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typewriterghcst · 4 years

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Title: Leave Us Your Stardust Rating: G like all my other fics l m ao Characters: Natoru, babby Lune, Natori. Mentions of other characters. Words: 2730-ish Summary: The World can be quite an intimidating, tough place for a seven-year-old, particularly after the sun goes down for the first time. Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, in particular the ‘Ghosts’ prompt. Notes: This is chock full of headcanons regarding these three, particularly during Lune’s childhood, so uh. Hopefully someone else finds this interesting or amusing like I do orz I will admit I’m hesitant on Natoru’s portrayal here because I’m not sure how most people interpret her (or him, if you prefer the dub, aha). I haven’t gotten the chance to write her that often on my RP blog, so this kinda feels to me like jumping headfirst into a shallow pool

&&&

Natoru plays a lot of roles. She is at once first-line defense and confidante, exorcist and companion. She weaves wild stories and tall tales while battling and eradicating the monsters that manage to sneak out of their imaginary environments to threaten her little ward’s security. She takes care of spiders and hornets. Checks the closet for less rational pests. Peers under the bed each night to shoo out the monsters, too.

It’s because of this, she thinks to herself later once her wits finally arrive, that she ends up being very gently nudged awake by a visibly shaken charcoal-colored kitten in the middle of the night during an extended visit to a neighboring but distant kingdom (the queen’s original home, in fact, a detail that still brings Natoru no small amount of confusion).

“...Natoru..?” Lune sounds hopeful but timid.

“Ehhh.” It’s vaguely questioning, she rationalizes, if a little muffled. She hasn’t quite found the motivation to lift her face from her sleepy haze just yet.

“Can I… can I sleep in here?”

“Why do y’ wanna sleep in ‘ere..?”

Lune fidgets, plays with the edges of his sleeves. “...be… because there’s a ghost in my room.”

Oh. It takes at least a solid minute for that childish (albeit straightforward, she’ll give him that) reasoning to sink in, but once it does, Natoru realizes she’s not getting off the hook that easily. Finally resigning herself to being awake and active again, she hauls herself up from her face-down, torpid position and searches for Lune in the darkness, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.

“Should I go throw him out?”

It takes Lune some time to answer, and when he does, he stares down at his feet as he speaks. “...N-No. I’d rather just stay in here.”

“Eh? How come?”

“...b-because… um. What if… what if the ghosts here are stronger than the ones at home?”

“There are no ghosts stronger than me,” Natoru brags. What a more sweet-natured, maternal cat might have claimed only in the interest of reassuring Lune, she seems to wholly believe, and not for the first time it becomes obvious just why the kitten has taken such a shine to her.

“Really..? How do you know?”

Natoru doesn’t falter, patting her chest with one paw and planting the other on her hip.

"Because I'm the strongest," she answers matter-of-factly.

Lune, still standing at the edge of the bed she'd chosen (though now noticeably with a straighter posture than before), seems to spend some time thinking that over. Finally, hesitantly, he says, “But this isn’t home. What if the ghosts here are stronger than the ones you know? What if the dark makes them stronger?”

Natoru pauses thoughtfully, but ultimately shakes her head. “Nah. I’ve been all over, Lune. And I was born in the human world-- it gets dark there, too. Still no match for me~” She gives him a sunny smile, patently cute as it always is because of her soft, chubby face, but the undercurrent of chaos can not be denied.

What had been a gradual and noticeable decrease in his fear appears to reach a plateau; Lune is convinced, his tail and ears perking back up.

“I’m so grateful! You’re super cool, Natoru!”

“Yep,” Natoru agrees as she hops off her bed to join him on their trek back to his room.

&&&

Lune begins to trail behind her the closer to his guest room they approach, but she neglects to comment on it. Instead, she tosses the beaded curtain in the doorway aside like a particularly bothersome obstacle, and strolls inside. In stark contrast, Lune tiptoes in behind her, looking furtively from one corner of the room to the next as if he expects to be ambushed. (Well, perhaps he does.)

“Okay, Ghost, you had your fun!” Natoru starts as boldly as she can, paws on her hips. “How’s that one song go? You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here! It’s bedtime for Lune.” Then, a little quieter but just as determined, and in a smug tone that shows she absolutely relishes saying it, “And if you don’t listen, then I’m gonna kick you in the head.”

To Lune, she adds, “That’s another great song. Recommend it.”

“It’s about kicking monsters in the head..?”

“Yeah,” Natoru says with a cheerful, heedless shrug.

The two of them are met with a stifling silence afterwards, as Natoru expected, but still she waits for Lune to give his approval. Creeping out from behind her, he pads softly further into the room, one, two steps at a time, again scrutinizing the corners. In the end, he doesn’t turn directly to face her, most likely mindful of the darkened void beneath the bed behind him, but he does look back to her.

“...will you check the bed and closet too..?”

“Of course.”

&&&

It’s after he’s tucked back into his own bed that Lune asks, “It gets dark in the human world?”

“Every night.”

“How long does a night last?”

Natoru pauses there.

“...I don’t remember.” She does remember it feeling quite long sometimes, though. It doesn’t seem pertinent to tell Lune. “Time feels different in the human world.”

“How so?”

Again, she pauses, this time in thought more so than in uncharacteristic caution.

The truth is, she thinks, maybe it’s not that time feels different in the human world, but simply that she had once been different. A long time ago, before she came to the Cat Kingdom. Those memories are odd— they don’t fit like they should. She thinks sometimes it may be akin to trying to play one of Natori’s beloved records in a CD player.

“It’s different because you can tell time has passed just by looking around at the sky and the ground, but it doesn’t actually feel like time has passed. It’s disorienting.”

“The ground changes, too?”

“Yeah!” She chirps. “Sometimes it snows, or it rains. Then you get mud. That stuff’s tons of fun.”

“I’ve seen pictures of it,” Lune starts thoughtfully. “It looks messy.”

“Mm. Natori would have a fit if you discovered how fun it is, too.”

“Maybe I’ll get to play with it, too, then. Someday.”

“Probably! You’ll have your own adventures in the human world, eventually.”

“I hope so,” Lune starts. “It sounds like such a funny place.”

Whatever Natoru might have planned to say to that, no doubt to agree, to tell him of the other oddities abound in the human world, it’s lost in obscurity, as, of all cats, Natori seems to see fit to enter at that time, peeking in through the beaded doorway with a look of subdued disapproval. In some distant part of her brain, the part that’s always faintly amused at her coworker’s finicky quirks, Natoru briefly entertains the idea that perhaps he’d been supernaturally summoned by the talk of mud.

“What on earth are the two of you doing awake at this hour..?”

Natoru answers easily enough, tone blithe as ever. “Don’t look at me, Lune’s the one who dragged me out of bed ‘cause of a ghost.”

Judging from Lune’s offended expression in return, he’s not at all appreciative of his idol throwing him under the bus. Natori, also, regards her with a disapproving frown, paws settling at his hips. To herself, Natoru thinks his current countenance lines up pretty solidly with that of the quintessential, matronly governess.

“Natoru, don’t go blaming your foible on the child.”

“But he did wake me up because of a ghost,” Natoru protests.

It’s at this exchange that Lune’s indignation seems to fade, so that he appears relatively chastened, shamed. “...I’m sorry, Natori, I did wake her up for that.”

Natori seems to… deflate, almost, padding to Lune’s bedside with a sigh. “It’s nothing that warrants an apology, my prince. You’re in no trouble.” Then, while busily straightening the crocheted blanket atop the comforter, “...another ghost, then..?”

Lune’s embarrassed silence says it all, he supposes. So it appears then that Natori decides to move past it without comment in response. A phase, he tells himself, brought about by recent stressors, and one that will fade as they do.

“Well. It is quite late, and there’s an early morning ahead of us all. We should all be more rested, you know. This isn’t the night for tall tales.”

“Hey, speaking of, how come you’re awake, Natori?” Natoru starts shrewdly.

An inquiry the grey cat was clearly not prepared for, as his first response to it is to open his mouth to voice his answer… only to close it again with a light snap once he realizes either he has no suitable excuse or that that suitable excuse is tremendously weak in theory.

“...It’s not important,” he eventually settles on, formal, demure. Leaving precious little room for followup clarifications, though he must know by now that such a thing will not stop Natoru.

“Natori, have you ever been to the human world?” Lune asks.

“Yes, occasionally,” Natori replies, head canted just slightly in curiosity at where Lune’s evident investigation is going.

“Do you have a favorite thing about it?”

“A favorite thing? Well, let me think…”

After a moment, all too aware of Lune’s expectant gaze on him and doing his best to ignore Natoru’s amused, knowing stare (yes, Natoru, he realizes he’s being massively hypocritical right now), Natori seems to decide on, “I suppose I’d say it’s probably the scenery— er, the variety in it, in particular.”

Lune nods excitedly. “The variety! That intrigues me so much, Natori. I’ve seen the pictures of the forests and mountains and the oceans— they’re all so huge, Natori, aren’t they? I can’t imagine how big the human world must be to have multiple oceans in it..!”

“I do imagine it must be hard for you,” Natori agrees indulgently with a laugh. Then, a touch diffidently, “...having seen but a fraction of it myself, I must admit it’s rather difficult for me, as well, at times.” His attention wanders to Natoru, who is still lounging propped up on her paws on the end of Lune’s bed like a proper house cat. She wears a thoughtful, somewhat faraway expression, and he wonders what it is she’s thinking of. But, unobtrusive and respectful as ever, Natori doesn’t pry. Instead, he asks, “Did you shoo out the ghost, then?”

Natoru snaps out of her apparent reverie, nodding a time or two and waving her paw in disregard. “Oh, yeah, he’s toast.” And to Lune, “I scared him off, didn’t I?”

“Yup! You said you’d kick him in the head if he came back.”

Ah, that earns her another long-suffering look from Natori, though he doesn’t voice his disapproval this time. Natoru just gives him another of her patented sunny smiles.

“...Well,” Natori starts readily. “If that’s the case, I think that’s enough ill-timed chatter to last us the night. Morning will arrive before you know it, and I’ll not oblige any requests to sleep in.” Spoken while gently tugging the comforter up over Lune’s shoulders, now that the crocheted blanket has been righted.

“Can I ask one last question, Natori?”

“Yes,” Natori answers primly, somewhat absently, if his concentration on Lune’s already straightened bedcovers is anything to go by.

“It’s about the human world again.” And there Lune hesitates, at least until Natori gives another acknowledging noise. “I keep reading about... how big the human world is, and you and Natoru say it is, too. And— and all the stuff that’s in it, things you can’t see here. Do you think… I mean, because it’s so… There’s so much in it, so do you think… someone could go there, but eventually run out of things to see?”

His voice has lowered to be so soft his two companions nearly miss his question in its entirety, and it along with his insistence on keeping his gaze glued to some indeterminate spot to his side tells them both this line of questioning is not just a child’s rambling, all-encompassing curiosity. Because of this, it seems the two of them struggle for an answer for some time— one that must be reassuring and optimistic, but also can not conclusively discuss the issue. It hasn’t been named yet; it has yet to be spoken aloud to Lune, and it is not the place of the royal advisor nor their vaguely-defined assistant to do so.

Paws lingering over the plush comforter where he’s folded it over Lune’s shoulders, Natori finally replies, timidly, “...Anything is possible.”

“Sure, there’s a lot to see. But nothing beats good old home,” is Natoru’s helpful addition. “A cat’s bound to get homesick at some point.”

Lune doesn’t respond for a few long minutes, but neither Natori nor Natoru move to prompt or hurry him, even when the silence begins to feel acutely oppressive, and Natoru almost wishes a real ghost would break the tension. Eventually, however, Lune gives a very small sigh, and his attention wanders from his earlier inconsequential spot to Natori’s face. It’s not quite his more usual bright and inquisitive demeanor, but it’s at least a step away from the nervous reserve he’d been exhibiting just moments before.

“...I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes. It’s certainly a fascinating place, but it’s no Cat Kingdom. The comforts of familiarity compel all of us to look homeward at least occasionally.”

Lune seems to think that over for a moment, glancing down to the hem of the blanket covering him once (Natoru thinks he must be imagining his own bed back at home, and his colorful bedroom, eternally bathed in sunlight). This time, when he looks to the two of them, it’s with a decidedly more self-assured air.

“Okay! So I’ll stay as familiar as I possibly can!”

Natoru laughs— she can’t help it. It’s such an endearingly straightforward conclusion to come to. Natori, however… she notices the way his expression tenses, the conflicted, nervous debate he must be waging on the inside. Lune has taken away the wrong message from all this, and it should be addressed and amended, but... it’s only getting later, and Natori had entered the conversation with a chiding lecture about the late hour. He looks tired, too, Natoru notes to herself, probably a crucial trigger for his indecisiveness.

“You got it, Lune,” she decides to chime in, pushing herself up onto her haunches now. “But I think it’s time to stick a fork in this one, because I’m ready to go back to dreamland.”

Lune’s eyes light up further. “Oh! Maybe I’ll dream of the human world.”

“Maybe!”

Natori seems to just accept this abrupt left turn in the conversation in his usual yielding way, but he does see fit to add, in a soft tone that comes perhaps dangerously close to pleading, “...Lune… it’s all well and good to desire to remain... recognizable, but…”

There he dithers for some time, at a loss for what he wants to say or how to say it, most likely, as he utters numerous false starts before finally appearing to give up. Instead, lips straightening to a thin line, he fixes the kitten with a sort of wistfully helpless smile, and gives a comically uncharacteristic shrug.

“...Well. It’s late, as we’ve all pointed out. Goodnight, my prince. Now that your room has been cleared of its phantoms, please don’t dawdle on your way back to the Land of Nod. The sun will rise before you know it.”

“I won’t, Natori.”

Natori inclines his head once in wordless approval as he turns to leave, gaze also lingering meaningfully on Natoru (one she again only returns a blithe smile to), before he leaves in much the same natural way he’d first arrived. Natoru takes the opportunity to hop off Lune’s bed and dust herself off, though even her own reasoning for doing so escapes her. Lune, meanwhile, appears somewhat thoughtful, if distantly uncertain.

“Is it really so close to morning? I’m sorry for waking you, a-and for keeping you up all this time.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll let you in on a secret, actually—” Here she glances behind her to confirm that Natori has, indeed, left, before continuing in a hushed but shrewdly amused manner, “I know Natori said he wouldn’t let us sleep in, but just keep in mind that what your dad says goes, and he hasn’t seen a morning in years.”

And so it was that Natoru gained another point from the child prince to set in her ‘cool’ pile.

#the cat returns #tcr birthday bash #i'm like two months too late but g o d i finally finished one #throws confetti #i originally had a much different idea for this fic thinking emoji #it would have been quite a bit longer #and i still like the idea so i may just Give In and write a whole other fic with this same basic premise but with a different ending and #Point #lmao

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arcanawildcard · 4 years

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Maybe it's been posted before. But would love to see if you could do a jealous Ann. Doesn't matter the girl that she's jealous over Akira. Just love how you write her internal thought process in your stories. It's very much how I imagine Ann to be

taking requests here! (be prepared for a wait tho orz)

read on ao3

The girl was… cute. Ann could give her that. Maybe not model cute—(what happened to ‘just about anyone can be a model if they work hard enough’? a voice that could have been Carmen or could have been Shiho snarked in the back of her mind)—but cute.

Big brown eyes and a pert mouth to go with gyaru-bronzed skin and way too many accessories (seriously, who’d told her that was a good idea?), a high-pitched titter and too many teeth in her smile to qualify as attractive, and her thighs could really use some toning if she was going to show them off that much, but her brown hair was workable if she wanted to put work into it—

Ugh.

She sounded like Mika right now.

Not that there was anything wrong with Mika—(you have an admirable capacity for forgiveness, but there are plenty of things wrong with Mika, said a voice in the back of her head that was definitely Carmen)—but this was one way that she seriously didn’t want to emulate a sharky businesswoman with a hypercritical eye for anything and everything female in her vicinity.

But.

That titter was over something really dumb Akira had said, and that brown hair was being twirled around her finger as she batted her fake eyelashes at him and posed like a— like a—

…Posed like she like-liked him.

The girl was throwing out every signal in the book that she was interested and available, and all those signals were aimed right at Akira.

That was bound to happen at some point, right? She’d just been taking for granted that the whole school hated him (god, what a thing to take for granted; she was the worst), but he really was incredibly cute if you took the time to look past the creepy glasses shine thing, and he had a gorgeous voice when he took the time to speak up, and she’d never forget that first day when he chased her, an almost complete stranger in the middle of a breakdown, down and made her tell him what was wrong.

So now someone had realized what a hidden treasure he was, and Ann…

—Well, for definitions of realized. Did this girl really care about him, or did she just think he was hot?

Ann’s money was on the second.

(And, shamefully, that thought was a comfort. What kind of person was she to feel better about someone not loving one of her closest friends like he deserved?)

And Ann didn’t know how to deal with that. Didn’t know how to deal with one single first year gyaru making eyes at her best friend.

Ann’s best friend. Ann’s.

She didn’t even know why this was something that had to be ‘dealt with’! Akira was finally getting the recognition he should have had all along, and Ann should be—happy. Relieved. Giggly.

She should think this was cute.

It really wasn’t cute.

She felt sick to her stomach, sad and irritated for no good reason, and the girl’s titter was turning into a full-blown laugh and Akira was almost smiling and—

Ann stood up, leaving her lunch half-eaten on her desk, and left by the far door.

—|—|—|—|—

Her name was Anri. It was spelled with the same kanji as Ann’s name.

This was the first, only, and weirdest time she’d ever wanted to tell someone to change their name—and maybe switch schools or flee the country while they were at it.

It wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t fair. Anri hadn’t done a single thing wrong except smile at Akira just a little too wide, and yet whenever Ann thought about her for too long, her hands started itching for her whip, half-hating herself for hoping she was interrupting something when she texted Akira reminders about the Metaverse, praying that he’d give her something to hit.

She’d gotten too used to violence. That was the main problem here.

(It wasn’t the main problem at all. She just couldn’t manage to put a pin in what was. This irrational hatred of Akira’s new friend wasn’t doing anyone any favors, so why was it still here?)

Her dislike wasn’t even mutual. Anri was perfectly happy to nod to her in the hallways, greeting her with an easy hey there, Takamaki-senpai! each time.

Ann wished she wouldn’t. There was only so much guilt she could take here.

It was about two weeks into this that Anri failed to acknowledge her presence—something Ann would have been relieved about (if Anri didn’t notice her, then she was under no obligation to notice Anri) if Anri wasn’t blushing and grinning and she couldn’t hear Ryuji talking with someone (Akira) up the next flight of stairs.

“Told you she liked ya, dude.”

Ann froze halfway to the next stairwell.

If Akira replied, it was too quiet for her to hear, and Ryuji went on, “So? You gonna ask her out?”

She caught the fainted wisp of a neutral hum, and her stomach clenched. He had to know. He had to. She couldn’t live in suspense like this.

Dryly, lower, Ryuji added, “You know this is the closest you’re ever gonna get to dating Ann.”

…What?

Her veins turned to fire and ice and electricity all at once, stomach twisting hard—

“Ha.”

It was a humorless kind of noise, an acknowledgement of the joke, an agreement by way of not being a disagreement, and Ann wanted to charge up there and demand answers, wanted to throw something, wanted to be sick—

Just… what?

Closest he’d get to dating—

Well, it wasn’t… wrong, exactly, but why would that even come into the equation—

Closest he’s ever get to dating Ann.

Because Anri liked him and Ann… didn’t…

But Akira— why would Akira even care?

Akira… cared.

Ryuji wouldn’t have made that joke and Akira wouldn’t have responded like that if he didn’t care.

You know this is the closest you’re ever gonna get to dating Ann.

Ha.

Ann turned on her heel and headed back down the stairs. There was no way she could face him in class right now. Skipping hadn’t been on her to-do list, but it was now.

—|—|—|—|—

She was getting water at approximately 2:15 A.M. when three things abruptly occurred to her.

First: if anyone else had been in this mess and told her that they felt the way she did about it, the first thing out of her mouth would have been, oh, you’re in love with him.

Second: she’d been assuming that this thing she was feeling now was somehow fundamentally different from what it would be for anyone else.

Third: it wasn’t.

—|—|—|—|—

Going to school with that particular revelation spinning through her head was pretty wild.

How long—how long—had she been keeping her from thinking about him like that? Now that the floodgates were open, she couldn’t escape it.

All those cut-off thoughts about the shape of his mouth were completing themselves. All those banished fantasies of being in his arms were sitting implacably at the forefront of her mind. All those nights of laughing at herself for getting off thinking about him—and how she’d never let herself imagine kissing him through it—came crashing back.

She spent the entire first half of the day burying her burning face in her notes, unable to escape the knowledge that he was right behind her, just there while she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him and touching him and… doing things with him, and oh geez, this was way too awkward.

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted so much. Wanted him. Everything he could give over to her, she wanted it.

(Whatever she could give in return was his already, wasn’t it.)

Lunch came, and with it came Anri. forever decorated, forever cheerful, forever getting way too close to someone Ann hadn’t realized she wanted almost since she met him.

“He-yo,” she singsonged as she slapped her hands down on the edge of Akira’s desk. “Guess who jus’ scored two tix to the aquarium! Wan’ come with?”

The requisite beat passed while Akira thought about it, then he said, “Sounds like fun.”

Anri squealed

Ann stared blankly down at her lunch, finally, finally, finally having a name for that emotion making unhappy knots out of her gut.

Jealousy.

She was so jealous she wanted to die.

Or make something else die. Either would work.

“So Saturday’s good, right? Swee-eet!”

“Heh.”

“Hey, Takamaki-san!” Anri leaned over into Ann’s peripheral vision. “…You okay?”

Ann found it in herself to nod.

“…’Kay.” Then, much chirpier, “See you Saturday, sweetcake!”

Once she left, silence reigned for a long moment.

Surprisingly enough, it was Akira that broke it.

“…Let’s go to the roof.”

Sensing the incoming interrogation but unable to find her voice, Ann just nodded again.

—|—|—|—|—

They stood by the fence overlooking the school, Akira waiting in silence for her to start.

She had no idea how to start.

“You’re upset,” he eventually prompted.

She nodded.

“What’s wrong?”

She curled her fingers in the wire mesh and said, “Are… are you really dating her because— because she’s the closest you’ll get to… dating—” She swallowed against the tight lump in her throat. “—dating me?”

“…Ah.”

Ann waited.

“You heard that.”

“Uh-huh.” Agh, why did her voice come out so small?

“Ryuji’s an idiot.” But you didn’t disagree. “I’m not dating her.” You agreed to go out with her just the two of you, though. “You’re different people.”

…And yet.

“Mm…” Why were there tears stinging her eyes? “I don’t… want you to go out with… with a replacement for me.”

“That would be pretty awkward,” he agreed cautiously. She could feel his stare boring into the side of her head. “She’s not a replacement.”

It was close enough to a defense of Anri that tears coalesced in the corners of her eyes, and Akira inhaled a sharp breath.

“I don’t… I don’t…”

She didn’t have the first clue how to finish that sentence, but it didn’t matter; Akira took one step away from the fence, two steps towards her, pulled her close and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“…Ann?”

“I love you,” she ended up confessing to his shoulder, and Akira froze. “Really, really love you. And if you really wanna go out with her, that… would really, really suck.”

He let out a quiet, half-stunned laugh.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she said, which might be the real crux of the problem now. “I just… wanted you to know.”

“…Oh.”

The silence was back for a total of two seconds, and then Ann’s face started to burn with a vengeance, a high-pitched whine forcing its way out of her throat.

“…I can’t believe i said that,” she half whimpered, half groaned. “Who just says that? So. Embarrassing…” She buried her face into his shoulder and let out a mortified whine.

“Said… you love me,” he checked, amused and almost breathless.

That was even more embarrassing to hear repeated back to her. And why did he need to check anyway? Didn’t he believe her?

She jerked back look him in the eye and—oh geez that was so close so close so close—blurted, “W-well I do! I really do! I won’t take that back! Not ever! I-I love you!”

