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millersdjarin · 1 year

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I Only See Daylight - 16

Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E

Chapter Length: 6.9k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical stuff, injury recovery, showering together, helmetless!din, negative self image, scars, past emotional & physical abuse, insecurity

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i once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden; like daylight

“Mando, I wish it was that simple,” Boba says, his gloved hand clasped around his glass. Din sits opposite him at the table, nursing his own glass despite the fact he won’t drink it. “I can’t threaten to stop trade routes with this cult, it would be too dangerous for everyone involved. And it would threaten my position as daimyo, to get involved in such matters, whether they accepted the blackmail for her freedom or not.”

Din nods, understanding. Then, “But they don’t know that.”

Boba’s eyebrow quirks up curiously.

“I know that even this is asking a lot,” Din says, leaning closer across the table, “but if we take the fight to them, fool them into thinking your threat is real, maybe they’ll let her go. If they think their connections with supply and trade routes are going to be cut off, or even just soured in some way, they might give her her freedom. In exchange for security.”

“You think that after everything they’ve done to try and reclaim her, they’ll give her up just like that?”

“If it’s something concerning money, then, yes. That’s the only thing that matters more to them.” Din’s stomach turns as he says it, as he thinks about how you only matter to Them as a prize, a symbol. An example. He can’t even let himself think about what they’d do to you if they got their hands on you again. And he’s going to make sure that that never happens, whatever the cost.

Boba stares at him for a long minute, considering. Din just watches, waits, his fingers nervously running through the condensation on his glass.

“I know even to make the threat, empty or not, is a risk,” Din says into the quiet.

“And you think it’s a risk worth taking?”

“I do,” Din answers earnestly. “I think they’ll believe us. But, if you don’t feel comfortable, I can find another way.”

Sighing softly through his nose, Boba looks down at his drink, then lifts it to take a long sip. He empties the glass, drops it back on the table. “I said I’d do whatever I can to help,” he says, meeting Din’s gaze again, “and I meant it.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, my friend. I will make the necessary preparations. Have you thought through the plan? Where we will meet?”

“I have ideas I will run by you. Thank you,” Din reaches out to grasp Boba’s hand in gratitude. “I won’t forget this.”

“It’s not absolutely necessary,” Garidan says, handing you the tube of bacta gel, “but I’d recommend it. Especially if you’re going to be away from medical services for any length of time. You need it to heal right the first time, and this will give it the best chance.”

Gingerly, you take it. You’re in the hospital bed, having just sat up after the doctors gave your injuries a final examination before you leave Tatooine.

It’s been a week since it happened. You’re still in pain most of the time, but Doctor Garidan tells you that it’s all looking really promising; that initial dip in the bacta tank did wonders for the prognosis. You won’t need a skin graft, and he says that, if you apply the gel he’s given you daily, it’s unlikely to even scar. At least, not enough that they’ll show over your existing ones.

The only problem with that, though, is that you can’t apply the gel yourself.

Garidan knows this, and he knows why you’re hesitant. He’s always seemed to understand, right from the get go. You feel bad about glaring at him when Din was injured now, but he seems to have forgotten it.

“We are always here if you need help in future,” Garidan tells you with a small smile.

You smile back, grateful. “Thank you, doctor. For everything. I mean it.”

“I know. You’re welcome. You’re all set, whenever you’re ready. Should I bring him back in…?” He gestures to the door where Din is currently waiting in the hall.

You’re all covered up, both in bandages and clothes. (Your own regular clothes are still too tight for comfort, even though they’re far from it when you’re uninjured—so you’re wearing the ones the medbay gave you: a long, baggy long-sleeved shirt, and trousers that are even looser than your own pyjamas. You don’t have it in you to feel silly, though. You’re just grateful you can walk unaided again. Not without struggle, but. Still. Small victories.)

You nod in response to Garidan’s question. He smiles, nods too, and heads for the door.

Din is there a moment later, and the kid’s with him now, too, sitting in the satchel at his hip.

A smile breaks onto your tired face at the sight of them. “Hey, you,” you say, reaching out to give Grogu a little stroke on the cheek. He smiles up at you, gives a little wave.

“How’s it looking?” Din asks.

“Well, he gave me the all-clear to leave, so, good.”

He nods. His helmet tilts down, looking at the tube of bacta gel in your hand. “Do you have to use that on top of the other medication?”

“I don’t have to. But he said it’ll be best to.” You don’t tell him that you’re not sure if you’ll be able to do it yourself. You will tell him, just not right now. Because you know that he will try to convince you to let him do it, and honestly, the worst part of that is that you’re starting to think you might let him.

He must sense your hesitation, because he drops it. Instead, “Are you ready to go?”

“Very,” you sigh. “No offence to Boba Fett, or anything, but I’m tired of the sand. How does it get everywhere in this building?”

“Sand does that,” Din says, wry.

“Oh, kriff, does it get all stuck under your armour and your suit?” You ask, horrified by the notion. You don’t know how you hadn’t considered that before. “Or is it sealed up enough? Please tell me you don’t have to deal with sand getting places under there.”

“No, it gets places,” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You shudder. “Gross. Let’s get out of here.”

He chuckles, and holds his hand out around you as you get down from the bed, just in case you need help. “Will you be okay getting to the speeder?”

“Maybe.”

“We’ll take it slow. We’ve got to meet with Fett first.”

You sigh. You’d forgotten that part. “You explained everything to him already,” you ask, “right? I don’t have to do it?”

“He knows,” Din says, standing in front of you with his weight on one leg. “And he’s going to help us.”

“He is?” Hope springs in your heart, just for a second.

“Yes.”

You start to hobble out of the medbay, absently noting that, as much as you’re grateful for this place, you won’t be sad to see the back of it. “You have a plan?”

“I do.”

“Great,” you exhale, “tell me when we’re back at the ship? I don’t feel like re-hashing it with people.”

“Of course. We’ll just say our goodbyes, I’ll finalise some things, and then I’ll tell you everything, alright?”

You nod, satisfied, and tighten your grip around his waist. Not for support: just because he’s wonderful. “Alright.”

Well, it’s not a terrible plan.

Above all else, They care about keeping the money rolling in. Even the slightest disturbance in their trade, or support from syndicates and politicians, would be considered detrimental. Maybe even more than a rogue daughter who brings shame to the family name.

(You’re tired of that. Of calling Them your family. It doesn’t feel right; especially not now.)

“You really think they’ll believe the threat?” You ask Din, sitting in the co-pilot chair with Din in the pilot’s.

“I think that Fett has never made a promise he didn’t mean. They’ll know that.”

You nod, chewing your bottom lip. “You realise that we’ve essentially circled back round to using me as bait?”

“No,” he says quickly, “we haven’t. That’s not what this is.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Fett is contacting them for negotiations; we’re not luring them in using you.”

A small smile twitches at your lips, wry. “I’m a pretty big part of the negotiation, though.”

“No, you’re not. The negotiation is about trade routes and political support.”

“I thought Mandalorians were more about fighting than diplomacy?” You say, teasing.

“Believe me, if I had it my way, I’d raze the whole organisation to the ground.”

If only it were that simple.

Still, your heart swells at the sincerity in his voice.

You’re in the cockpit and the ship is still in Peli’s hangar, sitting beside Din’s starfighter. You look across at it, admiring its sleek design, imagining Din and Grogu in there, flying around the Galaxy.

“I don’t suppose you can fit me in there for a flight one day, huh?” You ask Din.

“Unless you want to squeeze into the old droid port with Grogu.”

You look at him, smirking, “Would I not fit on your lap?”

He leans forward in his seat and reaches for you, coaxing you out of your seat. “Not in that ship,” he says as you stand and cross the small gap between you, stopping where his knees brush against your thighs. “But in this one, yes.”

Smiling, you put your hands on his shoulders and gaze down at him. “You know what it does to me when I sit in your lap,” you tease him.

His hands grip at your waist, pulling you closer. “I do.”

“And you also know that we’re still in Peli’s hangar, and your kid is right outside with her?”

He sighs, over-dramatic. “In that case, let’s get out of here as soon as we can.”

“What, so I can sit in your lap?”

“Yes.”

With a soft giggle, you lean away from him, stepping back to allow him space to get up. He squeezes your waist as he passes and heads down into the living area. You don’t follow him down the ladder, just wait on the sofa for him and the kid to come back. It’s going to be time to put him to bed soon, anyway, and now that Din has put the idea of all the space that the cockpit has in your mind, your thoughts are starting to run just a little wild.

So while Din pays Peli, takes the kid back, and preps the ship for take-off, you can’t help but just stay on the couch, lost in the thoughts he’s put in your mind, until he calls you through to strap yourself in.

It’s only once the kid is asleep, and you’re well into the safety of hyperspace, that you realise how gross you feel.

It’s been over a week since you had a proper shower. The doctors have just been helping you wash with a sponge ever since you were injured, which has been better than nothing, if a little depressing. But as for getting your wounds wet and taking a shower, the doctors finally cleared you for it yesterday.

Which should be comforting. Finally you can get clean; even if it is in the small confines of the ship’s ’fresher. You should be excited to feel the hot water on your skin, get your hair properly washed, the dried blood out from under your fingernails, breathing in the steam.

But nerves are eating away at you at the idea of it, for some reason. Maybe it’s because you haven’t really looked at yourself since it happened, or maybe because you’re a little scared about whether it’s going to hurt, to have the water running over your wounds. Painkillers are still doing their job in your system, but this is going to be a new sensation.

Your body has changed since the last time you showered. The way it feels, the way you can move. You still get tired at the slightest thing; what if a shower is too hot, too much exertion? What if it makes you hurt so much that you can’t wash the shampoo out of your hair?

It’s intimidating.

You don’t even realise that you’re standing outside the closed fresher door, staring so intently that you don’t feel your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, until Din puts his hand on the small of your back, and you jump at the contact.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding surprised by your reaction. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just…” you glance at him, then back to the door.

“You’re staring at the refresher like something is going to jump out at you,” he says softly. “Is it? Do I need to use my blaster?”

A chuckle shakes your shoulders. You let his voice, his presence, wrap around the nerves in your stomach and sate them a little. “No. At least, not that I know of. But the ship’s been sitting in that hangar for a while; we should probably check for stowaways.”

He laughs, too, just a soft chuckle through the modulator. “I’ll do that. Is there another reason you’re standing here staring at it?”

“I want to take a shower,” you say, brow furrowed in determination. Your wounds hurt, stinging at your skin.

“…But…?” He prompts.

You sigh. “But I’m nervous.”

“Alright. What are you nervous about?”

Feeling self-conscious and just a little ridiculous about the fact that you’re scared to shower, “I haven’t showered since before it happened.”

“Since before you were hurt?”

“Yeah. I know it’s silly to be nervous about showering, of all things, after everything that’s happened.”

“It’s not silly,” he says gently. From where he’s standing just an inch behind you, he reaches up his hand and brushes your hair back from your shoulder, revealing your neck. He presses the front of his helmet into it, a Mandalorian kiss. Your eyes flutter closed. “If you feel comfortable, I can help you. Even if it’s just standing outside in case you need me. Or I can help you get clean, if that’s what you need.”

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly.

“I won’t look at your scars,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind. “I promise.”

“I don’t think you can miss them,” you say with a mirthless snort.

“I can, and I will.”

You turn around to face him, gaze up into his visor. The idea of Din helping you is, shockingly, something that’s actually making things seem better. It’s not exactly how you imagined he’d see you naked for the first time. But maybe this is the best way. If he’s just focused on helping you, instead of it being a big reveal where he feels like he has to say something at the sight of you…

“Mesh’la,” he says softly, breaking you from your thoughts. “It’s alright to say no.”

You find yourself shaking your head. “No. I mean—yes. Can you help me? Do you mind?”

“Of course not. What do you need? What are you nervous about?”

“I just—I’m scared it’ll hurt. That I’ll hurt, and I won’t be able to finish the shower, and just end up with soap all over me. Or that I’ll hit my arm on something, or the water will hurt me. Or that I’ll be exhausted from it. So, just a few things.”

He runs a gloved thumb over your cheek. “Will it help if I go in with you?”

You swallow. “Probably,” you whisper, your voice failing you at the concept. Then, a different kind of nervousness starts to creep in, as you think about showering with Din, what that might imply… “But I don’t. I don’t think I can. You know. Turn it into anything else. Not that I don’t want to fuck you in the shower, but…”

His hand cups your cheek, guiding you to look back up into his eyes—you didn’t realise you’d looked away—“It won’t be anything else. I just want to help you. You’re still hurt, Mesh’la.”

Relief floods through you. You knew, of course, that he wouldn’t try and pressure you into it. But you also know that you’re going to have to hold yourself back pretty hard, if he’s going to be naked in there with you, and you need at least one of you to be the sensible one and not let you ruin your healing progress by bending over and letting him take you under the hot water—“Alright,” you force your mind to stop. Placing your hands on his chest plate, you give him a teasing smile, and say, “But I do want you to fuck me again. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he says on a soft laugh. “But the shower is a no-go. At least for now.”

You smile, raising an eyebrow. “For now, huh? I like the sound of that…”

“You need to control yourself,” he says, but his tone is nothing but teasing, you can hear the smirk in his voice, can see it in your mind’s eye. And, kriff, if that isn’t just the gift that keeps on giving.

“This might be a stupid question,” you say, “but are you going to take your clothes off?”

“I was planning on it. If you’re alright with that.”

“I’m not going to make you shower with me in the armour.”

“I’d do it, if you wanted me to.”

You know he’s serious, despite the smile that lingers in his voice. You reach up, put a hand on the side of his helmet. “And this…?”

He tilts his head, pressing the T of his visor into your palm. “I’ll take it off,” he says like it’s a promise.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m still getting used to it,” he says. “It’s strange to be seen.”

“I don’t have to stare at you as much as I did the first time,” you smirk. “It’s just hard not to. But I can try and hold myself back, if it makes you more comfortable.”

“I like it when you look at me,” he says, and you’re surprised by the sincere response to your teasing. He puts a hand on your waist, squeezes lightly, brushing the other across your jaw. “You’ve always seen me, even with the helmet on.”

Maybe it’s the meds, but tears start to rise quickly in your throat. You swallow them down, unable to speak for a second. Instead, you just nod, and give him a shaky smile. “I see you,” you manage eventually. “I do.”

He nods, too. Then, steeling himself, “Go wait in the ’fresher, Cyar’ika. Start the water if you want. I’ll be there in a minute.” He walks towards the sleeping quarters, and you reach out to press the button to open the fresher door before the courage leaves you again.

So, this is a thing that’s happening.

Din is about to see you. All of you. He’s going to have his hands on you, wash your hair, stand beside you naked and wet.

Maybe you didn’t think this through. This is supposed to be a needs-must situation. He’s helping you. That’s all this is—it’s all it can be. While you’d probably be up for sex now, first-time-shower-sex is definitely not an option, especially considering the fact that you’re already nervous enough about the idea of water on your skin as it is. And, besides, although you might be just about ready for Din to see you in this situation, it feels different, the idea of being bare while he fucks you. That feels like a step further.

Forcing the thought from your mind, focusing on the now, you get naked, and your hands are shaking. You’re starting to feel nervous now.

It’s just Din, you tell yourself. I’m fine.

(It helps when you peel off your clothes and smell yourself. You really need this shower.)

Switching the shower on, you hold your hand under it, wait for the water to turn warm. It feels too hot, but kriff, the feeling of warm water on your skin is lovely, such a welcome relief from the sticky staleness you’ve felt for the past week. There’s sand in the creases of your elbows, behind your knees, under your nails. It’s gotten fucking everywhere. For a moment you think, you may have been raised in a horrific cult, but at least that horrific cult wasn’t on a sand planet. That would have just been pouring salt into the wound. (Or sand. Yikes.)

Lost in the uncomfortable sensation of trying to scrape the patches of sand off your skin, you don’t notice the sound of the ’fresher door closing until you hear soft footsteps behind you.

Bare footsteps.

Then, a gentle hand on your waist, hot breath against your ear. “You alright?” Din’s voice asks gently, husky beneath the spray of the shower.

Holy kriff. Holy fuck. Holy everything.

Holy Din.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. His hand is bare on your waist and you can’t help but reach down and take hold of it, running your palm up over his bare wrist. Your body follows it, turning in his arms as your eyes dart up to his shoulders and his neck and his—

His face. Soft, damp with water, with steam. And, bless him so much, he looks nervous. Uncertain, like this is all new territory. Which it probably is for him; and it definitely is for the two of you together.

A smile finds its way onto your lips. “Hi,” you say softly. You can’t help it; you lean in and kiss him, just once, chaste. “How’d you get so handsome?” You ask, running a hand through his hair, taking a tight grip of it at the back of his neck.

His eyes close for a second at the feeling. He leans in, presses his forehead into yours. “How did you get so beautiful?”

You don’t have an answer or a teasing comment to throw back at him. Because, shit, he’s here. He’s naked, he’s in the shower with you, pressing his nose against yours so earnestly and gently, not even looking at your body; you’d expected him to be instantly distracted by the wounds, the scars, the curves that you’re so used to desperately pretending don’t exist.

You’ve never been seen like this. You expected it to change everything.

But it feels like it always does when he looks at you. Comforting, safe. Like, to him, you’re more than just your body.

He reaches out to the sink and grabs a washcloth, then wets it under the spray of the shower. Wordless, he pulls away just enough to find your arm and lift it, then starts to gently swipe at the patch of sand there. “This shit gets everywhere,” he says.

A laugh bubbles in your chest. Sheer joy, disbelief, that this is happening. That it doesn’t even feel like that much of a big deal. (Having said that, you haven’t let yourself really look at him yet; you know if you do, you won’t be able to hold yourself back. It was bad enough when it was just his face.)

(His face isn’t just anything.)

He wipes away all the sand he can see from where he stands, and then reaches for the bottle of shampoo that he bought just for you a few weeks back. It smells fruity and sweet; you’d seen it at a market stall, admired the scent before moving on to the next stall, and then found it later that night in the fresher.

“Are you okay to turn around?” He asks, meeting your eyes, wrinkles in his forehead as his gaze just shines with sincerity.

It brings a warm, heavy bloom to your chest. You gaze up at him, feel the wounds on your back. Nervous, you nod. “Just—” you put a hand on his chest, momentarily distracted by the hair there, making a mental note to pay it special attention next time you get him like this—“Don’t be shocked. It’s a bit of a mess.”

He nods. Leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’re perfect,” he reminds you before you turn around and face the shower.

Feeling the droplets so close to you, you can’t resist—“Hold on,” you say before you step closer and let the water run over your face and hair.

And, yeah. It’s been too long. It hurts a little, but only initially; you get used to it and eventually just let the water run over your face, down your front, your legs. Some drops hit the wounds on your back. But it’s okay.

“That feel good?” He asks. You can hear the smile in his voice.

A shudder runs down your spine. Immediately, you’re distracted from the heat of the shower. “You can’t say stuff like that when we’re wet and naked in a shower and trying not to have sex,” you say, earning a chuckle from behind you.

“Sorry,” he says, still smiling, and you feel him approach you from behind. He pulls your wet hair from your shoulder, freeing it for his lips. His eyelashes flutter against your skin when he closes his eyes, pressing close-mouthed kisses up towards the back of your neck. His arms, wet and hairy and strong and scarred, wrap around your waist, so delicate, careful not to hurt you. You wish he could press in closer, pull your back to his chest. “Just never seen you like this,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “Don’t think I can ever look away.”

Leaning your head back into his shoulder, you thread your fingers through his over your stomach, not even thinking about the older scars there. Not even considering that he’s feeling them, touching them. It’s been your biggest fear for so long, for him to touch those scars. That he’d feel them and back away, decide it was too much.

But now, it’s the last thing on your mind.

“Sorry, baby, but I think my strength will run out soon, so you better get a good look while you can,” you tease him.

“You can’t say that when we’re trying not to have sex,” he says into the curve of your neck, his voice a low vibration.

Your hand reaches around behind you, grasps the back of his neck. “What, call you Baby?” You smile, so wide you can feel the wrinkles on the corners of your eyes.

You feel him nod.

“Sorry,” you grin, “payback.”

He makes a Tsk noise, then reaches for the shampoo again, separating himself from your neck. You hear him open the bottle. “Can I wash your hair?”

“Kriff, please. I feel like a damn oil drum with this greasy hair.”

“I like it,” he squeezes some out onto his hand, then you hear him lathering it up in his palms. “You make it work.”

You snort. “Yeah, sure. You’re just saying that ’cause you want to get into my pants.”

“You’re not wearing any,” he reminds you helpfully. “And at least one of us has to have some self-control.”

“Please, I have self-control—” but your words melt off into nothing when his hands are suddenly in your hair, rubbing shampoo into your scalp. Kriff, it feels amazing. His touch, the soap, the smell that fills the steamy room. You fall back into him, knees suddenly weak from the sensation as he rubs it in. It’s not even overly sexual, it just feels good. So, so good. A relief, too, like you can feel the oil washing away; the memories of the last few days.

“How do you feel?” He asks once your head is covered in purple suds. “How’s your pain?”

“I’m alright. Getting a little tired now, but it’s not hurting too much.”

“That’s good,” he gently turns you to face him, giving you a soft smile. “You want me to try and rinse it without getting your back wet?”

“We’ve got to get it wet sometime. They said it was safe.”

He nods. “But are you okay with it?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright. Go under the water, I’ll keep it out of your eyes. You let me know if it hurts.”

Nodding, you do as he asks, and he brings his hand up to cup over your forehead, directing the water away from your eyes as it runs down onto your head. The suds flow with it, and most of them avoid your back with your head tilted back a little. The bits of water and soap that do touch your wounds sting a bit, but it’s alright. It feels too good to have the water running through your hair, the dirt and grime from the last week finally washing away, for you to care. Your eyes are closed before you know it, feeling Din’s other hand rubbing at your scalp, making sure all the shampoo is washed away.

Once it’s all gone, you lift your head again and open your eyes, finding him already looking at you, fondness shining in his eyes. You’ve barely seen that look on him, and yet it feels just as familiar as the sight of his helmet.

He grabs the washcloth again and pours soap on it this time, then starts to wash your arms, avoiding the wounds, lifting them so he can gently scrub underneath them. It’s hard to believe that this is happening; that you’re perfectly happy to be standing here, naked and scarred in front of him, letting him wash you like he’s not bothered by how grimy you are. He just wants to help you, just wants you to be comfortable. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

You’ve never known tenderness like this.

It tightens your chest, stings your throat.

You let your head fall onto his bare shoulder once he’s rinsed off the soap from your shoulders. He pauses, his hand settling on your hip.

“You okay?” He asks.

Instead of answering, you wrap your arms all the way around him, feeling his skin hot and wet beneath yours. It’s not the first time you’ve held him naked. But it is the first time he’s held you naked; the first time anyone has been near you like this. And it’s the first time he’s letting you see him, too.

It’s just a lot.

You hold him tight. One arm over his shoulder and down to press between his shoulder blades, the other wrapping around his waist, your hands crossing on his back. He melts into you, carefully holding you back, both arms around you as much as he can without hurting you. He presses his face into your neck, and you could stay like this forever. Nothing between you but water. Nothing but warmth, skin on skin, his heartbeat pressing against yours.

One of your hands comes up to hold the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his wet hair. It’s longer, darker, like this.

“Mesh’la,” he whispers, tracing his fingertip in little circles on your back.

You want to say something.

Not just anything. You want to tell him how you feel; or, at least, how you think you feel.

The problem is, you’ve never actually felt that before. Only ever read about it in books, seen it in cheesy HoloNet dramas.

You never thought that you’d ever find anything even close to what people call Love. Let alone that you’d be standing here, in this perfect man’s arms, contemplating whether or not you even have the capacity to understand what that would mean. What that feeling means.

And what it might change, if you ever said it out loud.

“Din,” you say, feeling teary all of a sudden. Your face is in his shoulder, the water flowing gently over the both of you.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

You shake your head. Pulling back just a little, you meet his eyes for a second before leaning in and kissing him. Close-mouthed, chaste as anything, but with all the strength and passion you can give to him.

He accepts the kiss, of course; lifts one of his hands to gently trace the backs of his fingers down your cheek. When you part, he presses your foreheads together. “What was that for?”

You’re not ready to say it yet. Maybe you never will be. For now, you just shake your head again, and give him a soft, albeit slightly shaky, smile. “Thank you,” you say. “For helping me. For—for everything.”

He searches your eyes for a moment, like he knows there’s more to your words. Then he nods, kisses you again. “Of course.”

“I’m getting tired,” you say reluctantly. “We should get out soon.”

“Alright. Do you want me to put the bacta gel on for you?”

You’re not sure why you hesitate. Not after this. “Yes,” you say, “please.”

It doesn’t hurt, exactly. It’s cold, and it might be stinging for a split second before the bacta sinks into your skin and helps with the pain. It smells gross, and feels weird to have something touching each of the wounds.

But Din’s hands are so soft, so gentle, and when he realises before you that you’re shaking, he stops.

“You okay?” He asks. “Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to speak. It’s not hurting. Really, it’s not.

But this is new. Even this is different still from him seeing you in the shower. Because the water’s not running anymore, you’re standing in front of the fogged-up sink mirror with your arms crossed over your chest, and suddenly it’s quiet. It’s focused, all the attention on your back. If the mirror wasn’t foggy, you’d be able to see the scars on your stomach, too. And so would Din.

It’s intimate. It’s too intimate.

“Hey,” Din says softly, peering over your shoulder, trying to catch your eye. “Talk to me. You’re shaking. What’s wrong? Are you cold?”

Your head shakes again. You can’t look at him. “I just—” you force out, “you’re seeing me.”

“I am,” he says, soft, unassuming. “Do you not want me to?”

No. You do. You do, and maybe that’s what’s scaring you so much.

For fuck’s sake, you’re crying.

“Hey,” his voice is so fucking soft, and he’s turning you around to face him, bringing one of his hands up to gently swipe away your tears. “Hey, look at me. We don’t have to do this.”

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together, you shake your head again, staring down at the floor. He’s got a towel around his hips, and you’re so stuck in your head that you can’t even take a moment to appreciate his chest, the gentle curve of his stomach, the trail of hair going down from his belly button to the top of the towel.

“I’m alright,” you say, wanting to mean it, not sure if you do or don’t. “Just. I don’t know, it’s probably the painkillers, they’re messing with my head.”

He’s quiet for a moment. He runs his hand over the side of your head, smoothing down your still-wet hair. He’s dipping his head, trying to meet your eyes. His other hand is still sticky with bacta gel, just hanging at his side, waiting patiently.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, so soft, “is it the scars? You don’t want me to see you?”

You close your eyes, screw them tightly shut. Your arms are still crossed over your chest. You nod.

A soft sigh comes from Din’s nose. He moves his hand around to the nape of your neck and keeps it there, using it to gently pull you close and press his lips to your forehead. “The scars of what they did to you?” He asks. Quiet, like he’s not sure if he should.

His mouth still against your forehead, you nod. Tears slip past your closed eyes, fall down onto your cheeks. “Yeah. That, and the wounds, and—just. They always told me how bad I looked. That no one but the man they wanted me to marry would ever want me because of how I look, even before they—before they hurt me. To them, hurting me was just the final nail in the coffin. But the coffin always existed.”

His grip on the back of your neck tightens, almost protectively. You let yourself focus on that instead of the cool bacta gel on your back that’s trying to steal your attention, to take you away from the softness of his presence; the fact that he’s never, ever shied away from your body, from your scars.

“Even if I have to tell you every day for the rest of my life,” Din says, “I will.”

“Tell me what?” You ask, voice trembling.

His lips brush your forehead again, then trail down to your temple, the height of your cheekbone. His eyelashes flutter against your skin as he closes his eyes. “You’re perfect,” he whispers into the hollow of your cheek. “I mean it.”

You wish you had the confidence to uncross your arms, to wrap them around him. But it’s not just the scars. It’s your stomach, your stretch marks, it’s the way your chest looks without clothes on top. “I know you do,” you tell him, because you do, you know he does.

“It’s not what matters,” he says, “that I think you’re beautiful. It’s what you think that matters most. I know that I can’t…take away the way you feel about yourself. I wish I could,” he whispers the last part, like he’s saying it just to himself. Your heart lurches, pulls you towards him. “But until you see how beautiful you are, I’ll tell you whenever you need to hear it. Okay?”

And you don’t have any words to say. Or, you do, but there are too many. And you can’t form them now, anyway.

Instead, you just nod, and press your forehead into his. He’s still got his eyes closed. A split second of courage overtakes you and you grab hold of it, let it carry your hand up to the back of his neck, pushing your fingers into his hair. He sighs against you like he’s relieved you’re finally touching him back.

“I’m sorry, Cyar’ika,” he whispers.

“For what?”

As if he’s lost for words, he shakes his head. “For everything They did to you.”

You sniff, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Because you can’t help it. Because you’ll never not want to look into them. “It’s not your fault,” you offer with a small, sad smile.

His hand cups your jaw. His gaze is so intense, it’s like he’s looking into your soul. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to worry about them anymore. No one’s going to touch you ever again.” Beneath the determination in his eyes, the sincerity of his promise, you could swear you see some…fear? Worry?

You’ve never seen that on him before. Never even really heard it in his voice.

You stare back at him, searching. Wanting to know every part of him, wanting to know what’s got that little shine of anxiety sparking in his mind.

Before you can ask or really let his nerves feed into your own, he says, “I’ve finished the bacta. I just need to bandage you up, if you don’t mind.”

With wide eyes, you nod. Before he moves away to grab the med supplies, you use the hand on the back of his neck to bring him in and kiss him. Just a small, chaste kiss, but he melts against you, putting his hand against your cheek. When your lips part, he doesn’t keep them that way for long; he’s leaning back in, kissing you again, sliding his fingers back into your hair.

