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#i should... find somewhere to put this besides my art blog.. maybe...
froads · 3 years
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cuttoothed · 3 years
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A little fic for @jonsimsandcats and also inspired by some adorable art on discord! Featuring notes on kitten rearing, and of course some Jmart because it’s me.
Jon works at the Institute here, but a non-spooky version of it!
*
Martin is doing a final check on the fish tanks when he hears the bell above the front door jingle. He sighs; he knew he should have locked up first. Just his luck.
“This is your fault,” he tells the angelfish balefully. They don’t seem contrite, too busy nosing in the fine gravel for any food they’ve missed. Martin walks out to the front of the shop, preparing his best customer service smile to tell whoever’s come in at—he glances at his watch—three minutes past eight that they’re closed, and no, they can’t just wander around for a few minutes to look at the animals. Honestly, some people seem to think there’s no difference between a pet shop and an art gallery.
There’s a man standing at the front counter, looking around anxiously, a bundled up jumper clutched against his chest.
“Sorry, we’re—” Martin begins, and that’s as far as he gets before the man unleashes a frantic tirade.
“Please!” the man says, “I need your help, I-I’m not sure they’re breathing and they were out there for hours on their own, I know you’re not supposed to move them in case their mother comes back but I couldn’t just—just leave knowing they were still there, and all the vet offices nearby are closed, this was the only place I could think of!”
The man is wild eyed, almost panicked, and Martin lifts both hands in an appeasing gesture.
“Woah,” he says, “Uh, maybe start from the beginning again? Slowly?”
“Right, ah, sorry. Sorry. I spotted them this morning, under a bush just outside my work.” The man sets the bundle of jumper down on the counter, and unfolds it to reveal two tiny scraps of fur: one gray, one black. Kittens, Martin realizes, so small they can only be a week or so old; certainly not old enough to be without their mother.
“I left them alone, because I’ve heard that the mother usually comes back after a little while. A-and I meant to go and check on them again during the day, make sure.” The man sounds anguished now, his face miserable. “But I—I got caught up in work, forgot about it. It was only when I was leaving that I remembered. And they were still there, on their own. Barely moving. Please—is there anything we can do?”
Martin looks down at the tiny creatures in their nest of wool; he can just about see the shallow in-out of their breathing. All day outside alone, at their age, the odds aren’t great. But he’s met enough kittens to know that they’re shockingly resilient little sods, and he’s never given up on a so-called hopeless case before. He’s not about to start now.
“You did the right thing moving them,” he assures the man, moving to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED. “We need to get them warmed up and get some food into them. Body heat is the best thing for them right now—can you start warming them with your hands?”
“Oh—ah, yes,” says the man, turning to his bundle of jumper with a worried frown. Martin leaves him there while he rushes around the shop, grabbing kitten milk replacer and nursing bottles, and then into the back to heat two mugs of water in the microwave while he makes up the bottles. He pops them into the mugs to warm, and brings the whole lot out to the front. The man now has a kitten in each hand, and is holding them pressed carefully to his chest for additional warmth; his expression is still worried, but also desperately tender, and Martin feels a pang of something behind his ribs at the sight.
“One of them is moving,” the man says eagerly as Martin sets the bottles down. Martin can see the gray kitten wriggling weakly in the man’s grip, responding to the heat. Its sibling is still motionless, and Martin’s heart sinks a little.
“That’s great,” he says. “Hold onto her for another minute, and let me see if I can get her sister moving too.”
He holds out a hand, and the man almost reluctantly passes him the black kitten. Martin doesn’t try to notice that the man has lovely hands, with long, slim fingers, narrow wrist jutting out of his shirt sleeve, but, well, he notices a bit. He turns his attention to the kitten; he can’t make out the motion of its breathing anymore. He takes it in both hands and starts to massage it gently. It lies limp in his palms, head lolling, and Martin starts to feel despair crawling cold up his spine.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You can do it.” The man is watching him anxiously, the gray kitten cradled against his chest, and Martin knows he can’t give up. He keeps rubbing the kitten’s small body, trying to will warmth and life back into the tiny, fragile form. At last, after what seems like an eternity, the kitten squirms in his hands and a faint, plaintive mew escapes it. An answering mew comes from the gray kitten, and Martin laughs, relief washing over him.
“Right, let’s see if we can get them to eat.”
After checking that they’re not too chilled to feed, Martin tests each of the kittens with a drop of formula on their tongue; thankfully they both seem able to swallow without difficulty. He shows the man how to feed the gray kitten, holding its body in a neutral position with the bottle tilted for a gentle flow. It doesn’t take long for the kittens to figure out the process, and Martin can feel the tug on the bottle as his kitten begins to suckle.
“Oh,” he hears softly from beside him, and turns to see the man gazing in delight at the gray kitten, whose tiny, unfurled ears are twitching as it sucks.
“She’s doing great,” Martin comments. “Good job.” The man gives him a tentative, pleased smile, and Martin still isn’t trying to notice but it’s a very nice smile. “I’m Martin, by the way.”
“Jonathan Sims—Jon,” says the man, and then gives a small, tense laugh. “God, I haven’t even apologized for storming in here while you were clearly trying to close up for the night.”
“That’s all right, I didn’t have any exciting plans tonight anyway. I’d much rather be spending time with these little beauties.”
Jon smiles again, more sure this time, and all right, maybe Martin deliberately notices the dimple in his right cheek. Just a bit.
Once the kittens are fed, Martin shows Jon how to stimulate them; both of them only pee a little—poor things are dehydrated—but it’s a good sign. They clean them up and tuck them back into the nest of Jon’s jumper, where they curl up into a small puddle of black and gray. Jon gives a sigh that’s somewhere between relieved and exhausted.
“Thank you,” he says. “I, ah, I think I forgot to say that as well. You know a lot about this.”
“I volunteer at a shelter, there are a lot of kittens. If you like, I can take them for tonight and bring them in tomorrow?”
“Ah,” says Jon. “Do you think that’s—I mean...I-I’m not sure I’d feel right, handing them off to someone else. Not that I think you’re not capable!” he rushes to add, and Martin finds himself smiling.
“No, I get it. You found them, you want to take care of them. I’ll warn you, though, it’s a big commitment. For the first couple of weeks you have to feed them every two hours, even during the night, and then it’s every three or four hours until they start weaning. It’s like having a newborn baby.”
“I don’t get much sleep generally,” says Jon. “At least this way I’ll have something to do while I’m up all night. And my work is—well, I’ll explain the situation.”
He looks set on it, brow furrowed with determination. Martin considers arguing more: that a shelter will be better equipped to care for the kittens, that there’s no guarantee they’ll survive in any case, that Jon doesn’t know what he’s signing up for. But the shelters are always crowded, and kittens this young have simple needs, and really, a dedicated foster parent—armed with the right knowledge—is probably the best thing for them.
“Right,” he says, “Let’s make sure these two are well wrapped up before you take them home.”
He scrounges a cardboard box from the back and they settle the kittens into it, still wrapped in Jon’s jumper along with a soft fleece blanket printed with cartoon fish. Martin gathers a couple of cartons of liquid formula and extra bottles to get them started, and shows Jon how to pierce the nipple so the flow isn’t too strong.
“It should be warmed to body temperature,” he explains, “But not directly in the microwave—put the bottles in heated water, like I did earlier. Do you have a hot water bottle?”
“Yes, I do,” says Jon, frowning intently as he listens. Martin nods.
“It’s better than a heating pad at this age, they’re less likely to get overheated. Don’t make it too hot—body temperature, again—and wrap it in a blanket so they’re not touching it directly.”
“Got it,” says Jon firmly, and Martin believes him. He bags up the formula and bottles and an extra pet blanket, and presses them into the hands of a startled Jon; the till is shut off for the night, but Martin can explain and pay for the items tomorrow.
“What’s your phone number?” he asks, and Jon looks even more startled.
“S-sorry?”
“Or your email. I’m going to send you some links—videos, a couple of good blogs that should be helpful.”
“Oh, ah, right. Of course.” Jon recites his number and Martin saves it under “Jon (Kittens).” He peeks into the box one last time before Jon scoops it up, and sees the kittens snuggled in the folds of the jumper, paws waving in little kitten dreams.
“Thank you again, Martin,” says Jon. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.” His tone is shy but genuine, and it sends warmth through Martin’s chest and up into his cheeks.
“Any time,” Martin says. “And feel free to text me if you need anything—if you have a question or...anything. Or call me if you like.” He’s aware he’s rambling a bit, but it’s not every day an attractive man says that he doesn’t know what he would have done without you, so he can hardly be blamed.
“I will,” says Jon solemnly.
*
He doesn’t text Martin any questions that night, but when Martin sends him the links to a youtube channel and three blog posts on kitten care, he replies:
Thank you :)
Martin spends most of the rest of the night wondering what that smiley face means.
*
He doesn’t necessarily expect to see Jon again, and certainly doesn’t expect to see him the very next day. But just before one o’clock in the afternoon the bell above the door jingles and there’s Jon, looking tired and more than a bit sheepish.
“I got all the way into work this morning before I realized I’d never paid for any of the things you gave me,” he says, reaching for his wallet.
“Those were gifts,” Martin tells him firmly. “Sort of a “welcome to foster parenthood” care basket?”
“No, I couldn’t let you—” Jon starts to protest, but Martin shakes his head emphatically.
“It’s no big deal, honestly. I get an employee discount anyway.”
“I...well, then I suppose I need to thank you yet again,” says Jon.
“It’s becoming a bit of a habit,” Martin jokes, grinning, and Jon smiles in return. He hesitates a moment before continuing:
“Maybe I could buy you lunch instead, then? To pay you back.”
“There’s no need, honestly,” says Martin, even as his brain berates him: What are you doing, idiot, he’s asking you to have lunch with him? Say yes!
“Please, I’d like to,” Jon says, and then gives a thoughtful frown. “Only if you want to, of course, don’t feel obligated—”
“I’m on lunch in five minutes,” Martin blurts out before he can overthink it.
“Great!” says Jon, sounding pleased. “If you have time, we could go by my office as well and visit the kittens. I just fed them before I came to see you.”
Before I came to see you, not before I came to pay you back, and Martin feels that warmth crawling up towards his cheeks again. Even if Jon’s intentions are purely friendly rather than...anything else, well, Martin could always use more friends.
“How were they last night?” he asks, and the smile that spreads across Jon’s face this time is pure delight.
“Oh I barely got an hour’s sleep,” he says, waving a hand. “And today they’re sitting under my desk reminding me every couple of hours that they need attention and that they are far more important than whatever I’m working on. They’re perfect.”
“Sounds like cat parenthood suits you,” Martin teases gently, and Jon laughs.
“I think it rather does.”
*
Lunch is...nice, and only slightly awkward in the “getting to know a new person” sort of way. Jon is serious, but also funny in an understated, acerbic way, and there’s a gentleness to him that wouldn’t be immediately apparent, if Martin hadn’t seen him cradling two tiny, fragile lives to his chest last night. He’s the kind of person Martin would like to know better, he thinks.
Afterwards they go to Jon’s workplace, which is extremely academic with a brass nameplate by the door and everything, and down to the basement office where Jon works; Martin doesn’t really know what archiving entails, but it looks like mostly a bloody great pile of paperwork. Jon’s two colleagues give Martin friendly and extremely curious glances as they pass; Jon pointedly ignores them in favor of directing Martin to his desk and the cardboard box sitting beneath it.
When Martin glances inside, the two kittens are curled up in the folds of the fish-print blanket, lying against the shape of what he assumes is the hot water bottle. Their bellies already look rounder than they were last night, thanks to regular feeding, and their limbs twitch as they sleep.
“I’ll take them to the vet for a check up after work,” Jon murmurs quietly, gazing down at them with a soft expression. Martin recognizes that look of adoration, and he knows this pair won’t be going to a shelter or anywhere else; they’ve found their home with Jon.
“They’re lucky you found them,” he says, and Jon smiles self-consciously.
“I think I’m the one who was lucky,” he says.
They spend a bit more time with the kittens, and then Martin realizes that it’s about time he got back to work if he doesn’t want to get in trouble. He excuses himself, waving goodbye to Jon’s still curious colleagues, and Jon walks him out to the grand front entrance of the building.
“Thanks again for lunch,” he says. “And—you have my number, right? The offer is open, if you need anything, just text me.”
“I will,” says Jon. “And, ah, let me know if you’d like to come and see the kittens again. Any day. Well, most days,” he corrects himself. “We could, ah, maybe have lunch again?”
“That sounds...really nice,” says Martin. Jon smiles, pleased, and Martin isn’t trying to notice the faint flush that spreads across his face, but it’s very cute anyway.
*
As he walks back to work, Martin’s phone vibrates with a text. It’s a picture of the kittens, curled up on top of each other, with the message:
Come back and see us soon!
Martin grins; the kittens, he thinks, weren’t the only ones lucky to be found last night.
543 notes · View notes
whumpmatsus · 3 years
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Hi! 👋 Two things! First, a fic request (again Ichimatsu whump because I'm sorry but I have to): Ichimatsu takes a hit meant for one of his brothers (be it accidental or on purpose) and is pretty badly injured. Cue the rest of the Matsu Bros. to the rescue!
And second, um...would you be okay with it if, let's just say hypothetically, I made fan art of some of these fics? 😺
FIRST OF ALL thank you for this because it's LITERALLY the longest thing I've written on this blog so far!! so I hope u enjoy it fully uwu
Matsu Bros plus a cameo by Mama Matsu!! <3
second... YESSSS THAT IS ALWAYS DEFINITELY OKAY!!! aaaaaaa you flatter me <3 <3 <3
-
When Ichimatsu first wakes up in the hospital, he doesn’t remember why he’s here. Hell, he barely even remembers who he is.
All he really knows initially is that he’s in a lot of pain. It hurts to breathe, his face is kind of numb in spots, and his leg feels weirdly positioned, plus heavy and uncomfortable. His shoulder feels kind of sore… as does his wrist.
There’s also some strange fog drifting around his mind that’s making it difficult to really focus on anything.
He feels a hand in his own. Not very tight… he thinks it’s someone giving just enough pressure to let him know they’re here. That he’s not alone. That’s comforting, he thinks.
Then he starts to remember things.
He was out walking with some of the others; Karamatsu and maybe Totty? What they were doing is a little fuzzy and isn’t coming to him instantly. He just recalls they were together, walking on the sidewalk. They came to a crosswalk and waited their turn. Karamatsu, as the eldest out of the three, stepped forward first to cross.
Ichimatsu thinks Karamatsu’s intention was that he would hold Totty’s hand to keep the youngest safe while they crossed, and Ichimatsu could follow after them. He doesn’t believe Totty had any objections.
They waited. They followed all the rules they were supposed to. The crosswalk light told them they were allowed to go.
It was someone else who broke the rules, tearing through a stop sign, the car headed right for his brothers. He… thinks he remembers Totty had only just come forward to grab Karamatsu’s hand, so he wasn’t quite there yet. Karamatsu was the one in the most danger.
He doesn’t remember much else. Running forward, pushing his baby brother behind him and yelling for his big brother to move.Then an impact. A lot of pain. Black and nothingness and warmth.
Now he’s awake. Putting the pieces together, he’s pretty sure he shoved Karamatsu forward and ended up getting hit by that car.
He thinks, in his haze, that the car should have hit Karamatsu, because he was the one who went first, because things happened so fast. But he’s glad it didn’t happen that way.
A couple groans catch the attention of whoever’s in the room, and he gets a squeeze to the hand. “Ichimatsu? Honey? Are you awake?”
“Mmh…” It hurts a little to move his head. He does it anyway, getting a glimpse of his mother. “… Mom…?”
It looks like she’s smiling… relieved, maybe. “Yes! Yes, my sweet boy, Mama is here.” She reaches her free hand over to gently stroke his hair. It feels nice. “Thank goodness. How do you feel?”
He closes his eyes. “I hurt.”
“Well, I should hope so! I’d be worried if you weren’t in a lot of pain right now. Do you remember what happened?”
Although he tries to move around, it’s difficult simply because it’s so painful. “Uh, yeah, kind of… I got… hit by a car, right? ― H… hey… Karamatsu and Totty… where are they? Are they okay?”
“Yes, dear, they’re both fine. Karamatsu has a couple of scrapes, but nothing serious. You, on the other hand, are lucky, young man. You’ve got a broken leg, a couple of broken ribs, and a broken wrist. You did have a dislocated shoulder, but they got that back into place. The doctor said it could have been much worse. She said you got off easy compared to some people who get hit by a car.”
She combs his bangs back in a way that mitigates any anger or frustration in her next words. “What were you thinking?”
“The car was coming for Karamatsu…” He frowns as the memory surfaces again, in slightly better detail. Damn. “… And Totty didn’t see it… he was gonna step out, too…”
Everything seemed to happen so fast. How the hell did he manage to get his older brother out of the way and keep his younger brother out of the way when everything happened so fast?
Matsuyo sighs and continues stroking his hair. “Oh, I know… they were both in tears when we all arrived. Totty was inconsolable… saying that Karamatsu would be dead if you hadn’t run forward and that he thought you were dead because you weren’t responding. I should be mad that you scared your brothers… but…”
She leans forward to kiss his forehead. “… You did a brave thing, Ichimatsu. Mama is very proud of you. I just don’t like any of you boys hurt… if you’re inclined to do this again, pull the other person back instead of taking their place. You silly boy,” she adds with an affectionate smile.
“Hah…” he laughs weakly, wincing at the pain in his chest. “Sorry, Mom. Everything hurts… I wanna go home.”
“Mhm, they’ll probably let you go pretty soon now that you’re awake. That’s the main thing they were waiting for, I think.” She moves her hand down to pat lightly at his forearm.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be home before you know it, and your family will take good care of you.”
-
Coming home is kind of weird.
Ichimatsu can’t really walk on his own. Since his leg is broken, the doctor gave him a crutch that he can use with his good hand, but it’s an awkward movement and leaves him feeling unbalanced. It’s just easier to lean on one of his brothers to walk ― in this case, Choromatsu has volunteered to help if Ichimatsu needs to walk somewhere. Though… he gets the feeling that the others would be more than happy to volunteer if the third eldest were somehow busy when he needs to get up.
Every motion, from sitting up to reaching for things to just breathing, is painful thanks to the broken ribs. There’s nothing that can really be done for those, so he’s evidently got to just suffer. He remembers the doctor saying they should feel quite a bit better in a couple of weeks. Most of this is going to take a month or more to fully heal, which is… according to Osomatsu, a ‘major boner-killer’.
Sitting around doing nothing but being in pain is going to be the end of Ichimatsu. He’s sure of that. He can’t go outside to feed the cats, and it’s difficult to cuddle with them inside with all his injuries. That alone is pretty depressing.
The pain medication they sent him home with is also a little frustrating. The first time he takes it, it makes him so tired he sleeps right through dinner.
He falls asleep on the couch in the spare room, he knows, because it’s where he has to be set up for now. There’s noway he can sleep in the futon with everyone else while he tries to heal; that runs the risk of running into someone, or having one of his brothers accidentally run into him.
His leg’s in a cast and his wrist is in a splint, to protect them as they fix themselves, but if those areas have someone roll onto them, it’ll probably result in more damage. Which means more pain and more time added to his recovery.
It’s apparently a bad idea to sleep on the couch. When he wakes up, everything is sore and screaming in pain. Justified, unfortunately, since he fell asleep in the same position he was relaxing in.
Someone else… is here? There’s something warm pressed up against his side.
He glances over to find that he’s evidently been resting on Karamatsu’s shoulder, likely for a while given that Karamatsu’s eyes are closed too. It looks dark out, and Ichimatsu’s foggy mind busies itself wondering what time it is.
There’s a soft chuckle beside him, and looking over reveals one of his big brother’s eyes is cracked open now. It’s swiftly followed by the other one, then the sudden absence of a pressure around his shoulder makes him aware that Karamatsu had an arm around him. “Awake, hm?”
“Yeah…” He tries to stretch, stopped short when a jolting pain in his chest reminds him that it’s definitely a bad idea. “Oww. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
“That’s alright. You started to get a bit drowsy about half an hour after Osomatsu-nii-san gave you your medicine. We saved you a plate from dinner, though, if you want me to go warm it up.”
Ichimatsu blinks. “I slept through dinner?? Shit. How late is it right now?”
His brother shifts a bit more to take out his phone. “Hm… a bit after midnight.”
“Midnight?” Well, fuck. Although he can justify an hour nap or so, he’s just slept like six hours. He missed dinner, he missed going to the bathhouse, he missed maybe a game of cards before bed.
Karamatsu laughs again, his hand tousling Ichimatsu’s hair fondly. “That’s right, my brother. Don’t worry. Osomatsu-nii-san said fatigue is a side effect of your medicine, and your body needs sleep right now, anyway. So, are you hungry? Mommy made soba and yakitori for dinner, but if you’d rather have something else, just say the word. Your wish is my command!”
Honestly… he’s not really that hungry. He knows he should probably eat; his stomach is just trying to tell him not to have anything heavy. Another side effect of the medication, maybe. “Are you… sure? I kind of just feel like plain miso and rice. Other stuff doesn’t sound good.”
“Of course! I’d be delighted to go heat some up. You simply rest and I’ll…” When he goes to stand up, something catches Ichimatsu’s eye, and he grabs his brother’s hand, weakly, with his own injured one. It’s painful, but…
Karamatsu’s eyes focus on his younger brother, brows furrowing. “Ichimatsu? What’s the matter?”
It’s… that cut on Karamatsu’s face. Ichimatsu didn’t notice it before. Now that he’s a bit more alert, it’s practically all he can see. It’s not very big, maybe the length of one of their little fingers, and not deep. It looks like a scrape from falling off one’s bike or something. He thinks maybe it had a bandage on it at one point. The color has faded into something dull; the skin around is still bright pink, though, suggesting that it’s irritated despite not being cut.
His gaze shifts down to find similar wounds on Karamatsu’s hands. On the palms, where he probably got a sort of road rash when he tried to catch himself after Ichimatsu pushed him out of the way.
His own wrist protests with a violent throb as he reaches to let his fingers graze lightly over Karamatsu’s wrist. Image after image of what might have happened to him if Ichimatsu wasn’t fast enough comes unbidden into his head. Karamatsu could be the one with a broken leg or broken ribs, or it could have been worse.
“Y… you’re okay… right?” As soon as those words are out of his mouth, tears start spilling. All at once he’s pulled into a hug, loose fists resting against his back. He can’t stop himself from leaning in, pressing his face against Karamatsu’s shoulder.
He can feel the soft rumble of mirthless laughter his big brother gives. “You’re the one who was hurt, Ichimatsu. I’m only okay because of you. If you hadn’t seen… I wasn’t paying attention…”
The words, “It should have been me”, hang heavily in the air even though Karamatsu doesn’t say them.
He brushes a delicate kiss over the side of his little brother’s forehead. “Heh… you would have been a better big brother than me. You kept us all safe when I failed. You probably saved my life, you know. Thank you.”
Ichimatsu isn’t sure why it’s now that the full weight of everything has hit him. Now, when he’s home and out of danger, when everything is okay. Shouldn’t he have been falling apart when he first woke up in the hospital? It shouldn’t have taken seeing Karamatsu’s small injuries to remind him that they all could have died when he’s the one in a cast.
It’s hard to keep himself together, to keep his breathing normal so he doesn’t completely go to pieces. (Though, if he did, what better place to do so than in his older brother’s arms?) “… You’d do the same for me, right? So it’s only fair.”
“I would,” Karamatsu hums. “Without a second thought. You’re my little brother and I love you very much and if I could save you from being hurt, I would. I’m… sorry I was so careless that I couldn’t do it this time.”
Ichimatsu grunts, slipping his good arm around Karamatsu’s waist in an effort to be closer. “Don’t feel too bad. The next car’ll be yours.”
-
After eating as much as he feels like he can, Ichimatsu allows Karamatsu to help transfer him to the floor. It’s already set up with a spare futon, a blanket, and a pillow, probably because someone guessed that sleeping on the sofa wouldn’t be comfortable.
He’s still in so much pain. The shoulder that was reduced back into place aches like an old war wound, and his chest is sore even when he’s lying still. To say nothing of his wrist and his leg. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, except worse.
Although Karamatsu insists he’d be just fine to stand guard all night, after a few minutes Choromatsu comes in and sends him back to the bedroom. Ichimatsu doesn’t hear too much of the conversation ― mostly whispers that Karamatsu needs to go get some sleep, that Choromatsu is glad to take a turn.
Soon enough, though, Karamatsu relents and comes to tell Ichimatsu goodnight before he leaves the room. Ichimatsu gets one more kiss on the head and a reassuring squeeze to his good hand and exchanges another round of “I love you”s with his brother, then heads into the bedroom.
Choromatsu came prepared, setting his own pillow up on the couch and tossing a blanket at the end just in case he needs it. “So… how are you feeling, Ichimatsu?”
“Mm… like crap, kinda.” He looks over to where his brother is trying to get settled in. “I can’t believe I slept six hours and I’m still tired. What kind of shit did they put me on?”
“Hah… y-yeah, it’s the good stuff, probably. Is it at least helping the pain a little?”
“A little. Like Mom said before we left the hospital, I… guess it’d be more worrying if I wasn’t in pain right now. I did get hit by a car.”
Choromatsu leans forward and places a cautious hand on his little brother’s head. Once that earns him no punishment, he gingerly combs through Ichimatsu’s hair. It certainly feels relaxing. “You sure did. I… I can’t believe you kept both Karamatsu and Totty safe. Adrenaline’s a… a weird thing, huh? I’m glad you’re all okay. Hopefully the pain medicine will work better once you’ve had a few doses.”
“Mh. I hope so.”
“Yeah. For now, just, uh… just try to get some more sleep, okay? Your body needs a lot of rest while you’re healing.”
Yep, that’s what Karamatsu said, too. Two of his brothers saying the same thing can’t be wrong. … Well, they could be, but it would be weird. “I’ll try. Thanks for… being here. I dunno that I’d really want to sleep alone for the whole night. Guess Totty’s rubbing off on me.”
A low chuckle leaves Choromatsu as Ichimatsu closes his eyes. The sound of rustling suggests that his older brother has laid down and pulled a blanket over himself as well.
After a moment of quiet between them, Ichimatsu becomes keenly aware of a sensation that definitely isn’t going to allow him to sleep. “Uuuugh. Shit.”
“Huh?” Choromatsu is sitting up in an instant, ready to practically spring out of his skin. “What’s wrong, Ichimatsu?”
“― My leg itches.”
“O-oh. So… scratch it??”
He throws his head back in frustration. “No, the one with the Goddamn cast on it.”
“Ohhh. Okay, uh, well…” Choromatsu gets up and rummages through one of the drawers for a few seconds.
After that, a pencil is pressed into Ichimatsu’s good hand with a smile. “Here, try this. Stick the eraser end down in the little space between your leg and the cast, then keep moving it. If the itch is high enough up, it should help.”
Ichimatsu raises an eyebrow at the advice. Well. What’s he got to lose, after all? He spends a moment trying to get the itch scratched after slipping the pencil down, and finally he sighs in relief. “Fuck, that’s a lot better. How’d you know that was gonna work?”
Choromatsu grins self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Ah, well… remember when I broke my arm? When I went for my checkup, I had this itch inside the cast that was driving me nuts. So the nurse showed me this trick. It doesn’t always work, but…”
“Huh… well… thanks.” After everything, he’s just really tired and ready to sleep now. He would cross his fingers that nothing else disturbs him if he felt like moving at all.
“Heh, no problem. All good now?”
“I think so.” When he sees his brother straighten up to head back to the couch, his brain evidently thinks it’s good to say something. “H… hey. Choromatsu?”
Choromatsu looks back down, concern etched on his features. “Ah, yeah? What’s up?”
His heart is hammering so fast it feels like it’s trying to break more of his ribs. He doesn’t really want to embarrass himself. It’s just… he feels… “Can you… can you… stay for a minute? Down here?”
