#just realized I hallucinated a lot from my overdose and that was wild

[jelle-jareau]

Hi what do I do I like them so so much but I don’t think they like me

#but I have bigger problems #just realized I hallucinated a lot from my overdose and that was wild #they had to restrain me #the big strong men were scared of me #I don’t remember any of it tho

[toutallyahoe]

Everybody Talks ~ Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyuu) pt 2

requested by: --

a/n: holy shit— i had to break this one shot into three parts?!?

ugh, this is why i prefer wattpad and quotev bruuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh

you gremlins better enjoy this

part one | part two | part three

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"Hey sugar show me all your love?

All you're giving me is friction,"

It had been already a week and a half and his soulmate finally stopped listening to the song like it was god or something. Well, his soulmate never fully stopped as his soulmate seemed to play on it occasionally from time to time but it wasn't like earlier in the week where Hajime could barely sleep or focus on anything since the song was blasting on his ears in full volume.

Hajime was thankful that his soulmate finally regained their sanity back to not blast the song on a loop twenty-four seven like a maniac.

Still though, instead of the song "Everybody Talks" by Neon Trees on loop, it was replaced by an instrumental of the said song. Not really much of a change but hey, it was more bearable with out the singer singing the lyrics so loud Hajime was sure he'll go deaf.

And yes, Hajime knows the name of the song and the band. How can he not be though when he had been hearing this one particular song again and again for a week and a half. It seemed like his soulmate changed their taste again. More or less. It was a common occurrence as the dark haired male seemed to noticed that his soulmate enjoyed listening to music a lot.

Hajime liked to think his soulmate was perhaps an aspiring musician as the dark haired male sometimes hear some songs he never heard of, even if he searched it in online as best as he could.

"Hey sugar what you gotta say?

It started with a whisper!"

Snapping out of his thoughts. Hajime sighed again when he heard the familiar song... again. It seemed like his soulmate was listening to the song again. Actually, his soulmate had been listening for it for awhile now but had had the volume down that the dark haired male could easily tune it out. But it seemed like his soulmate was trying to have their eardrums bursting again.

"And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

Shaking his head, Hajime reminded himself to focus. Currently, he had been asked by a teacher of his to deliver a box. Having nothing to do as Mondays he doesn't have any volleyball practice, Hajime agreed to take the box towards the light music club.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

The dark haired male had a bit trouble locating the club room of the light music club though. Hajime wasn't one to be interested in other extra curricular activities and other clubs as he was busy with his own club to manage. Being the vice captain of the volleyball club full of raging testosterone and hormonal boys, and having to deal with their bullshit was enough already. Hell, he even had to deal with Oikawa Tōru and that guy was the president! You could tell the stress the dark haired male had to deal with every single day.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Hajime shakes his head again as he turned his attention the the box on his hands. The box wasn't that huge nor heavy. Maybe a bit heavy and the dark haired male assumed it was some music instrument or some sheets of music notes. Either way, he has to be careful since who know what was inside and how he'll be in trouble if he messed whatever is inside the box.

"Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks back!"

Shifting his gaze from the box to the doors he was passing by. Hajime made sure to read the signs of the door to find the light music club he had to deliver the box too.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

Everybody talks, everybody talks back!"

   

It took awhile for the dark haired male the light music club room. Turns out the club room of the light music club was on the third floor, the third to the last room of the end of the building. Looking at the door of the room, it was the same as the rest of the doors of the rooms in the school. The only thing new about it was the sign on top of the door said "LIGHT MUSIC CLUB" in a very neat, bolded writing. Hajime almost passed the room for a second as everything was the same if he wasn't looking for it.

Sighing, the dark haired male noticed his soulmate was rather quite. They had been for awhile and Hajime didn't know whether to be overjoyed or not. He had noticed that his soulmate was also going silent for awhile and would normally just listen to music late at night or around the end of classes. Maybe sometimes listening in classes but mostly skipped unlike what they used to.

This really made Hajime curious on why the change of schedule his soulmate is currently doing as his soulmate was relentless and would always jam out to their song. But right now, Hajime should focusing on the task at hand. Going back to reality and cursing his soulmate— even when they are not annoying him with their music blasting in full volume inside his mind, Hajime is still getting distracted by them. Cute but also, how annoying.

Looking at the door again then at the box in his hand. Hajime breathed in and out. He did not know why but oddly enough, he felt a bit nervous. Maybe he was just stressed out? Perhaps. The dark haired male really doesn't have a single clue.

The dark haired male decided to just get this over with. Swallowing the anxiety that just appeared out of nowhere, Hajime was about to knock on the door when the familiar song came inside his mind again, but this time... more louder...?

"Hey baby won't you look my way?

I can be your new addiction."

"What the hell...?" Hajime muttered, confused and bewildered. The dark haired male swore he was hallucinating the song his soulmate was playing all the time. He had to be right or perhaps he was having auditory problems? Maybe he finally lost it with his soulmate's non-stop jamming to the song that it made him finally gone insane.

"Hey baby what you gotta say?

All you're giving me is fiction."

It took a second or two for Hajime to realized he wasn't going insane for listening on a song for almost a week and a half non-stop. No, the dark haired male realized the song wasn't only playing inside his mind, but also somewhere in front of him. And Hajime looked at the door in front of him, he knows the sound was coming inside the light music club room.

"I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time,

I found out that everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks—"

The dark haired male didn't know what had came over him or what had possessed him to do such a thing, but he, Iwaizumi Hajime grabbed the handle of the door and hastily opened it.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

The room had a cozy feel to it. It was like any room of the building in size but it had its own personality than the other rooms aswell. The window were covered with thick, black colored curtains that were shut tight at the moment. The walls were painted darker shade than the other room, a color of maroon.

Inside the room were chairs and some table on the side and most important of all, many different instrument raging from percussion to stringed and woodwinds instruments. There are mic stands and even a small podium inside the room. But Hajime wasn't focused on the room though. No, he was more focused on the person inside the room.

Inside the club room of the light music club was a lone male. This was [Last name] [Name]. Hajime only knew him because the male was the president of the light music club and had classes with his chocolate brown haired best friend.

[Name] had [Hair color] hair that was rather messy and wild looking and had its tips bleached white. [Skin color] skin that maybe held some imperfections that Hajime couldn't tell from the distance the two were in but the dark haired male noticed the [Hair color] haired male was wearing the Aoba Johsai school uniform.

Well, of course he was. [Name] was a student of the school after all, but the [Hair color] haired student seemed to had his white jacket discarded and put on a chair that was inside the room along with his bag. [Name] was standing in the small podium in the center of the room, two large speakers beside him that was blasting the rifts of the bass guitar that he was playing in his hands.

[Name] was wearing white headphones over his ears and had his eyes closed as he sang onto the microphone in front of his. His eyes closed, clueless to his own surroundings and was only lost to the music he was listening and singing too.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

Hajime felt his heart beating so fast inside his ribcage. He swore his heart would escape as he stood on the doorway of the room, frozen and gaping like a fish out of the water as his eyes widened in shock.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Was this real? This had to be a joke, right?

Holy shit. His soulmate— his fucking soulmate wasn't farther away than he had thought. His soulmate was [Last name] [Name], the president of the light music club and they were only a few steps away from each other. Not the miles and miles apart Hajime had admitted to himself a long time ago.

"Hey honey you could be my drug?

You could be my new prescription."

Was this the reason he had been hearing the song "Everybody Talks" for a week and a half now? Because his soulmate was truly an aspiring musician?

"Too much could be an overdose!

All this trash talk make me itchin'!"

It seemed like Hajime wasn't wrong about his thoughts on his soulmate enjoying music because they had a passion for it. His soulmate, [Name], was literally the president of a club dedicated to music making!

"Oh my, my,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, too much..."

As Hajime continuously stood there like a statue, the [Hair color] haired male finally noticed him when he had opened his eyes to see the dark haired male.

"It started with a whisper..." [Name] softly sang as he then stopped strumming the bass guitar on his hands and took his headphones off his ears. Instead, he let the white headphones hang loosely on his neck as he jumped of the mini podium and went towards the frozen male.

"Uh, hey?" [Name] awkwardly greeted Hajime as he stood in front of the dark haired male. "Do you need something?" The [Hair color] haired male asked as he looked at the volleyball player up and down.

[Name] knew who this was. This was the infamous ace of the males volleyball club of Aoba Johsai. The pride and joy of the school, the volleyball club was. Iwaizumi Hajime may not be popular like Oikawa Tōru (who he share homeroom with) like the rest of the other members of the club, but the dark haired ace still garnered recognition from others. He was, after all, the ace of the sport.

Now this brings the question on why the ace of the volleyball club was in his club's doorstep. Normally, no one comes into the light music club except members (who already went home as everyone Mondays are no club time for them) or close friends of the said members to watch them goof off and perform. And [Name] was pretty sure that Hajime wasn't a close friend of his members as he prided himself to actually known his fellow members in the light music club. After all, what kind a president would he be if wasn't close with his members and his members friends?

So, if it isn't any if those two, this leads to only one conclusion.

Snapping his fingers in a "hurrah" moment. The [Hair color] haired male did not paid mind on Hajime flinching a bit on the snap of his fingers as he sent the dark haired ace an apologetic grin.

"If you're here because of how loud I'm playing again, I promise I'll keep it down!" [Name] had awkwardly said as he grinned. This wasn't the first time people actually visited the club to complain how loud they were playing, or more specifically, how he was playing. [Name] was a passionate guy and it his passion also shows in his playing. And so, he sometimes gets too into his music.

"So, uhhh, don't worry!" The [Hair color] haired male chuckled but his relief was immediately washed away and was replaced with confusion when he saw the dark haired male shakes his head and avoided eye contact with him. Did he do something wrong?

"No, that's not it," Hajime had said as he awkwardly coughed and avoided looking at [Name] in his [Eye color] eyes. Why was he feeling embarrassed again? He wasn't the one getting caught singing their heart out for goodness sake! Yet, Hajime felt a bit shy which was uncharacteristic of him.

This was his soulmate though. Iwaizumi Hajime may be jumping on the gun here and was probably wrong but the inner hopeless romantic he denied that he had was desperately screaming at him that this was no coincidence.

The light music club president was singing the fucking song his soulmate was listening to and Hajime could still hear the song playing even just a tiny bit and the dark haired male could practically hear [Name]'s music on the headphones hanging lazily on his neck. And it was the same fucking song.

Clearing his throat. Hajime reminded himself to focus. He could tell [Name] about them both being soulmates after he delivered the box that he was asked to give.

