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soobadnoonecanstopher · 4 years

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The Price of Privilege - Part 13 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: ANGST / Romance / Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU

Characters: Kyungsoo X You

Description: The time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty, these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Self-Harm, Mentions of Murder -- When i say angst, i really do mean angst

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

You were burning.

And you were running.

A fire had begun somewhere within your depths and your ragged breaths fanned the flames that licked at the base of your skull by now; burning and singeing and blistering; they had already made they way up your weakened ribcage as they rose up higher — it was panic. It was conviction. It was hideous.

You were alight with it and in its wake —charred, sooty, black ash began to fill your chest cavity.

You were burning.

He was gone.

Each hallway you searched came up empty of his face. The other faces, faces of strangers with their useless surprised expressions and their unfamiliar eyes that were not his.

You mindlessly ran with your search and that fiery dread inside of you devoured the structure of your bones and the faster you ran; the less you saw — the panic was taking you — he was gone, he was gone —

Where could he have gone? Gone with those devastating words on his lips and that determined and desperate look in his eyes that told you with absolute certainty that he was capable...that he was capable…

Something horrible.

What would he do? What could he do?

Another empty hallway. Your panic had taken your rational mind and thrown it away and you groaned out loud when you recognized the same ornate golden bust that stood atop of a marble pillar at the end of this hallway.

You’d gone in circles. You didn’t even know where you stood nor for how long you had been searching.

The fire inside of you was beginning to change from something that burned and ached into something else. Something that was hopeless. Something you could not overcome.

The hands that you ran over your face felt like someone else’s. They were shaking so hard.

You could not feel their pressure against your wet cheeks.

You could not feel any warmth in them at all.

Think.

Just think, please—

Your lungs fought you, but you managed to pull in a deep breath. Something substantial. Something that brought a flash of clarity into your mind that quickly faded into the background of all the chaos inside of you and you lifted a numb and trembling hand up, parallel to your face — just before you lost the nerve.

The flash was a memory. Something that you had lived through before. When the realities of your life overcame and you mistakenly believed that you were allowed to forget. When you could not control yourself and act correctly. When you failed to behave as a member of the royal family and you were reminded again and again of the importance of playing your part well.

Reminded by your tutors. Reminded by your instructors who had been given and taken as many liberties as needed to shape you into the Princess you were always meant to be. Reminded with hot, heavy hands and in places that would be hidden well by designer clothing — reminded of your place; of what was expected of you.

How absolutely silly of you to think that you could get away with this sort of behavior; so unbecoming of the title bestowed upon you by God himself; so uncouth; so graceless and so ill-bred.

Without the swift hands of someone who held some temporarily ordained power over you, you had to do it yourself.

You hit hard; an echoing slap sounded out in the space around your burning body and a pair of eyes — a stranger; not him — turned at the shock of the heavy sound as the pain erupted over the entire right side of your face and you felt it. You felt the sting of the swift slap. You felt the burning in your skin and much deeper into your muscles and your jaw and you ached as the vibration of the impact settled and lingered there.

You felt shocked awake. It felt so familiar; this pain to set you right again.

Your once hazy and stupid brain sharpened and you forced your hands to still themselves of this absurd trembling and you remembered now.

Rushing around this palace in aimless circles would do no good. Only a fool would approach this situation that way. Only a crude individual would act in such an untoward manner.

You had to find him. If not him, then someone who was close to him. An ally. Not your own; you had too few precious friends in this place, but someone who would bend over backward to help Prince Kyungsoo. To save him from himself if needed. Someone who he wouldn’t push away. Someone who could get to him.

Someone who loved him.

With your newfound steady mind, you found a touch of the familiar in your surroundings. There was a haunting painting on the wall. This one showed a beautiful maiden; perhaps someone important from the history books. Her eyes followed you as you walked by. She had so much judgment in them. With each step you crept her eyes brought a fresh wave of guilt for your many sins. You were certain she knew of all of them. She’d have had a front-row seat to it all.

A turn to the left would bring you to a fork and a right after the second set of picture windows overlooking the courtyard would bring you to Kyungsoo’s hallway; to his front door.

The first set of swift knocks you placed upon his door went unanswered. When you pounded a second time, louder and with more urgency, you heard a sound on the other side of his doorway that preceded the beeping of an alarm system being deactivated and the door pulled open.

From what you knew about the man and the very little trust he placed in people, there was only one person other than himself who would be opening this door.

“Ara.” You said her name as soon as her eyes met yours and her head bowed quickly as a look of surprise flashed over her features.

“Your Highness, what brings—”

“Is Prince Kyungsoo inside?”

There was but a moment of pause in her eyes before she glanced over your appearance and her expression changed from idle curiosity to genuine worry. You hadn’t even thought about how you might look. Your tear-stained face and loose sweats hastily thrown on after dinner when Kyungsoo showed up at your place to demand his painful truths. Her head was shaking back and forth quickly and her lips hung open for a moment as she considered.

“He...was, but he left — has something happened? Something…bad?” Her voice was small and unsure and you couldn’t be certain that she wasn’t whispering due to the sensitive nature of the situation or if she was just that quiet all the time.

You could feel your mouth wanting to close. Wanting to clam up and deny any wrong-doing; any culpability in this. You wanted to keep everything deep down inside and turn around and go back, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted your head, leaning in close to the smaller woman who stood halfway through the doorway of his home.

Kyungsoo. For him, you would talk to her. He trusted her completely and there had to be a good reason for that.

“Ara, I need to speak with you urgently. It’s about His Highness.” Your own voice had dropped to a whisper to match her quiet voice and you eked out the subject of the discussion in a nearly inaudible tone.

She physically stiffened and her eyes glanced away from you, somewhere off in the hallway where when you followed her eyes you saw a ceiling-mounted camera.

“I am sorry, Your Highness, but I don't believe I could be of any help to you.”

At last, she spoke up. You knew it was for the cameras that monitored this hallway and you wondered who might be listening in.

“Ara, I think something bad—”

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but my loyalty to my lord prohibits me from having this conversation here with you.” Her voice had interrupted your words and you caught the intense way her eyes held on tightly to your own. There was something hidden inside her eyes. It was there in the final words she spoke.

Here with you.

This was not a safe place to talk. Your words here were not private. Ara was quick-witted and cautious. Perhaps this was why he had trusted her so.

“I understand,” you said softly, racking your own mind for some solution, some way that you could speak openly and honestly with her about the delicate situation without every word from your mouth being on some sort of official royal record.

“Perhaps a walk around the west gardens might serve to soothe your worries. It’s nighttime and the moonflowers are ready to bloom. You might find it to be just the recipe to cook up a perfectly satisfying solution to your problems, Your Highness.”

Ara’s tone had changed halfway through her words to you, the first half being quite light and jovial, and of perfectly audible volume, while the second half; something cryptic about a recipe,, was muttered at a lower, more hidden volume.

When you did not immediately agree with her assessment of what you needed to be doing in the west gardens after the sunset — which hadn’t quite happened yet, you had definitely still seen some light peeking through the windows when you walked by the garden’s earlier, you actually caught half an eye roll that punctuated the frustrated sigh that left her lips.

“Do you understand my meaning, Your Highness?”

Frankly, you did not. You just wanted to meet with her to speak somewhere privately. Why was she suggesting the gardens? They were situated in a central courtyard, not even on the west side of the house if you really thought about it. Those gardens that were overlooked on all four sides by floors and floors of window-lined hallways. Literally, everyone who walked by any of the number of windows would see you meeting with her under the light of the moon standing in front of whatever in the world a moonflower plant was supposed to look like.

The moon wasn't even out yet, there had to be 10 more minutes of sunset before the light disappeared enough to see the moon. And what was this about cooking? Recipe? She had practically whispered that part. You were never very good at riddles. What could she mean to mention cooking?

But… there was something that was coming to your mind now. Something related to him. His kitchen — his passion, his cooking, his recipes. The one that was smashed to bits by the Queen’s cronies when he didn’t immediately respond to her demands.

The one that had been closed off for some time now and had been located on the west side of the palace. It would be unmonitored, and perhaps there weren’t even cameras over there since it had been completely destroyed all those weeks ago.

Your expression must have changed as you figured it out because you saw the first hints of a smile appear on her face. You’d never seen any sort of positive emotion there before. At least not directed at you.

“I understand,” you said with a nod of your head and you were certain that she wanted you to meet her in Kyungsoo’s kitchen in about as much time it took for you to get there from here.

There was an urgency in your steps and while you moved toward your destination, the secluded hallways that led toward the west side of the palace, you felt the ever-present sensation of being followed that persisted in nearly every crook and corner of this place slowly fade from your mind.

It wasn't until you found yourself standing alone in that hallway in front of that heavy metal door that you hadn’t seen in such a long time, that you realized just how oppressive the cameras had been making you feel.

There was nothing here. There were no eyes watching and no quiet strangers to give you glances and take notes and likely report on your odd behavior as soon as you left their sight.

Ara was right. This place was perfect. You pushed at the door and found it just slightly ajar and when you slipped inside the stillness of that dark kitchen you could make out a shape that stood inside. She was small and easy to recognize.

“Don’t turn on the light,” she whispered from the shadows and half of her serious face was illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight that came through the skylight in the ceiling.

“Ara, we have to make this quick. I think the prince may be in danger. I think it might be an emergency.”

With the freedom to speak, the words you had been holding on to so tightly came bursting from your chest and you heard the sound of your own panic on your voice.

She did not immediately speak. Nor did the shadowed outline shape of her move.

“Ara, please, I...I don't know what to do. I thought that maybe...maybe you could get through to him. He—He trusts you, Ara.”

The sounds of your heavy breathing floated around the quiet space and you lifted a hand over your mouth to try and quiet yourself; to calm this down some. Why wasn’t she speaking? Why wasn’t the jumping into action to help? How could she be so calm when something horrible was about to happen to him?

“What makes you believe he is in danger, Your Highness?”

When she finally spoke, her own voice was steady and very controlled. You heard absolute calm inside that voice and it was nearly hypnotizing in cadence. Your panic was much too strong of a force to be compelled.

“He...He said some things, that he was going to do something to stop the wedding and — we were arguing about the tape, and why I did that to him and then about May and — how much do you know about what has been happening?”

The urgency inside of you made your words stumble their way out of your mouth. You sounded nowhere near as composed and clear as you wished you would. Perhaps this explanation of yours did not properly relay the urgency here. Perhaps she just didn't take you seriously and her stubborn inaction was making your heart race harder inside your chest.

Had this been a mistake? Suddenly this side trip that you’d made to enlist her help was causing you to doubt yourself. Had you only wasted precious time in coming to her? Should you have just continued your search for the prince on your own? Perhaps you should have gone to the security house instead. Maybe Jun would be able to find him and stop him.

“I know more than you know, Your Highness.”

She knew. She already knew everything. You sighed in relief. At least you would not have to relay the entire events that led to this situation. This would save time. For once, you were thankful for the ever-present eye of the help in this house. The quiet witnesses to the disasters that the royal family inflicted on themselves and on one another.

“Then you know what he is capable of, Ara, he says he doesn’t care what happens, that he will stop the wedding — he’s disappeared, why are you so calm when something awful might happen?”

Your volume was a high shout. This was maddening. You reached forward for her hand, for some glimpse that this person was alive and real and could actually hear and understand the urgency of the situation the prince was in.

Your fingers grasped at the air in front of her; only brushing along the fabric of the sleeve of her palace uniform.

“May I have your permission to speak bluntly, Your Highness?”

She’d evaded your grasp and what kind of question was this? Someone’s life was in danger, and she was preoccupied with rules and formalities regarding the relationships between the help and the royal families? Did the woman not understand the meaning of the word emergency? Rather than argue, you quickly nodded your head and the quick up and down was just visible in the moonlight you both stood under.

“What makes you think he is the one in danger?”

Her next question did not have your title attached and the sudden sharpening of her voice felt accentuated by its absence. It caught you off guard and your panic hitched somewhere inside of your chest. A temporary stutter in the urgency.

Your mind spun and you looked into her eyes with a small shake of your head, not having imagined any other scenario in which he did not inflict this horror and tragedy upon himself.

You hadn’t ever considered the possibility that someone else may become a casualty of this war.

Impossible, right? You’d been so certain.

“Do you want to know what he picked up when he came home? I’ll tell you now. There’s nothing you could do to stop it anyway.

Insurance.

Actual physical evidence against you. I had warned him not to trust you so easily and He was quite cross when I presented him with it. He always swore he would never use it; never even touch it.

But now I know, My Lord is most grateful for my gift. And now he will use it to oppose the marriage.”

With each word she spoke the oxygen in the room seemed to be sucked out and you were quite thankful for the crisp clean and perfectly restored kitchen countertops that you gripped to keep yourself upright and present in this conversation. Or was it a negotiation now? This conversation had taken a rapid shift and you felt like you just might drop to the floor if you didn't hold on tight.

“What...what are you talking about? I haven’t done a-anything.”

Your own words felt feeble. You couldn’t even believe in them. You’d had so many sins against the man stacked up already. The many possibilities were flying by inside your head all you had to do was reach a hand out to grab one and that would be plenty.

May’s face flew by and images of her smile, her laughter, her hand resting over a swelling belly where an innocent baby grew; oblivious to the horrors of the life it would soon be born into.

“Did you know that it is illegal for a defiled woman to present herself as the bride of a Prince in line for the throne? You might not think it’s much, but if wielded correctly, it’s a powerful enough weapon to stop the wedding.”

