

It’s their school pictures from last year when they’d still been in Telluride. Before they’d ever heard of Michael McMann. And one of Declan when he’d just been a baby; not even crawling or walking yet.

Tyler nods. “They’re a year older now. And we added another. A little girl. Two weeks old.”

Maggie arches an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you have five kids?”

“Yup.”

“Five kids,” she breathes and shakes her head. “Boy, you’re either both brave as hell or you’re both just plain crazy.”

“Maybe both?” Ovi suggests, and then laughs when Tyler directs a playful elbow into his stomach.

“I actually have six kids,” Tyler says. “If we count him,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “When he’s not being a smart ass.”

Maggie looks Ovi up and down. “You’re one of his…” she nods at Tyler. “…kids?”

The young man nods.

“And just how does that work? When you look like you do…” she looks at Tyler, then at Ovi. “…and you look like you do.”

“They took me in,” Ovi explains. “Six years ago. After my parents died. It was in my mother’s will. That I was supposed to go to Tyler. So…. here I am.”

“Here he is,” Tyler confirms, and tousles Ovi’s hair. “Congratulations. It’s a boy. All six foot one and two hundred pounds of him.”

“He’s not my father, but he is my dad,” Ovi says. “And that’s good enough for me.”

Maggie gives a slow nod of agreement, and then once again leads the way down the hall. “Your father insisted we put those pictures up as soon as he moved in. He’s extremely proud of his grandkids.”

Tyler doubts it. On both counts.

“He’s having one of his ‘okay’ days,” she says. “Woke up knowing what day is, what month, what year.”

“But thinks his dead brother is going to show up,” Tyler tosses out. And again, nothing. Not even the slightest hint of sadness. The man doesn’t deserve any. Not after the life he’s lived. Not with all the things he’s said and all the things he’s done.

“He may have just screwed the name up,” she suggests. “I mean, you’re his son. He obviously knows your name.”

“I haven’t been his son in a long time,” Tyler says. It doesn’t hurt to admit. It just is what it is. In the same way that Ovi may still bear the Mahajan name, but his father had stopped being a part of his life a long time ago because of his own selfish and evil choices. Just as Tyler’s old man had destroyed their relationship with the use of a belt or a fist or whatever else his father could get his hands on.

“You’ll always be his son,” Maggie’s tone has a scolding tone to it. “He helped give you life.”

“That’s about all he did. He knocked my mum up. That’s it. I know you mean well, but you shouldn’t be lecturing about how things are between him and I. I lived with him. You didn’t. So how about we just cut the chit chat and you mind your own business.”

She holds her hands up un surrender, then nods towards the sliding glass door that leads out onto a small patio. “He’s out there. Likes to sit in the sun and listen to the birds. He’s a very sweet man. Very gentle. Very good to us.”

Tyler gives a derisive snort. It will be a cold day in hell before he acknowledges any of those traits. Because before the old man’s brain started going on him, he was a tyrant. Controlling and manipulative. Drinking far too much. Treating his mother like a slave and then degrading her and beating her if she dared stand up for herself. And when she’d died, all that cruelty and abuse had been turned onto his only child. He could forgive what his father had done to him, but there’s no goddamn way he’d ever forgive him for what he’d done to his mum.

****

His father sits in an old porch swing; frail and sickly looking, a far cry from the man he’d been the last time Tyler had seen him six years ago. When he’d still carried himself with a hint of cockiness and superiority; shoulders still broad, eyes still icy and intimidating. He’s a shell of his former self, and Tyler almost hates himself for viewing this as a form of karma. That after years of treating people horribly, the old man has been reduced to needing help from complete strangers to perform even the smallest of tasks.

“William, “ Maggie speaks from the doorway. “You have company. Your son and your...” she looks at Ovi for clarification as to just who he is.

“Grandson,” Tyler finishes for her.

“Your son and your grandson are here,” she continues. “They’ve come to visit.”

Tyler gives her a small, appreciative smile and then waits until she steps back into the house and shuts the door before turning to Ovi. “Why don’t you go and find that list he supposedly made of the things we need to fix. Probably on the fridge or the kitchen table or...”