"Tōrasu-sensei asked me to deliver this," Hajime had said as he finally looked at the other male and saw the [Hair color] haired male just noticed the box he was carrying. Hajime had to bite back the nerves coming back when he made brief eye contact with [Name].

Fuck, he had been waiting for this moment his whole life, so why did he feel so nervous?!?

Hajime didn't expect his soulmate to be so closer to him and be a male. Yes, the dark haired male knew the possibility of having the same sex soulmate as it wasn't a new thing really. In fact, having same sex partners are more common than what other people would think. Still, Hajime never expected this and he was having mix feelings about it.

"Oh," Hajime was dragged out of his thoughts again by [Name] with the male sporting a dumbfounded look for a second as his lips was in a "o" form. The [Hair color] haired male seemed to realized what he was here for and had flashed him a large smile. The dark haired male just noticed that [Name] actually had a few piercing in his ears and that he had really nice [Eye color] eyes that shined with energy.

"Thanks for delivering!" [Name] thanked as he carefully took the box from the dark haired male when Hajime was too busy looking at him. The [Hair color] haired male was a bit amused when he noticed Hajime blinked a couple of times when he took the box away from him. Looks like the volleyball player was lost in his thoughts.

"I had been waiting for this baby for awhile now," [Name] said as he patted the top of the box and sent Hajime a grateful smile. "So, thanks, really."

"No problem," Hajime shrugged as he nodded his head at the [Hair color] haired male. It seemed like the dark haired male was back and acting normal again. Not that [Name] would know really as he wasn't closed with the volleyball player.

"Not to be a bother but, what's inside the box?" Hajime had asked as he rubbed his hands, eying the box he just delivered. Hajime had his guesses earlier ago but he couldn't tell which of his guesses were correct really. The dark haired male noticed the male in front of him seemed to light up and beamed at him.

"Oh! It's supposed to be a surprise," [Name] had said. This caused Hajime to be more curious on what's inside the box, and [Name] seemed to actually be eager to tell as he sent Hajime a grin. "It's some stuff we'll be using in the school's festival next week!"

"Ah, is it some new instrument or something?" The volleyball player asked as he saw the light music club president chuckle while shaking his head. Hajime had to force himself to calm himself down when he saw the [Hair color] haired male sent him a wink with a cheeky grin on his lips.

"Now, I can't tell you about that!" [Name] had said with a laugh as he went to the nearest table and placed the box down. He then turned and gave Hajime another grateful smile. "It would ruin the surprise if I do."

"I see," Hajime muttered as he can't stop the small smile creeping onto his lips. "Then I'm sure it'll be a great surprise then!" Hajime said. The dark haired male didn't noticed how the [Hair color] haired male seemed to be a bit surprised with his words but he immediately grinned happily by Hajime's words.

"Oh, you bet!" [Name] said as he went back to stand in front of Hajime, holding his hand on to shake the dark haired male's hand. "Name's [Name] by the way! [Last name] [Name]!" He introduced.

"Iwaizumi Hajime," Hajime introduced himself aswell as he took the [Skin color] hand that [Name] outstretched for him to shake. A small smile on his lips as he shook hands with the light music club president.

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#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x male reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x male reader #hajime #hajime x male reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #hq #hq x male reader #x male reader #seme male reader #male reader insert #top male reader #male reader #fluff #soulmate au

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced II

           When he thought about rolling over to see Flynn making her bed, Jack smiled. Her muscular figure would be silhouetted by the rays of dawn coming through the window, a tan blur against the black obsidian of Camp Othrys.

She walked around in her underwear in the morning. Luke said it was invitation. Jack knew it wasn’t. It was a marker of tested trust, Flynn’s willingness to be vulnerable knowing that Jack wouldn’t make the first move or ogle her. At least, that’s what Prometheus said when Jack brought up his concerns.

But, when Jack rolled over, there was no Camp Othrys, no line of Flynn’s weapons against the wall. His electric bass guitars were gone, as were all of his sketches of the Orpheus Metal band posters. (They were terrible—Pax had made better ones.)

A harp and loom lingered against one cavernous wall. There was a built-in fireplace roaring, providing some respite to the chilly air. The ceiling was crystalline, reflecting purple, emerald, and blue against the white bedding. Someone else’s bedding. It smelled like someone else.

Jack sat up, shoving the feather pillow away. He clutched at his hair, finding that someone must have trimmed it. He choked at the gap in his memory.

They had fought the Romans—an aerial attack against the Princess Andromeda. Jack was snatched by an eagle. Screams. Flynn’s roar of fury. He remembered falling in the water…

The clothing he wore was white, baggy, and cotton, too much like his hospital garb from the first time Steve, his step dad, institutionalized him. This prank has gone too far, Steve had said, angry Jack would dare scare Ashton and Shelby by claiming the walls were screaming. Jack’s skinny jeans and band shirt were gone. What if all of it had been a hallucination: Camp Othrys, the Princess Andromeda, the monsters, the gods.

Jack choked back a sob. This. This wasn’t the hospital. Jack dug his nails into his pockets, the material too thin and delicate to keep him from clawing his legs in a panic. No Mr. Sunny. His pillbox, and all of his medication, was gone. How much time did he have? He knew the withdraw symptoms: vomiting, hypersalivation, diarrhea, diaphoresis, insomnia, agitation, and rapid psychosis.

He had woken in a cold sweat, but a cold sweat didn’t always mean withdraws.

Rapid psychosis. Jack’s heartbeat thudded in his head. This felt real, but everything always felt real—that was the problem. There was a distant song—lovely and eerie, just abstract enough to question its authenticity.

His stomach churned with ignored hunger. A platter with tropical fruits, bread, and a mug of water lay beside him. Jack knew enough about mythology and fairy tales not to eat something unless you were directly invited and only if you knew that the owner of the food wasn’t a witch with powers to trap you eternally.

She must have undressed me. That girl with the caramel braid. Unease squeezed away any hunger: a stranger had taken off his boxers while he slept.

When Jack got to his feet, his legs trembled and his head pounded. He slipped a blanket around his shoulders. As he wandered towards the cave entrance, he passed a shelf filled with dried and drying plants that smelled of Alabaster’s laboratory. Several ancient tomes lined a desk beside it. One was open to a page illustrating human anatomy with words in… Minoan, if Jack had to guess. Some of the titans at Camp Othrys wrote in the dead language. Jack turned the page and flinched. There was an inked sketch of him, sleeping. He turned the page back.

Was it him? Or had his brain filled in the gaps?

It’s starting. Monsters. He was going to start to see and hear monsters again. Not the real ones. Not the friendly ones on his ship. Not the ones that came to his monster seminars about how demigods were friends, not food. Innocuous, innocent things would become sinister and comfort would lilt to paranoia.

         But there were no monsters outside the cave. Just her.

         The sun’s amber and coral hues broke against the ocean’s horizon, bleeding into the water and clouds to unite them into zigzagging, heavenly passageways. Crepuscular rays danced through their holes, making this girl’s hair glow as though one more constant in the coming of dawn. She stood, singing, at the edge of a beach. Her bare feet made lumps in the sand, compounding with each flush of the tide; if she forgot herself for long enough, the earth would reclaim her.

         Jack swallowed. In the oncoming lighting, he could see the silhouettes of flowers—so many flowers. There was a maze of roses, larkspur, delphinium, lilies, hollyhock, and sunflowers, all reaching towards the sky and curling about with a careless grace that looked both wild and tamed in their pattern. Some whisper cooed that these flowers didn’t belong together, making Jack fear they’d bow and bury him if he dared to walk through.

         But he needed to walk through to get to the beach, to follow the siren call. He hesitantly passed the first rose bush, expecting it to jump into Alice in Wonderland levels of criticism.

         “Jack!”

         The call made him jump away from the roses. After an exhale, he realized it was the girl, not chatty flora. He rushed past the rest of the flowers.

         “You’re already up,” she said when he reached her. The comment sounded more surprised than the disappointment he’d detected last time. Her white, sleeveless dress and braid fluttered in an ocean breeze. The effect made Jack’s blanket feel like an epic cloak.

         He gestured to his clothing and back towards the cave. “Thank you for the hospitality, Ms…” He trailed off, frowning. His throat felt worn. He’d have to do his warm up exercises. At least there was plenty of salt water to gargle. “How did you know my name?”

         “Ms?” she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh,” she giggled, “You talk in your sleep.”

         Jack didn’t—or no one ever said he had before. Pax (and Axel under the guise of worrying over Pax) had slept in his room when they’d had particularly bad nightmares. That sounded like something Pax would abuse, even subconsciously, and would result in Flynn taping both their mouths shut.  Morpheus liked to keep a strict record of who talked in their sleep, so he could play with demigods that slept through Alabaster’s lectures.

         Jack swallowed. “Um, Ms., I hate to be a bother, but I had a pill box in my pocket—”

         “I disposed of it. I don’t allow plastics on my island and the contents had been soiled by the ocean.”

         Jack choked. That was the first gift Flynn gave Jack—the first time he realized all his ballads, poems, and offers to carry her books hadn’t just annoyed her. She and Phil had been teaching him to carry it on his own, a marker of independence that made him proud, even if Flynn double checked every hour to assure he hadn’t overdosed on anything. Most people didn’t trust him with important things, but she and Phil were entrusting him with that.

         “You won’t need them here. Ogygia itself can soothe you—”

         Trembles shook from Jack’s core to his fingertips. “Ogygia,” he whispered, taking a step backwards. The beautiful horizon tilted. His hair felt course as he tugged at it. “You’re—you’re Calypso the Seductress, detainer of men—”

         Before the words left his mouth, he turned to flee. The sand slipped under his bare feet. The blanket tumbled from his shoulders, disappearing with the sight of that horizon. Jack ran towards the retreating darkness of the island, away from the sunlight that sparkled in that glowing hair.

Others at camp found Homer and Hesiod’s work boring, but he’d put the Odyssey to proper music and knew most verses. He knew of this nymph-goddess.

Each step made Jack’s body feel leaden. His panic numbed with an encroaching exhaustion. He shouldn’t be this tired—he knew his body. He healed fast. This weakness—how could she—did she—?

Jack’s legs failed him while racing through the gardens. Rose canes loomed over him and curled around in a canopy of thorns. In their sharp and cloy embrace, consciousness hazed to nightmares.[1]

 ***

Pain pinched Jack’s cheek. He jerked away, expecting to see Pax with a super glue tube and fake mustache to make Jack “look more esteemed.” That prank had not gone well. Turns out, Flynn did not like Jack with a Western train-robber look and she did not like how the fake black hairs tickled when he nuzzled her.

