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warmau · 4 years

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slytherin!au san

*this post was commissioned | find other ateez aus here warnings: suggestive themes (no strings attached situation), hp themed au but we ignore jkrowling <3

something crawls across your desk

round and dark and you don’t have to look twice to know what it is

part of you wants to turn and look over your shoulder where you are painfully aware of the fact that san is eyeing you up

he’s always sat at the back of potions - while you sat diligently in the front and part of you suspects its a strategical ploy on his end

actually, you don’t expect, he has told you many times before that the view is just better from back there

it’s sleazy and you should scoff at the attempt of bad flirtation

but it’s hard for you to hate it as much as maybe the rest of your gryffindor housemates might

because

you like san

but

you aren’t about to let anyone in school know

so instead of looking behind you, you take your wand and flick the spider off the corner of your desk

it falls - disappearing in a little cloud of smoke midair

san’s always said he prefers them to snakes, he knows his whole houses deal with snakes slithers back to the ancestral wizards and bloodlines - but arachnids are so much cooler in his opinion

you don’t like bugs or snakes or anything that likes the cover of darkness

the only exception funny enough is ...... well......... san

“so did you get a date to the deathday party?”

you break from thought and turn to your friend

“huh - we don’t need a date for deathday parties. it’s just halloween basically.”

“but it’s so much more fun to have someone to cuddle up to while the ghosts do all their prancing around....like what if you get scared and your boyfriend just........”

she clasps her hands around herself

“holds you~”

you roll your eyes and close your textbook

you pull your worksheet out and get up to place it on the professors desk

they smile and wave their hand to let you know you’re free to go, you say bye to your friend who grumbles in response that you’re abandoning them

and as you walk down the rows of students - you reach the back of the room

you don’t pause when you reach out for the door, but you feel the same gaze that's been burning through you since san transferred here last year

you thought you’d be disgusted with it by now

but you’ve come to enjoy the slight, hot sting

“so, about that deathday party?”

you groan

you don’t want to talk about stupid trivial school events right now

with sans lips against your neck and your back against the cool walls of the greenery

instead of an answer you just tilt his head back up, gripping under his jaw and letting your mouth find his in an attempt to kiss him, of course, but to stop him from asking anymore questions

san kind of gets your point and his hands slip from under your robes lower

until they’re pressing into the skin of your hip and then

his teeth sink into your lower lip and you pull back

“hey - i said don’t do tha-”

“do you want to go to the deathday party with me?”

you give him a blank stare

you hope he gets the point of it too, but with the way he hasn’t gone back to touching you, it’s clear he’s waiting for an actual verbal response

“you know we can’t just show up to a party together.”

“why not?”

his hands leave your skin and your uniform falls back into place, he moves a little but still remains standing between your knees

the sudden retreat of full contact makes you upset and you hook your foot around his to tug him forward

instead of tipping over and into you, he puts a hand flat on your thigh

“seriously, why not? are you scared that people will be mad about it.”

“no - you know that isn’t the reason.”

“then what is?”

you sit up and want to tell him the real answer

the one that has been bubbling in the back of your mind these past couple of weeks

it had really just been for fun, a thrilling and almost wholly self-serving reason

when you let san, a slytherin who was barely managing to pass half his classes, and notoriously known for being quite uninterested in studies, magical morality, or any of the things you held so near and dear to your heart

corner you in the history section of the library

the books ruffling their pages on their own to hide the sound that came out of your mouth when he’d bit down into your skin for the first time

really you had just wanted to do something reckless

because you were well on your way to being perfectly clean cut in every other manner

but now - if you were to be completely truthful with him - you couldn’t just say

“the reason is because im just using you. you mean nothing to me.”

because through all the sneaking around in tight corners

using disappearing spells to hide from teaches and classmates

finding yourselves alone in that room of his

far down the twisting halls of the slytherin dungeon

you had fallen for all the charms of a person you had told yourself you should loathe

but san’s embarrassingly bad flirting, desperate manner of scratching to be as close as possible to you, loud and attention hungry attitude

had spun tight around you

because he was all those things, but through it all - through the bedroom eyes and lips on your thighs

he was one of the most gentle people who had ever laid hands on you

sure, you two could get caught up in a firestorm of young energy that would lead to both of you parting ways with evidence under the layers of your clothes that you’d admire in the mirror of your bathroom for days after

but that’s not what you meant when you described him as gentle

it was his soul, that was at the core, tender

little pretty whispers about your neck, your wrist, your eyes

sometimes when you were just talking there was the righteousness that people said he lacked laced through each, carefully chosen word

he could seem like a wreck of a person to everyone, even his own friends

but you’d somehow managed to catch the moments

of him that were most vulnerable

soft gaze that waits with manner to know if you are comfortable and safe with him, poetic words about the shadows of your bodies, there was even a mark of true faithfulness

when you two had almost gotten caught by a angry upperclassman

and san had let you escape before turning himself in and being slapped loud and hard and echoing

“who was with you?”

the angry voice had barked and san had stood with his hands clasped in each other, knuckles white

“no one. i was alone.”

so now when he asks you what the reason is that you don’t just want to let the world know

why you don’t want to make a statement

that this fling isn’t just that shallow pleasure seeking adventure you had intended it to start as and end as

but that it’s two people - that really fit each other like puzzle pieces

you can only think of the real answer

which is

“im scared. im scared that you don’t mean it as much as i do.”

you don’t mutter those words, you just keep quiet again instead and san finally slips completely away from you

he grabs his robe, hands curling around the green collar

“saying nothing is enough of an answer.”

you slide off the table and try to stop him

but your hand doesn’t leave your side and your knees are weak

and you’re worried that too much noise will make someone curious come looking

so you just watch him weave through the plants, until he’s gone.

he’s really gone.

the days seem to start going backwards ..... even though the dates get closer and closer to the end of the month

maybe its you that starts to function on some kind of made up timeline? because everywhere and everyone you look

is somehow san

the couples sitting in the courtyard sharing food, notes, kisses - they’re you and san

the solitary roaming owls circling the sky with letters in tow - all the letters you imagine rain down

and when you pick one up it says his name, written with the pen strokes that you’ve seen flipping through his textbooks

even the spells that leave your lips while you practice just turn to chants of his name

but he doesn’t .... come back like you wait for. he’s not in the classes you share. he’s not waiting in the secret corners you’ve both chosen.

he’s nowhere and yet everywhere for you.

the night of the deathday celebration - the entire school is buzzing

not only are the ghosts all out to chatter and reminisce about their time as the living

but the students are rushing up and down between the houses in costumes and masks

you shove your face into your pillow and snap your fingers, commanding the door to your room to shut

only to be knocked on a moment later

you shout your roommates name, telling them to get it

you’re in no mood to celebrate. you just want to fall deeper and deeper into your bed until you’ve completely disappeared from view

you hear the scurrying of footsteps, laughter, and conversation and then suddenly a hand grabs your shoulder and flips you over

“get up! we’re going to the party!”

your roommate gleams with a grin and you politely, but harshly refuse

“but your date will be so sad if you don’t show up!”

you spring up at the word date. a part of your stomach flips and you think - is there anyway it could be him?

your friend takes your shift in expression as a positive sign, whisking you up and out of bed - putting something that feels like a headband on your head - and pushing you toward the door

you haven’t seen san for a week

even though you feel as if the thought of him has more than tortured you every hour of every day

so even with the chances being slim, you feel your shoulders tense and a nervousness seep in through your veins

did he really come all the way to the gryffindor tower? is he finally coming back? did he tell my friends he-

but you look up when you get to the hall and instead of san you see

kim hongjoong

he’s standing beside mingi, who is twirling your roommate around and giggling in unison with them