“Oh… yeah, sure. I can’t stay too long… I-I can’t sleep next to you. I might accidentally hurt you.” Even so, he lowers himself back down, sitting cross-legged and reaching to stroke Ichimatsu’s hair.
He nods. That’s part of the problem. Even though he normally wouldn’t have much complaint about being left to his own devices… he’s used to sleeping next to his brothers. Right on the end beside Karamatsu. When he’s not feeling well, being absent from them is apparently not doing him any favors. “I know. It’s just…”
His eyes drift closed once more. It must be the medicine making him feel out of it and way too honest. “… I think I’m gonna get lonely sleeping like this.”
“O-oh… gosh.” He can practically hear the frown in Choromatsu’s voice. The other man’s hand combs through his hair, a rhythmic and repetitive motion that makes him sleepy again. “I can probably… sleep like this, propped up against the couch. Is that okay?”
“Mmmh… I don’t want you to have to do that… you’ll make your back sore.”
He chuckles. “Ah, I-I think I can handle it. Even if that’s true, it’d be worth it to me so you don’t have to feel lonely. It’s the least I can do for my little brother.”
“I can’t stop you,” Ichimatsu mumbles. Sleep is scrabbling its tiny, strong fingers at him, trying to pull him down. It’s getting hard to resist. “If you want…”
“Yeah… yeah, I wanna do this for you.” Choromatsu leans down to press a small kiss to the top of Ichimatsu’s head. “Hey. Love you, Ichimacchan. Try to get some rest, okay?”
He doesn’t have to tell Ichimatsu twice. Within a minute of Choromatsu’s urging, he’s fallen back into a peaceful darkness.
-
When Ichimatsu wakes up the next morning, Choromatsu’s presence has been replaced by Jyushimatsu’s.
As much as he loves his immediate older brother, he doesn’t have any complaints. He and Jyushimatsu are very close, and his younger brother being here is pretty soothing to wake up to.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet, though that’s not to say he isn’t his usual energetic self. He appears to be flipping through baseball cards, maybe organizing them in his little album, humming to himself. There’s also one hand free to play with Ichimatsu’s hair, which he supposes is why he still feels relaxed.
“Hey, Jyushi.” His body reminds him why stretching is a bad idea right now, so he settles for arching his back a little in an effort to make something pop. Everything is sore. Even that little bit of movement hurts his ribs enough that he has trouble catching his breath for a minute. “Fuck… morning.”
“Oh! Yeah, it is morning!” Jyushimatsu is chipper as always, though when he leans in for a hug, he’s surprisingly gentle. “How’d you sleep, Ichimatsu-nii-san?”
“Okay, I guess. I still hurt a bunch.”
“Yeahhhh, you were crying in your sleep! But it’s okay! Because guess what? Jyushi is here!” He grins, nuzzling his cheek against Ichimatsu’s. It’s a bit weird, but par for the course as far as Jyushimatsu is concerned. Besides, the hug is nice after the fear of being lonely last night. “Did you have nightmares, huh?”
Now that he mentions it… yep. Ichimatsu’s dreams, or what he remembers of them, were filled with horrible things. The memory of being hit by the car, or the images of either Karamatsu or Totty being hit because he wasn’t fast enough.
He recalls one piece of a dream which involved looking into his own chest and seeing the end of a fractured rib shatter his glass heart.
A shudder runs through his body, prompting Jyushimatsu to tighten his grip just slightly. “Oh, you’re cold! It’s past breakfast, ‘cause you slept for a really long time, but I’ll go get you some tea!! Sound good?”
Given that his appetite hasn’t come back from war, that sounds better than anything else. Though he did manage to choke down that rice and miso last night, he’s not sure if he wants to eat even anything bland. “Yeah, sounds good. Put just a little bit of agave syrup in it for me?”
“Yeah! Anything for Ichimatsu-nii-san! Be right back, okay?”
With Jyushimatsu, ‘be right back’ is typically how it goes. He’s only gone for a few minutes, or at least it only seems like a few minutes.
Regardless, Ichimatsu has a cup of tea in his hand relatively quickly. Almost as if his brother predicted that it would be difficult to hold something very hot with only one hand, the tea is warm, not boiling hot.
It’s easier to balance it with one hand, plus this means it’s pretty much the perfect temperature to drink. As he starts to sip it, he feels Jyushimatsu’s hand, covered entirely by his sleeve, rubbing affectionately between his shoulder blades. “It’s good, huh?”
He swallows and gives the other a nod. “Yeah, pretty good. Thanks.” Thankfully, it should wake him up, too. He’s still feeling kind of groggy.
“Good!! Osomatsu-nii-san said he’s gonna give you your medicine in a minute, since I told him you were up and hurting.” Jyushimatsu shoves his binder of cards away, shifting up to sit on the sofa. “Do you want me to move you up here after you’re done drinking?”
“Probably, yeah. You got anything you wanna do today?” Another sip, and he sighs in relief feeling the warmth flow through him. Damn.He can’t believe he could take something as simple as a cup of tea in the morning for granted. “I can’t really help with baseball practice… but we could watch TV together or something.”
“Sure! We can watch whatever you want!” After only a few seconds, Jyushimatsu wiggles himself back down and leans against his big brother’s shoulder. “Hey, Ichimatsu-nii-san… I’m really glad you’re okay. Even though you’re hurt and everything, you’re home with us instead of… being not home with us!”
The least he can do is let his head rest gently against Jyushimatsu’s. “Yeah… I’m glad I’m home, too. Don’t think I’d rather be anywhere else.”
Jyushimatsu nods eagerly, making a brief, dull wave of pain wash through Ichimatsu. However, he’d rather have that pain than not have his little brother close. “We’ll take really good care of you! Just say if you need anything, okay? I’m really strong and I can get anything! … And if I can’t, Osomatsu-nii-san probably can!”
“Heh.” Ichimatsu takes another gulp of his tea. “You guys are the best.”
-
True to Jyushimatsu’s word, Osomatsu is in pretty soon to give Ichimatsu the painkillers. For whatever reason, even when he can’t be trusted with literally anything else, the eldest is pretty good at monitoring medicine when one of the others needs it.
All things being equal, Ichimatsu has a lot of faith in taking medicine when Osomatsu keeps track of it. He knows how much was dispensed, how many Ichimatsu is supposed to take and how often, how many are left, and all the related things. He’s like some kind of idiot savant who was put on Earth to be a pill counter.
After he takes it, he expects to start getting tired again, so he silently begs Osomatsu to stay on the couch with him. They’re all supposed to be hanging out anyway, based on what Jyushimatsu said, so right now he decides he wants to be close to his oldest brother for a little bit.
Osomatsu seems all too happy to oblige, snuggling Ichimatsu as close as he dares to. It’s probably not a good idea to use normal force, so the touches are… lighter than usual. It’s not so bad.
He settles in on Osomatsu’s shoulder, trying to get his eyes to focus on the show Jyushimatsu turned it to for him. It’s kind of unfortunate that he’s almost certainly going to fall asleep on it. “You guys are taking really good care of me,” he sighs, letting his eyes slip closed. “You want my allowance? Or, like… a bag of sardines?”
Osomatsu snorts. “What? You’re nuts, man. We’re taking care of you because we want to and because you need it. I mean, if I was sitting here with a broken leg, a broken wrist, broken ribs, and had to have my shoulder cherry popped back into place, wouldn’t you all be like, ‘Wow, maybe we should give the poor bastard a hand’? We’re just doing the same thing for you that we’d do for any one of us.”
Ichimatsu huffs. “Yeah, well… you’re all doing a lot. Karamatsu went in the kitchen past midnight to make me miso and rice, Choromatsu probably fucked up his back sleeping against the couch so I wouldn’t be lonely, Jyushi’s waiting on me, and you’ve got my medicine on a damn schedule or something.”
“Yeah, well,” Osomatsu grins, “I can’t leave it up to you, crackhead.”
He can’t help but chuckle at that. Even so, it’s not going to make him totally drop this. “I’m serious. You guys are…”
Osomatsu nudges him carefully. “We’re being brothers, you boner. I know we suck at showing it sometimes, but… you know we all love each other, right? I guess it’s easier to show it when one of us is sick or hurt. Just so happens you’re the hurt one right now. And also your ass is on painkillers, so everything seems weird to you.”
… Okay, so maybe he can’t fault that logic. Still, though.
They’re both quiet for a long moment while they watch the screen, then Osomatsu lets out a soft hum. “You did good, you know. I don’t like that you tried to get yourself killed, but you did good.”
“I wasn’t trying to get myself killed,” Ichimatsu retorts with the nastiest facial expression he can muster right now. “I didn’t wanna get hit, either. But Karamatsu and Totty weren’t paying attention… I didn’t want them to get hit. I was trying to get us all out of that way… I just wasn’t fast enough.”
Osomatsu scoffs before reaching his hand up to ruffle Ichimatsu’s hair. He appears to be getting a lot of pets like that lately, not that he’s complaining. It feels really good and is one of the biggest comforts he has right now. “You protected them, anyway. I can’t say too much, because you didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done if it were me.”
Ichimatsu offers a low, mocking wail. “Oh, shit. I’m turning into you. I think I’d rather be a cat. If I were a really bratty cat, you’d still be nice enough to feed me sardines and scratch behind my ears, right?”
“Uhhhh, I guess. You’re changing the subject, you dick.” A small puff of laughter makes his bangs move. “I just… wanna say I really respect you, man. Sometimes I remember the days when you would kick Karamatsu in the leg just for breathing the wrong way. And when you used to blow Totty off to hang with your friends in high school.”
He gets a shrug in response. “People change. We’ve all changed a lot.”
“Yeah, sure. I know.” His arm shifts down and he squeezes Ichimatsu’s good hand in that reassuring, proud way only an older sibling can. “They haven’t all been good changes. But seeing you trying to keep the others safe… that’s a a good change. Just gotta give you your props, Ichimacchan.”
He’s too tired to really argue with Osomatsu. Despite the fact that he knows he’s the shittiest of them all, he has to at least silently acknowledge that what he did prevented one of his older brothers and his baby brother from being in the same pain he’s in right now.
Instead of saying anything meaningful, he just presses himself in more against Osomatsu and mutters, “That’s nice. I’m tired.”
Osomatsu snorts and Ichimatsu feels a light kiss on top of his head. “Alright, dumbass, get some sleep. The pills are probably kicking in. Let me know if you need anything.”
Ichimatsu thinks that, right now, all he needs is his big brother to be the perfect pillow, and he’s doing a pretty good job of that.
-
Although it’s not dark at all the next time Ichimatsu wakes up, it’s significantly later than he meant to sleep. 3 P.M., meaning that once again he’s slept through a meal ― lunch, this time.
Just like last night, he finds that he’s not really all that hungry. Even so, it might be a good idea to eat, so probably he ask Osomatsu to get him something small.
When he shifts and looks over, though, Osomatsu isn’t there anymore. Instead, there’s Totty…
… Oh.
He’s holding onto Ichimatsu pretty tight. Ichimatsu isn’t sure he can move too much with the way Totty is holding him.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Totty? Everything okay?”
His little brother stiffens, wide eyes suddenly turning up to look at him. Unlike what he noticed about Karamatsu, Totty doesn’t have any physical injuries, but… the skin around his eyes is red and puffy. “Y… yeah, it’s all good. Sorry, am I hurting you?”
“No… not really hurting.” He doesn’t remember having seen Totty too much after everything happened. He visited Ichimatsu in the hospital, all teary-eyed and not talking, before they were all allowed to take him home. Once he got home, though, he can’t recall Totty being around a lot even though everyone else was.
He assumed Totty was freaked out after everything and avoiding him just because he’s emotional right now. Seems Ichimatsu was right about that.
He maneuvers his good arm to put it around Totty’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. “Have you been crying? You sure you’re okay?”
Totty sniffles and dips his head down. “Yeah, sorry… I just…”
“Don’t be sorry, dumbass.” Even though it hurts a little to move so much, Ichimatsu cuddles his brother in against him. “It’s fine, you big crybaby. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“I should be the one making sure you’re okay.” Regardless, Totty nestles in, tucking his head under Ichimatsu’s chin. It’s a bit of a weight on his hurt ribs, but it’s not that bad. “… H-hey. I, um. You know. I… I love you.”
Huh. It’s been a while since Totty has said that point-blank to any of his brothers, Ichimatsu thinks. It’s kind of nice to hear. He closes his eyes and offers an appreciative hum. “I love you, too. That it?”
Totty lets out a frustrated sigh, and Ichimatsu can just imagine the pout he has on his face. Kinda cute. He can’t really help himself; the youngest is always gonna be the baby, always gonna be adorable, even when he’s acting like a little bitch or if he wants to deny it. “I wanted to… say I’m sorry.”
“For…?”
“For… everything! Y-you know, for almost getting hit and… I mean, you got hurt trying to protect me and Karamatsu! If I hadn’t tried to follow him without even looking… you wouldn’t have had to worry about me. And… and I haven’t been with you too much since you got home…”
He nuzzles his head against Ichimatsu’s collarbone, kneading his hand against the top of his brother’s good leg. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just… I’ve been… really upset. It was scary, seeing the car hit you…”
The hum Ichimatsu gives this time is lower, pensive and understanding. “Yeah. Mom said you were crying a lot when she got to the hospital. ‘S okay to be kinda freaked out, you know.”
“Yeah, I know… and I was… am.I was scared the whole time… Karamatsu tried to wake you up, but you were just lying there and you wouldn’t…” Totty sniffles and his hand curls into a weak fist against Ichimatsu’s knee. “I didn’t wanna lose you, Ichimatsu-nii-san, and I was really afraid you were gone. I’m happy you’re okay… I just… I-I was pretty sure I was gonna cry the first time I tried to take care of you, so I… wanted to be alone with you. Crying in front of all you guys is…”
Ichimatsu nods to quiet his brother, ghosting a kiss over the top of Totty’s head. “I get it. It’s okay, Totty. C’mere, okay… you don’t have to be sorry for being freaked out and not wanting to cry and all that shit. I’m sure Karamatsu’s freaked out, too. And everyone else. Don’t apologize for your feelings, stupid.”
An indignant huff is the response he gets, before Totty presses in against Ichimatsu’s uninjured shoulder. “It just makes me think a lot,” he finally confesses.
Ichimatsu smirks. “Right. And you’re so out of practice with thinking, it’s hard. I know.”
“Th-that’s not it, you jerk!” Totty whines and brings his arms in, curled against his chest. His knees come up onto the couch, folded under him, as he tries to get comfortable. “It makes me think… anything could happen, at any moment, and that… might be it.And I know we’re all shitty to each other a lot of the time, but… but I love all of you.”
He sniffles, snuggling against Ichimatsu when his big brother pulls him even closer. “The thought that one of us might… die… I-I didn’t… I didn’t know how afraid I was of that… till I thought it happened. If one of us wasn’t here… it… it wouldn’t be the same anymore.”
“… Yeah.” Ichimatsu gives Totty a squeeze that’s maybe a little tighter than necessary. It’s not like he can pretend that Totty is wrong. He’s right. Even though they’re all assholes and treat each other like crap sometimes, the last thing any of them want is for their family to be… incomplete.
They sit quietly for what feels like a long time, holding each other. Breathing. Just existing in sync, in perfect understanding for a while.
Sometimes, it’s true, Ichimatsu is kind of a death seeker. Sometimes he really does want to die. Sometimes he doesn’t care about anything, and just wants it all to end so he doesn’t have to deal with the weight of life anymore.
Sometimes, though… sometimes he fights death with all he has. He thinks maybe that’s what happened after he got hit by the car.
It would have been easy to die then. To just let his injuries swallow him up and put out his life like blowing out a candle.
He’s in a lot of pain right now, but he’s not dead. There must be a reason, right?
He thinks this is the reason.
Holding his youngest brother and realizing how broken his absence would leave his family, thinking about how broken it would be if anyof them were gone, how much they love each other…
… For once, he’s happy to be alive.
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mystic-poet · 3 years
Text
ROGUE PATHS
I wake up to find myself handcuffed to the hospital bed. The drug they injected me with to tame me seems to be wearing off. Ugh! This again. Better to get it over with, I guess. I drag my free hand into my bun and retrieve a small blade. As usual the dumb police never bothered to check in there thinking a man’s bun would just be a fashion statement. I twist to my side and turn the blade in the keyhole clockwise. My hand comes free. I learnt to pick locks when I was young, one of my many talents. I shake my hand hard to get rid of the stiffness and get up from the bed.
I stride confidently straight towards the door, not in the sneaky kind like a criminal would. As expected, a police officer stands at guard. His lips are on the verge of screaming when I silence him by waving a hundred bucks in front of his eyes. He raises his eyebrows at me and I throw in another four hundred to satisfy his thirst. That ought to shut him up. Money! The most deadly weapon and beautiful thing anyone can ever have.
□□□
Outside the hospital waits Beth. She teaches German in Crawford High. Well, it would be safe to say she taught me the art of viciousness. If angels can house demons, there isn’t any harm in a teacher being an evil mastermind.
“They shot you pretty bad in that leg, huh?” she says as I limp on one good leg. She gives me a look that was overflowing with pity. How I hate that!
“Enough with the puppy eyes already!” I snap. My right leg was hurting real bad and I would have stayed in the hospital until they mended it and made my grand escape later but I won’t want to deprive the world of its foul folks. Besides, I have business to finish.
“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be in the hospital,” Beth says unlocking her car and we sit in.
“They shot my leg in the encounter at the bank and I was losing blood by the second. Couldn’t get much out of me while I was thrashing in pain,” I explain.
“Did you find anything at the bank?” Beth asks raising an eyebrow at me as she drives the car out of the parking lot.
“I was close to. The property papers were in my hands before the cops caught up with me. Couldn’t read a word.”
“So, what are going to do? Got anything up your sleeves?”
“Well, I do. I am going to father’s house this Wednesday,” I say coolly.
“You do know that’s two days away, don’t you?”
“I have thought it through. You’ll see,” I say grinning.
Beth shakes her head. “Just remember I need my share of the money, Carl.”
“We talked about this a million times, Beth. You’ll get your forty percent,” I say casually leaning into the passenger’s seat.
□□□
My dad abandoned me when I was a teen. He is the owner of a multinational electronic company my late grandpa founded. Beth was the assistant manager. She was a frequent visitor in thehouse and shared a fine bond with dad until one day, she was fired when my dad accused her of a theft she never committed or so she told me.
When I was old enough, I tracked her down and discovered that she craved revenge with dad for all the wrongs done to her. She wanted to blow the lid off and reveal all the dark secrets behind dad’s firm. In a way, our common want of vengeance united us.
My dad is stinking rich whereas I was left in some community home and survived off donations. This is why I despise pity; I have lived with it all my life. I have my rightful place in the company and the fortune my grandpa left behind. But I need theofficial documents and my one chance of getting them from the bank slipped away. That’s where the part of infiltrating his house comes in. Ah! It’s been such long while since I did something of this kind. Infiltrating seems such a gorgeous word now.
□□□
“So, how are we doing it?” asks Beth pouring two glasses of red wine for the both of us. She drove us to her house for it’s probably the safest place to be.
“He is hosting some success party on Wednesday and there’s bound to be security. My idea is to go through as delivery persons. The rest will follow. You will tip toe to the computer room while I put up some distraction. I will catch up with you soon enough. Till then, find the papers,” I instruct taking a swig from my glass.
“It won’t be that simple, you know,” she says with a smirk.
“I was thinking you need that forty percent,” I say with mock seriousness.
“Fine!” she says exasperated. How I love when I am obeyed.
□□□
We are wheeling the cart that supposedly holds the cake but instead I just stuffed it with a wad of cotton. I ring the bell of the grand house with Beth beside me. The housekeeper, a woman in maybe in her thirties, opens the door. She gestures to where the cake should be kept. I look around at the magnificence of the place and its each and every adornment and decoration, from the mahogany coffee table to the velvet curtains and even the intricate designs on the glass vases, conveyed royalty. I feel a rush of hatred inside me. My father enjoyed all the money at his disposal and lived in comfort with rugs beneath his feet whereas I tossed and turned with unease in my bed every night wondering if my parents would ever make their way back to me. At least my mother passed away before she witnessed the return of her abandoned son.
“You know what to do,” I whisper in Beth’s ear. She nodded. I take my blade out and make a shallow cut in the back of my hand oozing out blood. That blade is indeed a good partner. I pocket it as swiftly as I took it out.
“Oh, I am bleeding. I am bleeding,” I say dramatically and hold my hand out purposefully for everyone to see the scarlet covering it.
“Oh dear, God. I will fetch you some ice from the kitchens,” the housekeeper says and disappears into a corridor. That’s the thing about kind people; they are easy prey.
I signal to Beth and she sets off in a half-walk and half-run up the stairs. She knows the way to the computer room from all those years of coming to dinners and teas in the house. As she turns into the corner, I rush behind her too wiping the blood on my pants.
I catch up with her soon enough as she looks straight ahead navigating through the rich corridor filled with a few guests. I walk behind her maintaining a safe distance; we can’t afford to attract any attention.
We walk into a long deserted hallway. I am sure the computer room is here and so does Beth, I suppose, as she carefully notices each door. She comes to an abrupt stop in front of the door at the far end of the hallway and opens it without a glance at me. In the middle of the room sits a computer that would be the cause of my dad’s doom. Beth turns it on and gets to work as I stand at the door occasionally peaking in. I was afraid it might have a password but it didn’t. Arrogance! Father must be sure no one could evade his computer. Well, I guess history is being made today.
“Do it quick!” I hiss at her.
“Does it look like I am not trying?” she says making an irritated face at me.
We are silent for five minutes or so when Beth says, “Carl, I found them!”
A smirk creeps across my face. “Transfer it to me. All of it,” I say in an excited whisper.
Beth turns back to the computer and presses send. The next few moments go by as quickly as the blink of an eye. I lock Beth in the computer room and somewhere a safety alarm triggers deafening my ears. I hear her muffled screams calling out to meechoing in the hallway but without looking back I descend the two flights of stairs.
I bump into the security on a landing and adopting my best worried voice I say, “A woman in the computer room. Upstairs.” The words barely escape my mouth and they run upstairs to find the trespasser while I walk out of the mansion with satisfaction.
Indeed, Beth taught me too much than she should have. Call me selfish but that’s what the world made me. I couldn’t have let Beth have forty per cent. After all, what would she do with it in jail? As for my father this episode would definitely motivate him to set a computer password. I whistle walking on the road thinking of the colour my bungalow would be.
Tagging:
@ruins-of-heart @witchpossessinghozier @some-broken-words @sinless-mind @luck1998 @ze-thoughts-are-stupid @random-lit @saamiya @colinisalright @thunder19sstuff @yalocal-deadpoet @asthetically-bookish @literature-is-my-religion @mrun-v @songfromstars @donapreachesart @i-snort-chocolates @duskobserver @apprielle24 @halfagonyhalfhop3 @klainebrittana @ray-of-darkness7 @balladofableedingpoet2112 @morticiapretz @vantaerayleigh1997 @sillylilbakaaa @church-of-burnt-romances @burn-like-starss @mjsespaces-blog @theleechwhodrinksbleach
Thank you so much for giving this a read dears!
Comments, criticism and suggestions are always welcome <3!!!
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pengychan · 3 years
Text
[Coco] Mind the Gap, Epilogue
Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.
Art by @swanpit​.
[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]
A/N: A family can be a mom, a dad, their baby, mom and dad's boyfriend who is also the baby's honorary uncle, a cat, and a total of five dogs. 
***
“You know, you and your brothers had been baptized long before you were six months old.”
The speakers are not on, but Ernesto is still able to hear every word Imelda’s mother is uttering due to the disease that seems to affect many people the age of fifty - the certainty you absolutely need to yell into the phone for your words to be heard on the other side.
Imelda would very much appreciate not hearing them, if the way she drops the side of her head against the passenger side window with a thunk is anything to go by. “I am aware, mamá,” she almost groans. “But we’re doing it now, no? We’re on the way there, by the way, that’s what I called to let you kno--”
“And I am glad, but I cannot see any reason why you had to wait this long.”
Imelda’s head thunks back against the window just as Ernesto changes lanes to get past a car whose owner seems to be missing the foot that’s supposed to go on the speed pedal. Somewhere in the back, Héctor groans quietly. 
“I had work to do, Héctor had work to do, and if we wanted to have the ceremony in Santa Cecilia we needed time to organize,” Imelda is gritting out. “I don’t see why we should have rushed things, considering that Coco is not at risk of imminent death. Nor has she had enough time to commit significant sins on the mortal plane.”
“Of course she has not, but you know it is important for babies to be baptized--”
“And besides, the Pope decided limbo is no longer canonical some ten years ago.”
“He also said it is no reason to delay--”
“Ah, we’re getting into a tunnel. Signal is bad. See you later,” Imelda snaps, and ends the call before dropping against the backrest with the expression of a luchadora who barely made it through the end of the match. “Remind me why cancelling the entire baptism out of spite is not a good idea?”
“Ceci worked really hard on the ropón and Coco looks beautiful in it,” Héctor speaks up.
“I already paid for the entire damn thing,” Ernesto supplies helpfully.
A chuckle. “Ay, we’re stuck, then,” Imelda says, and turns back to Ernesto. “... Sorry. What were you saying before the call again?”
“The concert next month. The latest piece Héctor wrote is a duet and we could use a woman’s voice. You should come with us, it will only be a couple of nights and you’d only need to be on stage for that song. Armando is already sold to the idea.”
It seems a very reasonable proposal to Ernesto, but Imelda frowns, pulling the car’s window down just enough to get some wind on her face. “I know he is, but I am not completely sold to the idea of leaving Coco in my brothers’ care for any amount of time.”
“It can’t be that ba--”
“You were not there when they came up with the self-rocking crib,” Héctor interjects from the back.
“The self-rocking crib?”
“Yes. Thankfully they tested it on Pepita first. She was not very happy about being ejected against the wall, but you know what they say about cats landing on their feet.”
“Ah.” Ernesto briefly debates whether he should tell them about the surprise the twins are planning. Not that he knows what the surprise actually is, they just briefly mentioned they were going back to Santa Cecilia a few days earlier than them to prepare… something. 
Ah, it will be fine. Probably. 
“Well, maybe we could find someone else to look after Coco,” he finally says instead. “Or keep an eye on them while they look after Coco. ”
Imelda hums. “I guess Ceci may be able to.”
“... Anyone else?”
“Don’t be like that, she’s her godmother.”
“Not yet she isn’t, you have time until tomorrow to change your min--”
“Your co-godparent,” Héctor pipes in. “Meaning that if anything happens to me and Imelda, you two will be morally obliged to step in and help her out. Together.”
“Uuugh. You both had better live long and healthy lives.”
A chuckle. “We’ll do our best,” Imelda promises, and for a time the car is quiet. Not for a long time, with Héctor speaking up again soon enough. 
“Are we there yet?”
Ernesto sighs. And there he hoped he would stop asking. “No.”
“My leg is all pins and needles.”
“Wouldn’t have happened if you sat like a normal human.”
“But Coco needed me to hug the baby seat, she wouldn’t settle otherwise.”
“Well, she’s asleep now. You can let go.”
Sprawled across the back seat in order to keep his arms wrapped around the sleeping child on the baby seat, his left leg folded awkwardly beneath him, Héctor shoots a very offended look which Ernesto glimpses through the rear view mirror.
“No,” he declares with all the defiance of a father refusing to hand over his baby to King Herod himself to be slaughtered in the Massacre of the Innocents. Ernesto shrugs.
“Suit yourself,” he says, and keeps driving. A boring task right now, the road straight and mercifully empty. They should be in Santa Cecilia within a couple of hours, he estimates, give or take a few--
“Are we there yet?”
“Por Dios, I was prepared for the baby to be insufferable throughout the trip, but you’re worse,” Ernesto groans. On the passenger seat, Imelda rubs her temple. 
“We could stop a few minutes, so Héctor can stretch his legs - don’t protest, you know you need it. I wouldn’t mind a break either,” she adds, and glances over at Ernesto. “Do you want me to drive the rest of the way? You’ve been at the wheel the entire time.”
“I can drive the rest of the way,” Héctor volunteers.