Instead of Pax, he saw Calypso with a small bandage that she must have ripped off his face. There was a tiny, brownish-red scab on the other side.

Jack sat up and jerked back from her. They were back in the cavern, on the mattress made of white fluffiness. She had a basket of tiny bandages at her side.

“Calypso the—”

“Don’t.” She placed her hands on her hips, glaring. Considering how she knelt beside him, her regale stature was impressive. “I get messages from the gods, you know. They call you Jak-Jak the Scourge of New Rome, Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, Jak-Jak the Corrupted Spawn of Apollo. Need I go one? Shall I assume you’re here to plague me? To give me cancerous sores? Shall I make assumptions of your person off hearsay, like you have done with me? How long ago did Homer and Hesiod write that libel about Odysseus?”

Her eyes watered.

Jack frowned. Had his name really traveled that far?

A tear streaked down her perfect cheek: a raindrop down the smoothness of a statue. Rumor had it that Pax could cry on command. What if she could too?

Or, what if she was a good Samaritan helping out, decried, like many women had been, by the histories written by men?

Jack exhaled, telling himself to relax. He tried counting, the way Axel told him to when he got confused. Axel would be furious at him for this kind of assumption, for upsetting a mythological creature based off hearsay. There were lots of fabled monsters at Camp Othrys that were friendly (when well fed. Jack had to make rules about demigods being in the dining hall during monster feed time).

“I—I’m sorry, Ms. Calypso,” he said, looking down at his hands. There were more little bandages tapped across his forearms. From a quick examination of his skin, the thorn pricks had already healed and scarred over. The base guitar chord was still braided in a bracelet around his wrist. He touched the scars there, finding ridges where he’d healed Lucille and Lou Ellen’s skin by peeling off his own. That new kid, Ethan Naka—something, had joked that Jack’s arms would start to match Flynn’s burned face. Jack gave him a case of chicken pox for that. No one was allowed to talk about Flynn’s face, except Flynn herself and their son, Pax. Pax, only because he was a sweet little munchin and the only person other than Jack that could make Flynn blush.

Calypso gently touched his chin. Jack didn’t flinch back this time. “It is alright.” And, she ripped off another bandage. Some hair came away with it, making Jack wince.

Everything seemed… clearer. Sharper than it had in years. His thoughts raced with a hyper clarity that scared him. “What else was wrong from the myth?” he asked, observing the cavern in a new light. The cool breeze that rustled the white curtains was refreshing, intermixing the gentle sweetness of flowers with the herbs in her cabinet. He frowned at the tomes there. Had he imagined the drawing of him?

She dabbed a cool, wet cloth against his stinging skin. Sadness lined her eyes. She hesitated. “I don’t know what you know of this place, brave one. The island is a phantom island, my imprisonment for helping my father in the first Titan War. Time does not have the same meaning here as it does elsewhere.”

Jack glanced past her, to the roaring fire in the wall’s inset fireplace. There was a pot over the flames, boiling furiously. He swallowed, despite her earlier assurance. “You’re not going to… eat me, are you?”

“Eat you, my sweet?” Her eyes seemed to dance.

“Well, that response reaffirmed every fairytale fear that I had.”

Her laugh was melodious. She must have thought that had been a joke. It was not. “I’m afraid we mostly eat vegetables and fish here. There’s a scarcity of cannibalism on the island.”

Jack nodded, somewhat comforted. That hadn’t been in the original tale, but you never knew with Greek mythology. He didn’t want to be rude (again) but, if this was the Calypso, he had an important question. “How do I get off the island?”

“Jack, a terrible fate awaits you off the island. I cannot, in good consciousness, allow you to leave until you are healed, well-rested, and well.” She gestured to his lanky frame.

Once again, Jack considered pointing out that this was his natural state of stick-figure Jackness. He let the offense slide. In the Odyssey, she said something similar to Odysseus. Staying here would worry Flynn, Luke, and the boys, but he had no way off the island unless he lucked into some abandoned boat or cartoon-barrel. In the Odyssey, Calypso gave Odysseus a bronze axe so he could build his own raft. Jack doubted he could lift an axe over his head without falling backwards let alone build a raft with it. Greeks were master ship-builders. Jack was a master builder of group-therapy sessions for monster support, metal bands, and stories to make Luke, Flynn, and his boys smile.

Besides, Calypso helped Odysseus only after she held him captive for seven years and he provided her a son (or several, depending on the author). There were no sons on the island, unless they were hiding in the cartoon-barrels. Maybe the ancient authors truly had discredited her.

“I can stay,” he said hesitantly, “but only for a few days. Flynn, Luke, and my boys need me.”

Calypso’s lips pursed and her gaze softened, making her look both relieved and troubled. She glanced away. “You’re so young to have children.”

“Oh, we adopted.” Jack beamed. “Luke says they’re too close in age to be my sons, and Axel says I’m not allowed to both be the head of our metal band and his father, but they’ve taken well to it. They haven’t started calling me dad yet, but I’ll work them over.”

Calypso looked confused. “Metal band?” she repeated.

Jack leaned forward excitedly. “We already played once at the HMM—a bar for monsters—er—a tavern.” He scrambled to find words that would translate to ones she would recognize. “The crowd loved us. Clops threw a goat at us!”

“A goat?”

“Yeah! A goat’s this four-legged—” Jack fumbled, realizing that’s not the part that confused her. She repressed a smile at the pause. “It’s a really big deal to have a monster throw a goat at you instead of trying to eat it. Kind of like when people throw their underwear at the stage and about as sanitary. Much lighter impact.”

“What?!” Her face scrunched in disgust. The expression was almost cute. It put Jack at ease. This was the first time he felt like she wasn’t acting or hiding anything. “People have thrown their underwear at you while you’re performing? Is that… normal?”

Jack considered this. “I don’t really know. It never happened to me when I did solos in the church choir—” Well, once after service but that was a little different. One of those instances where the boy denied it happened the next day. “—but Pax—one of my sons—talks about it like it’s a marker of success. I think they’re mostly thrown at Axel. He’s a handsome boy and a hearthrob amongst demigod and monster alike. Plus, he’s the guitarist, and the angsty one, and people always love angsty guitar players.”

The look of confusion deepened. Jack absently tugged a lock of his hair, wishing it was a little longer. “It’s like a lute—oh, wait, that was 13th century. Uh, it’s a fretted stringed instrument—anywhere from four to nine strings though standard is six, and you play it by plucking or strumming with one hand while fretting with the other—or picking. Or bapping the body. Uh—how about I make you one? All I need is a box, a longish piece of wood, some sticks, and some of your uncut harp strings.”

I can make an instrument, but can’t make a boat. Not for the first time, Jack wondered why Luke and Flynn wanted to keep him around. He managed to use his powers to save Axel, Pax, and Alabaster (though, really, he thought it was mostly Flynn. She was so incredible). But he still didn’t feel like he was great at the killing department, regardless of Phil’s continuous encouragement. Even during the interrogations he and Flynn had been conducting on Romans, he flinched and shrieked when someone’s finger was broken. Despite all this time, he hoped Flynn and Luke found him useful.

Calypso nodded slowly. “Will you teach me how to play?”

Jack nodded enthusiastically. “The positioning might seem weird, but you’ll pick it up easily. From what I’ve heard of your singing and harp-playing, you have perfect pitch and a natural grasp on music—”

She tucked a lock behind her ear. “You like my singing?”

He tilted his head quizzically. “Of course. You’re incredibly talented, both naturally with your voice quality and the amount of work you’ve put into perfecting your craft.” Jack supposed that’s what he’d do, too, if he had an eternity to work on anything. An eternity of music—the foundations for paradise. Maybe that’s why God is said to have a choir of angels and how he crafted souls: by singing them to life. “Each word you sing weaves a secondary layer of emotion—both melodious and melancholic, interweaving multiple stories into—” He frowned, feeling his explanation lacked poetic value—ah!

“’Tis sweet, when mournfulness enshrouds

The spirit sorrowing and pale,

And gather round the angry clouds,

To take the harp and tune its wail.

‘Tis sweet, when calmly broods the night,

To wander forth where waters roll,

And, mingling with the waves its voice,

To rouse the passions of the soul!”

When Jack was done, she stared at him, her eyes wide and her expression unreadable. He frowned. “I—sorry—” he said, his insides churning. Had he done something wrong? He didn’t feel confused right now. The world felt so much clearer. An uncomfortable dread settled into him upon realizing something for the first time: not everyone burst into poetry at random. How stupid had he been to not know that before?

“No.” She put a hand on his. Her eyes watered. “I—that was beautiful. Did you—”

Jack blushed and pulled his hand back. “No. It’s by John Rollin Ridge, a famous Native American poet. I was just reciting.”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “I—let’s get you a box. I wish to hear this guitar of which you speak.”

 ***

Normally, Jack felt such mania for whatever project he focused on, everything else fell in the background. As he twisted the tuning pegs of his guitar (sabotaged off Calypso’s extra harp) his mind scattered with worry.

This newfound clarity was almost overwhelming. There was so much wrong in the world for him to mull over. Each time he stopped singing, it hovered on its peripheral, like a night terror lurking along the receding rays of the sun.    

Between each question from Calypso—she enjoyed hearing updates from the outside world—he’d hum or sing the ballads he’d composed about Flynn’s ventures. Calypso would pause her work on the strings and stare at him with that unreadable expression.  

After she finished with the sixth string—winding them of her hair—she sat closer to him. They worked in the shade, where the woods met the beach. Some distant whisper warned Jack that more time had passed than the evening angle of the sun, but he couldn’t be sure. The sun was all he had to go off of, and he wasn’t used to the awareness of passing time. Normally, Jack felt the passage of existence through the crystal notes of a song, the annoyed flash of Flynn’s smile, Pax’s giggle, or the upwell of elation at the end of monster help session, measuring life in crescendos and decrescendos of energy and joy. Jack didn’t like wanting to look at a clock, especially now that there were none. That was always someone else’s job.

“Why did you adopt children?” Calypso asked it with the practiced calm of an over-thought question.

“Flynn can’t have children.” Jack had to be gentler with these strings than the metal ones from home. He wondered how their sound would differ, and hoped it would ease the 2,000—4,000 year transition in music for Calypso.

“She’s barren?”