“i-”

you start and hongjoong extends his hand

“your friend said you wanted to ask me to the party, but didn’t have the time. but ill gladly take you if you’d like.”

you stare at his palm

then back at him and the pretty prince’s costume he has on

he’s actually exactly what you should want

he’s in the top ten students of the ravenclaw house, he took OWLs early, he has been interning at the ministry of magic since he was a fourth year

he’s clean cut, gentlemanly, quiet spoken, and just - perfect

like you

but your stomach flips again, in a bad way, in a way that’s telling you

no you don’t want to go to this party with him, but to refuse him to his face is somehow even worse than just giving in

so you put your hand in his with a fabricated smile, that somehow is enough to convince everyone else.

until you hear mingi let out a sound of surprise, you turn and look at him - fully expecting him to read through your fake happiness

but instead he points the floor

“spider!”

you turn and see the spider

“sa-”

hongjoong crushes it with his shoe - hand still holding yours

“got it, should we head to the party?”

so you end up in a familiar place with an unfamiliar persons hands on your waist

dancing in the low light of the slytherin dungeons dorm

which has been transformed with pumpkin lighting and live music where every time the beat drops a bolt of electricity sparks from every corner

the ghosts, always fond of the cold and the dark, had chosen this as the venue for the deathday party

and although the headmaster and professors were looking grim about the prospect of the dorms being absolutely trashed

everyone else was having a blast

drinking spiked candy corn punch and pressing closer than mandated by the rules

prefects were running around casting spells to push people from each other, but they were just snapping back into each other like magnets

and in the shadows and heat of everyone else you can’t help but think about san again

you are looking at hongjoong, you are trying to focus on something he is saying about the music

but the wires of your mind are tangling and twisting and turning his hands on your waist into sans and his eyes into sans and his lips into sans-

it takes you a moment because you’re so dazed

to realize the lips you’re dreaming about aren’t kissing you, but hongjoong is

you pull back in horror and he mumbles an apology - but you turn, sensing something daunting

when you see - against the wall - staring right at you is the gaze that’s been on you for so long that you can never mistake it for another

“san!”

you gasp, and your hands drop from hongjoong’s shoulders, fast enough to watch san turn and disappear through the doors

“san?”

hongjoong repeats

“the slytherin? why are you-”

you rush toward him, pushing past the bodies that all seem to meld into one and other

the electricity zaps just as the door closes and it makes you jump and when you push it back open

the sound and the crowd shrinks

and you are looking down a dark, cold hall

you take your wand out and spark a small light from the tip - “san?” you call his name

legs shaking, voice a small tremble

there’s no answer

you keep going - subjecting yourself to the deeper parts of the dungeon until you think you’ve walked almost the entire hall and in front of you is a wall

something crawls up the side of your leg and you freeze

“san?”

you breathe again - but there’s no response and the feeling keeps coming up your skin, up your clothes, up and onto your neck and then

just as you think you can feel it begin to crawl up to your lips

it disappears and you turn because something like a flame starts to bloom from the center of your back

and when you do

it’s san

a spider crawls across his cheek, disappearing into smoke on him too

you don’t want to settle your breathing yet

you feel like you’ve been bounded to the spot you’re standing in

“you could have just told me there was someone else.”

“there isn’t.”

“i saw it - you can’t just -”

he starts, voice dropping until you think there’s only one thing you can say that would prove to him that it’s him

“i want to be with you.”

his eyes, long and overcasted with pain, widen

“being without you is like being without myself”

you stumble over the words - unfamiliar with this feeling of anxiety that has never grasped you so fully

“it’s stupid to be scared of you leaving me, but i am more terrified that i won’t have you at all to begin with.”

he is searing through you with the gaze

but the flame that used to burn hot with desire is now a cool, blue fire

that is scoping you out, weighing your words in his mind

until he presses his lips to yours and you lean back against the wall to let your hands find his neck

“i won’t leave you.”

he breathes into your skin

his scent floating around you and comforting you in the dark as you drop your wand and the only light you two had is gone

“you might even get sick of me and ask me too, but i won’t because i love you.”

you want to laugh at that

not because it is funny but because he must be insane

to think you’d ever get sick of him

even a week without him has left you suffering in withdrawl, for the first time it’s you who san can’t keep up with

as you kiss him back harder and lick into the roof of his mouth and pull your hands under his shirt

and he has to nearly stop you from undressing him there - because you just want to devour this moment over and over

until the taste of him is ingrained in your memory and you can recall what its like to have his pulse against your tongue even if a million miles separate you

san returns the sentiment, his hands itch too to find the places he adores most but even still

the entire school is a hallway away, so is the headmaster

so he lets you kiss him again, mark the side of his jawline and get your hands down to his belt before he mutters that he knows a shortcut to his room from here

you and san don’t return to the party

but the house ghosts saw you

and in the morning when san is walking down the gryffindor hall from your dorm

everyone knows very damn well why he’s there

the shock the questions the side eyes are all what you expected

but they don’t compare to the comfort that comes with having him beside you again

sitting with him at the top of the tower, legs swinging over the side, his smile in your neck

“i think its kinda cool that our anniversary is on halloween”

he comments one day as you’re sitting in his lap in slytherin commons

you turn to look at him

“wait, did you have a costume for the deathday part - what was it? i didn’t see.”

“oh you didn’t notice?”

you shake your head and san plays with your fingers before grinning up at you - long cheshire smile

“i was dressed as your boyfriend. fitting huh?”

you lean forward and he puckers his lips in anticipation, but then yelps when you flick his forehead

“i think you might have been right about that getting sick of you predication.”

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez au #san scenarios #san imagines #san au #ateez #suggestive themes #members: ateez #choi san imagines #choi san au #writing commissions #hp!au

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dunkalfredo · 6 years

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1575 words of gay and also hair? ft. amy

yo yo yo what up im back and im here to bring u that sweet sweet infidget

disclaimer: in case the title implies otherwise lemme just say that amy is gay too shes just not the main focus of this story. trust me, shes v gay and i love her. shes a good gorl. bless her soul

other disclaimer: infinite’s not-infinite name is finn bc infinite is Not his real name i stg

other other disclaimer: this is old friends au/fixed canon. follows the canon @theashemarie and i are establishing over here in our lil gay corner

u kno the drill yall click Keep reading to read the things

It’s a simple difference, so small that Gadget doesn’t notice it at first.

Finn’s there, at the breakfast nook, reading the newspaper, and when Gadget walks in (always the last to wake up, today’s no exception) he makes it all the way to the fridge before his eye spots the change in shape, the abnormal smallness of the silhouette in his peripheral.

He turns, slowly, as though he’ll disturb the air if he moves too fast, and says, perplexed, “Did you cut your hair?”

(Gadget really looks at Finn for the first time, and his brain confirms what his eyes whispered to him mere moments ago; short, white locks tickle Finn’s neck, replacing the usual mane of white down his back.)

Finn looks up from his periodical, makes eye contact, and shrugs. “Needed a change. Do you like it?”

Gadget’s still several paces behind where he needs to be, not yet at ‘Do you like it?’ and still at it wasn’t short last night.