“Absolutely not,” Ernesto and Imelda say as one.
“Oh come on, if this is still about that thing with the level crossing in Colima, it was weeks ago and--”
“Coco is in the car,” Imelda reminds him, and Héctor promptly shuts up. When Ernesto pulls into a service station and stops the car in the small parking lot, he slowly disentangles himself from the baby seat. As Coco does not, in fact, bolt awake screaming in horrible pain the second he lets go, he finally gets off the car and takes a few steps. 
Or rather, hops awkwardly on one foot while trying to regain sensation in his left leg. Imelda watches him hop towards the toilet with a chuckle, and turns to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm. “I’ll be getting coffee for both me and Héctor. Knowing you, I assume you’d prefer a beer.”
“I’m supposed to be driving--”
“Look at you, being all resonsible with a baby on board. But no, you’re not. I’ll take over from here,” she cuts him off, and Ernesto smiles. 
“I’ll take two beers, then. One for me and one for the señorita in the back.”
Imelda laughs, and smacks his chest before she picks up her purse. “I’ll be right back. If the señorita in the back awakens and demands a drink, you know where the bottle and the thermos with her milk are.”
“I may have forgotten, Héctor only showed me sixteen times,” Ernesto calls after her, leaning against the side of the car. He arches his back to stretch, groans at the satisfying pop somewhere in his spine, and pulls out his phone. Sofía has sent him a photo showing the couch in Héctor and Imelda’s living room, currently occupied by four napping chihuahuas, an unimpressed-looking cat, and an upside-down Xolo dog.
Pet sitting them here is a lot better, she wrote. At least it’s not my shit they chew up. No shoes among the fatalities, though, so no need to castrate the big one. Tell Imelda that.
Ay, how unfortunate that Dante is getting the snip either way, Ernesto thinks, much like Diablo and Lobo did. He could have Clara and Zita spayed, true enough, but the procedure is more invasive and he’d rather spare them the ordeal if it can all be fixed, literally, by fixing Dante. They’ll book the appointment as soon as they get back, and then he and Héctor will have a drink in male solidarity. Soon, possibly before either Clara or Zita can--
“Bababababa!”
Ah, so the señorita is awake. Ernesto puts away the phone and sticks his head back into the car. “You called?” he asks, and Coco grins up at him with half a tooth, absolutely delighted. She reaches up with a squeal, and Ernesto grins back.
“You want me to pick you up? Is that it?”
“Aaaababah!”
“Is that a yes? I’ll take it as a yes.” Getting Coco out of her baby seat gets another delighted squeal out of her, chubby hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He bounces her a bit and she gives a joyous laugh. “Ah, look at you. Don’t tell your papá I said it, but sometimes I get what he means when he--”
“BLEAGH!”
“Gah!” 
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Getting half-digested milk and apple puree all over his shirt is not what Ernesto expected to happen, but in retrospect he probably should have. To his credit he doesn’t give in to his first instinct, which is to drop the baby to tend to his shirt, so he will get to live another day. He just stands there, staring down at his ruined shirt, holding Coco at arms’ length. 
Unaware - or maybe perfectly aware - of the mess she has made, Coco burps and laughs, legs dangling in what almost looks like a little dance. Ernesto sighs, and stares at her in the eye. “I take that back,” he informs her. Coco giggles. 
“... I suspect I know what that look means. I will not be the one to change your diaper.”
“Paaa.”
“Yes, exactly. We’ll leave it to your--”
“She’s awake! She didn’t cry, did she? Coco! Papá is here!”
“Paaaaaaaa!”
Héctor takes Coco from Ernesto’s hands with a wide smile, not even noticing the condition his shirt is in, and twirls around with her in his arms, making her laugh harder. Ernesto would warn him not to spin too much, but it seems she’d already emptied her stomach, the little demon. In the end he just scoffs, gives her an offended look she absolutely ignores, and grabs a clean shirt from his luggage in the back of the car before he heads for the toilets to try and somewhat salvage the one he’s wearing. Maybe if he washes off the worst of it now, his mother will know how to fix the rest. He’s halfway to the toilets when Imelda calls out. 
"Here's your beer, it's not as cold as you like it but-- ah. I see Coco got you."
Ernesto turns to meet her gaze, his expression solemn. “I am afraid your mother was right.”
“... Qué?”
“You’re too late. Your daughter has now definitely sinned on this mortal plane,” he declares. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt?”
Imelda raises an eyebrow. “Ah, more than you should have. It doesn’t fit you that well. You should just arrive at your parents’ place shirtless. They’re used to seeing you shirtless by now,” she adds, and laughs at Ernesto’s indignant sputtering as he informs her that was low. 
But then she kisses him and promises she will keep his beer in the ice box fridge until he’s back, and he can find it in himself to forgive the affront after all.
***
“... And this my mamá, see? Emilia. She is your other abuela, can you say abuela?”
“Abbwaba!”
“Heh. Close enough, querida. Close enough” 
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Sitting cross-legged before his parents’ grave, with Coco nestled comfortably in his arms, Héctor kisses his daughter’s head before turning back to the gravestone with a small smile. Ricardo and Emilia Rivera are smiling back from it, a few years younger than they were when they died. 
Finding that photo was a struggle, because the gas leak that destroyed his home spared none of the family albums. Ernesto nearly tore down his own home, but in the end he was able to dig up a bunch of photographs from one of their very last Nativity plays - and among them was one photo of Héctor, looking a little embarrassed in his angel wings and fake halo, with his parents beaming at either side of him. 
The original is now proudly displayed in the living room in Mexico City; Imelda’s parents have a copy, which Héctor always finds on their ofrenda when he and Imelda come to spend Día de los Muertos with them. Two cut-outs from a third copy are now gracing their gravestone.
I should make more copies. Just in case.
In his arms Coco squeals, and holds out a chubby hand towards the smiling faces of her grandparents. Héctor’s somewhat dampened smile brightens again. 
“Mamá, papá, meet Coco. She’s very happy to meet you.” He bounces the child a little in his arms. “She crawls everywhere and puts everything in her mouth, just like you said I did. And she's got my eyes! Yours, mamá. Not the nose, thank God - no offense, papá, but… come on.” He laughs a little. “Ay, I shouldn’t complain. I mostly grew into it, like you said I would. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see that you were right. I’m sorry you don’t get to be here today.”
Héctor pauses a moment, and kisses Coco’s head one more time before he speaks again. “... I wish you were here to give me advice, but I’ll do my best to be as good a parent as you were. I, uh. Well, my family is not really traditional now, I guess. I don’t know if you’d approve. I don’t know if you’d understand. I’m both relieved and sad I may never get to know, and then sad I’m relieved at all because-- either way, I wish you were here.” 
He pauses, and swallows. Oblivious to the painful lump in her father’s throat, Coco has managed to grab a flower and is trying to put it in her mouth. He takes it out of her hand gently, placing it back before the grave. “But I wanted to tell you, I believe I am doing the right thing. And I am very happy. We are all very happy, and doing our best, and that… that is the most important thing, I think.”
Their smiling faces stare back, forever unchanging. He never got to see their bodies - he was told it was for the best - and now he is glad of that. This is how he wants to remember them: whole, and alive, and always smiling. They would smile today seeing their granddaughter, he’s sure. He likes to think that somewhere, they still are. 
Coco sure is smiling plenty for someone with only half a tooth, still babbling and trying to reach out for the faces on the gravestone. Héctor holds her a bit closer, and her hands press on the glass over the photos like she’s trying to grab those smiles for herself. 
“Abbwaba,” she chirps, and laughs like someone just told a really great joke. 
Must be papá. Mamá’s jokes were terrible, Héctor thinks, and when Coco turns to look at him again, laughing, he laughs just as hard.
***
“Oh, you look so handsome!”
That is something Ernesto usually appreciates hearing - he appreciates it very much, truth be told - but it does lose some of its appeal when the person saying it is your mother as she circles you to make sure your jacket looks absolutely spotless.
“Uh, yes. So, are we ready to--”
“Isn’t he handsome, Estéban?”
Estéban de la Cruz, who clearly needs help getting ready far more than Ernesto ever did - anything vaguely more elegant than an undershirt seems to make him ill at ease - glances over and gives him a shrug that probably translates to ‘I have to listen to this every day, now it’s your turn’. 
“Looking good,” is all he says, causing Ernesto to blink. This kind of thing, his father looking at him and talking to him like a normal specimen of homo sapiens, is something he has yet to get entirely used to. He remembers times when he saw his father sitting on the couch while staring at the wall in an alcohol-induced stupor, and being both relieved and frustrated by it. A part of him rejoiced at the chance to just pass by unnoticed and spare himself one of his moods, while the other wanted to grab him by the shirt and shake him, knowing full well it would amount to suicide.
I am here, damn you. I’m right here. Look at me.
“So handsome,” Adela repeats for the eleventh time, snapping him from his reminiscence. “You know, you should find someone.”
As his father looks suddenly very busy fiddling with the buttons of his jacket, Ernesto holds back a groan. “Mamá, can we not--”
“You know Mirela’s son? He’s a nice boy too, and word is that he also may be--”
Oh no. No no no no no, this is not happening.
“Ay, look at the time, I really need to go! See you in church!” Ernesto yells, and sprints to the door, almost forgetting to pick up the sack of coins on his way out.
***
“That’s a very generous bolo.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Ceci would never let me hear the end of it if I gave anything less.”
“Ah, don't be modest. You wanted to be a good godfather and bring plenty of good fortune to your goddaugh--"
“No, it was definitely Ceci."
"Ah." As children swarm around them to pick up the frankly astounding amount of coins Ernesto has scattered around, Héctor laughs and puts an arm around his shoulders. “Ay, don’t worry, mi amigo. I have a song in mind that will more than make up for your losses.”
Ernesto, newly-minted godfather, snorts. “It had better,” he says, elbowing him in the ribs, but his lips are already curling in a smile. Héctor lets out a yelp that’s mostly for show, and looks over to where Imelda is standing, clad in a beautiful dress Ceci insists on tailoring just for her along with Coco’s pure white ropón.
“No, no purple, for God’s sake,” he remembers Ceci muttering as she took Imelda’s measures. “This is your child’s christening, not Lent!”
Imelda does favor purple over most colors, but she looks stunning in the blue dress as she speaks to guests, Coco squirming and giggling in her arms as Óscar and Felipe make faces at her. She gets to make some noise now, after being on her best behavior through… most of the ceremony, a few drum-shattering shrieks aside. Héctor finds himself smiling dreamily. 
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” he sighs, and Ernesto raises an eyebrow. 
“Imelda, or Coco?”
“Both.”
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“Heh. Yes,” Ernesto concedes. For a few more moments they just look on, side by side. For just a split second Héctor allows himself to wish circumstances would allow him to grab Ernesto’s hand, but he knows better than that; they will not go out of their way to hide, but they have got to be practical. If there is anyone present at the moment they may try to come clean to first, it’s probably-- ah, speaking of them…
“Ernesto?”
“Mmh?”
“The twins are planning something during the reception, aren’t they?”
“Of course they are. It may or may not involve explosive material.”
“Por Dios, tell me you talked them out of it!”
“Why would I? I like fireworks.”
To the boys’ credit, the display is pretty spectacular. The only casualty is a perfectly replaceable tablecloth, and Coco’s sheer delight as she claps at the lights, nestled in her grandmother’s arms, is well worth the loss. 
It also causes enough of a distraction for the three of them to slip their arms under the table and hold onto each other’s hands for a few moments, squeezing tight.
***
“Home, sweet home!”
Héctor’s dramatic declaration would be more accurate as ‘bed sweet bed’, really. When they made it back to their apartment it felt anything but sweet, with a baby cranky from the long trip and five dogs, plus a cat, either very offended by their absence or bouncing off the walls,  frantic for their attention after a grand total of two hours on their own after Sofía left. 
It took about an hour to put down their things, feed the pets, feed the baby, take the dogs out and put Coco in her crib. Then, and only then, can the three of them collapse on the bed and breathe in a sigh of relief. 
“We survived,” Ernesto mutters into the pillow. 
“Seems like it,” Héctor groans. “Now we can sleep.”
And then, of course, Coco starts crying. It takes Imelda approximately half a minute to pick her up, decide she’s not going to be able to keep standing on her own two feet long enough to soothe her, and return to their bed with her. She lays down with her and Coco settles quickly, nestled securely in her arms. She never moves around when asleep and Pepita is keeping watch as always, so it’s safe enough, Imelda reasons with a yawn. She only realizes she forgot to close the door when Pepita jumps in, curling up next to Coco. She groans. 
“For the love of God, close the door before--”
“BOOF!”
“Yip! Yip! Yip!”
“Agh-- Dante, no, wait--” Héctor trails off with a yelp when Dante jumps up on the bed, landing across his legs and just barely missing his crotch with a clumsy paw. Out of the corner of her eye, Imelda notices Ernesto reaching down. 
No dogs on the bed, she wants to say, but Dante is already up and she is tired enough to admit defeat, at least this once. She sighs and shushes Coco while she falls back asleep, trying to ignore Ernesto’s little monsters as they snuffle around to find a spot to snooze. Once they finally settle, Imelda closes her eyes and tries to sleep. And tries. And tries. 
On the pillow, Pepita is purring away. The dogs are mostly silent, except for the occasional twitch and half-snore. Coco is suckling on her thumb as she sleeps, Héctor is breathing with his mouth open as usual, and Ernesto is snoring softly behind her. She could blame any of those things for the lack of sleep, but she knows that’s not it. 
Finally, quiet and careful to stir no one, Imelda half-sits and looks across the bed she used to share with Héctor and no one else, and that used to feel so large. 
It’s quite crowded now, with the three of them and Coco resting on it, Héctors’ limbs splayed in all directions and Ernesto a solid presence behind her, their pets filling up all remaining space. Not a single gap left.
It is perfect. It is whole. 
It is home.
Imelda nods silently, and leans back down. She tucks a lock of hair behind Coco’s ear, kisses her forehead, and closes her eyes with a sated smile.
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***
Aaaand it's over, yet another fic that got out of hand and ended up at least three times longer than planned! Hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it.
(Also, letting a baby sleep in the Big Bed with mom, dad, their boyfriend who is also a honorary uncle, their cat and their five dogs is really cute in fiction, but can go very wrong in reality if someone turns in their sleep. Don't do that.)
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emsylcatac · 4 years
Text
Compatible
Summary:
When Ladybug brings some of the old magazines she used to read as a teenager to a sleepover with Chat Noir, they end up doing an 'Adrien Agreste compatibility test', something that she has done more than once as a teenager.
There's no way her partner could beat her at it and get a higher score than her. No way.
Read it on AO3
Ladynoir identity reveal commission for @multibug​​ ♥ | Donation drive @mlbforblm​
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* * * * *
Ladybug looked around the room at the mess she and Chat Noir had left from the evening before. Scattered UNO cards on the table, empty glasses and half empty bottles of wine and cider, a plate with only three or four cookies left, and abandoned game controllers on ottomans in front of the small TV.
They always left a mess when they had a sleepover together; always because they went to bed way too late and were too tired to clean it all.
She loved that.
She turned her head to look at her partner half-sitting beside her on the sofa bed. The sheets were pulled up his waist, and he was wearing a dark grey t-shirt v-neck as a pajama that suited him particularly well. She herself was wearing a red with tiny black polka-dots tank top, and a pair of small black pajama shorts.
Chat Noir was smiling at whatever he was reading on his phone. Ladybug propped her head on his shoulder, but kept her gaze away from the device.
“What are you looking at?”
He kept silent a few seconds, still grinning, before answering. “I told my best friend about what my supervisor said to me yesterday. He’s telling me he’s gonna buy an electric racket for mosquitoes and slap him with it.”
Ladybug chuckled. “I like your friend.”
Chat Noir was doing an internship somewhere in the city, and while it seemed like he enjoyed it, his supervisor sounded everything but kind to him. Something Ladybug couldn’t understand, knowing how nice her partner was.
“I thought you would,” he replied, turning his phone off and putting it on the nightstand.
After defeating Hawkmoth four years ago, Ladybug and Chat Noir had both taken a break to focus on their studies. He had been somewhere abroad from what she gathered; she had studied in another city. Now they were both back in Paris and had been for a year; a new threat needing the heroes had arisen.
It had been good to see her partner and best friend again after all this time, a deliverance of sorts. Being older opened up to a lot more freedom than they had as young teenagers: they were more lenient regarding their identities, for one. Ladybug even offered more than once to reveal each other, but Chat Noir told her he was not quite ready yet. It had surprised her a lot, but if he needed time, she would let him take it.
Still, it hadn’t kept them from getting even closer than they used to be.
Ladybug wished they could be even closer. She suspected that Chat Noir probably did, too, yet neither of them pushed for it. The very comfortable friendship they had now established was both a blessing and a curse in that regard.
While it was easier for her to stay at her parent’s house for now, Chat Noir had had a new personal studio. It wasn’t big; just the kind of place you’d expect from any average student having to rent a far too expensive place for what it was, courtesy of living in Paris—but it was enough. It was great to plot against their enemy… or for sleepovers, a habit they had taken soon after he got it.
Chat Noir looked at the pile of old magazines she had brought—they were the ones she read as a teenager, the ones she gossiped about with Alya during their sleepovers. She had thought it could be fun to try that with him, even if they were definitely not up to date.
“We forgot to read those!” he exclaimed, getting up.
She watched as he closed his eyes to pick one at random, and brought it back to the bed.
“Which one did you get?”
“Let’s see… oooh, ‘Clara Rossignole is looking for a Ladybug and a Chat Noir for her next music video’”, he read aloud. “Wow. How old is that stuff?”
“Er, I think I must have been fifteen or something so… Seven years old?”
“Amazing! Exactly what I need to keep up with the latest juicy gossip!” He grinned.
Ladybug laughed and leaned on his shoulder to have a better look at the magazine. She remembered that one with this cover very well, it was the one where there was a personality test about—
“‘How compatible are you with teen model Adrien Agreste’, page 21.” Chat Noir fake-gasped. “Spiiicy! Let’s do it!”
As he opened the magazine, Ladybug hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious to see how easy it was to find the page right away. Despite the years that had passed, the page was still bearing the marks of having been opened and opened again and stared at for far too long, more than any other.
If he noticed, Chat Noir chose not to comment.
He grabbed a four-coloured pen on his nightstand. “Wow, my Lady, that’s a lot of ink on there! We can barely see the little symbols in front of the answers.”
Well. She had had to take the test more than once to get a better score. She’d been aiming for a hundred percent compatibility, a hundred-and-one if she was lucky, or over-compatible—as she should have been back then according to herself.
Not that she would admit that to him.
“I had done it with friends. That’s why it’s so… inky.”
Chat Noir hummed, suspicious, but didn’t push further.
“And it doesn’t work with symbols, it’s a points system. So we can’t cheat,” she added.
She would know. She had tried.
He snorted. “You remember this surprisingly well, Buguinette.”
She didn’t comment on that very accurate observation. Instead, she dropped a kiss on his cheek.
“Why do you want to do that test anyway?”
“Because it’s fun! And to see if I can get a better score than you,” he said.
She scoffed. “As if you would win! I’m unbeatable at this.”
That made him snicker. “Unlike with UNO?”
She glared at him at that and pulled her head away from his shoulder. He brought her back with an arm around her, and kissed her temple apologetically.
She begrudgingly accepted the kiss. Very begrudgingly. (She couldn’t help but smile at the contact of his lips).
(She also couldn’t help but snuggle closer to him).
“So,” Chat Noir went on, “what do we have for the first question… Oooh, ‘which colour is your favourite? Green, Blue, Pink or Red?’,” he raised a brow. “That’s not a lot of choices in my opinion.”
“Blue,” Ladybug automatically answered.
Chat Noir snorted. “No, yours is pink Bugacheat, I know that well enough,” and he circled the answer in red. “However, mine is blue.”
“Maybe I changed favourite colour.”
“No, you didn’t,” he replied flatly. She pouted. “Next question. ‘What is your favourite season?’”
Ladybug pondered. She liked all seasons, after all; they each had their charm.
“Can’t we pick all of them?”
“Well, apparently you can’t because, according to this very accurate magazine, Adrien Agreste has only one favourite season.”
“Write ‘autumn’, then,” she decided.
He circled it in red for her, and circled spring in green for him.
“Okay, ‘how many times do you blink in the span of a minute? Fifteen, eighteen, twenty or twenty-two”, he frowned. “Where did they even get these information?”
“They have very good sources.”
“Sure,” he snorted. “Does Adrien Agreste himself even know the answer to that?”
“Well, of course, it’s in the magazine,” she laughed.
She knew it couldn’t really be trusted, but she liked to take these facts as straight science when she was younger.
“God, these tests are so bad,” Chat Noir shook his head. “How is that suppose to tell you if you’re compatible with him or not?”
“Hey! Don’t criticise my magazine or you’ll offend mini-me!”
“Well, Babybug, I think the questions from your magazine are dumb. And I’m answering… I don’t know... eighteen maybe?”
“Put twenty-two for me,” she said proudly.
She remembered the answer corresponding to Adrien’s to that question, but he didn’t need to know that.
They went on like that through the rest of the test, from morning routine to favourite scent—“Ew, why are one of the answers camembert?”— and gut reaction when faced with an akuma—“you would jump off of a building, Kitty”.  Ladybug tried to answer what ‘Adrien’ would do instead of herself, and Chat Noir corrected her each time—“I choose passion fruits!” - “there’s a reason you always take strawberry ice-creams, my Lady. You can’t fool me!” — until they arrived at the end of the test.
“Aaaaand I’ve got a score of…” Chat Noir paused, looking and calculating the results, “eighty-six percent! While you, on the other hand, despite trying to cheat on at least five questions—”
“Hey!”
“—have a score of… Aw, only forty-one!”
“What?!” Ladybug all but screamed.
“Ah, yes, it looks like I beat you Buguinette!” The little shit sounded so proud with himself.
“There’s no way your score is higher than mine,” she said, snatching the magazine from his hands and scrupulously recounting the points herself.
There was no way, indeed.
And yet.
Chat Noir knew how to count, alright. Ladybug was silently fuming.
No, it didn’t matter anymore whether she was compatible with her old crush or not. And yes, the magazine was probably incorrect anyway.
And sure, Adrien was twenty-two now, not fifteen, so his answers would probably not be the same anymore, but still.
She had to defend young-Marinette’s honour.
And in honour of young-Marinette’s past struggles and unconditional love, there was no way Chat Noir of all people could be more compatible with Adrien than herself.
Chat Noir’s laughters brought her out of her shocked horror.
“Aw, don’t pull that face, Bugachups, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose! Maybe you’ll beat me to the next! Say, they don’t have a compatibility test with Chat Noir by any chan—”
“You cheated.” She stated it calmly but coldly. She had to be calm about it. “You must have.”
Chat Noir guffawed. “I’m not you! Also why so upset? Afraid I ruined your chances with…” he took the magazine back from her hands to read the caption under the test’s title, “...Paris’ favourite teenage boy?” He frowned. “Hey, shouldn’t that have been me at the tim—”
“No, I’m not afraid of anything like that,” she grumbled. “It’s just that… I used to know everything there was to know about Adrien Agreste back in the day.”
He blinked. “Everything?!”
“Everything,” she repeated. “Also, I don’t need to do a Chat Noir compatibility test to know that I’d get a hundred percent at it.”
He snickered. “I sure do hope that you’d get a higher score with me than that poor forty-one percent.”
She hit him with her pillow. For making fun of her, and for not having taken the bait.
“Yes,” she insisted, “I’d have a better score and I’d get the highest, thank you very much.”
He gently pinched and squished her cheeks while nuzzling his nose against hers teasingly. “Aaaww, of course we would be the most compatible Buguichou, we’re made for each other!”
Better.
Still, they had become so comfortable with each other now that it could mean everything and nothing.
“Chat Noooiiiiir,” she whined in lieu of pushing further, “stop annoying me!”
He released her and laughed. “You love it when I annoy you!”
Yes.
“No.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Anyway.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “What was it about you knowing everything there was to know about teen model, Paris' darling extraordinaire Adrien Agreste?”
She groaned. “Please can we not?”
“No. I want to know more about the boy I’m eighty-six percent compatible with, Bugaboo! And who better to teach me all I need to know other than the finest expert you aaaaar—”
She snatched the magazine back from his hands and swatted him with it.
“You’re” —swat— “not” —swat— “more compatible than me” —hit— “with Adrien” she had him pinned on the bed and he was giggling, trying and failing to push her away, “because I had the biggest crush” —swat— “on him and I was” —swat— “in love with him, do you understand?”
She stopped hitting him to throw him her deadliest look.
“Wait, what?” he said, still grinning from the fight. “You were in love with him like… in love love?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, I was in love love with him.”
He snorted. And then, slowly, his body shook more and more, the laughters coming from him getting louder and louder.
“You—,” he choked, raising a finger in her direction, “you were in love with Adrien Agreste when we were fifteen.”
She sighed. “Yes, I was in love with Adrien Agreste. Go on, laugh all you want, ‘ha-ha-ha, Ladybug was in love with Hawkmoth’s son, ha-ha,’ so funny.”
“Oh my god, yes, Ladybug in love with our enemy’s son,” he kept laughing. “Waaait, wait wait, hold on, that’s excellent but… when you told me you were in love with someone else, back then…”
Her stomach fluttered at the memory that yes, Chat Noir used to be in love with her.
“...Does that mean that he was the boy you were referring to?” he looked at her expectantly.
She didn’t reply.
“He was?!" he exclaimed. “Ladybug, that’s… that’s… that’s hilarious!” and he was back laughing, even louder than before.
She glared at him, before grabbing her pillow once again and hitting him with it.
“No, no—I’ll stop, I’ll stop! But you don’t understand, this is so funny!”
“I really don’t see why.” And with that she lay down on the bed and turned around, her back to him. “Adrien is a very sweet person, I had great taste.”
Today, however, by loving Chat Noir? Maybe not so much, she decided.
A warm hand settled on her arm.
(She still had great tastes).
“Say, my Lady… if you were to meet that Adrien boy today and he were to ask you on a date… would you say yes?” She could still hear the remainder of his amusement in his voice, but he seemed to have calmed down, now.
She turned around to face him. He was lying on the side, propped on one elbow with his head resting on his hand. She pondered his question a few seconds. She hadn’t seen Adrien in a while, after all.
And… there was someone else now. She wasn’t fifteen anymore.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
He was rubbing small circles on her arm.
“Oh?” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “What would fifteen-year-old-Bugbooboo think about that?”
She snorted. “She wouldn’t believe I’d ever say that. She’d think I lost my mind.”
He chuckled with her.
She frowned. “But… well, we all change when we grow up and… Adrien is probably still a great person. And I mean, with what he had to go through, I admire him a lot. But also, there’s some—… there’s…  there’s...”
“There’s what?”
You.
“Chat Nooiiir,” she tugged at the kwagatama around his neck instead, and raised her eyes to his. She bit her lip. “You know.”
She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. Even after all these years, confessing was still something she found herself struggling with. But she kept his gaze as he silently searched hers; she wouldn’t back away or hide from it.
She kept it as he slowly took the hand that was fiddling with his necklace and lifted it to his lips. Kept it as he gently kissed the tips of her fingers. As she felt a shiver and the heat rising to her cheeks and was sure he could see it, too.
And she still kept his gaze as he lowered their hands on the mattress, and caressed hers with his thumb.
He knew.
And he reciprocated. She put a hand on his cheek, and slowly brought her face closer to his. She was about to close her eyes and the gap between them when a finger on her lips interrupted her.
Chat Noir closed his eyes, letting a small smile tug at his lips. Took a deep breath. Exhaled.
Opened his eyes again and looked right into hers.
“What if…” he said nervously, almost as a murmur, a deep contrast to his amusement from earlier. “What if I told you that… that you could have both? In one person.”
Her eyes widened. She sat up suddenly and grabbed his face. Did he mean that—
“Chaton?!” she said surprised —questioning. Her eyes frantically searched his.
He took one of her hands and brought it to his mask. And slowly nodded.