“So says the goddess of childbirth.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

Another reason Jack couldn’t stay long: it was almost the weekend before he vanished and he and Flynn would need to go to her Nainia’s apartment to sing to her, as they did every Sunday. The kind grandmother’s health was failing and Jack knew they needed to visit more often. “Why should it?” Jack frowned, repeating the question in his head. “Well, it did when I first found out. I wanted a family. Then, I adopted[2] the boys, and now we have one. And, it wouldn’t matter even if she could. We’re not… physical. Recently, we started curling up without clothing, but nothing else. Just snuggles.”

Jack felt his cheeks flush, both at the memory of Flynn snuggled up in his bunk (she never let him near hers; she wanted a place of her own) and that he’d told Calypso about it. Was that something else people didn’t normally blurt out? To Luke or Phil? Sure. To Calypso the Seductress, the Detainer of Men…

Her cheeks rouged. Shame crept along his awareness. You weren’t supposed to blurt stuff like that. Negative two on the Jack social protocol scoreboard.

“Oh… um… But you’ve already adopted—have you two not been married long?” She struggled to maintain eye contact.

Something pinched in Jack’s chest. “Um… she’s not really into the idea of marriage, but we’ve been dating for…” With no clocks on the island, he didn’t know how many days he had been unconscious. Normally, Jack could recite the length of time down to the minute. The thought of Flynn’s blush when he asked her to prom. The day before he met Luke. The day Jack accidentally killed his whole mortal family with a song.

That memory hadn’t resurfaced in so long, not since he was sobbing into Flynn’s arms over it. How could he banish it from his thoughts? It wasn’t like the thoughts of his half-siblings he killed—the other children of Apollo. No. They deserved it. They had reaped the favor of their father since birth. The cessation of that favoritism brought the world back to order, the way things should be to balance the scale that an unfair god created, like correctly a flat note to perfect harmony. But his family… Had he ever even had a funeral? And did it matter?

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Calypso asked.

The funeral part did bother Jack. It took him a moment to retrace the pieces, sliding his fingers along the guitar string. Flynn. Sex. Marriage.

Flynn would puppet and charmspeak boys into their room to humiliate and toy with them, but, she wouldn’t take Jack. Jack never wanted to pressure her, but icy insecurity crawled through him at the thought. What was wrong with him? It didn’t matter that Prometheus said Jack and Flynn viewed sex differently: Jack, as an expression of love; Flynn, as subjugation. Jack didn’t understand that. All he wanted was to be everything Flynn needed, and he didn’t understand why she could puppet others but wouldn’t puppet him. If that’s what she wanted—

         The string snapped and lashed him across the cheek.

         He shrieked and jerked backwards. Blood trickled down his skin. A full string wasted—an instrument piece dying before it could sing its first song.

         Something cool touched his face. Humming filled his ears. The lashed skin tingled and Jack wondered if this is how others felt when he healed them.

         When Jack blinked to clear his vision, Calypso knelt beside him. Her too-perfect face rested in a gentle, knowing smile. The strap of her white dress slid onto her shoulder, tickled by the length of the braid. For the first time, she looked like the goddess of the island—something about the subtle shift in confidence.

         Jack flinched when he felt her spider fingers in his hair. She must have put them there to hold him steady for a cheek-cleaning. “You ran from me when you first found out who I was. Do you—did you really think I could make you forget Flynn?” The question could have been rhetorical, but there was enough real curiosity to make Jack tremble.  

Fear coiled his confidence, the same fear present when Luke lost himself to Kronos or his anger. If Calypso lost her temper…

         “Odysseus never forgot Penelope,” Jack whispered, “So the stories say.”  

Could that fear come from the possibility of forgetting Flynn? Do people only experience fear when they’re experiencing doubt or uncertainty?

At the watery glisten of her beautiful almond eyes, an idea made Jack sit up and almost clock foreheads with her. She startled at the sudden movement. “And you never forgot Odysseus!” Jack cried. “Calypso, do you always fall for the people on your island?”

Calypso hesitated. A tear broke from the dam along her eyelashes. “I… I try not to say anything when travelers first come…”

“Have you heard of platonic love?”

Her brow furrowed. Her melancholy faltered to confusion. “Platonic? You mean… relating to Plato? Or the idea that abstract objects are objective, timeless, and are non-physical and non-mental?”

Jack would need to ask Alabaster about that later. “Uh—well, I want to be your friend. You’re really nice, but you don’t need to fall in love with everyone you meet, or at least not romantic love. Let’s be friends! I mean—have you ever heard of a rebound?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you ever fully moved on from Odysseus. So, we should talk about him. Tell me what you loved and hated about him and why you fell for him in the first place.”

Calypso’s expression darkened. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Exactly! You never forgave him for hurting you or yourself for loving him. Both are still hurting you. So, let me be your friend. Let me help you get over him without being a replacement for him. And, after this war is over, we can still be friends! Either we decapitate Zeus and his lackeys and his power no long holds you to the island, or we can keep in touch. I know the myths say I can’t come back twice, but I’ll bet I can Iris Message you. I mean, you have rainbows and Iris can go anywhere rainbows can.”

Her lips cracked to protest. Upon considering his words, she stared off at the coastline. “No one has thought of that before.”

Jack beamed. The fear was gone. He shoved a hand between the two of them (awkward due to the close quarters). “Let’s shake on it?”

Calypso glanced from Jack’s hand back to his face. Curiosity perched her lips. “You’re… one of the oddest men I’ve ever met, Jack Flash.”

Jack blushed. “I get that a lot.”

Cautiously, she shook his hand.

At the time, Jack didn’t think to make her swear on the River Styx.

He should have.

 ***

author’s note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This series is going to continue! I’ve just been struggling to focus on writing with some crazy stuff going on at home. ^.^’‘‘‘ Thanks for your patience and continued support!

 Footnotes:

[1] So, Homer’s Ogygia is as Riordan described it. I needed to at least alter the flowers so Jack wouldn’t immediately recognize where he was. Also, flowers for symbolism because I’m a tool.  

 [2] I kept accidentally writing, “kidnapped” here. Not too far off.

#Tales from Mount Othrys #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Heroes of Olympus #TFMO #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #Jack Flash #Calypso #My cat is named after Calypso #Her screams are not siren like #especially not at 4:30 in the morning #I hope you're staying healthy!

[ariel2art]

To be loved (Enjoltaire)

Chapter 1 I went too far

TW:  Implied suicide attempt, Alcoholism, Depression, references to dysfunctional families

Grantaire goes too far this time and it's Enjolras who decides to pick up the pieces, even if he's slowly falling apart too.

Will they be able to save each other from the pain?

Note: Hi, this was my first Les Mis fic. I decided to publish it here. I’m currently trying to write chapter 3. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish it tbh, but I hope you like what I got.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843473/chapters/57300742

 It was all over.

         The fog that covered his mind was getting thicker. He didn't feel anything. There was no more pain, no more resentment, no more bitterness, no more love, no more desire. His body was lost in an unperturbed ocean, the small waves caressing his body. There was no sound beyond their gentle murmur. He realized how gigantic his ocean was, but didn’t feel any fear, it was home.

         He opened his eyes.

Above him, a dark sky watched in return. It was its own ocean, one covered with stars, which formed constellations. Oh, how he wished he could become one of them, be part of some masterful constellation. To be a star that never ran out, something beautiful and eternal. I could live with the others, without having to worry about anything, anything at all. People would look at the stars from  Earth and the stars would listen to the depths of each person.

He didn't know if he was drowning in the very mantle of salt or If he was placed in that starry sky, where chaos faded, where he could be free. He raised his arm, trying to get closer, looking for peace.

         And, content, he decided to sink.

         Suddenly...

         _Grantaire! Grantaire!

         That voice... That voice that called him, it wasn't any voice, it was the most important of them all. It was the voice that took him away from that desired peace and at the same time gave it to him. A voice that didn’t let him sleep, the voice of his desires, the voice of his wishes and fears, the voice that could raise the world from its ashes. It was something powerful, full of an intense passion, a passion that burned and made it a symbol of hope, even if it was only for a beautiful moment. His words were the sword and the voice the handle. When it was calm, however, the voice could be as warm and soft as it wished, like a cabin fireplace after a bitter cold. What would Hans Christian Andersen's sea witch would give for such a graceful voice? And the owner of that great voice was like fire itself. Brilliant and attractive, revolutionary in a way. But the danger, the great disadvantage, was that if you got too close to him you could get burned. And Grantaire had been burned countless times.

         A hand shook him, gently but firmly. That touch was the first tangible sensation he felt in minutes? hours? days? He slowly opened his eyes, which felt charged and exhausted.

         His blurry vision managed to focus, after a few seconds, on an angel, his angel. The angel with the flaming voice. He had blond hair and a marble-white complexion, even a halo covered his head or so it appeared. He also had blue eyes that seemed to have seen everything in this world. Was it from those eyes that his ocean came? Grantaire thought that perhaps he was finally dead, because it could not be that his angel, his Apollo, was looking at him with a frown, but not out of irritation but out of... Concern? Really? No, it was impossible. His angel felt annoyance and pity for him, and only that. No matter how many times Apollo tried to show him it wasn't true, it was hard, excruciating, to believe him. And this was his curse, the cross he carried on his back.

         It was painful, the times when his angel slashed him with his sword. Until one day, inexplicably, the angel took pity on him. He sheathed his sword and observed the young man with an indecipherable expression.

“I don't hate you, Grantaire. I never did. “

         “How can I believe you when you’ve showed me nothing but disdain?”

Then a sigh came from Apollo's mouth, which reached his face, as if with a breath he could bring his pitiful self back to life. But why? Grantaire didn't want to live anymore, he'd had enough.

         _You're awake. That’s good_ breathed out Enjolras, the Apollo of the mortal world, dressed in red, presenting himself to Grantaire in all his glory _. I was afraid for a moment that...

         “That I would have died? Would you really have cared?”

         Grantaire blinked a few times as his senses reappeared and he felt his feet on the ground. His head laid on a wooden table, his body was reclining in a chair, bent uncomfortably. On the table, near his arms, there was something spilled, and judging by the smell it was whiskey. It wasn’t the first time the man had been in such a situation, but he had never faded from this world like that before. It was really as if his soul had left his body. A small fear invaded his mind as he realized the seriousness of the event. Death no longer looked so attractive. For being mortal, no matter what one did, everyone would always fear death, deep down in their souls.

         Grantaire lifted his eyes, meeting those of Enjolras. They were glassed-in, fearful, but not giving up their bravery; he no longer had that halo surrounding his head_. Look, I have to get you out of here. I don't know if you can hear me, but we have to go, okay?