Finn’s not exactly a master hairdresser. Gadget eyes the thin locks, the jagged ends, the slight shake in Finn’s hands as he watches Gadget watch him; it all screams impulse, midnight and afraid, chop it off, feel better now but horrified in the morning, all too aware that it’s too late to take it back. Gadget sees it in his eyes, the need for reassurance, validation.

Gadget sighs, a small depression of his chest, and smiles. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

It’s not so much that Finn smiles, or speaks, but his carriage lifts ever so slightly, and the newspaper stops shaking.

(Gadget also sees, for the first time, the dark circles under Finn’s eyes, and his mind wanders.

Finn, three a.m., sheets tossed by nightmares and bed absent one, stumbling to the bathroom and staring himself in the mirror with wild, cold eyes. He doesn’t recognize the face in the mirror. He can’t feel his own hands. The world is little too dark, too foggy, obscured by nightfall and burnt lightbulbs, and the space feels liminal, unreal.

Finn runs the tap, listens to the whine of the faucet, lets it ring in his ears as he splashes his face with cold water, and the hair on his head hangs limp over his neck, pouring over his shoulders, a cascade of white. He forgot to put it up last night.

It’s this simple fact that occupies his mind, drags his hands into the drawers for a hair tie, but instead his fingers brush against something hard, sharp. Scissors.

Gadget’s mind stops there, not willing to breathe life into the image of Finn, breath heavy, eyes watering, hands trembling, sweeping hair into the garbage and carefully climbing back into bed limb by limb like he’ll break if he bends too far.)

It’s later, when the day is over, and they’re home, sprawled out over the couch and recharging after errands and separate schedules and distance that Finn finally says it aloud, despite its sitting heavy in the air since that morning and never leaving:

“I need help.”

Gadget, head in his lap and eyes on the television, doesn’t look up, doesn’t even bother raising his head to speak and instead mumbles his words into Finn’s knee. “Astute observation, Einstein. How did you ever come to that conclusion?”

Finn huffs. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” Now Gadget rolls over to look up, frowning when he sees the disconcerted expression drawing Finn’s brows together. “You haven’t cut your hair since third grade.”

Gadget sees the cogs turn in his head, and then finally Finn says, barely a whisper, “Third grade?”

“Yeah.”

Finn deflates, sinks back into the couch, and then sinks further with a sigh that flattens his lungs. “I really need help.”

At first, they dismiss therapy outright, because they don’t think a psychologist will hear “I killed thousands of people because I got kidnapped by a mad scientist and forcibly possessed by a rock” and not immediately send Finn to the psyche ward (or, alternatively, a prison cell, since Finn’s still technically a wanted criminal. Only technically). It’s only after another night of deliberation and (for Finn) staring, sleepless, at a wall that they decide that they need someone to talk to.

(When Gadget mentions this to Sonic while they’re out doing “cleanup” (getting rid of debris in X city or Y town because Knuckles is occupied), almost shouting to project his voice over the creak of the pipe they’re lifting from the sidewalk, he’s not expecting the immediate response Sonic shoots back.

“Talk to Amy,” says Sonic, casually, dusting off his hands and reaching for a chunk of… building? Sidewalk? Gadget can’t tell. Concrete something. They’re both going to have to lift that one. “She’s great with emotions and stuff.”

“But Amy hates Finn!” Gadget cries. “Why would she be his therapist?”

“Well, she likes you,” Sonic says. “Maybe that’ll help?”)

When Gadget relays this suggestion to Finn, he’s just as appalled. “Talk to who?”

“Amy,” Gadget says, hands worrying over each other and eyes somewhere to the right of Finn’s face.

Finn deadpans, “She hates me,” and Gadget thinks it’s like poetry, how his conversations seem to rhyme.

He sighs. “I’m aware.”

The moment they show up on Amy’s doorstep, and she opens the door, eyeing Finn like he’s a block of rotten cheese she just found in her fridge, Gadget’s one-hundred percent convinced that this isn’t going to work.

This feeling continues as she ushers them (Gadget) inside and offers them (Gadget) some tea, to which Gadget politely refuses and Finn stays silent. She brings out three cups of chamomile anyways (Finn’s was likely an afterthought, but Gadget considers it progress), and they’re seated in her living room, Finn’s hand in Gadget’s, Amy in the seat opposite, when she starts speaking in earnest. It’s not what Gadget expects at all.

A simple question, four words, and the most perplexed voice Gadget’s ever heard from Amy; “You cut your hair?”

It’s an unexpected question followed by an equally unexpected answer: “Midnight crisis,” Finn says, and it’s with a voice that’s not nearly as small as it was hours ago, when they were both leaving the apartment and Gadget asked if he had his wallet. That was the quiet “Yes” of a man half his size and age; this is his normal, low timbre, conversational, like Amy wasn’t glaring daggers at him mere seconds ago.

Amy’s posture shifts, and while the air’s still unnaturally cold, her face opens up just a little more. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Finn says, frank.

She hums, and Gadget’s nerves spike.

It’s an hour later, and Gadget’s walking back to the metro station with Finn to head home when he hears him say, “That wasn’t too bad.”

Gadget reminds Finn, pointedly, “Half of our visit was awkward silence.”

“She only glared for a quarter of it.”

Later, Gadget thinks, watching Finn fiddle and hum and haw under Amy’s stripping, burning, disarming, demanding gaze for the third time in a month, that there’s something missing. He sees Finn’s thumbs, his fingers, restless, twitching and turning in his lap, and Gadget’s struck, hard, with this feeling, a wave washing over him that this isn’t right. Gadget knows what’s missing, he’s sure of it, but it’s just out of reach, a breath too far from his grabbing, clutching hands.

Then, as they walk home from Amy’s that day, he sees it, in the corner of his eye; Finn, right hand in the motion of grabbing for his shoulder, where for years a white lock would spill over and he could grab, run it between his fingers, fiddle and twist.

A memory surfaces: The two of them, younger, late high school, Gadget slipping out of the house at one in the morning because if he stays inside, where the death and cold and emptiness his father left behind aches the hardest, he might punch the walls in two, every single one, and then break and bend and snap over the rubble right after, a broken body to match the broken home it came from. He leaves, he sneaks over, desert night lukewarm and clammy against the back of his neck, and he arrives at the gaping maw of his best friend’s front door, where the hinges creak and the door opens as soon as Gadget’s foot meets the doormat.

It’s a comforting memory; Finn, shoulders tired and slumped but eyes and arms warm, curling around Gadget, letting him step into his space and his embrace, there, in the doorway, and both taking a moment to pause and breathe. It’s this lull, this potential energy building between them before moving again, that does Gadget in. His chest breaks open and a single, harrowed sob, more a hiccup and an exhale than a cry, spills out, but its muffled by Finn’s chest, contained, away from the prying eyes of others and kept just for them. In this stillness, Gadgets cards his fingers through the hair on Finn’s back, focusing on the softness of the locks instead of ache of a late father, and the digits begin looping the tufts into loose braids.

Gadget thinks of this moment, sees this in his mind’s eye as he watches Finn try and register why there’s nothing there, why his fingers feel nothing, and Gadget wonders how much they really lost that night, weeks ago, besides sleep and besides hair.

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avasilvugh · 7 years

Text

heavy wings grow lighter pt. 1

your world has no love to give

find it on: ao3

From: Troy Bolton To: Trini ?? 1:41pm hey do u want to study with me? I grabbed one of the back tables

1:57pm T

2:08pm are u here today? if u ditched it would have been polite to invite us u know

2:09pm also do u need a ride to the mine

2:14pm Trini??