You wish you had the energy to deepen this. To appreciate that he’s here, naked, that you have privacy and time and safety, at least for now. You want to run your hands over every inch of him, look at his face while you touch him, feel him inside you and all around you.

Instead, you pull back, and give him an apologetic smile.

You don’t have to explain. “Come on,” he says, “let’s get to bed, alright? I’ll just wrap you up, then we should rest. We’ve got a few days before Fett contacts us.”

As he goes over to the cabinet by the shower, pulling out the supplies that Garidan had sent you away with, you watch him. The tears have ceased now, so you can get a good look at him. The shift of the muscles in his back and arms, the way his stomach rolls just a little when he bends over. Somehow, he’s wide and broad and strong and hard, and yet soft and supple, curved in places you never thought he would be. You could honestly look at him like this forever. Just stay here and let the sight of him heal all your wounds.

If only it were that simple.

He catches you staring when he stands up and turns back to you. A small, shy smirk twitches at one corner of his lips.

You stand up a little straighter, cross your arms over your chest again. “Can I tell you how beautiful you are every day, too?” You ask with a teasing smile.

He chuckles. Crow’s feet appear around his eyes as he heads back over, stops in front of you. “Whenever you want, Cyar’ika.”

notes: thank you as always for being here, and if you left a comment on the last chapter you get an EXTRA SPECIAL thank you!!! hope you enjoyed this chapter, do let me know if you did!

take care of yourself ❤️

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive

@lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust @lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever @djarinxore @rexamongthestars @babygirlrex0504 @dindjarindude @prentissluvr @hotchie360

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian imagine #gif cw #my post: fic #i only see daylight #star wars fanfiction

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cyncerity · 1 year

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In the store shifter au would Tommy ever nom Dream? also how is it safe for humans (like Ranboo) to nom borrowers and size-shifters?

ok the answer to the second question is shorter so i’ll answer that first;

short answer it just is. same basic rules as most of my aus where tinies evolved to be digestion proof so they wouldn’t be killed by predators. This does make borrowers and shifters a bit sturdier than humans, but not significantly. Like if Sapnap caught his hand on fire he’d be fine in a a couple weeks max and have some burns at the worst where as anyone else would have to go to a hospital and probably get new skin grafted on since it would have completely destroyed their skin.

Also fun fact while most sizeshifter traits like, y’know, sizeshifting, happen immediately as a self defense mechanism, the changes that make them harder to hurt are gradual and can take a few weeks. It also sucks ass. As you would expect, having genes and dna get re-purposed and remade is not a fun process.

as for Dream and Tommy; yes absolutely

(lots more under the cut)

I’ve actually really been wanting to talk about this because as I’ve mentioned once that Dream has claustrophobia. It’s not severe by any means, but it’s definitely there. Not great for nom purposes.

Tommy starts asking to eat Dream pretty immediately after learning that Dream gets the instincts he does. Dream is very, very against the idea initially.

Firstly, he can justify swallowing Tommy because he’s his caretaker. Tommy is his kid and his responsibility and he views it mostly as a protective thing. It’s his job to protect his son, so the idea of Tommy swallowing him is just…weird to him.

Second, the claustrophobia thing. The first time he swallowed Tommy, he almost chocked cause he was barely small enough to get down his throat. Tommy makes an effort to shift smaller while being swallowed and then go back to his proper borrower size once he reaches Dream’s stomach, but that’s Tommy. Dream can’t control his shifting that well, he’s been a shifter for significantly less time than Tommy has. He has human sized, slightly bigger than human when he’s stressed, and borrower sized. That’s it. He doesn’t want to be on the other end of what he’s experienced the first time he ate Tommy.

Plus, every time without fail he swallows Tommy it takes his body like a half an hour to an hour to realize that Tommy isn’t food. Tommy gets shoved around by his stomach muscles and Dream does his best to ignore it because honestly, he doesn’t mind, it just takes him a minute to get used to the feeling of it. Plus Tommy seems to actually somewhat like it, cause it “feels like a weird fucked up hug but like in a good way.” Tommy’s exact words. That translates pretty clearly to Dream; the walls of his stomach close in on Tommy. The walls physically contract to make the space as tight as possible. Yeah, there doesn’t really seem like anything worse for his claustrophobia than that. Fuck it, that would probably make his claustrophobia significantly worse.

Third, it scares him for Tommy’s safety. He has a tendency to grow when scared, and he’s terrified that if he did ever let Tommy store him, he’d panic and end up hurting or killing his own son. He doesn’t want to put Tommy in any danger.

So yes, Tommy absolutely wants to, but Dream won’t let him for now. Dream still noms Tommy to deal with his instincts, and Tommy still noms Tubbo like he has for most of his life.

Extra tidbit: Dream is aware that Tommy has these instincts but he eventually gets really confused that he’d never seen Tommy eat anyone. Actually, if Tommy had been a shifter the entire time he lived with Dream, how was he finding someone to swallow? The only borrowers Dream knows are the fiancés, and Tommy didn’t know them did he? Dream still doesn’t know Tubbo exists cause him and Tommy are both supreme dumbasses who keep forgetting that fact, so Dream spends a long time trying to figure out what Tommy does to deal with his instincts.

#dw Dream will meet Tubbo eventually #and Tommy will also find a way to eat Dream #that one i actually have ideas for 👀#cyncerity #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #tw vore #store shifter au

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epickiya722 · 1 year

Note

Think about this:

Izuku, who feels guilt eating him away everytime when he sees scars on the bodies of his classmates.

Tenya's nerve damage from Stain, and burns from Dabi. (Izuku should've been a better friend, should've been the one there.)

Jirou's torn ear, half her quirk gone. (Izuku shouldn't have let himself be pulled away by Toga.)

Tokoyami's extensive burns, horrific scarring even after grafting skin on it. (Izuku should've been there.)

Aizawa sensei's prosthetic. (Izuku should've been faster.)

Miruko's multiple prosthetics. (Izuku holds ofa, he could've prevented it. And oh, the way the doctors looked at her when they brought her. He can't forget the way the doctor's voice shook. The same doctor, who treated the gaping hole in Sir Nighteye's body and didn't blink an eye.)

And all of Katsuki's scarring.

Izuku, who has irreversible nerve damage in his own arms and has parts where he can't feel, parts where the nerve probably died, and yet he believes that this he deserves. He believes it to be some way of the universe punishing him for all that he couldn't do. All that he couldn't save.

Izuku, who at seventeen spends his days and night awake and knowing but not accepting that he might have to attend too many funerals. And the blame would be his alone. He accepts it. He takes that punishment with his head bowed low, after all, sinners don't get to have their heads held high.

Izuku who believes he faced too less, way too less compared to those around him.

Fate is such a cruel mistress, and the universe loves to laugh at pain. And Izuku wishes he never met All Might in the first place because, why, WHY, did they never say that becoming a hero would mean he would be losing so much, and the joy of being a hero would not exist because what.

What does it matter when the people who you want the most are the ones who suffered most for it?

You... you didn't have to hurt me like this and now you pay me for emotional distress! 😭

For real though, Izuku probably has had thoughts like this before. He's driven by guilt and even though someone has to tell him "I made that decision myself" or "it wasn't in your control", he still feels like he could have done more.

#kiya answers #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #deku

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mattydemise · 1 year

Text

I dreamt that you got plastic surgery and regretted it. Your face was all bruised and fucked up and your tits were ugly and lopsided. There were complications and the doctors did what they could to repair their damage. You locked yourself in a dark room and didn’t want the light to touch your skin. A sort of Phantom Of The Opera and a plastic surgery disaster. It was distressing to see you like this, it hurt me in some fundamental way, but part of me knew you had it coming, that it was deserved. The vain always pay a price and it’s often more than they’re willing to part with. Vanity comes at a cost. It always has and always will. You lingered in the room like old, souring smoke. Left to yourself, left to get high, left to forget about everything that led you to this. I can’t say you didn’t deserve it. The dream was full of confusion and neon haze, like a Refn film. Thin bits of dialogue strung together with primal human emotions and this deep love that exists and always will exist but has been burnt beyond recognition. Maybe some skin grafts and a little plastic surgery would help.

#writing #words #personal #dreams #marcelmidnight

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mrslittletall · 2 years

Note

I feel like people view Mogh/Miquella situation as THAT type of non con because George RR Martin is involved, but they forget that this is still a FromSoft game.

There is nothing that indicates Mogh did anything to Miquella except kidnapping him and giving him his blood in HOPES to become his consort. He himself doesn't know yet if that will happen.

Which is still no con, just not the kind they like to scream about.

And honestly, anon, I don't even have anything against people interpreting it this way. They can do what they want. What gets under my skin is that they say it is the worst thing EVER while there are so much more bad things happening in Elden Ring, like the ones I told about. How is Godrick grafting people less horrifying than Mohg sharing his bedchamber with someone he kidnapped? How is a snake voring thousands of champions less horrifying? Yes, Mohg is an evil character and that is what I like about him. He just embraced that everyone told him as an omen he's evil, but there is this one little piece of lore which can or cannot be interpreted in a way that implies sexual violence and people are clutching their pearls. That is what upsets me. At least look at what is happening around you in the lore and then decide why you think Mohg's actions are so much worse than that of his siblings. (For the record, I think that Mohg is really madly in love with Miquella and convinced himself that Miquella actually loved him back, so he doesn't even know that what he's doing is wrong, he thinks everything he does to Miquella is what Miquella wants).

#ask answered #thx for the ask #elden ring spoilers #mentions of non-con

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streetlights-was-taken · 21 days

Text

LIKE A HOOK INTO AN EYE. (first draft; scrapped)

first draft of the prologue and the first scene of the first chapter for LIKE A HOOK INTO AN EYE. I'm thinking of scrapping these because the fic isn't really working for me; hence why I'm posting them here, and not on AO3.

one day I'll return to this story and figure out how to write it better. I will most likely still use the same premise (and will probably keep the title and summary), but the story itself probably won't be written the way it was here, for reasons I'll explain in another post.

anyway, here's my initial attempt at gothic horror, actor au vnlmi. cw for: character death, witch curses, ghost haunting (?), grafting someone else's body part into yours

LIKE A HOOK INTO AN EYE.

people think that grief slowly gets smaller with time. in reality, grief stays the same size—

To honor Aether’s dreams, Lumine endeavors to bring to the stage the last unpublished play he wrote before his death. The only copy of the manuscript lies in the hands of a musician who wants to free Lumine from her haunting.

But how can she let him, when this haunting is all she has left?

PROLOGUE: DEATH (first draft)

Lumine didn’t kill him, but she might as well have.

Logically, it’s nobody’s fault. She’s cognizant of the blamelessness that comes with accidents. “Shit happens,” as Aether would say, with a cheeky smile and a shrug and that annoyingly endearing go-getter attitude that would have him “conveniently” forget any trauma or obstacle standing in the way between him and his unyielding, awful, all-consuming dreams.

Aether was brave and stupid like that. It killed him to pursue his dreams, but he’d die if he didn’t take those steps forward. Aether had an envious appetite for life. And he was, always, a hungry man.

Sometimes, Albedo doesn’t understand why Aether acted the way he did, not the way Lumine did. Aether had a way with words, a way of saying the most incomprehensible things that made you understand.

“I dream the way you love,” he once said, an off-hand comment from when they bought apples from the Sunday Market near Dornman Port. It didn’t even occur to him how easily he distilled both of their identities into six words. “Some say it’s maddening, but I like that about us. My dreams are your dreams. Your love is my love. We fit together the way only twins like us can.”

Aether often linked his left pinky with hers, warm flesh against synthetic skin. And for a second, they return to being one entity.

When they were still in their mother’s womb, their little fingers were fused together, bridging their two bodies. The doctor had to surgically remove it from one of them during birth. Like a wishbone, one split into two. Aether retained all of his appendages, while Lumine lived with a prosthesis fortified with condensed resin. It was state-of-the-art, made with expensive Khemia technology.

Aether often linked their fingers together to declare, like a promise, “We’ll always share everything, Lumine. What’s mine is yours. My wishes are your wishes.”

Aether and Lumine were born as extensions of one another. She is — was? — the moon to his sun. Aether understood everything about Lumine, and Lumine understood everything about Aether.

Aether, who is now six feet deep in the ground. He doesn’t even have all his bones with him.

Their former guardian, M, once told them that they inherited a witch’s curse from when their birth mother angered a sullen witch. She was cursed to gaze into the abyss, and that one of her children will inherit the same gaze. And when they do, they will pull the other with them, until all three of them have fallen.

The Gaze is a pull towards the abyss — towards death. M said that you cannot break a curse that you are born with. It is written into your being. You would have to rewrite the way you see — the way your soul is wired to perceive. But by then you wouldn’t be the same person anymore, and what would you even sacrifice to get to that point? The cost is never worth it. You would be trading one curse for another.

And so, you can only resist. Many people, according to M, have resisted such curses and lived long lives. M said the best way to resist is to gaze outward. There is a horizon beyond the abyss; there is something worth yearning for.

“I won’t kill you,” Aether had promised. “And you won’t kill me. We’ll live and we’ll grow old and when we die, we’ll be happy. We’ll find something that can save us from this curse. Gaze outward, Lumine.”

She did. On that day, they held hands and watched the sunset together, eyes fixed beyond.

Lumine didn’t kill Aether. Aether was the one who wanted to hike in Dragonspine, just the two of them, because he was struggling with writer’s block and he needed a change of scenery.

Lumine didn’t cause the blizzard in Dragonspine, didn’t cause Aether to slide horrifically across the cliffside during the terribly planned hiking trip. Aether knew this. He would tell her not to blame herself. She tried to hold his hand. She reached out when he fell.

Lumine didn’t kill Aether, didn’t intend to and didn’t want to. But she also couldn’t catch him in time.

It took the knights three days to find the body. Albedo, usually so well-composed and self-possessed, broke down when he saw the still corpse. Lumine was inconsolable.

And just like that, Aether has gone to the abyss. Not by a witch’s curse, but by bad weather and an unlucky hiking trip.

For the first time, Lumine is truly alone in the world.

—

Aether does not return to earth whole. A small, sterilized jar of bones and flesh sits cold at the back of a freezer, wrapped in moist gauze and damp with saline solution. Lumine hesitates everyday at breakfast and pushes the thought at the back of her mind.

Later. She’ll deal with it later.

After his death is announced to the public, Lumine encounters a man with brilliant teal eyes who gives her a little black notebook that once belonged to Aether.

“He left it in my studio,” he says. “I think he’d want you to have it.”

Lumine flips through the pages. It’s a poetry book.

“He left a lot of things in my studio, you know, CDs, notebooks, some of his drafts are even on my computer. But—” the man sighs, slipping a card into one of the pages,“—this is the only one I have with me today. When you want the rest of them back, come find me. I think I still have a draft of his last manuscript. I’ll keep them safe until you’re ready to get them.”

Lumine hides the notebook in her pocket. She thinks about reading through it, but whenever she looks at Aether, lying peacefully in the casket, a terrible thought tugs at her more urgently than the rest.

She would die with him. A part of her would be buried with him.

She couldn’t let him return to the earth whole. Aether can’t leave her alone.

Aether’s little finger sits in cold ice at home while they lower his body to the ground. This flesh were theirs. For everything that separated Lumine from Aether and vice versa, these bones belonged to them both.

The next day, Dainsleif informs her that she inherited all of Aether’s fortune, his responsibilities in the Abyss Foundation, and, of course, his plants. Lumine is two times richer than she was yesterday, and only half whole.

The little black notebook sits by Lumine’s windowsill, conveniently forgotten.

—

Lumine doesn’t open the notebook again until she’s forced to confront it.

The inheritance overwhelms her. The moneys sits untouched, the Abyss Foundation is ran by Dainsleif these days, and the plants are withering.

The knights ask Lumine to take some time off indefinitely, because a paramedic who can’t be present in the field is a liability. They don’t say that this is the real reason, of course. Neither do they mention the new responsibilities and wealth they assume (correctly) that she acquired, how that should be taking up her time instead, and anyway — dead sibling aside — she is much better off now, materially, than she was before. She doesn’t need to slave herself off of the meager salary of a first responder.

They don’t say any of that. Instead, they say that they’re concerned for her mental health, that it’s okay for her to grieve, that Noelle can handle things while she’s away.

Both things can be true at the same time. But one reason being true doesn’t negate the other.

They don’t force Albedo to do the same thing, because Albedo is responsible enough to actually use his time off when he needs it. He hasn’t worn the uniform in four months. There are rumors that he’ll quit the knights soon. Lumine wants to do the same.

She’s dead on her feet, unmoored and without purpose. How is she supposed to live without Aether? She’s scared to know, until one day she’s scared she’ll never know. Suddenly, the sight of the little black notebook no longer haunts her, but gives her hope.

Bolting from her bed in the middle of the night, Lumine grabs the notebook in a feverish daze. She wipes the dust off. A page falls off on her bed, just a small scrap of writing. It reads,

I borrow moonlight for this journey of a million miles

Lumine throws the notebook away, as if it burned her. A sharp paper cut slices through her skin, a centimeter off where the palm meets her synthetic finger. The pain registers only second to the loud beating of her own chest.

“No, don’t do this to me, Aether,” she whispers. Her prosthetic finger suddenly feels foreign to her, too cold and artificial.

Her hair has gotten long after months of neglecting to have it cut. From her reflection by the window, she could almost pretend it’s Aether staring back at her wild eyes. He tilts his head at her, as if to say, Go on. Read.

She swallows thickly and opens the notebook again. Another page reads,

While I walk on the moon keeps pace beside me; friend in the water Now that my storehouse has burned down, nothing conceals the moon

Aether smiles patiently from the window as Lumine cries herself hoarse for the rest of the night.

—

Lumine opens the notebook again one week later, after replacing the saline solution in the jar that housed Aether’s (her?) severed finger. She still hasn’t decided on what to do with it yet.

Aether’s notebook of poetry functioned as a diary. It’s difficult to be vulnerable with your own words, but Aether found a way to channel his own helpless thoughts through other people. He always did that — live, through and for others.

This is what made him an excellent scriptwriter. He admired, and sometimes encouraged, the desire to live someone else’s life. To escape into someone else’s story and make it your own. He got that from M, Lumine is sure. M wrote children’s books, and Aether lived many lives through her stories.

Lumine, at least, isn’t alone in her grief. Aether was the darling of Mondstadt’s entertainment industry. When news of his death broke out, a local channel aired reruns of his movies. Finchster trended a hashtag for him.

Albedo stayed for dinner that day and marathoned the movies with Lumine. Aether loved to write happy, feel-good stories. Stories about love, friendship, family. Some of them are punctuated with intense drama or high-stakes adventure, and some of them are your run-of-the-mill romance and slice-of-life. But all of them, always, end on a hopeful note, if not a happy ending.

Aether smiled on tv. They re-ran his interviews in-between the movies. “I do want to challenge myself creatively,” screen Aether said. “Actually, in my spare time, I’ve been trying to write a tragedy. A proper one — I imagine it will be performed in a stage play than in front of a kamera. I used to do community theater in college, so it will be good to go back to my roots. But I’m an optimist at heart. Most of the time, I write happy endings because I want people to see themselves in the stories I write.”

Albedo’s eyes shined with tears. “Even when he’s not around, he’s still trying to cheer us up.”

In his little black notebook, Aether copied words from poets and wrote down names of people he knew. He borrowed other people’s words to write unsent letters to his loved ones.

The last poem, written a month before the accident, and read four months after, is addressed to Lumine.

A basket of apples brown in our kitchen, their warm scent is the scent of ripening, and my sister, entering the room quietly, takes a seat at the table, takes up the task of peeling slowly away the blemished skins, even half-rotten ones are salvaged carefully. She makes sure to carve out the mealy flesh. For this, I am grateful. I explain, this elegy would love to save everything. She smiles at me, and before long, the empty bowl she uses fills, domed with thin slices she brushes into the mouth of a steaming pot on the stove. What can I do? I ask finally. Nothing, she says, let me finish this one thing alone.

Lumine tears the page from his notebook and crumples it up, throws it in the bin. She reminds herself that this was written before the accident. He was probably writing about the way she showed her care for him.

But how dare he? How dare he write to her like he wants her to… to...

(She did peel those apples from the Sunday Market. Made apple pie, boiled the cores and peeled skin, made the most out of everything the fruits had to offer, bruised and near-rotting though they were. But—)

In that moment, Lumine spies the ghost of her brother overshadow her reflection in the glass window. “Even half-rotten ones are salvaged carefully,” she reads, but it’s Aether’s image that mouths the words in the reflection. “For this, I am grateful.”

Who does Aether think she is? Who does he think he is to ask this of her? He’s the golden child. Lumine is his shadow. That’s how they decided they would be. She was the moon to his sun. She could never just finish things the things he left behind, could she?

Oh, but this is very much how Aether would think. He’d do anything for his dreams, even go as far as to ask his sister to accomplish them in his stead. So long as they are fulfilled, even from beyond the grave. And he would be grateful, wouldn’t he? Because Lumine could do it. Lumine salvages everything that can be saved, even when they’re rotting and dying. Even if they’re six feet deep in the ground.

Lumine didn’t kill him, but if she doesn’t keep his dreams alive, she might as well have. Aether still has bountiful dreams he left behind for her to carry through.

And his dreams are beautiful indeed. Lumine loves her brother for them. Aether dreams, and Lumine saves. That’s how they always worked. Lumine brings people from the brink of death for another chance at life; an anti-psychopomp. But Aether, with his words and his stories, is the one who inspires. He makes you believe in a life worth living.

Life has a funny sense of humor, then, to cut him off from the same experience.

An hour later, Lumine takes the torn paper out from the bin and smooths it flat. The creases will never leave. She can’t undo them just as she can’t undo death. But the words are still here, and Aether’s dreams are still here. That has to be enough.

Lumine didn’t kill Aether, no, but she never kept him alive after his death. Four months after the funeral, Lumine still doesn’t have that last manuscript he wanted to show the world. She remembers him talking about it. He wanted to flex his creative muscles, wanted to do something different from his usual stories.

Everyday, the calling card and the memory of brilliant teal eyes loom over her. But she’s not ready to face it, not yet, not alone. Not until—

One step at a time. She knows what Aether wants her to do, but Lumine can only be so brave when she’s alone. She can’t do this alone.

With a trembling heart and a grief-driven bravery, Lumine spends the next two weeks in Snezhnaya and calls up an infamous underground doctor.

She returns to Mondstadt with stitches marring her left hand, one finger lighter than the rest of her tanned skin, sun-kissed from the days she spent outside as a first responder. The nail is decorated with bright yellow nail polish.

—

Albedo will be leaving soon. Lumine can do nothing about that. He’s heading for Sumeru, she thinks. He can’t move on if he stays here. Aether wouldn’t want to tie him down.

“You can come with me,” he tells her. Sometimes, on the days he stares too long at her mismatched fingers, he comes close to pleading. “If you want. You don’t have to stay there for long, but getting away from all this might help. It’s okay to leave your grief behind, even for just a little while.”

Lumine shakes her head, because now she has something to do. Aether said so, in his poem. This elegy would love to save everything. Let me finish this one thing alone. So how can she go? Who will publish Aether’s manuscript? Who will take care of Aether’s garden, and his charity work? Who will keep watch of the house? The dust will build, and the air will go stale, and Aether never liked the house to be lonely.

Albedo must think her crazy. Lumine can’t bear the pity in his eyes, ill-disguised as they are. Perhaps he never meant to hide them at all. Albedo is not that type of person — after all, how else did Aether fell in love with him? He loved straightforward people.

Still, Albedo is right. Grief doesn’t have to stay.

So at night, Lumine lays on her pillow and dreams of how she can keep Aether alive. His dreams, if not his body, because his body is decaying six feet deep underground. So it’s up to Lumine to finish things for him. She loves him so, so much, after all.

It is fortunate, then, that Lumine loves the way he dreams.

Unyielding, awful, and all-consuming.

She starts with his garden. A simple task. She just needs to take care of Aether’s plants, and they have been looking rather lonely without their gardener. Albedo has been keeping them healthy all this time, but he’s leaving soon. So she feeds them fertilizer and waters them everyday until the leaves turn yellow and crisp, for which Albedo gently scolds her for. One of the more delicate flowerpots wither from her care.

“You need to leave them alone,” he tells her. “They’ll be fine without water for a few days. They like to be left alone.”

With great reluctance, she leaves them alone for the day and spends the rest of her hours reading poems. She writes her first letter to Aether, a response, folded neatly in between the bouquet of cecilias that she leaves by his grave the next morning.

You died just hours ago. Not suddenly, no. You'd been dying so long nothing looked like itself: from your window, fishermen swirled sequins; fishnets entangled the moon. If only I could go to you, revive you. You must be a little alive still.

“What can you do?” she recites. She already has his poem memorized. “Nothing, I say. So let me finish this alone.”

The grave doesn’t respond. Of course it couldn’t. There’s nothing Aether can do now. Six feet in the ground. Can Aether even hear her? The thought weighs heavily in Lumine’s mind.

“But I failed already. I killed one of your plants,” she confesses. “I’m sorry. Maybe it will keep you company, now that it’s gone. But I’ll try to be better, this time. I’ll save the rest of them.”

Lumine vows, from this day on, that she will live his legacy for both of them.

This elegy would love to save everything.

—

On the day Albedo leaves Mondstadt, Lumine resigns from the knights and signs up for acting classes. She’s no stranger to the world of theater, but… it’s been a while.

There are scribbles at the back of Aether’s little black notebook. Scratched lines, discarded paragraphs, the debris that remained from when he sketched out the outline of his final, unpublished script. Usually, Aether wrote for tv and film. But for this story, he intended it for the stage. A proper play.

It takes Lumine back to the days when they were still in college, participating in community theater. She likes to think that he wrote this play for her. He always wanted her to star in one of his stories.

“I always write them with you in mind. There’s no one I trust more,” he used to say. Then, he would joke, “One day, I’ll write a script that will compel you to act for me. Just you wait.”

Unorganized scraps of the final story fill up the back half of his notebook — character notes, themes, sources of inspiration, quotes from other books, snippets of dialogue. Cruelly, it is the most compelling script Aether wrote. Lumine regrets not indulging him when he was still alive.

Because finally, with this, Lumine can see herself in Aether’s story.

Lumine steels herself in front of the mirror. “I’ll act this out for you, Aether. Just you wait.”

Her (His? Their?) little finger tingles. A wave of calm settles on her, relaxing her body for the first time in months. This feels right.

Aether smiles back at her from her reflection, proud and encouraging.

ACT I: MADNESS (scene one; first draft)

Four years pass.

The bass is everywhere. It thrums in her skin, in her bones. In Aether’s bones, too.

Lumine is no longer a stranger to the world of celebrity shindigs — a necessary part of working in the entertainment industry, an event that masks as partying but functions as networking with your future coworkers. Half the time, it’s genuinely as fun as they make it out to be.

But Lumine has long avoided going to one of Venti’s infamous afterparties until now. They say that those are always fun. All play, no work.

Lumine isn’t here to have fun though. After four years of preparation, she is here to finally put Aether’s last dream into motion, and the first step is to hold Venti to the promise he made years ago at the funeral.

More importantly, parties are an opportunity to scope out the person Lumine is looking for. Someone who is her opposite on the stage: the comedy to her tragedy, a fighter to her lover, a character driven by agency instead of fate. Someone who is governed by—

Still, the bass thrums. Lumine finds her little finger tapping to the rhythm of the beat. Aether must have missed this. The music, the dancing, the socializing. It must be lonely, to only exist in reflections and shadows, as an extension of another body.

She permits herself one dance and lets the percussion of the music move her limbs. The dance floor pulls on her, like a magnet. Bodies move to and fro, to and fro, and by the time the song ends, Lumine feels lighter than when she stepped into the room. Loose, like she just shook off invisible weights dangling from her head.

Someone taps her on the shoulder and then she’s face to face with brilliant teal eyes. They are eye-catching under the strobe lights.

“I was wondering when we’d have the chance to meet again. You’ve been avoiding me, Lumine.” Venti smiles at her, sounding amused.

“Are you here to party, or to mourn?”

“Hello, Venti. We meet again. You said you’d keep Aether’s manuscript for me until I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

Lumine shrugs. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You could have texted me if you just wanted the manuscript. My number hasn’t changed. I could email it to you anytime.”

“Maybe I want to do both. Who says you can’t mourn while you’re partying?”

Venti hums; studies her. Whatever he finds must have intrigued him enough to stretch out a hand. “Very well. Since you came all the way out here, mind if I keep you company? It’s not good to party — or mourn — alone.”

Lumine doesn’t decline. Venti is a bit of a mystery to her, a puzzle she didn’t feel brave enough to figure out until she’s ready to face Aether’s final play. She knew of him — of the music he produces and the parties he throws. She knew that Aether was friends with him since the beginning of both of their careers.

Aether must have trusted him immensely if he left his little black notebook of poetry with him.

Venti leads her to one of the booths, where a young man with blond hair is already sitting, watching the room with clear eyes. Upon seeing Venti and Lumine, he procures two glasses and a bottle of expensive wine from under the seat for them. He takes out a familiar-looking pill from his jacket pocket and swallows it dry.

“Mika, don’t take more than you can handle,” Venti scolds gently. Almost motherly. “I know your limits.”

“I’m not overdoing it,” Mika says, though he does throw Venti an apologetic look.

“I know.” Venti slides into the booth and begins pouring wine into the glasses. “Have you confirmed who will be attending the next sparasso?”

“I’m working up to it.” Mika sighs, looking back at the dance floor as if he’s warring with himself over something. Then he stands up and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for his inevitable task. “I’m sure Tartaglia will confirm, at least. I’ll follow up on the rest of them now. It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Lumine.”

He disappears into the party, leaving Lumine alone with Venti.