Her words hit you hard and you had to take a step back and away from her. You felt the oven door at your back. It was cold and steel and brand new and it pulled your mind sharply at the shock of the temperature difference.

This was a scenario you had never ever imagined. That he would invoke such an outdated law and worse, that he would stoop so low as to use your own love for him against you. Your head shook back and forth. Your disbelief was thick and heavy, taking over for the panic that had been so all-consuming.

“But...that doesn’t make sense. He was the one who...”

You heard the smallest puff of air from her; a single syllable chuckle. A laugh.

“I know, right? Imagine being thrown into prison just for sleeping with the man you were going to marry anyway.”

Your mind was dizzy. The shallow breaths you managed did little to clear it.

You had to look away from that splash of blue moonlight and from those eyes that in no way reflected the horrors you felt inside of you at her revelations.

The stainless steel hood that reflected that light over the stove; the rows of pots and pans that hung from hooks from the ceiling and the rows of sharpened knives that stuck on to the wall, ready to carve and chop and slice and butcher. The pristine and lovely kitchen that surrounded you; cleaned up, repaired and completely untouched by his hands that were now elsewhere, gripping a new weapon.

Would he treat you with the same care as his precious ingredients? Would he do it quickly? Would he chop off your head to put you out of your misery before serving you to his many esteemed guests for dinner?

In a way, you’d done the same with him. Faking the drunkenness to sleep with him, just so you could search his home for that useless tape. You’d used his love against him too.

But the idea that he would turn something once lovely and beautiful; your first time, your first love, the first time you trusted someone with yourself, that he would dare turn that into a public spectacle.

You felt a sickness surge up inside of you with the dread and you caught the shine of the kitchen sink along the far wall behind where Ara stood smirking, taking note of its location in case you needed it quickly.

“So to address your worries, Your Highness, no, I don't believe the prince, himself, is in any danger tonight. Although, you might want to prepare yourself for what is coming.”

Despite the impact of her words, the volume of them was fading. Despite the devastation that was growing inside of your gut, something else was also taking over. Something that accepted this as your fate. Something saw no way out. Something that caved and surrendered.

It must have been relief.

He would be okay.

You would be ruined, but he would be okay.

As she often did, Ara left you standing alone in that dark place without so much as a farewell and only when you were by yourself for a good ten minutes did you unclench your fists and let your hands drop uselessly to your side and you exhaled the deep breath that you had been holding inside of your lungs.

It was as you stood alone in this kitchen that a thought dawned on you and you began to really question the kind of person you had become since you had arrived in this place.

Everyone likes to believe they are the hero of their own story. Some people are so deluded into believing that they are the good one; they could never accept that they might actually be the villain; but you felt a cloudy, foggy, hazy feeling descending.

You’d always considered yourself to be the good one.

You were good, right? Every move you had made in your life had been for the greater good, for your country, for your friend, for your family, for some end that would be righteous and just, but —

But what if, what if all along you had been the bad one? What if this comeuppance that Prince Kyungsoo and his trusted Ara had hatched up was just the universe washing itself clean of all the vile, disgusting transgressions you had committed.

What if you deserved what was coming to you?

You left the kitchen and you took your time with the journey through the palace, looking around carefully at the beauty of the ornately decorated hallways. You’d never quite appreciated anything in this place.

You’d never let yourself quiet down enough to let any of it in, but really, this palace had some impressive works of art, some amazing architectural feats and was quite lovely. You had been surrounded by so much beauty and only now that you had forced down the nerves of the unknown future you held in this world, did you have enough clarity of mind to appreciate it.

It was a shame it had taken you this long.

Even here, right in front of your home, hung the most impressively lovely painting you had ever seen up close. It had flowers strewn across a table in some picturesque cottage in the country; roses and irises dumped out hastily and the details painted in each stem astounded. You’d always just walked by it, but now, you lightly ran your fingertips over the surface of the canvas. You could feel the peaks and planes of the dried oil paint that gave the work so much depth and realism.

You struggled to pull yourself away from it and when you finally pried your hand down to reach for the doorknob to your front door there was a sound from behind you that startled you.

You tried to turn, you tried to spin on your heels but there was something dark and heavy placed over your head; making you gasp and stealing your light completely. You were, all at once, thrust into complete, terrifying darkness as strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, squeezing and holding your arms down at your waist and a fabric bag of some kind was pulled tightly around your neck. The sensation of being suffocated; both by your overwhelming shock, and the literal small amount of air inside of this cover you were in.

Breathing was hard, but you inhaled as much as you could and you let out the loudest scream you could manage. It was muffled by heavy fabric and sounded loud inside your own ears. You tried again but were caught off guard when the floor left your feet and you were lifted and handled by whoever had placed the bag over your head. By whoever it was that had come for you.

If you believed you had reached your limits of panic before, you had absolutely no idea of what real panic felt like. Your entire body shook and trembled with it. It radiated through your chest and cascaded over your limbs and you knew...you knew...

You were done for.

You were dead.

There was no doubt now, this was it.

There had been so little in your life. You’d only just made your first real friend. You’d only just fallen in love and hadn’t really had a chance to embrace the pain of having your heart broken by him.

You had never felt the sand between your toes at the ocean side. You’d never tasted cotton candy at a carnival. You’d never seen a midnight show. The unfairness of it all made you weep. What a shitty excuse for a life you had lived.

You had never held a baby; not in your whole life; not one. It was one stupid little daydream you liked to entertain; the rumored smell they had, the way they squeezed an offered finger and looked up into your eyes. So tiny and full of promise.

You had the sensation of being carried and shoved through an open doorway and you felt the hard wood of a chair below you as you were roughly pushed into a seated position and there was a swish as the strong arms that had held you so tightly abruptly released their hold on you. You swung your arms out, trying to reach someone. Trying to hurt someone. Trying to fight whatever strong oaf had dared to put his hands on you so liberally. You were met with no one and you instead reached up for the black cloth bag that had closed our your light.

To your astonishment, the person who had accosted you did not stop you from lifting the bag and you slowly pulled it up and over your head, peeking carefully through the blinding light that erupted in your field of vision.

At first, you only saw feet. You recognized the view of your own living room and realized that the seat you had been placed in was from your own kitchen.

Feet, connected to legs and he wore black slacks, a white dress shirt and he stood alone in your strangely decorated living room. Around you — balloons, streamers, confetti all over the floor and a huge banner hanging on the wall behind and there, on his face, the enormously victorious smile of Prince Baekhyun who giggled and laughed and pointed his fingers at the apparently humorous look of sheer horror and terror on your face.

“Congratulations on your wedding!” He was shouting, jumping, and laughing loudly and your head was reeling as the shock from the trauma of this ill-timed event began to settle heavy inside your belly.

You felt so dizzy.

You needed out of this chair. You rose on shaking legs.

Your hands were shaking too hard to be able to grip the kitchen table that you now stumbled beside, holding on as best you could, you made your way to the sink with a leap and the dizziness pulled everything from inside your stomach up and out of your mouth. You vomited everything into the stainless steel basin of the sink. Again and again. The small bits of dinner you’d had and red wine.

Only when your retching quieted down did you have enough strength to swat away his hands that pounded on your back in some attempt to comfort your spasms.

Only when you were done vomiting did you realize that you were sobbing. The words to rebuke him got lost in the ragged cries that erupted from your chest and wave after wave of tears flowed down your face.

Baekhyun’s words were rushed. A combination of ‘Jesus-fucking-Christs’ and ‘It was only a joke’ and then many, many soft apologies when your crying refused to settle down with his attempt at an explanation for what he had just done to you in the name of some stupid idea he had for a bachelorette party with just the two of you in attendance.

It took too long to calm yourself and only when he sank down with you on your kitchen floor and wrapped both of his arms and legs around you in a full-body hug did you begin to feel like you hadn’t almost just died and maybe, just maybe, you would be okay again someday.

His head was rested over your shoulder and when he felt the shuddering breathing begin to even out he lifted a cautious face to look into yours with as much worry inside of his eyes as you had ever seen directed at you.

“If you cry this much you’ll be all puffy for the wedding tomorrow,” he whispered against your face and you slowly nodded your head as you willed your emotions to settle down enough to stop the hiccups that had erupted with the crying.

“Here,” he declared after a moment of looking into your eyes, clearly having reached some conclusion on his own, “I’ll run you a bubble bath and you pick out which movie we’re going to watch first.”

He was lifting himself from the floor and his hands pulled you into a standing position, but Baekhyun seemed reluctant to release you from his grip entirely. He merely guided you along through your own home until you reached the large sectional sofa that faced the television.

In your lap, he dumped a pile of movies and you looked at the titles with a disconnected mind, noticing how each one was a romantic comedy with some sort of wedding theme. He brought a lot and you looked at each movie cover with hazy eyes, randomly deciding on one without much reasoning at all. Anyone of them would do. Something to fill up the silence of this home and maybe bring a laugh or two to lighten your down-in-the-pits-of-hell mood. Something to distract you.

You trotted toward the sound of running water in your bathroom and handed him the movie box. Baekhyun had set out a pair of pajamas that you did not recognize and upon closer inspection, you noticed the wedding bells and hearts strewn all over them. ‘Bride to Be’ was embroidered on the seat of the pants and they were as ridiculous as you would imagine Baekhyun would have picked out for you to wear tonight; the night before your wedding that would probably never even happen.

The pajamas took away some of the dignity that the bath had given back to you and when you emerged from the steamy bathroom you actually smiled to see Baekhyun sporting matching pajamas that proudly displayed ‘Maid of Honor’ in bright pink letters across his ass.

He had ordered pizza. There were rows and rows of assorted cookies and sweets spread across your kitchen counter and much to your surprise, not a drop of alcohol to be found. Instead, you saw some juice boxes designed for children’s parties and even a few small containers of chocolate milk in an ice bucket at the end of the counter.

You were aware of the time on the clock and when you grabbed a slice of something salty and fattening, pairing it with something chocolate and something sugary sweet, lamenting the fact that you’d only have a few hours of this before it would have to end and you’d be thrust back into your frightening and uncertain reality again.

Baekhyun was starting the movie by the time you snuggled on the sofa next to the spot where he had set a stack of cookies and a container of chocolate milk. Apparently, he was having a cheat day as well. This was a party after all. It was your party. The tiny number of party guests did not bother you one bit. You had your friend here at least. You’d enjoy it with the knowledge that it might be the last time you would be this happy again in your lifetime.

“It’s a shame that we can't watch two movies. I really wanted to watch The Proposal. Sandy Bullock and Ryan Reynolds…double swoon.”

You watched the opening notes of the song that began the movie. You had selected something called 27 Dresses, although you hadn’t really selected with any method in mind. You should have just let him pick, with as little as you knew about movies.

“We can watch both,” you said with a shrug and a bite of your pizza. It was hot and cheesy and saucy and just about the most delicious thing you had ever put in your mouth. “I do it all the time, just play it on double time and we will have enough time to watch both of them.”

“Wait, is that a thing?” He asked suddenly and had lifted the remote control to press buttons to access the menu on the movie player. Soon enough, he found the spot to control playback speed and he began to giggle as the voices of the characters acting out their roles lifted in tone and took on a chipmunk-like sound.

“You’ll get use to it. Let’s just watch it like this.”

It took a few minutes, and a few silly impressions of serious emotional scenes acted out in high pitched double-time voices for him to become engrossed enough in the film to quiet down.

After a while, snacks were abandoned and Baekhyun shifted on the sofa beside you, patting once on his lap, he produced a hairbrush from the bag at his feet that you’d recognized from the time you’d played dress up as a pair of nurses. You gave in and snuggled between his legs, giving him the back of your head where his fingers combed your hair gently and his brush dealt with the tangles of your wet hair.

He whispered that it was going to be your last girl’s night as a single woman and the gentle touch of his hands through your hair felt too nice for you to correct him. Perhaps you’d break the news after the promised matching pedicures. He said you could pick the color and you were going to pick the raciest red he had in his bag.

It was going well enough until the climax of the film when the romantic interest gave his emotional confession and you heard Baekhyun groaning beside you out of frustration.

“Nope. Nope. I don't like this. See, I was okay until this point, but some things in life you can’t just fast forward through. Some things have to be slow and careful. I’m missing all the good shit like this.” He was complaining right out loud as he reached for the remote and slowed the playback down to normal speed again and he rewound the scene again to the start to pay closer attention to the big emotional moment.

And it played again. Only this time, and boy was he right, this time you could see the unspoken body language acted out. You could see every nuance and every little touch that was so very important to this important love confession and there was a building and nagging thought that was growing and bulging in the back of your mind.

“See. See that right there? That can't be rushed. You have to slow it down and feel it. Listen to all of the sounds around. Listen to the way he’s breathing, God. He’s in love with her and there’s something so delicate about that.”

A feeling outside of the movie was nagging you.

Slow it down.

You can't just fast forward through.

Something related to what he was saying, but outside of Byun Baekhyun and this bachelorette party and the movie you were both sitting in front of and the cookie crumbs that were scattered all over his legs and the carpet below his feet.

Baekhyun had said it himself. Some things cannot be rushed. Sometimes you have to slow it down and listen to the sounds around.

Shit. Shit.

You had just fast-forwarded through it, hadn’t you?

He wasn’t even aware of what a mind-blowingly profound thing he had just said to you, and every cell inside your body prickled and came alive. You felt a fire inside of you and you leaped up out of your seat and rushed to your bathroom, beyond the bathroom into the closet, to the spot where you had left the cell phone he had given you that sat there inside of your walk-in closet. Your hiding spot was invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

Your heart was pounding noisily in your eardrums.