Carefully, shaking, she removed the home-sewed mask from his face.
His eyes were closed, but it was the unmistakable face of Adrien that met her. And older Adrien, an Adrien who was still the same but also so different.
An Adrien who was Chat Noir, and had always been—an Adrien that she knew more than she could have possibly thought.
As he opened his eyes to look at her, she took both his hands and kissed them. She noticed that she was crying when she saw tears dropping on his ring. She didn’t care.
It suddenly hit her that this boy had had to fight against his own father—and that it was certainly why he hadn’t been ready to show himself before. What he just did now, finally revealing himself to her—this was huge.
But looking at his gaze, soft from her actions, and feeling his hand wiping her tears away, she decided that it was probably not something he wanted to discuss now. And she didn’t want to ruin their moment, their reveal, with pity and talks about his father: the very thing he had probably tried to avoid when he was still insecure about who he was under the mask.
She giggled through her tears. “You’re beautiful,” is what first made its way out of her mouth.
That made him laugh and oh god, she was making him cry too now.
“Take off my mask. Please,” she whispered, kissing his fingers once more.
He sat up next to her, are gently put a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Then, he did as she told—and gasped.
“You—you’re Marinette!”
She giggled again. “And you’re Adrien!”
“I was thinking about you the other day. I was wondering how you were doing and…” he trailed off.
“And now you know!”
“And now I know!” he grinned. “You’re wonderful… I missed you so much but… it also sounds weird to say that now, doesn’t it?”
“Well… we could still catch up, around a coffee and uh… is this date with both Chat Noir and Adrien still on the table?” she asked.
Was she being a bit too straight forward? Probably. But she had troubles to control her mouth right now.
“When will it not?” he breathed.
She squealed and wiggled on her spot, grabbing his face. But before she could come closer to him, she faltered and stopped, remembering his finger on her lips a few minutes before.
“Uh, can I kiss you this time?”
He chuckled, a soft blush gracing his cheeks—and kissed her in answer.
She immediately closed her eyes at the contact of his lips and kissed him back—slowly, deeply, tasting him as much as she could. He tilted his head to give her a better access, and she climbed on his laps to be more comfortable—and closer to him.
Marinette lost count of how many times they came back for each other, of how many times their lips met, or their tongues. She felt so happy and so good—so in love.
When they separated and looked at each other, shy and giddy smiles on their faces, she couldn’t help but drop another tender kiss on his cheek, and caressed it afterwards.
“Now I know what you found so funny earlier,” she told him.
“It’s hilarious, right? We were so dumb!”
“We still are,” she added.
“We definitely still are. I can’t believe I didn’t know that Marinette was in love with me in collège, wow.”
“Is in love with you,” she corrected, still caressing his cheeks. “Present tense.”
She would always remember the look on his face when she said it. He was in love with her too, there was no doubt about it.
Suddenly, she was hit with a realisation and looked at him in horror. “Wait a minute. That means… That I have only forty-one percent compatibility with Chat Noir?!”
Adrien burst out laughing. “My Laaaady, you can’t seriously believe these tests, right?”
“Well, no, but we still should have way more compatibility than forty-one percent. Who even has that with their super-hero partner?”
“Marinette,” he said, amused, “my Bugabisous…I don’t even have a hundred percent with myself. It would be hard to live in my own head.”
She blinked. “You’re right. That test is dumb. But how do we know if we’re the most compatible then?”
Adrien chuckled, and put his hands around her waist, bringing her closer to him. “Well, you’re the Guardian, I think you can make up the rules for that.”
She put her arms around his neck. “That’s true. Then I decide that we’re a hundred percent compatible.”
“A hundred percent, uh?”
Their foreheads were touching now.
“A hundred-and-one,” she whispered against his lips, and she kissed him.
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Text
Ghosts
I initially had the idea to do this fic a while ago, even before I started writing my first Super Mario fic. I finally got around to it for Halloween after being reminded of the idea via coming across a fanart piece that depicted a similar idea. I'd link it because it's sort of fic inspiration but it's buried deep in the Bowuigi tag on Tumblr and in the reblogs on my main blog.
~
Of course the hotel was haunted, why wouldn’t it be? Just when he thought he was finally free of having to deal with ghosts, this had to happen. Finding the Poltergust in the garage – indicating E. Gadd was here somewhere too, probably trapped in a portrait – was a sheer stroke of luck because Luigi had neglected to bring his own ghost hunting equipment. This one was the new model E. Gadd had been telling him about too which was neat expect for the fact that he now had to use it to deal with a hotel full of ghosts.
Before getting to that though, he glanced around the garage one last time to make sure he was alone before pulling out his phone. He needed to call Bowser, tell him not to come day after tomorrow after all. They’d been planning to have him show up at the hotel a couple days later and then finally reveal their relationship to Mario and Peach because away from home while on vacation when everyone was already in a good mood seemed like a good place to do that. But ghosts had happened instead so it’d have to wait.
Though it wasn’t super late into the night yet, hopefully Bowser would already be sleeping so Luigi could just leave a message. There was a very real chance Bowser would want to come anyway to punch the ghosts over their plans being ruined and only get himself in trouble. Luigi would rather not have to try to dissuade him from that so… He picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, what’s up?” he said. “Aren’t you normally in bed by now?”
“Uh… yeah but um… well turns out the hotel’s haunted, it was a trap from King Boo. He uh… yeah, stuff happened and I have to deal with it.” He needed to save Mario and Peach, the Toads too. “So, you probably shouldn’t come after all. We’ll have to tell them… later.” Both of them had kept finding reasons to put it off, figures after finally committing to a plan something would go wrong with it.
“He got Mario again, didn’t he?”
“Yep and Peach and the Toads and probably E. Gadd too, since his car is here but he’s not.”
Bowser grunted. “How does King Boo keep beating Mario when I never could?”
“Please not now.” Mario was in danger; Luigi didn’t want to hear about Bowser’s rivalry with him when that was a thing.
“Oh uh… all right, sorry. You okay?” All the gruff bravado was gone from Bowser’s voice now. Instead he sounded concerned which meant Luigi’s plea had been filled with more desperation than he’d intended.
“No, not really.” How could he be in this situation? What if he couldn’t beat King Boo this time? Or what if… King Boo took it further and killed Mario before Luigi could get there to even try to save him?
“Right, you’re afraid of ghosts, huh?”
“I know I probably shouldn’t be anymore.” He’d dealt with two full hauntings and captured King Boo twice as well so logically he shouldn’t be afraid anymore but alas, his fear had never been rooted in anything logical. “But… they’re still scary.” He leaned against E. Gadd’s car, holding back a grown. This ‘adventure’ had only just started and he was already tired.
“All righty then,” Bowser said as if reaching some kind of decision. “I’ll go over and beat the ghosts up for you. Except me in however long it takes my fastest air ship to get there.”
“What? No, no, no, you don’t need to come down here. I can handle it on my own.” It was too late though; the line was dead.
Luigi groaned as he flipped his phone closed to slip back into his pockets. Now he had to save his brother and friends and watch out for when Bowser arrived to hopefully make sure King Boo didn’t get him too. Could the night get any worse?
***
The hotel was rather drab looking in the dark of night, there wasn’t a light on anywhere inside it. It had looked much better in the brochures so it was a disappointment all around. Vacation wasn’t what Bowser was here for though so whatever. Maybe a dark hotel would serve as a good arena to beat up some ghosts and King Boo though.
Mario was going to be so shocked when he saw it was Bowser who’d save him this time. That would count as finally besting him too, right? Defeating the person who’d defeated him was basically a victory over both of them, right? So, this was going to be a fun outing after all.
With a signal from him, the ship flew in closer to hover over the roof. “Circle at a distance until I call you back,” he instructed the shy guy at the wheel before vaulting over the edge. In hindsight, even with how much it would’ve slowed down the ship, he probably should’ve brought in a troop of minions for backup but he’d been in such a hurry and hadn’t wanted to wait for an entire troop to get ready to broad it and now it was too late. Whatever though, he could handle King Boo and his tiny boos by himself.
He landed on the hotel’s roof with a thud, the tiles cracking beneath his weight. Glancing around he was disappointed to see that the roof was empty. What his exact plan was, he had no idea but he didn’t a plan, he’d just wing it like he normally did and it should be fine.
The roof was pretty barren and thus it didn’t take him long to locate a possible way down so he could enter in properly through a window or something. Before he could start to descend though…
“Why are you here?”
He snapped around to see King Boo had come out of seemingly nowhere. He was holding a portrait of Princess Peach, which knowing King Boo’s powerset, meant it probably was her. Bowser had given up courting her a long time ago and had only continued to kidnap her to lure Mario in for another rematch. He no longer even did that because Luigi had decided to convince him not to which had ultimately resulted in their current relationship. But it still made him mad because if anyone was going to capture her, it should’ve been him. He at least treated her right, the way a princess should be treated, not trapping her in a portrait. So…
“I’m here to kick your ass,” he said with a slight growl as he balled up his hands into fists. He would’ve preferred to start with a blast of fire but he wasn’t sure how flammable Peach’s portrait was and he wasn’t going to risk damaging it and possibly her.
King Boo raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You’ll make a nice portrait so sure, I won’t question my good fortune, let’s fight.”
Bowser lunged at him even before finished speaking, intending to grab and rip Peach’s portrait out of his hands. But King Boo floated higher, dodging with seemingly little effort. And he was out of Bowser’s range completely, such bullshit.
With a flash of light from King Boo’s crown, there was suddenly an empty portrait floating beside him. “Sorry this isn’t much of a fight, I got stuff to do,” he said as it starting glowing, pulling Bowser in.
Like hell was he gonna be turned into wall art. He’d blast the damn thing to bits with fire and then…
 -
Next thing he knew, he was indoors and looking down at Luigi instead of up at King Boo. It felt kind of like waking up after a too long nap. He breathed out the breath he’d been taking, releasing a puff of smoke instead of the mighty blast of fire he’d intended it to be. He glanced around at the room, it seemed to be an office of some sort. “What happened? Where am I?” he said as he looked back down.
Luigi looked tired but otherwise mostly fine. He had the Poltergust on his back but a different model than the one he’d shown Bowser. This one had a clear tank with something green inside it. “You were captured by King Boo and turned into a portrait,” he said. “Why did you have come? I tried to tell you not to.”
“Because I wanted to.” Bowser always did whatever he wanted.
“Yeah but why?”
“You’re scared of ghosts, I wanted to beat them up for you.” And he still would, he just had to try a little harder. There were few problems that couldn’t be solved with a good punch and/or blast of fire.
“Oh uh… thanks for the thought.” The slight blush on Luigi’s face as he lifted his free hand to rub the back of his neck was cute and made look slightly less tired. “But I um… I’m fine. I can handle it by myself.”
Bowser sighed as he crossed his arms. He wasn’t too good at reading other people’s emotions but… “You don’t seem fine.”
Luigi deflated a little, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s scary and I’m tired and… scared and stuff. Gotta save my bro though so…” he trialed off with a shrug. “You should probably go the garage but uh… I’m not sure how I’m going to explain your presence to E. Gadd and the Toads, that’s going to be awkward but I’m not sure where else would be safe.”
“Fuck that, it’s personal now, I’m going to beat up King Boo.” No way would Bowser ever stand for such a humiliating defeat. So he turned to march out the room.
Before he could take more a few steps though Luigi grabbed his arm pulling him back. Bowser could easily just drag him along or pick up and carry him with him or even just shake him off entirely but didn’t.
“You can’t,” Luigi said. “He’ll just turn you into a portrait again so… please don’t. I already have to save Mario and Peach, I don’t want to have to save you again too.” He sounded desperate and scared and… it made Bowser feel bad. “So just… let me do it.”
“You’re scared of ghosts though.” So he shouldn’t even want to do this.
“Yeah but… you need special equipment for hunting ghosts and… I’ve never lost to them so… I can handle it.” He was full on hugging Bower’s arm now, making it even harder to pull away.
Bowser could only sigh at that. “All right, fine, I’ll just help you then.” He could do that much at least. “I’m not letting that bastard get away with beating me so easily and I’m not letting you face the ghosts on your own when you’re so scared of them. And there’s nothing you can do to convince me to hide in some stupid safe place instead.”
Luigi looked like he wanted to protest but sighed instead as he rested the side of his face against Bowser’s upper arm. “Okay, that works, I guess. It’s… kind of nice to have some company anyway I suppose, it gets kind of lonely sometimes.”
Bowser grunted instead of trying to come up with a reply because he wasn’t sure how to. “Let’s go,” he said instead, gesturing towards the rooms exit. He wanted to see how Luigi fought ghosts, he’d been curios about what that was like ever since Luigi had told him about it. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mario’s face when I help save him.”
Luigi chuckled nervously. “That’s uh… certainly going to be an interesting meeting.”
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ganondoodle · 3 years
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I recently just found your art (im loving and drowning in all of it)
Wanted to ask have you ever thought about the seal in which demise was kept in durring SS. I been replaying it and kind of thinking about, well, if Hylia created the seal, she made that sealscape/spiritprison(?) a very peaceful environment. Calming clear skys reflected in still waters. This only changes once the battle w Demise starts (makes me think the space is just very reflective/responsive of prisoners mind/emotions)
Anyhow! If Hylia was the one to make the seal what do you think she had in mind, how she was feeling ? W ur ship art of them in mind, I kinda get mercy vibes despite what she'd eventually have to do to him, but not wanting to put him through anymore pain? A sad goodbye moment. A sort of final resting place, maybe this space was an origin point of their first encounter w one another and its a recreationof it? Id love to see your ideas/character feels interpretations. Also sorry if this was asked or talked about previously im v new here ;v;
that is a very interesting thought, and not far actually from my plan for “destiny”, im really glad people seem to enjoy my art, even when its shippy or not fanart at all :D tho i am not sure how to answer this since, well, its a bit difficult, even knowing how everything in the story will go, i cant decide really. is it an intentionally “nice” place for a prison ? is in reality much more of a torture having to be there all alone ? was he even conscious in it ? was his very being scattered into a thousand pieces within it ? was he even able to feel any pain ? or was he in constant pain trying to recollect himself ? how does one know what happens to someone that gets sealed ? it always seems like whenever someone is sealed, they come back more ful of anger and hatred ? in what kind of hell does one get send when they get sealed away ? it might seem silly thinking so much about a game and its lore but i cant help it, i always wonder what must have happened to make the villains a villain ? people arent born evil ... and i just cant accept the answer of someone just “being” evil without an explanation ?? well im writing a story about that. in some part at least, i know its taking me a long time but this fancomic has taken me a lot of thought and work already even if you haven seen much of it yet, i will both explore the relationship between hylia demise and others, but a big part will be demises origin, i really hope you guys are going to like it sinceim very invested into everything SO i am not sure how much you know so ill talk a bit about the end of “destiny”, so SPOILERS FOR DESTINY AHEAD: i had made a post about demises origin/backstory a while back, crudely summarized bc i just typed it out to remember it properly, im not sure if you have seen it but it shouldnt be too far back somewhere on my blog if you want to take a look, tho things will still change, its base will stay the same, im leaving out pretty the whole story, so maybe, i hope, you will still be interested in reading it once i get it all drawn out, or maybe not, im not the one to decide that .. ANYWAY at the end of it, hylia will be ordered one last time to finally do her duty and seal demise away, she will try to talk to her gods that there is another way to solve everything, but they will not listen. hylia then refuses to do as she was ordered, even tho demise had warned her not to do that and that she instead should just go and kill him; if hes dead he at least wont have to get to know whatever happens to someone that gets sealed, hed much prefer never finding out; but she is too determined to give up the thought of another possibillity and thus the gods have to take things into their own hands and take control over her, forcing her to watch as her body acts on their will and not hers anymore. there will be a brief moment where demise gets to free her of them, since in that last fight hes much less fighting for his own survival, which he knows is impossible, but for hylia not to die from being in the gods control for too long. besides, he very much wants to fight the gods themselves, but he wants to do that with only him involved and them, and not someone else; thus he regains his previous, pure form from back when he was just like her, only for a short moment tho and in the end he will be sealed away by the gods acting through hylia. while she dies after the deed is done, hes sealed away yes, but although shattered, not quite dead yet, and his hatred towards the gods will burn much stronger now than it ever had before, not just because of what they did to him and his world but to her now as well.
WELL THEN that was alot and probably not even a glimpse as interesting as i hope it will be in the finished comic, with all the context in all regards.  i apologize for the length of this, and this possibly unwated and uninteresting spoiler part about this damn story that i cant get out of my head anymore. (also for .. the typos .. im writing this at 1am and it took me like an hour bc i just didnt know how to write it out) sorry, i just care alot about this.... too much probablyヾ(*′○`)゚.+:。゚☆
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jus-tea · 4 years
Text
Going to explain a little about the Miss Rhona lyrics, what inspired different aspects etc, as I’ve seen a lot of people speculating over it, and coming up with their own ideas (which I fully support!) but for those who are curious...
1st Stanza
“Daddy’s at the food store” So, when this was written, myself, my partner, and seemingly everyone was spending so much time going from supermarket to supermarket trying to find the basics, the essentials. Pasta, flour, sugar etc were sold out seemingly everywhere. The weekend just before this was written he’d lined up for half an hour before Costco opened to ensure he acquired some toilet paper- which seemed impossible to get ANYWHERE. I had colleagues who sent their adult children to shops everyday (they couldn’t cause they were at work) to try to find toilet paper somewhere. We ran out at work, and ended up with tissues. People, generally, were spending so much more time trying to find essentials at supermarkets. It’s not nearly as bad now, but just over a month ago when I wrote this it felt like a big issue. Also, “food store”?! NO ONE HAS CALLED ME OUT ON THIS which I find so weird because no one actually says, “food store”?! What a weird expression! So why did I use it? Well! Initially I thought “cost-co” but didn’t use it because I wanted the rhyme to appeal more universally. And we only got a Costco in my city a few years ago and I know plenty of places in the world don’t have one so... I thought maybe supermarket? But thought maybe they didn’t call them that in other countries- market? Market sounded so strange as it’s really only fresh fruit and veggies we get in our local markets here (in my part of the world) and didnt fit with the image I was trying to create and besides all our markets were cancelled as they were too crowded.. so “food store” was initially just a place-hold. I still can’t believe literally no one has said “hey wtf is up with “food store? No one says that” but there you go. It’s in literally every version ive seen as that so... that’s what it is now. So, that line about the food store and collated with the next line, “mummy’s our of town- she’s working at the hospital” was based on news articles I’d read about doctors having to isolate themselves from their families by sleeping either at hospital or in their garage. People who couldn’t see their kids for ages, it was really sad! And then combining these lines, it’s about how these little kids for the first time really are sometimes being left home alone because their parents have stuff they *have* to do; get food or work, and lots of kids these days don’t get left home alone anymore, it was common when I was little but not for a long time! But seemingly suddenly with this pandemic it’s happening again. And I hadn’t seen that talked about but I was seeing glimpses of it and it, felt weird? I guess? So that made for the perfect beginning to a covid19 nursery rhyme- a kid getting left home alone a lot and not being really sure how to respond to that.
So, with the hide away lines, there’s 3 stanzas and in each miss Rhona gets closer. The first one is she’s “come to town”. Now I remember that feeling on that day learning that the first coronavirus case had occurred in my city. Up until then there was a bit of a sense of dread, like you knew it was everywhere else, then in the news it got closer and closer, with cases in small country towns nearby. But when it got to my city it was suddenly so real. And that’s where the story starts because Miss Rhona was HERE. She arrived in the kid’s town. The line, “she’s come to take us down” is another way of saying “she’s going to get you” and also links to the final line which reveals her success “she took us down/she’s brought us down”.
2nd stanza
So, she goes from being in town to being “at the doorstep” which represents getting closer- being in those people the child might interact with everyday- and imagined more literally in the postal worker delivering a package (actually ON the doorstep) or food delivery or anyone who they’d still have close contact with. But “I’ll keep 6 feet away” is a self reassurance that if they just do the right thing and keep their distance everything will be ok. But then the conflict! Grandma needs toilet paper, EVERYONE needs toilet paper and no one can get it anywhere! No doubt the dad is our trying to find some more while he’s at the “food store”. And I was thinking... my children’s grandmother lives in a different state to us but if we were in the same one you can bet your life id be out dropping essentials at her doorstep whenever I could- tp included. (Although, tbh the tp issue didn’t seem as bad in her state from what she told me) so in this bit I guess I imagined myself as the child because that would be something important to me, to make sure my elders had their essentials. Idk I tried to help where I could, got baby wipes when I found it for a friend with a newborn, stuff like that. So the conflict is the child’s sense of responsibility ensuring their grandmother has what she needs, while also knowing that the coronavirus, Miss Rhona, could reside in anyone they meet along the way. Kind of like a little red riding hood situation linking the dangers of strangers. So they open the door due to this sense of responsibility and, oh no, Miss Rhona was at the doorstep, remember? Now the child has it too; “Miss Rhona’s come to stay” IN THE CHILD. This line was to use the imagery of Miss Rhona coming to stay with the child at their house, like an aunt might come to visit for the weekend, but symbolises the virus coming to live within the child, they’ve caught it now, which is why they definitely, “can’t come out to play”.
Stanza 3
“But grandma needs the paper” that’s where the conflict arises again- the child’s sense of responsibility, maybe guilt even? Overshadowing their understanding of just how serious the virus would be should their grandmother catch it. They’re just a kid remember? They don’t understand. So they take her some anyway, everyone needs toilet paper! Also, I know that phrasing it as such misleads the listener to think about a newspaper. Thats how we talk, “I’ll get the paper!” My dad says ... often. But, 2 things, it rolls off the tongue easier than “grandma needs toilet paper” which would’ve messed up the rhythm anyway, and also, for anyone who’s lived it you would automatically know about the “great toilet paper shortage of 2020” 😅 there were so many memes about it and it was funny that everyone was obsessed with it but if you were one of those people who genuinely really couldn’t find any- and there were lots!- then it kind of sucked. And that’s a memory that’ll stick with you 🙈
So. The note. “And here’s a note from Rhona she wanted me to say” imagine the child at the grandmas doorstep, she’s bringing her tp (that’s nice) but the child is infected, and hands grandma a note. I imagined like a little filed up piece of paper in their back pocket they take out and hand over, to pass on the message from their aunt living in their house. As kids would do- what teacher hasn’t given their student a note and said “go tell mr x such and such” and the note is a reminder of what to say. But the note they hand over is also a metaphor. It symbolises contact between the grandmother and grandchild, and as grandma took it, she caught the virus too. And the note reads,
“Hide away, hide away, keep 6 feet away”
Which is that line repeated all the way through the rhyme. In the end, it’s what Miss Rhona was saying all along. Hide away children...
And the final line is a throwback to near the beginning, “she took us down” because earlier remember she came to “take us down” but now it’s happened and we’re in past tense. She did it. She took down the grandma, and possibly the child too, although I left that as ambiguous. To be taken down here is the symbol for death, of course. It’s pretty grim. But that was the point i suppose.
And that’s where it ends. Anything after that, while I’ve seen some adaptations made which sound really cool, doesn’t really make sense with the story, because they died in that moment. And continuing on after that seems a bit overkill, because I gues, perhaps symbolically at least, who would be able to continue singing the rhyme once they had already died?
But having said that, it’s still nice to see people get exited about it and want to contribute more lyrics too. Making up stories, songs, games, art in general, it’s a way we’ve found to cope i think? Like dark and morbid stories are a part of our culture because we respond to them. Lessons, feelings, etc. people far more articulate than I have explained before...
So. That’s Miss Rhona. This explanation was written really roughly and I apologise for that, but you get the gist. I strongly recommend for anyone who hasn’t already to check out the #miss Rhona recordings hashtag on my blog, because some of these melodies people have put to it are really beyond words. Dreamy, haunting. Peaceful. Childlike. Much more than the original chant-like skipping rhyme I originally envisaged.
Thanks for reading this far... please be safe and look after your grandmothers ❤️
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apex-academy · 3 years
Text
Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#24)
After an extended nap and some light reading, I head out to supper. 
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Seems quiet in here.
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Only natural at this point. Just 8 people—
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Stop. It...
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It’s just quiet because Aidan isn’t here at the moment. Yeah.
Still, silence beats fighting. I hop in the kitchen to make some vaguely lumpy onigiri and eat it in there. Not feeling sociable yet. I’ll probably head upstairs for the rest of the evening. Get a few games in. Or...
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“I could go further upstairs than that...”
I still feel like I haven’t been that thorough looking through the new floor, and now...
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Where did that key come from, anyway? To show up in the gym... It was right after we got our motive, so any of us could have dropped it then. Even Monochap.
There’s no telling. I’ll just investigate and hope this doesn’t turn out to be some kind of trap. If someone wanted this to be found, then... probably Kanagi? She started Horse. Not easy to believe she’d mastermind a trap like that, though, so I won’t point any fingers yet. It’s probably just what it looked like, anyway. Slipped out of a pocket somewhere.
Impatiently, I finish up my supper and head out. I cross Tsunyasha in the hall, but she doesn’t make any death threats, so not worth my attention. Maybe I ought to be hunting Mahavir down instead, but... I’ll just burn myself out if I’m not careful.
I check the Nurse’s Office anyway, but it’s empty.
Upstairs, then.
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This many flights is a bit of a haul, but I’m not that tired. That, and I should probably double-check the shutters they’ve been using in here.
...Yup. There’s still a flight closed off. At least it keeps moving up.
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“All right. Let’s see if I can get into anything.”
I dig around the Computer Room first, just in case I may somehow get access to a computer, but it’s not looking promising. If there are any secret compartments in here, they don’t have visible keyholes. Kind of a long shot, anyway. 
I go ahead and try the mysterious office at the far end of the east wing, but the key doesn’t even start to fit. Figures.
Finally I move to the Secretary’s Office. The door is unlocked, but...
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“Probably my number-one suspect.”
I jiggle the key into the file cabinet’s key slot. It actually goes in, which is a good start, but it sure doesn’t want to turn. Maybe I’m wrong.
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“Doubt I’m going to snap this thing in half, though.”
I give it another two rounds of heave-ho before it finally turns. I rub my fingers to try to get the key impression off of them before reaching for the topmost handle.
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“Is there some way to make sure I’m not about to set off a bomb?”
Not that I know of, so I’ll just have to hope. Can’t see any wires running into the cabinet, so that’s a good sign.
The drawer offers some resistance, too, making a series of clangs as I pull and push on the handle. But then something manages to rattle loose, and the drawer comes on out. Not all the way, thankfully, since that probably would have knocked me over. But far enough to see the contents. Five files hang between the sides of the drawer, so widely spaced it still feels eerily empty. All but the first are labeled at the tab.
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“Aidan, Aki, Arthur...”
These are files on us? In... first-name alphabetical order for some reason, but the secretary’s personal preferences probably aren’t worth worrying about. I reach for the unlabeled file. The thing is full up, but it looks like most of the papers are copies of blank forms. Mostly demographic-looking. Not terribly informative. But at the front...
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“ ‘ Recruitment Guidelines’.”
If the files in this cabinet are on students, I doubt it’s guidelines for recruiting staff. As far as the student side goes, I honestly know precious little aside from the fact that they do recruit. I think there was something flowery about my qualifications on my acceptance letter, but I can’t remember the details now. So I can’t exactly verify this, but it looks authentic enough.
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“ ‘Must be a legal resident of Japan or be or become fluent in Japanese within one year’...”
A lot of the qualifications are kind of arbitrary with a nice touch of legalese, so that’s not helping me any. The only thing that really strikes me is how vague the most significant qualifications are.
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“ ‘Has performed a feat or collection of feats that could not be expected of any other student’.”
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“...Have I done that?”
I guess tournaments must count. Otherwise, I’m not sure how I qualify. But it makes sense. It was probably similar for Kazusuke and Kanagi, and maybe some of the artistic talents. Seems boring, almost, but otherwise this school would just be a collection of obscure world record-holders, wouldn’t it?