“That was my assistant, Mika. He’s a good kid, but he can be conscientious at times. It’s for the best though, since I’m pretty scatterbrained myself. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” Venti slides the glass of wine towards her. “Do you drink?”

Lumine raises an eyebrow. “Not even vodka? Wine isn’t exactly the choice of drink for ragers.”

“It’s a drink for celebration and death. I thought it would be fitting for our most unique occasion.” Venti waves his own glass with a flourish before taking a sip.

In his poetry notebook, Aether described Venti as the swoony type; long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine. A free, uncontrollable spirit. Mondstadt’s celebrity culture share the same impression.

Lumine thought she would find him dancing wildly, or playing party games, or getting high. But this booth is a quiet bubble, a sanctuary amidst the chaos around them. Venti watches the dance floor serenely, in no particular hurry to join or empty his glass. There’s something gentle about him. Nurturing.

Lumine blurts out, “You’re different from who I thought you’d be.”

“What did you think I was like?”

“From the stories I’ve heard? A party animal.”

“We’re all animals here. But I like to make sure everyone is having fun. It’s sort of my job, you see.” There is a delighted twinkle in his eyes as he says this. “But I suppose I do have a reputation to keep. Nobody leaves my parties dissatisfied.”

“So I’m your new pet project then? Can’t have me giving your party a bad review?”

“You could loosen up a bit,” Venti agrees. “Aether was never like this when he was still around.”

“Did Aether ‘loosen up’ often?”

“I’d say it’s more like he let himself become more honest. More true to himself.”

Venti smiles at the fond memories this brings up. It makes Lumine want to know. “Tell me about him. What was your relationship like?”

Venti met Aether at a hobby club. They were both just starting out then; Aether in the writer’s room for a tv show, and Venti busking on the streets to promote his upcoming debut. Venti frequented the club for fun, while Aether visited every now and then for stress relief.

Lumine vaguely recalls Aether mentioning this to her before in the early days, but it never seemed important enough to remember. He doesn’t talk about it often enough for Lumine to recall what exactly their shared “hobby” was.

“The entertainment industry can really drain you, you know? So we needed an outlet to let off some steam.”

“What did you do together? In that club? Aether never told me he had other hobbies.”

“Why don’t you visit me at my studio sometime? It’s easier to show you.”

Venti muses over his drink. The glass is already empty, so he fills it with more wine than it contained earlier. “He gave me a cactus once. Said that it’s the perfect plant for me, since I wouldn’t be able to kill it.”

Lumine frowns down at her own glass, still untouched. The wine beckons her; a dark, deep red that shimmers with the party lights.

“I killed his plants,” she shares. “All of them. I tried to keep them alive, but there was always something going wrong. Fertilizer burn. Watered them too much. I don’t know, I think I did too much. It’s funny, now that I think about it. You can love something to the point of ruin.”

“He liked to keep low-maintenance plants. I think they just didn’t fit with the way you care. There is nothing wrong with it. You were simply incompatible.” Venti clinks his glass with hers. “Boundless love is something to treasure. Too many people show restraint these days, you know? I find it admirable.”

“Sure, it sounds amazing, but it’s hard to handle that kind of love. It’s suffocating. It killed the plants. I don’t know who fits this kind of love.”

“I wouldn’t find it suffocating.” Venti’s lips quirk up, like he remembered an inside joke he’s not interested in sharing. “We could fit together.”

“Could we?” Lumine tilts her head. How would he know? The first and last time Lumine saw Venti was four years ago, during Aether’s funeral. “You don’t know me.”

“I know a little bit about you, now that we've met properly. That should be enough.”

Lumine doesn’t realize when it happened, but she somehow scooted closer to Venti inside the booth. To hear him better, probably. She can smell the faint cologne on him — something sweet and bitter, like dried fruits.

“What have you heard, then?” she asks.

“I know that you like to star in tragic films, in contrast to your late brother’s penchant for happy endings,” Venti says, counting facts with his fingers. “I know that you were once a paramedic before you were an actress. And I know that you haven’t had a drink since you entered this room. Do you drink?”

“A little.”

Venti slides the glass of wine again. “It’s a special blend. You won’t get a hangover from this one, I promise.” He waves jazz hands in the air, grinning. “This bottle is like magic.”

Lumine’s left pinky twitches. Perhaps Aether missed this as well. The drinking, the companionship. There is no judgement in Venti’s presence, just a soothing invitation that holds no expectations. He would not be offended if Lumine decides not to drink.

But Aether would have, so Lumine does. The wine flows smoothly down her throat. Sweet and bitter and a hint of metallic. Venti regales her with more stories of his friendship with Aether; of the times they’d commiserate over the writing process; of the many, many concerts and afterparties they’ve gone to. They, too, bonded over poetry.

There is a warm feeling in Lumine’s chest that grows with each story. Aether is missed. And yet, she doesn’t want to mourn that. Aether was loved. She wants to be happy about it. Her head starts to feel like cotton, but her heart feels so, so light.

She sips; her glass is full again and oh — when did Venti refill it?

“Have you read his notebook?” Lumine asks. Venti shakes his head.

“Aether dedicated a poem for you. I remember how it goes. Come to me now: loose me from hard care and all my heart longs to accomplish, accomplish. You be my ally.”

Lumine is floating. She should be looking for… something. Someone? She can’t remember that now. She’s supposed to find someone, but now she’s just reciting poetry. One of the short ones from Aether’s little notebook. It’s nice.

Venti is saying something, reciting a poem back in response. Lumine has never heard it before. She wants to memorize it. “How does that go? Say it again.”

“She who did not come, wasn’t she determined nonetheless to organize and decorate my heart? If we had to exist to become the one we love, what would the heart have to create? Hm, I’ll text you how the rest of that goes, but I think that poem suits you.”

“How so?”

“You have a lonely gaze. You look like you want to be someone else right now.”

The words sink like an anchor, and Lumine knows she will be thinking about this for hours later. Her hands itch to do something in response. To hold his hand, or to strangle him, Lumine’s not sure. All she knows is her body growing restless. Her mind wants to wander to somewhere else less painful.

Venti pulls her out of the booth. “Come on. We’ve mourned long enough. It’s time to party.”

“Maybe I still want to mourn,” Lumine says, petulantly, but she finds that she doesn’t mean it. Shouldn’t she mean it? She never stopped mourning.

“We can reminisce again later. I will let you mourn as much as you want. But for now, dance with me.”

Venti leads her to the center, where the bodies sway to and fro, to and fro. It’s hot and sweaty and dark and easy to get lost in. Easy to lose one’s mind.

It’s perfect.

Lumine smiles and lets herself get caught in Venti’s orbit, dancing, laughing, and she can’t even remember what she’d been sad about earlier. She was… grieving, wasn’t she? It feels so foreign now when the beat of the music is dictating her heartbeat.

Lumine vaguely recognizes the song. It’s a club remix of Venti’s music — not the one he personally sings in his concerts, but one of those he composed and produced and sold for other singers to perform.

“Life is one big party!” Venti shouts, and then the crowd is shouting with him, chanting the lyrics in unison. Lumine shouts with them.

“Pa-pa-pa-pa-par-taaaay!”

It’s building up, going higher and faster, higher and faster, and the drop is going to be so sick that the dancers around them are collectively waiting with bated breath, anticipating, working themselves into a frenzy. The lights are there and then not and then there, and then there’s just shadows and heat and neon lights flashing, flashing, and then the beat drops and everyone is jumping and thrashing more than dancing and fuck. Fuck. Lumine is swept into it. She lets herself be swept into it. They all move as one organism.

Venti is closer now, so much closer, body against body that Lumine wants to breathe him in. His smile is charming, wine-stained. Easy.

Lumine feels easy, calm and ready to take the whole world all at once. She feels like floating. Like, like— “I can do anything right now,” she says, feeling the need to tell Venti. There’s no way Venti could have heard her with the raucous around them.

“Ah, you’re that kind of drunk, huh,” Venti answers back, grinning, and oh, so that’s what she’s feeling. Drunk. She shouldn’t be able to hear him either, but his voice is as clear as the waters from Springvale. He spins her around, but in the tight space between bodies, all he ends up doing is pull her against him. “Alright. What do you want to do then?”

It strikes her, suddenly, that she found the person she’s looking for. The one who will bring Aether’s play to life, with her. The hero to her tragedy.

It has to be Venti.

Lumine grins and hooks an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go up to the roof. I want to ask you something.”

She leans close to whisper her own invitation, confident that he will understand his role. He will say yes. For, surely, Venti is a man governed by “Eros.”

—

Lumine blanks out after that. She might have had a couple more glasses, they might have sneaked onto the roof even though the building definitely wouldn’t have allowed it. There was a cool breeze, and Venti joked about something, but she doesn’t remember what they talked about, or how she came home. Vaguely, all she remembers is complaining about how there’s too many lights in the city to see the stars. You can’t see the Northern Crown constellation from here.

But true to Venti’s word, his wine is made of magic because Lumine wakes up in her bedroom with a clear head. No nausea, no headaches, completely sober. There’s two new messages on her phone. The first contains a familiar poem from last night. The other is an email with a PDF attachment.

There it is. Aether’s final manuscript.

Lumine spends the whole morning reading. By the time she reaches the last page, she despairs.

Just as how Lumine has no memory of what else she talked about with Venti on the roof — except for a vague recollection of him saying yes to her offering a role to play — the script provides a similar non-conclusion.

The script has no ending. Aether never finished the story.

END DRAFT.

fic inspiration:

the myths of dionysus as god of wine, theater, and madness; as well as his connection to orphism, death and rebirth, and so on. I have a whole spreadsheet of research materials, but the OSP video is the best primer

cult of dionysus (song) by the orion experience

description of dionysus from the bakkhai (translated by anne carson): "swoony type, long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine"

the temptation of thanatos (タナトスの誘惑) by hoshino mayo, translated by latteandcookies. this is the inspiration for the play aether wrote. it's a short story, but cw for suicide. fun fact: it's also the inspiration for yoasobi's song racing into the night

poetry references:

[you fit into me] by margaret atwood

growing around grief by lois tonkin

I borrow moonlight... by saikaku ihara (his death poem; from the book, japanese death poems compiled by yoel hoffmann. page 268)

mizuta masahide's death poem (also found in japanese death poems, page 234)

my sister, who died young, takes up the task by jon pineda

on wanting to tell about a girl eating fish eyes by mary szybist

come to me now: loose me from hard care... fragment by sappho, translated by anne carson (page 5 of if not, winter)

blank joy by rainer maria rilke

#fic: like a hook into an eye.#scraps and drafts #this was a pain to format on tumblr.........#i gave up on formatting the actual play script and just took screenshots lol #i can format it for AO3 but. i don't trust tumblr's editor to not fuck it up #so if the formatting here looks wonky uhhh. sorry about that #tumblr always fucks up the formatting

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ghoulishpencil · 2 years

Text

“Finley, wait.” She pulled her head back, bracing her hand against his.shoulder. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” he breathed, even as more tears trailed down his cheeks, breaking free to hit the bodice of her dress. “I love you, and you apparently love me, even if it’s not in a way either of us understand. Did I ruin it the first time?”

“No.” She pushed herself to sit up, Finley kneeling half in her lap. “But you’re not okay right now. I want to do it again.” The way her stomach fluttered, warmth gathering just below definitely told her she wanted to. “But you’re not thinking clearly. We can’t. Not when you’re so scared.”

He just sat there, staring blankly at the wall behind the bed. It’d gone quiet downstairs, leaving only the crackling fire behind him to make noise. She found his shoulder again. Squeezing it felt like trying to squeeze iron. “Finley?”

“I’m sorry.” He sagged, dropping against her like someone had cut his strings. “You’re right, I know you’re right. I’m just so scared.” His voice broke in a sob as he clung to her, closing his hands in the fabric of her dress. She held him back, hugging him as tightly as he could. “What if never comes back one day?”

“He’s always come back,” she said. With him kneeling over her like this, he was taller. She pressed her face in his shoulder, letting herself come undone. Just a little. Her voice shook. “We have plenty of evidence that he does. And if he forgets, we’ll just remind him, like I did with you.”

“I don’t think kissing him’s going to work.” They both laughed, and she pulled back to squish Finley’s cheeks like her father used to do when she was a child and couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare. He made a face, holding her wrists lightly but not pulling her away.

“Of course it would. If he’s been magicked like you think, all the stories say kisses work. Like this.” And she kissed him again, the warmth rising inside her once more when he kissed back.

“And if it doesn’t, at least I have you to feed me or give me those whatchamacallit. Skin grafts.”

She snorted, moving her legs to try and pull free. Finley nearly toppled on her before quickly slipping away while she righted herself. “I’m not sure a skin graft would save your face if you got it bit off. And besides, why would it be you who got to kiss him?”

“You like to talk about evidence.” Finley wiped at his face with the back of his hand before he started to rub at his bandage again. She noticed, flicking his knuckles. “Ow. We have evidence your kisses don’t really break spells.”

“You’re cruel Finley Meier.” She wiped at her face too, wondering where all her handkerchiefs had disappeared to. She sniffed, taking a deep breath. Crying hadn’t done much to solve anything. It’d given her a headache. But she did feel better. Just a little.

Finley squeezed her hand, settling beside her. “Do you think he’s back yet? He’s been quiet for a little.”

“He might’ve fallen asleep,” she said, lowering her voice with him. “He’ll come to us when he’s ready.” Finley sighed, squeezing her hand. She squeezed back, standing. “Help me with these buttons. We might as well go to sleep too. He’s going to be miserable if he’s broken anything important.”

“This entire place is broken.” Finley still stood behind her, getting the buttons she couldn’t reach. “I don’t know why you insist on wearing these fiddly things. Don’t you miss trousers?”

“Sometimes. But they’re so freeing too.” With her back undone, she held the bodice to her chest, twirling. Her skirt and petticoats flared out, and she let out a giggle when she came to a stop, stumbling as she tried to catch her balance. “You can’t do that in trousers.”

“Wish you’d been around when Maman tried to put me in skirts and ribbons. You would’ve laughed.” He sat back down to pull down his socks while she undressed, dropping her clothes on top his shirt before pulling on the spare nightgown. He stood to grab the other while she pinned her hair back, wrapping it up in her scarf.

“I can’t imagine you in ribbons.” He crawled back into bed a third time, and this time they laid together, interlacing their fingers.

“That’s because I’d rip them out of my hair the moment she walked away. Cut my hair off with her sewing shears too. I don’t remember what she was more mad about — my pigtails on the floor or the fact I’d ruined her nicest scissors.”

“One time when I was little, Lila and I were playing dress up,” Aster said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Holly was experimenting with makeup, so we snuck into her room to try some on. She was so mad!” They both laughed, whispering stories to each other late into the night.

#gay character #beauty and the beast #creative writing #fiction writing #story writing #unplucked

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chezzywezzy · 2 years

Text

Yandere Big Daddy (1/4)

Word count ; 4.0k

*Edited.

*Dedicated to @sweetpotato-97.

Andrew Ryan slammed his hands into the wooden table. “The splices are destroying all of our hard work. Ms. Tenenbaum can only do so much to preserve the little sisters! All of you must get off your lazy arses and come up with a solution to this.”

Silence fell over the board room. Nobody was able to meet the man’s furious gaze. Sitting across from me was Dr. Gilbert Alexander, who was just as baffled by the situation. We were partners in this expedition to mine ADAM and gather more resources for Rapture, but with the surplus of splices showing up because of it, we were brainstorming how to fight back.

The little sisters were helpless in the situation. Human soldiers weren’t obedient enough to serve as a solution either.

There had to be a way to graft human strength and the little sister’s obedience into one. Perhaps a… Big Daddy for the little sisters.

I flipped a page on my notebook and began scribbling furiously. I felt everyone’s gaze watch me with intrigue, but I did not yield. I first drew a compare and contrast of the two species. I then pondered Dr. Yi Suchong’s abilities as a psychologist. Often, he ranted about conditioning, and that would most likely serve as a large part in the potential protector.

“Dr. L/n. What are you so frivolously writing about?”

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “Shut up. I’m thinking.”

I heard his disdained sigh, but most of my coworkers were used to my rudeness. It was never my intention to be mean or cold; I just hated when people disrupted my thought processes.

Going back to the clipboard, I wrote the word ‘VOLUNTEERS’ in bold letters and circled it. I paused a moment. Humans were mammals. With what I was conjuring, I wanted it so that humans were mammals but not so much humans.

Rapture was deep within the ocean; perhaps conditioning them to forget their own speech and communicate via whale noises would serve them well in the environment. Satisfied, I drew a line from the ‘VOLUNTEERS’ and wrote ‘STEP 1 : ANIMAL (WHALE?) NOISES’.

Humans were physically vulnerable to the splicers. They would need some sort of armor that aided them in their ocean exploration but also had a fighting function. Perhaps… a drill. That would help mine ADAM, too.

I sloppily drew what my mind envisioned. A diver suit, except one hand was replaced with a functioning drill. The diver head would be large and communication would serve through that. There would be some sort of speaker while there could be colorful lights to indicate mood changes and aggression.

I thought back to my days on land, where there were street lights. Those colors would do quite nicely.

I felt someone hovering behind me. Most likely my boss, Mr. Ryan. But I paid him no heed.

I would also have to graft the human skin in with the diver suit so that the suit would function properly. As a skilled surgeon, even I was unsure of how to do the procedure thus far. But this was a brainstorming session, so I didn’t have to fill every hole quite yet.

All of my thoughts were wishful thinking, but after that, Yi Suchong would help me further by conducting conditioning with the ‘Big Daddies’ with their designated little sisters.

“Done,” I suddenly announced.

Mr. Ryan’s arm reached over my shoulder and snatched my clipboard. I leaned against the chair with a satisfied smirk, observing as he read my notes. I noticed his eyebrows raise in surprise; like usual, he had that look of ‘why didn’t I think of that myself?’

All of my coworkers were staring at me. As though I was going to explain it to their small, insane heads. I would, maybe, but only after receiving the green light form my boss.

“This is… brilliant. Genius. This is exactly what we need,” he announced. “L/n, a raise is due for you. Immediately. Besides that, we have no time to waste. Dr. Suchong, your job is to collect ‘volunteers’ from mental asylums and prisoners. Further details will be given when Dr. L/n and I plan further and the rest of you are needed. Meeting dismissed. L/n, come with me to discuss further.”

I rose from my seat, snatching the clipboard back. I collected my things and shoved them in my bag. Dr. Alexander and Ms. Tenenbaum bid me a farewell, but I ignored them, incredibly zoned in on the possibilities of the Big Daddy. ‘Big Daddy’ was the name I was drawn to. It made sense but was also rather catchy.

I followed Mr. Ryan out. We walked down the checkerboard floors until we arrived at the end of the hall. He opened the door to his office for me. He closed the door behind him and we sat across from each other. I placed my clipboard on the desk and flattened my uniform.

He slid the clipboard closer to him. With a pen, he pointed to ‘STEP 1 : ANIMAL (WHALE?) NOISES’ “Explain the thought process. Why this? Why not immediate grafting?”

“It’s unsafe to not condition the volunteers first. They would fight back because they are still in the mindset of being a human. Sound is one of the easiest ways to condition something. Even I know of Pavlov and his dog. But, when they have transformed, they’ll also need a form of communication with one another. That made me immediately think of whales, which are also mammals. Plus… Rapture’s in the ocean. It makes sense for camouflage.”

He nodded along. “Genius. I could not have chosen a better scientist to bring to Rapture. Now… how would the drill be used?”

“With chemical or physical cues. Although I don’t have the details down, I’m thinking that the light will go red and signal the brain to signal the arm to start drilling.”

“That makes sense. But… is that engineeringly possible, is the question.”

I shook my head and sat back in my chair. “Are you doubting me, Ryan?”

He chuckled, also sitting back in his seat. “I suppose you’re right. If your beautiful mind can think this up, you can engineer it. I’m assuming you’ll be assigning most of this work to Dr. Alexander, Steinman, and Suchong?”

“Yes. I want to be able to monitor the situation. Although they aren’t as capable and intelligent, they’re good workers,” I conceded. “In the meantime, I must be going.” I rose to my feet.

“But I haven’t dismissed you. We’re not done talking.”

“I’m dismissing myself. We’re done talking. I must rent a submarine at once to fetch authentic whale calls and also begin engineering the suits.”

“You’re my best worker, L/n. Go right ahead. Report in on how things are going as soon as you return from the expedition.”

“That’s your prerogative. I have better things to do than reporting to you, boss,” I replied playfully, opening the office door.

He bid me a good-bye, but I didn’t reply. I knew he found it amusing, as I could hear him laughing from outside the door.

But I didn’t care what he found entertaining. I had work to do.

~~~

“Conditioning isn’t going as planned,” Suchong nervously informed. “Not only have most of the volunteers been resistant to remaining in the diving suits, they’re resistant to the vocal conditioning. Some of our volunteers have already bashed their heads in and have committed suicide.”

As we strolled down the lab, I observed the individual cells. They had sound-proof glass walls and inside in the corner was a speaker out of reach. Suchong’s point became obvious and I walked past several cells where blood was splattered agains the glass and a collapsed diving suit was hardly visible. As we walked past, there was an individual currently attempting to bash their head in.

With sudden alarm, I motioned to the volunteer. “Stop them this instant!”

Soldiers, hearing my demand, rushed down the corridor. I unlocked the door for them in the meanwhile. I dashed into the room and pressed the off button for the echoing whale noises. The speaker fell deaf, but the volunteer continued trying to kill themselves. Glass was sprawled across the ground, and when the guard pulled the volunteer away, there was blood dripping down the wall.

I stepped in front of the volunteer. I noticed that it was a man. He had stubble that had consumed most of his jaw and neck, and his face was thinning. His skin was an unhealthy pale yellow and he had darkness under his eyes. Despite his zombie-like appearance, he still had enough energy to spit blood at my face spitefully.

I didn’t flinch. Instead, I let it drop to the ground as I took a tissue out to wipe it away. “How unfortunate. Guards, Suchong, come along.”

I began marching out of the room. Despite the man’s attempt to escape, He was dragged against his will. We marched into the private lab where Steinman did most of work. Blood was splattered agains the table from another one of his unsuccessful surgeries. But, regardless, I had the man strapped to the table, despite his screams of agony.

I grabbed a syringe and unscrewed the diving helmet. I then inserted the syringe into his neck and anesthetized him. Once the man was passed out, I sternly turned my attention to the guards. “All of you should be preventing this from happening. I demand that you begin instating handcuffs to their bed so that this doesn’t happen again.” I eyed the various blood stains on their uniforms. “Also… call a janitor for Christ’s sake! Now, get the hell out of here instead of wasting more time!” I boomed.

Shakily, the guards did as told and left me and Suchong by ourselves. I let out a sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was trying to get the situation under control —“

“Lies! You were scared to receive the consequences of your failure,” I snapped. “Regardless, though, I have no time to be reprimanding a failure of a man like you.”

He was shaking in his boots. I liked that. I like having power over my coworkers. I liked knowing I could treat them however I wanted without consequences because I was second only to Ryan himself. I grabbed a damp cloth and began wiping the unconscious volunteer’s forehead.

“How convincing of an actor are you, Suchong?”

“An - an actor? Well, I’m a psychologist for a reason —“

“A failing one. At the bare minimum you can feign pity, can you not?”

“Y - yes, I suppose I can…”

“Good. Now, bring this man’s information. Clearly, animalistic conditioning still needs its human traits.”

“May I ask —“

“No. His information. Now.”

Suchong scurried out of the lab with his tail behind his legs. I smirked, but inevitably began unseating the man. I pulled it off from his feet and dragged the heavy metal suit to the corner. I planned to personally fix it.

A few minutes later, Suchong returned with a clipboard. I snatched it from him, reading its contents

NAME : Martín Baudelaire

ETHNICITY : French

AGE : 27

BIRTH DATE : August 3rd

OCCUPATION : Asylum Seeker

All the rest was absolutely useless. I stared Suchong down. “Look at me.” He reluctantly did, so scared out of his boots that he struggled to maintain eye contact. “What we are going to do is use what you psychologists call manipulation.

“We have to ease them into it. The volunteers are scared. Unsure. Desperate for freedom. Your job is to befriend them and pretend that you’re against this whole institution and you’re working for their freedom. But in order to do so, they have to ‘pretend’ to be progressing in the grafting. They’ll be under our control before they know it. They’ll be much more susceptible to the conditioning if they think they need to do it.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that sooner…”

“It’s because you’re an idiot, Suchong. And that’s why I, in order to prevent as much failure as possible, will be closely working with this man -“ I scanned the clipboard once more. “ Martín Baudelaire. Asylum seeker and… feisty French man.”

He stared at me expectantly when I fell silent. I tilted my head and eyed him up and down. “Well?” I suddenly shouted. “Get to it before I fire you, you worthless bum!”

“Would you kindly stop talking to me that way?” he finally snapped, his fists balling up in anger.

“I’ll stop scolding you when you start being competent, Suchong! You’re the one who let our precious volunteers kill themselves while you just sat on the sidelines eating popcorn! Take some responsibility, you twat!”

“Stop acting like you’re better than me. Stop pretending that you have power. You can’t do shit —“

“Oh, yeah? So you’re telling me that if I sauntered into Ryan’s office and informed him that your sector of your volunteers that you were in charge of had volunteers killing themselves left and right with no solution for the past week without telling anyone, Ryan wouldn’t fire you on the spot?” I seethed, stepping toward him and jutting my finger against his lab-coated chest.

He was left speechless. He knew I was right, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I’m being fucking forgiving. Now get your sorry are out of here and be productive. Do your fucking job, Suchong.”

He bowed his head. “…Fine.”

He turned on his heel and exited the laboratory. My glare followed him, but the moment he left, my anger dissipated into a defined annoyance. “…Bloody idiots. The whole lot of them. I swear, I have to do everything myself around here.”

I wandered back over to Mr. Baudelaire. I stripped him of his clothes and wiped away all of the blood, stench, and dried pee. For the time being, I realized that I would have to insert a pocket for urination; alas, for the first time, I had overlooked something. But it’s not like anyone else on staff remembered that human beings urinate. And besides, even I wasn’t perfect.

Afterwards, I prepared a dish of food and drinks. It was simple, as the splices had infiltrated most of Rapture’s food supply, and the rest was hoarded by the first class. I found it a tad annoying, since at the end of the day, I was working my ass off for Rapture to be, first and foremost, sustainable, but every business cycle had its crashes.

I checked my watch. I hadn’t used a large dosage, so he should be waking up in a minute. In the meanwhile, I bandaged his face wounds and prepared to be a manipulative liar for the sake of science. I conjured up as guilty of an expression as I could, pawing at his various bruises. I almost did feel bad. I knew more than most people how fragile the human flesh was.

He began to stir under my touch. My fingers ghosted over his locked up wrist. This volunteer was too thin; it made me make a mental note to scold Suchong and Alexander about feeding the volunteers more regularly. God forgive the subjects starve before completing even the first stage of transition.

“Wh…” he groaned.

I pulled away, ready to put on a show.

His eyes fluttered open. I had to say, the man was rather handsome. If we met under any other circumstances, I would have offered to buy him a drink. What, with his sharp jawline and charming stubble…

“You.”

I was brought back to reality, blinking, and meeting his furious glare. I cleared my throat. “I hope you are feeling better. I… hate seeing what they’re doing here, really,” I started.

His eyes flashed with surprise. But, his fury quickly returned, and he tried spitting at my face. But due to the incline of the chair, it only dribbled over his chin. I sighed, grabbing a tissue from my pocket to wipe it. “Fuck you,” he said with a very thick French accent. “If you hate what they’re doing, you would not be here.”

I frowned. “You’re wrong, actually. I’m being forced to work here. They’re holding my child hostage.”

“Hos…tage?”

“It means that they’re keeping me here, just like you,” I spoke slowly, enunciating my words.

His entire expression changed to a soft, sympathetic frown. “How… do I know you are not liar?”

I bit my lip. Struck with an idea, I pulled up my sleeve, revealing my many childhood scars. “They hurt me and my child. I promise… I do not want to be here.”

He licked his lips, and that’s when I realized I shouldn’t be laying it on too thick. I had to reinforce my words with kindness. I reached over to the tin table and held out a glass of water. His eyes were trained to the glass thirstily. I held it to his parched lips and slowly let him down the entire glass. I took the glass away, even though his lips followed in hope of soaking up every last drop.

“Do you want more?”

“Non… Why am I here?”

I gulped, casting my gaze away. “Well, you are in Rapture. A city in the ocean. Under the ocean are plants and energy called ADAM. There are also monsters made of ADAM. You are here to save the city from the monsters by becoming a ‘Big Daddy.’ Your job will be to protect little girls filled with ADAM from the monsters. It is a good cause, but bad people are the rulers.”

He nodded, understanding. “Is your… child filled with ADAM?”

“Yes. Maybe, if you live long enough, you will meet her,” I heaved. I grabbed a cracker and pushed it to his lips. He chomped down eagerly, not needing to ask for me to know he wanted more. I was aware that what they were being fed during stage one was raw fish and barnicals, just like real whales do; this was originally strategized by me, as it helps with adapting to life outside of Rapture and in the ocean. “I… have taken you here. Because I want to help you and everyone be free.”

His eyes widened, and tears glided down his cheeks. Gently, I wiped them away, sending him a reassuring smile. God damn, I was a good actor. I just made a grown man cry. “How?”

“I hate to say this… but you will have to fake it and listen. Only by fake-becoming stage one, speaking only with whale sounds, will you get the chance to be free. When they see you have become good they will take you deep in Rapture, where I can help set you and others free.”

“Thank you. But what about your child?”

“I… am not sure. I will try and escape with her when I set you free. We can go together.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Merci.”

“De rien,” I replied cheekily.

His eyes widened, and he began to shake his hands excitedly. “Pouvez-vous Parker Français?”

“Oui. Un peu.” I went over to his suit. “I will leave you here for a while. I must fix your suit. The assholes did not make a place to pee.”

He nodded eagerly. “…Merci.”

I sent him one last smile as I pulled his suit over to the door. “De rien, Martín.”