“Are you going to be sick again?” You heard him shouting from the living room. “Shit, you aren’t pregnant, are you?” He added and his voice grew louder as he followed you through the bathroom to stand behind where you now stood inside of your closet holding on to your phone.

You were swiping furiously over the screen, reaching the log-in screen for your cloud storage. The only place where you had backed up the video from that tiny stolen cassette tape that had lived inside of Kyungsoo’s childhood teddy bear for a decade.

The video was hidden behind several layers of passwords, you logged in to each hidden and well-secured folder to find the file and you hastily pressed play, making sure to turn the volume up to full blast as you scrolled to the moment on the tape that you had in your foolish haste, watched only at double and triple the normal playback speed without even considering what might be happening off-camera. Without even thinking about the sounds the camera might have picked up.

You found the moment when the change happened.

You found the spot in history when sweet little Prince Kyungsoo had gone from a loved, carefree, happy child to a fractured, broken shell of a human and you carefully dragged your finger backward, to the hours right before. When you had been sure you’d seen the camera still and motionless and laying on its side somewhere, with only the view of feet on screen.

“What...what the hell is that?” Baekhyun was watching over your shoulder and you waved a hand in his direction, shushing loudly with your mouth as you listened to the tiny speakers of your phone as close as you could.

The video played and showed two sets of feet. One a man in black leather shoes, one a woman in expensive heels, and when you listened closely enough you could hear a clear and profound conversation. You heard the words there, the subject of their conversation was more significant than anything else in the world.

This was it.

Baekhyun’s hands moved. Something was sparked inside of him when he heard the words they discussed. He gripped at the phone and roughly grabbed it out of your hands and he pressed on a symbol in the corner of the screen as he dragged you by the hand in a rush, from within the depths of your closet back to the living room where the tiny video was now being cast directly onto the enormous tv of your living room as clear as day.

Baekhyun then reached for the volume remote and turned it up with his hand sat over his mouth and his eyes were wide, he watched with you as a conversation was had about the very recent murder of the Queen, Queen Do, Prince Do Kyungsoo’s mother and the wife of King Lee, by the two individuals who had been responsible for her death.

The brakes lines had been cut, just as She had ordered him to do. He’d done well. He would be handsomely rewarded for his role once she was married to the king. One she had taken the throne for her sons.

They were both supposed to die in the accident, but this might be even better, She said. They were both supposed to die, but only the queen died. Only Queen Do was crushed.

The young Prince Kyungsoo, her only son, her only child, would take the blame, and the coverup to save the Prince would prevent a thorough investigation.

They’d never be caught this way. And the Prince would do anything for them; he’d even give up his right to the throne; even finally agree to take a bride from another nation. A union of such that would require him to abdicate. The prince would agree to anything they wanted if he believed he was a murderer.

The entirety of the conversation happened off-camera with only their shoes visible until the camera was moved by the owner of a third set of shoes that came into view. A third person had arrived, and the highly incriminating conversation that had just taken place had ceased upon his arrival. Yet as the camera moved, as the teddy bear was picked up, there was the smallest split-second pan as the camera flashed up, to show as clear as day, the faces of the co-conspirators to the queen’s murder.

Baekhyun gasped out loud and reached for the phone, pausing the playback, he pulled the video progress bar back slowly and right there on the screen of this tv was the face of Queen Hong, and the evidence that she had been the person to order the murder of the Late Queen Do, Kyungsoo’s mother. He was framed. He was a victim.

It had been a murder plot that had been a decade in the making. And you, you were part of it. Your union with him was designed to steal his rightful place as an heir to his throne. They had done this to him. She had killed his mother, made him believe he was to blame and taken his throne from him.

That sweet little boy. This monster had destroyed him, and for what? So her two sons could have some more power? So she could become the queen?

Kyungsoo had been right, this marriage could not happen. Although he had so much to learn about the real reasons why.

Baekhyun again resumed the video, unable to look away from the shock of what he had just learned and you saw at the teddy bear was handed to her. To a younger, less plastic, Lady Hong and you felt sick to hear the wicked laugh that echoed over the sound of her heels pounding on the marble flooring. “I want to be the one to tell him his mother is dead,” she said.

You had to stop it. You couldn’t stomach any more of this. Baekhyun had a similar reaction and looked down at the phone, pressing something to stop the playback of the video on the big screen.

He was silent, clearly processing the bombshell that had just fallen into both of your laps. It was too much for you, and you had already fallen back onto the sofa, too overwhelmed stand anymore, you felt the shift of his weight as he did the same and sat down beside you with his focus far ahead of himself; his eyes wide and staring at nothing, his mouth agape, and his hands lifeless in his lap, your blackened phone still sitting inside of his hand.

“Where did you get this and has anyone else seen it?”

His question was quiet and so uncharacteristically serious in delivery and the old habits of mistrust and caution made your hackles raise as you let doubt coat your tongue and make your mouth close up.

You heard a groan from him and his hands raised up to cover his face and all at once, everything about him changed and he was overcome. You heard a soft sound from behind his hands and he was trembling. He was shaking and you saw drops of wetness falling freely down his cheeks and something deep inside of him broke.

Baekhyun was crying. He was crying hard and very suddenly he sniffled his nose hard, fighting the emotion, he ran a rough hand over his face, drying some of the wetness there. This was grief. It was all-consuming. You felt your own face wet. You felt powerless against such a kind of soul-crushing pain.

“He...He—” He tried to get the words out through the heavy emotion that had taken control. “He changed so much. He was my friend. He was my brother, once and they...they just fucking—

You sat motionless and useless, still too overcome to do anything at all. Still, too shell shocked to move.

Baekhyun stood up and his face was bright red as he inhaled a deep breath; his jaw clenched tight. His eyes changed and darkened. You saw the anger coursing through his body in waves and he was cursing. He was screaming out loud and he was raging within himself, and outside too. He grabbed at random bits of things; pillows, trash from the table, throwing objects with the rage and the anger that had taken ahold of him. Bits of the broken and the scattered remains of items, things, stuff. Everything and anything that could be thrown; that could be broken, but none of the destruction touched that anger. None of it could satiate the madness. Nothing broken could match the pain. It was simply too much for one body to withstand.

“I always thought both of them died that day. And this is why. They killed him when they killed her. They killed his mom. They killed her and made him think...made him think—

They did the same to me. They did it to him just like they did it to me.”

It was too much for him. He was one person alone. You moved and you wrapped your arms around him and he fought against your arms, he pushed against your hold on him, but still, you did not let up. Still, you squeezed around him as tightly as you could squeeze and you held him tight; through the sobbing and through the sounds of pain that escaped his lips, you held on and you absolutely refused to budge until you felt the change. His arms quit their movements. His legs and his torso and his tension and his anger quit and it all gave up.

You held on to your friend until you felt the softening of his strong muscles as he gave up and gave in to you. And when he collapsed onto the floor in your living room you went down with him, holding on tight until there was simply no more of that anger and destruction with which he could fight you. Until he did not want to fight it anymore, and you felt his arms move around your waist. He buried his head in your neck and he accepted the comfort you offered. You accepted his warmth as well.

When he had gone quiet, you finally opened your mouth to speak. And you began at the beginning. You began with May and her concealed love affair with Sehun. You told him of the rumors; the queen had been murdered. And without any thoughts otherwise, May believed, as many others did, that Kyungsoo had been the murderer. May had tried to protect you from him. May tried to get you to leave this place. May was caught by Kyungsoo and the evidence in your mind against him piled up. Your doubts and insecurities piled up.

Of course, Baekhyun knew of his role in deceiving Kyungsoo to save May. Baekhyun knew that Kyungsoo would shoulder the blame for May’s demise. Only now did he realize just how hard Kyungsoo must have taken the news of May’s death. Only now did Baekhyun realize the damage that must have done to his brother by the lie.

You told Baekhyun of your tricks and your lies to search Kyungsoo’s home for this tape. You told him of the unforgivable things you had done. You told him everything.

“We have to show him this tape.” Baekhyun’s convictions matched your own and you nodded in agreement; an unspoken covenant forming between the two of you and he was on his feet again, copying, editing, saving multiple copies of the evidential and important parts of the video. He sent it to himself in what looked like multiple places and you let him. You trusted him. He was in this with you.

There was a moment, after the progress bars and the sending and the saving and it was a moment of heavy silence. It was a tranquility that sat down on this sofa between the both of you and you felt the warmth of his hand as he grabbed yours and held on tightly to you.

“We might have just become the most dangerous people in this entire kingdom,” he said with a sad smile on his face and you responded in kind. You were completely unsure and terrified of the future, and yet knowing you weren’t in this alone gave you an incredible strength that you had never felt inside of you before.

The shared moment was interrupted by a loud sound. A rapid and angry pounding on your front door. A sound designed to call to action. You both leaped up and Baekhyun scrambled to turn off the tv. He scrambled to clear out both phones of any traces of illicit activity and incriminating videos and you rushed to the door, half terrified that you’d find palace security there ready to send you both to the gallows.

The knocking sounded out again. It was urgent-sounding. It sent a chill of fear through you and you turned your doorknob and pulled it open to face the latest test of your fortitude.

Ara.

It was Ara. Not royal guards, or palace police. It was just Ara.

You had no time for relief because something was wrong.

She was trembling and she was crying and she was holding something in her hands. You quickly pulled her by the arm inside of your home and closed the door behind her.

“Y-Your Highness, I...I think you might have been right — something is wrong. Something is wrong with him.”

Inside her hands, she held a small plastic bag that contained a folded up scrap of fabric. On that fabric, you saw old stains. Old bloodstains. You saw a disk laid on top with a hand-written date on it and what appeared to be a timestamp. The date you first slept with Do Kyungsoo and the exact time you would have been exiting his home so early in the morning. It took you two seconds to realize what this was. This was his insurance. This was the evidence to destroy you and he didn't have it with him anymore.

“H-He gave this back to me. He said he couldn't do it. After all you had done to him he still said he couldn’t. He ordered me to return it to you.” Her head was shaking in disbelief.

You felt the cold of the room flooding over your face as your skin blanched.

You understood at once the reason for her fear.

“Ara, where is the prince?” Baekhyun was speaking to her now. His voice was direct and well-controlled and you looked at his profile with a dream-like haze taking over your vision.

She did not respond and Baekhyun reached up to grip the smaller girl’s arms. He shook her; waking her back up. Bringing her back into her body enough to answer his question.

“I-I...don’t know. He—”

Her words came too slow. You felt the same sense of urgency Baekhyun betrayed and you wanted to shout. You wanted to shove her out of the way and run out of your home to find him.

“Where is he, Ara?” Baekhyun shouted louder and the girl’s face screwed together in pain.

“He k-kissed me. He thanked me for loving him all this time, and he—he said he was sorry he could never give me anything back. And then he just left. I don't know where he went. I don't know where he went.”

She was crying openly and Baekhyun turned to face you with his eyes wide and his instructions clear and concise.

“Find him. Search the kitchen and check the rooftop. I’m going to check the gardens and the garage. Text me the instant you find him.”

“Ara,” Baekhyun gripped the girl’s arms tightly and lowered his head down to look into her eyes. “Ara, I need you to come with me and help me find him, can you do that for me?”

She was nodding in earnest when you brushed past them both with your shoes on and your phone in your hand and you ran as fast as you could. You ran until your muscles complained and your lungs burned and you ran with direction and with purpose.

You would find him.

You would never be able to live with yourself if you failed him.

You had to find him.

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

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chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years

Text

The Extent of Happiness

Jimin thinks he’s a perfect demon, given the centuries of work he’s done and now he dare say he makes for a pretty decent temp-guardian too — he even has the papers to prove it. So with a good clean record, he’s well on his way to getting into the good graces of heaven again to pardon his mischief, only he never realized in his long years of living until now that there is one short-coming he had — as both a demon and a guardian.

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

word count: 18.6k (lord)

genre: slow-burn, supernatural, comedy, fluff, romance, a little angst, slice of life

warning: brief talk of some ill-intentions towards another character

Related works: see masterlist under guardian demon! Jimin

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVERR.... ;_; tfw the chapter is pretty straight forward but didn’t realize the scenes would take so much planning XD Lots of time skips-ish but it at least takes over the course of two days. Hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for all the patience and love once again! 😚😚💖💖

It’s over.

It’s finally over.

You collapse onto your bed, exhausted but victorious in a way. You’ve just finished your last exam, gone in with a fuck-all attitude that made it go by in a blur and now that it’s out of your hands, you’re finally allowed to be numb to it all. The stress of it is over and though you would be elated if you passed with a pretty good grade, you honestly don’t care if you scraped by or even fail one (you’ve done the math, that's how much you've given up). All you want to do now is to sleep for three years….and maybe have a glass of wine, or a whole bottle you’re not sure.

You’ll have to think on that. But right now, you just want to do nothing for a while.

Unfortunately, your body interpreted ‘do nothing’ as straight up passing out. You’re disoriented by the time you wake up, having not realized you fell into a coma-like sleep in the first place. Jaehee’s the one who knocks on your door to come check on you.

“Fam, you good?” She asks, half-jokingly but you can still hear the tinge of worry slipping through her tone.

You only let out a low, half-dying groan, shifting so that your face is not entirely smushed into your mattress.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep….”