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 2:16pm hey have u seen Trini

2:16pm she’s usually in the library during free but I haven’t seen her since before lunch. she’s not answering her phone either and I need to know if she needs a ride to training

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 2:16pm i havent seen her

2:17pm did she seem ok to u when u saw her? she’s been really quiet lately

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 2:17pm she’s always quiet

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 2:17pm quieter than normal. like even with me

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 2:18pm shit

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 2:18pm class lets out in a bit, i’ll skip next and look for her

2:18pm text u when i find her

From: Fighter Pilot Barbie To: T 💛 💪💥👊👭 2:19pm where are u, jason’s worried

2:20pm on that matter, im worried

2:20pm did u skip bc if so bring me donuts

2:28pm u better be lying in a ditch somewhere

2:29pm actually i take that back but im still worried please call me to let me know ur alive or something

The bell rings just as Kimberly locks her phone, and it doesn’t so much as startle her—a feat that’s become increasingly hard to accomplish thanks to freaky Ranger skills (Trini’s term, of course)—as it does spur her to shove her books into a stack and head for the door.

Someone from the other side of the classroom—Harper, maybe, or Rebecca—laughs, says something ugly that Kimberly no doubt deserves and that she is absolutely meant to hear. Kimberly’s hands curl into fists, one wrapped tight around the strap of her bag, and, in another life, she probably would turn and throw something just as terrible back. But there’s this awful, uncomfortable feeling in the very center of her chest that took hold when Jason texted her and that alone is enough to double her self-restraint.

Trini’s locker is on the other side of the main building, towards the gym, but up on the second floor as opposed to Kimberly’s newly assigned one near the front entrance. Kimberly has to use a fair amount of evasive action to get there, especially once the second bell’s rung and the vice principal is prowling the halls trying to catch kids without hall passes—it’s not as if she’s not already stuck in Saturday detention, but she’d rather not add after school ones to her roster.

Because of training. Not because she has a standing donut date with Trini on Tuesdays, before they head to the mine.

When she rounds the corner of the stairwell, the girl in question is there. Back to Kimberly, standing on a stack of books and scrubbing at her locker. She freezes when Kimberly steps into the hall and Kimberly’s heart clenches at the tension held in the narrow line of her shoulders, at the way she seems to fold in on herself, making herself even smaller than she is. Some of that goes away when Kimberly calls out, “Hey, I’ve been trying to text you,” but not all of it, not enough of it for the unease to slip away from Kimberly’s sternum.

“Huh,” Trini hums, still not turning around. That’s red flag number one. “Haven’t checked my phone in a while.” Red flag number two, considering that if Trini’s not with the rest of them, she’s all but glued to her phone. And, Kimberly notes with a little pride and with growing apprehension, even if she’s avoiding other people, she never ignores Kimberly’s texts.

“Are you okay?” Kimberly steps further into the hallway, pauses when Trini visibly flinches. “Hey, T, I’m worried about—.”

Trini straightens, rolls out her shoulders like she’s squaring up even with her back still to Kimberly. “I’m fine,” she drawls, like everything isn’t completely wrong. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Narrowing her eyes, Kimberly fires back, “You’ve missed three.” Her tone is so much sharper than she’d intended, but sometimes to cut through Trini’s bluffing, Kimberly’s found you need a knife.

“Zack’s missed the entire day.”

“Zack’s…Zack.” Kimberly steps closer, crosses the remaining space between them in a couple long strides. “You usually give me a heads up if you’re planning on skipping.”

“Can you drop it? I just forgot, okay?”

Kimberly doesn’t flinch at Trini’s tone, ignores the way her words sting, lodge in the space between her ribs. The shorter girl is actually Kimberly’s height with the help of her textbooks underfoot, but she’s still not turning to face her, keeps shifting her weight—it hits her then that Trini’s trying to block her view.

Trini’s faster than her on a normal day, smaller and lighter on her feet than Kimberly can ever dream of being, even with years of gymnastics and cheer under her belt. But Trini seems off-kilter now, doesn’t react fast enough to catch her before she can step just to the side to peer over her shoulder.

“Who—,” Kimberly starts as Trini finally turns and says, “It’s not that bad—,” reaching out with her free hand like she’s going to push Kimberly back.

Kimberly gets why she’s been avoiding the rest of the rangers now. Trini’s blotchy, red nosed, and there’s blood smeared along her hairline and her full bottom lip—not that Kimberly’s noticed her lips or anything—is split down the side, purpling and swollen. When Kimberly steps a little closer, she can see the smudge of a bruise along her cheekbone, the redness around Trini’s eyes, like she’s been rubbing at them too roughly. She probably has.

The sight of her makes Kimberly’s blood boil, the sight of it, the word behind Trini, makes her face feel hot—four ugly red letters, taking up the entirety of Trini’s locker door, top left to bottom right.

“Who the fuck did this?”

Kimberly tries to keep the fury out of her voice, she truly does, but if Trini paling is any indication, she’s failing miserably. In her defense, it’s taking every bit of Kimberly’s self-restraint to not reach around the other girl and rip the door off its hinges, crush it in one move, maybe two if she ripped it in half first—a move that she is very seriously considering. It’d be nearly poetic, maybe, she thinks.

She doesn’t though. Not when she notices how Trini’s chin is trembling, how she’s gripping the paper towels she was using to scrub at the word, white knuckled and fingertips ripping through the damp material. She pauses, softens. “Trini,” she breathes. “Did whoever write that do this,” she gestures to Trini’s face, “to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Trini’s free hand drops, goes back to press flat against the wall of lockers.

“Trini. It matters.” How could it not? How could Kimberly ever—jesus, how could she ever not care about this?

The metal creaks, groans beneath the smaller girl’s hand, the door of the locker kitty corner to hers crumpling under her fingers. She doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes unfocused and somewhere far away—Trini doesn’t flinch when Kimberly reaches out again, gently pulls her hand away from the lockers. She doesn’t flinch, but she stiffens at Kimberly’s touch, her eyes darting around the hallway as she shrinks back just the slightest.

Right.

Kimberly’s never—she’s been incredibly lucky. She knows this. She’s never had the same bone-deep fear that Trini has, never had the same self-doubt. When Kimberly was fourteen, she googled what it meant to want to kiss your friend, found a word for it and, quite frankly, never thought about it again. She isn’t out at school necessarily, nor to her parents, but she’s never feared what it would mean if she was, never really had a reason to. Even now, after her fall, that confidence is still held in some quiet place inside her.

But when Trini was fourteen, she told a girl she liked her and got laughed at, cut off—there’s more to the story, Kimberly knows, uglier things that Trini’s keeping close to the chest, but the bare bones are enough to put together an altogether heartbreaking picture.

“Come on,” she murmurs, hand at Trini’s wrist, not quite touching her. “You need to get cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Trini’s frowning even as she steps off her textbook stepstool, eyes settled somewhere just past Kimberly’s shoulder. She crosses her arms—it’s the first moment that Kimberly notices the blood on her collar, dried brown against the yellow of her shirt. “You don’t have to help me.”

Kimberly stares at her openly, pressing her lips into a line. They’ve all—Kimberly knows that Trini is slower to trust than any of them, they all know that. They’ve adapted, figured out the best ways to make her feel safe, whole, cared for. But this—after as much care that Trini’s shown for them, for her, she should be able to know. Be able to trust that they all would do the same for her. That Kimberly would do the same.