“TV,” his father speaks up. “It’s by the TV.”

Tyler smirks. “Go check there. See what you can do on your own. I’ll be in in a few.”

Ovi nods, then gives a nervous smile and a small wave when he notices Tyler’s father watching him, a puzzled look on his face.

“Go on,” Tyler encourages. “I need a few minutes here.”

“Okay,” Ovi agrees, and slips back into the house.

“Hey dad,” Tyler greets, as he grabs one of the patio chairs and places it facing the swing, sighing heavily as he sinks down into it. “You know who I am right?”

His father nods, then leans forward and takes a hold of Tyler’s chin, turning his face to one side, then the other. “They let you keep that fur in the army?”

“I’m not in the army anymore. I haven’t been in it for a long time.”

“The war is over? They sent you home? From Afghanistan?”

“I was in Afghanistan sixteen years ago. The war’s been over for a while. That one at least.”

“So you’re home now?”

Tyler nods.

“I don’t know if I have enough room here for you. There’s not a lot of space. I had to get rid of the old place and downsize and...”

“Dad, I have my own place to live. In Cookstown. With my wife and my kids.”

He looks puzzled. “You have more than one now? When did that happen? Wasn’t Sarah just getting ready to have Austin?”

Tyler sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then over his face. “Sarah and I haven’t been together in a long time. Since Austin died. That’s almost sixteen years ago now.”

His father cocks his head to the side, confusion in his eyes and lining his face. “It is?”

“I got married again. You were at the wedding. In Sydney. Same little place you and mum got married at. Near the opera house.”

“Tiny little dark haired thing?”

“Esme. You made a joke about her having a weird name.”

“Esme...Esme...” his eyes squint as he tries to remember. “...cute wee thing. I like her. She’s a sweetheart. You’re still married to her?”

“Six years and counting. She’s still putting up with me somehow. Do you remember meeting your granddaughter? Amelia? I brought her to the old house.”

His father nods.

“She’s going to be six in a couple months. I’ve also got twin boys that just turned five. Tyler and Tanner and another boy that’s seventeen months, Declan. And we just had another baby two weeks ago. A little girl. Adeline.”

The old man smiles. “Your mother’s name.”

“We call her Addie for short.”

“That’s nice. Real nice. That you named her after your mother. She loved you so much, you know. Your mother. You were her pride and joy. The light of her life. I’d never seen her so as happy as she was the day you were born. She was a good mom to you. A real good mom.”

“Yeah....” Tyler clears his throat noisily, trying to rid himself of the lump of emotion that sits squarely in his windpipe. “...she was.”

“She’s a good mom? Your wife?”

“She’s an incredible mom. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for my kids. Or for a better woman to give me children.”

“Six years?” his father asks. That you’ve been together?”

“Six years and a couple of months,” Tyler confirms. “I haven’t screwed this one up. Not yet, anyway.”

“Must be a good woman. A strong woman. To put up with the likes of you. You’ve always been a handful.” It isn’t said with malice; there’s a soft smile curving the old man’s lips.

“She keeps hanging in there. Keeps giving me another chance every time I screw up. Which has been a lot, unfortunately. But she never gives up on us. On me.”

“Don’t let her get away. You’ll regret it if you do. And treat her right. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. You’re better than that. You always have been. You’re better than me. Thank Christ.”

“Well I guess that’s one thing I do have to thank you for,” Tyler muses. “Showing me how not to be.”

“And you’re back home? In Australia?”

“We were in Colorado. We just move back six months ago. We should get you out to the house. You’d love it. It’s right on the beach. Awesome spot. And you’d get to see Amelia again. And meet your other grandkids.”

His father smiles. “I’d like that.”

“Maybe for Amelia’s birthday,” Tyler suggests, and then stares down at his hands; palms up, studying all the callouses and scars that years on the job have left behind.

There’s so much he wants to say. Things that he needs to get off his chest in regard to the nightmare that he’d lived through growing up. He wants to punish his father; make him feel even the slightest bit of regret and remorse for all the things he’s said and done.

But he doesn’t. Because whatever he says will never come close to the torment that’s always taking place in father’s broken mind.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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