         _ En... jolras?_ whispered the one who was being called. His voice sounded hoarse and foreign to his ears. His throat was sore, as were his muscles.

         _Yes, it's me, I'm here._ Enjolras bent down on one knee to reach Grantaire better and to try to get his attention. With a pale hand he caressed Grantaire’s cheek, granting a bit of warm and light.

“What a sad irony “ Grantaire thought, smirking to himself “Apollo lowering to my height. It's what should never happen.”

         _Can you hear me?

         “I always hear you”

         But out of his mouth only came a pathetic "uh." The blond bit his lower lip and that's when he decided he couldn't waste any more time. Standing up again, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the waist, pulling him out of his chair, and placed Grantaire's arm around his neck for support. The alcoholic almost fell to the floor, but Enjolras had more strength than he let on and caught him on time.

         The world was spinning around Grantaire, his legs were shaking, his back and neck were uncomfortable because of the position in which he had been inert. He felt a bit of bile in his throat and scorching eyes. He would have preferred to fall down and not get up again. Oh, how tired he was. Everything hurt.

Enjolras said a few words to the bartender and took out some coins to pay him. If Grantaire had been more conscious he would have felt guilty about it, but all he could do was stare like a fool. And so they both left the bar.

         After that they crossed the cold, dark street in silence, one of those that were uncomfortable and heavy.

         Grantaire still found it hard to believe this was happening. If it weren't for the suffering he was going through physically and mentally at the time, he would have really believed  he was dead and that a spirit disguised as Enjolras had come to pick him up and carry him to the afterlife, hell, purgatory, the Underworld, nothingness, whatever. Or maybe he was already in one of them. After walking a few more steps, Grantaire ventured to look at him. His Enjolras (“you have no right to call him that”) had shadows under his eyes, a tense jaw and looked like trying very hard to maintain his courage, but the illusion was broken, Grantaire was aware of that. And that terrified him more than anything else. The world could tear him apart all it wanted, but not Enjolras! He didn’t need to suffer because of… because of his troubles!

         “And it’s all your fault”

         Trembling knees gave up and made him fall. Enjolras caught him again.

         _Grantaire, come on, hold on_ was he begging? His voice was dripping with fear and worry_. You can't give up. We are getting there, I promise_ as he said this, the young man held his calloused hand, trying to give some kind of support. Determined, they continued.

         “I believe in you, Enjolras.”

The next thing he knew, Grantaire was now laying on a bed and was wrapped in its sheets. Instead of wood on his head a soft pillow was there. Apparently, he had fainted again. But instead of wild hallucinations, his consciousness had completely shut down (well, it was about time). Searching his memories, he tried to remember what had happened last night but for now there were only blurred and dark shapes. He was certain about one thing though, that this time was different, that he almost had had an overdose. His mind had screamed in agony and he only thought of drinking more and more and more to stop those horrible noises. Grantaire was kind of surprised to be alive, in fact. But who had rescued him?

As he moved, he noticed, with a grunt of pain, that his head hurt as if it had been attacked with a hammer. His mouth was dry and he felt like a horse had stepped on his bones. So, the man decided to take a look at the place where he was disposed, which didn't seem so bad. Actually, it could’ve been a lot worse.

He found himself in a modest room. A wooden wardrobe, a shelf and one French flag leaning against a wall. Next to the bed was a night table, occupied by a candle, a few books and a seemingly recent glass of water (Oh, just what I need). At the left of the room was a window, covered by a curtain. And, near it, a wooden desk, with a few papers arranged, an inkwell and a pen, and a few letters in a corner. However, his breath was cut off when he saw who was sitting at that desk, engrossed in the papers.

Grantaire was silent for a few minutes, staring quietly at Enjolras. His heart was pounding strongly. He was expecting Joly's concern or Bossuet's disappointed look or maybe Bahorel trying to lighten the mood, but not Enjolras. What could he do? Go back to sleep? Play dead? No, it was impossible to go back to sleep knowing now that it was Enjolras who had saved him and taken him to the his apartment (I can't believe that I’m in his house, in his room).

Thus Grantaire stretched out his arm to drink the water, his throat could no longer stand the thirst it felt. But, of course, as good luck was never on the alcoholic’s side, what really happened was that he dropped said glass on the floor and it broke to pieces. Enjolras was startled by the noise and turned to Grantaire, his eyes wide open.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry! _ Grantaire babbled, begging to be swallowed by the bed_. I'll... I'll fix it! For God’s sake, of course I can't fix it, what am I thinking? it's glass and it's broken, but... I'll get you another one! Believe me; I have many glasses, all kinds of glasses...

And what happened next left him mute.

Enjolras was smiling softly at him, dropping his shoulders as if in great relief.

Of all the possible reactions, that was the one he last expected. Somehow, Enjolras’ smile made him even more afraid. He tried, with all his might, to get out of bed and run away from that tiny room, but abruptly was greeted by a puncture in the head that caused him to grunt and hold his forehead.

_ No no! Don't get up yet_ Enjolras had come closer and was pushing him gently onto the pillow_. You were unconscious for quite a while, if you get up like that you will only hurt yourself more.

         Grantaire stammered more and then shut up, resigned. He had a lot of questions and didn't know how to ask them. Enjolras tucked him back to bed.

_ Tell me, how do you feel?

_ I see Combeferre taught you some nursing lessons, huh?_ That's what came out of his mouth instead of the truth.

Enjolras sighed and his expression changed to one of annoyance, to which Grantaire was more accustomed.

_ Uh_ Grantaire looked at the wall that was closest to him_. I suppose I’m better than… yesterday, but my head is killing me. And... I'm really thirsty, so I tried to grab the glass, but... _ and gestured to the floor with a movement of the arm_ we both know how that ended.

Enjolras nodded, thoughtful. He straightened up and decided to leave his room.

“I definitely don't understand what's going on”

After a couple of minutes, in which Grantaire entertained himself by looking at the ceiling and walls, Enjolras returned with a new glass of water and an apparently wet cloth. He positioned the water on the table and placed the wet cloth on the sick man’s head. Grantaire felt his cheeks warm as Enjolras gently pulled his sweaty hair away from his forehead, leaving his fingers between the black curls for a few more seconds.  Between the cloth and Enjolras' calm presence he began to feel better. His features loosened and relaxed.

_I hope this will help you. Water is quite useful in these cases too.

Mmm_ Grantaire muttered, a slight mocking smile on his lips_. And how do you know so much about these things? No offense, but I don't see you as a person who likes to drink beers in a bar full of noisy, scruffy, dull people.

_ You're not the only one who drinks alcohol in our group_ replied Enjolras, with some exasperation_ And you know that well_ Grantaire wanted to add that last night had been very different from the simple drunkenness of someone who drinks only occasionally,  he actually tried to kill himself, but he didn't say anything

Therefore, he sat down and made himself comfortable to drink the water, holding the handkerchief in his unoccupied hand. As soon as the water touched his aching throat he felt refreshed and more energetic. Enjolras just watched him, still pale and with somewhat reddish eyes. He looked sick as well. Grantaire felt a squeeze in his heart. What he wouldn’t give to feel the blonde’s figure in his arms, to calm his anguish. But was it really concern or simply the effects of insomnia? Grantaire really wanted to reach for the first possibility, to embrace it, to feel it, but he was afraid to give himself even a spark of illusion.

_I... Thank you_ started Grantaire, with a hoarse, worn-out voice, effects of excessive alcohol intake_. I mean...

_You don't have to thank me for anything, Grantaire_ said Enjolras, with his characteristic resolution and conviction_. You can stay here until you recover. No, you don't owe me anything_ he replied when the mentioned opened his mouth. And with that he got up to sweep the mess of the floor, and then returned to his desk, with nothing else to say.

Grantaire was astonished at all this, but thought that for now he would just rest. His head was already hurting too badly to continue fiddling the matter. So he lay down on the pillow again and tried to sleep. After a while, he realized that it was impossible. How long had he been sleeping anyway? That's when he remembered the books on the bedside table, so he lay back to grab one of them, to entertain himself for a while, because apparently Enjolras didn't want to talk to him.

“Or maybe he just wants you to rest. Why do you always have to be so negative?”

“Oh, for God's sake, stop assuming things and shut up.”

With a snort, which caused Enjolras to raise his eyes briefly, he took the first book he found, almost annoyed. The cover read: L'Esprit de la Révolution et de la Constitution de France. Saint-Just, huh? It didn't surprise him at all. What's more, He almost expected it. But Grantaire wasn't in the mood to read about politics or philosophy or subjects that required mental capacity and... Oh, yes! Beliefs. So, he seized the following book: Du contrat social- Jean-Jacques Rosseau. With a groan, he held the other books that remained, familiar names fluttering in these: Voltaire, Robespierre, Danton...

_ Can I ask if you possess a simple novel with no trace of politics whatsoever that I could read?

Enjolras left his paper on the table, too tired to be irritated.

_What's wrong with the books I have?

_Well... Do I really have to explain?

Enjolras sighed.

_When I said you could call me when you needed something I didn't expect you to need something like this," grunted Enjolras, with sarcasm pouring out of his voice. People thought the blonde was serious all the time and had no sense of humor, but Grantaire knew better. His humor was simply more... subtle. He knew this because he had observed him a few times during the meetings at the Musain, well, when they weren’t trying to save the world.

_Enjolras! Have you heard the new gossip ringing in town?_ Bahorel had exclaimed one night at the Musain, resting his elbow on the table.

_Bahorel, I don't have time to listen to silly, unfounded rumors," Enjolras had answered, with a calm and tranquil tone, lifting his cup of coffee to his lips.

Bahorel replied, approaching Enjolras_ The friend of a hmmm… let’s say "friend", kept watching you the other day when we were going to college,  she was laughing and blushing like a thirteen year old girl!

_How romantic!_ sighed Jehan dreamily, coming closer to hear the gossip_. I think you should take the opportunity, Enj. I’ve met the girl, and she's beautiful, with dark hair and red lips, and…

_ Like Montparnasse, right? _ smiled Feuilly, who until then had been absorbed in a conversation with Joly and Bossuet. The three of them and Bahorel laughed out loud, as Jehan became as red as his hair.

_Sometimes you assholes can be very cruel," grumbled Jehan, with a sort of pout. Courfeyrac pinched his cheek with mischief and muttered something resembling a “aww, you cutie pie”.

While all this was going on, Grantaire was drinking situated at his usual spot, laughing at the comment about Montparnasse, but deep inside he was feeling some bitterness and jealousy. As long as Enjolras was happy he could bear it, though, or so he told to himself.