~~~

Alexander, Suchong, and I strolled down the hallway. Even over the course of the week, under my strict supervision, suicides have been minimized and the lab cells were far cleaner. The volunteers under scrutiny were also calmer. I had a feeling that Suchong had a ‘thank you for being so genius’ bubbling in his throat, as the use of manipulation had greatly depleted any rebellious actions.

Alexander was intently staring at the charts on his clipboard. “There’s progress. The majority of the volunteers have already been caught mimicking the whale noises, and there’s a spike in imitation during meal times. Guards have also reported less screaming and overall disruptions.”

“Are there any notable outliers?” I inquired, clasping my hands together behind my back, shoes clacking against the floor.

He flipped over his pages. “Oh - yes, actually. First is a MeiLi Lü, who was actually one of the patients who attempted suicide. I know there’s one other… Ah, yes, Martín Baudelaire. If I recall, he’s the volunteer that you’ve personally taken under your wing?”

A smirk threatened to befall my features. “Yes. I’m not surprised. The volunteer was rather receptive toward me. This, boys, is how you get work done.”

Alexander chuckled, but I could feel Suchong staring me down angrily. I feigned innocence, clicking my tongue as I glanced over those in the cells.

“Oh - now that I see it, yes… You might want to check up on Mr. Baudelaire. Over the last day or so, there has been no reported whale imitations.”

I nodded. "Precisely what I came here to do. Also, I want to make a change to the exposure.” They were silent, waiting for me to go on. “Instead of custom whale noises, I want the speakers to be hooked up to the one on their right. That way, they are in fact, conditioning one another. That way, in the future, the they have achieved their Big Daddy form, they will recognize their coworkers easily.”

I stopped in front of Baudelaire’s chamber. I peered at the two men expectantly over my shoulder. “Well? Chop chop. I want this to be instated by the hour. Understood?”

“Y - yes ma’am,” Suchong squeaked, clearly fearing for whether I lost my temper.

Alexander gave him a peculiar stare while nodding. “Genius as always, L/n. We’ll get right to it. Good-bye.”

I turned away and took my key out of my pocket. I noticed that the volunteer rose to his feet. Even through the sound-proof glass, I could hear him bellowing out mimicked whale noises. I unlocked the door and entered. I forced an exhalation as I approached the soon-to-be Big Daddy.

“Martín. There is something I must tell you.”

He halted his whale noises expectantly. “Quelle absurdité?” his muffled voice answered.

“They are going to start recording inside here,” I fibbed, knowing damn well we already have been since the beginning. “It means I cannot talk to you anymore without being strange and getting in trouble.”

Even within the large metal diving suit, his shoulders slouched, causing a creak of the metal nuggets. “Lorsque?”

“In under an hour,” I said, bowing my head. With a groan of metal, he raised the metal arm and sympathetically patted my head. The metal arm trailed past my head to my arms, where he came to a screeching halt.

“C’est bon. Je te… fais confiance.”

As badly as I wanted to grin pridefully for successfully persuading my volunteer, I instead let my body sink deeper in feigned despair. Of course he trusted me. How could he not? I had come up with such a sad lie that nobody, not even a man who didn’t quite grasp English perfectly, could see through it.

“Promise…”

“Yes?” I looked up, meeting the foggy black glass of the diver helmet.

“Vous me libérerez. N’oubliez pas. We will… be free, you and me.”

I smiled, tilting my head, and letting my hand reside on his large metal one. “Of course, Martín Baudelaire. Je n’oublierai pas.” I disturbed the moment, stepping away and checking my watch. “I have to go. I cannot look strange. I will come see you soon. But remember, become the whale.”

The big metal helmet nodded, and he imitated the noises, just for me. I felt a sick satisfaction from his thoughtless obedience. This was going a lot better than I could have ever anticipated.

Martín Baudelaire, you were going to be my first successful Big Daddy.

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #self insert #yandere bioshock #bioshock #bioshock x reader #bioshock rapture #bioshock game #frank fontaine #subject delta #eleanor lamb #jack wynand #bioshock 1 #bioshock 2 #yandere big daddy #big daddy x reader #big daddy

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helga-grinduil · 2 years

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why are some people freaking out about dabi having organ replacements and grafted skin? 🤨 you guys remember that taking organs and skin from cadavers (with permission) is a real-life practice, or did you all just forget this for the sake of calling it 'nasty'? like, the only 'nasty' thing about this is that those dead bodies and organs were collected unethically. i swear to god, every time some new info about dabi drops people just have to be weird about his health or his body.

#bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha 350 #todoroki touya #dabi #like remember that time when people actually collectively decided that dabi doesn't shower and smells?

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nothorses · 3 years

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Top Surgery Journal

I figured it was time to share my top surgery experiences, so folks can potentially learn from them! I'll be updating this as I have more to add.

For context, I am in the U.S. (specifically Washington state), and a legal adult. A lot of my process may not apply to everyone.

Getting Coverage

The first step to scheduling top surgery is getting insurance coverage for it. Talk to your insurance first to figure out if they do cover top surgery, and what you need to do in order to obtain coverage. Oftentimes it won't be listed officially on your plan, but you can get coverage as long as you can prove you need it.

I was lucky enough to have good insurance with trans healthcare included, so all I needed was a letter from my PCP, and a letter from a behavioral health counselor specializing in gender dysphoria. I didn't need any diagnoses, any specific length of time on HRT, any particular presentation, etc.

(If you live in Washington, state law requires that top surgery be fully covered under Medicare. It might be worth it to check your state's laws as well!)

Referrals

I tried to schedule with a surgeon myself, thinking it was my responsibility to get the documents sent over and everything, but my PCP actually referred me when I first told her I had gotten coverage from my insurance.

I ended up going with that referral because the other surgeon was so hard to get ahold of, but my PCP did also send a referral to the surgeon I'd chosen before. I recommend going through your PCP for referrals first, as it takes a lot of the workload off of you- and they'll likely write a referral anyway when sending the documents needed for coverage over.

You may also find that the surgeon you talk to has different requirements than your insurance before performing top surgery. A referral from your PCP might bypass these requirements, but be sure to call them yourself and double-check. Your surgeon's office is supposed to call you to schedule a consultation, and they may not call you at all if you don't have all of those documents in- which means you can be left in limbo indefinitely, not knowing you need to send them more than you already did.

The Consultation

I was able to get a consultation about 5 weeks after calling, which was great! The consultation is your opportunity to ask the surgeon any questions you have, for them to evaluate your chest and what methods might work for you, and for you to see their results (most surgeons do not post result photos online for privacy reasons).

Come into the consultation with all the questions you have written down somewhere, so you don't forget. I asked:

If I could see photographs of his top surgery results

Which incisions he thought would work for me, stressing the things that were important to me: minimal recovery time, no free nipple grafts (I wanted to keep mine, but without risking a failed graft), and minimal chance of needing revisions

What my recovery would look like for the recommended incisions

Whether I will be getting drains (ideally, yes: drains reduce recovery time and the risk of needing revisions)

If he's had patients who have had complications (failed grafts, infections, need for revisions, etc.) and what he's done to reduce the chances of that happening again

My surgeon's results looked good (scars were even and symmetrical, healed nicely, etc.) and he answered my questions really well, so I was happy to go with him!

He recommended the fishmouth method for me, because recovery time would be minimal, there would be no need for nipple grafts, and my chest was small enough for it to work really well.

Scheduling the Surgery

My surgeon didn't have a very long waitlist, but it still took about 3 weeks for the clinic to process my request with my insurance (yes, even though I already had coverage). Once they'd processed that, they called me with a window of time I could schedule within; after a few months, insurance would no longer cover the surgery.

I got an extension, as I was working an intense summer job that I couldn't really take a few weeks off of to recover, then scheduled my surgery over the phone. They asked if I wanted a pre-op appointment, and I declined, as it'd mostly be information covered in the consultation or that could be given to me over the phone.

Preparing for Surgery

I wasn't given a check-in time for the hospital until about 2pm the day before, but they finally did call me and give me some instructions, including:

My check-in time and place

The hospital's phone number, to give to my ride/caretaker in case they had questions

That I was not to bring visitors (cause covid)

To bring my ID, insurance card, and credit card

That I was not to eat or drink anything after 12am that night (I did drink a bit of water with my meds, which they seemed fine with)

To shower with antibacterial soap the night before, and the morning of the surgery

Not to wear hair or skin products like deoderant or gel

Not to wear any jewelry, or anything else removable that wasn't just a clothing item.

When I checked into the hospital, they had my fill out some paperwork including the name and number of my ride and caretaker (which could be the same or separate people; they called the ride number when it was time to pick me up, and the caretaker number with detailed updates on my progress). Then they had me change into the hospital gown and answer some medical history questions, prepped me with an IV, and had a nurse, both anesthesiologists involved in my surgery, and my surgeon check in with me for more information and to answer any last questions I had.

I was told to use the bathroom about 20 minutes before I would be going under for my surgery (to avoid needing a catheter), and once I did, they injected some anesthetic into my IV and I passed the fuck out.

After Surgery

I showed up to the hospital at about 9am, and the prepping ended around 11am. The surgery was scheduled to end at 2pm; I wasn't conscious until about 3pm.

They had me use the restroom again (I passed out on the floor of the bathroom because it was way too soon, lmao), and I was in and out of sleep until I finally used the bathroom on my own at about 5pm. At that point I was a lot more lucid; I had some toast and pudding, and the nurse called my caretaker to go over post-op instructions with us both.

After that I dressed myself, was wheeled out to pick up my pain meds at the in-hospital pharmacy, then hopped in the car with my ride (the wonderful @lillia-pad) at about 5:30pm.

Recovery

I have a pretty high tolerance for anesthetic, so I was mostly just tired during the 36-ish hours the anesthetic continued to wear off. I didn't experience any nausea or lightheadedness either, but I was given an anti-nausea patch behind my left ear, plus some anti-nausea meds, just in case.

My post-op regimen sort of looks like this:

Take 1-2 tablets of oxycodone every 4 hours (for pain)

Take 2 tablets of laxative meds twice a day (cause pain meds cause constipation)

Empty drains twice per day, and record how much was in them

Get up and walk around every couple of hours to reduce the risk of blood clots

Ease into eating again: start with clear fluids, and work up to crackers/bread/etc., to avoid nausea and vomiting.

Lay down propped up on plenty of pillows, and only on your back (no side-sleeping!)

Keep the compression binder/gauze on for the first 48 hours, then remove them to shower as needed (but put them back on after!)

I was pretty lucid by the third day post-surgery, and was able to scale my pain meds down pretty quickly from 2 tabs on the first day, to 1 tab for the next two days, to 1/2 tab. Meds are much more important at night, when there's nothing to distract you from the pain- don't be afraid to ration them for nighttime.

Oxycodone also definitely causes drowsiness, so I took a lot of "oxy naps" about 45-60 minutes after I took my meds, which last between 20 minutes and 2 hours depending on how tired I am.

I have my post-op this week, so I will update this post with more details on my scars and healing then!

#top surgery #trans #transgender #ftm #transition #trans men #trans man #transmasc #transmasculine #nothorses #resources

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Those who fell - Natasha Romanoff x reader x Gamora

Masterlist link

Summary; in life and death, the three of you are able to unite, and make the most of the time that the sacrifices of your lives have given you

Warnings; smut, threesome, oral sex (female receiving obviously), strap on sex, tribbing, fingering, mentions of death, angst

divider by @firefly-graphics

Gamora sunk her strap into your cunt, as Nat, your friend and fellow avenger clambered upon your face, sinking her pussy down onto your awaiting tongue as you hum satisfyingly at the taste of her silken essence. The green woman began to thrust as her hands secured their grip onto your waist, the red strap on affirming penetration consistently in and out of your walls.

You had all lost everything; life, lovers, hope, and thus all you had now was the sentence of rejoicing in your freedom from all the fabrications of the complications that were in regards to being alive. Natasha had faith that her and your family were to succeed in their mission, they were heroes, and they had saved you both from yourselves once upon a time, many long moons ago.

“Y/n.” Nat scrambled out your name as she rocked her hips against your face, spreading her juices down to the sides of your cheeks, you shook your head as you attached your mouth around her clit, enforcing a squeal to beckon out of her plump lips, as she bit on them, lost in the pleasure that you were granting them. Life had been cruel and deceiving, there was no light at the end of the tunnel, and thus, similar to now, you were responsible for crafting your own.

At the sound of your name, Gamora upped her pace, her emerald hands digging into the thickness of your thighs as she delved deeper within you, extracting a moan from you, that rumbled up and through Natasha’s body. “Shit, don’t stop ‘Mora.” Your words were muffled by the purchase of Natasha fucking herself down onto your face, but the message, though pursed together, was clear. You wanted more, and she, as a guardian of the galaxy, was here to help, and take partially for herself.

And the one thing that she was to be stealing was your orgasm, as she pulled away, as she had done to her own father, rejecting him and his ill wishes, removing the fake cock from inside of you, watching as your legs quivered for attention. Whines spurred out from your throat, peeking through Natasha’s body like shots of lightning cursing vigilantly through her. “Patience, I have something better; much better.”

She disengaged the harness from around her legs and waist, allowing the support to drop to the floor as she shuffled closer, hooking her palm around the curve and inside of your knee, bracing it to some height, as she steadied herself in the air, her feet prompting her against gravity, as she lowered her own cunt upon yours, descending the swell of her clit against the hood of yours, rubbing the skin grafted fabrics together, recalling tears in your eyes as you submitted to the pleasure.

Your own hands strayed from Nat’s hips, running down the crevice of her thighs as you looked up to her, the shadow of her full breasts blocking most of your view, trailing your fingertips down to prod at her swept aside labia, stroking the earnest and moist lips with the pads of your fingers, as you switched the position of your tongue upwards, so that it was flicking and delivering harsh sucks to her sensitive clit.

With your right hand, you swiped through her swollen folds, rasping in the feeling of Gamora’s pussy moving swiftly upon your own, as you entered a finger into the red head, listening intently as your name was preached from her rosy lips. You hummed at the taste of the assassin, softly shaking your head beneath her, as she tentatively ground down, revelling in the pleasure that you were basking upon her.

Gamora threw her black and red hair back, her lids closing as she felt your clit twitch at her notions, as you tried to grind back up against her. With hooded eyes, she watched as your tits softly swayed under the pressure that both women were laying upon your body; you were in absolute bliss, distracting yourself from the fall that had lead you all to be here. You had tried to save Nat, Clint was so focused on doing the same that he didn’t even have a chance of saving you as you descended, and he was left to survive of watching Natasha let go of his hand, wanting to save at least one life out of your iconic trio.

Even in the afterlife, the two of you remained together, fulfilling every fantasy that you had about the other. You had found Gamora lurking, lost in this imprisonment of a world, ashamed of having lead Thanos to Vormir, but proud that she had gotten her sister’s life spared. She was always the favourite, but here, she wasn’t judged upon her combat skills; rather instead there were other skills required to keep the pair of you happy and content, and she was more than eager to oblige.

The situation and those in the past were nothing more than distractions to the prospect of life that you were all missing out on. And like a white light, the same which she had seen whence her head had been unforced by a harsh impact to the behind, Natasha felt herself unravel. When she was done lulling in the glow of her orgasm, the redhead climbed off from your face, watching with flushed cheeks as you and Gamora went at it. Without her reducing your breaths, you were pursuing the thrill of the chase like animals, huffing and growling as you eagerly smashed your hips together, with intwined legs.

There was wetness spooling out from the main crevice of contact, spreading down your thighs as you and Gamora endlessly ground your folds and furthermore together, throwing your necks back as you leant in a stretch to get the best angle of stimulation. Nat found herself crawling closer as she pressed her lips to yours, delving her tongue within your mouth as your own swirled around the intrusion of hers, allowing her a second hand taste of her sweetness. Her hands ran down and pinched your nipples, evoking the image of fluttering eyelashes upon your face, as you grew mad with pleasure, spasming against Gamora as you joined her juices with her own.

A heavy sigh lifted from her chest as she untangled her legs from your own, turning over onto her front as she crawled towards you, smacking your legs apart as she took in the view of your pussy that was clenching around nothing, and the painted in her own cum, that was perfectly intermingled with the excess of your own. Out from the corner of your eye, as you passionately kissed Nat, you watched the enchantress, as she snuck her head in a closer vicinity to your personal parts, darting her tongue out to collect the blend of fulfilment, bringing her hand up to rub your clit as she ate you out.

“Holy shit.” You mumbled against Natasha’s mouth as your sensitive cunt took in more pleasure, despite practically having just came under the whim of the same woman that was tending to your will of overcoming a settlement of self mourning, reducing you to atoms of sweat and a heated body as her tongue rolled around your centre, Natasha nibbling on your tongue in the meanwhile. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” And you did, as you rolled your hips against Gamora’s face.

Natasha left you as she went in search of the strap, discovering it with a pleasant smile, as she put it on herself without aid, sending you a tender look as her eyes ran over your stimulated form. She grasped onto Gamora’s leant ass, as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as she knelt behind the woman, leaving the two in the doggy position. Nat grabbed the harnessed dildo with a gentle hand, rubbing against the hood of Gamora’s clit, as you shuffled back, and bent your knees upwards, absentmindedly fondling with your button, despite the growing burn in the bead of muscle.

Beginning to thrust into the guardian, Nat became rough, a tense and affirmative expression taking over her face, whilst Gamora wore one of dazed eyes and an agape mouth. It was quite the show, more so as Nat clapped her hand down on the other woman’s backside, pulling a strangled sound out of her throat. Perhaps being dead wasn’t so bad if you were to be gifted with the freedom of performing such erotic acts without a crunch of time and saving the world, but you missed your friends, this again, whilst being a grave fantasy, was a way to forget about them all, even if it be only momentarily.

“Natasha!” At the sound of her name, you remembered the way Clint would say it as he was piloting at the front of the quintet with her, or how Thor would formally greet her. Your hand went slack as you mulled over the memories, it felt like you were being stabbed in the chest. As Gamora was rendered through an orgasm by the black widow herself, you felt yourself cry, wanting nothing more, despite it being a gruelling task, than to fight, hell, even go through another accords. Anything was better than being dead.

feedback is always appreciated 💙

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radiorenjun · 3 years

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my first and last || huang renjun

¤ pairing : huang renjun x reader

¤ genre : fluff, slight crack, major angst, romance, drama, slight fantasy! au, slight coming of age!au, first love!au, slight 1880s!au, adventure!au, painter!renjun x street singer!y/n. runaway!au

¤ synopsis : Huang Renjun was born on the coldest day on earth, which causes his heart to be frozen solid, requiring a replacement. The makeshift Doctor, Madam Wendy, who provides midwifery and medical services to the poor and the desperate of Edinburgh, grafts a miniature cuckoo clock in order to save it.

However his newfound cuckoo clock heart was so fragile that it could end him in a terrible fate of death if he does not follow the three rules said doctor had provided for him. One of which was he must never fall in love. Do come and enter this adventure through Renjun’s eyes as he falls for a street singer who hates wearing glasses despite of her poor eyesight.

¤ warnings: character death, HEAVY angst, mentions of blood, loss of family member, reader has terrible eyesight and is painfully oblivious, Madam Wendy mentions about her abortion, maybe some swearing (do people even swear in the olden days?), historical inaccuracies is sexy, heartbreak, renjun is mentally exhausted, mentions of taking ones life (once), adults smoking, reader wears glasses at the end. shakespeare shaming because i have a grudge against that man. hISTORICAL INNACURACIES. Renjun gets slapped by Wendy once, renjun gets hypothermia. i feel like this was quite rushed idk

¤ word count : 29.2k

¤ heavily inspired by La Mécanique du cœur (the movie, not the novel because I’m not that cruel)

¤ playlist: my everything - nct u, instagram - dean, wayo - bang yedam, francis forever - mitski mitski, anxiete - pomme, faded in my last song - nct u, line without a hook - ricky montgomery, moi cest - camelia jordana, my first and last - nct dream, beautiful time - nct dream,

¤ a/n: special thanks to @lebrookestore for making this sexy header

‘Love. What does that feel like?' Renjun would always wonder.

As his paint brush strokes the canvas, eliciting a bright yellow mark on the object, Renjun continued to stare into his painting with a void of emotion. Whenever the occasional question 'what does it feel like to love or to be loved?' pops up in his mind, he would often furrow his brows and purse his lips in a small pout in confusion at the thought.

Renjun didn't know what it felt like to love, for his caretaker, Madame Wendy, had always told him since he was a young boy that 'love is the last thing you need in this world, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.' Renjun didn’t care much for the aspects of love. How can he fall in love when he doesn’t even know what love is? What does it feel like to feel love? How can you feel love?

If you take one small glance at Huang Renjun, you would instantly have the assumption that he was a rather cold-hearted, emotionless young boy. Eyes so icy cold and void of emotion, it could send shivers down your spine. Though, fortunately for everyone else, it was quite rare of the young boy to walk out of his home. Some might say that he would step out of his home ‘once in a blue moon’ or whenever the sun shone brightly over the old town, which was quite rare considering it had been raining frequently these past few months in Edinburgh, France.

However, what they didn’t know was that the reason behind his infrequent appearance was quite tragic. He was an unfortunate young boy, really. Only a few people have known this, but long long ago, a sudden harsh snowfall hit his town on the day he was born. It was recorded as the coldest day on earth, for the snow had frozen everything in its path including the poor boy’s heart. Quite literally, not figuratively.

Renjun’s biological mother had journeyed through the cold town to the house up the steeple. Rumors say, the quote unquote ‘witch’ of the town, who specialized in the medical department with her own unique ways that left doctors skeptical and poor. From what his caretaker had told him, she was holding her belly throughout the long journey as she tried her best to endure the cold without slipping on the frozen concrete. Muttering how if she could, she would’ve kept her child in her tummy safe and sound from the cruel world.

How she slipped and fell unconscious in front of his current caretaker’s house with her tears frozen on top of her cold cheeks, how she was brought in and taken in just in time to warm up to gain consciousness and go through the birth process. He remembered being told how the moment he was born, he had to undergo intense surgery immediately for he almost didn’t survive. He remembered being told that his heart had turned cold.

“Cold, not Gold, Renjun. A heart made of ice. As in cubes not cream,” as his caretaker would say.

Since donors weren't available at the time as it was already way past midnight, he needed surgery before his heart stopped beating under the hard exterior of the ice growing around his heart. Luckily for him, Madame Wendy had improvised one with her excellent expertise. She built a small clock the size of her palm that nearly covered his whole chest at the time. Considering she was known for being a witch in town, (even though she tried to explain a countless amount of times that she was a mere mechanic with a medical degree) she miraculously provided him with a fragile heart made from scratch.

However, the night of his birth was also the night his mother had decided to leave him with Madame Wendy, convinced that she would make a better mother for Renjun that she could ever have. It was quite a tragic tale. However, Renjun didn’t think much of it. Nor did he feel any sort of upsetting emotions like longing, curiosity and sadness. Why would he? He doesn’t even remember what his biological mother had looked like. He doesn’t know how to feel anymore other than the faux happiness his mother had taught him how to feel to ease the numbing feeling in his hollow, ticking heart held nothing but dust.

A heart that was purely made out of strong wood, cogs and screws. One that makes soft, calming tick tocks that goes along with the soft pitter patters of rain drops with every beat, one that makes cuckoo’s every time it’s arrow struck 12. One that needs winding every single day with a golden key his caretaker had provided him ever since he was born. One with ironically three rules that he should always follow on a day to day basis.

“Recite those rules once again, Renjun,” she ordered as she buttons up her adoptive child’s white shirt up to his neck. “Do I have to? I’ve been reciting this for years now,” Renjun would whine, looking down at his mother’s loving hands as she flicked her forehead softly with a face void of emotion. “It’s for your own good, Renjun. I can’t have you forgetting something this important, you know very well that your life depends on these three rules.” She tugged on the collar of her child’s shirt down.

“Before I let you run off to town with me, I prefer that your heart would be much stronger,” she swiped her fingers through Renjun’s hair, swefting it to the side to make it neat. “Every beat of your heart is a minor miracle. You’re a fragile piece of work, far more fragile than glass,” the older woman explained, laying her hands on the boy’s shoulder with a grim expression. “I know,” Renjun replied with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders to release tension in his body.

He sighed again, the young boy looked up at the ceiling to avoid his mother’s cold stare. “Firstly, never touch the hands of my heart,” he began, letting out an annoyed sigh as he felt his mother tucking his small key into the pocket sewed on his chest. “Yes, what else?” Madame Wendy asked, kneeling down to look at the child in the eye. “Keep your temper under control,” they recited in unison with the same emotionless tone.

“And the last one?”

“Whatever I do, I must never ever fall in love.”

“Indeed, that’s why I’m so scared of letting you into town. You haven’t experienced love yet so far in your life, it is very important that you stay that way,” she said, standing up on her feet as her hand returned to Renjun’s shoulder. “I know,” he mumbled once again, looking up at his caretaker’s eyes as if to hide the fact that he wasn’t listening a total hundred percent to what she was saying. “It could be the very death of you, Renjun. Your fragile heart won’t be able to stand the emotional, mental and physical shock provoked with the feeling of love,” she explained once again, a worried expression glossing over her face.

“I know, I know. You tell me that almost everyday,” he muttered, playing with the small buttons on the clock that is his own heart. “My heart is not a toy, therefore it is not to be played with.” he almost rolled his eyes at the older woman, feeling her smack his hand away from his heart softly. “It is something that I want you to take seriously, Renjun,” she hissed, eyeing the small mechanic artwork on the boy’s chest. “How can I even fall in love when I don’t know anything about love?”

To Renjun, today was like any other day of the year. The sun shining brightly against his skin, the cloudy grey sky accenting the sky’s beauty. His hair gelled to the side to reveal some of his forehead and leaving a few strands of his hair to tickle his skin perfectly, his calloused hand gripping his 60 x 90 cm canvas and his large box of acrylic paints to his side, his favorite paintbrush hanging against the skin in between his ear and his fluffy short hair.

Spinning one of his smaller paint brushes in his free hand, right between his fingers as he walked down the sidewalk of his home town, trying to find a spot to sit and paint. It was his birthday recently, so his mother had delightfully just bought a fresh new set of acrylic paints, considering he finished them on his last painting which was the majestic dove fountain in the middle of the town less than a month ago.

Renjun was only ten years old when his caretaker took him out to wander around town, which was on his birthday. It was then when Renjun was hitting the age of thirteen when his caretaker’s worry lessened when she saw that her child was nowhere to the point of Cupid’s next target. Therefore those annual town visits turned into monthly visits (under his caretaker’s supervision, of course) and when Renjun had turned thirteen years old, he had shown an interest in painting and drawing in his free time while Madame Wendy was working with a patient.

However, love can strike at any moment. And by the time Renjun became sixteen years old, he was finally allowed to venture into the town himself to paint landscapes and buy more art supplies at least once a week with a 5-6 PM curfew. Nothing more, nothing less. Cupid was cunning, therefore she believed that this was the best she could do. Considering he was a teenager, she couldn’t protect him as easily as she could back when he was still an infant. And that was what she had feared the most in her life.

Renjun sighed heavily, looking around with emotionless eyes, a cold frown forming upon his lips as he leaned his chin on his palm, his elbow supporting on his thigh and his other free hand holding the canvas on top of his legs. He wondered if there was more to life than work and oil paints, eyes wandering on the busy streets filled with the latest carriages and the latest transportation vehicles. He felt as if his life had gone by boring and aimless without knowing how to express his emotions properly. Is this what life has come to in his 16 years of living?

16 years of being almost completely isolated from this town without knowing what his caretaker was so worried about. Madam Wendy had absolutely nothing to be worried about. Renjun had witnessed love from time to time in the streets, watching a couple of different genders walking down the streets with loving expressions on their faces. Renjun could not decipher why you would be feeling such emotions. He had been venturing around town freely with his strict curfews for almost four months now. And all he’s done so far is wander around looking for something interesting to be his next muse or visit the local library to read books.

One of the books Renjun was absolutely fascinated on reading was this book the librarian had recommended to him on his first visit, ‘The Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens. It was a small story of a young boy named Pip who went through amazing life changing experiences and going through hardships with his rather abusive sister, his blacksmith mentor and falling in love as well with a girl named Estella. (He would always snicker whenever she comes up in a scene as her adoptive parent, Ms Havisham, ironically reminded him too much of Madam Wendy)

He often wondered if Madam Wendy’s strong dislike towards the aspects of love was merely because of his fragile condition or was it because of something deeper? However, looking back at when he found his caretaker’s family albums which were mainly pictures of her winning awards and bragging about her medical degree, he highly doubts it. (It was still fun to imagine theories while it lasted, though!)

“Ms Havisham stares at Pip coldly, and murmurs to the girl at her side: ‘Break his heart, Estella. Break his heart!’” Renjun read, his eyes moving as he read the brief summary at the back of his book. Looking down at the cuckoo clock heart hidden under his cardigan, he clicked his tongue before chuckling bitterly to himself. “‘Break his heart’, huh? What utter bonkers, you can’t break someone’s heart. That isn’t physically possible,” he shook his head in amusement, placing his book on top of the box of acrylic paints beside him.

Just as he was about to leave and head back home, a peculiar merry tune reached his ears, causing Renjun to pause in his step, looking around to find the source with furrowed brows. If this was like those small street cat sketches he would draw in his free time, it would seem like his ears perked up in slight interest. The merry tune turned on a bright spark inside of the young boy’s chest, curiosity growing in his veins at the tune he has never heard before. It was as if the angels above had descended to the earth while playing a symphony of flutes and harmonicas, making soft high pitched catchy tunes in the air.