At any rate, this isn’t helping my search for the young master. Or whatever I’m searching for right now. Honestly I feel like I just showed up over here without an actual goal in mind besides “try key.” But whatever. No one else should be coming in here, so I can take all the time I need. Might be nighttime soon, but that just means less chance of anyone being out to see me by the time I finish.
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Anyone who follows the rules, at least. But no one would be looking for a victim so soon, right...? I won’t worry about it. Maybe bring some kind of blunt implement with me on the way back, but. Not worth any more thought than that.
I put the recruitment guidelines away semi-neatly and browse the rest of the cabinet. There are a few files in each drawer. At least, each drawer I can get too. Bottom one’s thoroughly jammed. I can deal with that later if I feel the need to. For now...
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“...My file.”
This is the closest I could possibly get to verifying this cabinet’s info. I pull out the file with my name and stare at it.
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“Why do I feel nervous about opening it?”
It’s not like it's a report card or anything. Probably? Would they have those mixed in here, too?
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But there’s no reason for me to be nervous about that, anyway?? Just shut up and read it.
I start flipping through. Aside from a few oblique mentions, I don’t see any grades in here. Just the demographic-ish paperwork. That, and a few grainy copies of championship certificates. Guess I got accepted here for consistency, because no single one of these is that huge a deal. Unusual for someone my age, maybe, but... 
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“Anyway, seems legitimate enough.”
Time to check out the rest. I put my file back and start at the top. Aidan’s first, then. I remove his file and gaze at it in my hands for a while. Seems kind of personal, now that I think about it. But most of this would be public information, anyway, right? That, or something that’s no big deal, like hometown.
Well, I won’t find anything either way if I don’t even look. Open sesame.
First few pages are the same forms, filled out differently. He is indeed from America, specifically Oshkosh, Wisconsin.
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“Never heard of either of those, but sure, why not.”
Blah, blah, height, weight, medical conditions... Nothing earth-shattering. And then...
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“What the heck? Everything on this page is redacted.” Aside from a few prepositions that don’t tell me anything, all the text has been reduced to a stuttering black line.
I try looking at the other side, then holding it up to the light, but it gets me nowhere. Nothing I can do with this besides think about it, and I can save that for later. There’s a newspaper clipping in here that looks a lot less difficult to read, so I’ll try that.
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“ ‘Bioterrorist Attack Kills Three, Hospitalizes Eleven Others’.”
It goes on to summarize a recent anthrax-like attack on an air control tower that pretty much took out everyone there, lethally or otherwise, within a few minutes. One Abe Sorakubo managed to hang on long enough to redirect traffic despite technical difficulties and guide one plane safely to the ground when it was unable to change course. Abe remains in critical condition...
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“...’but has received a better prognosis than the 12-year-old child caught up in the attack alongside him’.”
The child had already stopped breathing by the time EMS found them on the floor of the control tower wearing one of the controller headsets. Abe stated that the child was an aspiring air traffic controller, and he wanted them to be able to wear it before they died, even if they were already unconscious at the time.
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“...........”
Yeah, three guesses who the 12-year-old child was. Is it really okay for me to be reading this? I mean, if it was in the news, a lot of people already have, right? And whoever was putting together the recruitment files read it, too. They even highlighted the bit just before Abe’s statement.
I quietly refile the papers and put the folder back. Next is Aki...
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“...”
I don’t know if I can do this right now. Maybe I... I’ll come back to her later. 
Arthur, then.
Still hurts a little to thumb through his profile, but it’s a muted enough pain by now. At least we weren’t really friends. Classmates, for sure, but...
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“...........”
Anyway.
Born on some kind of British military base in Germany, looks like. And lots of travel from there. Even his list of actual residences goes on for pages. Nothing in here seems suspect, though.
Instead of third-party material, his additional insert is more of a handwritten memo. Notes on his total distance travelled, the success of his blog, and an addendum that Super High School Level Hitchhiker may not be a very standard sort of talent but would nonetheless fit him and the standards of the school.
I flip through everything again just to be sure, but still, nothing of interest. “He’s been a lot of places” is about the whole gist of it.
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“Ichiriki, then.”
I sort through his main file, which tells me a whole lot of nothing. Heir of the Tokino Hardware empire. No major moves.
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No psychological profiles or anything, either. That would be too helpful, huh?
Instead of a single news article, his has several, though none of them actually have photos of his art. A few of them explain that he considers photography an abomination against everything chalk art represents. None of them specify what it’s supposed to represent, but I guess that’s to be expected.
At any rate, it really does look like he’s here as the Super High School Level Chalk Artist. As much as I’d like to say he has some fake talent to hide his involvement in this whole thing as some kind of warped observational psychologist, between this and his actual art skills, I really have no basis for saying anything like that.
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Darn. He’d make an awfully convincing bad guy.
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Maybe not so much at the moment, but. Overall. I can’t discount him entirely just because his talent is genuine, though, so there’s still that.
And that’s all the files for the top drawer.
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“...........”
I’m weirdly tired already. Maybe I should take a break before I start overlooking any real clues. This cabinet won’t be going anywhere, right? And it probably is getting late by now.
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“...”
I lock up the cabinet with much less struggle than it took to unlock it. I tug at each drawer afterwards, but they’re all sealed up pretty well.
All right, then. I can jump back in tomorrow morning.
Assuming nobody’s dead by then.
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“...............”
Let’s just get moving.
[BACK] [NEXT]
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our-time-is-now · 4 years
Text
May 23, 2019: Good Genes?
(previous play)
You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.
There will be mention of something called Schultüte in the play. If you want to know what that is, you can find out here
Thursday, 6:56 pm:
David: *he and Matteo are on their way to the house where Matteo’s mother lives and he’s really curious and a little nervous to meet her - because somehow it really is something official to be introduced as a boyfriend* *doesn't know where they have to go and simply walks next to Matteo* *at some point says* I really think we should have brought something... flowers or wine or something... *finds it a little strange to show up without anything*
Matteo: *shakes his head* Nonsense... my mother isn't like that... *grins at him* Besides, I'm bringing you, that is enough of a present... *turns into his old street and suddenly gets nervous, after all, when he sees the house* It's over there... *they stop in front of the door, but he doesn’t ring the doorbell, yet* *hesitates and asks* Are you ready?
David: *laughs at Matteo's answer and shrugs* If you say so... *looks in the direction Matteo points at and then at Matteo* *wonders when the last time was that he was here and how it must have been for him growing up here* *comments* It's nice here... *stops with him in front of the door and is a little confused that Matteo doesn’t immediately ring the doorbell* *tilts his head a little at his question and says* I am. Are you? *smiles at him encouragingly*
Matteo: *should have figured that David would see right through him* Well, yeah... what could go wrong, right? *immediately thinks of at least five things that could go wrong* *so quickly rings the bell* *the door opens relatively quickly and his mother beams at him: "You're already here! How nice"!* *briefly looks confused* Yes, it's seven... *sees his mother smile: "Yes, but you and punctual..."* *sees her smile and then looking at David: "And you must be David, how nice. Why don't you come in, come in"!*
David: *briefly squeezes Matteo’s hand because he has the feeling that Matteo somehow is a little nervous, after all, but lets go of it when Matteo rings the bell because he doesn’t know how much closeness in front of his mother is okay* *murmurs* I’m sure nothing will go wrong! *smiles when Matteo’s mother opens the door and thinks it’s nice that she really seems to be happy about seeing Matteo and him* *has to suppress a grin when he hears her comment about punctuality* *nods when Matteo’s mother addresses him* Yes, exactly. Thanks for the invitation! *steps into the hallway after Matteo and wonders whether they are supposed to take their shoes off* *waits to see what Matteo does* *in the meantime, hears his mother’s answer: “I’m so happy that it finally worked out! I’ve been trying for some time to convince Matteo to visit me, but I can’t really blame him for not visiting for so long…”* *only understands half of what she says but doesn’t ask, either* *hears her talk further and wonders if she might be similarly nervous as Matteo: “Why don’t you go into the living room… or would you rather go to the dining room? Whatever you want. Do you want something to drink”?*
Matteo: *steps into the hallway and toes off his shoes* *hears his mother and shakes his head* Mama… *really hopes that they won’t talk about the things that happened* *briefly holds her by the arm and looks at her* *says quietly* Everything’s all right… *sees her smile and really relax a little* We’ll go into the living room… or do you need help in the kitchen? *sees her immediately shake her head: “No, no… just make yourself at home, I’ll be there in a second…”* *sees her going to the kitchen* *then shows David the way to the living room* *remembers only now how many photos his mother puts up and hopes that there are no embarrassing ones*
David: *takes off his shoes when he sees that Matteo takes them off* *then watches the interaction between Matteo and his mother and is surprised and touched how soft Matteo treats her and how his mother reacts to it* *smiles slightly but can’t really place all of that* *remembers Matteo mentioning that she takes antidepressants and wonders why and what she was like without them* *gets pulled out of his thoughts and follows Matteo into the living room* *looks around and finds it really comfortable and tidy* *can see mementos everywhere and sees a lot of pictures on the walls* *steps closer to a wall with especially many photos and briefly grins in Matteo’s direction* If there’s an embarrassing photo somewhere that I’m not supposed to see, now is your chance to take it off. *says that because if it were him, at least for now, he’d only show Matteo very few pictures from his childhood – if any*
Matteo: *stops in the middle of the living room and takes a look to see if anything has changed* *can’t really find anything and sighs slightly* *hears David and steps beside him to look at the photos* *quickly looks at the wall with the pictures but then thinks that it’s silly* *shrugs* So what… if an embarrassing childhood picture scares you away… than that speaks against you more than against me. *grins and nudges him slightly before pointing at a photo* This was in Italy… we used to be there every summer… *then gets quiet when his mother comes in and turns around* *hears her say: “I took the ones of you naked in the bathtub off for the occasion…”* *laughs and shakes his head* Very thoughtful, thanks.
David: *grins slightly at Matteo's words and nods* True... but you won't get rid of me anytime soon! *looks at the photos - Matteo as a baby, a toddler, the obligatory one with a Schultüte...* *then follows Matteo's gaze and looks at the photo: Matteo at the beach with water wings cheekily grinning into the camera* *was just about to ask how old Matteo was when the picture was taken, when his mother comes in with beverages* *hears her words and laughs* *nods confirmatory at Matteo's thanks* Really considerate! My mother wouldn't think of something like that... *watches as Matteo's mother puts down the tray with the beverages on the coffee table and hears her say: "I brought water and cola for now. Or would you prefer beer"?* *immediately shakes his head* No, thanks! Cola is great! *sees how she smiles, how she sits down on the armchair and reach for the cola and a glass to pour him some: "And for you, Matteo? - Why don't you two sit down"!* *sits down on the sofa and takes another look around* *feels like he has to say something and says* Your living room is really cozy, Mrs. Florenzi! *takes the cola she hands him and thanks her* *hears her say: "Thank you! Most things here have their own story. I'm bad at letting go of memories..."* *sees her smile apologetically when she says that and smiles as well* That doesn't have to be a bad thing - as long as the memories are good, it's nice to always have them around you... *briefly wonders if Matteo should have told him a little more about his mother, after all* *is a little scared of putting his foot in his mouth*
Matteo: *sits down on the sofa next to David* I'll take cola, as well, thanks... *grins slightly when David is so polite and struggles a little with the small talk* *leans forward to take his glass and looks at his mother* Sometimes you can let go... if you have to... *sees her looking at him and apparently searching for something in his face* *smiles until she also smiles and then leans back again* By the way, David is an artist, Mama... he can draw really well... *sees his mother smile and look at David. "That's great. Do you prefer to draw objects or people"?* *smiles slightly to himself and hopes that he managed to get David out of his small talk-trip*
David: *sees how Matteo's mother also pours him some cola and some water for herself and then watches their nonverbal communication interested and confused* *blushes slightly at Matteo's words and sheepishly shakes his head* *murmurs* Well, it's more like a hobby... *looks at Matteo's mother and answers her question* Actually, everything I feel like... but mostly I do draw people... but sometimes also objects... *notices Matteo's mother listening interestedly: "And did you always like to draw? Do you maybe have photos of your drawings? I would really love to see some..."* *thinks for a moment and then shakes his head* *thinks the pictures on Instagram are a little gloomy and not very representable* *suggests* But I could take some photos for next time... *remembers her first question, briefly takes a sip of his cola and then answers* As a child I drew more - but also really persistently and complex. But I really started sketching when I was about 13, 14... that's when I really got engaged in it, looked at books and videos, tried to improve... *notices Matteo's mother still smiling and hears her say: "That is a really nice hobby. Calming, isn't it"?* *grins slightly and nods* Most times, it is...
Matteo: *is really pleased with himself when his plan works and the two really start a good conversation* *sips at his cola while his mother says: "Matteo was never that into art... right, Matteo? If you'd known, maybe you would have come to a museum with me, after all..."* *laughs and shakes his head* No, I probably still wouldn't have... *sees her smile and nod: "Worked out anyways, right? How did you meet, anyways? At a discotheque"?* *laughs* No one says discotheque, Mama... and no, we met at school... David changed schools a few months ago...
David: *grins slightly in Matteo's direction and has to think about the fact that Matteo is usually quite interested in looking at his drawings* *takes another sip of cola, puts his glass down, leans back on the sofa and follows the conversation* *then notices how Matteo's mother turns back to him: "Changing schools so shortly before Abi? That seems really exhausting. Did your family have to move? *gets a little nervous, but nods* Umm yes... unfortunately, it couldn't be avoided. And it wasn't that bad. I had to catch up a little in some subjects but in most courses, we were on a similar level at the old school! *sees Matteo's mother smile: "Well, then it's all right. And now you’re done, anyways"!* *notice her look between him and Matteo, smile and then ask: "And then you met and went on a date, old-school? Or how does that work nowadays"?!* *hears her laugh and has to grin a little, as well* *looks at Matteo and slightly tilts his head* Do we tell her the complicated or the uncomplicated version? *looks back at Matteo's mother* To be honest, it took several weeks... and I'm not completely innocent in the matter... *doesn't know in the slightest how to tell Matteo's mother about it without talking about the actual problem and looks helplessly and pleadingly back at Matteo*
Matteo: *should have figured that the typical “how did you get together” question would be asked* *didn’t’ figure it and now is a little unprepared* Um… something in the middle? *shakes his head when David says he’s not completely innocent* Me neither… I had… um… a girlfriend… when we met… when we got closer, I broke up with her… but of course that didn’t make trusting and such exactly easy… that’s why it went back and forth for a while.. *thinks that they can bend the truth a little and that it’s not a complete lie, either* But as you can see, it did work out in the end!
David: *is glad when Matteo takes over and simply nods at everything he says* *thinks that basically it’s not a lie and simply allows for a lot of freedom to interpret the back and forth-situation* *sees Matteo’s mother smiling and nodding at his final words: “And that’s what’s important, isn’t it? What’s important is that in the end you’re happy”!* *nods in agreement and smiles in Matteo’s direction* I agree… *then hears a phone alarm go off and looks back at Matteo’s mother, who reaches for her phone and turns off the alarm: “Oh, excuse me! I’ve got a casserole in the oven and it’s done now! I hope you’re hungry! Why don’t you sit down in the dining room”!* *looks after her when she disappears from the living room and then looks at Matteo* I’ll simply follow you blindly… *grins slightly and gets up*
Matteo: *looks after his mother* *grins at him and nods* Always a good idea… *gives him a quick kiss* *then says more quietly* I hope that was okay just now? *is happy when David nods and leads the way into the dining room* *sees how his mother has laid the table and suddenly feels a lump in his throat* *remembers the days where she didn’t manage to get out of bed at all, let alone take care of the household* *points at the side with two plates* I suppose, that’s us… *sits down with David*
David: *follows Matteo into the dining room where they put down all the glasses as well as the cola and the water bottle* *sits down next to Matteo and also takes a look around and finds it quite cozy here, as well* *looks at Matteo scrutinizingly* Everything okay? It’s going quite well, right? She really put in a lot of effort… *points his head toward the laid table and looks back at Matteo* *can’t really estimate how he is doing right now – one minute he seems pensive and dejected, the next soft and loving and as if he would feel comfortable* *wonders what’s going on inside of him but thinks that now is not the right moment talk about it*
Matteo: *quickly nods when David asks if everything’s all right* Yes… it’s… nice to see that she’s doing so well… *looks at David* Really… it’s good… it’s just that sometimes I still worry about her… but this, right now, is good… *then hears and sees his mother enter with the casserole: “I totally forgot to ask if you’re allergic to anything, David? Or if you don’t eat meat? I could quickly make something different…”*
David: *nods slowly when Matteo says that he sometimes still worries about her, but that it’s good right now* *briefly squeezes his hand under the table and smiles at him encouragingly* *will ask again later and leave it to Matteo to tell him or not* *looks up when he hears Matteo’s mother come in* *smiles at her questions and lifts his hands in defense* Oh, no, thanks! Everything is alright! I eat almost everything and I’m not allergic to anything! *sees Matteo’s mother smile: “Well then it’s all right”!* *leans slightly forward and looks at the casserole and comments* This looks delicious! Unfortunately, I can’t really cook well – Matteo or my sister mostly do that for me… *sees Matteo’s mother looking at her son lovingly: “Matteo liked to help me cook even when he was little. At some point it became uninteresting or uncool… But when I wasn’t doing so well, he still cooked for me quite often”!* *grins in Matteo’s direction* So you practiced even as a kid – no wonder you’re so good at it!
Matteo: *grins slightly when David says that he can’t cook* *would love to say that David is at least good at chopping but has already told enough fibs today* *sees his mother’s look and smiles back* *nods slowly* Yes, you taught me the basics… and throwing things into a pan isn’t that hard… *swallows a little when he thinks about all the things he tried to make his mother eat* *hears his mother: “I always loved your pasta the most”!* *laughs at that* Everyone says that…
David: *looks at Matteo mischievously* Well then there has to be some truth to that… *hears Matteo’s mother: “Let’s eat before everything gets cold”!* *notices her reach for his plate and hands it to her* Thanks! *takes the plate back and waits for her to also serve Matteo and herself* *was just about to reach for his cutlery to start, but then realizes that it’s oddly quiet* *wonders a little why Matteo and his mother don’t start to eat, but then realizes why…*
Matteo: *slightly nudges David with his elbow when he starts to reach for his cutlery and shakes his head* *sees his mother smile at David: “I always pray before I eat”.* *presses his lips together and looks down, but doesn’t fold his hands* *from the corner of his eyes he sees how David at least lowers his head, as well* *then hears his mother say a prayer of thanks and then hears her add: “...and today I’m especially thankful for Matteo and David’s company. Amen”.* *sighs barely audibly and then reaches for his cutlery* Well, then, enjoy… *digs in and therefore is busy and quiet for now*
David: *smiles back when he hears the explanation of Matteo’s mother and nods* *doesn’t really know anyone who prays before they eat but thinks it’s actually quite nice and doesn’t mind it* *only is a little unsure if he has to consider anything and peeks over at Matteo* *then does the same thing he does and also lowers his head* *listens to Matteo’s mother and has to smile again when she mentions him and Matteo* *looks up after the “Amen” and also reaches for his cutlery* *nods at Matteo’s words* Thanks! You, too! *tries the food and thinks it’s really good* *for a while they all eat in silence before Matteo’s mother breaks the silence: “And do you already know what you are going to do? Now that you’ve got your Abi”?*
Matteo: *shrugs one shoulder and drinks a sip first* Let’s just wait for the results, first… maybe I didn’t even pass… *sees his mother shake her head. “I don’t think so, you’re such a smart guy”.* *shrugs one shoulder again* But lazy. We’ll see… *hears his mother again: “But do you already have an idea of what you want to do if you pass”?* *sighs and shakes his head* Noo… *sees how his mother thinks, starts to speak, but then closes her mouth again, after all* What? I’ll find something… *sees his mother tilting her head: “Your father said…”* *interrupts her angrily* I don’t care. *sees his mother looking from him to David and back a little embarrassed: I know, I usually don’t care, either, but he is the one that pays…”* *shakes his head again* Yes, my child support… and that’s the least he can do… *realizes that he gets angry and shakes his head* Tell him I’ll find something and that he should stop whining to you about it!
David: *planned on letting Matteo answer first – his mother is more interested in Matteo’s plans after Abi than his own plans* *shakes his head when Matteo says that he might not have passed and determinedly says* Nonsense! *peeks over at Matteo when his mother continues nagging to make sure that he is still at least somewhat ok with not knowing what he wants to do in live and can’t really find any insecurities in his responses so far, which reassures him for now* *follows the conversation further and is astonished when Matteo gets so angry all of a sudden* *feels pretty uncomfortable because it seems to be about something really personal, a family matter, and he doesn’t really want to interfere with that* *sees how uncomfortable the dispute makes Matteo’s mother feel, but how she still answers her son: “He doesn’t whine about it to me – he just worries…” *peeks at Matteo, who is angry but seems to have the situation under control, and to his mother, who keeps looking apologetically at him and her son and obviously feels uncomfortable* *simply puts down his cutlery and thinks that it might be good to give them 5 minutes where he doesn’t interrupt* Umm… where’s the bathroom? *hopes that its okay for Matteo to leave him alone with this situation but figures that Matteo probably would have told him in advance if he needed or wanted support in that situation and that he might be embarrassed that the situation gets dragged out in front of him*
Matteo: *derisively says* Yeah right, he worries… maybe about his money… *sees his mother shake her head: “That’s not true and you know that”.* *looks up when David gets up* *can somehow understand that he wants to get out* Down the hallway, to the right next to the front door… *sees David leave the room and looks at his mother* I’m not letting myself get pressured by him, Mama… you know he has to give me money. *sees her shake her head: “But not as much as he gives you… but I don’t want to fight, Matteo, it’s about you… and about your plans”.* *nods slowly and sighs* Yeah, it’s okay… I’ll get a job until I know what I want to do, okay?
David: *gets up and leaves the dining room* *can still hear parts of the conversation when he is in the hallway but then disappears into the bathroom* *lingers there for quite some time and even sits down on the toilet seat for a while to give Matteo and his mother the time they need* *somehow feels a little snubbed because there seem to be so many things in Matteo’s family he doesn’t know about and that Matteo hasn’t told him* *tries to think about what Matteo has actually told him and realizes that it really hadn’t been much* *wonders why – whether he’s embarrassed or if he wants to put it behind him or if he already has put it behind him – and wonders how he should act about it now – whether he should ask Matteo or wait until he tells him on his own accord* *sighs quietly and absentmindedly washes his hands a second time before going back to the dining room*
Matteo: *gets his arm patted by his mother: “I’m so proud of you, Matteo, really, I am. You’ll find the right thing for you, I know that. And I am always on your side”.* *smiles slightly and nods* I know, Mama. *looks up when David comes back into the room and smiles automatically* *briefly nods at him to tell him that they are done with the topic* *when David sits down the conversation gets more innocuous* *David talks about his study-plans and Mama Florenzi gets the dessert, homemade tiramisu*
David: *returns Matteo’s smile and is glad that they seem to be done with the topic and that Matteo, as well as is mother, seem to be doing okay and that it gets more innocuous* *”… and until when do you have to apply for filmmaking”?, Matteo’s mother asks him while distributing the Tiramisu to small bowls* *takes it from her* Thanks… that depends on the university… for most of them until the beginning of June, so there’s not too much time… *tries a bite of Tiramisu and is surprised because it tastes so good* *moans a little to Matteo* You have to make that for me one day… *grins slightly but then gets asked by Matteo’s mother: “Did you already decide on a university”?* *shakes his head with a full mouth and answers once he has swallowed* Not really… there are a lot of good ones in Germany… and it also depends on where I get accepted. Berlin would of course be my preference…
Matteo: *eats his Tiramisu while the two are talking about universities* *already knows this stuff* *grins when David says that he has to make it for him one day* *shakes his head* I don’t know how to… and not as well as Mama, anyways… *continues eating* *then sees his mother smile: “This would be nice, then I’d have you both close-by”.* *has to grin because his mother knows him so well and already knows that he would go wherever David goes*
David: *peeks at Matteo when he hears the last words from his mother and has to grin, as well* *finds it somehow cute that she expects them /both/ to be close-by, that she expects that he and Matteo will stay together, even if she only just met him* *briefly looks at Matteo’s hand which is only a few centimeters away from his’ but doesn’t dare take it, because he doesn’t know if that would be okay for Matteo as he hasn’t been trying to get close all evening* *thinks it’s because it might be weird in front of his mother, but is looking forward to later and to more closeness* *eats the last bite of his Tiramisu and smiles at Matteo’s mother* That was really good! Thank you! *sees her also smile: “Why don’t you have some more! There’s enough left! You have to take the rest of it with you, anyways, I can’t eat that on my own”!* *grins and reaches for the bowl* Yes, I’d love to! *has the serving spoon in his hand and looks questioningly between Matteo and his mother* Anyone else?
Matteo: *laughs slightly when David asks if anyone wants more* *holds his bowl out to him* Do you have to ask? *hears his mother laughing and grins* What? *hears her say: “You eat and eat and don’t work out and you still don’t gain any weight. How do you do that”?* *grins and shrugs* Good genes? *sees his mother shake her head: “That I’d know…”*
David: *gives everyone some more Tiramisu and stays at the table for a while longer with Matteo and his mother* *laughs a lot, especially when a few stories from Matteo’s childhood are dug out, until Matteo says that it’s enough and that he now owes him three embarrassing stories from his own childhood* *Matteo and he leave shortly after nine – with a Tupperware box with the rest of the Tiramisu – and promise to visit her again soon* *is a little surprised when Matteo’s mother doesn’t only hug Matteo but also him* *walks away from her house together with Matteo and enjoys the movement and the fresh air after all the food* *looks at Matteo sideways with a smile* Everything okay?
Matteo: *enjoys the quiet and to only have David by his side* *smiles slightly at his question and nods* Yes… went quite well, didn’t it? *looks at him sideways* I mean, she likes you… that’s what’s important… *nudges him slightly and then reaches for his hand* Or what do you think?