Bahorel was trying to appease the others, who after a while became quiet enough to listen to Bahorel. Then, addressing Enjolras, he asked_ Would you dare, then? I can introduce you two. You know, arrange a romantic date with candles, roses, whatever you want.

And Enjolras looked back at him.

_ I'm afraid that's not possible, as my "wife" has a name, and that's France.

That day they were taken out of the cafe for making a fuss. Bossuet even fell of his chair and broke his arm.

“Now that I think about it, maybe he was being serious about the France thing…?”

Back to the present, Enjolras set out to look through the drawers of his bookshelf for some "non-political" books. After pulling out a pile of dusty books, which made him cough, he found what he was looking for. It was a book less thick than most of the ones he had on the floor. It looked about 200 or 300 pages long. Grantaire looked at Enjolras' nostalgic and hurt expression with curiosity. Enjolras stroked the cover of the book for a few seconds and quickly composed himself. With said book in hand, he went to bed and handed it to Grantaire.

_ “Gulliver's Travels" written by Jonathan Swift_ Enjolras nodded, sitting on a space in the bed, which increased Grantaire's pulse_. Okay, I really didn't expect you to like this kind of fantasy books_ hhe said, smiling and looking back at Enjolras.

_ I liked reading it. It was..._ hesitated_ a gift.

Grantaire didn't want to be curious, but he had to admit he was indeed. He took the risk of asking:

_ From whom?

The nostalgic look came back.

_ From my mother.

He didn’t expecting such answer. Grantaire was sure it was  Combeferre’s gift (the doctor had a passion for books), or even Courfeyrac, who was his closest friend. But his mother? Enjolras had never spoken of his family, ever. Les Amis only knew that they were wealthy and that Enjolras had escaped home because of a huge difference in ideals and thoughts. That probably occasioned some big fight.

After a few moments of silence, Grantaire opened the first page of the book. The handwriting was somewhat small and, the truth was, despite having asked for this in the first place, he found it difficult to concentrate on what was written, his vision was a little cloudy.

         Enjolras, noticing this, offered:

         _I can read it to you.

         Grantaire startled.

         _Oh!  There’s no need for it, really. I can handle this. I'm just a little tired, that's all.

         _Grantaire_ Enjolras raised an eyebrow, with the kind of tone he used to scold Feuilly every time he pretended he didn't need a break.  It was a scolding tone but at the same time... an affectionate one? Gods, what did Grantaire do to deserve that Enjolras would address him as he addressed the others?

         _But... what about... _ and with a gesture pointed to the desk, full of half-written papers.

         _ I have time_ and without waiting for an answer he took the book.

         _ My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire…

         Fascinated, Grantaire listened to every word Enjolras pronounced, with total clarity and perfect pronunciation. We had already spoken of the power of his voice and how comforting it could be when the time was right. Grantaire was in love with that voice, and with Enjolras. Oh, but someone like him could not be his, it would be a waste.

         _Of five children, I was the third. He sent me to the Emanuel School in Cambridge...

         For a moment, the halo of light returned to Enjolras, which disconcerted Grantaire. “What the...?” He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was hallucinating again. At that, his memory took him back to the night before, when he had woken up and hadn’t seen Enjolras, well yes, he was there, but it wasn’t actually him, he looked like an actual angel. Such a strange vision. How far had his idealization for Enjolras had gone? He didn’t know, but it could be dangerous, to allow himself to fall like that would be his ruin.

         Though perhaps he was already ruined.

         Hey_ Grantaire came out of his thoughts_. Are you listening to me or shall I stop?

         _Oh no, don't stop for me, Apollo.

         And Enjolras frowned.

         _I'm asking you to please don't call me that.

         _Hmmm, I don't know, I think it's something that might fit our leader. Apollo, the most revered god in all of Greece_ said in a theatrical voice.

         The aforementioned "Apollo" smiled bitterly.

         _I am not a god, Grantaire_ a dark look crossed Enjolras' eyes, which frightened Grantaire. “Does he know?”_ I hope you don't think that of me.

         Grantaire bit his lips.

         _I don't_ he whispered, clutching the sheets with his hands. To dispel the discomfort, he cleared his throat_ Please continue, dearest leader_. And at this a fond smile crept onto Enjolras' lips.

         As Enjolras continued his reading, Grantaire closed his eyes, losing himself in the narrative. He thought that for once luck was on his side. He could have held this moment for eternity if possible. An atmosphere of peace, warmth, and serenity flooded the room, and both Enjolras and Grantaire forgot about any worries that dwelled in their hearts. Both felt deeply fortunate to have each other.

         It was just that neither of them knew it yet.

#enjoltaire #enjolrasxgrantaire #enjolras #grantaire #pining grantaire #les mis #les mis fanfics #les mis au #les miserables #fanfic #october 2020 #otp #fanfic prompt #angst #hurt/comfort #angst prompts #les amis d'l abc #jehan prouvaire #combeferre #courfeyrac #tw depression #writing prompt

[spaceskam]

I don't know if you've ever listened to When you're ready by Shawn Mendes but everytime I listen to it I can only think of Malex ♥️ "Even 10 years from now if you haven't found somebody, i promise i'll be around" "Baby, tell me when you're ready I'm waitin'" could you maybe write about it?

this is quite literally the most malex thing i have ever heard. every goddamn line of this song is malex related. Thank you so much for the prompt and I’m sorry it took me a million years!

ao3

“I don’t understand why you’re mad at me!” 

Alex stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face him. He looked genuinely hurt and confused and maybe one drink more, Alex would’ve stooped to his level of transparency.

“Are you serious? You don’t know?”

“No,” Michael gushed, tears welling up in his eyes as he raked his fingers through his hair. God, he was wasted. “All I know is you told me you only wanted to be my friend and nothing more. Then you lied to me so I didn’t get to be with my mom. Then you came to me and, and started doing the thing where you’re super sweet so you can fuck me and leave me. And I would’ve let you!” 

Alex clenched his jaw, taking each blow as best he could.

“Isobel helped me see I needed to protect myself. So I went to Maria before I could give into you! The one time I protect myself from you and you’re mad at me! Stop it! I can barely take seeing you, I can’t take this! Stop!” he screamed.

Alex licked his lips, taking a slow and regulated breath as he stared at the broken man in front of him. He was full-on crying at this point, pulling at his hair and Alex was so thankful for his military training. That was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Michael,” Alex said softly, taking a step forward. Maybe he was hallucinating, but Michael seemed to stare crying even harder. “Is that really what you feel happened?”

Michael didn’t answer right away, a million emotions washing over his face. Alex took another step forward. This was one of those stupid moments where he had to be the strong one. He hoped he’d be able to cash it all in one day when he inevitably broke.

“What are you mad at me?” Michael asked again, weaker this time. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he knew why. He wanted to hear it. He was scared and he needed to hear it.

Alex rested his palms on Michael’s warm, wet cheeks and the man instantly melted into the touch. He wiped his tears away, lifting his hand just long enough to push his hair back. The stench of alcohol and acetone and weed was suffocating, coming off him in droves. Alex had to wonder if they were letting him get this fucked up or if he was sneaking it. He didn’t know which was worse.

“Come talk to me when you’re sober, okay?” Alex whispered, continuing to wipe away his tears, “I am upset with you, but that doesn’t mean I’m walking away. I’m here when you need me no matter what.” Michael sloppily felt for Alex’s wrists before holding on tight.

“You just were. You just tried to leave me, I saw you,” Michael whimpered. Alex sighed, closing his eyes to try and build up his walls a bit better. It was difficult. Michael had gone from kissing Maria to being putty in Alex’s hands in less than an hour. Sure, everything in his system played a part, but, deep down, he knew that wasn’t the reason. Michael was lost and hurting and Alex could wade in the water for him.

It’d already been a decade‒what was a little more?

“Come see me when you’re sober,” Alex repeated, “We’ll talk about anything and everything.”

“Then you’ll stop being mad at me?” he asked. Alex couldn’t answer. He honestly had no idea when he would stop feeling so horrible. He didn’t know what would erase the image of them kissing from his mind.

“I’ll get you are Lyft to take you home, okay? You’re too drunk to drive,” he whispered. When he tried to pull away, Michael held him tight.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he pleaded. A mournful whine brew in the back of Alex’s throat at the desperation on Michael’s face. He so badly wanted to say yes, to bring him home and wrap him up and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. But that wasn’t an option, not tonight. Not when Michael had a girlfriend and would regret the choice in the morning.

“Not tonight,” Alex insisted. Michael’s bloodshot eyes scanned over his face, slowly welling up with tears all over again.

“I messed up bad, didn’t I? That’s why you’re mad?” he asked. God, this was torture.

“Michael, just… we’ll talk about it over later. I promise,” Alex said, fishing for his phone to get him a ride home. As much as he wanted to just take him himself, he didn’t actually trust himself not to stay if Michael asked again.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m sorry.” Michael’s words were a slurring, slobbery mess between sobs. Alex quickly pulled him into a tight hug, letting the man divulge into borderline hysterical sobbing. Honestly, Alex wasn’t sure what he thought he messed up. He’d already made it clear he hadn’t understood.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Alex said, shushing him like he would a fussy baby.

“No! It’s not! Stop hugging me, stop, like, like, consoling me! I messed up!” Michael made no move to pull away, even as he told Alex to stop, and for a moment it felt like a horrible guilt trip.

“Michael, st‒”

“No, listen,” Michael said, sniffling as he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead on Alex’s, “I-I’m gonna come, like you said. I wanna talk. I want… I’m sorry. Please, let me fix it.” And, god, how nice it would’ve been if Alex could’ve accepted that. But it was impossible to miss the way his eyes refused to focus and the way he had to steady himself while standing still. Michael was so fucked up, he probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” Alex couldn’t help it. All he was hearing was empty apologies.

“No,” Michael admitted, “But I know I hurt you and that hurts me more than anything. I spent ten years waiting for you to come back to me and letting you hurt me that I… I didn’t realize how bad it feels. I know you felt this bad. I know it. I see it. I feel it. I feel you.”

“Guerin…”

“No! Pinky swear we’ll talk,” Michael urged, holding up a pinky. Alex sighed and tried to avoid it, but Michael insisted. He looped his pinky through the other man’s, watching it bring a weird sort of calm over him. “Now we gotta kiss it to make it official.” Michael kissed his hand and Alex reluctantly mimicked him if only to get him to stop. “Good. Good.”