If you had turned over more, you would’ve seen Jaehee giving you a wry smile. “Yeah…. You were out cold when I got home and I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but then I got really worried because you were seriously like out.”

That got a snort out of you, however groggy you might feel as your mind takes its time to become more alert.

“But congrats on finishing your last exam today!” Jaehee cheers, coming over to sit at the end of your bed where your body is draped over in a horizontal fashion. “We should celebrate.”

You let out a whining noise of protest because although you do want to go celebrate (read: drink yourself into an oblivion while stuffing your face with the fattiest, greasiest foods you could find), you also really don’t feel like moving yet. Jaehee laughs, patting your head in a very motherly way that has you nearly dozing off again.

“Okay, okay how about we order pizza and we crack open some cold ones over Netflix?”

That gets a short bark of laughter from you and that’s all that Jaehee needs before she’s getting up again to place the order. During that time, you roll around on your bed some more, scroll through your social media for a while before finally mustering up the strength to get up with a stretch. You loudly let out a drawn out groan as your joints pop and your muscles unwind from being in the same position for so long before you stand, grabbing a new set of PJs as you head to the bathroom.

After a refreshing shower that leaves you more awake now and ready to devour some serious carbs, you saunter into the living room where Jaehee is setting up the extra large pizza box on the coffee table. Your mouth instantly waters at the smell of melted cheese, pepperoni, bacon and mushrooms. Beside the box is a case of Somersby cider, the cans still chilled with condensation so when you crack it open to take a sip, it sends a pleasant chill down your throat.

Taking a seat next to Jaehee on the couch, you reach for a slice of pizza and the first bite has you moaning loudly. “Let me stay like this forever.”

Your friend giggles at your overdramatic comment but nevertheless starts scrolling through the Netflix account to find a series to watch.

“Well, you can now that you’re done for the semester.”

“Thank God for that.”

As Jaehee settles on a show, she reaches for her own can of alcohol, bringing it up towards you and you instantly respond by grabbing yours.

“Cheers to finishing that semester.”

You clink cans, grinning as you take a hefty sip, sighing out contently as you already feel your nerves dissipate with the sweet promise of long restful days of sleeping, eating, and lounging.

Yeah right.

It’s like the universe had decided for you that you’ve had your fill of living out your best life as a human sloth and now you need to get back to being a useful member of society. And since you’re always in need for those few extra dollars, it’s no surprise you find yourself taking on more work shifts, no matter how soul draining it all is.

Do it for the money, you tell yourself, just do it for the money.

Besides, you further reason, you need a distraction or you’ll just find yourself perusing your social media threads which would lead to you being caught up in the hype for BTS’ first day of their North American leg of the tour. It’s fast approaching but at this point, you feel like you’ve gone through your stages of grief and had reached the inevitable acceptance — you’re not going to any of the stops and your only hope rests in the four small words at the very bottom of the official touring website.

You cash out the last of the customer standing in line, grateful to have a moment of peace where you can do something other than force a smile on your face and be overly polite and friendly. You walk over to the end of the cash counter where off to the side is a cart full of items that needed to be ticketed for clearance. It’s not the most exciting job, but after spending majority of your shifts on cash and nothing but cash you’re willing to take any job. So with a label gun in hand, you set to work on scanning the items and adjusting the numbers appropriately to make the correct price tags.

You’re halfway through the cart when you feel a sudden chill, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand and automatically you already know who this is. Your gaze whips around, trying to be subtle about it until a voice calls out to you from above.

“Right over here poppet.”

Your eyes land on the shelves behind you and situated at the very top on a sewing machine box, you find Jungkook peering down at you with his signature bunny grin. His mop of brown hair is a little unruly, leaving his front bangs to sweep over his forehead and he’s still dressed like one of the international students at your college — comfy but bougie as hell. Sighing, you continue with the task at hand, pretending he’s not there just so you won’t look crazy on camera.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He rebuttals, jumping down gracefully next to you despite those clumpy looking Balenciaga shoes he’s wearing (you swear you could kill someone if you threw it at them hard enough). You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s insinuating when he says that.

“For the billionth time I’m not going; I thought we had this conversation already.”

“Well you can’t blame me for thinking you’ve got such a weak will.”

That causes you to shoot a glare his way and all he does is raise an eyebrow back at you, almost challengingly. It makes you let out a huff of frustration, going back to slapping the items with their pricing stickers a little too aggressively.

“Then what do you suggest I do? Summon another demon so they could be my doppleganger?”

“What? Oh no, that won’t do. Your soul is bound to Jimin so there’s possibly nothing you could offer in exchange for another demon’s service.” Jungkook brushes off your sarcastic rhetorical as if you had seriously asked. “Although you possibly could ask an incubus in exchange for sex….but I don’t think Jimin would be too happy with that…”

Jungkook successfully makes you blush at his offhanded comment, mind reeling and going off in places that they most definitely shouldn’t be going. You have to shake your head to rid of those thoughts, but that doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning still. Forcefully, you think about puppies and kittens and BT— No, no, the one time to not think of them.

Your hand pauses briefly and you turn to pin the brunette sitting on the counter beside you a hard stare. He’s lost in thought, actually considering all the ways that can possibly help you play hooky with your job. You’re a slight bit touched that he seems to care so much but at the same time, you think this is all completely unnecessary. Finally, after a few more minutes of pondering, he sighs out in a defeated manner.

“The only other option I can think of is finding a witch to clone you. But I heard their methods are highly unstable, usually a fifty-fifty chance in death or your clone going on a rampage to actually steal your identity so I don’t know if you’d be down with those odds.” Turning to you, he nods in serious affirmation. “I think the sex demon is your best bet, even if it’ll make Jimin a little mad.”

You choke on the air you harshly inhale, hand coming up to try and smother your coughing fit. By the time you’re able to breathe again without losing a lung, you have tears in your eyes from the exertion but that doesn’t stop you from throwing a narrowed eyed glare at Jungkook who’s watching on with an obviously amused smile.

“I am not doing that.” You wheeze.

“Why not? If it’s because of Jimin, then I’ll handle him for you.”

“No Jungkook, it’s not— “ You pause to kiss your teeth, agitated. “I’m not that desperate. Besides, I’ve already put my money on them adding additional dates after their first leg is over.”

It’s true, you’re not about to resort to shadier means to get what you want; point proven when you turned down even Jimin when he offered (and his method had way less strings attached than the one Jungkook is suggesting). Furthermore, what logic would that be if you refuse help from your own guardian demon only to turn around and accept help from someone else, much less another demon? He’s insufferable, the bane of your existence at times sure, but you can never imagine doing something like that to him, especially after all he’s done. The very suggestion makes your stomach churn unpleasantly — he doesn’t deserve that.

The young demon doesn’t say anything afterwards, just quietly stares at you in utter disbelief for what you think is an uncomfortably long amount of time before —

“You seriously would rather subject yourself to this capitalist slavery than take the chance of getting good demon di—“

The package you’re holding goes flying out of your hand before you can think about it (you think it’s a Disney Princess pink foam crown from the kids section). Jungkook narrowly dodges it with a swift lean of his head, impeccably wide eyes indicating that even he was caught off guard from your sudden display of speed. The item merely smacks against the edge of the computer monitor of the register, lightweight enough that you didn’t need to worry about getting fired for property damage but it didn’t go unnoticed by your manager on duty as not even a minute passes before your headset crackles with her concerned voice.

“Woah what happened there, Y/N? You okay?”

You fumble with your mic, face a raging inferno as you press down on the button to laugh nervously into. “Y-Yeah, no I just saw a spider and it freaked me out. That’s all!”

You get a laugh in return, “Oh yikes. Okay, understandable. Carry on!”

Jungkook’s snickering brings your attention back to him and you could only petulantly glare at him. Luckily, you didn’t have to continue bickering uselessly with him as over his shoulder, you see a few customers begin to stream into the queue line. With one last pointed look, you mutter quickly through gritted teeth.

“I am not going to the concert and I don’t need any of your scheming ways to make it happen otherwise.”

You see him roll his eyes before swiftly, you turn on your heels and scurry back over to your designated register to wave down the approaching customer to ring them up.

It’s just past three o’clock and noticeably the cafe starts to pick up with an influx of patrons. Evidently, being situated near the downtown area didn’t help either as every which street, the establishment is surrounded by towering office buildings. Whether it be just a single elevator trip down or just a walk across the street, everyone flocked to this cafe to get their caffeine fix or a quick bite to eat. The place drew in all sorts of people, which made for a very interesting place to people watch.

Now normally, Jimin wouldn’t be out so early in the day, preferring to wander the streets at night. That’s when all the greatest likes of people come out — well, ‘great’ in demon standards; the perfect hunting ground to secure more poor souls doomed to hell with all their scheming, ill-intent, self-destructive ways.

But, he thinks, a slow smile barely contained behind the rim of his coffee cup, it doesn’t take much to spot a potential victim, even with the rose-tinted glasses of daylight on. All you had to do was stop and look.

His dark eyes lock onto the figure seated in the far corner of the cafe, hunched over the laptop in front of her. From his vantage point, he could make out her features clearly — long dark hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face, straight nose, full lips with a dainty cupid’s bow, and porcelain skin all make up this young face. She looked to be mid-twenties if Jimin had to guess and by the way she dressed so casually amongst the sea of business suits and blazers suggests she might possibly be a student or someone who just got out of school. At first glance, this girl was like any other face in the crowd — unassuming and made an effort to sticking to themselves, just like everybody else in this cafe.

Except Jimin can spot something shady going on a mile away, and this one was only a few tables.

Now as to exactly what, he’ll have to get a closer look to find out. So with one last sip from his cup, he uncrosses his legs and gets up to make his way over to the young lady’s table. He approaches with just a few long strides and though it takes her a moment to notice his presence, she still had to do a double take once her wide eyes landed on his face. It makes him smile, eyes creasing and when he sees her face flush pink, he knows he’s got her.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin starts, coming off bashful as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might seem really creepy but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around this cafe before and I’m a regular here.”

The girl barely recovers from her flustered state, shaky hands also coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact with him and it only goads him on further, keeping his eyes on her and the ever sweet smile still present in an almost purposefully teasing way.

“O-Oh, uh, um yeah. I usually like to hang out in this other place but, I had errands to do around here so I just stopped here for a bit….” Her voice wavers with nerves but she clears her throat, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“Ah, I see.” Jimin replies, feigning interest as he idly runs a hand through his new ash brown hair. “I’m glad you did, it’s a really nice place to come by — amazing coffee and in-house pastry. Have you tried them?”

The small talk continues with Jimin effortlessly getting her to let her guard down more and more until after an empty pastry plate and a latte later, he’s managed to settle himself comfortably in the seat in front of her sharing chuckles and names (Kim), her laptop long forgotten. Here, Jimin can really take in the details of her person; the Chanel t-shirt peeking out from underneath her windbreaker that’s definitely not a knockoff, the Cartier necklace with it’s dainty charm sitting at the base of her throat, the Hermes bangle that gives off a lustrous shine whenever she brings her slender hand up to cover her mouth as she laughs along with the rose gold diamond Rolex watch.

Either she’s got a nice honest paying job, or she’s getting her funds by….other means.

“That’s a really nice watch you have there; Rolex?” Jimin asks, smoothly taking Kim’s hand into his to inspect the watch clasped onto her wrist. He pretends to admire it, completely ignoring the way she blushes.

“Yeah, got it not too long ago.”

“Lovely taste.” He lets go, making sure to linger in his touch. Kim appreciates the gesture, smiling coyly as she slowly takes her hand back. Amidst the chatter of the cafe, a chime followed by a buzz draws the girl’s attention to her phone placed off on the side. Kim takes it into her hand, unlocking before scrolling through it with hasty fingers. She looks up after a few moments later, regret reflecting in her brown irises.

“Hey, I gotta get going. Maybe we could grab coffee again some other time….?”

Jimin hears the way she lets the question hang and it only makes him grin. Regardless, he takes out his phone and Kim eagerly exchanges numbers with him (even sending him a text to make sure it goes through correctly). Once she’s satisfied, she packs her laptop into a sleeve and puts on her Gucci crossbody over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you around Julien.” Kim beams, walking off with a noticeable pep in her step. He watches her go with an easy smile and to onlookers, they might’ve pinned him for a poor sap who’s become infatuated by the girl he’s just met in his favourite coffee shop — a plot straight out of a romance novel. Oh, if only they knew; how funny would it be when they realize that this angelic smile hid a demon who’s just found his next prey.

Glancing down at his phone, his eyes read over the name of the poor girl who’s about to have karma bite her in the ass. Kim, he thinks with a dark chuckle, just what kind of dark secret are you hiding behind your own innocent smile?

He’ll look forward to finding out.

“Hey, are you working tomorrow?”

You’re in the break room, pulled out from your reveries (what you actually mean is dissociating) by the small chime of your phone signalling a text message. It’s Jaehee and you take a pause on reading her question to think of your answer, mentally going through your work schedule that you’ve gleaned over earlier today before coming into your shift. You don’t remember much but you do know you are working, just not sure whether it would be a short early shift or a closing one again. You hope that it’s not the latter. The very thought makes you shudder.

“Yeah I am. Why what’s up?” You shoot back and no sooner had the message been sent, you get one in return.

“Uhh? Your birthday….??”

Oh shit really? You think to yourself, shocked. You pull up the calendar on your phone and see that yes, your birthday is indeed tomorrow. The revelation has you dazed for a second, wondering where the time went.

“Oh wow, LOL. I didn’t even realize….”