David: *nods at his question* Yes, I think so, too. *laughs* Did you have any doubts about her liking me? Well, thanks a lot! *then gets serious again and entwines their fingers when Matteo finally reaches for his hand* *isn’t planning on letting go of it anytime soon* *thinks for a moment and then answers Matteo’s question* I think that it was a nice evening. In the beginning your mother seemed a bit tense and nervous, but by the end I think she really felt comfortable. *considers mentioning that he didn’t really understand many of the things they were talking about but leaves it for now*
Matteo: *laughs when he looks indignant* Hey, I have learned that not everyone has such an excellent taste as I do… *grins at him* *but then also gets serious again when David does* *nods at his perception* Yes, I thought so, too… I think she was very nervous… I think she also wanted you to like her… *ruffles his hair with his free hand and then looks back at David while they turn around a corner* And sorry that you felt like you had to go to the bathroom… I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable… but I get annoyed when I feel like she only repeats what he tells her…
David: *smiles and shrugs* I like her, as well. She’s really nice! *grins slightly and squeezes his fingers* And of course it’s also somehow important that mother in law and son in law like each other, isn’t it? *shakes his head at Matteo’s next words* I didn’t feel uncomfortable – well at least not too much. I just didn’t really understand what it was about. It felt more like your mother was uncomfortable to argue with you in front of me. *looks at Matteo sideways and hesitates* *gnaws at his bottom lip for a moment and asks* Maybe… well, if you want to, maybe you can tell me a little more about your parents one day? *tries to lighten up the question a little bit* Then next time I know when a situation gets hairy and when I have to disappear to the bathroom…
Matteo: *laughs slightly and throws his head back* Son in law, huh? I see… *then gets serious again* *nods slightly* Yes, I think it was… *briefly looks at him at his next question* *looks away again and bites his bottom lip* *isn’t used to talking about his parents* *if at all, only talked about it to Jonas, or maybe Hanna, and they basically experienced it first-hand* *but also thinks that David is right and that he should know about it* *somehow really wants David to know everything about him, that he becomes family* *notices an entrance to a tiny park and briefly points toward it* Let’s check if there is a bench? *notices David’s confused look* Then we can talk…
David: *gets slightly nervous when Matteo at first doesn’t answer his question and considers taking it back* *then looks confused when Matteo points at the park but then smiles when he understands and nods* Sure. (*quickly goes to the Kiosk at the other side of the street with Matteo and buys some cherry-beer for them*) *enters the park, which is only sparsely lit by street lamps on the street, together with Matteo and relatively quickly finds a nice bench* *sits down without letting go of Matteo’s hand and turns toward him in order to look at him* *stays quiet to give him time to sort his thoughts*
Matteo: *sits down on the bench with David and is glad that he doesn’t let go of his hand* *doesn’t really know where to begin and therefore takes a sip from his cherry-beer first* *then also looks at David and simply starts* My mother has depression. I think she always had… but as I child I didn’t really notice it… anyways… she always took care of me when I was little, that probably helped… but when I got older and didn’t need her as much… well, then it somehow got worse… sometimes she didn’t get up for days… only stayed in bed… my father and her argued… more and more… but it was more like he got frustrated and got louder and Mama only cried… *bites down on his lip and looks away* *then takes a deep breath and continues* At some point, my father said that she couldn’t be helped anymore… that he couldn’t do this anymore… told her he’d take me and go to Italy… *shakes his head and hmph-es slightly* I mean, can you imagine? He simply would have left her completely alone, he didn’t care at all… he just didn’t want to deal with her anymore… I told him to fuck off and that he’s a coward and an asshole and that I’ll stay here… the next day he was gone and that was it… *shrugs* I stayed with Mama, but it was… well, not easy… she had phases where she was doing really well and… *swallows hard and needs a moment* Well, I thought that’s it, we made it… and the next day she didn’t get up again… anyways, I told her that I couldn’t always look after her… that she needed help… well, and then Mia texted me that they were looking for a roommate… *shrugs slightly and takes another sip of beer* *doesn’t really know if the story actually ends there or if it was the thing David wanted to know, but doesn’t really have any more words right now* *so simply waits for his reaction and for his possible questions*
David: *smiles briefly in encouragement when Matteo starts talking but then gets serious and listens to him when he realizes what it’s about* *during some parts he squeezes his hand a little more and during some, he tenderly strokes over the back of his hand* *takes a sip of his cherry-beer every now and then* *thinks that it’s horrible to experience your mother like this and not able to help her* *frowns when Matteo talks about his father* *finds it unfathomable that he left Matteo alone with the situation – that his own wellbeing was more important to him than that of his child* *shakes his head slightly and has to swallow when he realizes what kind of responsibility he must have carried on his shoulders back then* *would love to give him a hug but doesn’t want to interrupt him while he talks* *scoots a little closer instead and wraps his other hand around the one he already has a hold of so that Matteo knows that he’s there for him* *nods when Matteo says that he can’t always look after his mother and is proud of him for being so courageous to take that step* *waits for a moment to see if he’ll say more but then takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair* Puh… *tries to sort his thoughts and thinks about what he should ask or say first* *eventually asks quietly* How old were you when your father went to Italy?
Matteo: *exhales the air he must have been holding and nods* “Puh” is quite accurate… *sighs slightly at his question* 17… four days from now it’ll be exactly a year… *shakes his head again slightly* I haven’t seen or talked to him since… he tried to call a few times at first, but he stopped at some point… Mama took care of the thing with the money…
David: *briefly presses his lips together at the information and wonders again how one can leave their 17-year-old child and his depressed mother* *finds it unfathomable but nods when Matteo says that it’s been a year and to what Matteo says after that* So he basically pays for your room in the flatshare? And your mother is still in contact with him? Or only for organizational stuff? *wonders if Matteo sometimes misses his father or if the events were so grave that you cannot forgive it, or only forgive it with a lot of effort and time*
Matteo: *nods slightly* Yes, he pays for the room and a little bit on top of that, and so does Mama… *shrugs* I don’t really know… I do think mainly for organizational stuff… the divorce isn’t finalized either… and until I turned 18 they still had joint custody… *takes another sip* Anyways, I think he can do the bit of money… that’s actually the least he could do… but I don’t wanna be dependent on him, either…
David: *nods at what Matteo says and also takes another sip* *shrugs and says* That’s not only the least he can do – basically he is obligated to pay for you as long as you haven’t finished your education… I think parents are obligated to pay even until you’re 27. Insofar… even if it feels bad to be dependent but actually you’re not really, because it’s not you who demands the money but the law does! *grimaces in frustration because he can understand that it sucks for Matteo to feel like he is dependent when his father acted so stupid* *takes another sip and then puts his beer down and takes Matteo’s hand in both of his hands again* And your mother? I mean she was doing quite well today. Is she doing therapy or something like that?
Matteo: *slowly nods at what David says* Yes, I know… but I don’t want him to bother my mother because of it… *shrugs* Let’s see what I can find… *holds onto David’s hands and enjoys the feeling of not being alone* *nods* Yes, she found a therapist she likes… she used to go to one my father found, but that one didn’t work for her… well and now she does both… I mean meds and talking therapy and it seems to work quite well... for now… *shrugs* At least from what I see and from what she tells me.
David: *keeps listening to Matteo and slowly nods at his words to tell him that he is listening* *automatically draws little circles on the back of Matteo’s hand with his thumb* *is happy to hear that his mother seems to be doing better* *quietly says* It’s really important to have a therapist that works for you – otherwise there’s no use and it can even lead to you feeling worse… I once changed therapists, as well… *sighs briefly and looks at Matteo lovingly* *hesitates for a moment and then says* I think it’s good that you moved into the flatshare. And that you told her that you can’t always look after her. That was brave… *then adds quietly and carefully* I think otherwise you would have fallen by the wayside at some point… *doesn’t know if Matteo wants to hear that and looks at him uncertain*
Matteo: *slightly nods to the therapist-thing* *any other day he probably would have asked David some questions but right now he’s too lost in thought thinking about his mother* Yes, I think changing was really good… *nods slowly when he says that it’s good that he moved out* Yes… Jonas said something similar… and we’re both doing better now… Mama and I… so… *looks at David and smiles slightly* It’s all good the way it is.
David: *smiles when Matteo says that he and his mother have been doing better since he moved out and is happy for him* *can’t really imagine what it means having to look after someone the way Matteo did* *returns his look and automatically has to smile a little more* *murmurs* That’s what’s important… *slowly releases one hand and tenderly runs it through his hair without breaking eye contact* *quietly says* Thanks for telling me! *lets his hand wander to his neck and carefully pulls his head toward him to give him a short kiss on the lips*
Matteo: *enjoys David being so close and affectionate* *thinks that it’s really crazy that everything feels so new and exciting but at the same time feels as if he had known David forever because he’s so familiar* *returns the kiss for a moment and then also smiles* Thanks for asking…
David: *left his hand at the back of Matteo’s neck but now lowers it and searches for his beer-bottle* *has to grin a little when Matteo thanks him and looks at him mischievously* Maybe I’m simply a nosy person! *nods convincingly but still lies* *takes another sip and empties his cherry-beer* *simply felt like something was off and wanted to make sure that Matteo was doing okay with the situation or if he could do something for him* *thinks it’s nice that Matteo trusts him like that, that he told him all of that and vows to support him with everything that might happen with his parents in the future so that he doesn’t have to feel alone with it anymore*
Matteo: *briefly laughs out loud when David says he’s a nosy person* Oh, really? I didn’t notice… I simply thought you were caring… and noticed that there was more… *looks at him and then gets serious again* Many people simply look away embarrassed when they hear something, or they tell me how sorry they are… but that doesn’t help anyone… hardly anyone asks what’s really happening… or happened… so thanks, I mean it…
David: *laughs quietly when Matteo laughs and briefly bumps his head against Matteo’s shoulder* Damn, you saw right through me… *gets serious again when Matteo does and returns his gaze* *listens to him and only now understands what he meant by thanking him* *smiles slightly and then simply says* You’re very welcome! *leans back on the bench and stares into the dark park* *thinks about Matteo’s words again and eventually says* I’m also sorry that you had to go through this, but you’re right: It doesn’t change anything and doesn’t help anyone… But… well… if there should be anything in the future… you’re no longer alone with it, okay?
Matteo: *looks at him when he leans back* *smiles slightly at his words and notices how his heart somehow starts to speed up, but at the same time quiets down* *leans back as well and puts his head on David’s shoulder* Thanks… you really are… wonderful. *laughs slightly and wraps his arm around his belly and kisses his cheek* So, Mister Schreibner, to my place or yours?
David: *immediately puts one arm around Matteo’s shoulder when he leans against him and has to smile at his words because no one ever referred to him as “wonderful”* *kisses Matteo on the forehead and wraps his other arm around him as well when Matteo puts his arm around his belly* *sighs quietly and happily* *has to grin slightly at his question because just like him, Matteo doesn’t even consider spending the night apart and realizes that it’s the many small things like that which make him so happy* *thinks* Hmmm… your place… we already spent last night at my place. I’m sure Hans already misses you… *briefly kisses his forehead again and then tries to get out of Matteo’s grasp and to get up*
(next play)
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searchingwardrobes · 4 years
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Self Promo Sunday: Hope for the Orphans
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This was my very first fic, and it’s really hard for me to believe that it’s almost four years old! It’s never been posted on tumblr before, nor have I ever made art for it. So here it is: my way of bringing little!Killian and little!Emma together - in canon. I hope these two cuties bring a smile to your face (even in the midst of their canon-compliant troubles.)
I also wrote this for @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ whose writing I have always admired. Little did I know back then that she would become a wonderful friend! Love ya, Jen!
Summary: One night, while remembering his mother, nine year old Killian Jones asks the man in the moon a question. The next thing he knows, he’s in a strange realm meeting a seven year old Emma Swan at a Valentine’s Day party. Could she be the answer to his question?
Rating: G
Trigger warnings: mentions of child abuse (very vague), and a very ill Killian as a child
Words: 6k and some change
Also on A03
Tagging my usuals:  @snowbellewells @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @superchocovian​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @optomisticgirl​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @nikkiemms​ @hollyethecurious​  @profdanglaisstuff​ @kday426​ @distant-rose​ @carpedzem​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @branlovestowrite​  @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @scientificapricot​ @snidgetsafan​ @vvbooklady1256​
When Killian Jones first saw Emma Swan, he had the strangest sensation that he had met her before. It was like a long-forgotten detail that niggled the back of his brain, and just as he began to grasp it, away it slipped like grains of sand. So he was delighted when it had been Emma Swan to volunteer to climb the beanstalk with him. “I was hoping it’d be you.” And as they climbed, he uncannily just knew things about her. That she was an orphan, for one. He wasn’t lying when he said she had the look of a lost boy in her eyes, but he noticed the look after the knowing. “Open book,” he had told her, but he hadn’t the slightest clue how or why.
The longer he knew her, the more he felt he had always known her. Of course, he never voiced this to Emma. He knew his Swan – he knew if he said such a thing it would terrify her. So it wasn’t until the night of their honeymoon, that he voiced it in the dark.
“From the moment we met, I have felt . . . like I’ve always known you.”
Emma surprised him with her response. “You too?” she asked, propping her chin on his chest. He could just make out the green of her eyes by the light from the bedside lamp. There was no fear there, not anymore.
Killian gazed down at her, confused. “You mean you’ve felt that way too?” At her answering nod, he asked, “How long?”
Emma snuggled into his side before answering. “Since the first day we met. I looked into your eyes and thought that I knew you from somewhere. I mean – I’m not saying it was love at first sight or anything-“ he could almost feel her roll her eyes at that notion – “it was more like a vague ‘I’ve seen this guy somewhere before,’ know what I mean?”
Killian chuckled, “Exactly.”
They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating what it might mean. Emma finally scooted herself up to nuzzle his neck. She murmured against his skin, “It’s probably just the whole true love thing.” How far his Swan had come to speak of it so matter-of- factly!
“Hmmm, “he sighed, as she lightly kissed his jaw. “And pray tell, love, exactly what does that mean?”
“You know,” she murmured as she lazily kissed a path across his face, “two souls destined to be together. Kindred spirits who recognized one another immediately, despite all reason. That sort of thing.”
And that was what they decided. The soul mates cliché. After all, what other explanation could there be?
*****************************************
 Nine year old Killian Jones stuck his head slowly out of the hatch leading below decks, so only his eyes were visible through a narrow crack. He searched carefully to be sure no other sailors were above deck. He knew, of course, that there was a sailor on watch up in the crow’s nest. But he would be scanning the skies and sea, not looking down below at the deck. Seeing that the coast was clear, Killian quietly slipped out on deck, padding silently to the railing. The wood was cool beneath his bare feet. He leaned over the railing and down at the water below. It was a calm night. He could even see the moon and a few stars reflected in the almost glassy surface of the sea, the image broken only occasionally by the undulating waves. He looked up at the velvet sky and reveled at the sight of so many stars twinkling down at him. He breathed in deeply the familiar scents: salt, seaweed, and damp wood. He listened to the familiar sounds of the ocean and the creaking and rocking of the ship. He felt the cool night air gently fan his flushed cheeks. This was what he needed so desperately after being cooped up for three whole days below deck. Even if the slight saltiness of the air stung his right cheek just a bit.
“Killian Jones! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
Slowly and reluctantly, Killian turned to face his older brother. Liam stood there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking far older than his 13 years.
“I just needed some fresh air, brother!” Killian tried to explain. “I couldn’t stay down there in the hold one more minute.”
“Little brother,” Liam said on a sigh, putting his hand gently on Killian’s shoulder, “you had a raging fever for three full days. The last thing you need is to stand out here, breathing in the deadly night vapors. You must remain abed until you get your strength back.”
Liam tipped Killian’s head up, then turned it to the side to look at his cheek. The deep cut there was still a bright, angry red, but the wound was no longer weeping. Killian saw the regret and guilt in his brother’s eyes.
“It could be worse, I suppose,” Liam grumbled, dropping his hand from Killian’s face. “You’ll have a scar, though.”
Killian decided that the best course of action was to make light of it. “Well, every good sailor worth his salt needs a scar,” he said brightly. Then he poked Liam in the chest, “And what do you expect? I was stitched up by a 13 year old.”
Liam winced. Okay, maybe it was too soon for that joke. But according to Cook, Liam may have saved Killian’s life.
“Well,” Liam replied, poking his little brother in return, “you should have kept your mouth shut, as usual, and refrained from setting off the Captain.”
Now it was Killian’s turn to wince. Liam was constantly berating him for his sass. “Just keep your mouth shut, Killian, and do as your told,” was the seemingly endless refrain from his brother’s lips. And it was true, Killian’s mouth was constantly getting him into trouble. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. A few days ago, the Captain had sent his youngest cabin boy below decks for some more rum. Unbeknownst to Killian, the barrel he had filled the decanter from was not properly sealed. Salt water had seeped in and ruined the rum. The Captain had taken a large gulp and promptly spit it out across his desk. He had roared at Killian, blaming him. Killian should have taken the scolding meekly and gone to get rum from the second barrel, but instead, as usual, he had opened his mouth.
“As drunk as you are, I’m surprised you noticed.”
The Captain had roared even louder and would have knocked his desk over if it hadn’t been nailed down. Instead he threw the glass tumbler in his hand right at Killian, who had ducked just in time. The tumbler smashed into pieces against the wall directly behind his head (really, who uses glass tumblers on a ship? was Killian’s ridiculous thought). Ducking hadn’t prevented a shard of glass from slicing across his cheek. The Captain screamed at him to get out, face red and eyes bulging. Killian had stumbled out, putting a hand to his stinging cheek. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. He wiped his bloody hand on his tunic, and reached up to his cheek again. By the time he stumbled on deck to his brother, his face and cheek were slick with blood again.
“Liam,” was all he managed to say before he swayed on his feet.
The rest was a blur. Killian remembered opening his eyes to find himself laid out on the table in the galley, Liam and the bos’un, Starkey, arguing.
“Cook’s gone to shore for supplies.” Starkey hissed, “What’ll we do?”
“I don’t know,” Liam hissed back, as if he didn’t want his brother to hear him. “Go to shore and look for him, or a healer.”
“Captain was adamant that his slaves stay on board. He may do worse to me and to Killian if we disobey. Besides, Killian needs help NOW. Look at how much blood –“
“Then what’ll you do?”
“Get Cook’s kit. I’ve seen him do it before . . . “
“Have you lost your senses?” Starkey practically screeched. “You’re just a boy!”
“Exactly!” Liam shot back. “I need you to hold him down. I’m not strong enough.”
Then Killian saw Starkey and Liam bending over him. Starkey and the Cook had taken a liking to Liam and Killian a year ago when their father had left. The boys trusted both men with their lives.
Starkey took Killian by the shoulders. He thought he remembered tears in the man’s eyes, but surely he had imagined that. “I’m sorry son.” Then the pain. Killian writhed and screamed. Then everything went dark.
When Killian awoke, he was in his hammock in the hold. He was shivering all over, and no matter how tightly he wrapped his scant blanket around him, he felt chilled. For three days, he drifted in and out of consciousness. He heard snippets of conversation around him.
“The wound’s turned septic.”
“I was a fool thinking I could stitch him up!”
“You did what you had to, my boy.”
“The Captain is demanding to know where his second cabin boy is. He has work he needs him to do.”
“Then stall, damn it!”
Concerned faces floated in front of him. Someone made him lift his head to drink some water. Extra blankets were tucked around him. It wasn’t until later that he realized his brother, Starkey, and Cook and given him there’s. As the fever raged higher, he started to hallucinate. Calling out to his mother. To his father. And most frightening of all, was the hallucination he had of Liam. His brother was weeping, begging him not to leave him alone. It had to be a hallucination. Liam never cried.
But by some miracle, this morning Killian had awoke sweating and hot underneath the pile of blankets. When Cook had come down to check on him, Killian had asked for something to eat. Cook laid a gnarled hand against Killian’s forehead, and then whooped with joy. He had never seen the man do anything but scowl. He tried to get up, but Cook, and later Liam, insisted he was too weak. The two of them and Starkey were covering for him; the Captain had been too drunk to know his smallest sailor was missing.
And that was why, on this night, Killian had snuck out of his hammock as soon as the rest of the crew was asleep. Staying in bed all day when he had all his wits about him was about to drive him mad. It was dark, stuffy, and hot in the hold with absolutely nothing to do. And now he had no doubt Liam would send him right back down there.
So Killian couldn’t believe it when Liam said, “Ok little brother, we’ll stay up her for a bit.” When he saw Killian’s grin, he hastily added, “But not for long, and you’re sitting down.”
Killian couldn’t argue with that, he was swaying a bit where he stood. The two boys sat side by side with their backs to the railing and looked up at the night sky.
“There’s a man in the moon tonight,” Liam pointed out. Killian looked up. Sure enough, there was the outline of a man’s face. “Do you remember what mother used to say about the man in the moon?”
Killian shook his head and sighed, “No brother, I sometimes fear I am forgetting her completely.”
Liam gave him a small, reassuring smile, “It’s not surprising. You were only seven when she passed. But I can tell you stories. That way, you won’t forget her.”
“Ok,” Killian agreed with a smile.
Liam cleared his throat. “She always said to give your problems to the man in the moon. But you had to make sure to tell him everything, so he had all the pieces. Like a puzzle. Then, while you were sleeping, he would work out the problem for you.”
Killian tilted his head up to gaze at the moon. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated. He knew he could remember his mother if he thought hard enough. He had to. Slowly, an image came to his mind. A smile that would light up a room. A turned up nose with a dusting of freckles. He saw her face, still a little fuzzy, leaning over him and wiping his brow. He was four or five and was ill. He saw curls framing the pretty face. Light brown, like his brother. Her eyes? He concentrated harder. They seemed to change color. Crystal blue when she was laughing. A stormy gray when she was arguing with his father. Sea green as she sang him to sleep.
“She sang us to sleep!” Killian exclaimed triumphantly. “And told us bedtime stories!”
Liam laughed softly, “That’s right. She had a beautiful voice. Her favorite was –“ and Liam began to sing haltingly:
Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s green; When I am king, dilly, dilly, You shall be queen Roses are red, dilly, dilly, Lavender’s blue. If you will have me, dilly, dilly, I will have you.
The song came back to Killian and he joined in. “I’ll say, little brother!” Liam exclaimed. “It seems you’ve inherited her singing voice.”
The boys continued gazing at the sky silently, lost in their own thoughts of their mother.
“Do you remember what you always asked her at the end of every story she told?” Liam finally broke the silence.
Killian laughed, “Yes I do. No matter what it was about, giants, kracken, true love’s kiss, I would always ask her if she believed in it.”
“And she would always say, ‘I believe in everything.’”
“Aye,” Killian scoffed, “and you would always roll your eyes and say it was silly.”
“Not you,” Liam chuckled, poking his ribs, “you would always loudly proclaim, ‘Then I believe in everything too!’ Momma’s boy.”
“Hey!” Killian protested, but he didn’t really mind his brother’s ribbing too much. His mother used to always says she couldn’t believe two brothers could be so different. Now that his memory had been jogged, more flooded into his mind. The clearest memory was the day his mother died. His father was away, he couldn’t remember where or why, but Elizabeth Jones had insisted on her boys being allowed in the sick room. Their father was a respected merchant, able to afford a housekeeper for his modest home. Little did they know he had gambled it all away. Agnes, the housekeeper, had tried to argue with Elizabeth, but to no avail. She dutifully brought the boys to their mother.
Elizabeth spoke to Liam first, asking him to look after Killian. “You are all he has left,” she had said. He now realized his mother had known their father wouldn’t stick around. She gave Liam a ring with a garnet stone, hanging on a chain. She slipped it over Liam’s head, saying, “This ring will always bring you safely home.” Liam had nodded solemnly and vowed that Killian would always be safe.
“Killian,” Elizabeth had called, gesturing to her youngest son. Killian stepped to her bedside, unable to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Liam was strong, but he was weak. “Killian, you have more love in your little finger than most people have in their whole bodies. When you love, you love fiercely, with all that you are. That is rare, my son. And it is strength. It will make you a hero some day.” At this, she took Killian’s freckled face in her hands. “No matter what happens, Killian Jones, no matter what mistakes you make – and we all make some – never forget that you are destined to do heroic things. Promise me you won’t forget.”
“I won’t mother,” Killian had sobbed. Then he had thrown his arms around her. Elizabeth had held him close, drawing Liam into the hug as well.
“Forgive me boys, for leaving you.” She wept. “I don’t want to.”
“Of course we forgive you, mother,” they had both declared. And the next morning, she was gone.
Killian looked up now at the man in the moon. He didn’t have a problem for him, not exactly. More a question. He realized he had broken his promise to his mother. He had already forgotten that he could be a hero. Because his mother was the only one who had ever seen that in him. So, with her gone, he had forgotten. Liam loved him, he knew without a doubt. But he always had the nagging feeling he was letting his brother down. “Why are you always getting into trouble, Killian?” “Can’t you keep your thoughts to yourself, Killian?” It was always something. So Killian Jones looked up at the moon and asked one single question as he closed his eyes.
“Will anyone ever see me the way my mother did?”
**************************************
Killian’s eyes blinked open. He must have fallen asleep on deck. But – something wasn’t right. The surface against his cheek was smooth and cold, not rough and damply warm like the wood of the ship. Someone was saying something to him. . .
“Sweetie . . . come on, sweetie, you need to wake up and get off the bus.”
Wait . . . what? Everything was off. The woman’s strange accent, calling him sweetie, and . . . what the bloody hell was a bus?
Killian jolted up, looking frantically around him. In front of him was a plump woman, middle aged, holding what looked like a rectangle of smooth wood.
“Wh-where am I?” he stuttered. He looked around him – it was all so strange. Two rows of leather benches with an aisle down the middle. And the entire thing was encased in some kind of metal? What was this place?
The woman in front of him chuckled. “You’re at the Valentine’s Day party. All the other children are already inside. You must have fallen asleep.” She looked down at her piece of wood. “Now, what is your name? I thought we had counted everyone.”
“K-Killian J-Jones.”
The woman frowned. “I don’t see your name here.” She shrugged and looked at him with sympathy. Killian wasn’t sure, but it seemed like she was staring at the cut on his cheek. “You must be a brand new arrival. I’ll add your name – go on inside.”
Killian didn’t know what else to do but obey her. He walked down the aisle towards a door at the front of the vehicle he was in. He guessed it was a vehicle. The seat at the very front had a wheel in front of it. He walked down the steps and onto a smooth, black surface. It was all so strange. He looked behind him at the vehicle he had just exited. Large and bright yellow with four enormous wheels. Bizarre. There were words painted across the side in black. He was grateful that Liam had continued his reading instruction after his mother passed. “Baptist Children’s Home.” A children’s home. A nice way of saying orphanage. Great. He was apparently in a strange realm, separated from Liam, and in an orphanage.
“Better hurry up,” the woman behind him admonished. “The food will all be gone.”
Food! Well, at least he wouldn’t starve. He could certainly eat before trying to get back home. Even Liam couldn’t argue with that. He saw a strip of white through a small green lawn. A path. It lead up to two large doors. From the doors and windows of the strange looking building poured a bright, glaring light. What type of lanterns did they have in this realm to make light that blinding? As he walked nearer to the doors and the light, he could see the kind of clothes he was wearing. His trousers were made of a stiff, blue material. The shirt he was wearing was thin, but soft, with strange pictures. The pictures were like nothing he had ever seen, but he could read the words “Star Wars.” That was odd. Over the thin shirt, he wore a short coat made of similar fabric as the trousers. He shivered a little as the wind blew. Seems orphans wore coats too thin in any realm.
Walking into the bright room was overwhelming. At first Killian didn’t know where to look. Glittering, paper hearts of red and pink were hanging on almost every surface of the room. Children of various ages were all around the room. Some were talking, some were playing what looked like carnival games, and at one long table children sat with more paper hearts, rubbing them with colored sticks. But what finally arrested Killian’s attention was the table draped in pink and red tablecloths in the dead center of the room. Food! He tried to calm himself as he approached the table, but he had never seen so many confections in his life! His mother used to make them shortcake with strawberries for their birthdays, but this! The table was a rainbow of color he had never seen on food before. Cakes, pastries, cookies, and . . . was that chocolate?! Pirates would raid ships carrying chocolate, vanilla, or cinnamon, but in this realm such things must be as abundant as sea water. Why else would they serve such rich foods to mere orphans?
Killian almost couldn’t decide what to try first when his eyes landed on a large, heart shaped cookie. The last one on its tray. It wasn’t just the enormous size of the cookie; it was the fact that it was completely covered in pink frosting. Killian had never had frosting in his life. He had seen wealthy patrons buy cakes with frosting from bakeries, but had never tasted it. He picked up the large cookie almost reverently, his mouth watering.
“Hey, kid! You ain’t eatin’ that! It’s mine!”
Before Killian knew what was happening an older boy who towered over him had shoved Killian and snatched the cookie from him. Killian clenched his fists as he watched the boy cram the cookie in his mouth. The bully laughed, his gaping mouth filled with pink frosting and mashed cookie. Killian felt the anger rising, and all reason flee. The boy was huge, but so help him . . .
“I can split mine.”
The soft, kind voice stopped Killian in his tracks. Forgetting his rage, he turned around to see a girl, not much younger than him, standing there with a heart shaped cookie extended to him in her small hand. She was dressed in a similar manner to every other child in the room: the blue trousers, the cotton shirt (with a glittery pink heart), the thin jacket, but she may as well have been the only one in the room wearing a ball gown the way Killian’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. He had seen Liam get tongue tied over girls, but it had never happened to Killian. Until now.
The girl laughed – a wonderful sound. Then she rolled her green eyes and cocked her blonde head. “So ya want the cookie or what?”
Oh, she was a tough lass. He could tell already. Speak, you idiot! Killian thought to himself, but all he could do was nod.
The girl carefully broke the cookie in two, handing half to Killian. Killian ate his half slowly, relishing every sweet bite. It was almost sickening it was so sweet. Almost. Then he shyly licked his lips and his fingers, watching the little girl. She laughed again.
“Didn’t get many sweets at your last home, huh?” She said. “Same here. My last place it was nothing but bologna sandwiches. That I had to make myself, of course. Guy spent all the state’s money on beer. My name’s Emma Swan. What’s yours?”