“You love me,” he repeated, even more amused and definitely teasing, this asshole…!

“I do!” she snapped.

Her declaration rang between them for one single second, and then something something flashed in his eyes and his lips were on hers, his glasses digging weirdly into her nose one hand coming up to cup the back of her head and—

It wasn’t anything like what she was expecting.

It didn’t taste like sugar, but it sang through her mind like it. She wasn’t seeing fireworks, but her blood was crackling like they were inside her. Everything everywhere was pressure and sultry heat and need that was sated just as fast as it grew and grew and grew.

The wire mesh dug into her back through her clothes and into her scalp through nothing, only adding into the overload of sensation as he pressed her into it with his entire body, a knee between her trembling legs and a hand crumpling her thin jacket as it roamed up her side, and if she was going to turn into an electrified puddle on the spot, then no one could blame her.

For all that she was trying not to make too much noise, he seemed to be having a similar problem—subsonic groans and tight sighs making her knees even weaker, the perfect counterpoint to the little gasps she couldn’t restrain and the clicky noises of tongues and lips and mouths.

It was deep and wet and hot and even Akira looked kind of stunned when they drew apart.

“Eep!”

That… had not come from either of them.

Ann glanced over Akira’s shoulder and found Anri standing at the door to the stairwell with a very strange expression on her face.

“A-A-Akira-senpai! I, ah, one o’ my friends said ya could be found on the roof, an’ um! Hey, let’s jus’ f-forget about the aquarium, yeah?” Her voice cracked pathetically on the last word, and she abruptly turned on her heel. “Y-yeah.”

“…Yeah,” Akira echoed dumbly, glazed out and confused.

Anri slammed the door behind her so hard it rattled on its hinges.

Ann felt distinctly less guilty that she should have.

He slowly turned to look at her, befuddled frown deepening at her squirmy grin. “You look happy.”

She giggled sheepishly. She did feel a little guilty—just not enough, you know? “That means you’re just mine, right?”

She could feel the response through his whole body, he was still so close, his every muscle relaxing a little.

“Always,” he promised fervently, then kissed her before she could finish beaming over it.

—|—|—|—|—

It was a pretty satisfying long while before they discovered that Anri had locked the door on them.

#anon #shuann #akirann #renann #ann takamaki #takamaki ann #akira kurusu #kurusu akira #ren amamiya #amamiya ren #persona 5 #p5

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hyakunana · 5 years

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Day 7: Free Day!

Did I ever mention about a fic draft I had since October? Because about that... 8)

Kisses

Summary: The first was an accident, the second an experiment, the third a challenge, and he kept track of all of them.

Words: 2345

Notes:

Special thanks to @nemirutami for editing this fic! <3

I wanted to post it on ao3 too, but I don’t have an account and my email is on queue to get an invitation, so I’ll be late there. orz

I hope you like it!

Their first kiss was an accident.

Tuesday was supposed to be just another afternoon exploring Mementos. It had become routine already, no big threats, a lot of bumps, a few treasure chests, some requests to fulfill, shadows blocking their way… just another day.

Until a badly executed curve abruptly threw everyone to one side of the car. And the two guys in the backseat just happened to be facing each other in that one instant.

It had almost gone by unnoticed, since the girls were too busy complaining about the driver and Mona to mind them. But for some cursed reason, their minds decided to register the very moment their lips clashed.

It was too fast to process any taste, too light because their masks were in the way - and it hurt -, but the mortified expression from the punk was printed in the painter’s memory, and that touch alone would disturb the both of them for the following nights to come.

Their second kiss was an experiment.

What happens in Hawaii stays in Hawaii. Or so they say.

It was with that thought that the blond invited his eccentric friend for a walk around the city. No one they knew was around. Everybody seemed too excited to make the last day on beach count, since it was unlikely for another chance like this one to appear.

Perhaps the fact that the boys were so different and distant, yet managed to become teammates and friends, was what allowed them to trust each other enough to conceal their doubts and curiosity.

That wouldn’t be their first time together.

The kiss was chaste, but now, deliberated. Their moist lips pressed lightly against the other, chilly on their flushed skin and warm breaths. Gawky fingers mindlessly brushed against tender palms, looking for some small ounce of support. It only took a second, but the turmoil they had been feeling inside was dissolved, like butterflies fluttering away.

They promised to not talk about it again and forget what happened. But the smile the vulgar boy had on his lips proved impossible to ignore.

That promise was doomed to be broken.

Their third kiss was a challenge.

It was like a silent, secretive game the two teens were playing, and the reward was the jolts of satisfaction whenever they exchanged affection without anyone else noticing. Every glance was a calling for the other, each time the troublemaker bit his lower lip, he meant “wait a minute, I’m coming.”, and in reply, the taller brushed his dark hair behind the ear, “I am waiting.”.

They stood next to each other more frequently, and the closer they got, the more they teased. A hand hovered on the other, a leg leaned against another under the table, shoulders nudged for attention, wishing for some contact, and small murmurs were exchanged in whispers.

It happened in Mementos again - a moment of distraction when the group found a locked treasure chest - when Skull tugged Fox’s sleeve and took a chance. It was as fast as they expected it to be; more like a face clumsily pushing against another as quickly as possible, and it wasn’t enough to cease their desires.

But it was something Ryuji was proud of stealing.

* Their fourth kiss was an answer.

The two friends could keep pretending they didn’t know the meaning behind their caressing exchanges, feeding their needs with small hidden touches and excuses to stay close, fooling themselves that what they did was nothing more than curiosity and self-satisfaction. It was a fun game for them, and a somewhat comfortable one.

But they would never learn how it felt to have more than that.

Instead, Yusuke found himself holding Ryuji’s hand, leaning against the diner’s narrow corridor wall as they watched a sudden storm strike down right when they were about to leave.

They still agreed on keeping their exchanges a secret from others to avoid unnecessary attention, but when a cold wind blew into the corridor, the idea of being discreet escaped their minds. The athlete instinctively jumped in front of him, using his free arm to block the rain. Drops of water ran down Ryuji’s trembling chin as he laughed and looked up at his boyfriend to close the distance, humming.

“Not the ideal first date, huh?”

* Their seventh kiss was a step forward.

They hadn’t been alone like that since the diner, and the safety of Ryuji’s home gave them the freedom to experiment to their heart's content. It was just a matter of time until little teases and caresses became more intimate. They took it slow, letting lips meet again, relaxing as their touches became more familiar, and tasting the flavor of the beverages they both had just minutes ago. Warm tea coated lips brushed softly against cool coke coated ones, pecking them a few times while Yusuke’s slender fingers stroked the blond’s face, and then slipped behind his head to pull him closer and kiss him even deeper.

Soon, lips weren’t enough, and they pulled each other into embraces and new stirring touches. Naughty hands slid down their bodies, exploring the other’s skin and tracing muscles, provoking gasps and more kisses. Noses and teeth got in the way, and the teens laughed when it happened. But they kept going, and they got better.

Their kiss couldn’t go on forever though. At some point, both had to pull back to catch their breath. It was only then that Ryuji realized the current situation: He was lying on the couch, with Yusuke straddling on his lap. The mangas they were reading before were scattered on the floor, the sketchbook that was carefully placed on the couch’s arm got kicked away…

and he heard his mother arriving home.

“Ah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to stare.” Haru squeaked when she caught their twelfth kiss.

Maybe they really should stop trying their luck, now that the group got bigger. Just maybe.

At least she kept it secret from the rest.

As if the others had never noticed it.

Their twenty-sixth kiss was a lull.

Yusuke sensed distress in his partner. He was even louder than usual. He tapped his foot and shrugged more often, he leaned against his chair so much he almost fell down twice, he read the same manga page three times over before proceeding, he made up excuses to just touch his boyfriend even more even if his hands were sweating cold.

He kissed Ryuji to shut him up, caressing his cheek to calm him down, and held his hand to give him some reassurance. It took a while to feel the torment inside the other slowly subside, his tense lips finally relaxing and his face tilting against Yusuke’s soft palm. When their lips parted, he gently leaned on the shorter’s forehead to confess one thing.

“I’m scared as well.”

Their thirty-seventh kiss was eager.

Tomorrow was the big day. Their target had been called out publicly, thus there was no turning back - not that they’d ever do it. However, as much as they prepared for it, no confidence could calm down their anxiety.

They could feel it in every touch, how rough hands quivered, grabbing the other fiercely to steady them, how Yusuke wrapped tight his arms and legs around the toned body, seeking safety, how Ryuji swore more often and louder under his breath, and how he instantly relaxed after humming his lover’s name.

The smell of the rainy breeze mixed with their steamy puffs, and the drops hitting the window didn’t match the sound of hearts drumming in their chests. Desirous lips smacked ferociously, getting side tracked to trail smooches across the jaw and neck to recover some air.

Their presence gave them some peace of mind, but restlessness only became stronger.

At some point, Yusuke broke the kiss again for another breath, and took this moment to gaze at Ryuji, admiring the way the dim light from the city illuminated his partner - he wanted to memorize everything, his short messy hair, the glossy brown eyes, the red spots on his neck down to collarbone, his flushed smile, and how his lips moved to form the phrase the artist heard for the first time.

“I love you, Yusuke.”

Their thirty-ninth kiss tasted like salt and fear.

Yusuke could feel his teammates around, shouting worried and powerless. One voice called out Ryuji’s stupidity and recklessness. A quiet mumble regretted the decision of going this far, another yelled in frustration, blaming and cursing their target, while someone else called an emergency. He also could feel a hand stroking his back, an attempt to soothe his mind, in vain.

The painter couldn’t focus on anything except his lover’s unconscious body. Faltering arms enveloped and carefully pulled Ryuji closer, nesting the blond head on his chest, and hoping for this to be just some cognition or a bad taste prank. He pecked his forehead, cheeks, lips, ear, whispered comfort, love words, asking to wake up and not abandon him, that they all needed him, anything to get some reaction.

But there was nothing.

On the following days, their kisses tasted like paper and memories.

The last kiss was followed by a goodbye.

It was a simple, fast, but tender touch, enough to recall all the sensations that it brought back. The taste of his skin, the breath against his cheek, the smacking sound of their lips parting, the soft squeeze in his hand, the butterflies fluttering in his stomach…

Yusuke missed it. He missed it so much, he missed him too much. The thought of losing someone again was too dreadful, and no one could guess the kind of damage his mind had suffered, or if it left any brain damage.

But Ryuji was here, looking up with the most loving gaze and his always cheerful smile. A vision the painter wished to witness forever. “See you tomorrow, babe.”

And for now, that was all that mattered.

“Is this for me…?” Ryuji held his present with a care, something that was rare coming from him.

“Yes. I want you to have it.” Yusuke explained, gently. “It’s not much. Most of them are quick sketches, but I drew them thinking of you.”

“What do you mean ‘not much’!? You filled the whole notebook!!”

“Not entirely. I ripped out the pages I was unsatisfied with.”

“Oh, so there was MORE!?”

The punk flushed as he leafed through the sketchbook, noticing that all of them were indeed scribbled. He could see himself clearly in some pages, smiling, posing or fighting, and recognize places they’d visited together before. Leblanc, the Diner, Okiburo, his house, even Mementos appeared a couple of times. A few of them depicted only hands touching in different ways, others depicted… things, like a curious sketch of a cup of tea and a glass of coke.

As much as he loved Yusuke, understanding his artistic views was a challenge. Still, even in the most confusing sketches, he could sense some familiarity, as if they were tickling his memories and making him giggle. Perhaps it was just the fact the artist mentioned before that those sketches were all done thinking of him.

Another page made him stop and burst into laughter.

“Hahahaha!!! What!? Damn! Is this Haru!? Why is she here!? Did she see it!?”

“Yes, she did.” The companion chuckled, amused by his reaction. “I drew this on the day she caught us. You could say it’s a small token of appreciation for not calling us out.”

“Hahaha! Yeah, true. That’s a good one, thou-” a sudden realization crossed his mind. “Wait a minute. These sketches… did you draw all of these since we started dating…?”

“I believe even before that.” Yusuke rubbed his shoulder, averting his eyes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you since our first incident in Mementos. It was bothersome.” He didn’t hear his boyfriend wowing, offended. “So I began to draw it to relieve my mind, and I found myself enjoying picturing you. You have an energy and passion that I wanted to replicate in my art, and a distinct beauty that is… hard to see at first glance. But once I opened my eyes and accepted it, I was captivated. In no time, I had fallen for you.”

The bedridden lost his words, cheeks flushing even redder than before, and soon he was laughing again. They had been dating for just a few months, but the way the painter’s thoughts were spoken was so charming and honest that it always struck him by surprise.

Ryuji flipped back to the first page again, this time, imagining a flustered Yusuke sketching it, probably fighting against his own heart rather than the shadows, and creating that chaotic first piece. Yes, that was definitely Mementos. Is that a skull silhouette?

“T-That’s effin’ cheesy, man!”

“You don’t like it…?”

“I loved it!! Hahahahahahaha!!”

In a certain way, the troublemaker related with those feelings. He remembered how disturbing those nights after the Mementos incident were, when his dreams only recalled that kiss and reimagined how it could be if they kept going. The more he tried to avoid thinking about it, the worse his dreams became. Little did his past self know how far they would go, and how happy they were because of it.

His laugh slowly fades, and brown eyes rest on his lover again, contemplating the present. His body didn’t have a notion of how long he slept, but it felt like an eternity.

“You know… Thanks…” the blond offered his hand to Yusuke, who gently took it so he could place a kiss on his knuckles. “Anyway, I’m guessin’ you got a fresh new sketchbook, now that you’re givin’ me this?”

“You guessed right. I just bought it before coming here.”

Ryuji brushed Yusuke's hair back behind his ear, hands caressing his face on their way down his cheek. A cheeky grin was drawn on his pale, pink lips.

“So… Do you wanna start fillin’ it in now?”

#persona 5 #ryuji sakamoto #yusuke kitagawa #ryukita #ryukitaweek2019 #p5 #persona #fanart #fanfic #warning: super cheesy bullshit fhodsifhos #also it has been months and i still piss myself on 'is a step forward' fjgsids #ok now that im on tags and only the chosen ones will actually read them #I. AM. RLY. NOT. USED. ON. WRITING. SO I RLY RLY RLY HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT BC I HAVE ZERO CONFIDENCE FDOGJDO #i prefer making comics than fics bc im terrible doing descriptions #so i prefer drawing them than all the effort of writing lmao #the reason this one became a fic is exactly bc i had this idea that i couldn't just translate into a comic #it's not one well constructed scene but a bunch of not detailed ones in a timeline that crossed my mind

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shachaai · 5 years

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[Fic] A River to Cross and No Boat to Get Me There

Pairings/Characters: America /& f!England Rating: Teen Summary: Brussels, Belgium, July 2018. Over drinks, England and America (do not) talk politics. Really.

Notes: Written for @aph-fanficchallenges’ Shipping & Platonic Week 2019, Day 1: Old-Fashioned. It’s late. orz The way I write these two always feels like it straddles a line somewhere between platonic and strangely romantic/sexual, and I think you can choose to read this as either shippy or not - either way, there’s a kind of (resigned, exasperated) love there. Also on AO3.

July, 2018 A bar in Haren, City of Brussels, in the Kingdom of Belgium

The bar is all suits and badges, but, as long as a guy knows what he’s looking for, the woman sitting nursing her drink at the bar - smart, dark grey skirt suit, name and face on her badge hidden by being tucked away behind the lapel of her blazer - stands out from the other people in the room.

She’s the only Nation in the room.

Well, she’s the only Nation in the room until America sidles in, quite proud of himself for his tracking abilities in an urban landscape without the use of spy satellites. He takes himself to the bar beside his quarry and leans over its polished top to nab the bartender’s attention, body angled towards his colleague.

“An Old-Fashioned for me, sir, and -” he begins, and eyes up the drink in front of his companion: a tumbler about a third full of booze and ice, deep brown with shimmering tones of gold - someone is hitting the spirits early (earlier than him) -, “another one for the lady too, I think?”

The bartender gives him a look and America is just about to repeat his order, a bit more clearly this time, when England sighs beside him, looking up from her one-woman stare-off with her drink and repeats his request for him. In French. (America assumes it’s French. There’s a L’Old-Fashioned in there anyway, rolling off England’s tongue in the way it never does in front of France, and a rather pointed s'il vous plaît.)

The bartender nods and gets to it, leaving England to give America her trademarked suspicious look. She’s foregone pretty hairclips today so has to sweep back some of the side-fall of her sharp bob to glower at him effectively, and that sort of effort usually means business.

“This place isn’t your usual. Why are you following me?”

Blunt.

“Everyone else was busy,” says America, and tries a charming smile that hopes England won’t point out how unlikely it is that all of the Nations involved in NATO apart from England and America have found something else to do with their lunchtimes. There’s always at least one Nation at loose ends for another to pounce upon.

England’s frown deepens and her eyebrows arch for the sky, so America lets his smile drop. There’s no real point lying, though the waste of his acting talents does make him pout. (In another life, Hollywood would be just eating this up. Begging for his time.)

“Alright , I came seeking refuge in audacity?”

“I’m audacity?” England asks, sounding undecided on whether she should be offended by that or not, only to swing her legs round hastily when America goes to pull out the barstool beside her and stomp down an unladylike heel on the foot rest, preventing its movement. “Oh - no, no, no, no, no, Jones. I think you’re a blithering idiot at the moment as well.”

“Oh, come on. ” America protests, and gives the barstool another halfhearted yank. (Not a serious yank, because if he did that he might break England’s ankle, and England and the British and Washington all of the rest of NATO would eviscerate him about him with their tongues and Russia would be a smug asshole about it again, and God, England would never let him forget it if he broke her leg. Ever. ) “I’m buying you a drink!”

“Caveat emptor,” says England snippily, and doesn’t let up on the barstool. Whoever said the English were civil, gracious and polite? “I came here for some peace and quiet, for a change.”

“Yeah, well, I came to join the club.”

America had figured England had someplace to go when she’d pretended she’d not noticed the way France was deliberately ignoring her and swanned out of the NATO headquarters like she had better things to do. Without talking to any of her own people either. It usually meant England was taking herself directly to the nearest source of both dimness and decent alcohol so she could bitch-text whoever wasn’t at the latest conference with her about how much she hated everything.

A drink and getting away from everyone glaring daggers into his back or offering gentle ‘suggestions’ about his boss had sounded pretty great to America, so he’d followed her. There isn’t enough time allotted for lunch for England to get totally wasted (something the world and certainly America must be very grateful for), but some mild inebriation for the both of them would probably make the afternoon’s meetings a lot easier to get through.

America toes one of the barstool’s feet, letting the dull thud shake up through England’s heel. “We can’t be social pariahs together?”

England still looks suspicious. “Alone, together?”

“With alcohol,” says America, right as the bartender slides their drinks over to them. The guy might hate English, but he has pretty good timing, so America digs out one of what he thinks is one of the more high-value pieces of rainbow paper most of Europe calls money out of his wallet and tells him to keep the change.

England huffs at him, but she withdraws her heel so America can finally pull the barstool out to sit, distracting herself by fishing the maraschino cherry out of her Old-Fashioned to pop it between her lips. “I swear: if you try to talk shop with me right now, I’ll stab you somewhere unpleasant.”

“Didn’t know there was somewhere pleasant to stab a guy,” America comments as he finally takes a seat, holding up both hands in the universal gesture for whoa there when England grins a grin that looks entirely too mean for an elaboration to be anything America wants to hear about in public. “I’ll take your word for it; I don’t wanna know!”

“Where did your spirit of adventure disappear to?” England teases him, and finishes her first drink in one long swallow before reaching out to her new cocktail.

America picks up his own, gesturing in the vague but not explicit of England beside him as his fingers slide in the condensation on the glass, “There’s adventure, and there’s…”

“Where angels fear to tread?” America takes a swallow of his Old-Fashioned so he doesn’t have to answer, the bitters heavy on his tongue under the whiskey burn, and England snorts at him. Flicks back her hair again, but thankfully doesn’t reach out to pat his cheek. “It’s been a long time since you were a cherub, darling.”

America squints at her, because he might have to recalculate just how quickly England can get herself shitfaced when the mood strikes. (He really needs to clean his glasses.) “How many drinks have you had? ”

“Not enough,” sighs England, which is a feeling America can definitely empathise with. At least as long as England isn’t sliding sideways off her barstool. “I keep hoping the alcohol will drown out all their squabbling.”

“S’it working?”

“Like fuck is it.” England toasts him idly, takes a sip of her drink, and then grumbles, “And you don’t help.”

“Thanks,” says America with the same amount of cheer. Maybe he can drown himself in whiskey.

“I’ve my own shit to deal with without my people harping on about your shit,” England continues unnecessarily, because America, of course, could not have possibly heard any of this same spiel from any of the other Nations or their people gathered in Brussels that day already. “If your tit of a boss could just not do what he did in Canada and leave one thing unfucked for the rest of us, that’d be smashing.”

“That’s the plan,” America sighs - and then hurries on before England can harangue him further, “but what’s your strategy?”

The element of surprise works - for once - in his favour, and England is distracted. “Hm?”

“For winning over Europe,” America clarifies - and then pauses with his glass against his mouth, sweet cherry bobbing against his lower lip, realising something. “Is that why you’re wearing a new suit?”

He’d thought England’s skirt suit had been smart: it’s all crisp lines with a nipped waist, dark grey herringbone blazer against the stiff white collar of her blouse, but the straight skirt is definitely showing off a lot of her legs.

America has heard far too many people compliment England’s legs in front of him over the years, and he groans at the mental images. “It is, ain’t it?”

England has the decency to blush - or at least allow all the booze she’s imbibed so far to do it on her behalf. The colour bleeds down her throat, and America groans again into his Old-Fashioned, taking a large swig from his tumbler and tucking the cherry into his cheek. “I -”

“I don’t wanna know,” America gripes, and hopes the whiskey will burn his revelation out of his head. Europe.

Still pink, England coughs, and takes another sip from her own cocktail. For a few moments, they have quiet.

“...Probably for the best,” England admits quietly, eventually, and then shifts enough over on her stool so she can nudge her knee up against America’s. “Thanks for the drink.”

The 2018 NATO summit was held in Brussels, Belgium, July 11-12. It took place in the (new) NATO headquarters found there, in a complex in Haren (part of the City of Brussels municipality). I don’t know if there are any good bars nearby the complex, but you’d think there would be with all the demand there must be.

The 44th G7 summit was held in La Malbaie, Quebec, Canada, in June 2018 - obviously, before the NATO summit. It received a lot of attention internationally because of (as others have more tactfully put it) ‘a significant decline of relations of members with the United States’, and was dubbed G6+1 by France and parts of the media as a result. The US withdrew in what seemed like a huff from several important international agreements, and was widely condemned by international politicians, climate change scientists, trade policy experts, foreign policy experts… etc. The US President left the summit early in order to travel to Singapore for the USA’s first summit with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, and was dubbed ‘the democratic world’s worst nightmare’ - all of which, of course, led to a rather fraught political atmosphere for all nations going to the NATO summit the following month.

...Do I really need to make a note about Brexit?

All the titles for this ‘verse come from poetry/literature created around the time the fic is set. This one is taken from a few lines from the poem Running, by Joy Harjo, which was published in July 2018 in The New Yorker: Now I have to find my way, when there’s a river to cross and no Boat to get me there, when there appears to be no home at all.

#s&pweek2019 #Shacha fic #usuk #nyotalia #fem!England #Arthur Kirkland #Alfred F. Jones #hetalia

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sweetcatmintea · 5 years

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A Stranger’s Stress

Flash fiction Friday! :D Remember way back when I said A Stranger’s Kindness was a stand alone? And then went and made a bunch of discount continuations? We’re at it again folks! I hope you enjoy another day with the stranger and the kid (and aren’t getting sick of them yet <u<;;)! Feedback is appreciated ^u^

Thanks again for organising and hosting @cawolters!