“Girl…. We need to do something for your birthday!

We could do something like head out for dinner and a couple of drinks.”

“That sounds good, but I can’t remember if I’m closing or not :|

I’ll have to double check to make sure.”

“Okay, either way, let me know what the plan is and we work something out!”

“Yeah, will do :)” 

You say that but honestly, planning something for your birthday was the last thing on your mind. You would even go as far as to say that you don’t really care anymore. It sounds a lot more depressing than it really is because you think that most people reach that point about certain ages don’t they? When all of your friends’ schedules match up only once in a blue moon, too busy with the grind or other commitments that meeting up at all, let alone for someone’s birthday, is good enough.

Ugh.

You unconsciously frown, wanting to shake your thoughts off on the topic by pulling up your social media apps. Out of instincts, your thumb taps onto Twitter and you’re only greeted by your feed being filled up by huge banners and pictures of the BTS tour and how tickets for their next stop will promptly go on sale tomorrow at 3PM.

Wow.

It’s like the universe just said ‘fuck you’ to your face; tickets are going on sale on your birthday and you can’t even go. You must be the most unluckiest fan alive right now. What’s worse is that it’s for the next neighbouring city to you, and theoretically, your last chance to cave in.

No, no, you shake your head. You need to stop doing that — you’ve made your peace with this already, and the wanting feeling just resurfaced because you’ve been smacked in the face with it. You exit out of the app quickly and stand, shoving your mobile into your back pocket as you start to head back out of the break room to continue your shift. You dread every step of the way because today, you’re part of the closing team and with the warming weekend weather, people tend to want to hang out longer.

Which is, much to you and your co-workers chagrin, what ends up happening. You spend the next five to ten precious minutes past closing urging straggler shoppers to get the fuck out in the most politest way so that you could all finally start cleaning. So of course by the time you’re done and with no mischievous demon by the name of Jungkook around this time to cause any excuse to leaving early otherwise, you all get out way past the appointed end shift time.

You hurry to the bus stop after a hasty goodnight, eager to get home. Thankfully, you only wait around five minutes before the bus shows up and you get on, not bothering to take a seat for the short three stop ride even though there were plenty of empty seats for your picking. You can’t deny that you’re a little bit antsy, commuting at night alone always manages to do that for you even when you make it to your stop without any incident.

It’s okay, you think as you hastily make your way down the street, you’re nearly there and it’ll be fine the rest of the way.

You don’t stop to think about the logic of your thought just now because by no means are you anywhere near your house yet, let alone your street. You still had about a block left before you meet —

Oh.

You slow your power walking down to let out a huff of disbelief at yourself. You did not just seriously….

You sigh deeply, too tired to mentally battle it out with yourself about denying the fact that you find Jimin’s routine meet up on your night shifts gave you comfort and security on the trip home — that extra peace of mind. Not saying that you’d be completely crippled if he wasn’t there but… It's nice to have him walking beside you like a shadow that shielded you from any creeps way scarier than any demon you’ve met so far and… he makes the night a lot more enjoyable to be in.

Holy shit, you must be tired as hell because you did not just think that into existence. Your cheeks are heating up on their own and you had to give yourself a light smack to dispel any further thoughts of that nature from developing. At least there was one saving grace about it all; no one was around to witness any of this.

With that, you focus back on trucking along, heart hammering from your exertion or your anticipation, you’re not quite sure. Either way, your pace picks up when you see the beginnings of your street corner come into view. Usually, Jimin would be there just before you make the turn and from there, you’d both walk back the rest of the way, past the convenience store with the dumpster and flickering street light.

So when you round the corner —

Your feet falter, finding no one.

You slow until you stop completely, more concentrated on trying to spot his familiar lean figure that’s always dressed to the nines but somehow always look effortless but after double checking (triple checking, in case your eyes are really that bad) you find no one; not a single soul.

A weight suddenly drops into the pit of your stomach and for a moment, you’re at a loss of what to do. Should you wait around to see if he shows up with the off chance that he's late today? Or should you just power on through? Your gaze shifts to the street ahead of you and it’s like the darkness and the scattering of lights elongate to an endless pathway leading into an inky abyss. You lick your lips that had gone dry, taking in a shaky breath in an attempts to gather yourself but with one glance around your surroundings, you decide firmly that there was no way you were gonna hang around here longer than you need to, not when you know how notorious the store corner could get with its less-than-savoury visitors. You feel a bubble of irritation begin to swell inside you but you crush it in favour of wanting to get home as fast as you can.

So with a swallow, you take off in a power walk, shoulders hunched and legs burning with the strain you put with how quick of a pace you’ve set for yourself. Your hammering heart only accelerates once you come upon the twenty-four hour convenience store, the same one you got harassed by before Jimin showed up in the nick of time. The grip you have on your bag strap tightens as with a quick flit of your eyes, you find that the corner with the dumpster just behind the store is not occupied for once by anyone, at least from what you can see. You don’t bother to confirm if it’s true or not, taking full advantage of this bit of luck as you practically barrel past it, almost breaking out into a run just to get by. Once you do, you race the rest of the way up your front door steps and with a few fumbles of the keys in shaky, adrenaline-filled hands you fall through the doorway, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding comes out in one big whoosh.

You take a moment to stand there, breathing in deeply to calm yourself before eventually, move away from your threshold, locking the door and slipping off your shoes. Trudging to your bedroom, you don’t bother to flick the lights on as you blindly move about to grab your pyjamas, flinging your bag and heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You hit the bed with a thump, thankful to be in its warm sheets but still feeling slightly miffed, mind racing to try and come up with some logical reason as to why Jimin wasn’t there tonight. You toss and turn for a bit but then come to a screeching halt halfway through it; he never explicitly said he would walk you home whenever you had a night shift, he sort of…started doing it on his own and you just never questioned it. Then somewhere along the way, you assumed it became an unspoken promise between you two — something that didn’t need an explanation and something that you grew to look forward to so to have it come to an abrupt stop…

You sigh out, flipping to your side and curling up on yourself, feeling ridiculous and still very much restless; guess you’re not going to sleep tonight and you hate how it’s because of how fixated you are on your guardian demon. Since when did you become someone who got so hung up on stupid small things like this? He’s his own being, a demon who roams the night freely and without fear doing what he does best; get people to make stupid decisions.

But he could’ve at least sent you a text.

You actually grab your own mobile, the light blinding you for a second as you pull up his message thread. The last text you sent each other was during your house viewing with Jaehee. Confronted with the option now, your fingers itch to send off a passive-aggressive text to him, letting him know that you made it home safely without his help thanks for asking—

You blink and suddenly the message is typed out in the box, ready for you to hit send. It takes you a second to register what you had done and it makes you backspace immediately in horror. No, you won’t be like this, can’t be like this, because does it even make sense for you to?

You grab the calico plushie with more strength than you mean to and smash your face against its soft body to drown a groan and the sinking feeling in your chest. That’s it, you’re stopping right there and you are going to sleep and forget about this all because if you don’t you’ll just give yourself a headache and lose out on sleep needlessly. You fling your phone to the ends of your bed for good measures.

Who cares about Jimin, you certainly don’t.

The girl in front of him throws her head back to laugh, hand covering her mouth to retain some modesty and keep up her appearances as being a ‘proper lady’. He doesn’t entirely care in that, nor the high spun tale he’s conjured up that caused her to laugh; it’s all pretences to him. Still, he plays his part, smiling behind the rim of his whiskey glass as he watches her with twinkling eyes full of mischief until she calms down, fanning herself lightly.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that happened to you — on your first trip to Bali too.”

Jimin could only offer her a bemused shrug, placing his glass down on the table to cross his legs. “Guess that’s what you call life huh?”

Kim giggles, taking a sip of her own drink as well too before reclining back into the plush black leather booth seat. When she had suggested that they grab coffee again some time, this wasn’t exactly the first thing that Jimin had in mind. Though to be fair, he should’ve figured with the text she sent him, asking if he was free two days later from their initial meeting to come out at a time that’s way too late to be having coffee and at an establishment he swears didn’t exactly serve coffee. A ritzy place, dimly lit by warm lights from the crystal chandeliers hanging above each round table with a colour scheme of black, white and dark cherry wood. Not exactly a place your average Joe would pick for a date, not unless he wanted his wallet to bleed dry but luckily neither of them need to bother looking at the menu in the first place.

She makes show of that by refilling her glass of expensive wine, not caring how her dulled senses manhandles the bottle slightly, putting it down with a little too much added force. It makes her giggle sheepishly, ducking her head because the noise seems to rattle the entirety of the upscale bar, the soft jazz music no way helping to mask it. Jimin chortles and Kim flushes pinker than she already is under her foundation.

“So,” Jimin starts coolly, “How about yourself? Got any juicy stories you wanna share?”

Kim places her glass after sip down gently this time, licking her painted lips that had the slightest tinge of the darker berry colour to them now. She tilts her head to ponder, pouting but then smiles with a shrug.

“I don’t think any of mine would top yours to be honest.”

“Oh really? Nothing at all?”

“I’m positive.” She laughs, “I feel like all I do on trips is lay around, sun bathe, and eat and drink expensive wine.”

Jimin nods in understanding, reaching out to take a swig of his whiskey again. Throughout the night, he and Kim had talked about things that one typical does during a ‘date’ — work, hobbies, friends, families, the likes. Very mundane and nothing to be too concerned about, only what Kim doesn’t know is that the more she talks about herself, the more Jimin is beginning to get a good idea as to what sort of secret life she’s hiding. From what he gathered, she’s a recent college graduate majoring in marketing, lived alone in an apartment, and worked for a company that was getting their big break-through in expanding.

Doesn’t seem at all suspicious but considering the state of the economy, either Kim is one lucky girl or she’s obviously getting her funds somewhere else. No student straight out of college would be able to afford the luxury items Kim seems to so whole-heartedly indulge in, even with a decent paying job. Perhaps a sugar daddy? No, she’s out here seeing him isn’t she? A wealthy family then who funds everything for her?

There are still pieces missing to this puzzle and Jimin needs to find out more. Unfortunately for him, Kim downs the rest of her wine with a sense of finality and he already knows before she opens her mouth that she was planning on calling it a night.

“I think I’m done with my fill of merlot. Any more and I feel like you would have to carry me out and that’s not exactly how I want to end my night with you.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Jimin grins wolfishly and that causes a bout of giggles to bubble from Kim’s lips. As she’s distracted, Jimin waves down the waiter to pay the bill, swiping his card and signing off the receipt before getting up from his seat. He waits patiently as Kim gathers her things but as she gets up, she tips a little too heavily to one side that Jimin had to steady her by the shoulder. The brunette laughs breathlessly, leaning into him as Jimin smiles while guiding her out of the upscale bar with a hand on the small of her back.

The night is a lot warmer compared to the last few, but of course that doesn’t stop Kim from clinging to Jimin’s arms like there was a biting breeze nipping at her skin, heeled footsteps echoing loudly against the asphalt. She also takes the liberty to direct him to round the side of the building where a small space reserved for parking was. Jimin’s quick to catch on as he glances down at Kim’s still flushed and smiley face with a quirked eyebrow.

“Do you intend to drive home like this?”

Immediately, she whips her glazed eyes upwards, widened in shock and pouts petulantly at him, seemingly offended by his assumptions. “Julien! I’m not that stupid. I just wanna make sure I didn’t leave anything important in there before I call an Uber.”

Jimin chuckles good-heartedly, bringing up a hand in a placating manner. “Sorry, sorry. People tend to be a poor of judge under the influence but it’s good to see that you’re one of the smarter ones.”

Unfortunately.

It would be so easy for Jimin to just whisper into her ear and convince her that she’s totally fine to drive home. Then, all he had to do was watch her drive off and not even a block down, she’d run a red light, get T-boned and he can dust his hands off with another job well done. The idea is tantalizing but no, he’s long since been tired of a successful hunt that lacked any thrill. Which is why when they both reach Kim’s car (a sleek black BMW M5), Jimin turns to her with a well-placed charming smile.

“How about I make it up to you on that last comment? I’ll drive you home.”

Kim pauses mid-push of unlocking her car, throwing a rather dubious look over her shoulder at him. Jimin holds his ground, steadfast in keeping up the non-threatening facade, posture relaxed even as she turns to face him squarely, leaning back heavily against her ride with an impressive piercing gaze. He senses the cogs in her head working, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of accepting his offer. Before he could let the doubts fester, Jimin speaks, voice lilting with an irresistibly smooth velvet finish.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to say yes. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe is all.”

His eyes flare a deep crimson so quickly that to Kim’s slightly muddled mind, it appeared to only be the trick of the light. Jimin sees the effects of his words take hold of her, and after a few minutes, Kim loses the tenseness of her shoulders, looking at him in a new light.

“I mean, if it won’t be too much trouble for you…”

And like that, she’s entangled herself more into his spider’s web. Jimin smiles, eyes creasing up in a very pleased way. It makes Kim smile in return for all the wrong reasons as she her keys off to him. He strides towards her, taking it from her grasp before unlocking the doors and opening the passenger one for her. She ducks into her seat and Jimin shuts it firmly once she’s settled in before rounding around the car to get into the driver’s seat.

As expected, the interior of the car was black, crisp leather interlaid with dark burgundy polished wood for the dashboard and for a second, he could pick up the faintest whiff of the new car smell still lingering around. The smile widens on Jimin’s lips as he glances over at the owner who’s buckling in her seatbelt. She feels his eyes on her and when she turns, she grins coquettishly.