She’s trying not to take this skepticism personally. This isn’t the time for her feelings—not that she has feelings for Trini, because they’re teammates and Trini’s her best friend and—yeah. Anyway.

“You’re right, I don’t have to. I want to,” Kimberly says firmly, stepping back and raising her hand to the small of Trini’s back but letting it hang in the air just a hair away from touching her. “You’re my fellow ranger and my best friend and I—.” And I’m probably in love with you. “And I care about you. Let me help.”

Trini doesn’t protest after that. She lets Kimberly half-guide her to the nearest, quietest bathroom—Kimberly’s got a fairly useful ranking system for every bathroom in the school. Which are the nicest, which are the quietest, which don’t echo if you sob, which are the least likely place any of her old crowd would be. She steers Trini towards the bathroom near the chemistry labs; someone told the incoming freshmen a couple years back that it was haunted and the rumor stuck, even if no one wanted to admit to believing it.

“Hop up.” Kimberly taps the counter space between sinks lightly, turns away to grab a few paper towels and wet them. When she turns back, Trini’s glaring down at her hands, twisted up in her lap, her legs dangling over the edge of the counter. “You’re not going to like me very much in a minute,” she tells her, wringing out the paper towels so they’re just damp enough.

“Doubtful.”

Kimberly shrugs off a little of the anger that’s still curled in her fingers, flicking off excess water as she flashes Trini a smile. “Is that a compliment?”

The corner of Trini’s mouth quirks up, the closest she can come to a smile without pulling at the split in her lip. “Take it how you want it,” she murmurs after a quiet moment. Then she lets her eyes close, tips her head back just the slightest.

Kimberly’s kind of lost for a second—she doesn’t mean to get distracted by Trini’s insane lashes or the smooth edge of her cheekbones or by how soft she looks or by the thought of how her skin would feel beneath Kimberly’s lips and the pads of her fingers. But then she blinks fast in the harsh fluorescent lights because Trini’s just knocked Kimberly’s shin with the toe of her sneaker and has her head cocked to the side, eyes open again as she studies her.

“Space case much, princesa?” Trini teases when she catches Kimberly’s eye, her brow lifting. It must pull at something, because her smirk is dropped in a flash, pain flickering in her eyes before she carefully hides it away again.

Kimberly frowns. “Sorry,” she mutters, starting to wipe at the blood on Trini’s chin. “Just wondering how someone so small could bleed so much.”

She’s aiming for a joke, but it falls flat—partly, she’s sure, because Trini’s feeling like shit right now, but also partly because all Kimberly really wants right now is to somehow ensure that Trini never, ever feels like shit again. And she’s—well. She has no fucking clue what to do with that thought.

Trini doesn’t respond, just lets her eyes close again. She winces when Kimberly nears her lip so Kimberly works faster, tries to minimize the irritation. She tackles the blood at Trini’s hairline next, startling when she discovers a gash hiding among her dark roots.

“Jesus,” she hisses, pausing because she doesn’t trust herself to be gentle in the moment. “Trini.”

“Hm?” The smaller girl blinks up at her slowly.

“I—,” Kimberly starts, stops. Exchanges the dirty towel for a clean one before she starts again. “Who did this?”

“Kimberly—.”

“Because I just need to have a chat with them, you know?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, you can, but you don’t.” Trini glares at her then, but it’s true. Trini takes hits she can dodge if she wanted to, stays quiet when shit like this happens; Trini is fully capable of taking care of herself, Kimberly knows. But Kimberly also knows that Trini doesn’t think she’s worth the effort.

Which—maybe that’s what’s making Kimberly so angry? The idea that the girl in front of her sees some warped version of herself in the mirror, some version that doesn’t deserve basic respect. Because fuck that, honestly. This is—

fuck, this is the girl that sits up with Jason when he’s having a panic attack and doesn’t want to let anyone know, the girl that spends nights over at Zack’s when the fear of waking up alone overwhelms him, the girl that is the only one out of them that can keep up with Billy when he starts getting into specifics on his newest project. The girl that, after a handful of days of knowing her, ripped off Kimberly’s defaced locker door and landed herself in detention for it.

Jesus, Kimberly can hardly breathe from the thought of it, from the idea that Trini doesn’t see what the rest of them see. That she doesn’t know that they’re all just as worried for her, just as protective of her as she is of them.

The air between them is thicker than it was before, heavier in a way that Kimberly can’t figure out how to fix, not now, not with Trini looking at her like this, like she’s tired, like she wants to fight but can’t bring herself to. And Kimberly—she doesn’t want to drop it—knows she can’t, not really.

But she can bury it for right now.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

Trini turns her glare down to her hands and Kimberly feels the air go out of her lungs when she sees—no, she fucking feels it. Feels all the hatred that Trini’s turning inward, feels all the guilt and disgust and doubt and anger. Kimberly’s never been so equally grateful and horrified by the psychic link that holds them all together, that connects them all to the morphing grid. Because this—this peek into Trini’s head? It feels like an invasion of privacy, leaves Kimberly twisted up, twisted around because god, all she wants to do is punch every fucking tooth out of the mouth of whoever did this.

But it’s good to know. Good to be able to recognize the way ebb and flow of Trini’s self-hatred, good to be able to know how and when to step in. Like now.

Kimberly steps closer, cups Trini’s chin in her hand and gently urges her to look up, hold Kimberly’s eyes. “Hey,” she says. “What I said was uncalled for.”

“It’s not. You’re right.”

Pursing her lips, Kimberly lets out a little sigh through her nose. Tries to figure out a neat way to agree with her without feeding into Trini’s cycle.

“Maybe,” she responds finally, gaze falling to the paper towel in her hand and the little drop of water that is snaking its way down her wrist. “But you didn’t need to hear it right now.”

There’s no response from Trini. When Kimberly looks up, the other girl’s cheeks are wet.

Kimberly can count on one hand the times she’s seen Trini cry—it’s a grand total of four, not including today, and three occurred during times when they all thought they were about to die. The fourth was when Kimberly had had the dumb fucking idea to watch The Fox and the Hound, but honestly if Trini hadn’t cried, Kimberly would have been convinced she wasn’t human.

But she’s crying now, in front of Kimberly, and if her appearance was anything to go by, she’d been crying earlier, and Kimberly can’t help but wonder how long this has been going on, how long Trini’s been hiding this from the rest of them. Is this where she disappears to when she ditches out on math with Jason or history with Zack? Scrubbing her locker when the halls are empty? She’d always figured Trini bailed to go and spend time at the quarry or at home, without having to deal with the heavy, burning gaze of her mother, watching every move she made.

“I—,” Trini hiccups, leaning into Kimberly’s touch when she drops the damp towel in favor of brushing the other girl’s hair back out of her eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to see.” She sucks in a shuddering breath, forces out the rest of her words slowly, painfully. “I don’t want it getting back to my parents.”

That—god, that hurts. Hurts to hear, hurts to see; Trini looks incredibly small sitting up on this counter, even more so than normal, and her fear is a real, tangible thing that fills the space around them and between them with ease.

The rush of protectiveness that surges through Kimberly isn’t entirely new, not towards her fellow rangers, but the acuity of it is. She wants to place herself directly between Trini and anything that makes her this scared. She wants to wrap herself around the other girl and keep her warm and safe until she stops shaking like this or—hell—maybe even forever and that thought alone terrifies Kimberly.