Michael was petting at his chest, wobbling and sniffling all the way. The severity of his behavior made Alex consider bringing him home anyways and having him sleep on the couch so he could check on him. The only issue with that would be dealing with the possible backlash from it that he really didn’t want. But this was Michael, this was family, and he needed help. Even if Michael was hurting him more than he could even comprehend, he was still going to be there.

No matter what anyone thought, Alex had never been good at leaving him.

“C’mon, you’re gonna sleep on my couch tonight, okay?”

Michael let out the world’s biggest sigh of relief.

-

Alex woke up to an empty house.

His leg was aching due to his stupid decision to sleep in the chair in the living room. He’d considered going to bed, but he couldn’t stop worrying that something would happen to Michael. He had too much shit in his system. While they didn’t know how much it took for an alien to overdose, he wasn’t eager to find out.

Yet, when he woke up the next morning, his couch was empty and so was the kitchen and the bathroom. The only proof that Michael had even stepped foot into the house and spent the night on the couch was the muddy bootprint plastered to the porch and the note on the coffee table that read: ‘thanks’.

As the day went on, Alex wondered if Michael would ever come back to talk. Or, honestly, why he hadn’t stayed to have a talk. Part of him hoped he simply forgot that they had that conversation and it wasn’t that he just didn’t want to. There was so much that he had to say, especially now that it was clear that Michael had misunderstood his intention and was now self-medicating dangerously. Alex wanted to help him if he’d let him.

The day dragged slowly, seeming to slow down even more whenever he bothered to check his phone or check to see if Michael had maybe driven up. Alex wouldn’t lie, it hurt a bit that he hadn’t stayed. Actually, it worried him more than it hurt. Why had he been so scared to stay?

A lot of things were worrying about him.

Once it was dark outside, Alex decided to go back to the Wild Pony. Anxiety bit at his stomach, telling him with certainty that he’d find Michael with Maria and they’d look happy like they had last night. However, Alex could suffer through seeing that when he knew that no one cared enough to address him being messed up beyond recognition. He’d seen them kiss, he knew that Maria had to taste it on his lips and smell it on his breath. If she wasn’t going to take care of him, then he would.

The Pony was bustling and still, Michael was right where Alex knew he’d be, sitting alone at the bar. His head was bowed against the beer bottle and he didn’t react whenever Maria would pass by and pat his head. Alex took a deep breath.

“Hey, Cowboy,” he greeted softly as he took a seat beside Michael. He was wearing the same thing he’d had on last night and smelled of the same substances. Tonight, he hadn’t even bothered hiding the flask of acetone that protruded out of his back pocket.

Michael turned to face him just a little bit, confusion written all over his tired features. Alex offered a small smile and asked the bartender that wasn’t Maria for two glasses of water. Michael never stopped staring.

“Why are you here?” Michael asked.

“I told you, I’m here when you need me,” Alex paused, giving him a once over, “Even when you don’t ask for me.”

Michael’s eyes pooled with tears, but they didn’t fall tonight. Instead, he blinked them away. He nodded.

“Drink this instead,” Alex insisted, pushing the glass of water towards him. Michael eyed it warily.

“You still mad at me?” Michael asked. Alex snorted.

“Yes. But, like I told you, I want to talk to you when you’re sober. So drink this,” Alex pressed. Michael took a deep breath but complied. It didn’t matter that Maria was watching them with jealous eyes or that a few other people in the bar were whispering about them. Michael was trying.

Alex smiled.

-

Alex jolted awake at the sound of his phone ringing.

He’d done his damnedest to always stay on high alert the past few weeks. Michael had been heavily relying on him, using him as a massive crutch to help him try and get sober. It was working for the most part, but there had been a few nights where he’d been left alone and he’d call Alex, drunk and apologetic and asking to be picked up from the Wild Pony. Alex didn’t blame Maria, he knew she was busy with all of her own issues, but it did rub him the wrong way that she wasn’t more forceful with keeping him away from the bar.

But she was his girlfriend, not his caretaker.

“You okay? It’s three in the morning, where are you?” Alex asked instantly, reaching for his prosthetic already.

“I’m fine, I’m at home. Just… need a distraction ‘s all,” Michael said softly on the other end of the line. Alex let go of his leg, taking a moment before he relaxed back in the bed.

“Okay,” Alex said, “How was your day?”

“Good, good. I worked with Liz for a while. Had lunch with Maria. Went to see Max in the pod,” he listed. Alex closed his eyes to the sound of his voice. It was almost embarrassing how stupid he could be for Michael Guerin, a man with a girlfriend.

“Sounds eventful. You guys any closer to figuring it out?” Alex asked. There was rustling on the other side of the phone as Michael most likely tried to get comfortable in his bed.

“Well, we were talking with Valenti and we think that we got him in the pod soon enough that we might be able to revive him with more human methods. Like, with steroids and a defibrillator to jump-start his system enough for him to get to where Iz and I could heal the rest of the way. Liz and I are working on enhancing a steroid to inject him with,” Michael explained, his tone more hopeful than he’d been in weeks. Months. Maybe years, honestly.

“That’s good, I hope it works. If you ever need my help with anything, I’m here. I know I’m not a super fantastic scientist, but I can do my best,” Alex offered. Michael let out a breathy little laugh.

“You’re so smart, Alex, there’s probably a ton of things you can help with. I’m just… I’m just glad you chose to help me. I really appreciate you and everything you do for me, Alex,” Michael said softly. Alex could feel his heart thump in his chest and his stomach tighten.

It was so weird how much he’d found himself loving Michael all over again. He didn’t think he could love the man more, but the closer they got without having sex as a distraction and with so much trust and communication, the more he found himself dizzy with infatuation. Even if Michael didn’t reciprocate it.

“What are friends for.”

-

“So, did you have fun on your date?”

Alex furrowed his brow at Michael’s dry tone and annoyed face even though he literally had his arm around his girlfriend.

“Uh, yeah, it wasn’t really a date,” Alex chuckled, grabbing one of the fries from Michael’s plate and dipping it into Maria’s milkshake. Maria rolled her eyes.

“It looked like a date,” Michael said firmly. Alex licked his lips as he thought back to his Grindr hookup from the night before. They’d met at the Wild Pony and played pool for a bit until they both decided they weren’t too sketchy and went back to Alex’s place where they had some pretty good sex before he left at 2 in the morning.

As much as he loved Michael and he was willing to wait, he wasn’t about to go celibate, especially when Micahel was in a relationship. There was just no point. Well, maybe there was no point in dating apps when he knew nothing would come close to what he felt with Michael. But, fuck, he deserved something while he waited.

“No, that was just one of Alex’s fuck toys, you just usually don’t see them because you’re with Liz,” Maria explained and the crease between Michael’s eyebrows got more prominent, “How was this one?”

“Good,” Alex answered, keeping it short. He knew he didn’t want to hear the details of Michael and Maria’s sex life, so he wasn’t about to put Michael through that torture.

But Maria was feeling extra pushy tonight.

“Oh, come on, tell me more than just that!” she laughed. Alex had been trying his damnedest to rekindle his friendship with Maria even though he still felt more than a little animosity towards her. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t her fault completely, she didn’t know the full story, she didn’t know what Michael was to him. On top of that, it didn’t feel fair to welcome Michael back with open arms and then just reject her friendship completely. No matter how much that little voice in his head told him the opposite.

So, to keep it at a happy medium, he pretty much only talked about his random hookups. It made for safe conversation. They didn’t have to talk about Michael, they didn’t have to discuss his past relationships. He just had to talk about the guy with the six-pack who did situps in the bathroom for twenty minutes before sex and tired himself out too much to even be good in bed. Alex just hadn’t anticipated that she’d be talking about it in front of Michael.

“I mean, there’s not much to tell. He was hot, we hooked up,” Alex said simply, trying not to look Michael’s way. Still, he saw the way his jaw clenched and he looked down, letting his arm fall from Maria’s shoulders.

“That doesn’t sound safe,” Michael said. Alex gave a small smile.

“I’m safe, don’t worry. It’s just something to pass the time, make sure I don’t work myself too hard,” Alex promised honesty. He nodded, but it was clear it bothered him.

Alex would be lying if he said that didn’t give him a little hope.

-

“Are you sure?”

“You need practice, don’t you?”

Alex responded to Michael’s slightly terrified face with the most comforting smile he could manage. He was on his couch, his shirt open, and a giant scratch on display. He’d stupidly been trying to get something out of a tree and misstepped which caused him to slide down the tree a little ways and give him a virtually superficial scratch across his abdomen. It burned a little when he tried to clean it, but that was it.

So he called Michael and asked if he wanted to test his healing abilities.

“But I don’t want to hurt you. What if I kill you instead? Max isn’t here to bring you back. I-I don’t wanna hurt you more,” Michael said, bouncing with nerves. His eyebrows were pulled together adorably in concern. Alex leaned forward with a smile.

“I trust you,” he said firmly, making sure to look Michael in the eyes. And he did trust him, trusted him more than he trusted anyone else in the world. Michael was his family and he meant everything. Especially in the last few months of getting closer and closer and closer.

“Okay,” Michael said after a moment, nodding his head. Alex leaned against his couch and Michael kneeled between his legs. He made sure to keep his breathing regular as Michael’s warm hand laid over his heart. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

And he waited a moment. And nothing happened.

“Okay, wait, I need to talk to you about something before I do this because, from what Liz says, after I put this handprint on you, you’re gonna like… feel what I feel, and I don’t want to have this conversation with you being influenced by my feelings,” Michael said, pulling back sitting on the coffee table. Alex sat up a little straighter. “You told me a couple of months ago to come to talk to you when I was sober. Well… I’m sober.”

Alex licked his lips and silently cursed Michael for not giving him a head’s up that he wanted to have this conversation today. He would’ve planned it out better.

“Uh, well, what do you wanna talk about? I mean… I know that you misunderstood everything that happened before you went and kissed Maria, but I don’t feel like I’m completely innocent in that. I know I’m not good with my words and I also know that you’ve been so fucked over so many times that you’re going to take everything as a rejection even if it isn’t. But I think the main this is that when I came to you in your airstream after Caufield… I wasn’t trying to fuck you and leave or giving mixed signals or acting out of pity. Seeing what my family was capable of and seeing what could’ve happened to you really put things in perspective. I didn’t want to waste time, I wanted to be with you. When I came to you, that was the real deal. I wanted a relationship for real and I was willing to put you above my fears because I realized being without you was scarier than anything my father could do to me. I just had shit timing, like always,” Alex admitted, his chest heavy and his face on fire. He was too terrified to look up at Michael’s face.