Prompt: We Are Not Alone

Words: 1499 orz

Previous parts: 1, 2, 3

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Sometimes you have a bad day. Just a heaping pile of unwanted events. You get up, three new rejection letters. You boil the kettle and the milk’s gone bad even though you know you only bought it last week. Your awful bitter coffee spills down your shirt – your favourite, naturally – after you trip over a toy that you specifically remember having asked the night before that it be put away. There’s a notice that the rates are going up again and now the window’s broken thanks to a bored kid losing control of a ball. Thoughts nag at you that the kid should be in school or something. You know this but you don’t know it it’s safe yet and you haven’t worked out a cover for why you have a kid who, for some reason, has missed a lot of class time. No pressure but if you botch up, it’s yours and the kid’s necks on the chopping block but how are you supposed to be able to work that out and maintain your late grandmother’s cottage and look after Sudden Child and find a job and those rejection letters aren’t going to read themselves and that takes time. You know, just your run of the mill stuff. It might just be me. It seems unlikely that these experiences are universally shared. Although, I am sure that a lot of people have been in a similar situation as me now, kneeling over broken glass, duct taping it out of the carpet. I guess you can say I’ve been a little … tense lately.

The kid’s settled in well. His nightmares haven’t been so bad since we put up those stars. He’s really taken to gardening as well which, I’ll never admit out loud, is somewhat touching. We haven’t heard anything from his folks or the police. It should be singing and smooth sailing, but I feel paranoid. Like disaster is looming over us while we carry on, oblivious. There’s no way it was that easy. It’s in every story. The instant the villains..? heroes..? Characters, breath a sigh of relief, crunch! Beartrap. I’m serious about schooling as well. I’ve got to sort it out, I want to, bit damn if it’s not nauseating to think he might be recognised.

“I’m really sorry.” He’s not as whistley now his front teeth have grown back in. Unfortunate buck teeth until the rest of him catches up. He’s been hovering – figuratively, those wings are still too small to be more than decoration yet – the entire time I’ve been cleaning. Of course I’m not letting a seven year old pick up glass. How stupid do you think I am?

“I know. It’s fine.” I think I’ve got all the pieces. Another tape canvas to be sure.

“I tried to stop it, but it was too fast.” His fingers worry the fraying hem of his shirt. I’ll have to get him new clothes again soon. More money.

“Look kid, accidents happen. It sucks that the window broke, but no one was hurt. That’s what matters. Now you know to be more careful next time. You can help me put the new panes in when I get them. Fair?”

He nods eagerly, brightening despite my frank tone. At least he’s gotten used to that.

I get up, bones creaking in protest. I feel old. Tired. It was lucky I didn’t break my ankle on that damn toy. Kid follows me to the kitchen. Might as well get a start on lunch. Paper catches my eye when I get the bread from the pantry. The calendar month is wrong already. Where has all the time gone?

“Could you fix the calendar?” Probably better to get that sorted before I forget again.

“Yep!” He’s as zealous as ever. Why do kids love doing all those little mundane things? Y’know, pushing crossing buttons, taking tickets from the deli dispenser, pulling sticky note sheets off, that sort of thing. Weird little goblins.

“Guess what!”

“What?”

“It’s my birthday month!” He thrashes his tail, nearly sending the trashcan flying in his excitement.

Already? I don’t let my hands slow. One small act of keeping it together. My mind races on. Stars above. The window wasn’t enough? I have to get him something, obviously, kids deserve birthday presents. And a cake. Would he want a party? How am I supposed to facilitate a party of one?? I’ll run out of money soon. I thought this would be a whole ‘new leaf’ situation. But if I keep getting rejections, I’m going to have to start stealing again. At least it’ll get those guys off my back. What about giving the kid a decent role model? I can’t give him much, but I thought I could do that for him. If I go back to my expertise and get caught, that’s it. All anyone will hear is that some crazed thief kidnapped a little boy. He’ll get shoved straight back into their hands no questions. A pat on the back to his rescuers and I rot. I can’t let that happen. I’m trapped. I’ve never been trapped before. Not like this.

He’s still waiting for a response. The enthusiasm draining from him the longer I delay.

“You… You’re not cancelling my birthday, right? I’m really, reaalllyyy sorry about the window..”

“ENOUGH ABOUT THE DAMN WINDOW!” I regret it immediately. He cowers, stumbling over apologies.

A second to breath.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” This time, I do stop. Giving him my full attention, crouching to look him in the eye. “I’m not mad about the window. I told you, it’s fine. I was… feeling stressed and snapped. It was wrong for me to take out my feelings on you. Can you forgive me?”

He pauses. This is not something he’s gotten used to. I wonder how many time’s he’s been given an apology. He considers my words, then nods.

“I forgive you.”

“Thank you.” I finish up the sandwiches. “What do you want for your birthday?”

“Um!” Another pause. Faux thought. He already knows what he wants. “Can we go fishing? I’ve always wanted to try!”

“Fishing?” That wasn’t what I expected.

“Yeah! You know, on a boat, catching fish with strings! You’ve got a boat, right?”

“What? Why do you think I have a boat?”

“Well, you do live near the water and, you know, you kinda have lots of things that maybe you shouldn’t have…” Not wanting to commit to the accusation, he trailed off, twiddling his thumbs.

“Do you think I’ve stolen a boat?”

“Mayybee…”

“Do you know how hard that would be? You can’t just decide to acquire a boat for the fun of it. You have to sell those things.”

“Is that a no..?”

I sigh. I don’t fish but it is his birthday. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises but I’ll try.”

“Really!?” Stars, his eyes shone. “Thank you!” He launched a hug at me. Kids.

“Okay. That’s enough. Take your lunch and off with you. Go do whatever it is gremlins do. I’ve got a call to make.”

He gave a final squeeze before running off, giggling. I flip open my phone, plugging in the one person who may be able to help. She answers on the third ring.

“Hey Grace, it’s me.”

Quiet laughter. “I know who you are dummy. Caller ID.”

“Right. Uh, you remember Grandpa’s old boat?”

“The one Gran left me? Yeah. Hard to forget when I can see it now.”

“How would you feel about going fishing with me and someone?”

“You hate fishing.” There’s a note of accusation in her voice. I hope this is the right decision.

“I do. It’s cruel and unnecessary. But that’s a rant for another day. See, there’s this kid…”

“What kid? Why do you know a kid?” She doesn’t leave room for an answer, barrelling on. “Wait! I swear to god, if you tell me you stole a kid –“

“First of all, there are a lot of unfair accusations going around today. Second, I’m deeply offended that you think the only way I’d know a kid is through dishonest means. Third, you’re right, I did.”

“What the actual – actually, never mind. Two minutes then I’m calling the cops.

“The long and short, he’s Tainted and his parents were pretty much torturing him. I’m trying to help him, I swear.”

Grace was silent for a long moment. We’ve had our differences. Bridges a patchwork of scorches and repairs. I don’t know how she will respond but I hope she can at least sympathise. She was always the one to bring home injured animals when we were young. If she wants to cut ties after this, that’s fair. As long as she doesn’t rat me out, it’ll be okay. Finally, she sighs.

“That sounds like the sort of dumb thing you would do. Alright. What can I do to help?”

I guess we aren’t as alone as I thought.

----------

Tag list

@cawolters, @inkovert, @snobbysnekboi, @kainablue, and @i-rove-rock-n-roll

----------

Sorry if this one isn’t at my usual quality. My brain’s kinda fried today :T Hopefully things’ll be running smoothly again next week ^u^

#writing #Flash Fiction Friday #fff21 #my story #original story #short story #slice of life #writblr #A Stranger's collection

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makeste · 5 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 164: Life or Death Battle

Previously on BnHA: The internship kids returned to the dorms and were greeted by their worried pals. Iida hemmed and hawed. Momo made some tea. Satou shoved an entire cake into Deku’s mouth. Ochako realized she wanted to save people in addition to earning money to ease her parents’ poverty. Sero and Kirishima showered Kirishima with affectionate concern. Bakugou quietly chilled on the couch pretending not to be worried. Kaminari slid over and called him “Kacchan” like the homeboy he is. It was all amazing. The next morning, Bakugou and Todoroki headed off to their provisional license course. All Might and Present Mic showed up to chaperone them, and we learned from All Might that Kurogiri was indeed captured by Gran Torino and Naomasa, but Giganto escaped after dealing some heavy damage. The group arrived at the training course location, and everyone’s windy fave Yoarashi greeted them along with Camie (the real one!) and fucking Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (Seiji). Also Endeavor was there to watch. And he’s going to have a private chat with All Might. Should be lots of fun, this.

Today on BnHA: Our best boys Bakugou, Shouto and Inasa (and Camie) begin the day’s training course. Endeavor cheers Shouto on from the stands and everyone is like “...” but then they notice All Might sitting next to him and they’re like “OH FUCK YEAH, ALL MIGHT.” Gang Orca walks out onto the floor, compares all of the kids to fish feces, and fucking yeets my three faves across the room. He then informs them that they lack heart, and thus he is assigning them a special trial. Enter a group of about 25 screaming elementary schoolers, plus their harried teacher who is constantly on the verge of tears. Baku, Shouto, Camie and Inasa are told that they’ll be in charge of them, and that to pass this test they’ll need to cooperate and move the children’s hearts. This is, of course, a recipe for perfect chaos, and to make things even more entertaining, Mic decides to do play-by-play commentary. Meanwhile, a surprisingly subdued Endeavor asks All Might exactly what it means to be “the Symbol of Peace.”

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 187 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

looks like the kids have changed into their hero costumes and are trudging towards wherever the course will be taking place

aww Inasa is aggressively trying to be friends

LIGHTEN UP GRUMPY GRUMP

also I’m kind of with Inasa on this one. sorry Shouto. I’ve only had cold soba noodles like once but I wasn’t that big a fan. but udon is the shit though

Shouto apparently feels very strongly about this

I honestly can’t tell if he’s just really particular about his food, or if he feels like Inasa is trying to sneak up a metaphor on him and he’s like NOPE, NOT HAPPENING. THIS ZARU SOBA IS NOT GIVING UDON THE TIME OF DAY

oh my god Inasa is literally saying “WE’RE GONNA BECOME BEST BUDS WHETHER YOU LIKE OR NOT”

did you hear that Shouto. WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT

that means it’s happening. because like. look at him. this big fluffy airbending teddy bear is not going to not let it happen

meanwhile Bakugou is watching and being creeped out. by their attempts at friendship? or something else?

MERAAAAAAAA

I’ve been having a bit of an insomniac phase myself. so I feel ya bro

also they’re in this gym that, surprisingly, actually looks like a normal gym?? although there’s a bunch of playground equipment in one corner which is odd

Mera says that so far they’ve been doing the training course with the ten of them, but today there will be an eleventh person joining them

so is that Camie then?

meanwhile All Might and Mic are entering the spectator area and looking for someplace to sit

Mic wants to sit near the front to see better, but All Might doesn’t want to stand out

well he is pretty famous. and not to mention that Endeavor’s still right there as well and I don’t know if they’ve had their chat yet orz

oh jesus

yep. wouldn’t want to distract anyone. definitely not looking to do that, nope

starting to see why Shouto was angsting so much over that text

so Endeavor is actually screaming encouragement at him, but in his obnoxious Endeavor way

I feel like. he’s actually trying. oddly enough. but he’s just. so terrible. in so many ways

oh snap I forgot all about this

yep. the guy that wouldn’t autograph your book and subsequently changed the course of your life by causing you to withdraw your application from U.A.

oh shit now All Might’s getting recognized too

I hope they cheer the fuck out of All Might and it’s like, who even fucking cares about Endeavor

hee

that’s Bakugou’s dad, you know. ever since chapter 120. and Deku’s dad too, obviously. Shouto he can be your dad too if you want. plenty of All Might to go around, and it’s not like your old man is doing such a bang up job

Shouto is literally saying “hmph” and even Bakugou is staring at him like “what’s this guy’s problem”

Mera’s telling everyone to calm down and pay attention to him again lol

and now real!Camie is properly introducing herself

ahhhh

so that’s the cover story Shiketsu came up with? or is that a story they’re telling the other kids? or does Camie herself genuinely believe this and no one actually knows she was briefly abducted and replaced by Toga?

and um. just to make sure. this is the real Camie though... right?

she’s acting differently enough that I think it is

Seiji is sitting with a Shiketsu teacher in the stands and they’re discussing it!

he says she’s “a complete and utter fool” and the teacher is gently correcting him and saying she’s “just bubbly”

so they did figure it out!

Seiji seems to actually be beating himself up for not realizing that she’d been replaced

(ETA: yeah, so rereading this, I’m getting some definite shipping pings from them now. Seiji’s clearly guilt-stricken about what happened to her, and clearly worried about her still. he didn’t attend any of the previous training sessions, based on Bakugou’s reaction, but he came along to this one now solely because Camie was going. he’s not going to let anything happen to her again. Seiji is, in fact, just a big ol’ softie you guys.)

the teacher is saying they need to make up for the absence of the Symbol of Peace immediately

I guess with this being the first time Shiketsu has been targeted, they’re finally realizing how serious this is too. U.A.’s been mixed up in this for a while, so they already know

heyyyyyy!

LOOK WHO’S BACK

he’s talking some shit about them, oooh

I assume he’s purposely trying to rile them up for whatever reason. probably because at least several of them are only here in the first place because of their poor anger management

everyone is instantly sobering up

lol Seiji

lmao

wow Gang is really laying it into them

ben·thos /’benTHäs/ (noun): the flora and fauna found on the bottom, or in the bottom sediments, of a sea, lake, or other body of water

did you just call my son a sea sponge. did you just compare them to fish poop

...

his feet

he just. flung him

is it weird that I really want to make this into an icon

...

is the whole rest of the chapter going to be like this

THERE IS NO RIGHT ANSWER HUH

this is now my favorite chapter in the history of time. also this is one instance where I’m already sure it’s impossible for the manga to be outdone by the anime. because how could it be. visually this is flawless

oh wait? is that it? just those three? no one else needs extra guidance?

so they’ve already singled out these three in particular as being the ones with the most potential, huh. sorry, Rest of the Kids

he’s chewing out Bakugou for his behavior toward the rescuees, and the other two for their whole starting-a-ridiculous-fight-in-the-middle-of-a-disaster-rescue-scenario

he says the thing they lack most is “heart”, and that they can’t expect to be heroes without it

“do you think that everyone will willingly grasp your hand when you offer it to them?!” oooh I like that. basically these idiots need to learn to be more approachable

“survive this life or death battle” lol oh shit

based on the tone of this chapter so far, I can’t help but wonder if this is going to end up being something comedically tame after all of this dramatic buildup

oh my god. suddenly I’m thinking back to that playground equipment. don’t tell me...

OH MY GOD

TODDLERS

holy shit. I count at least 24 of these tykes. and it looks like at least some of them have already manifested their quirks too oh shit

oh my god

Katsuki please don’t murder the small muppet child. I believe in you. babysit the shit out of these brats. you can do it

why do I suddenly have the feeling that maybe the elementary school just needed a substitute really last-minute and so this somehow ended up happening

now the big bird kid who called the grenades lame is running away crying

Bakugou is being chewed out by the other children and desperately trying to do some crisis management that consists of yelling at the kid to “STOP CRYING DAMMIT”

who the fuck is this

does Monoma have a younger brother we don’t know about

meanwhile three other children have cornered Shouto and are grabbing something on his utility belt and shouting “IT’S A PEEPEE” repeatedly

on the plus side, I can already sense Endeavor’s fight or flight instincts kicking in, and with any luck he’ll be out of there before we even get started

Shouto is patiently explaining that the thing on his belt is not, in fact, a peepee

this approach is not really working out for him

meanwhile still more children have surrounded Inasa and are just. punching him. for absolutely no reason

but Inasa is just taking it, and looking up at Endeavor and thinking “I won’t become like him.” awww

and yet this is not really working out either

you know, I wouldn’t have expected this to be the case, but so far Bakugou is actually managing the best here

Camie’s there too, and she’s asking if she’s supposed to be part of this training as well and what’s up with that

Gang says she’s a special case since she didn’t participate in the real test

she’s exasperated, but says that she likes kids anyway so whatever

and there’s a panel that we’re just going to skip riiiiight on past, thank you very much

suffice to say, the female kindergartners are now ganging up on Camie out of jealousy that their popular male classmate appears to like her

also, forget what I said before about Bakugou faring the best so far

little Billy, that is not a toy. please put down the grenade

these kids make flashback!baby!Kacchan look like a perfect little angel. at least he was cute

Gang somehow has faith in them though

you guys. if Kacchan somehow manages to bond with a bunch of snot-nosed little brats and become their mama I will lose my shit. please please please

(ETA: arguably this is exactly what happened. what a fine arc)

the rest of the class is meanwhile being shuttled along to have some boring lecture

lol Bakugou is despairing loudly

THIS IS THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT YOU NEED, BUSTER. YOU SIT THERE AND YOU TAKE IT

and seriously though, wasn’t he always the leader of his little pack of brats even as a child? can’t he just somehow tap into that little brat energy and take command of this group of kids as well? he does have a weird sort of charisma, and always has. and he’s shown patience and leadership in the past at unexpected times. I really think he can do this if he just puts his mind to it

All Might, Mic, and Endeav are sitting in the spectator section in silence

Endeav and Mic are dotting up a storm lmao

oh my

ARE YOU GOING TO PROVIDE COMMENTARY

-- HE IS OMG

he says an event without commentary has no soul

brother I’m right there with ya. why do you think I even do this. we should go get kicked out of a movie theater together

All Might’s asking if they really need “soul”, and FUCKING DUH THEY DO, ALL MIGHT

oh shit he’s commandeered Mera’s microphone

I can’t believe this man is the fucking U.A. traitor. maybe. admittedly seeming less likely by the minute

anyways, now that Mic is gone, All Might is figuring he might as well get this awkward conversation over with

he says that he doesn’t really know what to say to Endeavor in his current state

Endeav is asking if All Might’s aware that over the past month the crime rate has risen by three percent

hmm. someone sucks at his current job of being number one, huh

oh no

is Endeavor

having character development

...

motherfuc...

shit

okay look. one, dude is basically a rapist, albeit in a manner that’s just barely society-approved. two, he beat his wife and child. and three, he then had his wife committed when she had a breakdown and never bothered to do anything to try to help her (and also, you know, he’s the one who caused said breakdown in the first place)

so just a reminder. that Endeavor. not a nice guy

...but. it’s a story. and if a character actually shows a desire and willingness to try and change... well. I’m not necessarily just going to dismiss it out of hand

but this motherfucker needs to show some remorse, though. otherwise, fuck that

so whatever, Endeavor. let’s see. I have a feeling this is going to be a long, arduous process, and it might not even pan out. but it’s interesting, at the very least. and so in that sense, I’m here for it. hell, I welcome it. after all, we sure as hell didn’t get too much complex character development in the previous arc, Nighteye aside. so this... this is good

BONUS:

lmaoooooo @ “likes beer” oh god. no salary in the world would ever be enough to compensate teachers for everything that they do and all the shit they have to put up with

the fact that she’s a newbie is apparent just at a glance. give her a year or two under her belt and I bet you anything her personality completely changes. teaching is basically baptism by fire. but she will eventually learn to improvise, adapt, and overcome. and she’ll probably be a lot more drunk too lmao

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shirolovesu · 5 years

Note

(shiro x male delinquent-marine bio s/o) should also add that s/o admits to shiro that he also had a little crush on him back in high school, and the two decide to go forth in a relationship now. again, sorry if this is too much. orz

• Shiro was always a little rowdy in high school, a bit of a rule bender, but even he was in awe of how rebellious you could be

• maybe he secretly envied you a bit -- he didn’t dare act out too much for fear of jeopardizing his Garrison scholarship, but boy did he want to be as wild and reckless as you

• ofc you noticed him too; who wouldn’t? but you always thought he was kind of sweet, being a goody-two-shoes so he wouldn’t get in trouble

• also you saw the way his eyes lingered on your offbeat clothes, the graffiti you painted on the schoolyard walls, the way you weren’t afraid to sass the teachers when they were being prudish

• so maybe you pushed yourself just a little bit farther each time, seeing how much you could get away with, just so you could impress him and see his smile directed at you once in a while

----

• you meet Shiro again in college, purely by chance

• you and he are in the same gen-ed class together; even after a couple of years apart, you were able to recognize him at first glance

• Shiro is suitably impressed that you are studying marine biology -- it’s a difficult field to get into and he respects your dedication

• also he’s glad you didn’t vanish after high school, buy a motorcycle and drive away into the sunset

• there’s not a lot of free time between classes and studying and internships, but you and Shiro make time to hang out and get to know each other better

• Shiro’s still the golden boy that you knew in high school, but as you become better friends you get a glimpse under the facade and realize he’s got a rebel heart too -- that’s why his wanderlust is so strong, his need to push the boundaries of civilization and go far beyond the reach of any laws or rules

• but your futures lie in different directions -- his upward and away, your down and close to the earth. so you decide to take a risk and make the most of the brief time that your paths have crossed

• you’re hanging out with him one night when it feels like a timer has gone off in your head, and you feel like it’s now or never. “I really like you,” you blurt, before you can come to your senses and stop. “I’ve liked you for a while, ever since high school.”

there’s silence and you’re not sure what to say. your imaginary script didn’t cover this part.

“wow,” Shiro says. his tone of voice gives away nothing. your heart hits the floor.

“just... wow,” he says again. “I, um.” he laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “I never thought you’d say that. you always seemed like the type to never fall in love.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“I figured I was gonna have to be the one to confess,” Shiro says. he looks you in the eyes. “thanks for having the courage to speak up.”

“so... you’re not upset?”

“not at all! I like you too.”

you breathe a sigh of relief and relax into the couch. “I don’t know how this is going to work,” you say, already beginning to second guess yourself.

“it’s worth a try.” Shiro leans toward you and nudges your arm. “sure, we started out almost opposites, but if our mutual crushes have lasted this long, then we might as well take a shot at the real thing.”

your eyebrows shoot up. the real thing? “you mean... a relationship?”

“If you feel up to it.”

“yes! definitely!”

“all right then, glad that’s settled. does this mean I can sit closer to you now?”

you smile and scoot toward him. soon, you’re sitting hip to hip with your high school crush, eating cheetos and watching a documentary on the migration habits of killer whales. it’s not the kind of scene you ever would have imagined yourself being in, four years ago, but right now there’s nowhere you’d rather be.

#shiro x reader #shiro x oc #voltron imagines #shiro imagines #m reader

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @everchanginginks!

AN: My very first Sterek fic and my first published proper fanfic in like four years! Very exciting. This is a Sterek Secret Santa 2k18 gift for the incomparable everchanginginks, so I hope I have done everything she could ever want in this.

Within: Fluff, There Was Only One Bed, friends to lovers, and magic!Stiles, which is 4/5 of the prompts I was given! If I had 10k to work with I could have encompassed the fifth of enemies to lovers, but we do what we can. I'm already WELL OVER the 5k limit I am so sorry SSS it just happened like that orz

Read on AO3

******

Wędrowiec

Hey -SS

What -DH

What’s your address. The loft. -SS

Why do you need it -DH

Well I can’t just ask the postal service “hey what zip code are Derek Hale’s eyebrows” -SS

I mean I could but it wouldn’t get me anywhere -SS

Why do you need it -DH

I’m going to be in Michigan for Christmas so I can’t be there on the 25th to give you your present so I wanted to send it to you, if you must know -SS

You don’t have to get me anything -DH

Well you embarrassed me by getting me a way-too-nice present last year so yeah I actually kind of do. We have spending limits for a reason!!!!!!!!!!!!! -SS

That wasn’t a Christmas gift, and your laptop was nearing meltdown. We need you technologically capable to keep the packs safe and up to date. It was a necessity. It just happened to be around Christmas -DH

My Christmas gift was within the spending limits. That was the laptop case. -DH

Why are you going to Michigan? -DH

My mom’s family wants to see us again, apparently they’ve gotten over the spat happened between my uncles and my dad and they want us all together -SS

Really I think it’s because they figure it’s my grandfather’s last Christmas so they want us to pretend that everything’s fine for his sake -SS

I’m sorry to hear that -DH

Oh I don’t really give a fuck it’s just free food and free gossip about my cousins as far as I’m concerned -SS

I’ll just be bored to tears because they don’t have any fuckin technology. Just a frozen ass lake and a frozen ass town in a frozen ass state. How do they survive in a house with NO WIFI?!??!?!! -SS

Guess you’ll just have to die, then -DH

The typing indicator went up for a few seconds before a full half a minute’s pause, then Derek’s ringtone played as Stiles was now calling him. It was Derek’s preferred method of communication anyway, tone was completely lacking over text and he kind of needed some sort of cue to figure out what people meant.