Renjun felt entranced by the music, it was almost as if it was pulling him- beckoning him to come towards it, towards its source. It was as if his feet had a mind of his own as he fought with his own rational thoughts to either go back home or find the source of the beautiful merry tune. He couldn't help but walk to where it's coming from, curious of who was making such a wonderful tune. Sooner than later, he found himself walking down a small alley that led him into a steep staircase that led him to another part of his town. And with every step he took, the music grew louder and louder. Soon, finding light at the end to see the small part of town he rarely visits.

He put his palm on the dirty brick wall, ignoring the uncomfortable texture against his skin, head poking out as he tried to decipher where the majestic music was coming from. Squinting his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight for the staircase was dim enough to be mistaken for a tunnel with the broken rooftops covering the ceiling, he took a step forward. His eyes widening slightly in awe as he watched a young man his age push away a stack of crates to reveal the true source of music.

A young girl, who Renjun figures is around his age, was cranking up a barrel organ right in front of the fountain. A hand going in circular motions on the crank, twisting the lever as she pulls it clockwise. The hand on her hip was soon placed on her chest when the music went on, clearing her throat softly as she began to sing along and harmonize with the melody.

Renjun stood still in his place, baffled at the daunting beauty presented before him. The girl standing a few meters away from him was singing along merrily to the tune of the phonograph record, cranking up the lever as the other townsfolk that was walking by began to gather around her, enjoying the harmony that goes along with her soothing voice and symphony of flutes and harmonicas being produced by the portable barrel organ.

As he sat down on the last step of the staircase to listen from afar, he couldn't help but pay close attention to the lyrics coming out of her lips. His paintbrush spinning in between his fingers as his mind focused on the words of the intro, smiling idly as he began to understand the words she was trying to convey.

My vision's not quite right

But glasses make me look a sight

Enough to give the world a fright, like a sprite wearing specs

Renjun couldn't help but tilt his head in confusion. 'A sprite wearing specs? What the hell was that supposed to mean?' he pondered to himself as he found himself sitting at the last step of the staircase, leaning his white canvas against the dusty brick walls before putting his palm against his cheek, his elbow supported right above his knees as he gazed in awe at the little singer.

His pupils never moved away from the young girl who began to twirl around with her hands on her hips. And that girl was you. He watched as you danced and sang as if you were in your own little world, almost clumsily bumping into an old man carrying two heavy wooden crates in his arms. He chuckled at the sight, a soft smile stretching across his face as he watched the girl apologize for almost bumping into him, making Renjun realise that she might have some sort of blurred vision with how she was squinting at the older man.

‘Or she might just be an idiot,’ Renjun thought with a deadpan expression, laying his chin on his hand as he let out a soft sigh. Renjun had been living in this town all his life, despite the fact that he rarely goes out of his own home. He’s sure that no one in this town would blast such a merry tune so shamelessly in public while dancing and singing around like a fool expressing themselves. And it was quite rare for someone to walk around with a barrel organ out of nowhere.

The music stopped midway when you let out a small yelp and clumsily tripped over your own feet as you turned to your barrel organ when the lever stopped turning, eliciting a soft giggle from Renjun. You let out a soft grunt, huffing as you ignored the slightly concerned looks of your audience. You stood up quickly, hands coming up to brush off the dust and debris off your skirt, tugging on your suspenders as you attempted to ignore the embarrassed red tint on your own cheeks as you tried to play it off as cool.

Renjun couldn't help but giggle at the sight, his cold emotionless expression morphing into one filled with the slightest bit of amusement. Though, it quite took Renjun aback when he saw you turn your head from your barrel organ to his figure sitting a few meters away from where you were standing, turning your head rapidly to find the source, raising a brow when your eyes met Renjun's. He stopped laughing when your eyes met briefly, eyes widening in shock as he began to fidget in his place as you began to waddle over to him, dragging your barrel organ with you.

Wait, were you going over to talk to him? How did you even acknowledge his existence? Did you hear him snicker at your silly antics? Even if you did, how could you even hear him with how busy your surroundings were?

You stood before him with hands on your hips, lips pursed at him. "What were you laughing at?" you asked, a slight pout adorning on your lips as you looked down at the boy who raised his brow. Renjun felt his words pile up in his throat, trying to think of something to say without offending or upsetting the girl before him, as his Seulgi and Irene (his caretaker’s weekly patients) had always told him that ‘once you anger a feisty lady, there’s no turning back!’.

Now that you were standing only a few inches away from him, he couldn’t help but take a small moment to observe your appearance more clearly. Renjun's eyes couldn't help but wander towards your figure, examining your facial features in full detail. The way the sunlight reflected upon your pupils, how your figure stood out that he could barely decipher that other people were present around them. The way your dress framed your body, lips pursed with a slight pout, eyelids fluttering softly as you blinked at him as you were waiting for a response. Renjun wondered how someone could look this entrancing.

"Hello? Are you listening to me?!"

Renjun blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. His mouth opening as his pupils went back up to catch the intense glare that the girl in front of him was sending. He closed his mouth when he realized he didn't know what to say in response, his mind turning blank when he saw you quirked one of your eyebrows up suspiciously. "I don't- How can you even hear me laugh from such a distance?" Renjun's voice faltered nervously, trying to avoid your question, furrowing his brows.

Your expression lightened slightly at the nervous boy, a bright smile of your own stretching across her face. "Out of all of my five senses, my hearing has always been the best considering I don't rely much on my eyes," you shrugged, sitting beside him on the last step of the stairs. Stretching your legs out as you used your palms to smoothen your dress before crossing your arms on your thighs and turning your head to look at the boy. "I saw you staring at me from a distance, was I that good?" you smirked, raising a brow.

“You saw me? I thought you said you can’t rely on your eyes that much?” he asked in a weak attempt to dodge your question once again. “I lied, some lady told me that you were staring at me even after this old thing gave up on me,” you huffed, kicking your foot lightly at the old barrel organ in front of you. “Stop dodging my question. I don’t want to assume that you were stalking me or something,” you turned your head back to the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, wiggling the finger in front of his face teasingly.

Renjun bit the inside of his cheek, a scowl forming on his lips as he rolled his eyes. "Don't get too cocky, I was just perplexed. I was baffled to see someone playing such a merry tune so shamelessly in this lousy, depressing town," he responded with a click of his tongue. "How so?" you asked, tilting your head in confusion at the boy before looking around at your surroundings. “This town doesn’t look that depressing to me. Just needed some lighting up, that’s all,” your positivity elicited another scoff from the boy.

Renjun turned to you, brows furrowed slightly, confused as to how you couldn’t see how this town was the literal epitome of the Great Depression itself. "You're not from here, are you? Come to think of it, I've never seen you around here before." Renjun asked with a curious expression, watching as a cheeky grin formed across your face. "You got me there." You let out a soft chuckle, shrugging shamelessly before gazing up at the cloudy grey sky.

"My parents and I just moved in today. They told me to run off and go dilly dally-ing around town so as to not bother them as they set up the whole place,” you explained, nodding towards your barrel organ. “I think I made a great first impression as the new lady in town, don’t you think?” you asked, giving him a sweet smile, ignoring how Renjun gave you an affirming shake of his head to say ‘no’ bluntly. “Well I definitely knocked your socks off, didn’t I? That’s enough for me!” you exclaimed brightly, clasping your hands together.

“You don’t even know me. I don’t even know you. And how would you know if I was moved by your oh-so-stupendous actions?” Renjun rolled his eyes sarcastically, gripping his canvas tightly as he spoke, looking down at his shoes. He had never spoken to someone his age before without being forced by his caretaker or having to meet them for the first time at Madam Wendy’s home. It was quite new for him to be talking to a lady as well, for most of them were too shy to even talk to the young lad for his cold glare struck shivers down their spine.

“The sound of your laugh was enough to convince me that my actions were indeed stupendous, good sir!” you shot back confidently, a proud smile on your face as you placed your hands on your knees. “Oh bother,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes once again at you, ignoring how the confusion he felt when the cogs and gears of his heart were speeding up in action. “I’m Y/n, by the way! It’s good to know I made a friend on my first day in Edinburgh. Perhaps my mini shameless performance wasn’t entirely fruitless!” you reached your hand out, gesturing for him to shake it.

Renjun looked at your hand for a brief moment, pupils gazing back up at your happy expression, raising a brow at you before sighing heavily. He pulled his hand from his canvas before leaning over to shake your hand gently, “Renjun. Huang Renjun,” he introduced, his tone emotionless. Your hand was warm and soft unlike his own dry ones. Your hand had small specks of dust, which he assumed were from the dusty lever of the barrel organ while his own was covered with dry acrylic paint from his previously wet canvas.

Upon the warm feeling surging through his body at the touch, he felt the tiny mechanical bird inside of his cuckoo clock heart burst out from his clock in response when his skin touched yours, the sharp wooden beak hitting the fabric of his jacket alarmingly. Thus making a small, almost inaudible ‘cuckoo’ that only Renjun (fortunately) heard.

"It’s lovely to be your acquaintance, Huang Renjun. Though, I must warn you, I might not be here for long. My family has been travelling from town to town for years, searching for something.” You told him, pulling your hand back to your side with a small shrug. “Searching? Searching for what exactly?” Renjun asked, watching your expression turned unreadable. You shrugged, leaning your cheek against your palm, your elbow supporting on your leg. “That’s the thing! I’m not quite sure, they won’t tell me.”

“A treasure chest, perhaps?” Renjun suggested, putting a hand on his chin in thought. “Perhaps so. Though, I’m searching for something myself, as well. I haven't found it yet and I doubt I'm going to find it here." you sighed simply, leaning your head up to gaze at the cloudy sky. Eyes watching as the sun was barely visible due to the thick grey clouds layering over it, signalling that it might rain soon.

"Well, what are you searching for exactly? Treasure? Money? Wealth is considered as a greedy sin in this town, so I don't think this is some place where you can find those." Renjun hummed, his hand going back to gripping his canvas as he felt the cogs and gears in his heart working faster than usual. Hell, he didn't know why he was so curious about this. This was none of his business, after all. This was your problem, why was he so keen on keeping the conversation going? Why was he so intrigued in a young foreign singer his age he’s just met?

You shook your head, sucking your lips into your mouth before pulling your bottom lip out in a pout. "I’m not a fool, Renjun. I'm not really interested in wealth or fortune. Though, telling you about my life goal appears to be too intimate for us, don’t you think? We just met after all. So all that I can say at the moment that what I’m searching for is for me to know and for you to find out," you send him a teasing smile, causing Renjun to frown and roll his eyes in annoyance, leaning back slightly before sending you a deadpan expression,

"Does your extravagant search involve spectacles? You might look like you might need them, I know someone that could handle that," he mused, his lips quirking up into a teasing smirk, causing a frown to display on your face. A dead panned expression morphing on to your facial features. "I may have really terrible eyesight, but that isn't a way to talk to a lady, Renjun." you pressed your lips on to a thin line, rolling your eyes at the boy as you let out a soft laugh with a shake of your head.

"Besides, I look terrible in them. As I said in my song, which I'm sure like all the other folks in this world that doesn't pay attention to the message I was trying to convey in my lyrics, it-"

"It makes quite a sight, enough to give the world a fright like a sprite wearing specs?"

You furrowed your brows as Renjun let out a sheepish smile with a raise of his eyebrow, teasing you as a baffled expression laid upon your features at his words. "You were saying, Y/n?" he mused, waving his hand, gesturing for you to continue with your words. Watching as your baffled expression morphed into an amused one. “Oh, that was quite charming of you, Huang,” you shot back with a flirty grin, causing the ticking of his heart to quicken against his chest, sending him small jolts of pain which he attempted to conceal with small chuckles.

"I’m surprised you were paying attention to my lyrics instead of enjoying my song like a normal human being," you huffed, pushing his face away with your palm against the side of his face, eliciting a small laugh from the boy beside you. "You really shouldn't play games with your sight though. They say a blurry vision will leave you in the dark," Renjun recited, remembering the words his caretaker had always said to him about the patients who come in their quarters using spectacles or glasses.

You shrugged innocently. "I prefer life all a blur than to look horrendous for a living. You and your pretty face wouldn't understand. Also, I tend to forget my glasses frequently despite the fact that my parents’ constant nagging to bring them around," you , causing Renjun's jaw to drop at your bold statement. He has heard compliments about his dashing looks ever since he was a young boy from Madam Wendy’s relatives but ‘pretty’ wasn’t one of them, he should’ve brushed the compliment off and focus on the context of your words and stop acting as if he hadn’t been complimented before.

But however, something about this felt peculiarly different than the times where his family complimented him on his charming looks.

"Pretty? I haven’t heard that one before," Renjun spoke rather hesitantly, still quite bewildered that a woman his age had shamelessly complimented on his looks to his face. Yet again, said woman has a terrible eyesight so he couldn't be too sure that it was a compliment. You laughed, bumping your shoulder against his softly. "That’s the only thing you got out of my words? Are you an insecure lad, Huang?" you chuckled, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. “Are you sure you don’t need spectacles?” Renjun snapped back.

"I’m just pushing your buttons! I assure you that even without my glasses. I can confirm that you are quite an attractive young man, and that’s saying something considering I’ve been travelling here and there for most of my life. I'm not as blind as a bat, you know." you giggled, clicking your tongue before adding on. "Besides, it won't make much of a difference, really. Even with or without glasses, I still see a very pretty boy," you joked, laughing lightly.

“Out of all the compliments you could’ve chosen, you decided upon the word ‘pretty’? Sounds quite feminine, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning his head to the side, looking at you with half lidded eyes. He realised that he didn’t mind being called pretty, he didn’t mind being complimented by you. Despite the fact that you two had just met. But he couldn’t help but wonder why you had decided to choose ‘pretty’ instead of the other synonyms of ‘attractive’.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I think pretty can be used for anything. It’s just a word after all, why do things have to be differentiated by the littlest of things? It’s just a synonym of ‘beautiful’,” you shrugged, watching as small raindrops started to pour down from the cloudy grey sky, reaching your hand out to feel the water drops hitting and wetting your skin slowly. Renjun raised his brow at you, perplexed at how you could be so nonchalant about your terrible eyesight considering his caretaker would endlessly bicker until he was forced to use spectacles until his eyes magically got better.

"What's that odd pitter patter?" you mumbled, snapping Renjun out of his thoughts once again. His eyes widened when he realised that the sound of his clock heart ticking had increased, blending well with the sound of the rain as water began to hit the surface of the concrete. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone other than close relatives about his fragile condition, so his anxiety spiked when you turned to look at him, expecting an answer. "It's the rain." Renjun replied after a moment, gulping down his nerves before turning to you.

"Do you like the rain?" Renjun asked, gulping afterwards when he realised how your eyes softly bore into his with an unreadable expression, the eye contact making Renjun’s clock heart steam up a bit as the gears worked even faster than before. Sighing as you felt the cold breeze that comes with the rain send goosebumps across your skin, you rubbed your arms before looking back to the pouring rain. You shook your head, "getting wet? Not really."

"But the sound it makes? Yes. It always reminded me of how I used to play in the rain back when I was still in elementary school," you nodded with a soft smile.

The sound of the church bell pierced your ears, making Renjun’s eyes go wide when he realised that the clock had struck 6 pm. Quickly, he got up to his feet, his brushes almost slipping out of his fingers as he stumbled to get onto his feet. “Are you okay?” you asked, looking up at him in confusion, furrowing your brows at the boy as he gulped nervously. “I’m fine, I shouldn’t be out this late,” Renjun shook his head, biting his lip nervously when he realized that the rain wasn’t going to halt anytime soon.

“I don’t think the rain is stopping anytime soon, I suggest you wait here momentarily if you don’t want to catch a cold,” you commented, standing up as well as you stretched your hand out once again to feel the raindrops hitting your palm, smiling softly at the nostalgic feeling that came with it. He clicked his tongue, cursing at himself for letting his curiosity get the best of him as he contemplated on running all the way back home soaking wet. He wouldn’t want to lose his new found freedom.

Muttering a small curse under his breath, he stuck his book under his canvas before hovering it over his head. “Are you going to run? It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” you exclaimed, eyes growing wide when you turned your head to see him taking a deep breath. “Pardon me, unlike you, I have curfews. My caretaker would have my head if I don’t go back home soon,” Renjun deadpanned, rolling his sleeves out as he felt shivers down his spine when the cold wind blew against his skin.

Right before Renjun was about to take a step into the pouring rain, you grabbed on the sleeve of his shirt, holding him back. “Wait, when can we see each other again?” you asked, eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He paused, his cuckoo clock heart ticking loudly against his chest at the small action. He slowly turned back to you, furrowing his brows as he felt the small machine heat up against his skin, causing him to wince slightly. Noticing his small reaction, you quickly dropped your hand, apologizing abruptly before clasping your hands before your hand.

“It’s just- I haven’t been in this town for very long and I really need a friend beside me. I’m not quite fond of being alone. I know we just met, but I hope that we could be acquaintances at least?” you grinned up, your bright smile sending ominous effects to his heart as he took a moment to process your words. Renjun started at your bright expression, small steam coming out continuously from his mechanical heart as the seconds went by. His eyes dart from the rain before back to your figure standing right in front of him, waiting for his answer.

‘Acquaintances?’

Renjun has never had friends before. His caretaker would introduce him to her client’s children from time to time but (luckily for Madame Wendy) he had never shown an interest in making colleagues. But for some reason, something inside him was pulling him to say yes to you. Something inside of him wanted him to try and get to know you even more. It felt wrong. It felt very wrong. But yet again, it felt so right.

Biting his lip, he gave you a soft smile.

“I have faith that we’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

“I just think it’s quite preposterous!” you exclaimed as you laid down against the smooth surface of the fountain basin. Renjun chuckled, pressing his paintbrush gently against his wooden palette to get bits of his white paint to add more details to his painting.

It's been a couple months since the day you met, and since then, you two have been growing closer by the day. Your friendship blossomed as the weeks went by. Madam Wendy wasn’t very fond when Renjun came home soaking wet after curfew, but she excused his actions when he told her that he just lost track of time at the library once again. A rare occurrence but it still happens from time to time, and considering Renjun barely lies to his caretaker, she believed him when he told her so.

Every once a week, the two of you would meet up on the same exact spot as the day you first laid eyes on each other. Renjun assumed that your house was closer considering you were always there first, twisting the crank of your barrel organ, kicking your feet as you sat on the fountain base to wait for him to arrive in your usual dark magenta dress (which he assumed to be the uniform of the school you were attending). The two of you would always walk around town, searching for spots to relax yourselves and talk about random things as you watch Renjun paint whatever that catches his eye. Overall enjoying each other’s company as if the two of you were in your own personal little bubble.

“What’s so preposterous about the infamous Romeo and Juliet, exactly?” Renjun asked, chuckling as he dabbed the brush on the canvas, blending the colours of the sky on his artwork. You clasped your hands together, huffing as you scoffed at him. “Ever since my school made us all read Romeo and Juliet for the next literature exam, I just realise how horrible this trope is,” you tossed your book to the floor with a click of your tongue, hopping off of the fountain to walk closer to Renjun.

“Do explain why you think so,” Renjun giggled, watching you dip your finger against the white paint on his palette and kneeling down to smear it against the title on the front cover of your book with a frown on your face. “Why are the females always quote unquote ‘damsels in distress’? It’s very misogynistic if you ask me!” you tsked, grabbing your book and leaning forward to show Renjun the front cover of the book. “Mister Shakespeare was truly a legendary fellow to create a piece of writing this famous, but why use poor unsuspecting 14 year old Romeo and Juliet as the female protagonist?” you complained.

“Why couldn’t it be ‘Romeo romeo, let down your hair!’ instead of ‘romeo romeo, where art thou?” It seems a bit more fair to me,” you joked, causing Renjun to furrow his brows at you. “It might be quite improper for a boy to have tremendously long hair, y/n,” he had to lay the back of his hand against his chest in an attempt to calm down his mechanic heart, feeling it heat up against his skin as he noticed how close the proximity between you were. You scoffed at the boy before you, standing up straight and letting the book hand in between your fingers.

Putting your hands on your hips, you walked in front of him, covering his view of the town. “Well it doesn’t give Mister Shakespeare a reason to give the story an unhappy ending. The despair it brings when you found out they both died in the end? Absolutely preposterous, why would anyone like books with such unhappy endings?” you added on, poking your book with a scrunched up expression, bringing a smile upon Renjun’s lips as he found your figure poking the book in your hands as endearing as watching an small innocent child playing with their own food.

He sucked in his lip, taking a moment to admire your beautiful form. The gears in his mechanical clock worked faster as his eyes wandered to your slightly pouting soft lips, wondering how soft it would feel against his own. He cleared his throat when he felt a sharp pain scorching through his chest when he realised he was starting to imagine things, patting his chest softly as he tried to bite back a smile.

“Maybe you just haven’t read true masterpieces,” Renjun responded after a pregnant pause, opening his little bag and pulling out the novel he’s been obsessed with for the past few months, placing it in your palms. “Read this, you can thank me later,” Renjun smiled, patting the book in your hands with a light chuckle, looking up into your eyes for a brief moment before looking back at his canvas. For he feared that if he stared into them any longer, he would simply get lost in your eyes for ages, wincing silently when his chest started to ache.

“‘The Great Expectations’? This sounds like those tedious books my parents keep on their shelf,” you raised your brow, sitting down on the fountain again as you began to observe the book in your palms, squinting your eyes at the summary written at the back cover of the book. “‘Break his heart, Estella! Break his heart!’ That sounds so cruel of her to break an innocent boy’s heart,” you frowned, looking up at your friend with the adorable frown Renjun came to endear.

Renjun laughed, shrugging simply as he went back to painting. His fingers twitching against the brush as he coloured white clouds on his piece, feeling your eyes curiously on his content form. “You didn’t want the female protagonist to be the damsel in distress, did you? I just simply gave you what you asked for,” Renjun shrugged, feeling his heart do somersaults as you let out a loud huff of breath, scooching closer towards him so you can begin reading the book. “I suppose so,” you muttered under your breath.

“Do you carry books like this around with you as you paint or are you a magician who can pull out rabbits out of that bag of yours as well?” you asked jokingly, pulling the cover open and flipping to the first page. “I-Wait hold on, a magician as well?” he furrowed his brows at you, turning his head towards you and leaning his head to the side in confusion. You shot your head up, giving him a bright expression as you nodded eagerly.

“You might have half of the town convinced that you’re some cold hearted teenager living with the ‘witch’ or the makeshift doctor, as you would like to say, but you can’t fool me, mister! We may have known each other for less than a few months but I know for a fact that you are a magician!” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, wiggling your index finger around, your fingertip hovering right above his nose before poking it with a small ‘boop; coming from your mouth.

He furrowed his brows, gently pushing your hand away from his face with a raised brow. “Do you mind explaining why you have come to that conclusion?” Renjun asked, an amused expression spreading across his features as he dropped his brush into the cup of water set right beside him before crossing his arms against his chest and leaning back slightly. You grinned, “you’re one of the few people I’ve ever known who can paint so majestically. Have you seen your own paintings, Mister Huang Renjun?” you exclaimed, giving him a wide smile as you threw your arms up in the air.

He chuckled, adjusting the beret on top of his head. “You don’t know many people, y/n,” he commented with a small smirk on his lips. “Let me finish before I usurp you, Huang,” you frowned, furrowing your brows and squinting your eyes threateningly at him. “I doubt that you even know what usurped means,” Renjun chuckled, shaking his head profusely at you. “Don’t doubt my low vocabulary, Renjun,” you crossed your hands, letting his book lay on your lap as he let out a soft laugh.

“Alright, what are you going to usurp me from exactly?” he asked smugly, raising a brow at you. “That’s not the point of this conversation, what I’m saying is that you and your aesthetically pleasing art skills are magical!” you shot back in a snappy tone, avoiding the fact that you used a word that you don’t entirely know the meaning of. (considering you only heard it from your mother when she was talking to someone on the phone every morning whenever your father was off at work)

He swore he could feel the ticking of his tock stop for a few seconds at your words. “Pardon?” he spluttered, putting his hand on his chest once again as he felt the gears in his cuckoo clock turn rapidly against his chest. “The way you carefully apply to each and every detail on every crevice of your canvas is like magic, the way you know how much paint you should apply to get just the right colours and the way you focus on shading or blending the paints together to achieve the small shadows or to adjust the lighting of the painting is just-”

You paused before letting out a loud groan, “superb! I can’t even find the words on how to explain your magical abilities, the simplest way I can put it in my own way is that you are equivalent to a magician!” you waved your hands around at the canvas in front of the two of you, your eyes going wide in awe as you stared at the half finished piece as if it was the first time you had seen a rare jewel in person.

Renjun’s jaw dropped as he couldn’t find the words to express how flustered he felt. However, the way his cuckoo clock began to steam up was another completely different thing. He couldn’t help but look down shy at his own paint stained hands, wondering how you could find awe in something as messy as his artwork. “And it is an absolute crime knowing that you aren’t some kind of world wide painter, your paintings are absolutely beautiful!” you exclaimed, smiling up at him as Renjun stared wordlessly into your eyes.

He couldn’t help but notice how close you have gotten when you began on your unceremonious ramble about his art skills, he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting up your eyes and down to your plump lips. Gulping silently, he scooched back a little bit, gripping the sleeves of his button up shirt tightly as he tried to take the ticking of his heart against his ears, a fuzzy feeling overcoming the slight jolting pain in his chest as he did so.

He watched your eyes go wide at his actions, realizing that you moved too far. “Oh crumbs!” you exclaimed, taking a large step back as you realised the close proximity between you attracted attention from the people around you, eyes watching you like a hawk. Some held disgust to see two teenagers of the opposite gender oh-so-close to each other as if they were going to share a sweet kiss. Some held awe in them, adoring the sight of the two flustered beings cozying up to each other like that. Some held shock as they had never seen the mysterious cold hearted boy who lived in the little house on the steeple that close to someone before.

“I’m so so sorry!” you rambled, feeling your chest swell up as you grew flustered by your own actions. “I didn’t mean to get over excited! It’s just that I was so happy to talk about your art knowing how you don’t think much of it but I just really adore your art and the way you paint- oh god that sounds very inappropriate of me to say. What I meant was-” your short nervous ramblings were cut off when you heard Renjun’s laughter filling your ears, the angelic sound sending warm feelings into your heart.

“Pardon me for laughing, but that really caught me off guard,” he threw his head back laughing, his cheeks flushing red from laughing too much as he held his stomach, wiping his tears afterward. Your jaw dropped at his amused laughter, embarrassment overcoming your nerves as you huffed angrily at him. “You absolute jerk, I thought I did something wrong and invaded your personal space or made you uncomfortable!” you exclaimed, putting your hands on your hips angrily, only eliciting even more laughter from the sweet boy.

“It’s really endearing that you find my art that interesting, you really did catch me off guard with your little outburst,” he chuckled, lifting his beret off of his head before running his free hand over his hair, putting the beret back on his head afterwards. You couldn’t deny how pretty he looked with that beret, but of course, you weren’t going to admit it (again) for the sake of your own pride. “I was just expressing my opinions like a normal person, you didn’t have to laugh at me like that, you know,” you crossed your arms against your chest.

“I wasn’t laughing at your outburst, I can promise you that!” he exclaimed, shaking his head at you, ignoring the searing pain in his chest as he stared lovingly at you. You furrowed your brows, you couldn’t help but notice the slightly sad glint on his pupils, but you chose not to ask about it, focusing on the topic at hand. “Then what were you laughing at exactly, Huang Renjun?” you asked, furrowing your brows at the brown haired boy, who smiled sweetly at you. Leaning his chin against his palm, elbow supported on his thigh.

“I couldn’t help but laugh at how sweet you looked while talking about the things I do in front of you as if I were moving the sun and moon with my own bare hands.”

“You know you have a lovely smile.”

Renjun looked up from his book in alarm, eyes wide at your sudden bluntness. “Excuse me?” he coughed, releasing one hand from the book cover to lay it against the rough surface of his clock heart hidden underneath his coat. “I really like your smile,” you gave him a tight lipped smile, putting the Great Expectations book on the desk you were sitting before laying your hands over the other, placing your chin on top of them before gazing up at him with an innocent shrug. “You’re being quite expressive today,” Renjun chuckled, looking at you with a perplexed expression, his brows furrowed as he kept his hand against his heart, suppressing the little bird inside from letting out a loud ‘cuckoo!’.

“I don’t like to lie, you know that, Renjun,” you pouted, raising your head up to give him a knowing look. Sitting up straight, Renjun shot you a boyish smile, looking back down at his book. “Why, thank you. That’s quite flattering,” Renjun chuckled, burying his nose in his book in a futile attempt to hide how flustered he felt. Putting the back of his hand against his mouth, he coughed to clear his throat before removing his hand and putting it on his nape to scratch on it nervously. “How are you liking the book so far?”

Renjun cringed at the slight waver in his tone, biting back his tongue as he heard you let out a small hum. “So far, it’s pretty engrossing. It perfectly depicts the image of a young male protagonist losing his child-like innocence through heartbreak and hardship,” you clicked your tongue, folding the corner of the page you were reading before flipping through the other pages to see how many you have left to read. “A compelling coming of age story,” you nodded with a slight shrug.

“Though, I still don’t understand why you recommended me this book,” you closed the book and placed it back down on the desk, furrowing your brows in curiosity. Renjun gave you a sheepish grin, shrugging as he went back to his own book before replying with a, “you’ll find out once you finish the book,” under his breath. You huffed in response, leaning your forehead against the hardcover of the book, letting out a dramatic sigh. He let out a silent smile, adjusting his glasses as he continued to read the last paragraph of his own book.