He hadn’t understood half of what she said. But he had sense enough to remember what Liam had told him about ladies. Whether a duchess or a slave, you should always be a gentleman when greeting a lady. So Killian took Emma’s hand, bowed over it and said, “Killian Jones, m’lady.”
Emma giggled. “You talk funny!” Killian’s face fell until she said, huge smile on her face, “But I like it!” Then he was elated. This Swan girl would be the death of him.
“You must be new,” she continued. “Is the cut why you’re here?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand . . . “
“This home, you don’t stay long. It’s for emergencies. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Emma rolled up her sleeve and showed Killian her wrist. On it was a scar, puckered and red. “Bologna and beer guy. From his cigarette.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but he saw a little wetness in her eyes.
Killian gently patted his cheek. “Glass of rum,” he told Emma with a smile, “he threw it at my head.”
She smiled back and he just stood there stupidly. “I’m nine,” he finally said, “how old are you?”
“Seven,” she answered, then abruptly grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s do something! The craft table is lame, totally for babies. But they’ve got some good games.”
Emma dragged him to a table with little darts laid across it. On the wall behind the table was a dartboard surrounded by shelves of stuffed toys. Emma picked up a dart and showed it to Killian.
“Suction cup darts. Don’t want to give the screwed up orphans real ones,” then she laughed. Seven and already cynical. Yeah, Killian could relate.
She leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear, and he thought his heart might pound right out of his chest. “I want the duck. Think I can do it?”
“I think you could do anything,” he whispered back. And he meant it.
He watched as Emma picked up a dart and concentrated on the board, her tongue sticking adorably out of the corner of her mouth. The first dart didn’t even make it to the board, and the second dart hit two circles from the edge. Emma blew out her breath and narrowed her eyes as she threw the third dart. Close, but no bullseye. Emma sighed.
“Sorry kid, you only get three tries,” said the volunteer.
“Figures,” Emma grumbled.
“I’ll give it a try,” Killian said. The volunteer gave him his three darts. Killian tried to ignore the fact that Emma was watching him, but it was bloody hard to ignore her. His first throw hit the edge of the board and bounced off crazily. He breathed in deeply on his second. He had to win that duck for Emma! His second dart hit on the very edge of the bullseye and he heard Emma cheer beside him. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the bullseye, tossed the dart and …
“We have a winner!” exclaimed the volunteer. “Now, what would you like, little boy?”
Killian didn’t hesitate. “The duck.”
Killian thought it was obvious that he had played for Emma, but when he turned to her and placed the duck in her hands, her mouth dropped open.
“You won this for me?” she whispered, hugging the duck to her chest.
“Of course I did,” Killian said with a shrug. Why wouldn’t he? He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. He scratched behind his ear. “I mean, you did share your cookie.”
Suddenly Emma was grabbing his hand and dragging him along. Again. Not that he minded. He would follow this angel anywhere. The two of them slipped out of a side door and then down a dark hallway. Emma stopped in front of a heavy oak door.
“We’re not supposed to be here,” Emma whispered conspiratorially. “You just got here, so you haven’t come to the Bible lessons yet, huh.”
“Bible lessons?” Killian asked, once again confused.
“Yeah,” Emma whispered back. “They’re not so bad. They read you a story, you make a lame craft, play a game. There’s cookies and juice. That’s the best part.”
The only thing Killian really understood was the part about cookies and juice. Food was certainly easy to come by in this realm.
“I mean, it’s the deal with this place. Bible lessons every Wednesday afternoon. But they take us places. I’m hoping I’m still here next week. We’re going to the movies. I’ve never been.”
Once again, Killian had no idea what Emma was talking about. “So what’s behind the door?” Kilian asked.
“Oh, right,” Emma laughed. “The first Wednesday I came here, I had to go to the bathroom. And on my way back to class, I saw colored light shining through the little window here in this door. I was curious, so I snuck in. And . . . it’s sort of my special place. I wanted to show it to you.”
Emma was the one who seemed shy now, chewing on her bottom lip. Killian smiled at her,” I would be honored to see it, Swan.” Emma giggled, and somehow he knew he was “talking funny” again.
Emma pushed open the heavy door and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then she silently motioned for Killian to follow her. When he followed Emma into the room, he gasped. This must be a cathedral! he thought. Each side of the massive room was lined with exquisite stained glass windows. The room was dark, but the moonlight poured through the colorful windows, spilling colored light onto the carpeted floors. “I see why this is your special place,” he breathed.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Emma agreed, “but I have a special spot. Come on.”
And she was pulling him along again. Did Emma Swan ever slow down? Killian didn’t think so. She stopped at the end of a pew and plopped down on the carpeted floor, her back against the wood. She yanked Killian’s hand to sit down next to her. Just a foot in front of them was a beautiful scene in stained glass. It was a man (the same man who seemed to be in a lot of the glass pictures) seated on a rock, surrounded by children. The man’s face seemed gentle and kind, and the children looked at him with smiles on their faces. One little boy sat on his lap, and he had placed his hand on a little girl’s head. At the bottom of the window, in the stained glass, were the words, “Let the little children come unto me.”
“Who is that man?” Killian asked.
“Jesus,” Emma answered. “You’ll hear a lot about him in this place, trust me.”
“Is he a god of this realm?”
More giggling from Emma. “Realm? Yeah, they say he’s god.”
“So you worship this god?” Killian asked, trying to understand fully why this was her special place.
“No,” Emma sighed, “I mean, I don’t really know what to think about him. But the first night I came in here, we had just heard this story. Jesus was really important, so they tried to send the kids away, they thought he was too busy. But Jesus said the kids could come and actually told the grown-ups they ought to be more like the kids.”
“Really?” Killian asked, surprised. Liam was always telling him to grow up.
“Yeah, I know. And then I saw this window, and I don’t know, it’s just – the Bible teacher said Jesus meant that kids believe stuff real easy.” Emma pulled her knees up to her chest. “But I’m only seven, and it’s getting harder and harder to believe in stuff, you know?”
Killian thought of his mother. I believe in everything. What had happened to the little boy who would echo those words back to her? Killian sighed, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“And in this home, they keep going on and on about how Jesus cares for the orphans. And I want to believe that someone cares – anyone – but it’s just so hard. So when I come in here and look at this window, I imagine those children are orphans. And for one moment, I don’t know. I feel . . . I feel . . .”
“Hope?” Killian supplied.
Emma looked at him and smiled. “Yeah.” Then she took Killian completely by surprise and rested her head on his shoulder. They both gazed up at the window for a while in silence, and then he heard Emma softly snoring. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, and suddenly felt very, very tired . . .
************************************
“Killian! Killian, wake up!”
Suddenly, Killian felt someone shaking him. He felt damp wood beneath him and smelled salty air. He groaned. His head felt full of cotton and his limbs felt heavy.
“Killian,” Liam spoke urgently, “we fell asleep, and now you’re burning up. I’ve got to get you back to bed.”
Liam began yanking Killian to his feet, and Killian didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Swan?” he asked. He was on his feet now. Liam tried to pick Killian up, but he wasn’t strong enough. Killian swayed and leaned into his brother.
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, little brother, now walk.”
“The – the swan. With golden hair. She was a little angel.”
Liam chuckled. “You’re fever is definitely back. You’re hallucinating. Besides, you said girls were a nuisance.”
“Not this one,” Killian mumbled as Liam helped him below and then into his hammock. “Bloody brilliant she was. Amazing.”
But Liam was right, his fever was back. Killian spent two more days in a feverish fog, and when he woke up he assumed the blonde angel and her strange realm had all been a dream. And as hundreds of years ground away at his heart and mind, even the dream faded almost into oblivion.
*************************
Killian and Emma knew that the other parents of Storybrooke were probably rolling their eyes at the idea of taking an 8 month old to a Valentine’s Day party. Although none of them should have been surprised. As orphans, they had missed out on so much. They were determined to give their little girl everything they had missed out on. Children’s events at the public library were one of them.
Belle had always been a natural at running the library, but after becoming a mother she took it to a whole other level. She convinced Regina to approve the addition of a children’s wing, and she kept said wing abuzz with activity. Storytime, laptime, babytime, summer reading programs, and countless special events were a welcome improvement over research to defeat monsters and secret war councils. In the peace that had descended on Storybrooke, the Jones family were Belle’s number one customers. They brought baby Elsa to babytime every Wednesday morning, alternating weeks. Belle had tried not to chuckle the first time Killian brought her. Elsa couldn’t even hold her head up yet, so when they sang the song about riding a pony to town, Killian couldn’t bounce her on his knee like he was supposed to. So really, was a Valentine’s Day party that crazy of an idea?
Granted, Elsa drooled, babbled, and squealed her way through storytime about two rabbits who try to outdo each other with declarations of love. Emma had basically done the craft for her after Elsa tried to eat the glue stick. And now Killian was trying to figure out how to balance a plate of food with his good hand while holding Elsa in his other arm. He was trying to grab Emma’s attention across the room where she was talking to Snow, but with no luck. Suddenly, Elsa made a grab for Killian’s plate, taking a heart shaped frosted cookie into both her chubby hands. She squished the cooked delightedly and then tried to cram the confection into her mouth with both fists.
“Oy, little pirate lass!” Killian pouted. “That was your Papa’s cookie!”
Killian heard a chuckle behind him. He turned to see Emma, holding another cookie out to him.
“Wanna split mine?”
And suddenly, just like that, they both remembered. They both gasped.
“It was you!” Emma exclaimed first.
“I thought it was a dream.”
“I thought you were an imaginary friend,” Emma laughed. She stepped forward and drew her thumb across the scar on his cheek. “Rum, huh? Figures.”
Killian grinned. His hands were full, so he gestured with his head to her wrist. “So that’s why you got the tattoo?”
“Yeah,” Emma said while rubbing her wrist, “the scar never did go away.”
They just stood there staring into one another’s eyes, both their hearts breaking for the little lost girl and the little lost boy.
“But how?” Emma asked, shaking her head.
“I don’t know,” Killian shrugged. “All I know is, I fell asleep asking the man in the moon a question. And the next thing I knew . . .”
“Seriously?” Emma rolled her eyes. “The man in the moon? What did you ask him?”
“If anyone would ever see me the way my mother did.”
Emma cocked her head to one side. “Mmhm, and how did she see you?”
“A boy who could be a hero one day.” Killian’s smile lit up his face as he leaned down to kiss his Swan. But before the kiss could get really good, two chubby hands patted Killian’s cheek, covering him in pink frosting. Killian pulled back, both he and Emma laughing. Emma reached up with a napkin to wipe the frosting out of Killian’s scruff.
“What happened to the duck?” Killian asked. “It didn’t earn a place in your memory box?”
Emma laughed. “You’ll never believe this. Another kid stole it.”
“Stole it?”
"Yeah, the same kid who stole your cookie.”
Killian rolled his eyes. “Figures. We were truly made for each other Swan.” And he bent to kiss her againn.
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rena-rain · 5 years
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Reverse Crush Copycat
Marinette looked down and saw a crowd gathering in the park from her balcony. “What is going…oh! Oh, oh, oh! The unveiling’s happening in just a few minutes!” She lurched toward her trap door to get onto her loft and transform in private.
“Time to transform, Tikki.”
“You’re sure excited to get to this ceremony,” Tikki said.
“It’s so cool that an actual sculptor made a statue in our honor! Let’s go, Chat Noir might already be there!”
“Ohhhhh.” Tikki got up in Marinette’s face. “That’s why it’s so important to you.”
“It’s just that I never get to see him unless there’s an akuma attack! The whole fighting evil and secret identities thing doesn’t exactly let us hang out much. Besides, I can’t let the people of Paris down – Alya’s going to be filming the whole thing. Spots on!”
Ladybug twirled in the air and landed gracefully on the covered statue’s pedestal. Cameras flashed, the crowed cheered, and she waved at them, just a little embarrassed at all the attention. She looked around anxiously but Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen.
“H-hi, Ladybug!”
She looked down. “Oh! You’re Theo, right? The artist? I can’t wait to see these sculptures, I’m sure they’re amazing!”
“Thank you Ladybug I’m so happy you came! I just wanted to ask you – ” Theo got cut off by a new wave of cheers.
Chat Noir had arrived, waving cheerfully at the crowd in that cute little kitten crouch he liked to perch in. Ladybug’s heart leapt and she almost lost her balance jumping to her feet. Trying to school herself, she cocked a hip and looked down at her partner. “Hi Kitty. I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
“And miss seeing my beautiful face cast in bronze? No way. I’d never let the people of Paris down like that.” He winked at her.
Ladybug blushed and giggled. She sat down when Mayor Bourgeois stepped up before the crowd, so as to not block the view. “Ladies and gentleman. It is only proper that we pay homage to those who keep us safe from evil. Ladybug and Chat Noir!”
The sheet got pulled off, revealing a truly stunning bronze statue. Ladybug marveled at how her metal counterpart looked like she was actually flying. Even her yoyo practically floated in the air. Also, sculpture-Chat’s face was right in front of her. Like right in front of her face.
“It’s amazing,” she exclaimed.
“Yep. Sure is,” Chat Noir agreed. “Awesome job, man.” He and Theo fist-bumped then he leapt toward the crowd. “I have time for a couple of questions. Hey, I heard you run the best blog in town, want an exclusive?”
Ladybug smiled at him. It was so sweet watching Alya vibrate with excitement while Chat Noir cheerfully answered her questions.
“Ladybug?”
She turned her attention to Theo and kicked herself for getting distracted. Again. She slipped to the ground. “The statue’s absolutely beautiful, Theo. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Well, maybe you could, if I could get an autograph?” He shyly held out a photo of her swinging through the city skyline.
“Of course. Can I borrow a pen?” Ladybug signed the photo and handed it back to him, careful not to crinkle the paper. She thought she should leave – there was no rest for the homework-swamped – but Theo started talking quickly.
“Thank you, I’m so happy you liked the statue. I just wanted to tell you, I admire you so much. You’re so passionate and brave…I feel like we have a lot in common. I put everything I had into your statue.” He stared down at her with huge, smitten eyes and a soft little smile. Oh, no. Oh, this is awkward.
Ladybug folded her hands trying to look calm for the onlookers. “I’m flattered, Theo. Truly. But there can’t be anything between us. I have to keep my secret identity safe, and…” Unbidden, her eyes slid toward Chat Noir, who was still talking to Alya and striking goofy poses in front of the camera while she laughed at him.
“And you’re in love with Chat Noir.” It wasn’t a question.
Ladybug immediately stammered out something intelligible. Theo sighed. She tried to play it off. “I’m ver-very – I’m fond of Chat, he is my partner after all!”
“Even though he’s flirting with other girls.”
She whipped her head around to see what Theo was talking about, but Chat and Alya were still mid-interview even as the rest of the crowd steadily dissipated. The reporter said something with a quirked eyebrow (her classic gotcha face) and he gave her a playful, over-the-top bow. A little defensive fire for her kitty flared up in Ladybug’s stomach. That wasn’t flirting. He just likes to make ridiculous jokes to redirect the press, that’s all!
“Chat Noir is my partner and vitally important to keeping Paris safe. He’s kind and selfless and he deserves the sculpture you made just as much as I do.” She put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re really sweet and really talented but it’s just not possible. I hope you understand.”
Theo nodded and left without meeting her eyes. She felt guilty for hurting his feelings, but what could she do about it?
“Whoa, he doesn’t look happy.” Ladybug jumped and squealed at Chat’s voice right next to her. “What were you two talking about?”
“I – I think he likes me. You know, likes me likes me. And I had to turn him down. Kitty, I think I hurt him.”
Chat Noir wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. She gasped, heart pounding against her ribs.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s a celebrity crush, he’ll get over it. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Besides, between you and me, he’s a little too old for you.”
As quickly as her whole body had gone into crisis mode, a wave of comfort washed over Ladybug. Chat was weird that way. He set her on fire then in the same minute set her completely at ease. “Oh yeah? How do you know how old I am?”
Chat put his other hand on his hip. “Well, I have a feeling you and I are about the same age, Bug, and he’s definitely too old for me.”
She laughed and regretfully slipped out from under his arm. “Thank you, Chat Noir. My friend’s probably looking for me, so I should go.”
He gave her his signature bow. “Until next time.” He took out his staff and pole vaulted over the rooftops, disappearing from sight.
 --
Marinette’s phone rang with a facetime from Alya. She swiped it open. “Hey. I thought you’d be over here showing me all the footage from the unveiling ceremony. Where are you?”
“The Louvre! I’m waiting for new deets on the Chat Noir robbery.”
“Somebody robbed Chat Noir?” Marinette asked.
“No! Chat Noir stole the Mona Lisa in broad daylight!”
“What? No way. Chat Noir would never do something like that!”
“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either, I interviewed him just an hour ago! Ladybug’s sure to show up so I’m gonna be here a while, sorry girl.”
“Don’t worry about it. Is there any actual proof of this ‘robbery’?”
“The video’s all over the web. I’m shocked you haven’t seen it yet.”
“I’ll go watch it now. Let me know what you find.”
“See you later!”
The line went dead and Marinette stood up. “This has to be a fake. I don’t buy Chat Noir’s a thief for a second. Time to transform; Tikki, spots on!”
Her suit flashed onto her body and she booked it to the Louvre as fast as she could. She landed next to Mayor Bourgeois; hopefully she could talk some sense into him. “Mr. Mayor, there has to be some mistake. I know Chat Noir, he’s a superhero, not a thief.”
“Kitty’s in the slammer, Ladybug.” The policeman who spoke, a man she recognized as Sabrina’s dad, sauntered up to them with a pleased look on his face.
“But – ”
She got cut off by a large pudgy hand in her face. “Now, now, let the experts handle this. We’ve got the situation under control.”
“Obviously you don’t, because you’ve imprisoned the wrong cat.”
The cop radio bleeped. “Chat Noir’s getting away.”
Good kitty, she thought. Ladybug sprinted inside and down the stairs, finding at least a dozen cops spread across the floor.
The policeman came huffing and puffing behind her. “Great, he’s gone. If he’s so innocent then why is he running away?”
She glared at him. “Wouldn’t you run if you were wrongly imprisoned? I’m telling you, there’s a copycat out there somewhere!”
He wasn’t listening to her anymore but giving instructions into his radio. Fuming, she felt her yoyo go off at her hip. If Chat was calling her, hopefully that meant he’d gotten away. She slinked off somewhere deserted to answer it.
“Kitty, do you know what’s going on?”
“Hey LB! So, I’ve been framed…”
“Is now really the time for art jokes? The police are trying to arrest you!”
“Which is all kinds of messed up. Just because I’m a cat doesn’t mean I’m a cat burglar.”
“I know you’re innocent, Kitty, but we need to find out what’s really going on. I’m thinking someone got akumatized.”
“Yeah, and I think I know who.” Chat held up a partially chewed lollipop stick in front of the camera. “Look familiar?”
“Ew, no, should it?”
“It’s the same – ” Loud sirens drowned him out from his end and he looked upward, panicked. “Cops are on my tail, I’ll get back to you!” The call cut out abruptly.
Ladybug followed the police helicopter and the sounds of sirens as far as she could, but eventually came to a dead end. Five cop cars were jammed at a metro entrance. She looked around on the ground but she couldn’t see him. She hoped he hadn’t detransformed and called him.
Thankfully, Chat answered.
“Ladybug, I’m at Theo Barbeau’s workshop.”
“What? Why?”
“He was chewing on that lollipop stick at found at the Louvre, and it’s the same one Copycat had in the video. What I don’t get is why he got akumatized after the mayor himself unveiled his statue today.”
Ladybug groaned. “I think I have an idea. Send me the address.”
“Gotcha. Meet me here, I’m going in.” Chat hung up.
“Chat, no, wait for me! Ugh.” Ladybug checked the location he sent her and swung in that direction.
 --
After the battle (and Ladybug would admit to no one that watching two Chat Noirs fight each other was a little bit distracting), and as the miraculous ladybugs cleared, Ladybug saw Chat Noir catch Theo in his arms and set him gently to the ground. He handed him back the newspaper photograph and talked quietly with him. He leapt to his feet when Ladybug approached.
“Hawk Moth’s got a sick sense of humor. Poor guy was jealous ‘cause he thought you and I were in love.”
Ladybug laughed nervously. “Wh-w- what? Like us, together? Where did, hehehe, I have no idea where he got that idea!”
Chat gave her a friendly shoulder bump. “Don’t worry, Bug, I straightened it all out with him.” His ring beeped with one flashing paw pad left. “Gotta go, I’m about to transform back.”
Ladybug knelt next to Theo as Chat ran off. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry, Ladybug.”
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone gets jealous. Just run as fast as you can next time you see a black butterfly, okay?”
He smiled at her. “Promise.”
“Besides, I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”
“I understand. You can’t help who you love.”
Ko-fi
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Hi! I... love your writing so much? It makes me very happy asdfghjkls; 💕💕💕 Could I, um, request 19 for the prompts with Javid?
Thank you so much!!
Read on Archive of our own!
* * *
Title: Is this love?
Relationship: Javid
Genre: Fluff, so much fluff
Words: 1.2k
* * *
It was night, one of those warm summer nights when the day’s heat hadn’t yet disappeared entirely, despite the fact that the sun was setting. Jack and Davey both laid in bed, too tired from the day’s rushed schedule to keep up a conversation. Their day had been far too busy in Jack’s opinion - it was summer break after all, shouldn’t they relax? - filled with carrying boxes and sweating in the merciless sun while Mush and Blink ran around their new apartment like giddy children. The newly moved-in boyfriends had bought all of them pizza, as a thank you for the help with moving, so it could have been worse. And if Jack was honest with himself, the enthusiastic looks his friends had shared all day had been more than enough to make up for the soreness he would feel tomorrow. He had caught the two of them giggling together like schoolgirls a few times during the day, but hadn’t been able to find the heart to remind them to keep carrying boxes into the apartment. Walking around - and realizing that this is it, his friends are becoming adults and graduating college and buying apartments - had made him feel something, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Excited, sure. And happy for his friends. But also sort of longing for something.
He and Davey had walked home, idly chatting about nothing in particular, and Jack remembered how warm Davey’s hand had been in his, and how calming his presence had been beside him. A steady constance that he knew wouldn’t change, even if their friend’s were all growing up and getting jobs while he’s still slaving away for an art degree.
Their window was cracked opened, and a light breeze sought its way into the room and provided some relief to the clammy warmth in the room. Jack rolled over to his side and felt the covers twist around his torso as he did. Davey had his eyes closed, one hand under his pillow and the other stretched out beside him. There was a shine to his forehead - no doubt sweat - despite the fact that they had taken a cold shower right before going to bed. Jack’s fingers brushed over his cheek, almost without him meaning to. Then he retreated his treacherous hand, because he knew how much Davey loved sleeping and how annoyed he would be if he was woken in the middle of the night. Jack watched him for another moment, not really being able to tear his gaze away. Davey’s brow furrowed, as if he was having a nightmare, before smoothing out again after a second.
And there it was again, that pang of longing Jack couldn’t explain. A deep pull in his stomach aching, almost like a hunger he didn’t know how to still.
Was this love? Like an unyielding battle inside of him, tearing at his stomach, and heart, and lungs, fighting despite the fact that it was already won?
Jack knew he loved David, he had known it for a long time. The fact that they had known each other for years before they started dating had turned their whole relationship backwards. They had said they loved each other many time before they kissed for the first time, before even going on their first date. The words had been said so many times between them that some would argue they were losing their meaning.
But now, laying in the bed with Davey next to him, Jack was certain that wasn’t the case. How could something lose its meaning just because you said it many times? The words weren’t less true just because they were spoken repeatedly. And besides, it was something he couldn’t possibly keep to himself anyway, he wasn’t nearly strong enough for that.
He brushed his fingers over Davey’s face again, this time touching his nose and forehead, smoothing out invisible lines that could only be seen when Davey was very concentrated. His nose twitched and Jack could see a small pull at the corner of his lips. Then his eyes fluttered opened, and their eyes met.
“Why are you awake?” Davey asked. His voice was laced with sleep and kind of rough but also quiet and soft. The pull in Jack’s stomach intensified, urging him to move closer, to touch and to hold and to never let go, and to tell him…
“I love you.”
Davey yawned. “That’s nice. Is that why you’re awake?”
Jack moved closer and wrapped an arm around Davey’s side. It was way too warm to lay so close, but Davey didn’t complain. “I’m awake because I keep thinking about how much I love you.”
Davey closed his eyes, but smiled and nodded before resting his forehead against Jack’s. “Maybe you should sleep.”
Jack let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It feels like something inside of me is moving, and growing, and pulling at me to do something, but I can’t figure out what it wants me to do, until I see you. And then I… Understand. Because it’s you, it’s always you.”
“The thing inside of you wants you to do me?”
Jack shoved Davey, who laughed breathily. “I’m opening my heart to you, here, and you’re being an asshole.” But there was a smile in Jack’s voice, just to make sure Davey knew he wasn’t really upset.
“Sorry,” Davey mumbled into Jack’s neck. “It’s just that I’m only now realizing what a big mistake it was to date an artist. So many metaphors.”
“You’re a writer!”
Davey was smiling widely now. “Right, right…”
They were both quiet for a moment. Jack started tracing words and pictures with his finger on Davey’s arm. He bit his tongue for almost a whole minute, before feeling the creature inside of him urge him on again. He stilled his hand and looked up at Davey’s face. His eyes were still closed, mouth half opened, breathing slowly in and out.
“Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“How much do you love me?”
Davey rolled over to his back. “A lot more if you let me sleep.”
Jack giggled and scooted closer. “Please.” He leaned over and placed a light kiss below Davey’s ear. “How much do you love me?”
Davey’s eyes fluttered opened again and he turned back. “You really want to know?”
Jack nodded. Davey’s gaze was hesitant now, not teasing like it had been a minute ago. It took him a long moment to say anything, and Jack could almost see the thoughts fly through Davey’s brain, trying to string words together.
“I…” Then Davey stopped and retreated back into himself for a couple of seconds before opening his mouth again. “I think… I think I love you more than, more than my mind and body can handle. I think that if I think too long or too hard about how much I love you, I might explode because a human can’t handle feeling this much at once.”
His gaze broke from Jack’s and instead moved to the open window, out of which a street lamp and a tree could be seen from the bed. Jack didn’t follow his gaze, however, as he was too busy watching his boyfriend breathe in and out at a steady pace. He smiled. “And you called me sappy.”
“I never called you sappy.”
“It was implied.”
Davey snorted softly and shook his head. There was another minute of silence before he turned back and looked at Jack. “What brought this on?” he asked.
Jack moved forward and kissed him softly. “You did.”
* * * 
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pengychan · 5 years
Text
[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 13
Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.
Art by Dara.
[All chapters are tagged as 'mind the gap’ on my blog.]
A/N: Not much smut, lots art. And also Dante. I hope you enjoyed things going smoothly in these past few chapter, because that’s not gonna last. 
***
“You know it’s just for a few days, right?”
“Sure.”
“They’ll be back home by Sunday.”
“Mhhh,” Ernesto grumbles, looking away from him to fix his jacket, and Héctor rolls his eyes. Oh, of course he’s gonna be like that: he’s always like this when he’s denied something… or in this case told that no adult fun is going to be happening in his and Imelda’s apartment for a bit, due to Imelda’s brothers visiting. 
It’s not like we can let them know of this arrangement, Imelda told him the previous day, practical as always, and Héctor agreed… though somewhere in the back of his mind he did wonder if they’d really take it so badly. They’re young, both much more open-minded than their parents would be, and would know better than babbling; still, he understands and shares her decision to keep it under wraps. 
Part of him feels as though the arrangement works as long as it was kept in a bubble, only the three of them in it, no explanations needed or given. If asked to explain it to someone else, and put it into words… Héctor isn’t sure what he might find himself saying. Nor is Imelda, and Héctor suspects it worries her more than it worries him. 
As long as no one else knows, they don’t need to explain a thing. Not even to themselves. 
Héctor chases away the thought and glances over at Ernesto, who’s still frowning at the mirror. “Think you can stop pouting anytime soon?”