“That was a fffucking meme you’re so full of shit when you pretend not to know what I’m talking about!!!” Stiles was trying to sound some form of mad, but there was way too much of a smile in his voice. “So full of shit. Fuck you.” Stiles’ verbiage towards Derek had gotten crasser and somehow even more confrontational since he’d gone off to college, but paradoxically more affectionate.

“Mhmm.” Derek didn’t give him much to go off of, but figured that Stiles had something else to talk about with him rather than just to whine about his alleged meme knowledge. Honestly, he’d just heard Isaac say it once and it garnered a positive reaction from others, so he filed it away for later use.

That wasn’t exactly what Stiles was hoping for, but he wasn’t going to let something as trivial as Derek’s resistance to banter stop him from talking. “So what are your plans for Christmas?” He still hadn’t gotten that address out of him, but if Derek had plans to be somewhere, he wanted to find out what.

“Nothing.”

Stiles stopped in his pace around his room, “Wait, nothing? What about Cora ‘n Erica ‘n Boyd ‘n Isaac ‘n Scott?” he listed off the people Derek was close enough to be around without too much annoyance in either direction.

“Cora’s down in Peru with her old pack, she’s pretty excited for their plans there, and it didn’t come with an invite, I figured I’d let her be. It’s…” He trailed off, grateful that Stiles held his tongue so he could find his words. “We’re siblings, but those six years of thinking the other dead and her pack being hundreds of miles away, we’re just not that close. I’ll call her on Christmas and I’ve sent her a couple things, it’s enough. Boyd and Erica are visiting Boyd’s grandmother in South Carolina, since his mom got a nice Christmas bonus in her paycheck.”

“Christmas bonus, huh.” Stiles’ tone was completely not buying the story.

“Christmas bonus.” Derek reaffirmed, not addressing Stiles’ suspicions in the least. It’s not that he was wrong, but Boyd was the hardest to convince to accept his financial support, so he had to resort to more sneaky measures to help him out. “And Scott and Isaac are with Ms. McCall.”

“Which also didn’t come with an invite.” Stiles filled the blank for him. It prickled at him that everyone just forgot Derek, even the ones staying in the area. “Hell, man, if I knew you got fucked over like that I’d have stayed, screw the free food ‘n everything, but we already said we’d go. I could have made you watch all of the Christmas movies that you missed out on living under a rock. And my famous hot chocolate.”

“Your famous hot chocolate, which is powdered hot chocolate mix made with whole milk, a Lindt truffle at the bottom, and a half a can of whipped cream?”

Stiles glared at the phone like the screen had personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entirety of the Power Rangers all in one sentence. “Who told you.”

Derek was smiling despite the topic being how alone he was on the holiday. “Lydia warned me of the sugarbomb.”

“Traitor.” Stiles had an idea in his head. “Hey…..I’m gonna be bored as hell over in Michigan, and it won’t be much fun without technology, you wanna come with? You can convince them that I actually have friends and you won’t be listening to the pipes clanging in that loft all by yourself.”

“I couldn’t impose on-“

“Fuck that, they’re my family and they barely like me anyway, they’ll love you and that way I’ll at least have someone I can talk to aside from my dad, who’ll probably be bickering with my uncles, and my grandfather, who mostly speaks Polish and is about as social as a wombat.”

Derek squinted at the simile. He had to ask, even if it was stupid. “How social are wombats, exactly?”

“Hell if I know.”

Derek thought for a moment. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to at least have somewhere to go instead of staring at empty walls. “Check with them if they’re alright with you bringing someone you want to kill half the time, and if they say yes, I’ll pay my way and get a hotel.”

“No, no no, you’re staying in the house. They have a pretty big house, they got it decades and decades ago and it’s right on the lake, it’s really nice. I haven’t been there since I was…” Stiles counted on his fingers for a few seconds before giving up and ballparking it. “…Like twelve but yeah. I’ll tell ‘em I’m bringing a friend, I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. Should be grateful my fine ass will even be showing up at all.”

Derek rolled his eyes only part of the way. “See what they say, but don’t push. I won’t die if I’m on my own for Christmas.”

“Yeah but I might if I’m bored for too long out there.”

“I guess harassing me is entertainment.” He could concede that as Stiles’ motivation, it was easier than accepting a invitation offered out of guilt to bother his family by intruding on their Christmas

“Ever since I trespassed on your property, it’s been my favorite pastime.”

“Talk to you later, Stiles.” Derek wanted the conversation over before Stiles got too wrapped up in the parley and didn’t start asking, which was a basic courtesy before bringing someone they didn’t even know all the way there to stay in their house and eat their food and intrude on their family Christmas. He didn’t have high hopes, but even just the offer was enough to make him feel a little less alone.

*~*

Stiles was still blinking in shock at being awake at the ungodly hour that he was awake at, sitting in San Francisco Airport, when his father put a coffee in his hand. John was making something that was as close to small talk as Derek could get as they waited for the plane at the gate. How the both of them could stand to be so conscious before 7am was beyond him. How dare they. Didn’t they know that 5:55 am was a fake time of day and that being awoken at 3 in the morning was tantamount to a Geneva convention violation?!?

“Nhghhhgngh.” Stiles mumbled in response, shaking hands lifting the cup to his face and putting all of his faith in muscle memory to navigate the rest of it. It worked well enough, liquid went down the right tube and not down his shirt.

“C’mon, get that down so you can cram Dramamine in your face and when you wake up we’ll be in O’Hare.” John’s tone of voice was surprisingly warm and sincere despite a sentence which could easily be condescending. Maybe it was the whole Christmas spirit getting through to him, or maybe it was that Stiles was way too groggy to backsass him at this hour of the day and he was enjoying it as much as he could.

They got Stiles upright enough to get him on the plane and negotiated seating, Derek wanted on the aisle for easy escape from a compacted tube full of a ton of people and noise and smells and recycled air, which John couldn’t fault him for, and given that Stiles was going to be unconscious shortly, it was better he was on the window, so Stiles was next to Derek on the two seat side and John across the aisle from them.

Derek figured Stiles would just curl up on the window and fall asleep and he could read on his tablet in peace, so it was a mild surprise that Stiles, buckled in and half gone already, leaned on his shoulder and nuzzled in, breathing steadied and as comfortable as anything.

John leaned over to check on his son, and though wildly perplexed, he leaned back and decided that as long as Derek wasn’t strangling his kid for touching him, it was fine by him.

*~*

The arrival to Gerald Ford Airport in Michigan was, to say the least, a wakeup call for the youngest of the trio’d travelers.

“Jesus fucking Christ, oh my god, why is it so cold?” He asked as the pilot announced that the temperature in Grand Rapids was a balmy twenty-five with flurries all day. Barbaric.

“Stiles, you know it’s gonna be like, ten degrees and windstorms in Michigan the whole week, right?” Derek’s eyebrow rose at the double hoodies and vest Stiles was sporting, that Stiles had not taken out anything warmer from his luggage. That wouldn’t be nearly enough for wind straight from Canada’s frozen wastelands. Derek had done his research into where he’d be heading before packing his luggage, you know, like an adult.

“This is what I got!” Stiles shrugged, a California native that did his schooling in D.C. and Virginia, where neither place got REAL snow on the regular.

“Well, as it turns out, I expected as much.” Derek pulled out his carry-on duffle and extracted three coats, one light brown, one navy, and one black. He handed the brown to John in the middle of their row, and the navy across to Stiles. “Figured you guys wouldn’t have remembered how cold it gets in real northern places.” He said as he shrugged the black coat on himself, a slave to aesthetics.

“Hell, Derek, you didn’t have to…“ John did have a halfway warm enough coat, it wasn’t- oh, it was actually pretty nice. “How much was this?” He’d be really weirded out if Derek was dropping stacks on him and his son, he was already confused at the gift of a laptop the previous year, it’s not like he couldn’t afford a laptop for his son. He couldn’t have afforded the one Derek got him, but he didn’t want to be upstaged in taking care of Stiles. The other kids could take advantage of Derek’s money all they wanted, but the Stilinskis had pride. They didn’t accept charity from rich boy werewolves.

“Not nearly enough for either of you to worry about it.” Derek said, sliding his sunglasses on and leaning back, not interested in carrying on the conversation any longer.

John, unable to turn down the gift but weirded out by Derek both anticipating this need at all, actually going to the trouble to getting these, and sacrificing space in his carry on to bring them on the plane all for this specific scene along with buying him gifts, pulled it on all the same. What a fucking drama queen. “Thanks, Derek.”

Stiles had rolled his eyes at yet another extravagant present from Derek that was way too much to accept but he was trapped by it, since he did desperately need it and couldn’t say no. Well, he’d saved Derek from being the saddest bastard in all of California on Christmas, so maybe this was recompense. “It’s not like I can’t warm myself up.” He grumbled. Heat spells were elementary on the roster of the things any spark worth his salt would know. And Stiles was the saltiest of all.

“Yeah, Stiles, go ahead and slightly set yourself on fire through the whole week.” Derek’s deadpan delivery could easily be mistaken for sincerity, which did well enough to disguise the fact that he was actually really impressed that Stiles had been getting far enough with his magic to do some interesting and sometimes even useful things. “You’ll be our Yule Log. Very seasonal self-immolation.”

John expected Stiles to look pissed at that level of smack-talk, but Stiles looked oddly gratified by the response, like getting Derek to make fun of him was his goal all along.

“Such a good alpha provider, takes such good care of us. Thaaaank you Dereeeek.”

There might have been just a twitch of a smile at the corner of Derek’s mouth, but it could have just been a trick of the lights as cabin prepared for landing.

*~*

Stiles was giving Derek a rundown of the family members he’d have to keep straight while there, cousins and uncles and aunts and people that were peripheral to the family but close enough to be considered part of the group, the bits and pieces of them that he’d pulled together. He hadn’t seen them in a decade, so much of what he knew was informed by Facebook posts and a few Instagram bits that let him know who was who and look at least a little less like he didn’t remember jack shit about his cousins. Which he did, just they were also around 8-14 so it’s been a while, alright? Some of ‘em had gone to college, some of ‘em got jobs, hell, one of ‘em was married with a kid. Wild.

“Shortlist of the important family to know: Nelia, grandpa’s wife. My grandmother died a few years after my mom, but Nelia’s a pretty nice woman, she’s got a really thick accent so if you don’t understand what she’s saying you can ask one of us to translate, we all speak Polish to some degree.”

“I don’t.” John added, at the driver’s seat of the rented car. Derek would rent a car in town, they figured that arriving together would be easier, and then no one was alone for the ride from the airport to the family house.

“Well, Dad doesn’t, but there you go, you and him can be awkward together when we talk shit about you guys, it’ll be great.” Stiles was in the passenger seat, texting people at lightning speed about how this was going to be the most hilarious week of his life and it was all because Derek was going to have to be exposed to a TRADITIONAL FAMILY CHRISTMAS. Did you pack Benadryl? -ER

Why? -SS

For when he breaks out in hives from people expressing genuine emotion around him -ER

“Then there’s Grandpa, I call him the Polish term for it, Dziadek, you’re probably best off with Mr. Gajos. I think I’ve heard a grand total of ten words out of him my whole life, so you don’t have to worry much about him.”

Derek’s eyes were fixed on something in the distance, and casually added, “He’s who you’re named after, right?”

Stiles went stiff and turned around to look at Derek. “Who told you.” Much less humorous than the previous inquisition about the hot chocolate, he seemed properly displeased about it.

Derek only mildly smiled and made no other answer. Stiles made an aggravated noise but wasn’t going to try and interrogate Derek. He continued his familial explanation but sounded much more irritated at everyone in it. “Then there are my cousins, there are a bunch and some new ones I’ve never met, but you pretty much only have to know Nika, who’s two years older than me. She’s the only one that sort of kept in touch and therefore the only one I care about. The uncles are …well you don’t care, and I bet they won’t mess with you much. Now, the whole drama with them, Dad, if you wanna take the lead on explaining why we haven’t talked to ‘em in over a decade.”

John gave Stiles a meaningful glance, but didn’t explain it. “Well, after Claudia died, I had a hard time of it for a while. They thought that I should have handled her, and Stiles, differently than I did.” Derek realized the glance was begging Stiles not to ask John to air his most closely guarded shames right in front of Derek, who signed up for a little getaway and not to hear all their most private secrets.

“They were firm believers that ADHD was cured by beatings and were annoyed that I was a bit of a holy terror.” Stiles translated.

John grimaced a little. “They wanted to take Stiles in, raise him properly. I admit I wasn’t perfect. They weren’t right to say it, but I understand why they did.”

Derek could connect the dots laid out before him. They saw John as a useless drunk and Stiles as a neglected brat and thought they could do better. “So now you’re talking again?” He asked, desperate to save John from further agonies.

“Enough that they didn’t threaten to play family politics chess and try to make Stiles’ grandparents chose which children they liked better this year.”

“We did alright on our own.” Stiles declared with a defiant smile, clearly not about to entertain the notion of understanding their position whatsoever.

It was hard for Derek to wrap his head around a family fracturing so easily like that, Hale lines ran so deep that even someone as gone as Peter could find his way back in Derek’s heart if he worked for it. To cut someone off so cleanly on either side was alien to him. But it wasn’t his family, and frankly none of his business anyway.

*~*

They stood outside of a surprisingly expansive house on the edge of Silver Lake on the western side of the Michigan mitten, the gray sky above their heads threatening to dump yet more snow on them as they waited for someone to reach the door. Derek could hear a collection of heartbeats and voices within. Two of them old, one arrhythmic. A couple more adults, a few younger voices, a decent family gathering. There was apple, rum, cinnamon, nutmeg in the air, someone made mulled cider. It was only the 22nd, this was just a small contingent perhaps, or at least not held to the same importance as Christmas Eve.

The door opened, and a short, stout woman with steel curls and a smile that felt like home stood in the doorway to welcome them. “Mieczyslaaaw!“ She reached forward and pulled him down to kiss both of his cheeks and hug him tightly. She hadn’t seen him since they all attended the funeral of their grandmother. As a longtime family friend in the area, it was an easy transition for the family to absorb Nelia in the fold. “Oh, my sweet child. Look at you, how you’ve grown. My love.” She ushered him inside to embrace John as well, but paused a little in surprise when she saw Derek. “Nelia, this is my friend Derek.” Stiles said, looking almost proud to bring home such a fine friend to his step-grandmother. Almost as if he was proving to everyone that he wasn’t a complete social pariah, that he had people who liked him enough to come all the way out to Michigan with him. Nelia looked surprised at the man before her, but to her credit recovered quickly, holding a hand out for him to shake. “So nice to meet you, Derek. Please, come in.” For all of Stiles’ warning of an accent, it really wasn’t that bad. Clearly not her first language, but perfectly understandable. Though Derek had taught himself Polish when you are very rich you have a fair bit of time on your hands, he knew that he could only tell Stiles that he could speak it once, and he was saving that card for later. Unless Nelia was struggling on something, he’d keep his fluency to himself. She pulled him in with a hand on his shoulder as well, closing the door to the cold.

The house was warm and alive, a strong furnace and people comfortable staying there. Derek was able to pick up on more than the others and could hear a side conversation between two men.

“Your other grandson and John are here.” An adult man, a husky voice, probably a smoker, speaking quietly in a distant room. There were footsteps coming towards the Stilinskis and Derek at the door, but the voice stayed put. Whoever was talking wasn’t moving a muscle to meet them.

“Good! Good. I want to see them. It’s been too long.” The responding voice was hoarse, stilted slightly, and far older. It almost reminded Derek of Vito Corleone, a man assured of his position as patriarch.Who wouldn’t have his opinion questioned.

"It’s a disgrace.”

"I have tolerated the insult of your war against them long enough. Silence.” An authoritative end to a conversation, before a creak of wheels coming toward them.

Stiles was going through family, stiff handshakes with the assorted uncles, trying to communicate through grip and direct eye contact that he knew precisely what they said about him and his dad, and that given the opportunity, he’d fight them. He then had to give hugs of varying sincerity with the cousins. The ones he knew from his childhood he could embrace with genuine emotion, the ones he’d never met was more of an uncomfortable formality, performed for the sake of appearances. Once finished, he saw his grandfather for the first time in years. It was a lance through his heart to see the once tall man reduced to a withered shadow in a wheelchair. “Hi Dziadek.” He said, bending down to put an arm around him.

“Oh, Mischief.” The older man put shaking hands around Stiles’ face. “You look so much like Claudia.”

Stiles nodded sadly as his grandfather patted his face and let him return to full height again. Mentions of his mother didn’t hurt as much as they used to, but he didn’t remember her face as much as the others did, it seemed. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see a ghost looking out like the others could.

Derek was awkwardly explaining who he was to some people there who also seemed confused, when the cousin he saw Nelia talking to earlier took his arm. “Derek, we were under the impression when Stiles said he was bringing a friend that you’d be a girlfriend.” She finally explained outright.

Derek blinked a few times and was grateful for all the years of keeping a straight face under pressure to now not give any sign of a reaction. He put his thoughts into a response after a moment’s recovery. “That does explain why Nelia was confused. I’m just a friend who didn’t have plans for Christmas and Stiles offered. If it’s a problem at all I could absolutely stay some-“

“Oh, no, staying here is fine.” The girl saved him from talking. “I’m Nika, by the way.” She fixed him with an odd look that he’d seen sometimes in Stiles, a sort of curious, searching look that a raptor might give while wondering if something was prey or a toy. “Just that originally, when you were a girlfriend, you’d have been staying in my room and Stiles was with my brother. But that’s clearly not going to be a thing. So you and my brother will be switching, so you’re with Stiles and my brother’s with me. He had to go move his stuff. You and Stiles should come up and see the room, I think we have some things to discuss.”

She was tossing around so many red flags in Derek’s head she could be a one person color guard. He didn’t know what the hell she was, but there was something very very very wrong with this whole situation. He might not have an intuitive evil detector like Stiles’ spidey sense, but he had a healthy dose of paranoia, and it was telling him that there was all kinds of trouble about to occur. Maybe she was going to ritually sacrifice them up there. Maybe this was the Polish Get Out. Wyjść. It was a little catchy.

The adults had started passing around drinks and returned to their original conversations, and Nika made some excuse about room arrangements and putting luggage up to drag Stiles away from the grandparents glad to be reunited with their prodigal grandson.

Stiles peeled away from them and caught the Am I Going To Be Flayed Alive look in Derek’s big green stupidly pretty eyes and almost laughed. “Relax, Ice Man, you’re fine.” He clapped him on the shoulder as they went outside to get the suitcases from the car. “It’s Nika. She’s my absolute fave cousin, and if something happened to her or she meant any kind of ill will, I’d know. Trust me. She’s fine.”

Nika lead them upstairs to a small room with a full size bed, dark blue walls, no decorations but a nightstand and rug. Hadn’t been lived in for months, given the dead air in the room. “So, Stiles. How about you tell me when your spark woke, and why you brought a werewolf all the way over here.”

Stiles choked on either air or an immediate response, either way he sounded like an ostrich getting throttled. Derek wasn’t making out much better mentally, but he only raised his eyebrows.

Nika smiled as she sat on the bed. “Come on, Stiles, where’d you think you got the gift from? Aunt Claudia never used her talents much, but she was one of us.” She picked up the candle on the nightstand and blew on the wick, a flame lighting to fill the room with some warmth. “I’ve never met a werewolf before, but you were sensing shit like Legolas out there, Derek, it wasn’t too subtle, and a set of ears and or nose like that, out of Beacon Hills aka Werewolf Wonderland?”

“More like nightmareland.” Stiles snorted. “So, holy shit, like five revelations at once and I wanna come back to like….all of them, but…uh….how many of ‘em know, downstairs?!” He asked, shocking Derek by asking an actually relevant, useful question.

“The three brothers know their mother and their sister were “”””out there”””” and that you’re insane and I’m a lost cause. Dziadek knew that Babcia was a superstitious woman and that the wild comes through sometimes. Oh, sorry Derek, Dziadek and Babcia are grandfather and grandmother respectively.” Nika explained. “Babcia did small things, mostly stuff with herbs and intent, like thumping a car engine and telling it to run, or aggressively sweeping bad energy out of the house, or putting bundles above doorways to keep evil intent out. Even the mistletoe around the house was hers.” She set the candle back onto the nightstand, the fire flickering with the movement. “Werewolves are very family oriented, in general, it’s unusual to break away from the family to join another entirely alien one for a holiday like Christmas. I’m just curious.”

“He’s way too nice and let his pack totally forget about him.” Stiles wasn’t remotely afraid of being as bitter about it as Derek tried to deny that he felt.

Nika digested the statement for a moment and gave them a vague smile. “Maybe not all of them.” She got up and left the room as if that would give her the last word. Clearly, she didn’t recall from her childhood who Stiles was, as he followed her as quickly as his gazelle legs could with an indignant “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?”

*~*

Stiles had been so wrapped up in realizing that there was a whole family history of witchery that he’d completely missed out on the fact that Derek and him were actually now supposed to share a bed until it was one in the morning and he finally arrived in the room. To find Derek sitting on his suitcase reading. “Hey, thought you came up here a while ago.”

“I did, but…” Derek half winced and locked his tablet. “We only got the one bed, and..”

“Bro, you used to live in the burned-out husk of your family’s old house I am not about to buy that you’re such a snob that you can’t share a bed for a few nights.” Stiles yanked his shirt off and tossed it in the vague direction of his suitcase. “It’s just a few nights and I even have sleep pants if you wanna go all no homo on me.”

“What? No, n- that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean.” The belt careened through the air in an ark as Stiles continued the process.

Derek was going to have to talk quickly if he wanted to get out anything. “I can’t sleep next to people.”

“What? Why?” Stiles paused, button of his jeans undone.

Derek was looking at a particularly fascinating piece of lint on the ground. “Just never works out right. I didn’t want to just disappear on you, so I was waiting for you to get back before I went to find a hotel or crash on the couch.”

“No, why. I wanna know why.”

Derek contemplated crawling out of the window to escape Stiles’ eyes, which even in the low light of the room burned into his skull. “I just can’t, alright?”

“Nope. Not alright. Fess up.”

“I’m a sleep cuddler.” Derek said it so quickly and refused to look up no matter what Stiles did.

Stiles was quiet for a few odd moments while he had a face odyssey. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Derek could feel the blush on his face and was actively willing it to go away forever. “Ever since I was a kid, if there’s someone next to me I always end up wrapped around ‘em. It’s not conscious, it just happens. So.”

“Jesus tittyfuckin’ Christ, Derek I thought it was something serious. I’m not gonna die if you give me a lil hug. Don’t be so dramatic.” Stiles finally flung his jeans off and crawled under the covers, the little tone of his phone plugging in to charge playing as he settled in. “G’night, Der.” He mumbled sleepily.

Derek had no choice. If Stiles told anyone about this, they’d never find his body. Whose body would go missing was up for debate.

*~*

Derek was a filthy liar when he tried to say it didn’t work out, and he knew it. He slept better than he had in months that night. When he awoke, Stiles was playing some mobile game, and Derek was spooning him pretty hardcore, legs tangled and an arm over his stomach. He moved away the instant he came to consciousness again. “Sorry.” He mumbled, only the ghosts of vowels in the slurred word.

“Hell, if it was a problem I’d have crawled out, but uh, you don’t get too much sleep and seeing as you knocked out for a solid nine hours there, I thought it best to let you wake up on your own.” Stiles was all nonchalance, but Derek could hear something like omission from his words. It’s not that he was wrong, it was just adjacent to the truth.