She shoves the feeling aside for now—there’s time to unpack that and all that it means later. Right now, Trini’s still crying, her shoulders hunching as she tries to make herself even smaller, tries to take up even less space and Kimberly’s aching at the sight of it, at Trini—sardonic and kind and stubborn Trini—looking so fucking small.

“Can I—,” Kimberly starts, unsure of how to phrase her question but knowing it has to be asked. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

Trini looks up at her, her dark eyes wet and wide and then she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Kimberly’s waist and sobbing into her neck. Her fingers twist in the fabric of Kimberly’s shirt, pulling her closer, so Kimberly steps between Trini’s legs and slips her arms over Trini’s shoulders, tucking the smaller girl securely underneath her chin.

She doesn’t say anything deep, anything meant to do more than soothe because—because what could she say? There’s nothing to make this all better for her, to take away the deep-seated fear that lives in Trini’s bones, born of nearly two decades of her mother’s vitriol and others’ cruelty. Kimberly can only hold her and—

well. Now that she thinks about it, there is one other thing she can do.

She fleshes the plan out a bit while Trini cries herself out on Kimberly’s shoulder. When her sobs give way to sniffles, then a few deep, shaky breaths, Kimberly figures out the right words. “You deserve so much better than this,” Kimberly tells her, because she feels like it’s something Trini’s not told enough and that’s—it fucking unbelievable, honestly, and it’s a wrong that Kimberly’s setting out to right. Trini sucks in a breath like she’s about to dispute the statement, so Kimberly doesn’t give her the chance. “You are a kind, loyal, loving person,” she whispers, “and you shouldn’t ever be made to feel ashamed over who you love.”

Trini manages a gross, mucus-y sort of laugh, her breath hot against the dip just above Kimberly’s collarbone. “Sorry I cried on you,” she mumbles sheepishly when she pulls away; she doesn’t get far, because Kimberly keeps her arms around her.

“Trini.”

“Your shirt’s kind of gross now. I got snot all over it."

She really did. Kimberly can’t be fucked over it. “Yeah,” she sighs. “But it’s worth it.”

“Kimberly—.”

“It’s worth it.” You’re worth it, she wants to say. More than.

But Trini’s got this look like she might start crying again if Kimberly says something like that and honestly? Kimberly’s maybe just reassigned making sure Trini never cries to, like, Priority Number One.

She swallows the words that are threatening to choke her now, says instead, “This one’s going to need a stitch, I think.” She smooths her thumb over the skin just below the cut behind Trini’s hairline, careful not to apply too much pressure. “I can probably manage it back at the ship,” she adds, even though she knows that by the time they make it to the ship, the gash will be long healed.

“I should change your name in my phone from Fighter Pilot Barbie to Paramedic Barbie at this rate.”

“Jesus,” Kimberly groans. “Why am I still Fighter Pilot Barbie?”

Trini flashes her a small, lopsided smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, but it brightens her face a little and Kimberly watches with something akin to hope flaring in her chest as Trini’s shoulders relax, loosening under Kimberly’s arm. “Because you didn’t like my other nicknames for you,” she retorts.

The air feels lighter now—Kimberly feels like they’ve slipped out of the darkest timeline, or they almost have, even if Trini’s face is still bruised and Kimberly can’t forget the word written on the girl’s locker down the hall. Trini’s joking and smiling a little and so Kimberly finishes cleaning her up, moving quickly and distracting her with idle chatter about what she’s missed during the day.

When she’s done, she tucks Trini’s hair behind her ears and steps back to survey her work. “Well,” she says. “You still look like Rocky from the final act of Rocky—.”

“I should be so lucky,” Trini deadpans.

“—but you’re as patched up as I can get you at school.” Kimberly drops her hands, one resting on Trini’s knee and the other trailing down Trini’s arm to lace their fingers together. In the safety of the bathroom, out of sight, Trini doesn’t shy away from her touch, but rather tightens her hold on Kimberly’s hand and nods. “Do you want water?” Kimberly offers. “I think there’s a vending machine around the corner.”

“Water’d be good.”

“I’ll be right back.” When Trini’s grip steels and her eyes widen, Kimberly tells her, “Lock the door behind me. No one uses this bathroom, but I’ll knock when I come back, okay?”

When Trini nods and drops Kimberly’s hand, she—quite frankly, Kimberly doesn’t know what comes over her, but then she’s leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Trini’s forehead; it’s light, barely a brush of her lips over Trini’s skin, but it’s new and Kimberly’s close enough to smell Trini’s shampoo and she can’t—god. She can’t handle this.

As soon as she’s out in the hall and has heard the deadbolt slide home, Kimberly pulls out her phone.

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 2:57pm found her

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 2:57pm is she okay??

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 2:57pm not really

2:57pm like she’s safe and alive

2:57pm but someone wrote on her locker and roughed her up and im going to fucking murder them

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 2:58pm shit can I do anything

2:58pm like does she need anything

2:58pm do you need anything

2:58pm don’t kill anyone Kimberly

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 2:59pm no fucking promises

2:59pm but i do need u to take her to the mine for me. i wanna get her locker cleaned before class lets out and shes not up to staying thru the day

2:59pm and can u text zack bc she’ll probably want to head to the train car

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 3:01pm done and done. just left class, I’ll be in the parking lot whenever she’s ready

3:02pm and seriously Kimberly, don’t kill anyone

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 3:02pm [image attached]

From: Fearless Leader To: Kimberly Hart 3:02pm who the fuck

3:02pm let me know if you need help burying them

3:02pm but seriously who the fuck did that

From: Kimberly Hart To: Fearless Leader 3:02pm shes not saying and im not abt to push her rn

Her phone buzzes again, but she doesn’t check it until she’s bought Trini’s drink and started walking back to the bathroom—it’s only Jason again, agreeing with her decision not to push for answers today. Kimberly knocks three times, a familiar pattern, and slips in when Trini opens the door for her.

“Jason’s going to take you to the mine,” she tells her after cracking open the bottle. Kimberly hands it over and adds at Trini’s questioning look, “I’ve got a couple things I need to handle before I can leave, but I’ll be there soon.”

“What things do you need to handle?” Trini narrows her eyes at Kimberly, peering up at her with one hand planted on her hip. She sips her water with a slightly raised eyebrow when Kimberly hesitates for a beat too long before answering.

“I’m supposed to meet with my history teacher after school today,” Kimberly lies easily. “I just need to check in with her and let her know I can’t make it.”

If Trini doesn’t believe her, she doesn’t call her on it. She drops eye contact and starts shrinking the moment they step through the door back into the open hallway. Kimberly steers Trini away from the stairs by her locker, pulls her towards the elevator by the vending machines instead so she can be sure Trini doesn’t have to see it again.

Jason’s idling in the parking lot as promised, his truck newly declared road safe even though it still bore the physical evidence of his bull escapade. He leans over to open the passenger door when he spots them, nodding in greeting.

“Zack’s going to meet us there,” he tells the girls. “And I’m picking up Billy from the field.” Jason shifts his attention to Kimberly, asking significantly, “When do you think you’ll be done here?”

“Before school lets out.” She squeezes Trini’s hand as she climbs into her seat. “Probably in twenty?”

Trini’s withdrawn again, staring blankly ahead even as Jason nods, calls out a goodbye as he pulls away from the curb. Her eyes flick to Kimberly once as she lets go of Trini’s hand before they’re trained back ahead.

Kimberly stands at the curb until Jason’s truck disappears out onto the main road and makes the turn that takes them away from town and out towards the quarry.