“But… But you said that you wanted to just be friends, that I was too much of a criminal for‒”

“Hey, no, I didn’t say that. Fuck anything that says I can’t be with you because we’re too different,” Alex said and he hoped Michael understood he meant more than just the Criminal/Airman situation, “And I never meant just friends. I wanted to get to know you, to start over without all the pain and have something based on trust and not just fear and lust. You know, kinda like we’ve done now.”

When Alex got the courage to look up at Michael, he found him staring at the floor in confusion. Alex considered reaching out to him but decided against it.

“But, at Caulfield, you…”

“I meant everything I said at Caulfield. Just a shit time to tell you I love you,” Alex said. Michael looked up at him with a face not too unlike that night months prior when he was desperate for Alex to stop being so mad at him. “Look, I am sorry. I know it didn’t help that I kept walking away and I should’ve made sure you understood what I meant. That’s my fault and I’m sorry for being so angry at you for making a decision to protect yourself from me. I know I didn’t give you enough reasons to feel like I was all in.”

Things were silent for a moment and Alex wondered if maybe he’d said too much. At the end of the day, Michael was still with Maria. Just because Michael was it for Alex didn’t mean that was reciprocated. Love confessions were a little heavy.

“I’m sorry too,” Michael said, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward on his knees. Alex gave him a small smile.

“Do you know what you’re apologizing for this time?” Alex said playfully, hoping to lighten the mood just a little bit. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, licking his lips as he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for hurting you. Whenever I did that, I had just had so much shit happen and I just… I wanted something that didn’t hurt. And I’m sorry for having issues with you hooking up with people too, I know that it’s not my business.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” Alex said, offering a smile. But Michael took another heavy breath and looked him in the eye.

“But mostly I’m sorry I took advantage of you.”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed as if relieved to get that off his chest. However, something sat heavy in Alex’s stomach at the unexpected words.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked softly. Michael chewed on his bottom lip, casting his eyes down as he messed with his fingers.

“I mean… I’ve known you for, what, seventeen, eighteen years? I know you, Alex, I know you struggle with your words and conveying your emotions‒which isn’t your fault. Your dad didn’t allow you to and that’s fucked. Point is, I knew it. I knew it and I still used it against you, used it as an excuse to hurt you. Then, afterward, I basically guilted you into helping me. I made you put your own feelings to the side to take care of me and… fuck, I’m sorry, Alex. I promise, I’m gonna be better about taking care of you and your feelings. I promise,” Michael explained. Alex managed a little smile as his heart thudded harder in his chest.

He never blamed Michael for everything that happened, but damn was that good to hear. He wasn’t even completely sure why it felt so good. Maybe it was just nice to hear he wasn’t wrong in being hurt by the events.

“Thank you,” Alex replied sincerely. Michael gave him a sweet smile, nodding and gave Alex encouragement to say his own piece. “And, Michael, I just want you to know… I’m here.”

Michael smiled. “I know.”

“No, I mean… I’m here for you,” Alex said and Michael’s smiled started to drop, “I kept you waiting for a decade, so… It’s my turn to wait. And I’ll wait as long as I need to. I love you and I want to be with you and I’m willing to wait.” Michael gulped.

“Alex.”

“And I’m not trying to make you feel bad or force you to choose or anything. If Maria makes you happy, then I’m not going to stand in the way. You can take all the time you need, I’m not trying to push. I just know that you’re it for me and I also know this shit began with me never making that clear. So, just, whenever you’re ready, I’m waiting. Always, no matter what, no matter who you might see me with,” he explained. Michael tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, staring with worried eyes. But Alex wasn’t worried. He didn’t expect anything in return. He just needed him to know.

“No pressure?” Michael asked. Alex grinned and help up his hand, sticking out his pinky.

“None at all. I promise.” Michael managed a smile, looping his pinky with Alex’s and they each kissed their own fists.

“Then let’s get you healed.”

Michael moved closer, kneeling between Alex’s legs once again. He locked eyes for a moment, silently asking for permission which he received immediately in the form of an encouraging nod. Michael gently placed his hand over Alex’s heart again.

His palm started warming up slowly and, along with it, waves of comfort began coursing through Alex’s body. He let his eyes close as it did and, the more he let himself fall into the feeling, the stronger it got. It was Michael that he was feeling, Michael’s overwhelming affection and undiluted, unconditional love. It got stronger and stronger until that’s all Alex could feel or think just love

love

love

love

love

It was overwhelming and it was becoming harder and harder for Alex to keep his composure. It was deep, embedded in his bones. Especially when the feeling grew, blossoming into pure pleasure. His mind and body slowly unraveled, succumbing to whatever Michael was filling him with until he couldn’t think anymore.

And then Michael pressed harder and a determined scream filled the air.

Alex lost all sense of self-control at that point. His back arched into Michael’s touch, his jaw dropping open in a pathetic, deep moan. It was something akin to the world’s most satisfying orgasm. Which had to be when Michael snatched his hand away.

Alex felt dizzy at the sharp loss of contact, most of the pleasure in his system disappearing with it. He could still feel it deep in him and he could feel Michael in his mind in a way he struggled to understand. It was warm and comforting and loving and, had Michael wanted this to lead to sex, Alex would’ve had his jeans on the floor before he could finish his sentence.

But Michael didn’t want it to lead to sex, in fact, he couldn’t seem to breathe as he fell back against the coffee table. Alex did his best to clear his mind, to push away how turned on he was so he could focus on Michael.

“I’m sorry,” he said instantly because what else do you say when you get off on your ex-boyfriend platonically touching you. Michael still couldn’t catch his breath. Alex searched his mind for what he’d been told about healing. “Are you gonna throw up? Do you need me to get a bucket?”

Michael’s heavy breathing started to pick up and he was staring at Alex with wide eyes that almost seemed offended. That was a quick way to shove away all of the good vibes he’d just gotten and it became more apparent that Michael’s presence in his mind seemed to be just as panicked.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you. Look, it worked,” Alex said softly, moving closer to the man on the floor. Alex hesitantly went to run a hand through Michael’s hair. His eyes closed to the feeling, so Alex kept it there, massaging his scalp and letting it soothe him just a little bit. It was clear he was just as overwhelmed as Alex had felt, just in a different way. “Talk to me.”

Michael froze for a moment before scrambling to his feet.

“I have to go. I’ll be back.”

And then he was gone, Alex’s door left wide open in his wake.

-

Alex didn’t hear from Michael for the rest of the night, but he didn’t let himself worry too much. If there was anything that came out of having Michael’s handprint on his skin was that he was more sure than ever that they were meant to be. Even if Michael was with Maria right now, Alex could feel the love Michael had for him and it was enough to have him strut into the Project Shepard bunker with a helpless grin on his face.

“Well, now everything makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

Kyle was waiting for him in the bunker already, sitting in one of the chairs and raising an eyebrow high. Alex couldn’t even let his smile fall at that.

“Guerin broke up with Maria last night,” Kyle said. Alex’s heart started to beat a little harder.

“Really?”

“Jeez, Alex, you could at least try to not look so happy about it,” he chuckled. Alex shrugged and went to take his own seat. He wanted to feel bad for Maria since he knew she was probably upset, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Michael was going to be his and he wasn’t going to fuck it up this time.

Things were falling into place.

“So, what happened?” Kyle asked. Alex pulled his partially open shirt to the side, flashing him the handprint. Kyle’s eyes went wide.

“It was just a scratch, but he wanted to practice. And we had a good talk about us and when he healed me, we sort of just… felt each other. He sort of freaked out and left, but he said he’d be back so I guess I should’ve assumed he was going to Maria,” Alex said, shrugging. A stupid smile found his face again once he realized that Michael had taken those feelings so seriously.

“You’re not worried that he freaked out?” Kyle asked. Alex shrugged again. He didn’t really know how to explain it. He could still feel Michael and, even though it was a lot, it was overall positive. He seemed to be feeling good, if not just a little confused about the events. He understood that he just needed a moment.

“No. I… I can feel him. He’s okay,” Alex offered. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Great. More psychic alien bullshit.”

-

Michael was pacing the front porch of the cabin whenever Alex got home that night.

Alex made sure to school the smile on his face before he approached him. He didn’t want to overwhelm him anymore or show that he was too excited about what might happen. Michael might not even want to jump into a relationship even if he did just get perfect evidence for just how much Alex loved him. He couldn’t get his hopes up too high.

“Hey,” Alex called to him. Michael stood taller and spun to face him, eyes wide and nerves rippling off his body.

“Hi,” he said, “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” Alex agreed, opening the door and leaving it open for Michael to follow. They didn’t even reach the couch before Michael started talking.

“Yesterday, you… That was a lot,” Michael breathed. Alex smiled and nodded his head, sitting on the couch. Michael sat on the coffee table in front of him just like the day before. “You actually love me.” Alex sputtered a laugh.

“I told you beforehand that I love you.”

“I didn’t realize how serious you were!”

Alex shook his head at Michael and the two of them smiled. Michael’s knee was bouncing and he was moving in between smiling and biting on his lip. Alex fought the urge to bite it himself.

“I broke up with Maria.”

“I heard.”

“I love you too.”

“I know, I can feel it.”

They again fell silent, smiling wider than before. Alex was feeling even more hopeful than before. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Michael, to call him his boyfriend and to love him as he deserved. And he couldn’t wait to be loved as he deserved.

“I care about your feelings, Alex. Whenever you want to have an epic emotional breakdown like I have, like, weekly, I’ll be there. I’m gonna be here to pick up the pieces just like you do for me. Because you’re my family,” Michael said and Alex wondered if he’d created a list of things to clarify before they finally got back together.

“Can’t wait,” Alex laughed, “You’re my family too.” Michael took a deep breath.

“And we’re gonna be for real this time. All trust and communication, right?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Are you ready?” Michael asked, “Because I’m ready. I can’t keep you waiting for a decade, I need you too much.”

If the world exploded and ended at that moment, Alex wouldn’t have noticed. He wouldn’t have cared. Nothing else mattered except for Michael and Alex and love.

“I’m ready.”

Michael surged forward without much of a warning, pressing Alex into the couch with a desperate kiss. Alex’s body lit on fire as he pulled him closer, melting into everything that was Michael Guerin. It wasn’t that much different than the night before, that absolute feeling of euphoria and love and affection and love and happiness and love and love and love.

It was the beginning of forever.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #michael guerin fic #alex manes fic #requests #alexs pov #6k word #other tags probably that i can't think of