“Who told you I don’t sleep?”

“The fact that you text me back about Edda translations at three in the morning on Tuesday nights tells me that you’re not sleeping much. Now c’mon, we missed the breakfast train but if we make puppy eyes at Nelia enough she’ll probably cave and feed us. Or smack us lightly and call us lazy. One of the two.”

*~*

“Stiles, your friend is so handsome, how does he not have a girlfriend?” Nelia asked, perfectly comfortable to talk all kinds of terrible things as Derek was helping fold pierogi with Nika and Stiles. “He’d make a fine husband. He should find a good wife.”

Stiles gawked for a second, and had no clue how to respond. This would in no way stop him from doing so anyway. “He’s had a difficult time for a while, he’s helping his family right now, college, supporting them.” Stiles’ Polish was pretty rusty, he hadn’t been practicing much in the last several years.

“He has children?”

“No. Not exactly. More friends that he kind of brought inside because no one was helping them right.”

“Hmm. Nika, he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Nika did not want to get dragged into this conversation. “Very, but it isn’t nice to talk about people in front of them.”

Nelia went to check on the uncles as they were all apparently having a slight discussion with John on the front lawn and was fully prepared to drag each of them back in by their ear and give them a firm education on the meaning of Christmas. This of course left the cousins and Derek all alone in the kitchen, the others of the family dispersed for their individual amusements.

“So, Stiles, are you…..and Derek….?”

Stiles blinked, sealing the dough around the potato and onion. “Are we what”

“Boyfriends.” She said it like it wasn’t kind of a bombshell of a word to utter.

“Nooo.” Flour and bits of dough scattered as he waved his hands to emphasize how NO that was. Absolutely not. Had she even seen Derek? He was so out of his league it physically and emotionally pained him. “ No. We’re just friends. Truly.”

“Okay, okay, I was just wondering. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“You were asking a little bit.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Derek’s also not gay”

“I wasn’t asking!”

“But he does have terrible….choice in women. Every time he gets a girlfriend she tries to kill us.”

That was enough of that. Derek had developed some thick skin about the litany of traumas he’d incurred and would give Stiles a little leave to talk shit about Jennifer, but that was taking it a little more casually than he’d like. “That’s a little mean, Stiles.” He said in perfect Polish.

Stiles turned so many colors that there was a risk he might burst a blood vessel. He fled before anyone could grab hold of him and make him accountable for his actions. Nika at least muttered an apology before scurrying off.

Derek wondered if his deep-seated need to be dramatic may contrasting with his desire to not be such a colossal dick to people he actually liked.

*~*

Stiles successfully avoided Derek by busying himself with everything possible for the rest of the day, but of course, after the day, must come the night, and thus the sleep. In the same bed. With the guy he brutally insulted and exposed just hours ago. Fuck.

Maybe if Derek was already asleep he could just curl up in the closet and evaporate entirely before anyone noticed he existed. Fuck. Why did this have to happen. Why did he have to open his big stupid mouth and say the stupidest thing that he’d ever uttered in his life.

He didn’t see light coming from under the door as he went, but knew that Derek would wake up if the doorknob made even the slightest sound. He rubbed his hands enough to warm the bony fingers and waved his hand slowly around the doorframe, collecting the sound from that space before snatching it all. Just long enough to open it silently.

When he saw Derek sitting up in bed with just the candle on the nightstand and his tablet in hand, Stiles had half a thought to make a run for it. But Derek had already looked up with a raised eyebrow. There was no escaping.

“How’d you do that that quietly?” Derek asked, not addressing the parade of elephants doing the merengue in the room.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake you up. So I just took the sound away from it.” Stiles answered, stepping inside and looking pointedly away from anywhere near the bed.

Derek locked his tablet and set it aside. “That’s pretty impressive.” Was all he said in reply, but it was gushing praise given who it was coming from.

Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. “Derek I am so sorry I said that, I never should have even thought it, I just-“ his words were running on top of each other and he felt like King Trashbag of the proud nation of Shitfriendia.

“Relax.”

Stiles hated being told to relax by anyone, but he had to be very nice to Derek for the rest of their concurrent lives and there was something so calm about the way Derek said it that made it less insulting. He hazarded a glance up, but Derek wasn’t wearing a shirt and even in the low light of the room he could see chest hair and he had to look away immediately or he might die.

“You have a family member who understands you on a level none of the rest of us do. She’s becoming a fast friend and you’re very comfortable with her. It wasn’t the nicest thing to say,” and it was pretty damn private, but Derek was trying to make Stiles feel better so he wouldn’t bring it up, “but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me by it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” This was probably the most adult conversation that either of them had ever engaged in, it was frankly shocking. Derek had called Boyd to help process his emotions and figure out what to say in a way that was a little more level headed than he might have done on his own.

Stiles nodded, knowing that Derek wouldn’t appreciate further self-flagellation from him and that he just would have to accept being a terrible person for the rest of his life. When he crawled into bed, he lied awake, staring at the wall across from his face and mulled it over and over. He could hear Derek’s breathing settle as he fell asleep, and an hour later a couple wiggles and there was a nose pressing against his neck and a hand over his stomach. Stiles sighed at the warm heat against him, and finally could fall asleep.

*~*

Nelia checked the codfish in the oven, monitoring the temperature carefully. “Still not ready. Mieczyslaw, could you help set the table, please?” She asked, setting some rolled napkins and a handful of forks onto the table.

It was Christmas Eve, and the whole family was sitting down soon for Wigilia, the main feast. Usually eaten before going to Midnight Mass, beginning at around eleven and finishing at midnight proper. Despite its importance, the grandparents had not gone since the grandfather had been confined to his wheelchair and their local church loved its beautiful stone steps so much. As a religious building that was remarkably old, it was exempt from the ADA act requiring public buildings to be wheelchair accessible.

They still held the meal, though Nelia and the older Mieczyslaw went to bed and the others of the family were encouraged to go and say their prayers for them. The young children were kept at home with the grandparents to watch them and make sure no one got out of their bed to try and catch Santa Claus.

Stiles was carrying various accoutrements from the fridge and counters to the table, and counted the place settings. Exactly enough for everyone, though this alerted him. “Wait, Nelia, we’re missing one. The spot for the wanderer.”

In many other cultures, an empty place setting at a family meal might be in remembrance of someone who had passed, or who could not be present at the table due to extenuating circumstances. It meant that something was missing, and some wanted to honor that with a missing place for them at the table. However, in Polish tradition at Wigilia, there is an empty place setting for an unexpected guest, or wanderer. A wędrowiec.

Nelia gave Stiles a meaningful look, one that he couldn’t decipher. He was so used to these kinds of looks being paired with massive eyebrows and kaleidoscope green eyes that trying to do it for other people was more difficult. “Think on it.” She said, slicing challah bread into a basket and wrapping the napkin over it to keep them warm.

Stiles puzzled and puzzled til his puzzler was sore, then it dawned on him. He wondered why it hadn’t before. “Derek.”

Nelia chuckled as she started slicing a loaf of challah bread. “Such a smart boy you are, Mieczyslaw.” Bringing a friend who had nowhere else to go so soon beforehand was certainly an unexpected traveler, though she didn’t know that Derek had been a wanderer for much longer than just that winter.

*~*

As John wasn’t Catholic, Stiles hadn’t even been Confirmed, and Derek didn’t want to go without Stiles, they all hung back while the others went off to the Midnight Mass. Since they knew that with kiddos younger than eight, Christmas begins absurdly early for everyone, they went to bed after seeing everyone off for the church about 20 minutes from the house.

Stiles lied awake, waiting for Derek to properly fall asleep so he’d get that heavy warm weight against him, that even though it’d only been a few nights, he found it hard to fall asleep without that. He loved the excuse they both got for it, this unconscious habit, but he hoped, he wished that Derek wasn’t regretting that he woke up with an armful of Stiles.

But he didn’t. He lay there for a few hours before getting out of bed and leaving the room. Stiles thought he was going to the bathroom or something, but after ten whole awful minutes of not having Derek next to him, he had to investigate. Checking his phone, the screen said 11:57PM. The whole gang of adults would be out at Mass for a while yet, the service had barely just started and apparently the priest loved his speechifying when the whole congregation was actually there for once during the year as his captive audience.

Stiles crept downstairs looking for his friend, finding Derek in the kitchen, watching a mug rotate in the microwave. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Derek glanced up. He’d heard Stiles coming down, but he didn’t really see the need to react beforehand. It’s not like his mom had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar or anything. “Kind of. And I wanted to set out some of the things I got for the kids who don’t have as much money as the others. Went out when you were trying to avoid me with their parents to make sure none of the kids felt left out.”

“Santa’s Lil Helper, huh?”

Derek pondered it. “A little. And it’s a Hale tradition. Or more, it’s a Derek Hale tradition, since I’m pretty much the one who spearheaded it.”

“What did your family used to do for Christmas?” They were speaking in hushed tones so as not to wake anyone up, but in the warm light of the kitchen Christmas lights, and the soft look of Derek in a beat-up tee and plaid sweatpants, he felt sentimental enough to ask.

“Christmas was always a little funny in the Hale house.” Derek admitted, stopping the microwave a moment before the chime would go off. “We didn’t do Santa Claus.”

“Did you do Santa Claws?” Stiles mimed some claws and fangs, knowing he’d earn an eyeroll at best.

Derek did not disappoint. “No, just a couple presents from Mom and Dad, and aunts and uncles would be later. They didn’t want us getting spoiled or thinking Santa loved us more because he gave us all kinds of stuff. But we didn’t open anything until at least noon.”

“Parents liked their sleep?” Stiles definitely remembered a firm ALL PRESENTS WILL BE REPLACED WITH CHORES AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS IF THIS DOOR IS OPENED BEFORE 8:00 AM rule on Christmas morning. Of course, Stiles was jumping on his bed with excitement at five in the morning, anyway.

Derek shook his head, and his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Stiles squinted, who would be calling Derek at midnight? Moreover, why was Derek actually taking the call??

He stepped outside onto the porch, little snow drifts from their actual white Christmas shuffling aside for him with his mug. Stiles saw the bag of Lindt truffles and a little chocolate powder dust on the counter- that sonuvabitch made HIS secret recipe. Wait. WHAT.

Derek stepped back in a few minutes later with half a smile on his face.

“Who was that?” Stiles had to ask.

“Cora.”

“What’d she want?”

Derek looked mildly embarrassed. “As of,” he looked at his watch, which read 12:08AM “…five minutes ago, I’m thirty years old.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped just a bit as his mind whirled. “It’s your birthday!?” he hissed, needing to aggressively shout but not able to wake the kids.

Derek almost winced. “Yeah.”

“Well….happy birthday!” Shit. Shit shit shit. HE’D KNOWN DEREK FOR EIGHT YEARS AND HE NEVER KNEW THIS WAS HIS BIRTHDAY. Stiles had to go find his King Trashbag of Shitfriendia crown again and sit on his dumpster pile.

“I don’t like people knowing. It’s an awkward day to have a birthday.” Derek sipped his cocoa, clearly uncomfortable.

Stiles didn’t know how to deal with this. “So…is that why you guys didn’t do Christmas until the afternoon?” He felt like he was playing minesweeper, except he didn’t get to see the warning numbers.

“Yeah.” He looked down into the mug, it was easier to talk about things if he didn’t have to watch the face journey of sympathy on people’s faces when he talked about his family. But he missed them on his birthday especially, and he wanted to talk about it. And out of anyone, he wanted to talk to Stiles about it. He knew, at least to some degree, the feeling of empty spaces in your memories. “My mom used to wake me up at 12:03 to tell me happy birthday and bring me in the kitchen. She’d have a present on there that was a birthday present only. From her. She was the alpha, so it was…pretty much impossible to actually ever get her alone. Always busy with the whole pack, worrying about everyone else, worrying about…” He trailed off. Christmas was always such a hectic time for everyone, so much noise and stress and busy rushing everywhere. “So it was nice, to have that little moment with just her.”

Silence fell between them for a few moments. Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself. Then he realized; his present to Derek was bizarrely perfect. “Hold on. Hold right here.” He stole up to his room and came back down with a wrapped present, the tape shoddily put on. He thrust the box out to Derek, looking way too happy with himself. “Happy birthday, big guy.”

Derek looked between Stiles and the box a few times, but took it and quietly unstuck the tape to slide the box out and open it. “You fucking dick.” He laughed as he pulled out a sweater that said “BIRTHDAY BOY” on it, with a hideous looking Jesus. A true ugly Christmas sweater, with a bday twist.

Stiles was grinning like a loon as Derek pulled the sweater on over his tee, that amused glint in Derek’s eyes where Stiles’ idiot sense of humor hit him perfectly. He picked up his mug again, and felt that it’d turned cold. “Can I get a warm-up?”

Stiles could have just poked the mug in Derek’s hands, or even just pointed at it. But Stiles wrapped his hands around it, his hands glowing a little as the liquid heated within, and Derek’s cold hand too.

Derek’s eyebrow quirked slightly. “Thanks.” He took a sip. “Can y’do whipped cream too?”

Stiles stifled a snorted laugh poorly, but didn’t step back away.

Derek set the mug back onto the table and looked at Stiles for another quiet moment, this one much less tense. Without looking up, he broke the silence with “I swear to God if there’s mistletoe up there right n-mmf!”

Stiles had closed the gap to kiss him, his hands holding Derek’s face as he nearly crushed their noses together. They eventually managed to tilt their heads properly so it was less of a frantic smush and more of a proper kiss.

When they finally broke so Stiles could breathe, Derek had a smile on his face, one that didn’t leave in half a second. “So, is there any?”

Stiles was able to stifle that stupid laugh better. “C’mon, lets get those presents out there for them. They’ll be back eventually.”

They put some Christmas movies on the TV as they sorted the presents into neat piles for each family so everyone could sit with their group. They were on the couch, writing out the tags on each one, making sure that the way all the Santas were written exactly the same and all of the names were spelled exactly correct. Stealing kisses every once in a while devolved slowly over the course of one of the Rankin and Bass animated movies to Stiles pressing Derek into the couch, making out like a couple of teenagers with the Christmas spirit in them.

John was trudging downstairs to see if Santa had left any of those shortbread cookies, but heard something odd from the family room. He was about to investigate, but heard something that sounded very distinctly like a Stiles happy noise, and decided to have a coughing fit and remind those two that they were not only not alone in this abode, but that the assorted parents and cousins would be returning soon and unless Stiles wanted to come out to the family in the most aggressive way possible, they better take it upstairs.

Derek managed to blush harder than Stiles did, but both had received the message, and put away the tags and pens before retreating to their room sheepishly. But they knew that John had probably seen this coming, and wasn’t going to judge them for it.

When they crawled into bed, Stiles didn’t have to wait to feel that arm around him, the press of heat against him, safe and warm. Derek kissed the back of his neck, and he could feel the smile against his skin.

Derek heard the family come back from the Midnight Mass downstairs, doing their best to tiptoe through and not wake up anyone.

“Ah ah ah! Mistletoe!” one of the aunts cooed, before a smack of a kiss.

“Who puts mistletoe in the middle of the kitchen.” Grumbled someone who was not getting themselves a Christmas kiss, bah humbug and all that.

The last voice was Nika. “Babcia always said there’s magic in a kitchen.”

#everchanginginks #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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kamenowriting · 6 years

Text

JuZenWeek 2018-Day 1:First Meeting

For @juminzenweek 2018.

Obviously I’ve been left behind there xD But I can’t help it, I really want to join this week so badly. So hope I’m not too late orz

The timeline takes after about a week after Jihyun visits Zen in the hospital because of the motorcycle accident and Zen agrees to join RFA.

Words count: 2500+

Their first meeting was almost like a cursed. Bound to be meet each other in spite he doesn’t want to. But it was amazed how this man knew where he’s gone. Not many people knew of this place, which, he would always known this place as his ‘secret hiding place’. The place there was really breath-taking and calmed himself down. It's a very nice spot to watch the sun is setting until it reach to the deepest of horizon.

There was a big fight between him and the actors. How they are all envy of him in spite his acting is not as good as the rest of professionals actors, yet his gorgeous looks kept him away from ruining his act. What’s worst, the Director fond of him more than the rest of them.

Feeling very frustrated, Zen ended up riding his motorcycle to cool his head down and avoid them all.

Although his broken leg still hasn’t healed properly from an accident yet, Zen remembered how he’s been warned by V that he shouldn’t ride on the motorcycle anymore after the albino-haired male willingly to join the RFA.

However, he couldn’t helped it somehow. He was rather in a bad mood, thanks to those bastards, and he needs to go someplace where the Director or actors couldn’t find him.

Somewhere he could calm himself down.

And his secret hiding place is the best spot to hide himself away from them.

“Haaa…..” Zen gave a long exhaled before he takes out a box of cigarette to start smoking.

He puffed out the smoke from his lips, having in a deep thought then. He didn’t realized there’s a black, limo car stopped behind him as he was too addicted smoking.

Until a man with a business suit came out from the car and speak to him;

“Are you Hyun Ryu?” A monotone voice startled Zen a bit. Almost dropped his cigarette on the hill.

The very first moment his crimson orbs laid into those cool and collected grey eyes of an unfamiliar man, his heart had almost stop right there.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Jihyun. You must be a new RFA member, yes?” His presence made him feel something. Something so familiar. Something strange at the same time. Is it good? Is it bad? He couldn’t put a finger somehow.

It took Zen to realized how dazzling his looks is; grey orbs are sharp like a hawk that’s been waiting a naive little rabbit come out from its hole. Shiny, and gorgeous ebony hair. And those lips. Those soft lips of hisㅡ

“Let me introduced myself firstㅡmy name is Jumin Han. I am the son of Chairman Han, the President of C&R International. From what I’ve heard from Jihyun, you seem to be having a difficult life due to living by yourself. I’m doing this for my close friend,” Jumin held out his long and slender arm toward Zen. “would you like to change your life; lived in an easy and better way? You have no need to take a lot of part time jobs anymore. I can take care of everything if you’re very concerned about it.”

And that was it.

The moment the raven said that, there was definitely a very familiar feeling he felt for a long time.

His throat somehow feels a little dry up as if he was lost in words of the other male’s offer. His heart starting to beating fast once again. …Ah. So that’s how it is. He knew and recognized this feeling so well.

There are so many things he wants to say to the ebony-haired male, yet at the same time, he ended up speechless.

However, the first thing he managed to say to him isㅡ

“..Trustfund jerk.” He said with a very disgusted and displeased expression on his gorgeous face.

-.-

The other male's head tilted in confused of the albino’s respond. Zen would’ve expected the older man would be pissed off of how he called him that. But insteadㅡ

“..Is that how commoner’s greeting way?”

Well that made him frustrated even more. Zen could feel his blood is boiling reach to his head at the sight of this jerk. Stuck with him for more than 5 seconds would drivin’ him crazy at this rate. Especially when he came here just to cool himself off.

“Shut up..” Zen let out an exhausted exhale this time, putting his slender hand on his nape. “I just came here to get some fresh air, and now you’ve ruined everything. I’m outta here.”

As soon as Zen passed him close, a strong grip yet gentle came from his wrist then. His crimson eyes flashed into the grey one in annoyed and disgusted.

“What?!”

“What made you refused my offer?” Jumin said with a calm and composed tone. Grey orbs bored deep into the albino’s chest. The way how that jerk look at him feels frustrated and tired.

Zen replied with a scoff and pried his wrist away from the raven’s hold. “Haaa…. I wish I could tell you but I doubt that a stuck-up jerk like you would understand.”

“What is it that I don’t understand about?”

“I was being sarcasm right there, you trustfund kid!”

Zen found himself shocked for a moment there. Never once as he ever raised his voice to anyone before. Not even his brother whom he admired so much. Although it’s true that he can be a hotheaded sometimes, but he rarely yelled to anyone. Probably something about that jerk really get on his nerve.

And just after he turned on his heel close to his motorcycle, there was a gentle touch on his shoulder this time.

“What is it now, you jerk?!” God… he really needs to get out of here so badly.

“Your leg,” Jumin whispered, eyes gazed down on the other male’s bandaged leg.

Zen blinked for a moment and follows where his grey eyes gazed at that filled with… maybe concerned and worried? No, no.. that can’t be. Just ignored it, Zen.

Zen shrugged. “Don’t worry, Trustfund jerk. I can heal like a monster. It should be alright for a couple of days. Nothing to be concerned of.”

And just before he was about to ride on the motorcycle, Jumin’s strong grip pulled him and dragged away from his motorcycle.

“H-Hey! Where are you taking me, you jerk?!”

“Just because you can heal like a monster, doesn’t mean you can ride on whatever you like.”

“I can do whatever I can likeㅡwaaah!” Zen exclaimed when the raven forced him entered into his limo car and shut the door. The other male desperately tries to open it but the door instantly locked.

“Where to, Mr. Han?” the driver asked when the raven had came into the car on the opposite side of Zen’s.

“Where to?” Jumin questioned this time, his calm grey orbs bore deep into the crimson one.

Wh-who? Me?” Zen said flusteredly, in which, the other male nodded. “Uh.. well,” he tells the raven where he works.

“Just as he said, Driver Kim.”

“Understood, Mr. Han.”

“W-wait!? What about my motorcycle? You can’t just leave it like that?!”

“Rest assured you that I’ve already ordered my personal assistant to send it back to your house.”

“..How will you know of my address?"

“Jihyun told me.”

“Make sense…” Zen murmured.

-.-

There was nothing Zen could do after then except stay still in the jerk’s car and distant himself away from him as well until they reached to his work place.

The riding was really uncomfortable for Zen. Because for one; he hated seeking any help from arrogant rich family, especially this Trustfund jerk of course. It reminded him of so much of a memory that he hated to remind of or remember.

He was expected the other male would start a random or awkward conversation to the actor. But so far, he hadn’t speak anything except, sitting right there, eyes full of mask like an expensive porcelain doll.

It didn't take more than 15 minutes later then, Zen could feel his nose started to feel itchy somehow. When he tries to rub his nose, it starting to turn red and sneezing comes then.

Jumin noticed of the actor’s behaviour.

“Are you sick?”

Zen shook his head.

“N-Not really..,” he admittedly. Being an actor and often stays health, he rarely catch a cold or fever.

Unless..

“..hey, Trustfund jerk,” he called. “did you, by any chance brought a cat in this car?”

Jumin tilted his eyebrow of the actor’s random question. With a long pause from deep of thought, he finally answer as if he remember something;

“Now that you mention it, I did brought Elizabeth the 3rd here this morning.”

“..who’s that?”

Jumin takes out his cellphone from his pocket and shows the actor a picture of white, persian cat.

“The most beautiful creature of all.”

“Gaah!! I should’ve known since my allergic triggered of that furball!” Zen exclaimed, hiding his eyes as if he was blinded from the radiant of light.

“Don’t speak rudely about Elizabeth the 3rd.”

“As if I care! -achoo!- Driver! Pull over! -achoo!-”

“Do you even know where you are? I doubt you would be there in time knowing your motorcycle is not with you.”

"Hah! I rather walking until midnight instead of staying of this car with full of freakin furball’s hairㅡ" And just before Zen could finish his sentences, he could feel a warmth embracing close to his body. His allergic has been forgotten there somehow. But it filled with shock and confusion this time.

“Feeling better?” Jumin whispered closed to the actor’s ear. He was very close to his personal space. So close until he could hear the other male’s calm heart-beating. Feel the warmth and feeling secure as well from his well-built body and what’s worst, the cologne he’s wearing now is very suffocating for the actor as he couldn’t even breathe properly.

What..what is he thinking he’s doing?

Zen hates to admit himself but although he appreciate of the other man’s help(in such a weird way), but this doesn’t help him anything at all! Why’s his heart is pumping so hard as if it’s gonna explode by now?

Thankfully everything’s comes to an end when the car started to halt, Zen knows that they finally arrived to his work place, which the albino quickly shoved off the other male away from his personal spaxe and kicked the damn door to leave there as soon as possible.