It’s still quiet when she heads back into the school; the halls are still empty when she raids a janitor’s closet and collects cleaning supplies.

She stinks of bleach and her fingertips are raw by the end of it, but there’s no trace of the slur anymore and that alone is a triumph. Kimberly entertains the idea of moving Trini’s stuff into her locker briefly, but Trini’s so careful with her boundaries, draws them out so clearly and Kimberly feels like moving her shit without her express permission probably kicks through every line Trini’s drawn and she refuses to do that.

What she does instead only kicks through a few lines, she thinks.

Really, it’s dumb fucking luck that she quite literally bumps into Amanda and Rebecca—she should have been expecting it, because bad things come in threes and so far, she’s only at two for today.

“Watch where you’re going, bitch,” Amanda hisses when she and Rebecca stumble back.

Kimberly fakes it, taking one large step back and pretending to be unsteady on her feet. She’s just about to duck her head and slip away quietly, to attempt the path of least resistance, but then Rebecca’s taunting, “How’s your girlfriend, Kimmy?” and everything sort of goes out the window because it’s so obvious and Kimberly can’t believe she didn’t realize it before now.

Kimberly surges forward, hauls them both up by the collars of their shirts and shoves them back against the lockers that line the hallway. “Fuck with me all you want,” Kimberly snarls. “I deserve it and I know that. But leave her out of this.”

“We were only stating the obvious, Kimmy,” Amanda spits back. “Letting the rest of the student body know that she’s a d—.”

The anger that courses through Kimberly isn’t entirely new, but normally she’s alone when she feels it this intensely. Normally, it’s self-directed. Kimberly shifts, presses up with her forearm at the base of Amanda’s neck and growls, “Don’t you fucking dare.” She presses harder, hears the fabric of Rebecca’s shirt tear in the clenched fist of her other hand as she repeats, “Leave her the fuck out of this. Got it?”

Amanda’s still glaring at Kimberly, but there’s fear in her eyes too, just enough that Kimberly feels she’s done her job. There’s no doubt in her mind that she deserves whatever Amanda throws at her—there never was and there never will be, honestly, and Kimberly will take anything and everything that the other girl decides to put her through—but her team is off limits.

Trini is off limits.

She drops the other girls, stands resolute as they glare and stalk away, throwing insults as they go and threatening to go to the principal—they won’t, Kimberly knows, but it’s a good effort on their part.

When Kimberly gets to the mine, they’ve already migrated away from Zack’s train car. She heads to the gorge, throws herself off the cliff face and tries really hard to regret throwing Amanda and Rebecca into the lockers. Because that’s—that’s fucked up, right? Not her place?

The cool water does little to help clear her mind, but what she’s greeted with when she finally wanders onto the ship centers her.

She checks every one of their favorite spots to hide out in first—Trini’s, the few Kimberly’s shown her, the ones that everyone on the team knows about, all places somewhat shielded from Alpha-5 and their alien wall dad. The term was something Zack picked early on and that had stuck, much to Zordon’s chagrin and the rest of the rangers’ unending amusement.

Kimberly finally finds them in the makeshift den, the atrium down in the living quarters that one day Billy had asked if they could build a fort in and they just never took it down afterwards, even going so far as trawling second hand shops to find a battered but incredibly comfortable couch to make the center of their Ranger Roost (again—Zack’s term).

She nearly doesn’t see Trini, she’s so smothered by their boys. Kimberly only spots her by the little bright spot of yellow that stands out next to the deep red of Jason’s sweater where he’s got her wrapped up in his arms. Her legs, she realizes, are thrown over Zack’s lap and he’s got one of her hands covered in his own. Her sneaker clad feet are tucked up on the couch beside her, Billy’s hand resting on her leg, his thumb circling the jutting bone of Trini’s ankle. He’s the first to notice Kimberly, looking up and greeting her. “Hi Kimberly,” he says, his free hand raised and his voice splitting perfectly between worry and relief.

“Hey Billy,” she responds, stepping closer. “How’s our girl?”

“She hasn’t said anything.” Billy’s thumb doesn’t still on Trini’s ankle, even as he looks between Kimberly and where Kimberly thinks Trini’s face is worriedly.

Kimberly nods, squeezes the couch by Billy’s shoulder and murmurs, “Thanks, B.”

She comes around to the front of the couch, greets Zack by nudging the back of his head. From this side, she can see more of Trini—just a little, but enough to realize that the other girl is out cold.

“She dozed on the drive,” Jason explains quietly. “Barely made it in here and then was only up long enough to yell dogpile at us before she knocked out.”

Kimberly bites back a laugh partly because Jason’s got this calm resignation in his voice, like he knows and accepts the fact that he probably won’t be getting up from his seat until Trini’s napped herself out, but also partly due to the fact that Trini voluntarily called a dogpile when normally she rolls her eyes and has to be dragged into it.

Regardless—Zack nods in agreement with Jason. “Who do we need to bury?” he asks after a beat.

For half a second, Kimberly thinks he’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, but then he turns his face just a fraction more towards her and he’s not smiling, not even a little. Kimberly should probably be worried, but honestly? She’s just so damned pleased that she’s got at least one accomplice for when she tries to convince Billy to help her blow up Amanda’s car.

“Who do you think?” Kimberly answers quietly. They fall silent then; the only sound in the room is their breathing and Trini’s occasional soft snores and each one twists Kimberly’s heart, makes her soften. “Scoot,” she demands finally, pushing at Zack’s shoulder with gentle insistence. “I want in on the dog-pile.”

He moves without protest, which surprises her less than it did at the very beginning, when they were all still learning how to handle one another. Zack’s incredibly caring, Kimberly’s found, particularly when it comes to the tiniest, angstiest ranger and he generally cools it with the jokes when Trini’s well-being is on the table. He shoves Jason and they shuffle down in tandem, shifting Trini to rest against Kimberly seamlessly when she slips onto the couch to join her friends.

In her sleep, Trini curls into Kimberly, seeking out her warmth—Kimberly’s not surprised by it anymore; they’ve had enough sleepovers at this point that she’s become well-acquainted with the smaller girl’s tendency to wrap herself around whatever proves softest, warmest, and most accepting of her weight. It left Kimberly flustered and blushing on far too many mornings, but eventually she noticed how much easier Trini seemed to sleep with human contact and learned to compartmentalize for her sake.

Right now, though, Trini’s wounds are healing already and she lets out a little sigh as she settles against Kimberly, her face relaxed and her near constant scowl nonexistent for the moment. Kimberly wraps her arms around Trini, earning another pleased sigh and causing Kimberly to flush in response. There’s no immediate shit from Zack over it, but when Kimberly looks up, he’s smirking at her like he knows something; lucky for him, Kimberly’s got a lapful of a napping Trini and can’t quite bring herself to give a shit about whatever Zack may or may not know.

Jason falls asleep next, his head falling back at such an awkward angle Kimberly’s sure he’ll wake with a crick in his neck. Billy follows him shortly, but not before snagging one of the pillows off the floor and propping Jason’s head up on it.

For a while, it’s just Zack and Kimberly still awake; Kimberly’s playing with Trini’s hair when Zack asks seriously, “So what do you want to do about them?”

It’s no mystery who he’s talking about. Kimberly takes a moment, a breath, before she answers. “Dunno,” she says honestly. “I mean, I know I want to take a baseball bat to Amanda’s BMW, but I’ll just follow her lead on it.” She dips her chin towards Trini, who’s started snoring lightly, her exhales coming in warms puffs of air against Kimberly’s collarbone. “However she wants to handle it, you know?”