Your eyes glared holes into his head as if he was going to tell you if you glared at him long enough, but you realised that he was back into his own little world now that he was fully immersed into the plot. Your eyes wandered back to the canvas on top of the desk right beside him, his set of acrylic paints and brushes gathered up into a small pile. He had just finished his latest painting of the statue of the founder of this boring town, his artwork never failed to awe you.

“When I finally manage to finish the book, will you give me one of your artworks free of charge?” you piped up, outstretching your hand as you poked the canvas, trying to pull the large object towards you with a single fingertip in futility. Ever since you started spending your time watching Renjun paint while he listened to you rambling, you had often asked him to draw something for you for free. In which he would always reply with a brief ‘buy your own, acrylics are immensely expensive.’ before rolling his eyes and going back to painting.

He wasn’t completely wrong. Madam Wendy always grumbled on how paint prices are constantly increasing as time goes on. And whenever Renjun would make a quick trip to the art store just to buy another bottle of white paint, he would always suppress the urge to sigh heavily in front of the kind store owner who would grin innocently (despite the fact that they know full well that they were being absolute gooses for increasing the price as Renjun was going to buy their products nonetheless.)

However it came as a shock to the both of you when he muttered a small ‘fine’ under his breath. Eyes blowing wide as Renjun slowly looked up from his book and eerily turned to you, right before he could open his mouth to retract his words, you shot up to your feet. Catching the boy off guard as you leaned over to cover his mouth with your hands. “No! You are not taking that statement back!” you exclaimed, shaking your head aggressively as you gave him a wide mischievous smile.

Renjun furrowed his brows, eyes glaring daggers at you to let him go despite the fact that his gears were turning at a rapid speed at the feeling of your skin against his lips. “I’m not letting go unless you say yes,” you mused in a melodious tone, earning a shake of his head in response as he continued to send you his typical cold stare.

Renjun always had a really mean resting face, his eyes always managed to send cold shivers down everyones’ spines. However, there was something comforting in the way he looked at you. A familiar warm feeling blooming in your chest whenever he turned his head to look at you, even though his eyes barely held any emotion, even though his small chuckles and laughs held no genuine happiness in them, you couldn’t help but let a fuzzy feeling grow inside of your stomach. It was exhilarating.

“Come on, you probably have billions of canvases somewhere in town. Giving one away to your dearest friend shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” you whined, still refusing to remove your hand from his lips. He was internally enjoying the close proximity between you, but as the seconds went on, he knew his clock heart was going to burst out of his chest if he didn’t do something. With a small curse in his mind, he pulled your hand away from his mouth. “I would if you paid me. But considering you are currently penniless, I have to politely decline,” Renjun snickered, giving you a disgusted expression as he felt the heat around his mouth disappear into thin air.

You frowned, pursing your lips as you sat back down on your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “How could you do this to your most beloved friend?” you mumbled under your breath, loud enough for him to hear as you kicked one of the legs of the table in front of you childishly. Renjun chuckled, “‘Beloved’ isn’t even a word I would use to describe your existence.” Now it was your turn to glare daggers into his skull. “You’re incredibly mean, it’s almost bonkers,” you scoffed.

“I know,” he shrugged casually, pulling his chair back to stand up. “Now if you excuse me, I would like to wash up to remove whatever bacteria you have oh-so-unceremoniously blessed upon my skin,” he bowed, pushing the chair back in the table as he tugged on the cuffs of his coat, giving you a small grin. “My hands are squeaky clean, excuse me!” you retorted, putting a hand on your chest in faux offense. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/n,” he nodded, abruptly walking towards the washroom at the back of the library with a hand on his chest as the effects of his emotions finally took place inside his mechanical ticking heart.

As soon as Renjun turned to a corner, out of your line of vision, his whole body started twitching in pain. With a shaky hand he pulled back his coat to reveal the state of his clock. The hands of his clock were turning at a rapid speed, the small bird popping out of the clock and letting out a small ‘cuckoo!’. It was steaming up. Smoke was coming out of the contraption as if it was caught on fire. He felt like his chest was on fire. Renjun leaned his back against the wall, shakily blowing the smoke away and fanning it away softly with his hand.

What’s happening to him?

This has never happened before. What was happening to him? Why was he in so much pain? Why couldn’t he call out for help? Why couldn’t he make any sound?

Renjun wanted to cry out in pain, his body twitched as the tiny mechanical bird popped out of his clock with a loud ‘cuckoo!’. He gasped, patting his hands around his pockets for the key to his mechanical heart. He could hear the alarming ticking sounds of his clock with every second that went by, warning him something’s going to happen if nothing is done to stop this pain as he twitched in pain once again, clutching the clock with one hand, he felt something inside the pocket of his shirt. With a small grunt of pain, he fished out the small golden key inside.

He pulled his hand away from his clock, gasping for breath as the pain in his chest increased with every tick of his heart. He plunged the key into the small hole connecting the arrows of the clock, quickly turning it counter clockwise as the pain started to lessen. Once the pain subsided, he dropped his hand to his sides, panting in exhaustion as his eyes blew wide with fear, his gears were working at their usual pace once again. His chest felt numb, a small throbbing pain lingering somewhere inside of him.

‘What the hell was that?’

His eyes were glossy as he felt his emotions overwhelm his mind. His heart felt like it was going through a spin, as if the big hand of his core was going to pop out of his skin. His bones felt weak, as if it was about to implode at any second. The cogs and springs in his clock felt like they were about to explode.

The loud alarming ticking in his ears made him wonder if he didn’t pull out the key in time, would his cuckoo clock heart halt for good?

“I’ll be off now, Wendy,” Renjun announced as he hopped down the stairs eagerly, gripping his fresh, new, empty canvas to his sides with one hand and spinning one of his brushes in between the fingers of the other. “Oh, you seem in a bit of a hurry, Renjun,” a familiar voice cooed teasingly, her words followed by another giggle. Renjun paused in his step, mustering up the energy to form a small smile as he looked up at the two women giggling at him. “Good morning, Joy. Good morning, Yeri,” he greeted with a polite bow.

Joy and Yeri weren’t related in any way to Madam Wendy, but they are regular patients who would drop by weekly. And as far as he knew, they were one of the very few people who knew about his fragile condition (which is probably why they visit so often). “You look brighter than usual, what’s gotten you in such a rush, young lad?” Yeri grinned, sipping on her tea as she crossed her leg over the other with raised eyebrows.

“It’s just a small trip to town, I need to buy more acrylics as well,” Renjun lied through his teeth, feeling the gears in his heart work faster at the thought of meeting you at your usual spot. “You haven’t had breakfast yet, Renjun,” Wendy spoke up, attracting the attention of the three in the room with pancakes stacked on three individual plates. “Do sit down! It’s been quite a while since you had a chit chat with your lovely aunts!” Joy giggled, patting the extra seat beside her before looking at her friend, who nodded in agreement.

“I really shouldn’t interrupt-”

“Renjun, go sit down,” Madam Wendy coaxed, placing a hand on his shoulder and nodding towards the empty spot on the sofa. Renjun looked back at his caretaker before sighing heavily, placing his canvas and brushes on the table near the entrance door and walking to sit on the empty spot the women had saved for him. “I’ll be upstairs cleaning up, if you need me,” his caretaker informed before exiting the living room, leaving her adopted son with the other two women in the room.

“Okay, she’s gone!” Yeri exclaimed in a rather quiet tone before grabbing her fork and looking back at the teenager sitting beside them. “So how are you, honey? I just realised we didn’t even get to greet you last week considering you’ve been so busy lately,” Yeri hummed, shoving a spoonful of pancakes into her mouth as she spared a glance at Renjun. “Indeed! I assume you found something interesting in your great adventure in the outside world,” Joy giggled with an enthusiastic nod, causing Renjun’s eyes to widen.

Renjun let out a small chuckle. “You two make it sound as if I was a protagonist of some weird story,” he mused, digging into his own stack of pancakes as he felt a warm feeling in his stomach at the memory of the day you first met. “Don’t beat around the bush and tell us!” Joy rolled her eyes at the younger boy, grabbing her cup of tea and pulling it to her lips. “How was this great adventure you’ve discovered?” she asked, her eyes flickering from her tea to Renjun briefly.

Renjun bit his lip, scanning the room to ensure that Madam Wendy was nowhere in sight. He knew he could trust these two, considering the countless times he’s gotten away with his lies and rants. He bit his lip, glancing down at his hands nervously before giving his aunts a genuine smile. “It was fabulous,” he sighed dreamily, a sheepishly wide smile stretching across his lips as he took another bashful bite of his pancakes. “Tell all! Tell all! Don’t miss any details!” Yeri squealed.

“What made it all so fabulous?” Joy whispered, her eyes peering curiously at the boy who appeared to be in a dreamy state. “A little singer with glasses which she won’t wear,” he replied almost instantly without any hesitation, a little bit too fast for his liking. “She isn’t all that, is she?” Yeri gasped, leaning back slightly in shock to hear her little Renjun was talking about someone and not something.

He shot up, straightening his back as he dropped his fork on his plate with a shake of his head. “She is! She really is!” Renjun nodded eagerly, his hands coming up to make grand gestures as he continued on with his words. “She reminds me of a… sparrow! Perched up on the toppest tree branch in it’s tiny little feet, it gives her this calming fragile aura like a twig falling off of a branch. Her voice- her singing is like listening to a nightingale singing a bird song but with words! Or those soothing musical numbers they would always play in the telly after a good show has ended,” Renjun described, his eyes filled with stars and his heart filled with passion.

The two shared knowing looks, bewildered at how dazed the boy in front of them truly was at that moment. “And her smile it’s like a work of art! Far greater than all of my masterpieces combined, far greater than the artwork displayed on museums! Her laughter makes her seem so miniscule, I could hardly believe that such a light heartening sound could be elicited from a human being!” Renjun went on, his smile wide as he leaned back at the thought of your smile which made his stomach do somersaults.

“Oh Renjun, I bet that once she catches the flu, you’ll change your mind. Whenever women like those who catch the flu, they cough up a storm and sneeze like a steam truck,” Yeri joked, earning a brief frown from Renjun who scoffed in response. “Oh nonsense! I bet if she does, it would sound like a majestic flute found in the mountains!” Renjun waved his hand off with a roll of his eyes in disbelief.

The two women laughed in response, shaking a knowing look. “So basically, to sum everything up. You went to town and instead of catching the flu, you caught a bug in town, you young lad!” Yeri raised her eyebrow suggestively at the boy, indicating that he’s very much caught the love-bug she’s always ranted about on a daily basis. “Oh deary!” Joy gasped before letting out another fit of giggles, cupping her mouth to ensure that her giggles weren’t loud enough for Madam Wendy to hear.

“You know it’s forbidden,” Yeri lectured, her tone turning serious when she realised that Renjun was actually serious about this. “For-bid-den!” Joy emphasized with every wave of her finger with a disappointing shake of her head. “I know,” Renjun sighed, a frown forming at his lips as he sunk back against the seat he was sitting on, leaning his head back sadly. “It’s for your own good, you know,” Joy smiled sadly, sympathy lacing her tone as she patted the boy’s head comfortingly.

“Indeed. Oh deary, I wish I could live without love,” Yeri sighed, pulling out a mirror from her purse to reapply her lipstick. “Oh no, here we go again,” Renjun chuckled, sitting up straight once again as he prepared himself for another sad tragic love story his aunt has to offer. “Every day, every time I fall in love with a patient here or a man, they would always fall for some other girl!” Yeri ranted with a heavy sigh, smacking her lips together to get an even coating on her lips. “I am not letting Renjun listen to another one of your sob stories!” Joy huffed, leaning over to cup Renjun’s ears with her palms.

“You might taint the poor boy with your bad luck with love!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t my condition a symbol of this bad luck?” Renjun chuckled, gently tugging on the older woman's wrists to remove her palms away from his ear. “Oh hush you, I’m sure you’ll get over this little infatuation you have with this little singer,” Yeri waved her hand off nonchalantly, huffing slightly. “It’s not like you see her every day of the week, you’ll get over it in no time!” she added with an encouraging hum, watching as Joy nodded with her in agreement.

Renjun bit his lip, biting back his tongue as he continued to shove pancakes into his mouth as quickly as possible. At that moment, Madam Wendy finally came down with a key in her hand. “Renjun, I’ve always told you to bring your key wherever you go. Why won’t you ever take my words to heart?” Wendy sighed, handing the key to his mechanic heart to the young boy, who gulped slightly and mumbled a small apology under his breath before tucking his key in his front pocket.

He couldn’t help but shiver as the memory of him having a near death experience flashed through his mind, the image of the key plunging into his heart and winding it up to lessen the pain he endured had traumatized him. He was terrified of it happening again. He was terrified of what’s becoming of him. Was this the effects of falling in love? Was he falling in love with you? He hasn’t even known you for very long, he couldn’t possibly fall for you in such a short time.

Besides, why does falling in love feel so good but hurt so bad?

“So how was the book I lent you?” Renjun asked in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “Quite interesting, though, I’m not quite sure that I’ll finish it any time soon. I like to focus deep into the depths of the story, fully imagine the characters emotions and thoughts,” you exclaimed, pushing your organ barrel beside the tree Renjun was leaning against, sitting down beside him under the shade and crossing your legs, tugging the edges of your dress over your knees. You dusted the bits of dirt off of the fabric on your dress.

“I understand, it’s the thought process, right?” Renjun nodded, flipping a page of his book as he hummed. “Indeed! Though, I can’t quite get the gist of why Ms Havisham is so devoted to making Estella break Pip’s heart. She should’ve just left the poor girl alone, besides, I really don’t want to see the poor boy heartbroken,” you frowned, clicking your tongue in thought. “I despise Pip’s sister, as well,” you added with an innocent smile.

Renjun let out an amused chuckle. “Yeah, she’s a rather insufferable character, isn’t she?” he nodded in agreement, remembering how heartless Pip’s older sister was when it came to Pip and her own husband before she passed away in the book. “She’s exactly what my mother would consider as a bitch,” you added on, pulling your glasses out from your purse with a small giggle, earning a loud gasp from the boy beside you. “Y/n, language!” he gasped, pulling his book back to gaze at you with wide eyes.

You giggled, mumbling a small apology before fidgeting with the frames of your glasses mindlessly. Renjun watched you play with your glasses from the corner of his eye, internally wondering why you have never worn them despite carrying them around in your purse everywhere you go. Furrowing his brows, he turned his head back to his book, biting back his tongue before shaking his head at himself.

“You know, you really shouldn’t play games with your sight if it leaves you in the dark, y/n,” Renjun deadpan, not sparing you a glance as he licked the tip of his thumb to flip a page from his new book. You huffed at your friend, fidgeting with your new spectacles in between your fingers as you rolled your eyes at the boy beside you. “How poetic,” you scoffed, earning a soft chuckle from Renjun. “I think I prefer life all a blur, thank you very much,” you added on with a snappy tone.

“What does that even mean?” Renjun laughed lightly, putting his book down on his lap to turn to you with a soft expression on his face. “I keep forgetting to wear my glasses and now my eyes are blurry, I can’t even see the outline of my hand,” you stated, raising your free hand up above to the sky and squinted your eyes at it in an attempt to get a clearer vision of your hand that was merely a few inches away from you. “Your glasses are literally in your palms,” Renjun pointed out, nodding his head at the hand holding the glasses in question.

You opened your mouth to speak, slowly putting your glasses in your little handbag behind you before clearing your throat. “As I said before, I forgot to wear my glasses,” you repeated, giving him a cheshire grin in response. “Jesus Christ, why do I even bother?” Renjun muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, “won’t your vision get worse the lesser you wear them?” he asked once again, rubbing his temples in distress.

Humming in confirmation, you shrugged innocently before leaning back against the tree the two of you were sitting against. “Though, I believe it won’t get worse as long as I close my eyes. My vision won’t get worse if I don’t see, right? Besides, it feels good to close my eyes,” just as you finished your words, you clasped your hands on your lap, leaning your head back against the tree bark and closing your eyes before letting out a sigh of content. Renjun let out an annoyed puff of breath, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Your content expression was enough to send fiery sparks into his mechanical heart, he could almost feel it steaming up again. He couldn’t help but notice how close you were next to him, as if he were to make one little scooch, your shoulders would be touching. His eyes wandered to your beautiful figure laying right beside him, internally suppressing the urge to clasp you close to his body in a tight embrace. Your soft lips causing his stomach to do somersaults the longer his gaze lingers there. He imagines that he would scatter confettis on the both of you if he were to press his own lips against yours in a kiss.

His mind couldn’t help but wander back to those times where you had to walk up close to the signs to see what street the two of you were heading, the amount of times you had to squint and lean over the table to read whatever paragraph he was trying to show you during your reading sessions at the library. He felt this sudden urge to protect you, to constantly remind you to wear your glasses in case your vision worsened.

There was something inside of him screaming at him to not let you stray away from the happy path you were currently in. Something inside of him made him determined to be your only guide, to be your pair of eyes. In return, he knew you would ignite the flame in his heart. No, you would be the special flame that burns his heart. You’d be a conflagration in the night. A pretty arsonist. A fire blazing so bright you’ll see the light of the heavens itself.

“Oh why bother. You know very well, out of my five senses, my hearings best. I’m pretty sure I’ll recognize you without relying on my eyes,” you waved your hand off carelessly, keeping your eyes closed, oblivious to the way Renjun was looking at you so lovingly. “Well I assure you, I don’t think you can rely on your hearing to walk down the streets without my assistance,” Renjun chuckled, recalling the time when you almost walked into the wrong side of town due to your poor eyesight.

“You don’t know that! My eyes always lead me astray, anyways. Far away down the street, sometimes I can’t bear to steal a glance at the sun or even look the sky straight in the eye for fear that my eyes would deceive me as well,” you confessed dramatically, finally opening your eyes and turning your head to look at Renjun in the eye. Your eyes widened at the way Renjun’s eyes softened at the sight of your own pupils staring back at his in confusion. You straighten up your position, putting your hands behind you and leaning on them.

“Then let me be your eyes,” Renjun replied in an almost hushed tone. “I won’t let you stray, I promise,” he gave you a sweet boyish smile, making your heart flutter in your chest at his words. “Aren’t you being a little flirtatious? That’s quite unexpected of you, Huang Renjun,” you said with a raise of your brows as the corner of your lips quirked up into a smile that mirrored his own. You turned your head, feeling your faces grow closer and closer with every second.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” he hummed, turning his body so his shoulder was leaning against the tree bark, a dreamy smile stretched across his lips as he leaned closer to you. You chuckled, shaking your head softly. “I don’t know, what do you think? Maybe it could be a good thing?” you shrugged, closing your eyes and leaning your face closer to his. Renjun followed your actions, feeling the gears in his mechanical heart work at a fast pace. He winced in pain as his body jolted and twitched in pain, the mechanical bird inside of the clock rapidly hitting the door of his clock.

He felt your breath hitting against his face, your lips merely an inch away from his as his body twitched in pain once again. Letting out a grunt of pain, he felt one of the gears of his clock pop out of his chest. Putting his hands on his chest, he grunted once again as his body twitched uncontrollably in pain. There was the sound of fabric being ripped before his vision darkened and he fell back against the concrete floor, falling unconscious within a few seconds.

“Renjun!” a voice yelled out in alarm, causing your eyes to jolt open in shock.

“Oh god, not this. Please, anything but this,” an unfamiliar voice gasped in a panic. Your vision was blurry, you couldn’t see much happening in front of you. You quickly fished out your spectacles from your purse, putting them on immediately before your eyes widened in fear and shock, your body froze on the spot. You could almost feel your heart stop beating against your chest for a moment.

Right in front of you was an unconscious Huang Renjun in the arms of an older lady on the floor. He was leaning against her lap, arms wrapped around him tightly in a motherly way. His eyes closed in content, it almost appeared as if he was just sleeping peacefully. There was steam coming out of his chest, you couldn’t see where it was coming from considering the old lady had blocked your view of him almost completely as she pleaded for him to wake up worriedly.

The lady in question snapped her head at you, glaring daggers at you as if you had committed some sort of arson. “What have you done to him?” she asked, her tone filled with malice and hatred. As if you were the cause of Renjun’s current state. Your eyes widened at her sharp tone, fear and anxiety creeping up in your veins as you couldn’t find the courage to even open your mouth, let alone utter a single word. You shakily got up to your feet, grabbing the strap of your purse before running off away from the two.

Slap!

The loud sound of Madam Wendy’s palm making contact with Renjun’s cheek pierced the room, causing his head to turn sideways at the harsh impact, wincing slightly as he laid against the chair, which was commonly used for Wendy’s patients, shirtless. His body jolted at the sudden contact, his heart making a loud ‘cuckoo’ sound at the shock it caused. “What were you thinking? You could’ve died!” Madam Wendy scolded, her fists balled up in her sides as she walked over to her table tray filled with tools.

Renjun couldn’t speak as he looked down in his palms, his mind blank and face void of emotion. He felt numb at that exact moment, he didn’t know if it was the aftermath of the sheering pain he just endured in front of you or it was because of the feeling of his heart being fixed by his own caretaker. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Huang Renjun. Whatever bloody happened to rule number 3? Did you forget?” Madam Wendy exclaimed in an alarming tone, her voice strict and angry. “No,” Renjun replied before breaking into a small fit of coughs, wincing as his chest burned with every breath he took.

“Do you have a pain in your heart when you cough?” Madam Wendy asked, her tone filled with worry, eyes filled with disappointment as she searched for a pair of pliers. Renjun nodded slowly in response, gripping the armrests of the chair as he leaned his head back against the pillow set behind his head. “Well multiply that pain and your suffering to a hundred fold and you still won’t understand the pain love causes,” she snapped, using some pliers to pull a piece of fabric from the arrows of his heart, placing the fabric on the small tray beside him before walking off to grab some more tools.

“And the greater the love, the greater the pain,” she sighed, opening the drawers from across the room. Renjun’s eyes flickered to the woman frantically trying to fix his heart before his eyes moved down to the white fabric on the tray. He reached his arm out to grab it, quickly snucking it in his pockets before looking back at the window. During your near-kiss under the tree, the arrows of his clock must’ve pulled against the fabric of your dress. Your dress wasn’t made out of the most durable fabric, the pull must’ve ripped the top sleeve of your dress when he passed out.

“First, your sense of ache, followed by pangs of rage and jealousy then incomprehension,” she started to explain, sipping on her coffee as Wendy’s heart ached at the thought of her own child going through that much pain if this goes on. “Rejection, the agony of heartbreak,” she turned to point her tweezers that was holding a gear in between it with a strict motherly expression. One that Renjun couldn’t bear looking into for too long.

“Your mechanical heart won’t be able to withstand it, you know this! I told you countless times, this is why I’m always so worried whenever I let you go into town,” she barked, walking back to the tools to drop the rusted gear along with the other broken metals she pulled out and replaced from his heart. “It will overheat and explode, I transplanted it with my own two hands, therefore I know it’s limits,” she went on, her tone falling deaf onto Renjun’s ears as his mind wandered back to your figure.

“A single kiss. A brush against your lips could be your last! Just like that, bang!”

With eyes closed in thought, he wondered what happened after he fell unconscious, how did Madam Wendy find him in such a short amount of time? What happened to you? Did he scare you when he fell unconscious? He was worried you’ll be afraid to talk to him now. Did Wendy say anything mean to you while he was out cold on the concrete floor?

Oh god, your presence isn’t even here and your existence is entering his heart and filling it with flames as if you were a little fairy wandering around looking for a new home to live in. A home which is his heart. He couldn’t help but let out a small smile at the vivid memory of sitting so close to you under the shade, how his skin burns at the feeling of touching yours, how your smile and laughter gave colour to his emotionless dark world. Oh how the thought of you made Renjun feel as if he was floating. It was as if you were carrying him up into the sky, he felt like flying by your side.

“Do you know why I saved your life?” a voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

His eyes opened, head turning to his caretaker who took a seat next to him, gripping her gloves in her hands. “You were the son I never had,” she confessed, giving him a small comforting smile. “Why couldn’t you have one?” Renjun asked rather hesitantly, his voice almost hushed as if he was whispering, despite the fact that it was only the two of them in the room. Madam Wendy shrugged, sighing heavily.

“It was no one’s fault. It’s one of those tricks love and nature plays on us, you know that more than anyone,” she chuckled, gesturing to the cuckoo clock heart on his naked chest. “Though, the day your mother gave you to me felt like it was heaven sent. Oh god, I would lose my mind and my reason for living if I lost you,” she reached over and ran her fingers through her child’s hair, making Renjun feel some sort of guilt deep down in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I fell in love and I don’t know how to get out.

Madam Wendy finally allowed Renjun out of their home a month after the incident. For the whole thirty days he was prisoned in his home, all that wandered in his mind was you. He wanted to see you, he longed to hear your sardonic humor, he longed to hear your angelic laughter flowing through his ears like music. He longed to ask forgiveness of what had happened between the two of you under the tree.

He wondered if you harbored the same feelings for him as he does for you. He doubted you’d still feel the same after the incident, however, a part of him had hope that you would wait for him all this time. He tried to prove himself wrong as he ran around town to all of your favorite spots. The library, the fountain, the art store, the tree. Anywhere his mind took him, his feet didn’t stop moving. His feet couldn’t stop moving.

He wanted to see you again. No, he needed to see you again. He needed to apologize to you to release the guilt in his heart. He didn’t care if his heart would explode right then and there, he needed to see you and he wanted to finally embrace you in his arms. He needed to know if you reciprocate his feelings, he needed to know if you longed for him as much as he longed for you this whole entire time. He never got your answer, either. He asked to be your eyes, he wanted to be your guide. He wanted to tell you to rely on him if you can’t rely on your eyes, he wanted to hold your hand to keep you from straying to the wrong path. He wanted to feel his lips brush against yours, he wanted to feel love. He wanted to feel loved by you.

His heart fell even more when he realised he couldn’t find you anywhere. No one knew where you went, no one has seen you since the day he fell unconscious. It was as if you had disappeared off of the surface of the earth. The only thing he had of you was the fabric he accidentally tore off of your dress. He realised you left your barrel organ ride beside the tree. It was already collecting dust as leaves fell in between the spaces of the organ.

You were gone.

The owner of the library informed him that you had fled abroad. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the thought of you running away. You didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t even have the audacity to tell him you were leaving? Surely you would have informed him that you were leaving. Yet again, you did tell him on the first day you met that you weren’t supposed to stay here for too long. But was it too much of him to ask you to at least say goodbye?

Two years later, it was Renjun’s 18th birthday. Two years since he lost you, two years since he went back to the hollow shell he formerly was before he fell in love. He spent months wallowing in his own sorrow, he spent months wondering if you missed him the same way he missed you. He no longer looked forward to walking out of his home to paint, all he saw was grey. The places he spent with you made his vision dark and grey, it was as if the joy inside of him were stripped from his vision.

He didn’t know what to do. His heart grew numb, he didn’t know how to make himself happy again. It was as if he had lost a part of himself. He had lost something precious. Which he did, he lost you. He didn’t know what to do. Yet, on a rare occasion, he would take small walks into town.

Madam Wendy noticed how Renjun’s whole existence grew dull ever since that day, his eyes were always dark as if he hasn’t slept for centuries, a frown permanently placed on his lips, his movements weak as if he didn’t have the energy to move. At this point he admitted that he was barely living, he was just a human body existing with a cuckoo clock as a heart. His days were no longer as bright as they used to.

To Renjun, the days felt like it was repeating itself. He wasn’t allowed to go to school, for Madam Wendy feared that he would be made fun of and bullied by his peers. Everyday, he would wake up and wind up his heart, take a long shower, eat his breakfast, paint or read his books, occasionally talking to the patients who attempted to make small talk with him (however that wouldn’t last very long considering he had no interest whatsoever in interacting with strangers he barely knew), eat dinner, go to bed. Repeat.

It was an exhausting cycle. His mind was growing dull. Whenever his mental health became worse, he would take a walk into town to clear his mind to try and lift his own spirits (despite the fact that he knew it’s futile. After all, he’s been trying this for the past two years.) Today was unfortunately one of those days.

Renjun had decided to take a small visit to the library. He remembered how he had to apologize to the librarian for lending you the Great Expectations book when he remembered that you’ve never returned the book back to him. He still felt guilty despite the fact that the librarian didn’t mind it very much. The librarian lady took a liking to both you and Renjun, she thought the two of you would’ve ended up together if it weren’t for the fact that you had moved away without a goodbye.

But fortunately for Renjun, today was a different day. Today would be the day to end his miserable lifestyle.

“Renjun! Renjun, my dear boy! How are you, honey?” the librarian greeted, putting a stack of books on the counter as Renjun entered the library with a bashful smile on his face. “Same as always, Mrs. Dust,” he bowed to greet the older lady politely, snucking his hands in his pockets after tugging on his coat. “Honey, I have lovely news for you! You remember your old friend, Miss Y/n, don’t you?” the lady giggled, walking over to the young adult with an eager smile on her face.

Oh how Renjun’s heart perked up at the brief mention of your name.

“Of course I do, Mrs. What about her?” he coughed, clearing his throat to prevent his voice from shaking. “I’ve received a letter from her! Oh hold on, dearie,” she giggled, squatting down to open the small drawer near her desk and pulling out a small postcard which had a familiar handwriting written on the back. “It must be your birthday soon. Happy birthday, my dear boy. The least I can do is give you this,” she smiled, handing Renjun the postcard with a hum.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Dust,” he smiled, gripping the postcard tightly in between his fingers as he looked down on it. It was indeed from you. You didn’t write much on the card, nothing more than a simple ‘happy birthday’ and a small ‘I missed you’. You had written your name at the edge of the card and a small ‘R’ beside the happy birthday, indicating that it was truly for him. Fireworks erupted in his stomach when he saw small hearts doodled all over the card with a red pen.