“Hyun,”

Zen stopped from mid-walking when the trustfund jerk rolled his name with his graceful tongue. The albino took a glanced on him, regretfully not walking away from that bastard.

“Aren’t you suppose to say something to me?”

That smirk.

That damn and snarky smirk!

He knew that he should’ve just pretend not hearing anything!

Goddamn.. just what’s up with this guy anyway? Does he has to treat him that way? He’s a new member of RFA afterall. That jerk should’ve welcomed him properly or treat him like a junior who still needs to learn for the first time.

He should treat the albino in a gentle way.

…Actually, wait, that feels wrong.

Twitching his left eye in annoyance, he took a deep breathe and,

“As if I’m gonna say thank you to a trustfund jerk like you! And fyi, it’s Zen!”

Zen slammed the door as hard as he could do. He could’ve sworn he can just hear that bastard’s chuckle in his head by now.

When the Driver Kim had drove away, the albino goes back to his work place

With a very foul mood; his argument with the other arrogant actors had been forgotten. But instead, it was about that Han fuckin Jumin.

If he had known there’s such a jerk in the RFA sooner, he should haven’t join it by now.

…

Well, then again, the albino did say that he willingly to join it because he wants to change something different in his life.

…

Don’t tellㅡ that jerk’s the one that could actually change his life in a different way?

No, no, no… he shouldn’t have thinking it too much. There’s no fuckin way his life would change soon thanks to that trustfund jerk.

Argh.. goddammit.. Dammit all.. stop, just stop. Enough thinking about him anymore. He would ended up getting too exhausted for the next practice then.

Once he had enough sleep, he would act whatever happened between them nothing’s happened. ..Or so he thought.

The very next day, Zen could feel his phone made a vibration.

He unlocked his screen phone and checked there’s a few messages from an unknown sender. But its profile picture looks like a white, persian furball, which looks familiar.

Gaaah.. just staring at it longer really made his nose feeling slightly itchy again. Out of all picture its has to pick the disgusting furball..

Trying to ignored its profile picture, Zen started to read what’s the messages written;

???: You know, I’ve been thought of this for a while since yesterday.

???: Would you willingly to become a model for a cat commercial.

???: It suits you, meow.

“Achoo!”

What the hell? That’s the first thing this sender say.

..No. Could it be its giving a wrong person.

Maybe he should try..

ZEN: Are you sending a wrong number by any chance?

Send.

Waiting around a few minutes later then, a new message came.

???: I am sure I’m not, Zen.

ZEN: Wait, don’t tell me you’re

???: Yes. I am Jumin Han,

ZEN: Stop! Stop! I’ve heard enough of your introducing yesterday!

???: Then why would you still calls me ‘jerk’?

ZEN: BECAUSE I HAVE REASONS!!

ZEN: And more importantly, how did you even get my number…?

ZEN: Don’t tell me V gives my number to you.

???: Every RFA member have everyone’s number, meow.

ZEN: DON’T MEOW TO ME

ZEN: THAT DOESN’T SUIT YOU AT ALL.

ZEN: Did you actually find my allergic pleasure to you???

???: Hmm.. Maybe?

ZEN: …

???: So, about the cat commercialㅡ

Couldn’t take any longer Zen eventually turn off his phone.

Gaaah… it’s in the middle early morning, yet this stuck-up jerk has a time to tease him.

Dammit.. Dammit all..

Things couldn’t get any worst is it?

Why would their meeting have to be a cursed..?

#Juminzen #juzen #juzenweek #jumin x zen #juminzenweek day 1 #mystic messenger jumin han #mystic messenger zen #mystic messenger hyun ryu #writing at the end is not my forte but i tried _(:зゝ∠)_#i apologized if theres lot o mistakes there #ame writings

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linssikeittomies · 6 years

Text

The Place Between Here And There - An excerpt from Ch 6

Masterpost

Ch 6 was supposed to be a fluff fest for the ages, and yet in the 10 pages of fic there is just barely 6 pages of RusAme, and if you squint real hard, maybe 1 of those pages is fluff? Goddamn you Ivan and your secrets and social anxiety! orz

Al had never been to the bar before, so he hadn’t known what to expect. Literally the only things he knew beforehand about the place were the address and that Jack used to work there about ten years ago. When they got there, Al could totally see it as a place Jack, one of the most party-pooper people ever conceived, would work in - pretty small, kinda quiet, with a multi-generational vibe to it. Not clearly for twenty-somethings, not clearly for forty-somethings. Once the hour got later, it would probably turn into more of a nightclub, but at eight, it was sorta quiet and unassuming, a bit more classy than your usual drinking bar. You could actually talk without even raising your voice to a shout. Two smaller dance floor instead of one big, more booths than tables, they gave a little more privacy. Al had noticed that these types of places were what Vanya preferred – the more crowded and loud it got, the antsier Vanya became. He would try to create more and more space between himself and strangers the more people poured in, pretending the crowd didn’t bother him, until finally he broke and started openly glaring at anyone closer than arm’s length and constantly checking the time. Al on the other hand lived for crowds, he loved nothing more than the pulse of a full dancefloor, enjoyed talking and dancing with strangers and loud music. He still went to straight-up nightclubs on the weekends he wasn’t with Vanya, but on dates he wanted them both to have as much fun as possible. Al liked the quieter places alright, as long as he had someone interesting to pass the time with.

They both got a beer at the counter – Al insisted Vanya try it out, because it was his favorite brand. Vanya wasn’t a beer person, but gave it a try for Al’s sake. He liked it enough to not pass it onto Al after the first sip. Though Vanya was hardly the type to not finish a drink even if he hated it - if it was in front of him, he would drink it. “Good, ain’t it?” “It isn’t the worst beer I’ve tried”, Vanya amended. That basically meant it was the best damn beer he’d ever tasted, despite what the sour face might indicate. “Told ya it’s the best! Now, tell me about your day. Nab any criminals lately?” “We’re no closer to finding a viable suspect. At this point I don’t know that much more than you do.” “Gimme some ‘a dat juicy confidential info! I’ll make it up to you later”, Al winked. Vanya wasn’t convinced, and refused any further talk about work. But Al was determined to hear more, so he kept buying his lover more beers, who was helpless to refuse them, while making sure to stay sober himself. About an hour and three beers later, Vanya finally started opening up a bit more about the case. “Everyone’s frustrated, there’s no evidence and no clues. The man’s smart, you have to admit”, he said with a weirdly appreciative tone. Creepy. He needed a reminder of what kind of smart man BK was. “Too bad he uses those smart for something evil. Can you even imagine what a shitty person he is? He doesn’t just murder, he tortures.” “You’re not the first to say that”, Vanya answered flippantly. Every now and then Al got the feeling Vanya didn’t really care all that much about the victims – he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the way Vanya spoke about them, it kind of felt a little disrespectful, maybe? That he forgot what they had gone through and that they were dead, with heart-broken families left behind? Mattie would have known exactly what was off, but they didn’t talk with each other – they knew of each other, of course, Mattie had been the first to know about Vanya and Al’s one month anniversary, and siblings tend to come up in conversation. “Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose”, Vanya finished, shrugging, like he was talking about graffiti artists. This was what Al meant by disrespectful – like he wasn’t talking about torture and murder. “Murdering people is a shit hobby. He should take up boxing or something if he really needs to punch something.”, Al sneered, upset and somewhat regretting bringing up the subject. His reactions to the fates of the poor victims were profoundly different from Vanya’s, and reminded him that there was something undeniably wrong with Vanya’s brain. “That would only make him more dangerous. So far all the victims have been weak, you wouldn’t want him taking down MMA fighters. Or firefighters”, Vanya countered. “But wasn’t that one guy like six foot two?” Vanya thought for only a moment before figuring out who exactly Al was talking about. “Turner, 6 feet, 130 pounds, dancer. Looked taller because he was so thin. Didn’t know the first thing about self-defense.” The conversation started feeling like one of those who would win, Batman or Superman arguments. Was it just Vanya’s illness, or did all homicide detectives become like this? What about pathologists? If Al some day got into the academy, would he in time become as nonchalant about rape, death and torture? He liked to think no, his compassion was more deep-rooted than that – but Vanya was a bleeding heart deep under all that pretend indifference, had he at one point been like Al? Could he with utmost certainty say that he would never look at a body and not feel sad? “And the last victim was the twinkiest twink you’ve ever seen.” “Poor boy”, Al said and felt his heart squeeze. He was sure he would never talk like that about someone who had been strangled and beaten for hours, until no healthy skin was left anywhere, then castrated and cut open while still alive, no matter how many years he worked for homicide. “I think you would’ve liked him”, Vanya mused. “How the hell would you know?” You didn’t even give enough of a shit to call him young and thin instead of twink, how would you know what kind of a person he was. Vanya looked taken aback, and apparently only then realized he wasn’t completely sober. How he had gotten drunk enough to not know what he was saying was anyone’s guess, since it always took a good five shots of hard liquor to get him tipsy. All Al knew was that he had learned to read the signs pretty well - more relaxed speech, more open posture, more absent-minded smiling. Vanya never started slurring or stumbling, he just became happier. Al wished that could be his natural state. Maybe with time, and some tender, loving care. “Sorry, I should not talk about cases with civilians.” “’S okay, ‘s just me. So how’d you know I’d like him?” Vanya wasn’t completely swayed by the argument, but he was terrible at saying no to Al. “He had many friends. Very social, everyone said he had a taste for adventure and was always up for trying something new. He was well-known in the gay community.” “Wait, he was actually gay? I thought you called him twink just to insult him.” “I said I should not talk about the case with civilians. Read the papers and you will know everything you are allowed to. I do not trust myself to keep confidentiality right now.” The weirdest thing about Vanya’s drunkenness was that he could tone it down at will. If he wanted to sober up, he would. He had displayed the ability a couple times before, but never this clearly. It was like alcohol had never entered the man’s system – gone were the casualness and smiles. “You’re such a tease!” Al complained, because he was really getting curious again, despite Vanya’s callous words about the victims. “Only for you, my darling podsolnukh”, Vanya smiled, but the playful words were so clearly calculated to steer Al’s thoughts elsewhere it wasn’t even funny. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this, mister. I’ll kiss you.” Vanya was super shy in public. Even though he had gotten more cuddly in private, PDAs were a great way to punish him. “You leave me no choice, being so cunning as to get me drunk to unveil my secrets.” “That’s it, you’re getting smooched right now!” Vanya did his best to push Al out of reach, but Al was the stronger of them and managed to smack him twice on the cheek. “You are making everyone uncomfortable”, Vanya muttered after Al finally left him alone. “You’re the one making a scene out of it! No one would have noticed a thing if you hadn’t been squealing like a pig!” “I was not, and you should take other people in to consideration before pulling these stunts!” “Oh yeah?” Al said, and Vanya blanched at whatever horror he imagined Al would do next. Al allowed himself a victorious smirk before forming a wicked plan. He got up to stand on the seat. “HEY! EVERYONE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and only a couple heads turned. “Stop that! Get down!” Vanya screamed. “THIS GUY IS MY HUNNY BUN – urk!” Vanya pulled Al down by his collar and dragged him out, so red in the face he could’ve been mistaken for Clifford. He was so embarrassed Al had no doubt he would’ve walked home without his coat if Al hadn’t complained about being cold. And even then he refused to enter the bar again, staying outside while Al went to finish Vanya’s last beer and grab their clothes. He was so embarrassed that Al felt a real need to apologize – apparently only Vanya could induce this feeling in him, the only other time he had felt the same need was after causing that panic attack. Vanya accepted it, but not without a long string of Russian expletives – because let’s be honest, they couldn’t be anything else. Then he said he would turn Al’s thermostat all the way down as revenge. Al had expected he would want to stay at his own place after a shock like that, but didn’t question the decision. After all, Al’s home was a mile closer, and there was no way he was walking any further in the wet snow. The streets were mostly empty, but a little past halfway Al spotted a couple making out at a bus stop. He felt a bit jealous, a lot of his past exes had been wary of displaying their sexuality out in public - understandably, sure, since so many of them lived in the south. But even Vanya, who had never shown a single sign of being anywhere near the closet, hated showing affection in public. Al on the other was a very tactile person. He loved holding hands, hugging and kissing. Vanya rarely took the first step, even in private, but followed Al’s lead easily, and lately had started initiating more often. Al liked to think it wasn’t just because Vanya wanted to appease him. Al pointed out the couple to Vanya, who made a face. “Oh c’mon, it’s cute! They’re not afraid to show their love! Unlike some people”, Al teased, and Vanya got a little mad about being reminded of the bar incident. “Lust, more like”, Vanya scoffed loudly. “It’s just not appropriate. They should be more considerate of other people.” “No one’s died of seeing a little affection, babe”, Al argued. “No one’s died of public urination, and yet I don’t see you advocating for that.” “C’mooooooon, just a lil kiss? I really wanna kiss you. That straight couple inspired me.” “No. And you shouldn’t fetishize an orientation.” “I wasn’t fetishizin’ no orientation, I just saw them doing somethin’ I wanna do. How ‘bout just a teeny tiny peck?” “No.” “First you’re a tease and then you’re a bore. Boo.” Vanya chuckled at that, and then took one gloved hand out his pocket. “We can hold hands, if it makes you happy. I don’t mind.” Al took the hand with a giddy smile and squeezed it gently. Vanya’s sweetness shone through these little gestures, and said so much more than his words did. Why couldn’t Al have met him years ago? Woulda spared him a lot of heartache.

#hereandthere #wip scene #tease #fan fiction #hetalia #russiaxamerica #RusAme #AmeRus #linssifanfiction #WIPtale

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asidian · 7 years

Note

I'm still in a mindset of bumbling-accident-prone-prompto-trying-to-prove-himself and I was wondering if you could write something in that vein, like he's trying to impress Noct and messes up in crownsguard training, but he still likes him anyway, or something to that effect? (you're still one of my fav writers by the way. I can only dream of being as good as you.)

Author’s Notes: Thank you so, so much. I’m really glad you like my writing.

===

Mistakes

===

Okay. Okay, he can do this.

So what if it’s his second day in training?

So what if he can barely hold the practice sword properly?

So what if Noct just casually announced that he was going to swing by and watch Cor put him through drills, like it didn’t strike Prompto through his very heart with terror?

He can still do this. He’s going to be on the Crownsguard. That makes him like an honorary badass already, right? He’s got to be, if he doesn’t want to mess this up.

The Crownsguard. Gods. Him.

“Argentum,” says Cor, tone flat and unreadable.

“Yes?” squeaks Prompto.

“Relax. Shoulders down.”

Prompto tries. Really he does. But it’s hard to practice the same block, over and over again, without his brain picking apart every little thing he’s getting wrong. When it’s done ripping him to shreds, it takes off running down a path five years from now, when Crownsguard Argentum, or whatever the hell his title will be, inevitably drops the ball and get the prince he’s supposed to be protecting killed.

“Argentum,” Cor says, with a sharper inflection this time.

“Sorry,” says Prompto, and tries to relax his shoulders.

Only somehow, when he relaxes his shoulders, he relaxes his whole arm. The grip on the handle of the practice sword falters as he brings the blunted blade down, and he can feel his grip slipping in horrified slow motion.

He watches the thing Cor swore should become an extension of his arm as it springs from his fingers. He watches it clang to the ground with a clatter of metal on stone that he’s sure he’ll be hearing in his anxiety nightmares for months. He watches Cor’s face, hard as granite, disapproval creeping in around the edges.

He can’t bring himself to look toward Noct.

Prompto dives for the sword, like if he’s fast enough he can erase the last fifteen seconds from existence. When he comes up, he knows he’s blushing like crazy. Even his ears feel hot.

“Uh,” says Prompto. “Just the shoulders next time. Got it.”

===

Two hours later, he’s sitting on the bench outside the training hall, hoping one of the gods will have mercy and strike him dead. He’ll take a lightning bolt from Ramuh. He’ll take a blizzard from Shiva. Hell, he’ll even take Bahamut’s whole arsenal if it means he doesn’t have to look up and see the disappointed look he’s sure is on Noct’s face.

“See?” says Prompto. “I told you, dude. Guys like me aren’t Crownsguard material.”

“The hell’re you talking about?” says Noct, and slides down onto the bench next to him, so close they’re touching at the shoulders.

“That,” says Prompto, with a vague gesture back toward the training hall. He’s blushing again. He can feel his face slowly going red.

There’s silence for a long moment, and Noct shifts. He’s got that look fixed on him, Prompto’s sure – that long, searching kind of look that always feels like he can see something hidden under Prompto’s skin.

“Quit that,” says Noct, at last.

“Quit what?” says Prompto. “Sucking so hard? Believe me, buddy, I would if I could.”

“That,” says Noct. “It’s your second day. You’re gonna make mistakes.”

“In front of Cor the Immortal,” says Prompto. “And you,” he thinks, but doesn’t add it.

“Cor’s been training new recruits for years.” Noct reaches over to nudge him with an elbow. “I guarantee, whatever dumb rookie slips you make, he’s seen dumber.”

“Great,” says Prompto, burying his face in his hands. “Thanks.”

But actually, when he thinks about it like that, it kind of helps. In the grand scheme of things, maybe he’s a screw-up. But he probably won’t be the biggest screw-up.

Noct leans into him, and the weight’s solid and warm against his shoulder. “Now quit worrying and let’s hit the arcade,” he says. “You still owe me a couple rounds at that new zombie shooting game.”

Prompto’s lips tug up into a grin. He stands and stretches, and he tells the worries running through his mind that they’re going to have to sit in the back seat for a while. “You only want to play cause you think you’re gonna beat my high score.”

“I know I’m gonna beat your high score,” says Noct, and unfolds himself from the bench with lazy grace.

Prompto flashes him a sidelong glance – falls into step as Noct heads toward the door. “I hit two million, dude. You got a long way to go.”

“You’re joking,” says Noct.

Prompto grins wider. “Not a chance.”

“Huh,” says Noct. There’s a weird inflection to it, kind of level, kind of thoughtful. He’s got Prompto pinned with a searching sort of look again.

Prompto squirms. “What?”

“Nothing,” says Noct, and starts walking again, with a shrug. “Just remembered something I wanted to talk to Cor about. That’s all.”

#ffxv #prompto argentum #Noctis Lucis Caelum #promptis #cor leonis #drabble

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sapphyrelily · 6 years

Text

Five - You Are In Love

It only took me 6 months to write a new chapter orz

“Do you want to go see that movie tomorrow?”

“The action one?”

“You don’t even know its name.”

He laughs at the accusatory tone in his friend’s voice. “I’m not very caught up on what’s showing.”

“Fine. So, wanna go?”

“Sure.” Shirabu rolls over onto his stomach, fingering the edge of his blanket. “Let me know the time, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll check the timing and let you know.”

“Sure. See you then.”

The line clicks off after Iwaizumi says his goodbyes, and even after Shirabu sets his phone down, he can’t stop grinning.

He grabs his pillow to hide his smile in it, but it doesn’t work very well, and he ends up grabbing his phone again. He crosses and uncrosses his ankles as he composes a new text, making too many errors in his hurry.

[Kenjirou]: GUESS WHOS GOING TO A MOVIE WITH IWA-SAN TMR

His phone buzzes with a reply almost immediately, and he grins.

[Taichi]: oh, i coulfnt possibly guess

The sarcastic reply doesn’t deter him.

[Kenjirou]: Yeah, yeah, you’re salty I get it

[Taichi]: i m so much closer 2 getting a bf than u r

[Kenjirou]: lies

[Taichi]: only truths

[Kenjirou]: Forgive me if I don’t trust you

[Taichi]: u trusted me? when?

[Kenjirou]: asshat

[Taichi]: douchenugget

[Kenjirou]: I hate you and your tall ass

[Taichi]: my ass isnt tall, the rest of me is

[Kenjirou]: Spectacular. Like I needed to know that

[Taichi]: o I kno im spectacular.

[Kenjirou]: goodbye

[Taichi]: guees who else thinks im spectacular

[Kenjirou]: Not interested in ur love life

[Taichi]: but u want deets on my sex life n im happy 2 oblige

[Kenjirou]: NO THANKS

Shirabu is about to throw his phone across the room when it starts vibrating, and he curses the name on his screen.

“Taichi, no.”

“Taichi, yes.” His best friend snickers, and Shirabu collapses onto his pillow, groaning.

“So as I was saying, I am this much closer to getting a boyfriend than you are.”

“No one said I’m not making progress.” Shirabu mumbles to his pillow.

“That pretty much confirms that you’re not.”

“Look here, I’m trying–”

“Try harder.”

“Oi, not all of us are like you.”

“Hmm, I suppose I could share some of my charm with you.”

“Ew. Go back to the bin you came from.”

“Rude.”

“Only the best for you,” he croons, and laughs at the dry retching from the other end of the line.

The door creaks open, and he tosses a careless Welcome back over his shoulder, half-listening to Kawanishi’s semi-serious cursing.

“Is that Taichi?” An amused voice asks, and Shirabu doesn’t bother to glance up before putting his friend on speaker.

“–you are absolutely hopeless and I hope you never get together with someone, for the sake of their sanity–”

Semi bursts into laughter, and the voice on the other end comes to an abrupt halt.

“Kenjirou, I’m going to kill you. Stop putting me on speaker.”

“Come to Tokyo and fight me, I dare you.”

“I’ll book a ticket right now, see if I don’t–”

“Mmhmm. I’ll let you know if the part of me that cares comes back from war.”

“You suck.”

“No more than you do.”

“On the contrary, I probably get a lot more sucking action than you do–”

Shirabu chokes and promptly turns the speaker off while Semi howls with laughter.

-----

Semi has entered and left the room three different times, two hours have passed, and Shirabu is still on the phone.

He never thought Kawanishi had it in him to talk for that long.

He’s settling down with a book when he hears “–yeah, of course I’ll tell you all about it. And send you spoilers.”

A pause, and a burst of laughter, possibly at Kawanishi's indignation. “You do it to me all the time, asshole. It’s about time I got payback.

“Mmhmm. Right. I do no such thing, stop spreading lies about me.”

Semi begins to think that he should just listen in instead of reading. Shirabu and Kawanishi’s conversations are more amusing than a soap opera, and infinitely more interesting than his book.

“Whatever. I’m going to shower, my phone’s burning my ear off. Mm. Right. Bye.”

Shirabu tosses the phone aside and collapses on his pillow, and Semi tries very hard to immerse himself in his book.

(He gets called out anyway.)

“How long were you actually listening to us talk?”

Semi glances up, but Shirabu isn’t looking at him. It looks like he’s trying to suffocate himself with the pillow, and Semi wonders what brought that on. “Is that really a question? I walked in and out thrice and you were on the phone for two hours.”

“Hnn.” His roommate rolls over, removing himself from the possibility of suffocation, and regards him with his head on his hand. “So how much did you hear?”

“Do I look like I would really remember everything that you two were talking about–”

“Badly phrased question.” Shirabu cuts him off with a wave of his free hand. “How nosy do you want to be, before I forget whatever Taichi said?”

“Why, thank you for thinking of me and including me in the sharing of your deep, dark secrets.”

“Bye.” Shirabu rolls off the bed and heads for his dresser, while Semi snickers behind him.

“Okay, okay, I was kidding. I was curious about one thing.”

Shirabu looks up from a half-closed drawer, raising an eyebrow at him to continue.

“You’re watching a movie sometime?”

“Oh, yeah.” A hint of a smile tilts Shirabu’s lips up, right before he schools his face back into neutrality. “Tomorrow. Not sure what time yet.”

“Oh, nice. Have fun.” He smiles.

“Why do you want to know?”

“You said I could be nosy.”

“You’re never nosy without reason,” Shirabu counters, walking back to perch on the edge of his bed, his toiletries balanced on his knees. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Semi protests. “Can I not be curious about what 'spoilers' might mean without a reason?”

“No.”

“Suck it up then. There’s no other reason.”

“You’re such a pain.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Ugh.” Shirabu heads towards the room door. “Bye.”

“I’ll still be here when you get back, you know.”