Zack levels her with a look that tells Kimberly exactly how much he’s buying her answer, but nods just the same. After a minute, he says, “Didn’t peg you for property damage, princess.”

Kimberly chucks the nearest object she can lay a hand on—in this case, Jason’s phone—and grins as Zack easily dodges it. “Hey,” she warns lightly. “Only one ranger gets to call me that.”

“You’re so whipped,” Zack laughs. He laughs even harder when Kimberly blushes; she knows she deserves that quip, knows she brought it on herself, but it still makes her defensive, just a little.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am—.”

Trini shifts in Kimberly’s lap, twisting her fingers into the hem of the other girl’s shirt as she grumbles, “You’re both stupid. Let me sleep.”

Zack shoots Kimberly a shit eating grin when she immediately snaps her mouth shut, her hands busying themselves with Trini’s hair again. Shut up, she mouths at him.

Go to sleep, he throws back.

Whatever. Kimberly’s not whipped just because she does actually settle down, leaning back against the arm of the couch and bringing Trini with her, head on her chest.

She closes her eyes to avoid Zack’s raised eyebrows.

/ /

“Hey,” Kimberly greets the next day, swinging up and through Trini’s window in the early morning light. “I have a proposition for you.”

Trini snorts and throws Kimberly a surprised smile, one that makes her throat tighten, her heart turn with how bright it is. “Kimberly Hart,” she gasps, “are you literally propositioning me?"

Rolling her eyes, Kimberly rights herself and straightens. “I am, I guess,” she says. “I think you should move into my locker.”

“Little early for that, hm?”

Kimberly pretends to not notice the way Trini’s voice cracks; she also pretends not to notice the little flare of warmth, of hope that takes hold in her chest when she considers what the break in the other girl’s voice might mean. Instead, she nods. “Maybe,” she agrees, “but how many times have you had days like yesterday?”

For a second, she thinks she’s finally said the wrong thing, finally gotten Trini to shut down, shut her out completely, because Trini’s expression flattens, goes dead in the blink of an eye. She doesn’t still, though, just ducks Kimberly’s gaze as she keeps shoving things into her bag for detention.

“Trini,” Kimberly presses, desperate for some sign that she hasn’t just fucked whatever their relationship is to high hell.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says in a tight voice. “It’s not your problem.” She reaches for the beanie on the corner of her bed and Kimberly, knowing it’s the only chance to get a real answer, steps between to block her.

Trini looks up finally. Her eyes are still a little puffy, still a little red; with ranger healing, her bruises and cuts have faded and her eyes should be back to normal by now, which only confirms what Kimberly worried about through the night—that after they all went home last night (or, more aptly: after Alpha-5 and Zordon forced them all to go home), Trini spent the night crying.

“Just drop it, okay?”

Trini’s voice breaks a little on the request and she’s watching Kimberly with narrowed eyes, like she doesn’t half-trust her to be in her space right now and that sort of breaks Kimberly into a million pieces. That Trini still expects that her lot in life is to suffer alone, to deny any care before it can be denied to her has Kimberly wanting to hurt any and every person that has ever hurt the girl in front of her; she wants to track them down and demand why they would hurt a person so kind, so intensely caring.

Kimberly won’t drop it—can’t drop it, because Trini has always deserved more than this and to think that she doesn’t know that is almost too much for Kimberly to handle. She softens a little more, reaches back to grab the beanie and hand it over to Trini before she perches on the edge of the other girl’s bed. “Hey,” she says softly as Trini shoves the beanie over her hair. “I’m sorry I upset you, I didn’t—I should have phrased that better.”

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass,” Trini snaps. “I’m not going to break.” And at least—at least this is familiar? Kimberly’s used to this, used to Trini trying to provoke a response that she feels better suited to handle—annoyance or anger or teasing, anything other than heartfelt care.

“I know,” Kimberly says simply. She lets the statement rest between them for a moment. Then, she begins again. “But I also know that you shouldn’t have to deal with this at all, Trini,” she sighs, “and you really shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. I just want to be here for you.”

Trini’s scowl had been softening a little with each passing moment, and, with Kimberly’s last declaration, it disappears entirely, replaced with a carefully constructed neutral expression instead. “You’re really willing to risk shit like this happening at your locker again?” Trini asks flatly, as if expecting Kimberly to rethink her offer suddenly.

It’s as good as an agreement though, and Kimberly nods quickly. “Of course,” she hums. “I thought I made it pretty clear that you’re more than worth it.”

The statement slips out without her meaning it to, but then it’s there, settling between them and for a split second, Kimberly’s sure Trini’s about to cry again—her eyes start shining and her jaw tightens and guilt sits heavy in Kimberly’s chest. But then her expression clears, her mouth twisting into a smirk that seems to brighten the whole damn room even as her eyes still shine.

“Sap,” Trini accuses lightly. “But yeah, whatever, if you’re so desperate to deal with me twenty-four seven, I’ll move into your locker.” She moves to shoulder past Kimberly, head for the window and Kimberly can’t explain this either, can’t reason why her hand whips out to grab Trini around her wrist and pull her back, into a hug.

“Sorry,” Kimberly mutters into Trini’s hair.

She can practically feel Trini roll her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away; in fact, she leans into Kimberly a little more, brings her arms around her waist. “If you ever tell anyone about this,” Trini grumbles into Kimberly’s neck, “I’m going to throw you into a wall or something.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.” The shorter girl lets out a little sigh then, her breath warm against Kimberly’s collarbone. “But seriously. Zack’s gonna give me shit if he knows I went down without a fight.”

“You know he won’t,” Kimberly hums. “Not about this anyway.”

Trini huffs out something that sounds an awful lot like an agreement and pulls away slowly, like it pains her. “You’re sparring with him today if he does, though,” she tells her.

“I thought we could spar together,” Kimberly says quietly, biting back a smile at the way Trini’s cheeks redden.

“You—uh,” she stammers. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to get hurt and you know you’ll pull your punches.”

“Not at all. I’m gonna kick your ass, like always.”

Trini narrows her eyes, her mouth twisting up into a smirk even as her blush deepens. “You’re so full of shit,” she says, the tips of her ears turning red. “And we’re going to be late if you keep making me all sappy and whatever.”

“When have you ever been on time to detention?”

“Well, princesa,” Trini drawls. “I’m there temporarily, so my tardiness doesn’t really matter, but I’m guessing you’re also here to insist on driving me? And your tardiness does matter. Therefore, we’re going to be on time today.”

“You’re so bossy,” Kimberly whines, pulling a face and biting back laughter as Trini shoves her towards the window. There’s some grumbling behind her as Kimberly launches herself out the window, catching herself on the sill and twisting to grin at the other girl. Trini’s still red-faced and Kimberly can’t help but add with a wink, “I think I like it.”

She drops her hold on Trini’s windowsill and falls to the ground with grace, landing lightly on the still dew covered grass, but not before she hears a strangled squeak of a response above her.

#power rangers 2017 #trimberly #trini #kimberly hart #blood cw #wounds cw #wound care cw #self loathing cw #homophobia cw #bullying cw #internalized homophobia cw #its angsty but cute i promise #fun story this was originally going to be my first trimberly fic #but them prompts happened and the deleted scenes were released and i had to revamp the whole damn thing #*glares at lionsgate*

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