You remembered him.

You missed him.

You thought of him.

Those words were enough to revive the spark in his heart. Those were enough to spread a bright genuine smile across his lips. His cheeks hurt from how wide his smile was, he felt like jumping for joy. He was so ecstatic he thought he could fly to the sky, he felt his fingers itching as his eyes wandered to the address you have written at the bottom of the postcard, giving him a hint of where you might be living.

Andalusia.

You were half across Europe. You were so far away, yet so close. He wanted to see you. He needed to see you. He couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste, he needed to get a move on and he needed to find you. He thought sending you a postcard back wasn’t enough. He wanted to see the girl who managed to turn his heart without the key, he wanted to see the girl who produced a spark in his heart with only a few mere words.

He ran all the way back home, encountering Joy and Yeri on the way back and shooting them with an uncharacteristically bright smile stretched across his face. “Renjun, lad, what’s gotten you all jumpy?” Joy exclaimed, causing Renjun to stop in his tracks. “I got a letter from her!” he informed them, his voice high-pitched as if he just got told that he had personally won the sun, moon and stars all to himself. In his case, he actually did. He actually did.

“A letter?” Yeri squeaked up, a smile stretching across her face at the sight of the younger boy’s. “From who?” Joy asked, giggles bubbling up in between the two ladies as they watch Renjun suppress the urge to jump for joy. “Y/n! She remembers me! She sent me a postcard from Andalusia,” he exclaimed, waving the postcard in their faces. Joy’s eyes wandered down to Renjun’s chest, watching as the hands of his clock spun rapidly, indicating how excited the young adult was feeling.

“Y/n? Was this the young girl you went on about a few years ago?” Yeri asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod from Renjun himself. “Renjun, that’s great news! What are you planning to do then? Write her another letter?” she asked once again, clasping her hands in front of her at the delightful news. The boy shook his head eagerly, his smile never faltering.

“I’m going to find her, I’m going to find her and confess my love,” he breathed out, his own words taking his breath away. The thought of seeing you again was enough to send him flying into the heavens, oh for all things that’s holy, he didn’t know how he was going to proclaim his love for you in person when he could barely explain it in words himself.

“To Andalusia? Renjun, that’s halfway across Europe! Madam Wendy won’t be very happy about this,” Joy informed him, a sympathetic smile replacing her previously bright one. Renjun’s smile faltered at the mention of his caretaker, looking down at the postcard you had sent him, your messy handwriting beckoning him to come to you. He sucked his bottom lip, his heart racing at the thought of rebelling against Madam Wendy’s orders.

Yet again, if he did end up dying from this, all of Madam Wendy’s efforts throughout the past two decades would be in vain. She was practically his guardian after all, but yet again, he was a legal adult now isn’t he? He’s 18 years old, he didn’t have to live under her rules anymore if he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty for wanting to flee Edinburgh just to see you again, something inside of him was screaming at him to run.

Maybe this time, he would listen to it.

“Joy, Yeri, will you help me escape Edinburgh?”

“Renjun? What are you doing up so late?”

Renjun froze, halting his movements as he dropped another sweater into his suitcase. He shut his eyes tightly as his heart raced against his chest, taking a deep breath to compose himself before standing up to face his caretaker as he zipped up his suitcase tight. “Wendy,” he cleared his throat, gripping tightly on the saddle of his suitcase with a small cough, slipping the key to his heart in his front pockets. “Renjun, why do you have a suitcase packed? It’s past curfew,” she narrowed her eyes at the boy.

“Wendy, I am now a legal adult. I have turned 18 years old,” Renjun started, suppressing the urge to gulp down his nerves but he kept his ground. “Yes, I know that, Renjun. That still doesn't answer my question as to why you’re up this late with a packed suitcase,” she nodded, tone laced with confusion as Renjun took a step back towards the opened window, looking out at the moonlight. “Y/n sent me a postcard… from Andalusia,” his voice grew quieter as the seconds went by.

“I’m planning to travel half across Europe to see her again.”

“No, I forbade it.” Wendy shook her head, taking a step forward towards her adopted child, her hands balled up into fists at how Renjun’s determined expression didn’t falter at the slightest bit at her strict tone. “I expected you to say that,” Renjun sighed, walking over to the open window and looking up at the moon shining down upon the dark sky.

“Nature was cruel to pray this silly little trick on me. I spent two decades wondering ‘what is love’? I knew I didn’t need to love in life, you showed me that throughout my whole 18 years of living here. I didn’t need love to live,” Renjun started, clasping his hands together as he held the saddle of his suitcase harder.

“But I realise, I’ve always wanted to feel love. To feel love, to give love and be loved back. Y/n made me realise that when I started falling for her two years ago, and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have come to this realisation either,” he chuckled in disbelief, looking around at the decorations of his room, realising how much he’s going to miss living here. “I want to go out and explore the world, I know you have been dreading at the possibility of this day coming, but it has, Wendy.”

“Renjun, no. If you leave, this might as well be the last breath you’ll take! You have never travelled outside of town before, how are you going to survive travelling all across Europe for some measly girl? I won’t allow it, I can’t allow it,” Wendy shook her head, her eyes wide with panic as she watched Renjun walk backwards to the open window behind him. “I know you won’t allow it. But it’s time to let me go,” Renjun smiled sadly.

“Thank you for the 18 years you have spent trying to keep me alive. But the past two years felt meaningless to me without her presence, it felt aimless. I was honestly thinking about taking my own life at some point,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “But now, I realise I rather risk my life for love than spend the rest of my days here with an empty, cold feeling in my heart,” he shot his guardian a genuine smile, the first genuine smile she has ever witnessed from the young boy.

“Goodbye Wendy.”

“Huang Renjun!”

Renjun fell back from the open window, causing Madam Wendy to let out a cry of his name, quickly running over to the window to see if her child was okay. She gasped when she saw that Renjun had landed on a mattress Joy and Yeri had set before hand, a loud joyous laughter eliciting from the younger boy’s lips, a sound Wendy has never heard from the boy from his eighteen years of living. He got up from the mattress, grabbing his suitcase quickly before shooting a boyish smile to his aunts.

“I’ll send you a postcard, Madam Wendy!” he exclaimed as he began running down the hill.

“Renjun, no! Come back! Oh god, please no! Yeri, Joy, what are you doing?! Stop the young lad before he-”

“You can’t blame me for falling hard in love, mother!”

“Now my dear boy, what a lovely contraption of a heart you got there!” a man exclaimed, adjusting his monocle as he squinted his eyes at Renjun’s mechanical heart. “Oh, why, thank you,” he smiled politely, bowing at the older man as he gripped his canvas in hand. “Where are you off to? You seem quite young to be travelling all by yourself,” the man asked in an attempt to make small talk.

That night, Renjun had run off to catch the nearest train to Paris, he planned to take a trip from there to Andalusia. It was a 7 hour ride but he was willing to do anything at this point to get out of Edinburgh. When he finally arrived in Paris, he stumbled upon this man while waiting for his next train. “Oh pardon me, where are my manners! I’m Kim Doyoung,” he outstretched his hand for Renjun to shake with a toothy smile spread on his lips.

“Huang Renjun,” he introduced with a sheepish smile. “Ah, So, Renjun, where are you going, my dear boy? You seem a little bit too young to travel,” Doyoung took off his monocle, wiping it against his tie before putting it back on. “I-I’m trying to get a replacement for my heart,” Renjun said, poking his little clock with the tip of his finger, grimacing at the small ticking sound it was making at the small touch.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

He had planned to get a replacement for his heart for so long, he figured that maybe if he changed into a new one, this wretched curse of forbidden love might be lifted. Maybe he didn’t have to part ways with Madam Wendy or Joy or Yeri. Maybe if he replaced his clock, he could live his life happily in love with you. Though, for now, it was just a small hope he held inside of him. All he could do now was find a clockmaker.

“I’m trying to find a clockmaker somewhere to replace my heart,” he spoke in a bold tone, looking down at his unfinished piece. He made it during his seven hour train ride while thinking of you just to pass the time, though, he was honestly considering giving it to you the moment you get to reunite with each other. “Do you happen to know one?” he asked, his eyes going wide with hopefulness.

Doyoung hummed in response, tugging on the tip of his tie. “Unfortunately, I’m not a clockmaker. But I do like tinkering in the mechanics direction! Maybe I could take a closer look at your heart to see if there’s anything I can do,” Doyoung suggested, pulling out a magnifying glass with a nod of his head. Renjun sucked his bottom lip nervously before taking out the key from his front pocket, plunging it into the mechanical heart and turning it to open the door of his heart. “Alright then.” “Oh! You say that this was grafted by the famous Madam Wendy from Edinburgh? She must be quite the genius to craft and piece this all for you with her bare hands to save your life,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to observe the small gears slowly turning with every small tick tocks his heart makes. “Though, I don’t know why you’d want to replace such a thing. Everything works just fine, clearly, she made this out of love. I could see it within every crevice of art she puts into this clock,” the older man clicked his heart, putting his magnifying glass back into his bag as Renjun closed his heart shut and pulled his key out of the clock.

“Love, huh? That’s the exact problem I have at the moment,” Renjun sighed heavily, tucking his key back into his front pocket before leaning back against his seat. “It’s very dangerous to me. At least that’s what Wendy said to me for the past eighteen years of my life,” he looked down at his shoes sadly, pressing his lips together in a tight line as he felt the guilt catching up to him at the thought of his caretaker’s efforts going in vain.

“Tell me about it,” Doyoung grinned, putting his hand on his chin as a smug expression spread across his features.

“You see, mister Kim-”

“Oh no! Call me Doyoung!”

“Uhm- You see, mister Doyoung. There’s this singer I met in Edinburgh a long time ago and-” “Ah yes, I see. These things do happen quite often.” Renjun bit back his tongue when Doyoung interrupted him once again, but nonetheless he continued on with his story. “As time went on, we grew closer. And soon, I couldn’t help but feel as if my whole world was going through a life threatening earthquake. My head was spinning, I couldn’t breathe. The ticking tock of my clock sounded almost alarming as if it was going to stop at any given moment whenever I’m within her lovely presence,” he explained, making grand, dramatic gestures with his hands as he went on.

Doyoung chuckled, assuming that Renjun’s poetic explanations were purely symbolic. “And how did that feel, exactly, Renjun?” he asked, causing Renjun’s expression to soften. “Extraordinary,” he sighed, almost dreamily as he looked down at the postcard he was holding in his free hand that wasn’t holding his canvas. “There you go, my dear boy,” he chuckled in response, leaning back against the seat next to Renjun’s.

“I don’t know, Mister Doyoung. I fear Wendy might be right, though, what if love was just a trap and my ticking clock is just a bomb waiting to be triggered by it?” Renjun asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he kissed his teeth. “Renjun, if you fear of getting hurt, you will increase the chances of getting hurt,” Doyoung laid a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “You should enjoy the thrill, the danger! That pumps through your veins at the thought of falling completely in love,” he exclaimed.

“If you live your life worrying everything, you’ll get bored before you even die! Don’t you want to experience a life changing experience with this little lady you’ve been saughting after?” he asked, her tone encouraging Renjun’s spirit to get back up again. A smile stretched across Renjun’s face at the thought, he had flashbacks to the two years he spent without you. He couldn’t afford going back to the same depressing situation he got himself out of, and he’s definitely not willing to go back now that he’s almost there.

“If I can find her again. The last time I heard from her, she was in Andalusia,” he shrugged with a small laugh.

“I’d say,” Doyoung laughed. “When you’re eighteen and you’re travelling half across the continent for a girl, I’d say the rebellious genes in your DNA are highly developed,” he joked, retracting his hand from Renjun’s shoulders. “I bet I could make a whole film based on your cuckoo clock heart,” Doyoung whipped out an empty journal from his bag, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at his newfound friend. “Why not?” Renjun chuckled with a small shrug.

“Young love, what a beautiful thing to see. You see, I never had any fond memories when it comes to being in love. All I do is invent and invent contraptions, and my former lover never appreciated my expertise. Life is far from easy when you’re in love, my young friend,” Doyoung sighed, leaning his arm against the seat with a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you come with me to Andalusia then, Mister Doyoung? I’m sure anything’s possible there and I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a company on my way there,” Renjun offered, the thought of making a new friend giving some light into his dark path.

“You want an unprofessional mechanic with constant near mental breakdowns following you in your journey to find love?” Doyoung’s eyes went wide in shock, a smile that mirrored Renjun’s appearing on his face. “I would love to have an unprofessional mechanic with constant near mental breakdowns in my quest!” Renjun laughed, nodding eagerly as he sat up straight to shake Doyoung’s hand to make a deal.

Renjun had made another friend.

When they finally arrived in Andalusia, they stumbled upon a small amusement park where you were rumored to be staying in at the moment. “Well, first impressions?” Doyoung asked, looking around the ominous park filled with performers and eccentric workers setting up their tents. “It’s.. quite different than Edinburgh, I must admit,” Renjun chuckled, pulling on his suitcase eagerly as he scanned his eyes around in hopes that he might see your figure at the corner of his eye.

The park, unlike his old town, was way more colourful than Edinburgh. There were animals in colourful cages, happily interacting with their inmates. There were jesters and mimes practicing for their acts in the middle of the streets, happily entertaining a few visitors. There were food stands everywhere, Renjun swore you could exit this park penniless under five minutes if you really wanted to.

“Come one, come all! For tonight we have special acts starting from 5 pm to-”

He walked past whom he assumed was the announcer of the park, who was enthusiastically using a tricycle to spread his message all over the place. And upon walking around he stumbled upon what seems to be a horror attraction in the shape of a train, the owner standing inside of a coffin as she smoked her cigarette, eyeing Renjun suspiciously. “Looking for something, you little runt? A job, perhaps? Cause, I’m looking for a new employee to hire,” she asked, taking a puff of her cigarette in between her sentences.

Renjun took his words back about Madam Wendy resembling Ms Havisham. Because at that given moment, he felt like Pip when he was first introduced to Ms Havisham in the book, clueless as to what he wanted with her. Renjun shook his head, no, mustering up the courage to give the older woman a polite smile. “I’m looking for a little singer?” he answered with an innocent smile.

“A little singer? Here? The chances of that is equivalent to finding a snowflake in hell,” she rolled her eyes, taking another puff from her cigarette and blowing smoke into Renjun’s face. He coughed, taking a step back in alarm but he bit his tongue to snap back at the woman’s rude actions. “Listen, I’m just trying to find a little singer who sings like a lovely bird in the break of daw-”

“Enough jabbering about her! Do you want the job or not?” she sighed exasperatedly.

As Renjun was about to give the woman a piece of his mind for being so rude, the announcer cycling around him caught his attention with his words. “Ladies and Gentlemen, up next in our line of performers will be the young singing sensation, Miss Y/n! A lady who has travelled far and wide with her infamous street singing career,” the announcer said with a booming voice as he cycled to another part of the park.

“Miss Y/n?” he whispered with a soft gasp. “Well? Do you want the job or not?” the woman asked with a raised brow. He frowned involuntarily at the woman’s abrupt tone, clicking his tongue before running back to wherever Doyoung was. “I’ll think about it!” he exclaimed loudly before sprinting off, calling out his colleague’s name with a bright smile on his face.

“I found her!”

“It is her!” he gasped, watching as you slowly come out of your little private trailer, music piercing his ears and your voice making its way into his heart like a knife throwing attraction. It hit right at the target perfectly. “It’s her, I can’t believe it,” Renjun could feel his breath being taken away. You had grown to be a beautiful woman, your features changed slightly due to the years but nonetheless, it didn’t do anything to stop Renjun’s heart from swelling up with adoration like a balloon being filled with helium.

“Go into her trailer, no one’s going to notice you. Talk to her after her performance,” Doyoung encouraged with a slightly hushed tone. “Excuse me?” Renjun’s eyes shot wide at the unexpected encouragement, his eyes wandering to the trailer you came out of. “I can’t do that! That’s a lady’s privacy!” he exclaimed, shaking his head aggressively. “Trust me, it’ll go smoothly! Just believe in yourself and try not to let the conversation die,” Doyoung hissed, nudging on the younger boy’s shoulder.

Renjun got up slowly, gulping down his fear as he quickly got into your trailer, eyes wide at his own stupidity. ‘God, why did I decide to do this? This is very uncouth of me to do so,’ he thought to himself, wincing slightly when he realised that the music had died down. A bouquet of daisies were in his hand, he didn’t know what to do at that moment as he observed your trailer. It wasn’t very far from you. It was decorated according to your liking.

Your favorite colour was splashed all over the walls, a mannequin standing idly beside the entrance, your dressing table with a gigantic mirror showing his nervous presence. He froze for a brief moment at the sound of your enchanting humming and your little footsteps coming closer to the trailer, making him stand behind the mannequin on pure instinct as you walked into the trailer with a skip in your step.

You were humming the same song you sang on the day you first met. Muttering the lyrics under your breath as you removed bits of dust from your clothing from the performance. Looking up at the mirror, you gasped at Renjun’s awkward figure standing behind your mannequin. You stood up abruptly, grabbing a perfume on your desk and raised it up threateningly at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” you exclaimed in alarm. You couldn’t see his face very clearly considering you weren’t wearing your glasses.

“I’m sorry! I was tying my shoelaces when I fell into your floor,” Renjun shook his head, waving his hands around nervously to give off the message that he wasn’t some weird creep or stalker snooping around your belongings. “Do you always fall into a girl’s quarters when she’s changing?” you snapped, lowering your perfume hesitantly as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the boy. “NO! No! I would never, I swear! I don’t even know why I’m-”

“You look suspiciously familiar as if I recognise you from somewhere,” you mumbled under your breath, squinting your eyes at him. “You recognise me?” Renjun perked up, a smile stretching across his face as he took a step away from the mannequin towards you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes before turning to the mirror to adjust your appearance. “What do you want anyway?” you sighed, as if you were used to this sort of encounter.

“I’d like to give you a bouquet of daisies,” Renjun bit his lip, pulling the bouquet behind him and leaning it towards your direction. “Daisies? I can’t say they’re my favorite flowers,” you chuckled, looking up at him with a more relaxed expression. “I have no idea why, but peculiarly, daisies always reminds me of my glasses,” you confessed, putting the bouquet on your desk and standing up towards the exit. “I stopped wearing them a long, long time ago. They make me look like some weird bug,” you joked, looking back at Renjun, who chuckled at your words.

‘You really haven’t changed, huh?’

“It’s fine by me,” Renjun chuckled, walking closer towards you in comforting silence. The way your eyes made contact with his softly made his stomach do somersaults, the gears of his heart felt like it was powered by a burst of energy. “Could we see each other again?” he asked hesitantly, “I’d like to get to know you even more,” he added, snucking his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps,” you shrugged, giving him a smile that mirrored his own. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“Oh, no! I’m not, I’m the-I work at the ghost train,” Renjun lied through his teeth, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh, you’re the new scarer? That’s wonderful news to hear,” you exclaimed, clapping your hands to congratulate him on his new job. “Yes, of course! Exactly, I’m the new scarer,” he nodded, a little bit too eagerly if you asked him. “Can I come see you in action?” you laughed lightly, observing how fidgety the boy in front of you is as he stepped out of your trailer.

“Of course!”

“Tomorrow? Around four?”

“I’ll see you then.”

As the weeks went by, the love between you and Renjun blossomed like a rose. You bonded over your love for art and music in general, rekindling the friendship you used to have. But unfortunately for Renjun, you didn’t recognise him, not a single bit. It was against his beliefs to hit a woman, for that was very impolite of a man, but whenever you mumble how you couldn’t put your finger on how you recognize him from somewhere then proceeds to drop the conversation, he couldn’t lie. He wanted to smack you upside the head for your oblivious self.

‘Oblivious, rather ludicrous and as blind as a bat. Why did I fancy her, again?’ he would always ponder to himself on a daily basis before watching you run around to try the newest food from each of the food stalls with a bright smile on your face. ‘Oh, right, that’s why,’ he sighed heavily before going over to you with his hands clasped behind his back, mentally preparing himself to fall head over heels for you over and over again.

Today, he was giving you a tour of the ghost train. (yes, he took up the offer with a roll of his eyes just so he can stay here and spent more time with you) “You’re doing a wonderful job here, by the way. It looked like people are having a lot of fun riding the ghost train with your assistance,” you complimented, giving Renjun a soft smile as you walk along the dark train tracks.

“Why thank you, my boss can’t say the same, however,” he grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at the thought of his boss being ashamed of him for ruining her quote unquote reputation. “Don’t mind her, she’s always been like that,” you waved it off with a small giggle, patting his shoulder. “Hmm,” he nodded, a pregnant pause settling between you two as you basked in each other’s company. “How did you like the glasses I gave you?”

Everyday, Renjun would find the most ominous and peculiar looking glasses that were all twisted and broken to give to you, which always brought a smile upon your face knowing full well that you couldn’t wear them no matter how much you tried. “Awful, as usual,” you joked, clasping your hands behind your back as you skipped along the tracks, your shoes hitting the dark coal with a soft ‘tip tap’. “Wonderful,” he laughed lightly, shaking his head profusely at you.

“I still can’t shake over the feeling that I’ve been in this situation before, or maybe I dreamed of this moment before,” you blurted out, looking around the damp cave-like tunnel you were walking through. Renjun bit his lip sadly, suppressing the urge to tell you that he was the boy you met back in Edinburgh. Yet again, what if you left for a reason? What if you left because you didn’t want to see him again? He feared the worse as time went on.

“I’m sure we’ve met before but I don’t know where,” you turned to him with a smile tugging at your lips. “Really,” Renjun looked down at his feet, kicking the coal as you both paused in your step and turned your bodies to look at each other in the eyes. You somehow found comfort in looking into Renjun’s eyes, but you couldn’t pinpoint why they constantly gave you a sense of deja vu whenever you stare into them for too long. “What’s that odd pitter patter?” you mumbled, hearing a familiar tapping sound in the tunnel.

He bit back a smile, “it’s the rain.”

He knew those words all too well. “Do you like the rain?” he asked, putting his hand behind his back as he adjusted the top hat on his head. “Getting wet? No,” you shook your head, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “But the sound it makes? Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, making Renjun laugh at your slight eagerness. “And I’ve heard that noise before somewhere,” you whispered, loud enough for Renjun to hear.

“That’s because it’s my heart,” he couldn’t help but blurted out, putting a hand on his little coat. “Pardon?” you furrowed your brows in confusion, watching him tug on his coat to reveal a miniscule cuckoo clock on his chest. “My heart, they made it for me on the day I was born. It’s a bit cold and a little fragile, but it works,” he sighed, watching as you observe the small contraption on his heart with a curious expression, pulling out the key from his pockets.

“You can open me up with this little key,” he grabbed your hand and placed the key in between your fingers, letting you push the key into his heart and turning it to the left before opening the door of his clock. “Fascinating, do you always let other girls walk into the train tracks with you and let them open your heart?” you chuckled, raising your brow at the boy in front of you, whose eyes widened in surprise as you pulled your hand away from his heart.

“No, not really. In fact, you’re the first one,” Renjun shook his head with a sweet smile, closing the door shut and pulling out the key before placing it back into his pocket. “Oh, thanks,” your eyes widened slightly at his blunt expression, putting a hand on your arm shyly. “You’re welcome,” he chuckled, patting the key in his pocket. Renjun’s eyes wandered from your eyes to your soft lips, his heart racing against his chest at the thought of finally picking up where you had left off all those years. He didn’t even realise that he was leaning his head towards yours.

“Wait- no,” you pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him away as you turned your head to the side with guilt glossing over your eyes. “Don’t,” you shook your head as you took a step back. “I really like you. There’s a warm fuzzy feeling growing in my tummy that’s making me pull towards you like a magnet, but,” you paused, looking down at your hands nervously as they lay limp on your sides. “My heart belongs to someone else,” you gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Someone I met a long, long time ago. You always reminded me of him. “I’m still waiting until the day we reunite once again, embarking on a romantic adventure with you would just be unfair,” you sighed heavily, rubbing your arms nervously as you slowly let Renjun down. A great pang of pain pierced through Renjun’s whole body at your words, he could almost feel his heart tear itself apart as he watched you walk away and out of the ghost tunnel.

Away from him.

“Renjun! You’re back! So? How did it go?” Doyoung exclaimed, fixing his latest invention with a cough, dropping his tweezers in his bag as he wiped his hands on a nearby cloth. Doyoung had rented an empty building so that he could introduce his new inventions to the public and entertain them with them. “She loves someone else,” Renjun mumbled under his breath, tossing his top hat onto one of the seats they set up as he sat down on the steps of the small indoor stage Doyoung had built over the past few weeks.

“I travelled halfway across Europe for her for absolutely nothing,” Renjun laid his head on his palms, sighing heavily as he tried to keep himself from screaming in pain. His heart was hurting. It was way different than the pain he felt two years ago, it was a whole new level of emotional pain he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. “Did you at least confess your love for her?” Doyoung asked, taking a seat next to the boy as Renjun gripped his hair tightly in distress.

“Why bother? Her heart’s filled to the brim, there’s no way I could empty it out like a sink,” Renjun pulled his head out of his hands, his elbows laying on his legs as he threw the golden key to his heart against the carpet floor out of frustration. “You can’t just let your efforts go to waste, Renjun. Did she at least recognise you?” Doyoung asked, leaning over to grab the key and place it back into his younger friend’s palm with a heavy sigh.

He shook his head, turning it to look at the older man who adjusted his monocle. “No, I’d prefer her not to remember who I am than to remember me and not love me in return,” Renjun leaned his cheek against his palm, eyes looking down sadly at his feet. “You can’t just give up like that, Renjun. Love is like a shooting star you’re supposed to seek after, a wish you must grant yourself with the fifty percent chance of getting the outcome you desire,” Doyoung encouraged, leaning back against his palms behind him.

Renjun chuckled softly, a sad smile appearing on his lips. “I never felt so sad yet so happy at the same time,” he shook his head, pressing his knuckles to his temples hard. “Ah yes, two of the most powerful and impactful emotions of the human soul combined into one,” Doyoung mused, raising a brow at his lovesick friend. “If only she believed me about my heart, her expression tells me that she thinks it’s some kind of sick joke,” he scoffed, kicking the air with one foot as he let out a huff of exhaustion.

“Well, did she say who has captured her heart?” Doyoung asked, raising his brow, causing Renjun’s eyes to shoot up wide.

The impact of Kim Doyoung’s words have never failed to get Renjun’s adrenaline rushing again through his veins as he walked into your trailer with a small push against your door. “Do I know him?” Renjun asked abruptly, wanting to get straight to the point as he was very eager to know who has captured your heart. “Could you stop barging into my trailer all the time?” you retorted, turning towards him as you put down your makeup brush on your desk. “The boy you’re in love with, do I know him?” Renjun repeated, the gears of his heart racing against his chest.

He doesn’t even know if he wants the answer to that question. “No,” you replied bluntly, adjusting the laces on your dress. “So you’re not in love with him anymore?” Renjun asked, raising his brow as he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the door. “No, that’s not what I meant!” you huffed, feeling yourself getting frustrated the more he edged you on. “Look, it was a very, very long time ago when I first met him,” you rolled your eyes.

“It was back when my parents still made me move from city to city. Oh god, that city was practically made for him. The aura of the city radiated the same aura he had back when I first met him, cold and depressing. Nonetheless the more I got to know him, the more I realised that inside he was just a warm human being that needed someone to light up his perspective,” you sighed, clasping your hands together right in front of you. There was a loud ‘cuckoo!’ that pierced both of your ears, and suddenly, a small gear shot from Renjun’s heart and hit the wooden closet right beside you.

“Would you stop playing with your clock? You could injure someone, it won’t hurt to take it off occasionally, will it?” you exclaimed with a gasp, looking up at him with bold eyes as you put your hands on your hips. “I can’t help it, it’s not some bloody toy! It’s my heart,” he snapped back, his hands balled up into fists as he felt his blood boiling in his veins at the sound of you talking so highly of someone else that wasn’t him. The way you talked about whoever this boy is was the same way he talked about you to everyone else.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down when he saw your taken aback reaction, “I’m sorry.” You let out a deep sigh as you stood up from your desk, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort the poor fellow. “Look, I would really appreciate it if we could become friends. How about we go down to the theater tomorrow? I heard Mister Doyoung made a new contraption to add to the cinematic universe,” you suggested, giving him a kind smile as you took his hand in yours to try and cheer him up a bit.

“I’d really like to go together.” No matter how much his heart was telling him to rest for the rest of his life, no matter how much in pain he’s currently in, but the moment he looked into your eyes, he knew he couldn’t say no.

“Would you care to share more information about your romeo?” Renjun asked, holding his wrist behind him as you two walked outside of the amusement park together after the show. “Oh, don’t call him that. I absolutely despise that specific work of Shakespeare’s,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you hopped over a pebble, grunting as you caught your balance. Renjun chuckled, “why so?” he asked, raising his brow at you.

“The typical damsel in distress trope never failed to make my blood boil like a pot of water on high heat,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “I prefer to call him my Pip,” you giggled, climbing up a small hill before sitting on top of the grass and laying your head down with a content sigh. “Pip? Why Pip to be exact?” Renjun asked, raising his brow as he took a seat next to your lying figure, leaning back against his palms. “A couple years ago, right before I left. We had this small debate on happy endings and shakespearean works,” you started, gazing up at the starry night sky.

“I would constantly babble on and on about how women shouldn’t be the damsel in distress, then one day he whipped out this book out of nowhere like some sort of magician! It was called the Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, I finally finished when I left the city so I never got around to returning the book he let me borrowed,” you sighed, placing your hands on your tummy as you giggled at the thought of your first love possibly getting mad at you for leaving without a goodbye with the addition of not returning his book back.