“Ew. Don’t remind me.”

Semi laughs a little as the door clicks shut behind him, putting their conversation out of mind as he finally starts reading.

-----

Semi's phone buzzes, and he grins at the message.

It’s been a while since he heard from this friend.

He opens up the text, composing a reply, ignoring the creak as the door opens.

“What are you smiling at?”

“A friend is in Tokyo.” He continues replying to the person, snickering at their responses.

“Ooh, exciting. I didn’t know you had friends.”

Semi throws a spare pillow in his direction, uncaring if it hits its target or not.

Shirabu catches the pillow with a huff, hugging it to himself as he rubs his towel over his hair with his other hand. “Am I allowed to know who this mysterious friend is?”

“Since you were so rude, no.” Semi puts his phone down and picks his book back up, smirking at him. “Besides, you have mysterious friends too.”

“Touché.” Shirabu doesn’t comment further. He’s not ready to share the identity of his 'mysterious friend’ just yet.

He can hear the little vibrations as Semi gets new messages, but opts to tune him out as he turns their hair dryer on. It feels good to dry his hair even though they are in the heat of summer, and he shakes his dried hair out to rid it of the excess heat.

“I’m never going to get over how fluffy your hair is,” he hears. Shirabu rolls his eyes, though he knows his roommate can’t see it.

“Semi-san, you can’t really be talking to me about fluffy hair.”

“I believe I just did.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Does the reflection on my phone screen count?”

Semi laughs as Shirabu throws his pillow back at him with another roll of his eyes. “Okay, okay, geez. I have a serious question now.”

“Oooh, scary.”

“Shut up, Semi-san.”

“Come over here and make me.”

“Oh, gladly.”

Shirabu stalks the two strides across their room and grabs the pillow, but Semi keeps a hold on it, already guessing what he’s about to do.

They grapple back and forth for some time before Semi’s grip suddenly slackens, and Shirabu tumbles atop him. But then the pillow is up in his face, smothering him instead, and a push on his shoulder unbalances him enough that he gets rolled over, a muffled laugh above him.

“Yield,” he hears Semi say, but with his mouth full of pillow, Shirabu can only shove against it in hope of a gulp of air.

The grip on the pillow slackens as he knew it would, Semi pulling it back to allow him to breathe. Shirabu shoves weakly against his roommate, trying to dislodge him from where he and the pillow are crushing his chest. “Can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Semi says, but the pressure eases up anyway. It’s just enough for Shirabu to push the ash blond off and sit up, blocking the pillow when it comes for him again.

They push against each other, the pillow squashed between them, neither gaining an inch.

“Give up.”

“Never.”

“Then I guess you won’t be sleeping with this pillow tonight.”

“I have a spare, don’t worry.”

“I’ll pummel you with this.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Maybe you’re right. Too much mess to clean up.”

“I knew it. You're too lazy to clean up your normal mess, how are you going to clean up if you murder me?”

“I’ll just get someone else to murder you for me,” Shirabu says simply. “And I don’t have a ‘normal mess’, you do!”

“I don’t have that many enemies,” Semi counters, choosing to ignore the latter half of what Shirabu said.

“You’d never know.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Did you expect anything less?”

“No,” Semi admits. “But then again, I never take puffballs seriously.”

“Puffball–!”

“Look in a mirror, Shirabu.” Semi gives him a huge shove, his grin half-hidden by the pillow. The action pushes his roommate to the edge of the bed, and his hand shoots out to muss up Shirabu’s hair such that it sticks up even more. “Come back when you look more serious.”

“I’m always serious,” the brunet complains, smacking away the hand and trying to smooth the strands down. But he does get off Semi's bed to return to his own, flopping down and pulling the blanket over himself. “I refuse to talk to you any more.”

“Good riddance.”

Shirabu lifts his head to glare at him. “I will murder you myself, one day.”

“But that day is not today,” Semi guesses. The stony glare Shirabu gives him confirms this, and he snickers as he moves to turn off the light. “Well, whatever. I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow, I can’t stay up and argue with you.”

“Thank god,” Shirabu mutters. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Semi pulls his blanket over his shoulders, smiling into the darkness as he relives their tussle.

Living with Shirabu can be fun, sometimes.

-----

Semi doesn’t notice him until he’s nearly on top of him, chocolate eyes boring into cocoa, staring, staring, waiting for a reaction.

Semi takes a step back and exhales deeply. “Koushi, could you maybe not do that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Suga laughs. They fall into step together, heading towards the shops. “Can’t resist, you know? There’s not many people I can sneak up on.”

“I suppose Sawamura isn’t affected by it?”

“Daichi is so placid,” Suga complains. “He never reacts to anything I do.”

“Anything?”

“Well…”

“Nope,” Semi says, putting his palm up in Suga's face. “I know that look. I don’t need any dirty details, thanks.”

Suga shrugs and grins. “Your loss. But you started it.”

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”

Suga gasps in mock-affront, putting a hand over his heart. “Eita, how dare you. I have the purest heart–”

“And the dirtiest mind.”

“You got me.” Suga drops his hand and the pretence, his grin wide. “Glad to know you haven’t changed.”

“And you.” Semi laughs.

“Anyway, how've you been?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Ups and downs. School life, you know?”

Suga nods. “As it is with all of us. But you know, other than school, what’s up?”

“…we met two minutes ago and you’re already asking for details on my love life?”

“You’re right, I should have asked immediately.”

Semi rolls his eyes. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Nor do you want me to.”

“Touché.”

“So, so? Give me the details.” Suga nudges him as he steers them towards a bookshop, and Semi laughs.

“Nothing's happened. I’m too busy for a love life. My roommate is irritating, but other than that, every other part of my life is fine.”

“Ah, right. Everyone’s younger than you in your year, aren’t they?”

“Most people, yes. Would you believe that I ended up becoming friends with a few of the volleyball players we used to meet at tournaments?”

“Wow. Some luck. Who?”

“Nekoma’s second year setter and Datekou's second year captain. I think he was a middle blocker?”

“You mean when we were third years and they were second years?” Suga asks.

“Yes, yes. I keep forgetting that they became the third years after us.”

“You’re old,” his silver-haired friend teases. “Datekou’s captain, huh? I think he was a wing spiker.” Suga hums as he thinks, tapping his chin. “Yeah. Wing spiker.”

His gaze lifts, and he gives Semi an amused smile. “Kozume-kun and Futakuchi-kun, huh? What unlikely friends.”

“I know right? Wait, you know them too?”

“Kozume-kun is from Nekoma,” Suga reminds him. “Nekoma and Karasuno are ‘fated rivals’. And Datekou is a Miyagi school, same as ours. We used to have practice matches with them.”

“Come to think of it, Kenma might have told me the same thing about your schools a long time ago.”

“Oooh, first name basis. How scandalous.” Suga wiggles his eyebrows, and Semi punches his shoulder lightly. “I’ll tell Hinata, he’ll be so sad that he wasn’t told about this development.”

The ash blond rolls his eyes. “We’re not that kind of friends.”

“Bah. You’re no fun, Eita.”

“You just like gossip.”

“Now, now, let’s not go making false accusations.” Suga shakes a finger at him, a mischievous look on his face. “Tell me more about your uni life instead!”

Semi rolls his eyes and grins. He’s missed Suga’s antics. “Fine. I’ll indulge you. Where was I?”

“I don’t know. Something about your roommate?”

“Right!” Semi snaps his fingers, the words coming back to him. “So, fate decided that I'm not tormented enough and now I’m stuck with Shirabu as a roommate.”

“Shirabu… Isn’t he that underclassman of yours?”

“The one and only.” Semi rolls his eyes. “I must have offended too many people in my past life.”

“Tough luck.” Suga pats him on the arm. “Is he as awful as he was?”

“He has his good and bad days.” Semi pauses, before a smirk creeps across his face, a thought coming to mind. “Although recently, he's been very secretive about some friends of his.”

“Oh?” Suga leans in, eyes glinting.

“And apparently, he has a partner, whom none of our mutual friends know about.”

“Oh.” His friend nods knowingly. “Very curious.”

“And apparently, they’re catching a movie some time today.”

“What? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Let’s go find out who this mysterious partner is!” Suga is suddenly ten times more energetic and tries to drag him out of the bookstore, but Semi pulls him back.

“We don’t know where they went,” he points out, to which Suga rolls his eyes.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll find out.”

“Aren’t we kind of violating his privacy by doing this?”

“You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want to violate his privacy at least a little,” Suga points out, phone already to his ear. He holds up a finger, turning his attention to the person he called. “Hi Tooru-chan. We need a favour.”

Tooru-chan?

“Did I say 'we'? My bad, you don’t need to know who my partner in crime is today.” Suga pauses, brow furrowing at something the other person said. “Can’t help me? Just what sort of important mission are you up to that you would deny me, your best friend– Wow, you’ve got nerve. Iwaizumi’s gonna kill you if he finds out.”

Semi follows in amusement as Suga weaves between bookshelves, talking to someone whom he assumes is Oikawa. “A date? Are you certain? Well then, who’s this mysterious figure? You don’t know? Wow, the great Oikawa Tooru, stumped at last!”

Suga suddenly stops, a hand over his mouth. “No. No way. Oh man, this is too good. Text me your address, we’ll be right there. Why? I’m coming with you, you dense coconut! Plus, this is the perfect scenario for all of us. What? Then go buy tickets! Get three, we’ll be right over. Hurry up, Tooru, don’t lose him now. Bye.”

Suga turns around, then takes a step back, eyes wide at Semi’s close proximity. “Gee, you scared me. But anyway, come on! We’ve got a movie to catch.”

“What? A movie? Koushi, tell me what happened!”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Suga grabs his wrist and drags him along. “So my informant–”

“Oikawa.”

“Yes, dear old Tooru-chan. He was stalking Iwaizumi to find out who he was going out with and refused to help me, but what do you know?” Suga levels a sly grin at Semi. “The person we’re stalking just so happens to be the one Iwaizumi’s meeting up with.”

Semi stares at him blankly, and Suga uses a finger to close his hanging jaw. “You’ll catch flies. Lots of them, because it’s summer.”

“We’re in a shopping mall, there are no flies here,” Semi replies. “Are you serious, though?”

“About what Tooru-chan said? Yeah, he sounded dumbstruck. I’m pretty sure it is real.”

Semi shakes his head. He doesn’t know if he’s more confused or stunned to finally have the last piece of the puzzle. “Shirabu’s going out with Iwaizumi?”

“Only one way to find out, don’t you think?” Suga grins. “Come on, I just got the text, it’s the next mall over.”

-----

Oikawa is on his phone and tapping his foot impatiently when they spot him. He’s poorly disguised with a white hoodie over a neon pink shirt, coupled with teal bermudas. The sunglasses on his head seem to be slipping, and he pushes them back just as Semi and Suga approach him.

“Tooru-chan. What the hell are you wearing?”

“Clothes, Koushi-chan, clothes.” Oikawa glances up from his device, then does a double-take. “Semi-chan?”

“Nice to see you too, Oikawa,” he replies drily.

Oikawa shakes his head, causing the sunglasses to fall onto his nose. “Nope. Nuh-uh. You said nothing about your partner in crime being him.”

“He is standing right here. And he’s coming with us.”

“No.”

“Yes. No one’s interested in Iwaizumi’s chastity here except you, Tooru-chan. I’ll pay you back later, let’s go catch up with the lovebirds first.” Suga puts his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders and spins him around, pushing him towards the cinema.

Oikawa’s hands flail, making several pointless gestures before they stop dead, falling to his sides. “Wait, you’re here to stalk Shirabu-chan?”

“I have a vested interest in what my roommate does,” Semi tells him. “What Iwaizumi does is none of my business.”

“If the two of them are really on a date, then it’s Iwa-chan's business as well, no?”

“And that’s why, friends, we are here to stalk them and find out, yes?” Suga slings an arm around both of them, easily dragging them along though both are taller than him. “Now come on. This is prime blackmail material. Tooru-chan, which hall is it?”

“Seven. Wait, wrong direction, that’s the other way.”

With a lot more hustling and bustling and whispered arguments about their extremely pure intentions for following their friends, they make it to the movie theatre, only to find that their seats are at the bottom.

“Tooru-chan, how the heck are we supposed to spy on anyone from the bottom?” Suga whispers ferociously.

“Those were the only seats left!” Oikawa whisper-shouts back.

Semi sighs and pushes on their backs. “Just go. Keep an eye out for them as we walk, we don’t want to be spotted.”

Suga twists to wiggle his eyebrows at him. “Eita, you’re learning.”

“I don’t want Shirabu to spot us and start yelling. Not that that’s likely, but you’d never know.”

“Iwa-chan might lob something at me,” Oikawa says thoughtfully. “Best to just go.”

The theatre is already dark, the advertisements rolling. It’s hard to pick out individuals, but Semi thinks that he might have seen someone with Iwaizumi’s spiky haircut on the left upper side of the hall. He points this out to the others only when they’re seated, and the way the duo immediately spin back to check makes him groan. “You two are so not subtle.”

“Shut up, Semi-chan,” Oikawa mutters distractedly. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s dark, my eyes may be playing tricks on me.”

“So helpful.” Oikawa turns back around, folding his arms and levelling a haughty stare at him. “Why are you here, again?”

“Not for the furthering of your agenda, that’s for sure.”

“Shh,” Suga hisses. “Even if we can’t find them, we can watch the movie. Sometimes the best part happens after movies.”

“He’s right,” Oikawa says. “Iwa-chan’s not the sort to do anything during a movie, he likes watching them too much. He won’t even let me comment during the showing!”

“I can see why,” Semi mutters. Oikawa makes no comment, and the ash blond hopes that it’s just because he didn’t hear him.

The movie is not bad, though it would have been a lot better without Oikawa’s excited murmuring. Semi can hardly focus on the dialogue with the running commentary beside him, and resolves to find the movie online at another time to rewatch.

Then the credits roll, Suga reaches over to tap his hand, and he suddenly remembers why they were all there.

The glow of the theatre screen is enough for him to make out Suga's gestured message: stay until the lights go up, and wait for Iwaizumi and Shirabu to leave before following them.

It sounds easy enough, and Semi leans back, eyes tracking the people streaming out, trying to pick out any silhouettes that look familiar.

He sees nothing of interest – there are individuals and families and the occasional couple, but he does not spot the two young men they are looking for leaving the movie theatre.

“Maybe they’re waiting for the after-credits,” Suga murmurs. “Everyone knows to wait for those.”

Oikawa snorts, motioning to those already leaving. “Not everyone, apparently.”

“Amateurs.”

“Precisely. Now, brilliant as I am, I have never missed an after-credit scene.”

“And yet, you can babble loud enough for the entire cinema to pinpoint your location.”

The trio spin round at the voice, eyes landing on a nonplussed Iwaizumi, Shirabu sitting impassively beside him. Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows at his best friend’s companions. “Oh, Sugawara, Semi. Nice to see you.”

Semi manages to croak out a Hello, and Suga greets them sunnily. Iwaizumi nods to each of them in greeting before his gaze returns to Oikawa. “Oikawa, how did you manage to get them mixed up in your nefarious deeds?”

“I didn’t,” the brunet protests. “It was all– Mmprgh!”

Suga’s smile never wavers though one of his hands is clamped firmly over Oikawa’s mouth. “We were in the area, and a movie sounded like a great idea. We had no idea Tooru-chan was doing something evil.”

A snort draws their eyes to Shirabu. “Pardon me, Sugawara-san, but you’ll have to try harder than that to convince me.”

“Oh?”

Shirabu nods in Semi’s direction. “You brought Semi-san. That’s plenty suspicious.”

“I’m not a terrorist, brat. There’s nothing suspicious about this.”

“Anything you do is suspicious.”

“Excuse me,” Semi protests. He can hear Oikawa cackling beside him, and vaguely wonders when he removed the gag that was Suga’s hand. “I was just watching a movie with friends.”

“We're hardly friends, Semi-chan.” Oikawa reminds.

“Right. A friend and an annoying acquaintance.” Oikawa lets out a squawk at the description, and Suga laughs. Iwaizumi seems to be smiling.

“I don’t believe you.” Shirabu folds his arms, and Semi can hardly suppress his eye roll.

“Believe whatever you like. I have no cause to follow you.”

Shirabu pauses, head cocked as he turns over Semi’s words in his head. “Really…? Hmm. But no one said anything about being followed, Semi-san.”

Semi presses his lips together tightly, refusing to say anything more. His guilty conscience doesn’t know what else he could say that wouldn’t sound incriminating.

“Hold the thought,” Oikawa interrupts, twisting back to face the screen. “After-credit scene.”

All five of them watch the scene in agreed-upon silence, Oikawa grabbing Suga to gush after it ends. Suga nods along but pushes him away. Oikawa is unperturbed, turning around to talk to Iwaizumi instead.

“Iwa-chan! Did you see that? Do you know what it means? I can’t wait for the next part of the series!”

“That’s another half-year to wait.”

“I know!” Oikawa wilts, slumping on Suga's shoulder. “The tragedy.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes, and Semi privately agrees. Oikawa is entirely too dramatic.

“Were you guys sitting behind us this entire time?”

The words come completely out of the blue, and Oikawa and Semi turn to stare at an unapologetic Suga, who doesn’t seem to care that they are facing down a dragon.

Iwaizumi snorts. “No, we came down during the credits. We had way better seats than you guys.” He jerks a thumb backwards, in the direction of the higher seats, but his raised eyebrows hold a question.

“It’s not my fault that all the good seats were taken!” Oikawa complains.

“Yet now all of us have sore necks thanks to you,” Semi says drily.

“You wanted to come along, you dug your own grave.” Oikawa’s smile is saccharine, and Semi has to wonder what it is that Suga sees in him. Aoba Jousai's ex-captain is even more aggravating than Shirabu.

“Yes, about that. Why did you guys follow us?” The Aggravating Underclassman’s expression is carefully blank.

“Now, now, Shirabu-kun, let’s not go making false accusations, shall we?” Suga is still cheerfully optimistic. “Maybe we just wanted to watch this movie.”

“Maybe?”

“Whatever it is, it’s done now.” Iwaizumi raises his arms in a stretch, then slumps against the seat. “Do you guys want to get dinner?”

Everyone turns to stare at him, and he shrugs. “There wasn’t any real damage done, as far as I’m concerned. Just Oikawa being his usual, nosy self.”

“Iwa-chan!” The brunet sounds scandalised. “I have only the purest of intentions for your well-being!”

“I’m twenty, I don’t need your false worrying.”

“False–!”

“So,” Iwaizumi claps his hands together over Oikawa’s complaints and looks around at the others. “Dinner?”

-----

“A bit ironic to be eating fast food, don’t you think?”

“Not really. We’re poor college students, and there are always seats in a fast food joint.”

“Hmm.”

Through some unfortunate luck in drawing lots, Semi has been elected to purchase their food alongside Iwaizumi. It shouldn’t have been awkward, but given his newfound knowledge, plus the tension that had never really dissolved from their high school days… Well, maybe he was mistaken. It was definitely awkward.

Semi turns around at the sound of Suga’s laugh, and Oikawa’s complaints that follow. Shirabu is sitting stonily between them, looking as though he wants to be anywhere but there.

“Semi.”

“Yes?” He turns back to Iwaizumi, who is wearing a curious look on his face.

“I know you’re the most honest of the three of you–” He jerks a thumb towards their friends, “So I’d like to ask: Was Oikawa up to no good?”

Semi pretends to study the menu, dragging out the moment. He sighs after a second, the words bubbling out. “Truthfully, I’m not sure. I only heard Koushi’s side of the conversation, and all I can guess is that Oikawa was curious about who you were meeting up with, so he followed you.”

“I see.” Iwaizumi looks thoughtful. “You say you only heard Sugawara’s side of the conversation?”

Semi figures that nothing worse can happen even if he tells him. “Koushi called Oikawa to ask something, but one thing led to another and suddenly we were going to watch a movie. I’m not too sure how that happened.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Oikawa and Sugawara are masterminds together. I’m not surprised you got dragged into it, or that you’re not sure how it happened. It’s happened to me before.”

“Really?” Semi’s surprised. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem like the sort to be taken in by anyone’s deceit.

“It was the first time I met Sugawara outside of the court. Not an incident I’m particularly happy to recall.” Iwaizumi frowns at their friends, and as if sensing they are talking about him, Oikawa turns around and flashes his signature grin. In response, Iwaizumi turns away without acknowledging him, and Oikawa looks so affronted that Semi laughs.

“I’ve never seen Oikawa look so offended.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Spend more time with him and Sugawara together. Every other thing Sugawara says offends him.”

“Maybe his words hit a little too close to home.”

“Maybe. Their conversations sound mostly like shit talk to me.”

“Birds of a feather flock together, isn’t that what they say?”

“Oh yes. That’s probably it. No wonder they get along so well.”

It is their turn, and their conversation halts while they place their order and move aside to wait as it is prepared. Iwaizumi drums his fingers on the countertop, and Semi waits, feeling as though he knows what question he’s going to be asked. “Why did you follow Sugawara, once you realised what he was up to?”

Semi glances back at their friends, who are now throwing verbal insults at each other. Iwaizumi follows his eyes, and snorts a little. “Oh. Were you following Shirabu-kun?”

Semi’s a bit surprised at the suffix, but doesn’t comment, storing away that information for later. “I guess so. I have no reason to follow you, but I admit I was a bit curious about Shirabu being your companion.”

“Curious?”

“He never told anyone in our circle of friends that he knew you, so everyone jumped to conclusions about who he’s been going out with.”

“Going ou–? Oh.” A baffled look takes over Iwaizumi’s face, but he doesn’t get to comment, as their food arrives. They take a tray each and walk back to the table, steps slow to ensure nothing gets spilled.

“Semi.” Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his path, though his words keep flowing. “You and your friends can rest assured that nothing is going on between us. We’re just friends.”

Semi snorts. “Even if you weren’t just friends, you would tell me that. But it’s your private business. There’s no need for you to tell anyone about it unless you want to.”

“Thank you. That is something that Oikawa and Sugawara wouldn’t understand.”

“We can agree on that.”

Their arrival at the table is accompanied by loud rejoicing from Oikawa, with a slightly more subdued reaction from Suga. Shirabu nods his thanks as Semi passes his meal to him though he wrinkles his nose a little, and the ash blond responds by giving him a deadpan stare.

“You two remind me of someone,” Oikawa announces suddenly, pointing at them. “What’s with this silent communication, huh?”

“You just said it, pretty boy. Silent communication. You and Iwaizumi do that too.” Suga throws a fry at him, and Oikawa pops it into his mouth with a grin.

“Aha, but Iwa-chan and I grew up together. These two haven’t. I wonder why they do that.” Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows at them, and Shirabu pins him with an unimpressed look.

“I live with Semi-san. At this point, he’s like the irritating older sibling I never wanted. Seeing him even more, in my own free time no less, is a horrific experience.”

“Watch your tongue,” Semi warns, mimicking Suga’s action and launching a fry at his roommate. “I’ll put bleach in your shampoo.”

“Save it for yourself, Semi-san. Your roots are showing.”

Suga and Oikawa burst into laughter while Semi throws more fries at Shirabu, and even Iwaizumi cracks a smile behind his burger.

Dinner passes by almost too quickly – insinuating comments and jibes thrown by Oikawa and Suga are countered either by Semi and Iwaizumi’s remarks or by Shirabu’s sharp quips. It’s almost fun, and Semi can feel himself relaxing as the evening wears on.

It’s been a while since he had this sort of easy camaraderie, especially with people his age. It’s nice.

They stay on mostly neutral topics – classes and friend groups and of course, volleyball. Semi finally learns that Oikawa and Iwaizumi go to a university pretty close to his and Shirabu’s, and they agree to ask for a practice match between campuses at some point. Their high school rivalry never did resolve, and it would be fun to settle scores now that they are in university.

“It wouldn’t be very fair to the other players, since they don’t know about the never ending feud between Seijou and Shiratorizawa.” Suga comments. “Everyone would wonder what the fuss is about.”