“I’m not pouting, I--”
“Héctor, Ernesto!” Armando’s voice rings out from behind the door, followed by a knock. He opens the door without even waiting to be told he could come in, a clipboard in his hand. “The room is almost set up. A few rehearsals, then we start recording.”
Ernesto makes a face. “Do we have to?”
Armando raises an eyebrow at him. He has unusual, dark green eyes, and Ernesto muttered once - thankfully out of his earshot - that there is no way he’s not into men and that, under different circumstances, he could get him in his bed within a week. Héctor laughed, but was very careful not to ask what he’d meant with that about circumstances. 
That, too - Ernesto has slept with no one else other than them for several months now - is something he knows, but chooses not to dwell on. It’s for the best.
Entirely unaware of his thoughts, Armando is speaking to Ernesto. Slowly. “... Recording is generally an important step in putting together an album.”
“I mean the rehearsals.”
A sigh. “We’ve been over this. The answer is yes,” Armando says, and gives a light pat to the clipboard, like a judge slamming down the gavel after uttering a sentence. “Don’t pout like that, I’m certain you’ll enjoy yourselves. It’s our best recording studio. We start in fifteen minutes,” he adds. 
As he leaves, Héctor is unable to hold back a grin. “You do pout.”
“Chingate.”
“Oh, you wish you could do that,” Héctor replies, gaining himself a shove - but by the time they start playing to warm up, the pout is gone. Then they start recording and Ernesto plays with so much energy, the kind he only has before huge crowds, and it’s enough to chase any lingering shadows away from Héctor’s mind as he follows suit.
***
“... Huh. What’s that cabrón doing in the courtyard?”
“You’ll need to be more specific,” Imelda mutters without looking up from her tablet. She’s having a look at potential places to rent for a proper shop - best to think ahead and look at the options, now that things are looking so good for Héctor and Ernesto’s venture - and has already bookmarked a few interesting ones, all pretty close to home. “What cabrón? Could be Chicharrón, Gustavo, the guy from the fifth floor with the sweaty hands--”
“Gustavo,” Ernesto replies, still peering out of the window.
As though summoned, Héctor peers in from the kitchen. He’s been cooking - he can cook very few dishes, but they always turn out amazing - and Ernesto’s chihuahuas are following him around, eyes huge and pleading for scraps. Imelda wonders when was it, exactly, that she lost the battle to keep them out of at least some rooms of the apartment. 
“Cheech is not that bad,” he protests. “He’s a good guy, deep down.”
“He threatened to beat you with his prosthetic leg last Tuesday,” Imelda reminds him.
“Very deep down.”
“Couldn’t one say the same of Gustavo?”
“No,” Héctor and Ernesto say at the exact same moment. 
“Gustavo is a jerk,” Héctor adds, and looks at Ernesto. “And you say he’s in the courtyard? Like he actually lives here? The horror!”
Ernesto rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, what is he doing-- he’s… setting up a cage?”
“... He’s what now?” 
Within a moment they’re all at the window, pressed together to fit. It reminds Imelda, briefly, of one time they all perched on the same branch outside a window to listen to Padre Edmundo’s drunk-like singing after root canal treatment. 
But back then, they had seen nothing other than the drawn curtains. Now they can see what Gustavo de la Jerk is doing, and he is… setting up a cage, just like Ernesto said. Before Imelda can even begin to wonder why, Héctor opens the window and leans out. 
“Oye, Gustavo! Decided to camp out?” he yells. That causes Gustavo to turn up, and scowl. 
“Oh, ha ha. You should thank me!”
“And why? For ruining the flower bed?” Imelda asks, raising an eyebrow. A few steps from him, the flower bed in question is a trampled mess. 
“That wasn’t me, I’m trying to solve the problem here! Some stray Xolo dog keeps getting in somehow--”
“A Xolo dog?” Héctor repeats. 
“Oh, of course you didn’t notice, señor Head Stuck In Clouds! It comes in, sniffs around, makes a mess of all the plants. It’s worse than the rats your amigo brought in! Yelping all the time!”
“They have to be loud, pendejo,” Ernesto snaps back. “Someone has got to be of service and cover the noises you strangle out of that violin.”
A furious glare, but as he and Héctor just so happen to be the ones with a record label contract under their belt, he clearly decides not to argue. Instead, he points at the cage. “Well, at least I am trying to solve the issue with that thing. I’m catching it and calling animal control. Which is something the administrator should be doing,” he adds with a scoff. For a moment, Imelda can almost sympathize: Chicharrón is the worst possible choice for an administrator, and to this day she has no idea how he ended up with the role. She doubts he remembers it, either. 
Of course, her sympathy vanishes the next moment he speaks. 
“And besides, I haven’t seen you trying to solve a problem. Remember when you nearly set everything on fire with fireworks?”
“It was just Roman candles,” Héctor mutters, but he does look slightly sheepish; to be absolutely fair, the celebrations for Ernesto’s birthday got out of hand. Mostly because they had to make up for having… completely forgotten about it. 
It hadn’t been their fault, not really. Héctor was hopeless with dates, and Imelda… well, to be fair she had never really needed to memorize it. Ernesto would always start babbling about his upcoming birthday weeks in advance, bragging about the size of the party he was putting together and which would usually result in a lot of drunk people with very few memories of the previous night. 
This year, however - before they got the call for an appointment with the representatives of a record label, when it had looked like their career in music might never take off the way Ernesto had dreamed and that he was about to turn thirty without knowing real success - he just… hadn’t brought it up. At all. And neither her nor Héctor had remembered it until they were on the other side of Mexico City to buy some supplies for her workshop; only then had Héctor realized, in a sudden burst of clarity, that it was Ernesto’s thirtieth birthday.
He’d felt so bad they had returned sooner than planned, with cake and some Roman candles, only to meet Ernesto at the gate looking absolutely distraught, with four cranky chihuahuas in their carriers who wouldn’t even look at him. He’d been about to have a chocolate cupcake, he’d admitted, when he’d left to get a lighter to light up the lone candle on it and the dogs got to it.
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He didn’t know which one of them had actually eaten it, panicked, and taken them all of the vet where they were made to vomit it all out before it got into their system. Which had made for four healthy but angry Chihuahuas, and an even more depressed Ernesto.
Who, however, significantly perked up at both the cake and the Roman candles. Especially when Héctor held up the candles with a wide grin.
“Shootout?” he asked, causing Ernesto to finally grin back.
“You’ll regret asking.”
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What followed was a full-blown fight, with fireballs flying everywhere, yells and protests - “not my hair!” - as well as grumbling from several people with windows facing the yard. Imelda wasn’t supposed to join it, but of course she had in the end and of course she had won. 
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They returned to Ernesto’s apartment laughing like idiots, clothes and hair just slightly singed, to finally have the damn cake. And a sandwich, later. An Ernesto sandwich specifically, a birthday present he seemed to appreciate very, very much.
And all along Imelda pretended not to have noticed, on the small table by his couch, the letter his mother had asked Héctor to give him - still sealed, but not destroyed as he’d said he would. Maybe at one point, when it wouldn’t be such a touchy subject--
“-- And anyway it’s not like anything caught fire!” Ernesto is yelling, bringing her back to the present and to the situation at hand, before he slams the window shut. “Cabrón,” he huffs. 
Héctor, on the other hand, looks thoughtful. “A stray Xolo,” he mutters. “Maybe the one who followed me in the park?”
“Not impossible, I guess.”
“Maybe it’s looking for me.”
Both Imelda and Ernesto turn to look at him, taken aback, and Héctor seems to shrink a little, as though embarrassed by what he just said. “I swear it’s the one I saw in Santa Ceci-- ow!” he protests when Ernesto rolls his eyes and smacks the back of his neck. 
“Come on, we talked about this. There’s no way a dog followed here from Santa Cecilia.”
“That’s it, pendejo, that’s the last you touch me this week,” Héctor grumbles. He glances at Imelda, clearly looking for support, but this time she can’t really give it.
“Lo siento, but he’s right. Santa Cecilia is much too far for any dog to have just followed you,” she says, and her husband sighs, deflating a little. 
“True,” he says. “I guess it’s impossible.”
*** 
“Well, today didn’t go too badly.”
“You almost let them drive our car.”
“Almost being the key word.”
“Only because I was there to stop you,” Imelda points out, and Héctor grins, leaning in to kiss her nose before leaning his head down on the pillow. 
“Story of our life,” he mutters, and pulls her in his arms. She rolls her eyes, but rests gladly against him, closing her eyes. A couple of doors away, in the guest room, there is a yelp and a loud thump. They both ignore it, because you learn to ignore a lot of things when Óscar and Felipe are involved. 
“You’re not doing too bad at all,” she murmurs against his skin. “My brothers are a handful.”
“They’re fun.”
“They’re a health and safety risk.”
“But the fun kind.”
A chuckle. “You didn’t grow up with them. I have seen things.”
“I grew up alongside Ernesto, though.”
“Fair,” she mutters, and yawns. “Is he still pouting?”
“He didn’t pout, Imelda,” he protests, then sighs when she pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him. “... All right, he pouted a little. He probably got so used to spending the night here, I wonder when he last even changed his bedsheets downstairs.”
“A little too used to it. He could use a reminder that we are the married couple and he’s--” The third wheel, Héctor thinks, but Imelda doesn’t say it aloud. Still, there is something guarded about her tone now. “This was meant to be a one-time thing, and-- temporary.”
For a moment Héctor is sure she’s about today they went too far, that they must call it off, and it’s like a weight has been dropped on his stomach-- a sense of loss that is much like pain, and dread of what telling Ernesto will be like. But then she speaks again, and she… doesn’t say that.
“The arrangement is… unorthodox. However long it lasts, it must stay a secret.”
Well, no arguing there. “I know.”
“And my brothers are quite terrible at keeping secrets.”
“Like when they decided to dab into being magicians but couldn’t resist telling everyone what the trick was?”
Imelda laughs. “Sí,” she says, running her hand through Héctor’s hair. “Something like that.”
They say nothing more and lean down against each other, skin on skin, their breathing quiet. But Héctor doesn’t fall asleep for another while and, he can tell, neither does Imelda.
***
It isn’t that Ernesto is having trouble sleeping. It’s just that-- that-- fuck it, he’s having trouble sleeping.
He picked his bed king-sized for two main reasons: firstly he often had guests to entertain and, secondly, he just plainly liked having space in the occasions when he’d sleep there on his own. Now it feels… too big. He can stretch out his arm and meet nothing but the mattress, and it irks him in a way he can’t put into words.
This is stupid, Ernesto thinks, knowing full well keeping their arrangement from her brothers or… anyone else is simply the smart thing to do. I’m having a crappy night and I bet they are too. I bet they’re getting nothing done without me. 
At least he hopes so, because if it turns out they took advantage of his absence for fun he’ll be distinctly annoyed. 
His dogs being there with him - mostly on top of him truth be told, one of them sprawled across more mattress than he had any right to occupy - helps to some extent, he supposes, because Imelda doesn’t allow them in bed with them and you know what, her loss. 
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This isn’t too bad at all, he tells himself, and he finally falls asleep late at night. Only to be awakened, much too early for a Saturday morning, by screams.
“Mierd--” 
Thud.
“Ow!” As he lands on the hard floor, his dogs starting to bark hysterically, he can tell that the screams are coming from outside and not, as it seemed, from right next to his ear. Trying to ignore the way his heart keeps beating somewhere in his throat, Ernesto throws his window open and looks out. 
Inside the cage Gustavo left in the middle of the yard, there is a howling, hairless dog biting at the bars and bouncing around, rattling the metal. Well, look at that-- he managed to catch the stray. Problem solved, now it would be for animal control and… and… aaand apparently Héctor had some objections to it, because he was already running out of the block and into the yard, followed by two gangly teenagers who could only possibly be Imelda’s brothers. 
“Ah-ha! I finally got you! I-- hey! HEY! What are you doing, Rivera??”
Oh, of course, he should have known this would happen. With a sigh, Ernesto looks up to see Gustavo’s head poking out of his own window, looking constipated as always. Before he can yell something at him, he disappears from the window-- only to reappear half a minute later in the yard, running up to the trap right as Héctor and the twins manage to set the dog free. 
“Stop that! I have to call animal control!” Gustavo barks, only for Héctor to turn and glare at him. The dog is in his arms, tail wagging and ridiculously long tongue lolling. 
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“Well, good news!” one of the twins exclaims.
“We got this sorted!” the other continues. 
“So no need for animal control! Isn’t that lucky?”
Gustavo looks moments away from a stroke. “You can’t--”
“Adopt a stray dog? I believe I can,” Héctor replies, and walks back to the block, dog in his arms and twins at his heels, leaving behind a fuming Gustavo. His triumphant smile, however, wavers when he gets beneath Ernesto’s window and meets his gaze. 
Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “Looks like you got a dog,” he says, his own chihuahuas jumping up against his legs. “Congrats.”
“Er… thanks.”
“It’s not coming anywhere near mine, to be clear.”
“Look, I haven’t thought it that far. I haven’t thought a thing, really. And-- ay, Imelda. I have no idea how I’ll tell Imelda this,” he goans. The dog wriggles in his arms, licking his face, and Ernesto smiles. 
“Hold on a minute, I’m coming,” he says. 
A relieved smile. “Ah, thanks! I could use some help--”
“I’m not going to miss the scene.”
“... Cabrón,” Héctor mutters, and Ernesto laughs, getting back in to reach for his trousers. He can hear, faintly, the twins talking. 
“Maybe if you tell her he saved you from that guy...”
“Or a pack of rabid coyotes…”
“Rabid coyotes, in the middle of Mexico City?”
“Oh! I know, he pulled you out of the way of a road accident!”
“If you tell her we were driving, she’ll believe it.”
“You could argue she has a cat, so you get a dog.”
“Would be fair!”
“If we wash it really well before she comes home and put a bow on him…”
“Didn’t work with the fox, though.”
“Well, it did eat her parrot.”
“But we’ll think of something!”
Ernesto can hear his best friend sighing as they moved to the entrance. “Thanks, muchachos,” he says, “but maybe it’s best if you don’t.”
*** 
“... Héctor.”
“Sí?”
“What have you got there?”
Héctor’s eyes shift to the plastic glass in his hand, the other still holding onto the makeshift collar to keep a very excited dog from jumping up to Imelda and cover her in slobber. Like he’s already done to everyone else in the room, Pepita included, leaving muddy pawprints on… everything. “Horchata,” he finally says. 
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Imelda says nothing, but her own eyes shift to the dog. Then to the pawprints. Then on the smashed vase by the window, the victim of an enthusiastic tail wag. To the door leading to the bathroom, where - she can guess - a very much unwanted bath resulted in some noteworthy devastation. Eventually, her gaze pauses on the three faces peering at her from the doorwary. 
Two immediately disappear in a well-timed retreat. Ernesto stands his ground. 
“I tried to stop him,” he declares. 
“No,” Imelda says quietly, and with utmost certainty. “You did not.”
“I told him I don’t want that mangy thing anywhere near my pups. Counts as trying to stop him.”
“He’s not mangy,” Héctor’s protests. “He’s naturally hairless.”
“And very, very itchy,” Ernesto retorts. With the dog furiously scratching himself, and then starting to bite his own back leg, her husband knew better than to argue otherwise. 
“Well-- we’ll take him to the vet and get him checked over,” Héctor mutters.
Imelda smiles, a sweet kind of smile that never fails to make Héctor’s blood run cold. “Good idea. And what’s the plan after that, mi amor?” Her voice is rotting honey. At the doorway, she can see Ernesto is shifting uncomfortably and shrugging his shoulders.
You’re on your own, amigo, that shrug says. Her brothers are, of course, still gone from sight. Smart boys.
Héctor tries to answer with a sheepish smile. He looks far too nervous for that to work. “Uh, well. I mean, he’s purebred. Maybe he has an owner, the vet can check if he’s chipped.”
That could be a good point, Imelda almost concedes, but she shakes her head. “If you believed that, you would have let animal control handle it.”
“Well-- I didn’t want to let Gustavo win this one!”
Another good one. Imelda has to give him that. “... All right. We will take him to the vet. If he’s chipped and missing, good. If he’s not, it’s out of our hands and this is final.”
*** 
“A fungal infection. Really.”
“It’s not his fault! And-- look, we only need to take a few pills. It’s not like he has rabies.”
“Could have fooled me, with all that drool.”
“You’ve never seen a rabid dog, have you?”
“And I don’t plan to. Hey, if my hair starts falling off--”
“It won’t. It’s not mange, Ernesto. Just annoyingly itchy.” Héctor scratches his arm. “Anyway-- no microchip. That means no owner.”
“And that means he has nowhere to go!”
“And that means the pound!”
“And then death, of course!”
“He could very well be adopted--”
“And he needs medication!”
“For the fungal thing.”
“Will they keep up with his medication at all?”
“I bet they won’t bother.”
“Other dogs will bully him!”
“And steal his food!”
“And he’ll starve!”
“But no pressure.”
“None whatsoever.”
“... Thank God the two of you are going back to Santa Cecilia tomorrow.”
No reply, just two identical smiles. Behind them, Ernesto is almost sticking a fist in his mouth not to laugh - good for him, because if he does laugh he’ll never get back in the same bed as her. Héctor is smiling at her as well, tilting his head to the spot where the dog is sleeping, skinny legs sticking out in all directions and, most puzzling of all, with a purring cat over his chest. 
Traitor, Imelda thinks, but with no venom.
“Pepita likes him,” Héctor points out the obvious, delivering the lowest of low blows. Imelda draws in a deep breath. 
“... A week at most,” she finally says. Héctor smiles even more brightly and ah, damn him, he knows how much she loves that toothy smile of his.  
“A week,” he agrees. 
“And in that week, you’ll find him a home.”
“I will.”
“A home that is not ours.”
“Of course.”
“And you will not name him.”
“Aw, but--”
“No buts. If you name a street dog, you never get rid of it.”
“All right,” Héctor agrees, placing a hand on the dog’s. “No name.”
*** 
“Paco.”
“What?”
“He looks like a Paco.”
“He does not.”
“Loco, then.”
“That’s marginally more fitting, but too similar to Lobo’s name.”
“Who’s Lobo?”
“One of my-- do you just forget their names?”
“I known them collectively as the Chihuahua Pack.”
“... Fair.”
“How about… Perro!”
“And here I thought songwriters need to be creative.”
“Pelón? Or Tonto.”
“Both fit.”
“How about--”
“Dante.”
“Huh?” Both Imelda and Ernesto turn to glance at Héctor, who has just wrestled something out of the Xolo’s jaws. He holds up a chewed-up case of some old videogame he’s been re-playing recently, the title - Devil May Cry - barely readable. He grins.
“I say we call him Dante.”
*** 
Officially, they never decide to adopt Dante. It just sort of happens. If asked, Imelda will say they are waiting for a good home to come up for him - never mind they’re actually doing nothing to find it. So Héctor makes sure no one asks. 
The threat ‘if he eats one single shoe so help me’ remains a threat, because he never does go after shoes - the few times he got into her workshop, Pepita jumped on his head and led him into a chase, and he lost interest. He chews plenty of stuff - including a hair product Ernesto left at their place once - but never shoes. He never quite learns how to walk on a leash and pulls like a train, but Héctor can handle it without flying off after him. Most of the time. 
The fungal infection clears up, he is allowed to play with Ernesto’s chihuahuas, and the empty box of the medication they all used is thrown away, along with the instruction booklet full of details they didn’t really read.
Because really - who bothers with those?
***
“I had an idea.”
Héctor’s voice is little more than a gasp as he lays on the mattress, still panting, Imelda’s head on his shoulder and Ernesto’s arm across his chest. It causes Imelda to lift her head to glance down at him - her hair tickles, making him squirm.
Ernesto, on the other hand, groans. “Whatever it is, I’m spent. So can we discuss it--”
“You two should sing together!”
“... Right now? We can barely talk and--”
“No, no, not now! For the album!” he protests. Ernesto lifts himself on his elbows, and exchanges a baffled glance with Imelda before looking back down at Héctor. He rolls his eyes.
“There still is that song-- we could still use a female voice for it? And Armando’s idea to do a cover of La Llorona to have among the songs, you and Imelda could do it!”
She blinks. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m not! You sing well together. I’m sure Armando will agree!”
“Last time we tried, it didn’t work out,” Ernesto points out, like he wasn’t there to see it.
“Because you tried to sing over each other! Now you have--” he trails off before the words - come a long way - can leave his mouth. It is true, he knows that, but it would still feel like saying too much. Part of him fears what they have will be soured and lost if they speak of it, if they put too much thought in it. 
The part of him that longs to turn everything beautiful in his life into music aches, but he knows it’s not to be. Best not to look for words. 
“... You have a chance to try again,” he finally says. He runs a hand through Imelda’s hair, shifts a little in Ernesto’s grip. “Third time’s the charm.”
“This would be the second time.”
“So, one step closer to the third,” Héctor grins, gaining himself a roll of the eyes and a flick on the nose. “Come on, we’ll try here. Just the three of us. If you suck, no one else will find out.”
Imelda gives a small smile, then she glances at Ernesto, and it turns into a grin. 
“If he can keep up,” she challenges, and of course it is the only push he needs.
*** 
“Ay de mí, Llorona, Llorona Llorona de azul celeste…”
Ernesto isn’t sure who between the three has moved to dance first - they were not supposed to dance, just to play and sing - but at the moment he finds it doesn’t really matter. They dance easily across the living room, he and Imelda singing and Héctor playing his guitar, dodging furniture, the dogs and cat and all their toys strewn about in Imelda’s once-pristine living room. 
“Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona No dejaré de quererte No dejaré de quererte…”
Imelda steps forward, chin tilted and eyes ablaze; he meets her with a stride forward of his own,  Héctor twirls with one last strum, and as they come to a standstill. As the last notes of the song fade, the words - no dejaré de quererte! - echo in his mind for a long, long moment. 
Then Héctor lets out a grito, Imelda laughs, and Ernesto only joins her a moment later. He didn’t like Imelda getting involved with music last time - she’d been invading, he felt, what should have been something only he and Héctor shared. But now, he finds he doesn’t mind.
If things stay this way forever, he won’t mind. He won’t mind at all.
***
[On to Part 14]
[Back to Part 12]
***
Also by Dara: Doggie May Cry. 
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xaphrin · 5 years
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Hey! I've been following your blog for a long time and I love your stories! I was wondering if you could do a little school or academy au damirae? ^-^
Somewhere on this hellsite there is an awesome picture someone drew that inspired this, but my dumbass cannot find it to save my life. So, here.
“Fighting is against the rules.”
Damian lifted his sullen expression to her face, and he practically snarled at her. He looked down at the first-aid kit in her hands, and his shoulders sagged in annoyance. There was a long moment where nothing was said, and Raven approached her bed slowly, like Damian was a wounded animal, hissing and spitting and frightened. He shifted as she sat down across from him, picking through the minimal items in the kit.
Damian finally scoffed. “You sound just like father.”
That was almost insulting. She glanced up from beneath her lashes and offered a one-shouldered shrug. “So is being in the girl’s dormitory, so I don’t think either of us have any room to talk.”
Hegrumbled something rough in the back of his throat, but chose not to pick a fight with her for at least a little longer. He shifted, looking around at the minimalist decorations on her wall, as if he was trying to decipher who she was by art she tacked up.
“Most girls have pictures of boys on their walls.”
Raven saw him staring at the print she had put up of Ophelia, drifting listlessly in the river until she succumbed to her own madness and death. She looked at the picture for a moment before turning back to the kit, pulling out a large bandage and an alcohol cleansing pad.
“You said I wasn’t most girls.” Raven set her hands in her lap and stared at him, her expression still. She watched the angular lines of his face as he continued to stare at the print, the sharp bones of his cheeks and jaw, and the strange soft fullness of his lips. The late afternoon sun was spilling in through a crack in her curtains, lighting up a side of his body. He looked a bit like a fallen angel - handsome, but deadly in his own way.
Shaking her head free of those thoughts, she leaned closer to him. “Give me your hand.”
Damian looked back at her, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t actually think I’m going to let you take care of me?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line and she huffed out an annoyed breath, feeling a sharp spike of anger start to boil under the surface of her skin. “Well then why did you come into my dorm room with me? Because we should both be at class, and the rest of the school is going to talk.”
“Who cares?” He grumbled low in his throat and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest, wincing with the movement. “Besides, I came in here to talk about what that guy said to you.”
Her eyes widened, and Raven jerked back. She didn’t think anyone had been listening to the exchange. No one was supposed to know who or what she was, that was a stipulation of her being allowed out into the human world. As long as she kept quiet and to herself, and didn’t cause any kind of incident, she was allowed to live out her senior year like a normal teenager.
If people recognized what she was, if someone found out, she would be dragged back to the monasteries in Azarath, sequestered for eternity. This was a test to see if she could function normally in the human world, and she didn’t want to fail.
She shifted and looked down in her lap. “You can’t… you can’t tell anyone.”
Damian glared at her, anger rippling through him like a shockwave. “What do you mean I can’t tell anyone? You’re a magical nuclear weapon at a school, and you’re going to chemistry class like it’s no big deal.”
“We’re skipping chemistry class right now, if you remember.”
Damian pitched forward, his eyes narrowing. “Seriously? Don’t argue semantics.”
“I’m not arguing semantics.” She tossed the bandage back into the first-aid kit and slammed the lid shut. Anger was flaring inside her, and she could feel her magic start to seep through cracks in her armor. She clenched her fists at her side for a moment, before reaching up and wrapping her fingers around the necklace she wore.
She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before looking back at him. “I’m being good. I haven’t caused any trouble. I just want to go to school and be… and be normal. I don’t see how that’s such a hard request to fulfill.”
“You’re going to kill everyone in the building if you aren’t careful. One misstep while you’re researching a paper and the whole library will come down on you.” Damian crossed his arms over his chest, wincing again with the movement before he let his hands fall back in his lap. “I don’t think you have the self-control to keep yourself together for an entire year.”
“You don’t even know me.” She pulled back, offended. “You can’t judge me like that.”
“I can. I know the type like you. You try your best, but in the end you always fail and someone gets hurt.” He slid off the edge of her bed, turning to look at her. “I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt because of your carelessness.”
Raven sat there, completely dejected and hopeless. Her chest felt hollow, as if something had finally extinguished that last bit of light she had left. She wrapped her fingers around her pendant again, taking a slow breath as he stood in front of her. She shifted before finally lifting her eyes to his, watching him from beneath her eyelashes. “So what are you going to do? Tell the headmaster?”
“No.”
He shifted, still cradling his wounded hand. “I’m going to hope you make the right decision on your own.”
That seemed curious, and Raven finally met his stare. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I won’t hesitate to end you when you finally go supernova.”
His response was so cold, so blatantly devoid of feeling, that Raven wasn’t sure if he had said those words, or if her own twisted imagination had filled in the blanks. She watched his face for a long moment, the weight of his silence nearly crushing her. She had no doubt in her mind that should she make even one misstep, he would end her easily and without question. And maybe… maybe that was for the best. If she did start to lose control, maybe she should die, because at least it would save the world.
“At least… at least let me heal you before you go.”
She reached out and curled her fingers around his bruised wrist, making him take a shaky step closer to her. Under his skin she could feel his own brand of magic, something old that he was born from. He didn’t know how to use it or tap into it, but it was there.
She could feel its inky tendrils reach out to her from under her touch, curious and explorative, wanting to know more about her. She rubbed her thumb over his pulse, and felt his magic wake a little harder, seeping into her.
For a moment it felt… it felt like it had invaded her, finding an open crack in her armor and just sinking deep. It pooled heavily into her veins, swallowed bits of her that she had forgotten about, left remnants of Damian behind.
Raven shivered and she lifted her eyes to Damian. He looked… he looked scared.
He must have felt it too. She drew her hand back, stretching and flexing her hand before it fell in her lap. They stared at each other for a long minute, saying nothing and everything at the same time, until Damian finally turned on his heel and walked away.
Raven watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest and her blood racing in her ears.
What in the world was that?
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