“What?”

“It’s a very nice car.”

Kim preens at the compliment, leaning over to whisper, “I know.”

It makes Jimin chuckle, adjusting his seat and the steering wheel before fastening his own seatbelt. Once he’s comfortable, he hits the start-push button and the car hums to life.

The drive to Kim’s place was filled with more small talk about the passing neighbourhoods and other fancy eating places she hints at for potential future ‘dates’ — none of which interests Jimin. What does however, is the directions she’s giving him albeit in her now drunken sleepy state. She leads him out of the upscale part of the city where all the new high-rises and penthouse suite condos were gathered in favour of an older looking neighbourhood. The apartment buildings begin to look visibly aged, the colour scheme falling into the more rustic ash brown and not as lustrous or modern as the others they had just passed. It reminds him of where you live; modest, not-as-flashy but still well kept neighbourhood. They’re still in way better shape than some of the neighbourhoods Jimin has seen that’s for sure but in this case, it was not a place Jimin had pictured a someone like Kim who seems to live and breathe luxury to be living in.

But Kim only confirms her residencies here when she directs Jimin to an underground parking garage that was connected to one of these bricked apartment buildings. He can’t help quirking an eyebrow at her as he pulls up to the yellow plastic gate right next to the security speaker box.

“We’re at the right place right?” The teasing overtone of his question hides the backhandedness of it (but he thinks Kim wouldn’t notice anyways, given her state).

“Hm?” Kim turns from staring out her window, dazed for a moment at his remark before she seems to realize where she is. She flushes pink, clearly flustered as she stutters. “O-Oh! It’s just temporary….I’m actually moving soon.”

Jimin hums noncommittally, rolling down the window in order to speak to the building security to let them through the gate with Kim telling him that all he needs to say is that he’s a visitor, her full name and floor she’s living on. It works because the yellow gate lifts and he’s allowed to drive the rest of the way in, entering the garage as it opens and after more instructions, finds her designated parking spot. Jimin parks the car, shutting the engine off as he unfastens himself to exit, making quick work of rounding to Kim’s side to open her door. He even offers her his hand.

She smiles at the gesture, gladly taking it to haul herself up and out of her seat.

“And here I thought chivalry was dead.”

Jimin shrugs, “Guess I’m pretty old-fashioned.”

Kim tilts back with a bubbly laugh, swaying too much to where Jimin had to hold her hand a little more firmly to keep her from tipping back and falling over. In doing so though, Kim laces her fingers through his and brings herself closer, pressing up against his chest and forcing him to tilt his head down in order to look her in the face.

“I had a really great time tonight Julien.” Her voice rasps, the proximity lets her lips brush slightly against his own whenever she speaks. “And thank you so much for driving me home when you didn’t have to….”

Ah, here it comes.

“Is there anything I can do? Get you an Uber or maybe….?”

Jimin can’t stifle the smirk that creeps up on his lips, amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he slowly turns the tables on Kim. He brings up their joined hands, only to release himself from her grip to press her back against her car, letting his freed hand cage her instead. She doesn’t resist, so pliant under Jimin’s manipulation that he swears she’s enjoying the attention she’s getting from him. Does she think that she’s got him right where she wanted?

Cute….but not quite.

No, right now, Jimin’s motives are far from aligning with Kim’s despite her thinking otherwise. His plan is simple; get her to invite him up to her apartment, maybe let her have her way for a bit before he puts her out, snoop around to his heart’s content and when he’s found what he needs, disappear like a shadow in the night and let a demon’s karma do its part.

So he takes the bait.

“I think that whiskey is starting to get into my head a little….”

And that’s all Kim needs.

In a fitting whirlwind romance (Jimin uses that term very ironically), the steps of his plans were enacted and Kim is out like a light before she could even finish unbuttoning his shirt — using pressure points is one way to spice things up in the bedroom he supposes. A lot of other demons would give Jimin flak for not indulging in some added bonus fun while on a ‘hunt’ but he’s a demon of taste, and there’s something else hot and steamy that he’s after.

With Kim knocked out into a deep sleep, it makes for rifling through her stuff easy as pie. In the darkness of her room, he spies numerous amounts of name brand clothing strewn about on her dresser and floor. On the handle of her door and even by the foot of her bed, there were bags of different sizes, shapes and colour. Everything seems so disorganized and just thrown about that Jimin thinks the only clean space is her queen size bed and to a certain degree, vanity table which is where he heads towards as he spots her MacBook. It sits asleep on the counter surrounded by various bottles of perfume and lipsticks, organized by colour and brand.

He wastes no time opening the laptop, bypassing her password with ease, immediately diving into the most recent folders. It doesn’t take long for Jimin to start finding some….interesting things. First off was a folder, simply named ‘E-Pics’ that was dedicated to, of all things, concert e-tickets. There were around five of them, all from two shows that had played recently in the city. Jimin doesn’t recognize the names of the artist but he thinks it’s rather strange for someone to have saved pictures of e-tickets when there’s an app for that. Was Kim a secretly sentimental type of person….?

Highly unlikely, Jimin thinks so he continues digging, clicking away until….

A slow smile hooks at the corner of his mouth as his eyes scan over these newly discovered files. At a glance, they look exactly like the tickets in the previous folder but when Jimin fiddles around with the image a bit more, he spots the alterations in them, hidden in plain sight.

Forgery, and good enough that Jimin’s mildly impressed. If they had a course in college for that, he would’ve believed Kim would graduate at the top of her class.

This new information sends a newfound thrum of giddiness running through him and he wonders gleefully what other incriminating things Kim is hiding in other places. Perhaps her phone? Without a second thought, he closes the laptop and then heads out of her room.

He slinks out into Kim’s open space apartment with soundless footsteps. It’s on the small side and not much goes into these spaces other than her bedroom. There was an attempt though, hints of times Jimin could imagine the young woman would spontaneously have in trying to decorate her home from the colour coordinated throw cushions. It’s like she tried to go for a colour scheme but then quickly realized that she’d rather invest in her money in name brand handbags and shoes.

He picks one of them up on the couch; her clutch from tonight tossed aside carelessly in favour of trying to ravish him as soon as they made it through the doorway. Pretty thing, but the worth of the clutch doesn’t interest him so much as what’s inside it and reaching in, he easily pulls out her mobile phone. It lights up as soon as he hits the home button but when he goes to bypass her lock, he hesitates.

Blaring in his face is the time — 2:43AM.

Was it really that late already? The phone lays momentarily forgotten in his hand as he wonders how he hadn’t noticed the time flying by so fast. Unconsciously, he furrows his brows as another thought crosses his mind.

You should be home by now….right? Wait, you had a closing shift today didn’t you?

Shit.

Jimin reaches a hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone, bringing up your message thread to not find a single peep from you since your open house visit with Jaehee. Of course you wouldn’t, he knows you — stubborn as a mule and he swears if you had gotten stabbed, you would convince yourself that it’s not that serious only because you wouldn’t want to trouble anyone.

….Shit.

His hand travels to linger over his chest as if it had a mind of its own as his becomes completely lost in thought. Jimin didn’t feel any disturbances or distress that usually comes when your emotions flare, so it should mean that you were okay. But what are the possibilities that you simply didn’t have the time to react, too caught off guard to call out to him if you needed help?

Jimin exhales heavily through his nose in frustration, a hand combing through his hair as he glances down at Kim’s phone to see a few more minutes have passed and that now he had a choice to make; continue his search here for more information to blackmail Kim or abandon that possibility altogether. Fingers tap idly as the demon weighs his options and the more he stares at the phone, the more his mind screams at him to take just one peek, she’s fine.

….

Damn it.

He shoves Kim’s phone and all it’s garish pink glittery case glory back into her clutch before flinging it back onto the couch as if it were a dollar store pencil case. With long strides, he heads to the door but instead of going through it, he feels the familiar tug of apparating to another location and he finds himself at the head of your street. It’s relatively quiet when his senses readjust to his surroundings, the only sounds he picks up are the faint chirps of crickets and the occasional passing of a car way down at the other end of the road. He doesn’t see you nor anyone for that matter and he’s not sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one. Still, he holds out on the belief that you’ve made it home all right.

So methodically, Jimin stalks forward, dark eyes narrowed to scan even the darkest corners for anything that might seem amiss, things that ordinary human beings don’t see. When he doesn’t pick up anything that raises any concerns, he makes another leap in location and this time, he ends up directly in your bedroom. The soft carpeted floor helps muffle his black Chelsea boots as he lands, but his attention immediately goes to your bed and without meaning to, he sighs, a tenseness he wasn’t even aware of dissipating from within him.

He sees the clear outline of your form under the covers, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing as you slumber and as he steps closer, almost feels the warmth of your body. The tops of your head just pokes out from where its rests on your pillow, hair spilling over messily but overall, you do not appear hurt. But as he continues to assess you, he notices the way you’ve curled in on yourself in spite of not having any shortage of room on your mattress, making you appear small and clutched to your chest was your beloved plush cat. Its face is squished by how hard you hold it against yourself but nevertheless, its cartoonish cat smile still peeked through its distorted face.

There’s a twinge that erupts in his chest, so sudden that he exhales sharply out of surprise. He reaches a hand up to his chest again, brows furrowed, where his heart beats and wonders in mild disbelief if something was wrong with it. Its never done something like that before, the only thing coming close was when you felt intense fear or anger. But you’re sound asleep, as quiet as a mouse. He stands there for a good minute trying to decipher this anomaly before he huffs, tearing his gaze away from you as he runs a hand through his hair frustrated.

Maybe he’d just imagined it, or there’s a glitch with this vessel. Either way, he pushes it to the back of his mind, focusing his attention to your discarded phone at the ends of your bed. He chortles under his breath, shaking his head — what is he going to do with you? Grabbing the phone, he gently places it on your bedside table (where it belongs) and settles himself into your desk chair, eyes sliding shut in a semi-meditative state. He’s lost out on one curiosity for the night, but at least the satisfaction of this one has made up for it.

You wake with an ache in your lower back that leaves you taking an extra fifteen minutes just to get out of bed without groaning or joints cracking. Doesn’t help that your phone goes off incessantly with messages from your friends wishing you a happy birthday. You smile to yourself though, thanking them each and even commenting how you woke up with a sore back, really feeling the aging kick in already.

Eventually, you drag yourself to the bathroom in a half daze and even after washing up you feel like you want to lie back down again, the comforter looks so invitingly warm still. But you resist the urge, knowing well that if you do give in, you’ll not get back up and that’s not something you want to do before going to your shift later on in the day.

What you didn’t know when you stepped into the kitchen is that it was already occupied by a certain demon that you had expected to see last night but didn’t. You visibly jerk at his appearance, taken aback at how casual he looks leaning against the counter, a mug of black coffee resting in his hand as he scrolls through his phone, the natural light of the afternoon sun highlighting the strands of hair falling in messy coordination over his forehead in a newly dyed ashen brown colour. The level of nonchalant coolness that he so effortlessly exudes is infuriating the more you stare at him because it’s so not fair for him to look this good, in fact, the only reason why he’s able to look this good is because he’s wearing another attractive person’s face but what’s really bullshit is that he’s still able to make your heart trip over itself when he’s only just pretending!

“You know you’ll see yourself to an early grave if you wake up already stressed like that darling.”

And the nerve!

You scoff, brushing past him to grab your own mug for a morning (technically afternoon now) tea. You move about to get your teabag, sugar and cream, all the while something starts to fester inside of you, instantly souring whatever good mood you had earlier. It leaves you slowly feeling irritated, restless and its not because of your earlier grievances with the demon. No, you know it’s that old wound you’re trying to stubbornly ignore from last night until the early hours of morning and it seems like now, in the presence of its cause, it's begun to itch again. Doesn’t help that when you glance over at your guardian demon, he’s busy once again with his phone, typing away and just the barest hint of a smile on his face. You scowl before you can help yourself, turning away to angrily sip on your tea in hopes of letting the warm liquid calm you down — it doesn’t. So you resort to placing down your mug, deciding on making peanut butter toast in order to distract yourself, even if you weren’t particularly hungry for it.

“Why so quiet cherub?”

You shoot him a look but brush off your underlying annoyance with an indifferent shrug, going back to opening the fridge to grab bread. “Just tired.” He shifts his weight from one hip to the other when you pull out a slice to pop into the toaster and you fight your hardest to ignore his eyes on you.

“Got home late from your shift…?”

The mention of last night pricks a nerve in you and you nearly throw the bag of bread back into the fridge with an unnecessary amount of force, only holding back by opting to grip the handle of the fridge until your hands are straining instead. You draw in a heaving breath under your nose as you slam the fridge door shut, not trusting yourself in speaking because you won’t be able to keep the seething out of your words. So you choose to hum — a short and clipped sound.

You hear the toaster spring up and you’re bustling about again in order to ignore him. In doing so, you miss the way he’s still watching you and the faint curl of his lips. Oh how tempting you look to tease, his natural instincts threatening to overtake him and he actually gives in to some experimental prodding. Jimin sidles up to your side as you’re scraping generous amounts of peanut butter onto your toast and his proximity catches your attention briefly, eyes flitting to him before they stubbornly fixate back onto your task. He cocks his head at you but you refuse to acknowledge him and it makes his smile creep wider. Then, he decides to lean in, past your comfort zone until you’re hunching your shoulders up, no longer able to keep him bay with how he’s literally breathing down your neck.

“What do you want?” You snap, stepping back to distance yourself. He only gives you a Cheshire grin in return, making you bristle.