“It also wouldn’t be fair because we don’t have Ushijima-san any more,” Shirabu grumbles. “Semi-san is a setter, not a spiker.”

“Who said you’re going to be the setter?” Semi counters. “You can spike for once.”

“My spiking sucks!”

“Then work on it. Futakuchi can help you.”

“Ew, Futakuchi.” Shirabu wrinkles his nose, and everyone laughs.

“We still have Makki and Mattsun, so we have the advantage,” Oikawa crows. “See if your ragtag team can beat us now!”

“Do you think we can borrow Kuroo and Bokuto for this?” Semi mutters to Shirabu.

“Maybe, if they have free time.”

“I'll ask Kenma to ask.”

“You guys are cheating,” Suga quips, delighted. “Those two aren’t even from your university.”

“Koushi, shh.”

“Iwa-chan, stop them!”

“Hey, I can’t control this, don’t drag me into it.”

Their conversation derails from there. Semi and Shirabu spend so much time arguing between topics that Oikawa and Iwaizumi finally find out that not only do they attend the same university, they share a room. Oikawa pokes fun at Semi for needing to share a room – with his least favourite underclassman no less – and is promptly put in his place by both Iwaizumi and Suga when they reveal that he is sharing an apartment with three other people.

“An apartment is nothing compared to a room,” Semi argues. “You still have the advantage of more space. And privacy.”

“But Makki hogs the toilet all the time. Mattsun is always cooking and the whole apartment never stops smelling like baked goods. I swear, I never feel like eating cookies anymore!”

The brunet turns to Iwaizumi, who sips at his drink, never breaking eye contact. “And Iwa-chan thinks he’s my mum, as usual.”

“Someone has to make sure we get our deposit back.” Iwaizumi shrugs, then glances at the rest of them. “Do you know how much hair he leaves in the bathroom drain every day? It’s like living with a girl, I had no idea he had so much hair.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawks. “I am perfect! I do no such thing!”

“Oh, I know,” Suga nods, completely ignoring Oikawa. “The one time he stayed over at my house, my sister got scolded for the hair that he left in our bathroom drain.”

“How irresponsible of you, Oikawa-san. How could you let someone else take the fault for your bad manners?” Shirabu deadpans.

Oikawa launches into a tirade, cursing them and their false accusations, but everyone sees the half-smile on his face, and no one thinks he means it. Semi thinks his face is going to split from so much laughing, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t remember the last time he felt so carefree.

It’s not until later, when they’ve split into groups as they walk to the train station, that the conversation dies down. Where it was a raging river before, the straits have calmed, the rapids settling, trickling into smaller streams with gentler currents. Their pace is leisurely, comfortable, and it feels like the excitement of the day has finally caught up to them, lethargy weighing them down alongside the heaviness of their meal.

Oikawa’s not surging ahead for once, having chosen to hang back with Shirabu. The other three walk ahead, discussing something or the other.

Shirabu eyes the older boy a little suspiciously. It is not like him to be this quiet and contemplative, despite the excitement of their evening. Even during the days that their schools were rivals, he only remembers the other as this contemplative right before he launched an unexpected attack–

Oh, no.

“Shirabu-chan,” Oikawa quietly begins, eyes fixed on the distant figures of their friends, “What are your intentions with Iwa-chan?”

Shirabu refuses to let his emotions show. The change of topic is abrupt, but he can’t say it was completely unexpected. He had been expecting someone to ask, at some point. “With all due respect, Oikawa-san, that’s none of your business.”

“It isn’t,” Oikawa agrees. “But as someone who had been in love with Iwa-chan before, I want to give you a bit of advice.”

Shirabu is too stunned to say anything, too taken aback by his candour and the easiness with which he speaks of such a topic. The lack of a response encourages Oikawa to continue. “Don’t get your hopes up, is what I want to say. Iwa-chan’s a great guy, but he sees most people as nothing more than friends. You’re going to be waiting a long time if you want him to consider you at all, and I think your affections are better spent elsewhere.”

“Oikawa-san,” Shirabu says slowly, “Thank you for your words, but what makes you think that I fancy Iwaizumi-san?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Like I said, I was there once. That face you have around him is the same one that Makki and Mattsun told me I used to make whenever I spoke to Iwa-chan, and he’s my childhood friend. Lovestruck.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Maybe I’m wrong – I don’t think I am – but if you want to pursue him in that manner and you get rejected, just remember it’s not the end of the world.”

“Oikawa-san, I have had crushes before. I know what life after rejection feels like.”

The older grins slyly at him. “So you admit you like him?”

“I never said that. I just said I know what rejection feels like.”

“Mmhmm.” Oikawa smirks knowingly. “Of course you do. But again, a crush is a crush, and love is something more, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Love is a lot easier than a crush,” Oikawa tells him. “No jittery feelings, just a blossoming warmth. It took me a long time to realise that, myself. But you know what? You’ll get there when you get there.”

“Yes.” Shirabu deadpans. “Thank you for your sagely advice.”

“You’re very welcome.” Oikawa winks and skips ahead. “Come on. I think they’ve found dessert!”

Their friends have indeed found an uncrowded ice cream shop, and they file inside, swarming the display. Shirabu's on the edge of their group, trying to peer at the flavours. He’s not short, but it’s difficult to see with the others blocking his view.

“What are you getting?”

He glances up at Iwaizumi, then turns back to frown at the glass. “I don’t know. Lychee looks interesting, but vanilla is always a safer choice.”

“Why don’t you ask for a sample, then? No point getting something that you wouldn’t like.”

“Good point.” He tries to catch the attention of the server, but Iwaizumi beats him to it. He takes the two spoons from the server with thanks, handing a spoon to Shirabu. “Here.”

“Thank you.” He bites off half the ice cream, artificial flavour exploding across his tongue. He wrinkles his nose, and Iwaizumi laughs around his own spoon.

“Not good?”

“Too sweet.” He eats the rest of the sample anyway, chewing sullenly on the plastic. “What was yours?”

“Blueberry. It’s good.”

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll try that.”

“I’ll ask for you.” Iwaizumi turns back to the server, while Shirabu reaches up to put the spoon in the bin provided.

There’s a nudge on his shoulder, and he turns, only to startle at the sight of a spoon in front of his face. Semi smirks, but shoves the spoon towards him. “You’ll like this one.”

Shirabu stares at the spoon and the teeth marks in the ice cream. “Did you already eat half of it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it and I think you would, so you eat it.”

“I am not your dustbin,” Shirabu complains, but closes his lips around the spoon. Semi lets it go, and Shirabu frowns at him around the burst of flavour. “Hey, this is nice.”

“It’s sea salt with something or the other. Told you you’d like it.”

Shirabu grumbles at him and puts the spoon in the bin, accepting the new sample spoon from Iwaizumi. He thinks he hears Semi go back over to where Suga is calling him as he mulls over the new flavour.

“How is it?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Not bad. Maybe I’ll get this one and the other sea salt thing.”

“You must like ice cream a lot.”

“I don’t get to have it often, Iwaizumi-san. Stop judging my diet.” Shirabu huffs.

(The other doesn’t need to know how much he loves the sweet treat.)

Iwaizumi laughs. “No judgement. I watch Oikawa eat too much milk bread daily, it’s just second nature to watch out for others’ sugar intake.”

“Once in a while is fine,” Shirabu insists.

“Yes, that’s true. But how do I know that this is your first time in a while?”

Shirabu’s about to protest when he sees Iwaizumi’s lips twitch. “You’re teasing me.”

“Absolutely not,” the older says, but he’s grinning. Shirabu holds back his initial response, rolling his eyes instead.

After sampling almost all the flavours, everyone decides on what they want. Suga and Shirabu are elected to buy the ice cream while the others go get a seat.

The wait isn’t long, but as they watch the girl prepare their dessert, Suga asks, “Was Tooru-chan lecturing you about Iwaizumi?”

Shirabu stares at him. He had just pushed that conversation to the back of his mind, and here it was being brought up again.

(He should have expected it, but at the same time, he had been hoping that it wouldn’t be brought back up.)

Suga laughs at his expression. “No, we didn’t plan this, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just happen to know how he works, and what he would have spoken to you about. He probably told you not to get your hopes up, right?”

“If you know,” Shirabu starts, “Then why would you ask about it?”

“Because I’m curious,” Suga says simply. “And because I’m as nosy as he is. Now, I haven’t faced rejection the way Tooru-chan has, so my advice is to not listen to him. Take your own feelings into account. He worries for others because he’s a little more fragile and he took that rejection badly. You, I think, are more resilient.” The silver-haired man hands him some of the ice cream cups and picks up the remainder, tilting his head towards their table with a small smile. “Think on it. But for now, shall we?”

Shirabu follows him silently, turning over the words of both young men in his mind. It’s too much for an evening, especially when he had been expecting a quiet afternoon out. He’s getting tired of all the people lecturing him on things he does not want their advice on. He’s quiet as he picks at his ice cream, and only looks up when he feels something nudge his foot.

Semi raises his eyebrows at him, his eyes holding a question, but Shirabu shakes his head. It’s nothing.

The ash blond raises an eyebrow to convey his disbelief, to which Shirabu rolls his eyes. Don’t worry about me.

Semi shrugs and turns back to the conversation that the others are having, allowing Shirabu to push those thoughts aside and focus on the present.

He has plenty of time later to worry about their advice. For now, he is going to enjoy the company of those he is with.

-----

They say their goodbyes at the station, parting to return to their respective accommodations. Shirabu is still rather quiet, but Semi chooses to say nothing. He had seen Oikawa and Suga speaking to him earlier, and figures he doesn’t need any more 'advice'.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He turns to look at Shirabu, whose eyes are closed as he rests his head against the back of the seat. Semi sighs. “No. Should I be saying anything?”

“I figured you might want to add your two cents' worth, since Oikawa-san and Sugawara-san have already done so.”

Semi snorts. “Who am I to give you advice on your love life? Do what you like.”

One eye opens to regard him. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I don’t trust you on that, but I never trust you.” His eye closes, but Semi does not sense any ill intent coming from him.

“What do you mean, you don’t trust me?” Semi protests, half-jokingly.

“I mean, maybe you let something like that slip again…” Shirabu opens his eyes, staring at him unapologetically. “I can’t think of any other reason why Oikawa-san and Sugawara-san would be so open about giving me 'advice’ like that.”

Semi blinks at him, first in confusion, then in anger. “Is that what you’re worried about? Why they decided to give you advice?”

“It is a cause for concern–”

“And you really think that I would do that again? I said I wouldn’t, and I haven’t. Have you stopped to consider that they don’t mind talking about it because they don’t care about the gender of your partner? I get why you’d suspect I told them, but I swear I didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t they care? It’s not a normal thing, is it?”

“I’m– What– No– Ugh.” Semi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, groaning. “Why are you saying that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Are you saying that whatever you or I feel for others is unnatural, then? That anyone else who is like us – who doesn’t fit society's norm – is not normal?”

“To them it is. To us, it’s perfectly fine.”

“Exactly.” Semi points at Shirabu accusingly. “So why are you so hung up on why Oikawa and Koushi decided to talk to you about it?”

“Well, I’m sorry that I don’t know if they are like us or not.” Shirabu snaps. “Is it a crime now to be on my guard?”

“No, but–”

“Let me deal with my life my own way,” Shirabu says viciously. “I was shocked that they could discuss something so openly, considering how most everyone isn’t so accepting. You can’t exactly look at someone and tell if they’re going to accept or condemn you, now, can you?”

Semi bites his words back, knowing he’s right. “No, but I can tell you that Koushi and Oikawa aren’t the sort to condemn you for that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Semi chooses to ignore the sarcastic bite in Shirabu’s tone. “They – Koushi, at least – is very accepting and open. He wouldn’t judge you for your preferences. I don’t think Oikawa is the sort either. He’s an asshole but not a hypocrite.”

“Hypocrite?” Shirabu looks like he’s beginning to understand, but Semi decides to spell it out for him, just in case.

“Neither of them can judge you when they’re both dating men.”

The silence stretches as Shirabu stares at him. Finally, he says, “Are you sure you are allowed to tell me that?”

“They’re not subtle about it, they wouldn’t mind.” Semi says. “Iwaizumi and Koushi were the ones who told me who Oikawa is dating, so I can guess that he doesn’t care that others know who his partner is. Koushi enjoys flaunting his relationship, so he definitely won’t care that I told you.”

“Okay.” Shirabu’s expression is back to neutral. “And what am I supposed to do with this information?”

“Accept that they didn’t mean any harm by giving you advice.” Semi grits out. “Of course, whether or not it’s useful advice remains to be seen, considering both their natures.”

Shirabu snorts, rolling his eyes. “I know. It was sort of useful, I think.”

“…if you think so.”

They sit in awkward silence for some minutes, neither knowing what to say.

“You're really not going to bother me about it, then?”

Semi glances over, but Shirabu’s not looking at him, his gaze trained on the wall opposite them. He sighs. “No. You don’t need advice on what to do with your life. If you want to date Iwaizumi, go ahead. There is literally no reason that you need to tell me about your love life.”

“I never said I wanted to date Iwaizumi-san.”

“I said if,” Semi points out. “You’re practically admitting it, now.”

“I am not.”

“Are too. But like I said, it’s not my business. Whether you do or don’t date him, you don’t have to tell me.”

“…you don’t care?”

“Shirabu, exactly what don’t you understand about 'It's your life, do what you want’?”

“I didn’t think you’d be that approving of my dating someone. If I was hypothetically dating someone.”

“I’m not your keeper!” Semi throws his hands up in exasperation. “Or your parent! Do whatever the heck you want! As long as you let me know when not to come back to the room and interrupt you or something, I don’t particularly care–”

“Don’t insinuate things, oh my god–”

“You want to date him, it’s bound to happen at some point–”

“Shut up, I never said that, and I’m nowhere near even confessing–”

“You just admitted you wanted to confess, so you like him, at least–”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t know how to do this, okay–”

“You’re not stupid, just try harder, damnit–”

“You sound like Taichi, shut up–”

“Make me–”

The announcer’s voice comes on, interrupting their argument, and the train slows. Semi claps a hand over Shirabu’s mouth, cutting him off. “Argue later, it’s our stop.”

Shirabu slaps his hand away and follows him sullenly, hands in his pockets. The train station is quiet, though the streets back to the university are generously lit, the lights welcoming as they lead the way. There aren’t many people about because of the hour, and their pace is slow, unhurried.

There’s a sort of peace that surrounds them, tranquillity seeping through their skin, permeating their bones. It’s as if the serenity of the late hour is replacing the tension and weight of any other emotion, allowing them a space, a clear pool untouched by wandering thoughts. Shirabu basks in the rare bubble of tranquillity, feeling the last of the agitation from earlier slip off his shoulders.

His head tilts back, eyes lazily tracing the skyline, searching for stars that are unseen. It makes him smile a little, at the futility of his action. It’s been so long, and of course he knows that the stars are obscured, but he still can’t help looking. It reminds him of another time, almost too long ago – almost a year ago now.

(How time flies.)

“Semi-san.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember when we first met in Tokyo?”

“You mean how we first found out we had to live together?”

“Oh, yes. The horror.” Shirabu sounds so sarcastic that Semi has to crack a smile. “But I was thinking of the time after that, when we went out to find ice cream and yet never did.”

“We– Oh. Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” Semi tilts his head back; his turn now, at searching for lights in the starless sky. “We’ve had ice cream lots of times after that, though.”

“Yeah.” Shirabu is quiet as he thinks. “A lot of times.”

“Enough times that I know you never try any new flavours,” Semi teases. “I was actually surprised that you got flavoured ice cream today.”

“I like trying new things once in a while, geez.” Shirabu kicks at his heel, trying to trip him.

(He doesn’t succeed.)

“No, you don’t.”

“Shut up and let me do what I want.” Shirabu grumbles, and Semi laughs.

“You’ll always do whatever you want, regardless of what I say.”

“You’ve got a point.”

They shuffle along in companionable silence, growing closer and closer to the school, passing by familiar neighbourhoods to reach their destination. There’s a tug on his sleeve and Semi looks down, but Shirabu isn’t looking back at him.

“What is it?”

“Are you going to tell Kenma and Futakuchi?”

“About what?” He thinks he knows what.

Shirabu makes an annoyed sound. “What you saw today.”

“No?” Semi’s puzzled. “Why would I?”

“Because they’re dying to know who my 'mysterious friend' is? Don’t deny it, I know they’ve asked you about it.”

“Again: why would I do that?” Semi is perplexed. “Just because they’re being nosy doesn’t mean I have to indulge them.”

“But you were curious too.”

“So sue me for wondering if you were in bad company all the times that you went out and came home so late.” Semi throws his hands up in exasperation. He seems to be doing that a lot, lately. “It’s your life. I just want to know that I won’t have to wake up to an empty room and the cops at the door because you went missing!”

Shirabu stares at him for a second, then lets out a snort. “You are so dramatic.”

“I’m worried!”

“Yeah, yeah.” His steps slow as he turns to face Semi. “Were you following us on purpose?”

“You never give up, do you?” Semi groans, raising a hand instinctively to block the punch Shirabu throws. “No, not at first.”

“Not at first?”

“Stop being so dramatic, geez. I was just telling Koushi the usual gossip he wanted to hear and the next thing I know, he’s called Oikawa and all the pieces have fallen into place like some miracle and we’re in the movie theatre.” Semi rolls his eyes. “I had no intention of following you, but Koushi dragged me into it.”

“Oh.” That shuts him up for a bit. “Sugawara-san is a lot sneakier than I gave him credit for.”

Semi laughs. “Oh, you have no idea. You should have heard the story of how he tricked Sawamura into confessing first. That was hilarious.”

“Sugawara-san did– What?”

Semi laughs harder at Shirabu’s stunned expression. “Koushi never lets Sawamura live it down. The story goes that Sawamura was stuttering and delaying it, and Koushi egged him on until he was half-dead with embarrassment.”

“…remind me never to get on Sugawara-san's bad side. Poor Sawamura-san.”

“Well, they’re very happy together, so I wouldn’t say that,” Semi hums. “I think Sawamura came to Tokyo with Koushi, so you can go witness their lovey-dovey stuff for yourself.”

“You want me to be a third wheel? No thanks.”

“Ask Iwaizumi to go with you.”

Shirabu makes a sound like a dying duck. “Then it’s going to look like a double date. No. No, no, no, I am not doing this–”

“For goodness’ sake, you like the guy, just ask him out!”

“It’s complicated!”

“Then uncomplicate it!”

“How!”

“I don’t know!”

They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, yelling at each other, and it suddenly occurs to Semi that they are too close to the residential areas to be making a racket, especially this late at night. His gaze darts about, and seeing no one, shushes Shirabu every time he tries to speak, dragging him along.

“We are trying not to be more of a public nuisance,” he hisses to the struggling brunet. “We probably woke up half the blocks with our yelling.”

“You started it,” Shirabu mumbles.

“No, you did.”

“No, it was you. Stop coming up with embarrassing ideas and I won’t have to yell!”

Semi shushes him again. “And if I don’t give you ideas, you’re never going to confess to him!”

“You’re not exactly the poster child for successful relationships, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Semi winces, the memory of a certain redhead and another, broader figure coming to mind. “I know what not to do, which is why I’m telling you what you should do.”

“I will muddle my way through my own relationship mess, thank you very much. You and Taichi can keep your noses out of it.”

“I’m helping you here,” Semi says, exasperated. At this point, exasperation is going to be the only emotion he associates with Shirabu. “Ask Iwaizumi to show Koushi and Sawamura around Tokyo on my behalf because I’m busy or something. Only Koushi and you will ever know it’s a double date.”

“…you are more evil than I gave you credit for, Semi-san.”

“Blame Koushi. He’s rubbing off on me.”

They walk the rest of the way back to the dorms in silence. The quiet surrounding them is broken only by the sound of traffic, the scuffle of their shoes on the pavement, the slight whisper of the wind as it passes them by. Each is lost in his own thoughts, but soon they unite in action – pulling at the fabric that clings to their skin, shifting uncomfortably under the straps of their bags.

It is summer, and it is too hot to be in a city, where the lights add to the heat and the buildings never release their stored thermal energy fast enough. But somewhere in the midst of the cloying heat that melts brains, the duo seem to have come to a silent consensus, a remembrance of their truce – the shadow of a memory from times long past.

They trek back to their room, movements almost in sync, and it feels like they’ve found their own little glade of serenity – individualistic yet slightly interdependent. Slightly compromising, that they may coexist.

The night is warm, but they don’t want to turn on the air conditioning. They make do with the fan in their room, shuffling around until they sit comfortably before it, the wind rustling their shower-damp hair.

“Is it warm enough that we can sleep on the floor?” Shirabu asks, eyes closed in the face of the fan.

“We’re gonna catch colds.” Semi counters, but he is considering it.

“Just for one night. We can use the blankets to prevent a chill. Unless it gets too hot, then all bets are off.”

“Well…”

Shirabu leans over and stretches up to his bed, pulling his pillow and blanket down. The pillow is tossed near the fan, and he uses the blanket to cover the floor, much to Semi’s horror.

“The floor is dirty. You’re going to get sick.”

“I’ll do the laundry tomorrow. Do you want to sleep here or not?”

Semi groans quietly, but does not answer. He leans over to his bed and pulls his blanket off as well, making up his own nest on the floor.

It’s way too cramped on the floor for two young men, and they are almost elbow to elbow when they lie down, the fan oscillating, stirring currents above their heads. The lights from outside peek through the gaps in their blinds, playing out across the ceiling. Below the lights, wandering across the short expanse of flattened blankets, fingers shove against each other, pushing back and forth in a lazy war for dominance over the seam where their blankets meet.

One hand draws away first – there’s the sound of rustling fabric, and Semi turns his head to see that Shirabu has rolled over, resting now with his head on his folded hands.

“Semi-san?”

“Hm?”

“Maybe… Maybe we could go on that outing with Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san?”

“‘We’?”

Shirabu makes the dying duck sound. “I can’t ask Iwaizumi-san. Not yet. But I’d like to see Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san's relationship for myself, and since you’re friends with them…”

“I’m mostly friends with Koushi.”

“Still.” Shirabu makes a disgruntled sound. “Please?”

“Only if you do something for me.”

“What?”

“If Koushi tries to insinuate it’s a double date, you’ll help me push him into a fountain or something.”

Shirabu makes another dying duck sound. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, I’ll help you with that, no problem. Heaven forbid someone assumes that I’m dating you.”

Semi laughs. “Likewise. I’ll message Koushi tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Then there’s nothing but the sound of their breathing, but the sound of the fan and its whirring. It’s still warm, but not uncomfortably so, and Semi can feel himself drifting.

He doesn’t really register it when Shirabu calls him next, too lost in the realm of half-sleep. He doesn’t really register the soft touch on his arm, thinking it to be part of a dream. He doesn’t really register the extra warmth at his side nor the shuffling that comes with it, because he is almost completely asleep.

He sleeps on. It’s only later – in the middle of the night, when he’s suddenly a tad too warm – does he realise that the burning warmth in his arms, draped across his side – it smells hauntingly familiar; and the puffs of air on his neck – they may not be the fan, after all.

And maybe he’s a little confused, because even in the space between dreams and reality, he knows, he remembers their conversation, and he knows where the affections of his roommate lie.

But he doesn’t let go, though he scoots away a little so that they might cool down. He doesn’t let go, not though he has one arm draped over the shoulders of this figure that he knows well, not though the fingers connected to that hand and arm are cupping a head, the strands of hair soft and pleasing under his fingertips. He doesn’t let go, but leans in – though he’s still half-asleep, still tangled in the tendrils of a dream – pressing his lips to the curve of skin covered by strands of wayward fringe. He thinks, at least, that this might be Shirabu’s forehead.

And as he inhales the scent of camellia and lye, his lips curve up into a smile. A guilty smile, a secret smile; a smile no one but himself and the night know about.

He drifts, and falls back to sleep.

#semishira #semi eita #shirabu kenjirou #kawanishi taichi #sugawara koushi #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #cygnus #my writing

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