Renjun’s heart raced at your small story, his body froze as his ears grew a slight tint of pink (which wasn’t very visible, thanks to the dim lighting of the moon shining down upon the two of you) when he realised that you were talking about him. You were talking about him all along. “I realised why he let me borrow the book though, I asked for an unhappy ending without the female protagonist being the damsel in distress. It was a beautiful story, really,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you thought back to the times you shared back in Edinburgh.

“He would always listen to my rambles as he painted some random landscape in town, showing me his talents as well as listening to my words as I ranted about the foolish decisions of the characters. He reminds me of Pip a little bit. A bit childish, a bit foolish, a little bit misunderstood,” you went on, before pausing briefly, eyes opening to look up at your new friend. “Should I stop? I don’t want to bore you with my story, I tend to ramble a lot unintentionally,” you asked, receiving an aggressive shake of Renjun’s head.

“No! No! Keep going, I’m getting very interested in your story, do continue,” he laughed lightly, looking down at his clock, biting back his lip to keep himself from jumping for joy. “The last day I saw him- oh god, I remember it every night before I go to bed. I never had my glasses on around him, so my memory of his physical appearance is rather blurry. But I remembered it like it was yesterday. Sure, I might not recognize him today with my own eyes but I remembered we almost shared a kiss,” a wide smile stretched across your face as a warm feeling bubbled up inside of you at the vivid memory.

“Yeah?” Renjun couldn’t help but let a wide smile spread across his own lips at the thought, turning his head to the side to suppress the urge to tackle you in a strong embrace. You remembered. “He offered to be my eyes, he offered to keep me from straying down the wrong path. I never got a chance to say yes,” you giggled, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you felt a giddy feeling inside both of your chests. “Guess he was too eager to kiss you before you could say yes?” Renjun joked, grimacing at his own childishness.

You chuckled, shrugging simply. “I guess so, I didn’t mind though. It felt exhilarating. I didn’t know how it happened but he also tore a little bit of my dress as well,” you shook your head, looking back up at the stars scattered across the sky. Oh how Renjun was using all the strength vested inside of him to keep his heart from going ‘cuckoo!’ right in front of you right now. “He might not remember me, I sent him a postcard a couple weeks ago. I never received one back. But someday, when we reunite, I’d like to thank him for the lovely book and for teaching me what love feels like.”

“Everytime I’m near his company I would always feel so safe. So happy, so loved. Genuinely happy and genuinely loved,” you sighed, closing your eyes once again as you took in the fresh air. “I’m sure he felt the same,” Renjun felt his cheeks hurting from how wide he was smiling. “Hey, can we see each other again?” he spoke after a moment of comforting silence. “Alright, when?” you opened your eyes, squinting your eyes suspiciously at him. “Noon? At the theater, I have something to tell you,” he grinned.

“Alright then, is something wrong? Why the funny face?” you chuckled, sitting up from your laying position, cocking your head to the side as you raised your eyebrow at him. “Nothing, I’m just really excited to show you this,” he shook his head, he couldn’t hide his big smile from you any longer.

Just like how he couldn’t hide his longing and love for you that he has been harboring for the past two years.

“She’s in love with me,” he said to Doyoung, who gave him a proud grin in return. “Congratulations, my dear boy! You tamed the spark in your heart,” he gave Renjun a pat on the back, who smiled sadly in response. “But there’s a problem. She’s in love with the other me, the one back in Edinburgh,” he sighed, sitting down on one of the seats in the theater. “I don’t see why this is a problem. The ‘you’ back in Edinburgh is still the same ‘you’ now!” Doyoung furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I assume so, but what am I supposed to say to her?” Renjun ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Tell her how you feel! ‘It’s me! Renjun! The boy you loved oh-so-dearly for all these years! Your first love from Edinburgh, I have travelled far and wide all over Europe to find you, my love. So now let me take your hand and let’s venture and sail for the skies! In each other’s loving embrace!’” Doyoung boomed, throwing his hand in the air to make grand gestures as he spoke, standing up in the midst of his words.

“Quite poetic, but I tried. The words are jammed at the back of my throat and I can’t let them out,” Renjun huffed, internally cursing at himself for holding himself back because of a small guilt lingering in his chest. “You’re still afraid of what might become of your heart once you fall completely, aren’t you?” Doyoung sympathized, putting a hand on his hip as he frowned upon his young friend’s unfortunate condition. “A part of me is still guilty for putting all of Madam Wendy’s efforts in vain,” Renjun laughed bitterly.

“I thought you wanted to love and to be loved back, you mustn’t be afraid!” Doyoung encouraged, using the same tone he used previously to influence all of Renjun’s previous actions with a wide toothy smile. “You’re eighteen, you deserve the love you’ve been longing for, Renjun.”

Renjun bit back a smile, shaking his head out of his insecurities as he stood up to his feet. “You’re right, I should’ve just told her who I was at the start. You have to help me come up with something.”

“Renjun? Are you here?” You called out, entering the theater bashfully. “Right here, Ms!” Naeun, Doyoung’s new friend, coaxed, waving her hand to tell you to sit on the front row, right in front of the stage. A familiar merry tune played in the background as the curtains were pulled back to reveal two puppets of what appeared to be you and a familiar little boy from Edinburgh. Doyoung came into view, clearing his throat as Naeun strummed the chords of the song you sang on the day you met your first love with a ukulele in her hand.

“It was a lovely day in Edinburgh,” Doyoung began, looking towards the puppets. “Little miss y/n who was sixteen years old was dancing around in her dainty shoes, getting her feet all in a tangle before tumbling down to the floor due to her own clumsiness,” Renjun added with a small nervous laugh, moving his own little puppet around and towards the mini puppet version of yourself. “On the day they first met, she would ask ‘what’s that odd pitter patter?’ ‘What’s making that noise?’” Naeun hummed melodiously, causing your eyes to widen with every single word that comes out of their mouths.

“It’s just the rain, do you like the rain?” Renjun asked, shooting you a short glance as if to say ‘sounds familiar?’

You furrowed your brows, lips pressed into a thin line as you silently watched the performance in front of you, taking every single last bit of information they were sharing into your head as took in the meaning of their words. “Miss Y/n adored the sound of the rain, but however, all this time she didn’t realise that the sound she came to adore came from the tick tock of Renjun’s mechanical heart,” Doyoung recited, looking down on his little card before sharing a knowing look with Renjun and Naeun upon seeing the flabbergasted expression etched on your face.

“Oh, how if he had told her where that pitter patter had come from, would she recognize him the instant they reunite? Would Renjun have to suffer the pain of travelling half across Europe to see her only to not be recognized for the little lady could not rely on her own eyes?” he added on, adding a bit of suspense as the settings on the puppet show changed slightly to the two of you sitting on top of a crescent moon side by side, sending you flashbacks to the last day you saw your first love.

“Perhaps, if he had told her, would she have believed him and sampled the magical intimacy of blending dream and reality?”

Soon, your eyes got glossy with tears. Your heart racing rapidly against your chest as you sat there in complete silence, the new information overwhelming your sentences as you watched the two puppets kissed on the crescent moon, the exact same way you were supposed to kiss two years ago. You sniffled, putting a hand up against one of your eyes to keep your tears from falling as Renjun walked up towards you and off of the stage with his hands behind his back.

The curtains closed as he gave you a boyish smile, outstretching his hand to show you the piece of fabric he accidentally tore from your dress and the postcard you had sent out almost a month ago. You gasped, delicate fingers gently grabbing the postcard to inspect it. It was indeed the postcard you had sent, it was indeed your handwriting, it was indeed the same filthy postcard you sent a month ago.

Within a few seconds, you fell unconscious as all this information was too much for you to handle.

“Oh bloody hell, we killed her!” Renjun cried out in panic, taking a step back in alarm at your sudden concussion. Doyoung and Naeun’s head shot from in between the curtains, hissing at him to not panic and carry you back to your trailer. He sucked his bottom lip as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around your knees and your back, making you lean against his chest, your head so close to his. He gulped as he walked out of the theater, nervously praying to whatever God up there is watching him to not make him drop you in the middle of the streets.

But fortunately for him, he managed to carry you back to your bed safe and sound. Laying your head on the pillow, he stood idly on the side of your bed, watching your sleeping features. You looked so content, his fingers itched to run themselves around your hair and to caress your cheeks. Oh how he longed to nuzzle his nose against yours lovingly and how he longed to press his lips against yours-

‘A single kiss. A brush against your lips could be your last! Just like that, bang!’

He grunted as his body twitched as his guardian’s words flashed through his mind like lightning and thunder, Madam Wendy’s sorrowful expression couldn’t help but make its way through his mind, causing his body to twitch once again. He took deep, staggering breaths as he palmed his heart in pain, eyes moving over to your sleeping figure before Madam Wendy appeared once again in his vision.

‘Do you know why I saved your life?’

“If you really are the boy from my time in Edinburgh, why did you wait all this time?”

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, his eyes wandered to your figure as you stared down at the piece of fabric. “What can I say? You’re an idiot, I feared you won’t recognize me considering you’ve never actually used your glasses during our small encounters,” Renjun chuckled sadly, sitting on your bed as you sat up and leaned on the headboard. “You didn’t even say goodbye, I thought you left because you were in shock of my sudden concussion on that day,” he said half-jokingly, putting a hand behind his neck.

You gave him a sad smile, caressing the postcard with your thumb. “My parents were tricked that day. They trusted the wrong person and the police got a hold of them, my mother left me outside all alone so the police wouldn’t find me and take me away too,” you explained, pulling your knees to your chest as you leaned your chin on your arms. “I remembered being so alone, so cold. That’s why I decided to flee Edinburgh, we weren’t allowed to stay for too long. Our neighbour told us they were going to get us permits but the next day… unfortunately that happened.”

Renjun’s heart ached for you, he never wanted to see you sad. Even though you weren’t supposed to be in Edinburgh in the first place, he felt slightly selfish for it. If it weren’t for the fact that your parents had moved her, maybe your parents would still be by your side to this day. However you can’t change what’s been done, the past is the past. He couldn’t do anything to make the pain of losing a parent go away that easily.

He placed a hand on yours, rubbing his thumb soothingly against your knuckles in a silent attempt to comfort you. You smiled at him, scooting closer to Renjun without hesitation. “I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t know,” Renjun spoke briefly, letting your fingers intertwine with his own tightly. He reached over to his pocket, pulling out the key to his heart and tugged your intertwined fingers together. “I can’t make the pain of losing your loved ones go away like a magician could, but the only thing I can assure you is that I’m not going anywhere and this key is the living proof of it.”

He laid the small golden key in your palm, tucking your fingers against it. “This is the key that winds me up, without it, I would be knocked out for good,” he chuckled, gazing his eyes deeply into yours. “You can wind me up, open up my heart, do whatever you want,” he shrugged, watching you scoot closer to him and mirrored the same actions as the ones he showed you on the Ghost Train. “If it hurts, don’t hesitate to tell me,” you informed him, turning the key to the right slowly.

“It doesn’t usually hurt,” he laughed lightly, eyes filled with love and adoration. He felt his heart spark up with the same comforting flame you manage to set. He found comfort in the love of his life gently caressing his fragile heart as if it was made out of the rarest jewels in existence.

He found comfort in you. You really are the key to his heart.

“There you are, you little brat!” the owner of the ghost train spat, entering the trailer quite rudely. “You there, what are you doing holding back my employee? As if he doesn’t slack off enough on the job,” she sighed exasperatedly, taking out another cig from her pocket before lighting it up. “You have ten minutes to get there, it’s almost starting,” she hissed, her tone filled with anger and malice as she made her way out of the trailer with a huff of breath.

You and Renjun shared knowing looks, giggling softly as you pulled the key out of his heart. “I think we should get going,” you said in an almost hushed tone as if you were to make a louder sound, you would break the comforting silence between the two of you. You outstretched your hand to give him back his key but Renjun shook his head at you, chuckling softly as he gently curled your fingers against the key in your palms and gently pushed your hand back towards you.

“Keep it, I insist,” he shook his head. “What? No, don’t be silly! It’s the key to your heart, Renjun. It’s yours, I can’t keep it,” you shook your head receiving the same chuckle from the boy in front of you. “No, from now on, it’s yours,” he grabbed your free hand in his, intertwining your fingers once again. “Let’s run away together,” he suggested, squeezing your hand in his as he crossed his legs together.

“Excuse me?” your eyes widened at his words. “After your show, run away with me and let’s make the world our oyster,” he gave you the widest grin he could muster, his cheeks was starting to hurt from smiling too much and for too long. He didn’t know where the sudden suggestion came from his mind but he wanted to do what he’s always dreamt of doing with you, to sail for the skies hand in hand with you by his side. (And maybe live a content life in a cottage with three cats and a whole art studio, but that can wait. After all, he’s waited this long to finally reunite with you)

“This is going to sound very cliche but where would we even go?” you giggled, finding his eagerness quite adorable considering it was a rare sight to see, even back when you were still in Edinburgh. “I don’t know, anywhere! The seas, the trees, as long as I’m with you I’m willing to make do with anywhere. As long as you say yes,” he squeezed your hand encouragingly against his, loving eyes pleading for you to say yes. And the smile you gave him was enough to give him his answer.

Renjun ran all over the amusement park with his suitcase in hand, the sound of your voice booming through the speakers as he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, happiness surging through every part of his body. He was finally living, he was no longer going to live in the same, miserable hollow shell he had been living his whole entire life. A bright smile spread across his face as he entered the theater, panting heavily.

“Well then?” Doyoung pipped up, putting his hands at his hips as Renjun gained his composure as though Renjun’s wide smile hadn’t given him the answer he was hoping for. “She loves me, the real me,” he sighed exasperatedly, putting his hands on his chest as he could hardly believe it himself. “Congratulations, my dear boy! I’m delighted for you, absolutely delighted,” he gave Renjun a hug and patted his back as if he was his own younger brother.

“We’re going to run away for the hills together after her show, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sure I wouldn’t have done this without your help,” Renjun beamed, pulling away to shake his old friend’s hand enthusiastically, his mechanical heart racing rapidly against his chest at the thought of eloping with you all over Europe. “I’m going to miss you, Renjun. Do write to me from time to time,” he gave him a nod, a proud smile etched on his face, causing Renjun to chuckle and nod. “Of course.”

As Renjun was in the middle of packing, your show had finally ended. You snuck back in your trailer to pack your own clothes, but then you saw none other than one of your fellow performers, Choi San, sitting on your desk with a small piece of paper in hand. “San? What on earth are you doing here?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you took out your suitcases from your closet. “I heard you’re going to run off with that new boy,” he grinned, chuckling slightly as he smacked the paper against your desk. “Renjun? Oh! Turns out, he was the boy I fell in love with back in Edinburgh,” you giggled, shoving random clothes into your suitcase, your makeup bags, your shoes, anything you could possibly fit into one single bag.

“I need to tell you something before you get into serious trouble,” San informed, giving you a hard expression before hopping off your desk to hand you the piece of paper. “I was doing my daily letter checking at the post office and I found this in the mail, it was from Renjun’s guardian from Edinburgh,” he sighed, crossing his arms as you opened the piece of paper to reveal a fancy handwriting underneath. “It tells you everything you need to know about Renjun.”

You squinted, pulling your glasses from your purse and putting them on. “What are you going on about here, San?” you furrowed your brows as you read through the letter. It was indeed from the ‘Madam Wendy’ Renjun would always rant to you about during your days together back in Edinburgh. “That thing he calls a heart, it’s not what you think it is. It’s a grenade, a ticking time bomb waiting to be triggered, he’s dangerous, y/n,” San informed, his hard expression turning into worry.

“I'm just glad I came here before it was too late,” he sighed in relief, looking down at his feet. “No, San, you must be mistaken. Renjun wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s absolutely harmless!” You shook your head, refusing to believe his words as you looked down at the letter. “For now, but until he loses control of his heart and therefore fails to abide by the three rules Wendy had given him on the day he was born,” San informed, his eyes narrowing at the letter.

“The three rules?” you furrowed your brows at him, watching as San’s expression grew dim with sympathy. “Everything you need to know is in that letter, I’ll give you some time to yourself,” San patted your back with a comforting smile before exiting the trailer, leaving you with the letter and your own thoughts.

“Are you trying to make me a murderer?!” you exclaimed, exiting your trailer with your fists clenched up tightly by your side. “Excuse me?” Renjun furrowed his brows in confusion, being taken aback as he took a step towards you with his suitcase in hand. “What are you even talking about?” he asked, letting the air sink back into his lungs from all the running he had to do all over the amusement park. “Madam Wendy told me everything in this letter,” you shoved the letter against his chest, watching as shock took over his features.

“Wendy sent a letter?” he gaped, his jaw dropping to the floor as he inspected what seems to be his caretaker’s handwritten letter. “She told me about the three rules, how you ran away against her wishes, everything! Were you not going to tell me these important details?” you hopped off of the first few steps of your trailer to come closer to the boy you love deeply in front of you. “Or did you forget to tell me something as serious as that?” you snapped, sadness and betrayal flossing over your eyes.

Renjun felt his heart sink into his stomach at your hurtful expression, he was so caught up in the fantasy of running away with you, he completely forgot about his fragile condition for a brief moment. “Who even are you, Renjun? I want to know who’s the man I’m falling in love with,” you gripped the hem of your dress to keep yourself from screaming at him out of pure frustration and anger, feeling your heart ready to explode at the fact that you had the potential to kill him if your relationship proceeded from this far on.

“I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if you died,” you tried hard to swallow the lump in your throat, looking down to hide your glossy eyes as you tried your best not to think of what would happen to him if you hadn’t received that letter.

Renjun froze in place, his eyes turning glossy with his own tears as he watched you speak, the words jammed at the back of his throat as he knew, deep down, there was nothing he could do to change your mind. It was far too late, he can’t do anything to change your mind anymore. “I refuse to love you, I refuse to be a murderer. That’s not my idea of love,” you shook your head at him, putting the back of your hand against your eyelids to wipe away the tears. Every word that came out of your mouth felt like a dagger into his mechanical heart. It hurt. Renjun was hurting. His heart was breaking right in front of you, and you both knew it.

“It’s selfish,” you couldn’t help but splutter out. “No, wait. You got it all wrong, y/n,” he finally spoke up, frustration filling his veins as he found the courage to speak up. “Oh, so you didn’t escape your guardian’s home without permission, thus causing her to worry about you for the past few weeks with no information whatsoever?” you snapped, putting your hands on your hips after you wiped your tears away. “Yes, but that isn’t the problem here!” he shook his head, taking a step towards you as he groaned in frustration.

“There you go! Oh, so now you’re going to disobey another rule and lose your temper?”

“It’s not like that! Just listen to me-” Renjun reached his hand out to your face before his body started twitching in pain, causing him to drop on his knees as gears and screws popped out of his heart. You gasped, watching as your lover writhe in pain on his knees, letting out pained grunts for the next fifteen seconds right in front of you. Thus, giving you a brief image of what was going to happen if you continued on.

“You’re scaring me, Renjun.”

“I’m sorry.” he breathed out, putting his hand on his knees as he ignored the steaming state of his cuckoo clock heart. Your eyes softened at his guilty figure, your hands laying limp by your sides as you let out a sad sigh. “Goodbye, Renjun.” Were your last words before you walked away from him, leaving him to deal with his own pain.

“I did the craziest things for you. My life isn’t always topsy turvy when it comes to love, but I put my life in your hands because I truly love you,” Renjun confessed, causing you to pause in your step. You inhaled deeply, not giving him a spare glance. “Yes, I agree, your actions are inhumane at this point, but count me out, Renjun,” you hissed back, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep yourself from shaking and breaking down right in front of him. “I’d prefer you to be hurt like this than dead, I can’t live with myself if I was the reason for your passing,” you sighed, looking down at your shoes briefly.

“Please just leave me alone. I’m not running away with you.”

You didn’t look back as you walked away, ignoring the sound of a distraught Renjun getting to his knees, holding his heart in pain. His eyes scrunched up in pain as he let out small grunts, trying to get to his feet back to make his way back to the theater. He collapsed back to the concrete ground as soon as he got to his feet, the ear piercing sound of his clock falling apart before him lingered in his mind as cogs and screws popped out of his makeshift heart. He wanted to scream out your name and plead for you to come back into his embrace, but he knew you wouldn’t turn back.

So he did the only thing that came into his mind in order to stop this unbearable pain. He got up to his feet, putting two hands on his clock and pulled hard, ignoring the physical pain it brought him as he tried to rip out his own heart from his chest. Letting out a scream of pain as he collapsed to the floor, pieces of wood and metal scattering across the floor and drops of blood dripping from the doors of his heart.

“Renjun!”

Doyoung and Naeun came up to Renjun as quickly as they could, holding him up as he coughed heavily. “I want to change into a new clock, I’m so tired of this one constantly falling into bits every time I feel the slightest bit of joy,” he mumbled almost monotonously, letting out another fit of coughs afterward. “Madam Wendy was right,” he added with a light painful laugh. “I suppose I have some spare parts to help you fix your clock from my camera, I’ll go get them-” Doyoung insisted but Renjun gripped on the older man’s wrist urgently.

“No, I want a new heart. I’m tired of this one. One that works. I’ll never fall in love again,” he leaned over, cupping his mouth as he coughed once again, feeling more gears pop out of his clock like a confetti from a canon. “You’re running out of time, Renjun, you must seek help immediately. Is there anything you can do to salvage what’s left of your heart until you get back to Edinburgh?” Doyoung asked, furrowing his brows. “I can’t, I gave the key to Y/n. She left me, I can’t get it back anymore,” Renjun shook his head sadly, looking down at his own blood staining his fingertips.

“That key is your life, Renjun! You took a huge risk,” Doyoung shook his head at how deeply in love the boy in front of him was. “I know,” he mumbled, his words becoming more breathy by the moment. “You must return to Edinburgh and have Wendy patch you up again, it’s the only way to save your life,” Doyoung slung an arm around his shoulder, lifting him up as Naeun helped with carrying his suitcase.

Doyoung led a heartbroken Renjun onto a carriage to the nearest train station. He insisted on coming with the young lad but Renjun wanted to face the consequences of his actions alone, he couldn’t bear to rip his friend away from the path of success he was walking into. So, with a heavy heart, Renjun rode the train back to Edinburgh with his eyes closed and his heart hurting like hell against his chest.

‘This must be the same feeling Pip went through when Estella finally broke his heart to elope with some other man she didn’t love.’ he thought bitterly to himself.

“Madam Wendy what?” your jaw dropped as San shared a new bit of information.

He leaned over, showing you the newspaper he was reading which informed you that Madam Wendy had passed in her prison cell. Apparently, she was caught for tampering with mechanics on a dangerous level with her other patients and was thrown in jail once again, but the disappearance of her adopted child had a great impact on her health, therefore she left her body in the cell she was staying in.

“Oh, no. Oh dear god, no,” you hopped out of San’s performance tent, patting your pockets and pulling out the key that belongs to Renjun’s heart. “What’s wrong?” San asked, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth as he stood up as well, worried as his brows furrowed in confusion. “Renjun gave me the key to his heart, I forgot to give it back,” you yelled back, running as quick as you could to the theater, the only place where Renjun could be at the moment.

You knocked as hard as you could, calling out the boy’s name in a panic. “Miss Y/n? What are you doing here?” Doyoung asked, opening the door as he rubbed his eyes from the lack of sleep. “Can you tell me where I can find Renjun? I still have the key to his heart,” you asked in an abrupt tone, showing the older man the key in your palms. “Nothing to worry about, Miss! He’s on his way back to Edinburgh as we speak, Doctor Wendy can patch him up in a jiffy!” Doyoung smiled.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, oh god, no. But Madam Wendy’s passed away,” you informed, clenching your fists with the key in your hand. Doyoung’s eyes widened in surprise, his face turning pale at your words. “Oh boy, that isn’t good news. Go after him, hurry! Save Renjun before it’s too late, that’s what he wants more than anything. I put him on a carriage to the nearest train station. If you’re lucky, you might catch him on the train before it departs,” Doyoung rummaged through his bag, pulling out a random journal.

“Here, take this. In case you don’t catch up to him, here’s something to read on the way. It’s a journal I kept ever since the very day I met Renjun,” he handed you the journal as Naeun called another carriage for you to ride to the train station. You sighed, your head filled with worry as you looked up at the two adults willing to help you save Renjun despite the fact that you were the main reason why he was in this mess in the first place.

“Thank you.”

Renjun laid in the snow, near the house where he used to call home. Sniffling as he leaned against the tree at the bottom of the hill. Joy and Yeri had contacted him and brought him the news of his caretaker’s passing. Sulking as guilt took over his body, regretting every single decision he had made the past few months. And now he’s going to suffer the consequences of dying all alone. He couldn’t walk into his own home after the news, choosing to lay down under the snow to let himself slowly freeze to death and possibly hypothermia.

So now, he was taking his last few breaths, enjoying the bright sky as he watched his skin froze, tears slowly turning into eyes as he laid there all heartbroken and damaged. His hair was white from the snowfall, with bits of brown peaking out in between as he sniffled and sobbed over the loss of his mother. Taking deep breaths to regain his composure, as his skin grew numb against the cold.

“Renjun! I’m here!”

It was as if the God above had decided to send an angel back to help him, he slowly looked up with half lidded eyes, a small shaky smile spreading across his lips as you fell to your knees to help him. “Renjun, oh dear god, no,” you whimpered, leaning close as you laid a hand on his jaw, making him lean his head up to look at you weakly. You grimaced at his cold skin, it felt like ice to you. It was as if he was turning into a giant ice cube right in front of you.

His appearance made your heart break. He looked so pale and broken since the last time you saw him. His eyes were red and swollen from the tears, snow gathering on his eyelashes, eyebrows, hair and clothing. Hell, he was wearing nothing but the thin coat he wore the last time you saw him. Dried blood was stuck to his cuckoo clock heart which was in a worse condition than it was back in Andalusia. You ran your thumb over his soft cheek, making him lean his face against your warm touch as you wiped the snow away from his skin. His breathing was slow, as if he was taking every breath he could before his last.

With a shaky hand, you placed what's left of his heart back into their original place, your breathing becoming shaky as you held back your tears. It truly hurt you to see Renjun in this state, you knew he was on the brink of death. You didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if you had arrived much much later.

You pulled out the key to his heart from the inner pocket of your coat, leaning forward to press the key into his heart. But alas, his hand stopped you as he gently gripped your wrist and pulled it away from him. “No, I’m not too late. I’m not letting you die here, just let me turn the key,” you shook your head, blinking back the tears as you pushed your glasses up from the bridge of your nose. “I came back to save you, please just let me do this,” you pleaded, caressing his cheek with your thumb in a futile attempt to convince the love of your life to let you save him.

“You came all the way back for me,” a tear streaked down Renjun’s cheek which froze under the cold atmosphere, sticking to his cheek. “That’s the most extraordinary turn you could ever give my heart,” he laughed slightly, half lidded eyes trying their best to stay open as his vision began to grow blurry and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was losing consciousness or if it was because of the tears he was holding back.

He tugged the key out of your hand before tossing it over the hill. “No, Renjun, what did you do?!” you panicked, your eyes growing wide at the key disappearing from your line of vision. “No, why did you do that?” you shook your head at him, pressing your body close to him as he leaned his back against the tree. “From now on, whatever happens to me,” Renjun spoke, giving you the same boyish smile he sent your way on your last day in Edinburgh two years ago. “I’ll only have myself to blame,” he sighed, intertwining your free hand with his icy cold one.

“So now you can kiss me.”

Your heart broke as you finally let your tears go, squeezing his hand tightly in yours as you sniffled. “As I said before, the things you do are absolutely inhumane,” you pushed your forehead against his, feeling your tears hit his wet clothes as you felt his other hand go to your jaw. “I’m just upset I never got to give you the painting I’d been working so hard on for all these years,” he chuckled, his eyes growing even more red as his tears streamed down his face like a leaking tap.

He caressed your jaw in his hand, eyes scanning your face one last time as he came with the fact that this was your last goodbye before he leaves for good. “If we were ever to be reborn again, I would still wish and pray for the gods to make you my first and last love,” he couldn’t help but laugh to stifle a sob that erupted from his throat. “And if we were ever to be reborn again, I hope you can always continue to smile like that until the day you close your eyes for good,” you nuzzled your forehead against his, sniffling hard.

Thus with eyes clenched shut, you and Renjun pressed your lips together in unison for a passionate yet innocent kiss. You could hear the last strike of Renjun’s ticking clock, a loud ‘cuckoo’ piercing the quiet atmosphere as Renjun pulled you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your back and leaning his head to the side for a better angle. Your warm soft lips pressed onto his cold chapped ones, wet from the snow. Your intertwined hands squeezing each other as you felt his mechanical heart put a ring on your own.

The next time Renjun opened his eyes, he was at the gates of heaven, standing in front of an actual angel with a bright expression on his face. “Huang Renjun, I assume?” the angel greeted, a soft smile spreading across their face as Renjun nodded. “You seem a bit too young to be up in heaven. Aren’t you just 18 years old?” the angel asked, pulling out a clipboard to look through Renjun’s life data. “I was almost nineteen, though,” Renjun shrugged, his wide smile never disappearing from his facial features.

“I’m so sorry you had to leave life so soon, young man,” the angel cooed, taking out a pen from their desk as they began to fill out Renjun’s form for his plans now that he’s in the afterlife. “Care to tell me what happened while I do the paperwork for you?” the angel asked, sticking their tongue out as they wrote Renjun’s life information on the glowing paper with a messy handwriting, reminding him of the postcard you had sent him less than a couple months ago.

Renjun looked around the bright place he was in, sighing heavily as he stared up the gates of heaven with a content expression. He swiped his tongue over his pink lips as he finally felt his heart no longer empty,

“I fell in love.”

a/n: i didn’t like how this turned out lmfao but oh well HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, HUANG RENJUN MWUAH

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