“Just say you missed me darling and I’ll make it up to you I promise.” His teasing lilt drifts through the small kitchen and you blanche, screwing the lid of the peanut butter jar violently back on.

“I think you need to get your head out of your ass.” You retort through gritted teeth. He throws his head back to laugh, clearly amused and unfazed by your sour mood. When you swiftly turn on your heels away from him to toss the butter knife into the sink, toast shoved into your mouth, he steps in front of you, almost causing you to bump into him. You glower, a passing thought of wanting to smear the excess peanut butter into his stupidly expensive Saint Laurent t-shirt but he’s caught your hand in his like he’s read your mind.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss cherub, you could’ve called me if you wanted to see me that badly.”

Your cheeks redden traitorously at the suggestion, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his pillowy lips and you have no choice but to tear your toast from your mouth with your free hand to chew on a piece unless you wanted to choke, mumbling incoherently and refusing to make eye contact. As you try to pull your other hand away from him, his grip tightens a fraction to hold you in place but at this point, you’re quickly growing tired of this mental game. You honestly don’t know yourself why you’re choosing to be so petty when Jimin didn’t even violate the contract of keeping you out of harms way because there was no harm to begin with. God, what are you doing….

Your shoulders slump, drained as you deflate and your sudden withdrawal takes even Jimin by surprise.

“It’s fine Jimin; I got home alright so just forget it.” This time, your hand slips away from his easily and he lets you slink by him after depositing the dirtied knife into the sink. Even after you’ve pattered off into your room again, Jimin remains in the kitchen, silently watching you go, that peculiar twinge coming back again.

“Julien?….Julien?”

He blinks, knocked out of his stupor but he recovers so seamlessly that it’s as if he hadn’t been spacing out at all. Jimin turns his gaze back to the girl in front of him then, a benign smile gracing his handsome features.

“Sorry, I just had a thought…. You were saying Kim?”

The pretty brunette giggles breathlessly. “I was just saying how you have an impressive….recovery rate but I feel like I might’ve spoken too soon. Anyways,” She places her coffee cup back down on the saucer, “who am I to talk when I passed out on you last night — again, I’m so sorry about that.”

Subtly, Jimin’s jaw ticks though he conceals it with another smile and a carefully placed hand. “Not at all Kim, though at the time it was worrisome…. Like you just died on me.”

That pulls another bout of giggles from Kim, “Oh, it’ll take more than that. I’ll make it up to you I promise.” She throws in a playful wink to which Jimin accepts in feigned interest.

“I look forward to it.”

The rest of the ‘date’ is too boring for Jimin to recall as he spends most of his time drowning Kim’s ramblings and more focused on how he’s going to get her drunk again so he could rifle through her phone, get what he needs and then let karma do its thing. But more over, his thoughts keep straying back to you. You’re probably at work right now, an afternoon shift that had started maybe an hour or so after he’d left the house although he knows for sure you don’t close today which means he doesn’t have to worry about getting too carried away with this little project of his but at this rate, he doesn’t think he can bear a moment longer with this bland, materialistic woman any—

“Oh my God, is it already that time?”

His monotonous hum comes out automatically in response before the words can register but as soon as they do, his eyes finally focus on Kim for the first time in an hour. She’s scrolling through her phone, brows furrowed in concentration and then furiously typing away on it. Jimin’s curiosity piques with a raised eyebrow and he leans over the table in between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh no, it’s just…” Kim’s struggles with focusing on Jimin while still trying to do whatever it is on her phone that’s got her so frantic. Her body rises as if to get up and it makes Jimin follow suit. She shoots him an apologetic look, glancing down one last time at her phone and Jimin barely catches a glimpse of a countdown. “There’s something really important I have to do.”

“Oh, what is it if I may ask?”

“There’s a concert happening soon and I really want to get tickets for.”

Oh?

A serpentine smile pulls at the corners of his lips and Jimin’s eyes seem to come to life — now she’s speaking his language. He draws his face in to play the part; concerned and eager to help.

“Oh really? Are they hard to get?”

She takes the bait beautifully, rolling her eyes with a ragged sigh as she settles back into her chair. “Oh my God, you have no idea. It’s like winning the lottery I swear.”

“Wow, sounds impossible….” Jimin comments offhandedly, lowering himself back into his seat again. “Maybe I could…help?”

Kim perks up at the idea, the hopeful gleam in her eyes palpable that it nearly makes Jimin snort. She chews on her bottom lip, conflicted and right when Jimin’s about to sway her into temptation, her eyes meet the ticking timer on her phone browser reaching to t-minus three minutes. It’s enough to make her hasty decision and Kim wastes no time instructing Jimin to take his phone out, download the appropriate app and search for the show that she so desperately wants to get tickets for — enough to seal her fate with a demon out of her own volition at that!

So you could only imagine the surprise Jimin had when her directed search lands on—

“Love Yourself Tour? By BTS?”

“Yes that one.”

Seven hells there was no way.

Oh this was just too good.

The laughter starts bubbling rapidly in his chest, so much so that when he tries to lower his head to quell it it doesn’t work. It ruptures into a chuckle, shoulders shaking and before he knew it, he’s sinking back into his chair, head thrown back and a poor attempt to cover up the sounds of his cackling with his hand over his mouth. No doubt the entire cafe has eyes on their table but Jimin doesn’t care because his sides are killing him and he’s about to cry literal tears from trying to reel himself in — he only succeeds in folding in on himself and emitting occasional squeaks.

When he rights himself finally, wiping away at the corners of his eyes he catches sight of Kim who’s giving him a look that nearly sends him into another fit again. He barely manages by clearing his throat and glancing away, breathing deeply before answering her unspoken question.

“Sorry, just— I’ve actually heard of them before so it explains why it’s so hard to get tickets for their show.”

Kim’s face breaks into a smile, still nonplussed by his outburst but nodding in solidarity. “Yeah, so if you manage to get tickets — good ones — I might just think you’re a God.”

Satan, this girl might actually kill him instead.

He waves her off, cheeks aching and Jimin is actually thankful when the countdown on his phone reaches zero and Kim reverts back into a rather serious demeanour, eyes lasering in on her phone as she furiously taps away at it. She lets out a loud gasp within the next few minutes, causing Jimin to look up.

“I’m behind 105 people! I think I might be able to do this! What about you?”

With a quick glance, Jimin reads, “100.”

The brunette’s eyes alight instantly, mouth falling open. “Oh my God, you might actually get in!”

He shrugs in return, feigning indifference. Secretly, however, Jimin knows very well that his chances of getting these golden tickets were high — way higher than Kim’s and not just because he’s ahead of her by five people but more importantly…..

As the agonizing wait of watching the little man run at a glacier pace, Jimin takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

“So, I didn’t think you were a fan of BTS.”

Kim tears her away from her phone momentarily, the wrinkle in her nose is all the answer Jimin needs. “Oh no, I don’t even know them like that — I just heard they were a huge deal, like really popular right now.”

Jimin already figures because Kim would’ve at least recognized him or remarked on how eerily similar he looks to one of the band members but this is just a segue to what Jimin really wants to get at from her. “Oh, then why are you trying to get tickets for their show?”

He catches the way she swallows nervously, eyes flitting to him briefly and there’s that bout of hesitation again. The smile is back on his face, disarming and with just enough sincerity that it convinces Kim that he won't judge. She glances around as if to make sure they weren’t being heard in their little booth corner before leaning towards him, voice coming out in a hush.

“Okay so, me and a friend have been doing this thing on the side where we buy tickets to really high demand shows and reselling them for higher prices. It’s honestly such good money when you come across big name artists that have crazy huge fanbases — like BTS.” She pauses to look down at her phone, keeping track of her little running man. “My friend got two P1 tickets to their show last year for $250 each and she resold them for $1,110, each!”

Jimin leans back as if impressed, throwing in a low whistle for effect. “Wow — that’s…pretty good.”

“I know right? The only problem is is that they’re so hard to get. Even though the average seats will still bring in good money, you get way better profit with GA or P1 seats.”

He nods along, looking contemplative but Kim’s gone back to her phone once again, this time, looking rather excited. It makes Jimin turn back to his own as well too and lo and behold, they’re finally in.

“Okay Julien just pick two tickets and do a run search for best seating until you find a pair. When you do, buy them because literally trying to find anything better would just mean you won’t get tickets at all. I'll owe you back the money afterwards.” Kim says it all in one breath, too into her own operation to notice the way the demon smirks and leisurely taps away as she had instructed him to do.

After what felt like hours of nail-biting suspense (on Kim’s end, Jimin had ordered himself a cappuccino in between that time), she finally pulls away with an exasperated groan.

“Damn it, I only managed to snag P3 tickets. Did you have any luck?”

He takes the time to uncross his legs, showing her the screen of his phone and grins boyishly when her eyes balks at what she reads.

“Two GA tickets?!” Kim almost screams it before she catches herself, slapping a hand over her mouth and ducking her head. When she’s sure no ones comes over to kick them out of the cafe for being a disturbance, she practically rounds on Jimin with unbidden elation. “Oh my God Julien! You’re amazing!” Her hands moves faster than her own words as she hastily pulls up her email. “You can send them over to me through my email. Honestly thank you so much for your help Julien, I’ll treat you to dinner tonight.”

When he makes no move to do as she says, Kim finally focuses on Jimin and her smile falters slightly. Jimin tilts his head almost too innocently, withdrawing his phone to blink wide, dark eyes at the brunette.

“What, did you think I was really going to hand these tickets over so easily after telling me all of that?”

He sees the way his words were not something Kim expected but she tries to play it off with a forced laugh. “You’re so funny Julien. Okay, how much?”

“$1,120.” A pause. “Each.”

She laughs again, the sound shrill and her face contorts into a mask of hollow mirth. Jimin watches on, only the barest of smiles ghosting his lips but he doesn’t join in on the joke. Well, not like there is one to begin with and Kim quickly realizes that as she calms down, all traces of a smile however fake, gone. Disbelief takes over her and that’s what almost makes Jimin laugh — he can literally see all the preconceptions she had of him disappear from her eyes. But he’s ever so charming; an amalgamation of soft and sharp, boyish and manly, chivalrous and a cunning wickedness underneath it all.

So it’s no surprise that he hasn’t completely lost her yet.

Kim takes the time to regard him, trying to gauge him and what’s going on in that pretty head of his only to come away, stumped. She’s contemplative, arms crossed before suddenly she cocks her head a little to one side, mouth tugging upwards into a half scoff, half smirk like she can’t believe Jimin’s about to try and play her at her own game.

“I’m gonna be honest — I never would’ve thought you would have the guts to do that.” She admits after a while, leaning back into her seat. “Usually all the guys I date would do whatever I ask them because they want to try and impress me.”

Figures.

Jimin didn’t need her to tell him that to know.

“But then again, I don't think you’re not quite like the other guys I’ve ever dated before.” Kim adds, voice dropping into a huskier tone right at the end. He goads her on, his expression darkens with the slightest hints of a promise she can’t refuse.

“Then how about I show what you’re missing out on?”

The sultry way in which he says it sends shivers down her spine, no doubt this new side she’s not aware of that could come from a face like his has her wanting more. With one last bite of her lip, she bites the bullet too.

“$1,000 each.”

“$1,115.”

“$1,100 each — And I’ll pay it in cash, only,” Jimin’s parted mouth stops halfway, his words falling short as Kim stops him with a coy smile. “We split it on some good dinner and Moet to celebrate tonight.”

Slowly, plush lips quirk upwards as an incredulous exhale escapes the demon; he hates to admit it, but Kim’s got spunk and unwittingly she’s been doing a good job at entertaining him. For a second, he considers, toys with the idea — she’s the perfect type to fuck around with, to string along on a wild and impulsive ride that would’ve involved a lot of money, sex, perhaps drugs until it left her breathless, addicted and drained to the very last penny. He would wrap her around his fingers so tightly, she would think it’s him that was under her spell. And right at the peak of it all, he would leave, disappear from her life as if he were nothing more than a self-indulgent dream she’d dreamt up, only for reality to come crashing down on her hard and the rest would’ve been history.

Tempting….

But…

He’s already been down that road, had more than his fair share of leaving women broken in more than one ways, tires of this game because no matter the centuries he’s lived in —

“Alright, how about we meet at The Red Muse later in the evening? You can take the time to go doll yourself up for me and we’ll go to town with this, yes?”

Kim grins, absolutely vibrating from his proposal as she bites her lower lip in an attempt to quell the salacious smile stretching her lips.

“Deal.”

They never learn.

Soon after, Jimin leaves to go off his separate ways with no particular plan in mind. He’s got a lot of time to kill before meeting Kim and he’s not particularly interested in seeking out another easy target to influence — he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be working overtime. Jimin eventually settles on heading to his favourite upscale bar (one that even with Kim’s caliber couldn’t dream of affording) to do a bit of pregaming. As he was nursing a glass of single malt whiskey, the demon is interrupted by probably the only other thorn on his side.

“I suppose some things don’t end up changing after all.”

“I’m offended you would ever think there’s a time where I’ve lost an ounce of class at all.”

Silence.

Jimin’s gaze whips to the younger demon who’s thin lips are slightly downturned in disagreement, eyes rolled to the far corner with the recalling of some fabricated memory.

“Well there was that one time — “

“Shut it if you don’t want me to singe off that face you’re so proud of.”

Jungkook snickers, eyes crinkling up as if Jimin had just made a joke instead of a threat. The older demon rolls his eyes, waving down the bartender for another refill of his drink in hopes of numbing the headache he feels creeping up on him, only to have the younger obnoxiously steal his glass for a sip once he does.

“Still, I would’ve thought you’d be off lurking around poppet like a shadow right about now.” Jungkook comments offhandedly, wrinkling his nose when the hard liquor rolls down his throat. His momentary distraction lets Jimin swipe his drink back.

“I’m not her personal caretaker, and as long as she’s looking both ways before crossing the street, she’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s skepticism bleeds through. “Last I checked, poppet was pretty down in the dumps about the concert thing — swear she could conjure a cloud above her head at the rate she’s going.”

His statement causes Jimin to straighten up a bit, thoughts spinning for a few seconds before coming to a conclusion. A slow smirk makes its way onto his lips, barely contained over the rim of his glass. Jimin doesn’t need to look over to know that Jungkook’s probably blinking big doe eyes at him, gauging his reaction but Jimin’s onto him, already knows what he’s after, so he’s going to drag this out until the younger is losing his mind.

“She’ll be fine.” He replies indifferently and that already leaves Jungkook feeling miffed.

“Wow…that’s….” The younger starts, struggling to find words for this unexpected blasé attitude. “Surprisingly cold of you.”

Jimin shrugs, unconcerned about it all and as he continues to sip on his whiskey, leaving Jungkook to become visibly more and more antsy. He shifts in his seat, like a little kid who can’t keep still.

“So, you’re just gonna….leave her like that?”

“She’s already accepted that she’s not going so what’s there to do?”

“Well — !” Jungkook doesn’t know how to proceed, face pinched into one of utter confusion and it’s difficult to keep a straight face on when Jimin can literally see him questioning everything he believed up until this point. He continues to flounder for words, on the cusp of saying something but then stopping himself. It goes on for a few more minutes before Jungkook gives up with an exasperated huff. “So much for being a guardian…”

“Exactly; I’m a guardian, not a miracle worker.”

The words slip so easily past his lips and he’s so thankful for Jungkook finally leaving him alone so that he can let out the loud, snorting laugh he’s been keeping in the entire time. He probably looks crazy but he really could care less, muttering under his breath about how he can’t believe the irony of it all. This entire ordeal with Kim turned out to be a way better investment than he had initially thought; it almost made him feel sorry for the poor girl he’s about to drop off at hell’s doorsteps.

Almost.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go, savouring the smokey whiskey taste as it leaves a pleasant burn when he swallows. He wonders idly what the sensation of being drunk is like, trying to compare it to any other feelings he must’ve felt in his lifetime….

Jimin’s thoughts continue to wander for quite some time, thinking about this and that until belatedly, he realizes that the appointed time to meet Kim had passed nearly more than two hours. When he checks his phone, there is no trace of a text from the girl in question, not even one berating him for being stood up. At this point, any sensible person would be rather concerned, alarmed even. They would immediately call to see if everything was alright but for Jimin, the thought never crosses his mind. He merely humphs, like this is all an inconvenience to him, downs the rest of his drink and gets up after paying.

It’s late when he steps out of the bar, the sun having long since set and the city is alight, teeming with people enjoying dinner on patios, heading out for events or just strolling the streets. Instead of joining in on the hubbub, he strides off with the intention of heading to a more…peaceful place. But first, he thinks, he might pay you a visit. After all, he’s got a pair of BTS tickets on hand and now with Kim going MIA, he figured they could be put to better use, like making you admit that you miss him when he’s gone.

Either way, he can’t wait to see the look on your face.

He makes it back to your place faster than he expected, body thrumming with a feeling that he swears can’t be from the alcohol he’s consumed but nonetheless welcomes anyways. He’s in such a good mood that he almost rings your doorbell, catching himself last minute. Jimin laughs to himself, maybe it really is the alcohol after all? He shrugs if off and apparates to your room, only to find that it’s empty of you. He double takes, making sure he hasn’t accidentally overlooked you in the darkness but nope, there’s no signs of you anywhere.

Maybe you were in the living room or kitchen?

Jimin pads on over to your door, carefully listening in case any one other than you might be out there as well. When he hears nothing, he phases through the walls. He’s a bit caught off guard for a moment at how dark everything is, as if no one was home. It wasn’t until he catches sight of the faint warm glow of the living room lamp does he spot you, sitting alone on the couch.

You lock eyes, dazed and blinking in surprise from clearly not expecting him. You think it’s all in your head, an illusion thought up in your inebriated state but then he steps forward into the light and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by his sheer presence, breath catching in your throat as you swallow. The black jeans he’s wearing hugs the shape of his legs so well and with his shirt tucked in, the silver YSL buckle glinting in the light, it looks as if his legs just go on for days. He’s dressed so simply and you’re appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time until now instead of earlier today, yet your initial thought doesn’t change at all — it’s not fair that he looks this good.

He stops just short of the couch, head cocking to one side with a subtle shift of the hips to lean his weight on one foot, dainty earrings twinkling as well as his dark eyes as they gaze at you. The mere gesture makes you huff out, agitated.

“Someone’s home early.” Your voice comes out more nasally sounding than Jimin remembers it and he chokes back a snort.

“Someone’s been drinking.” He teases back, nodding to the wine glass in your hand before shifting his sight to the coffee table in front of you, taking in the two bottles and the little 6-inch, half eaten cake. Another tilt of his head, this time he raises one shapely eyebrow too. “That, or you’ve had a really rough day.”

“Har. Har.” You say sarcastically, swirling your wine before taking another hardy sip. “I’m not that bougie or impulsive to get a whole cake to binge on myself — not yet at least.”

“Then….” Jimin stops to think, trying to come up with answers for the sudden appearance of the confectionery treat, only to come up with, “A celebration? Someone’s birthday? Jaehee’s?”

You giggle half-heartedly, downing the rest of your glass and Jimin is quick to pick up your lack of confirmation. Now he’s blinking owlishly in astonishment, stunned into brief silence until the words slip out in an uncharacteristically soft murmur, “It’s your birthday…”

“Ding ding ding.” You sing-song, leaning over to refill your glass. The effort of it makes you nearly tip over but you hold out, retrieving your drink and anchoring yourself back onto the couch again. You should probably stop right about now since the pounding in your head is making you both simultaneously nauseous and sleepy. Or at the very least, go back to pacing yourself better but that would mean risking getting into your feelings and you’d rather die of alcohol poisoning than get in your feelings. So you drink.

“Well,” You hear Jimin huff, “I’m rather hurt you didn’t invite me to the party cherub.”

You snort, letting your head loll onto the back of the couch and shutting your eyes, cradling your glass to your chest like it’s a lifeline. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss out much — just me and Jaehee, t’s all. Well, Jaehee’s sleeping now….work tomorrow…”

You trail off, the sound of your heartbeat ringing loudly in your ears that it might as well be beating inside your head than in your chest right now. You’re trying really hard to steady it but it only seems to make your breathing sound more laboured and doing no help to subside the killer wine buzz you have. Maybe you really should stop drinking after all, put down the glass you’re holding and call it a night before you do something mortifying, like throw up all the birthday cake you ate in front of Jimin. No, no, that is absolutely not happening. It would be disgusting and totally not cute. But then what are you going to do with the wine you just poured?

So caught up in your own inner ramblings, you failed to notice the quiet, pensive look marring Jimin’s face; eyebrows furrowed and the slightest downturn of his lips as he too becomes lost in his own thoughts. Clearly, he didn’t prepare himself for any of this — not like it would matter because he didn’t think anything would happen when he waltzed into your living room anyways. The most he had expected was to poke his head in, tease you about how obviously mopey you are about not going to the concert even when you had already decided not to go before dramatically brandishing the tickets with the promise of giving it to you after you dance a little for him. Instead, he’s caught in a conundrum of his own emotions, a jumbled mess that of course, only you could cause because you seem to be doing that a lot lately.

You’ve just about made up your mind, convinced to siphon the poured wine back into the bottle and then take your ass to bed when you nearly vault out of your own skin as soon as your eyes open.

“Jesus Jimin! What’re you—“

“Let’s go.”

You sputter, taken aback from the declaration before you blurt out, “Wha- Now? W-Where?” Your voice cracking as you lean away from Jimin’s imposing figure suddenly hovering over you to the point where you’re practically at a ninety-degree angle to the couch. He inhales deeply, one hand tousling through his hair while the other rests on his hip. He turns away from you briefly, allowing you the time to watch him go at war with himself, utterly confused and wondering what brought on such a spontaneous suggestion because, now that you think about it, you don’t think Jimin has ever invited you to go out anywhere before….

He rounds on you again and you’re forced back out of your thoughts to stare wide eyed up at him as he gathers himself.

“It’s just— just somewhere nice….As a…birthday present.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, bewildered at what you hear. If you were any more sober, you’d swear that that was the most you’ve heard Jimin fumble with his words. It’s….cute. Your heart’s still beating too loudly in your ear for your liking, you’ve still got a pulsing headache and your eyes are slowly becoming a little blurred, yet you still had the inkling thought of agreeing to go along with Jimin’s plan because how can you say no when he looks like that?

Well…. He might have to carry you but if he doesn’t mind then why the hell not?

You must’ve been staring for too long because Jimin starts to fidget in his spot, hand scratching the back of his neck. Oh, right; you gotta say yes you’re cool with it but might need some mobility assistance (this could get awkward).

“Uh…Well, that’s….cool. So like….where though?”

“That would ruin the surprise of it.” He laughs breathlessly and the sound itches to pull a smile on your own face.

“Do we gotta drive?”

“No driving cherub, you don’t even have a license.”

“Hey…I resent that.” You huff, limply pointing an accusatory finger at him before dropping your arm with a heavy thump. “So we walkin’? Cuz I’m telling ya now I can’t walk.”

“Clearly.” Jimin gracefully moves over towards your prone form again and with a dramatic sigh, he offers a hand to you. “C’mon get up, I’ll carry you.”

You blink hard, not believing your ears or luck. Here you thought you were gonna have to prostrate yourself to get him to carry you but he’s offering it willingly. Your heart squeezes inappropriately because this is touching you way more than it should and it’s probably showing on your face because Jimin gives you a weird look.

“Don’t make this weird, let’s just go before I change my mind.”

You only respond by holding out both your arms in the same manner a toddler wants to be picked up by their mother. Jimin exhales loudly through his nose, biting his bottom lip in order to school his face. When he’s composed himself again, he grabs onto you and hauls you up with effortless strength. Without meaning to, you fall against his broad chest with a yelp, clutching his biceps for dear life and trying very hard to stop your vision from swimming.

“You good cherub?” You hear him ask and even through your mantra of ‘don’t throw up’, you can still hear the restrained amusement seeping through.

“Just…Give me a sec.”

He gives you that courtesy, patiently waiting while holding you up from your unsteady legs, inhaling and exhaling until you think you’ve got most of your bearings back. You finally straighten, pulling back enough to be able to look up at him but when you do, you start to feel self-conscious. You probably look like a mess as much as you feel like one, or at least standing so close to Jimin you do. You’re still wearing your bare minimum ‘work clothes’ from earlier today that consists of a t-shirt you’ve had since high school and a pair of black yoga pants that has more or less faded to a dark grey from all the washes its been through.

“Ready?” Jimin asks, voice low that it gives off a slightly gravelly tone and pleasantly washes over you. You always liked the sound of his voice, could listen to him talk forever but it’s so soothing that it never fails to lull to sleep every time. When you swallow, mustering a nod of your head, he shifts you in his arms to have you looping yours around his neck and shoulder, startling you and igniting a heat that travels from the ends of your toes all the way up to your face. You immediately avert your gaze to your sock clad feet.

“Just hold onto me and,” He pauses, shooting you a roguish smirk. “You might want to close your eyes.”

That’s all the warning you get before you feel a pull so strong the air gets knocked out of you. All at once, you feel weightless with no sense of what’s up or down and instinctively, you huddle closer to the only other body mass that will indefinitely ensure you won’t fly away but before you can even emit a single shout, the powerful force vanishes and you feel solid ground.

“You can open your eyes now.” You feel Jimin’s chuckle rather than hear it and it takes you a whole hot second to realize you’ve actually had your eyes shut the entire time; when that happened you have no idea. Slowly, your eyes peel open as you release a shuddering breath, your senses having yet to fully catch up with you. They start to when you finally realize you’ve got a faceful of Jimin’s shirt, having practically squished into his chest, so much so that when you inhale you get a whiff of his cologne. It’s so subtle and almost undetectable but with you being this close, it overtakes you with ease. Next, your skin prickles as you feel a gentle breeze pass by, caressing the loose strands of your hair and tickling your cheeks and nose before finally you hear…. The humming of cars driving through the city with the occasional honks and sirens echoing off into the distant.

Wait, why do they sound so far away? Like…you’re above it all?

You flinch, alarmed and when you turn your head to look around you, your legs nearly give out. It’s only thanks to Jimin, who you’re still clutching onto with a vice grip that keeps you upright as you gaze out at the city horizon, illuminated by the multitudes of lights coming from the windows of buildings in front of you that stretch out as far as you can see. You double take, not believing if what you’re seeing is actually real until you feel Jimin move which makes you snap your bleary gaze up to him, searching for answers. He lets out a melodic laugh when he sees your expression.

“Never seen the city at night like this before huh?”

You could only open and close your mouth, gaping like a fish out of water as you look from him to the skyscrapers in front of you. Eventually, you gather enough courage to tentatively step away from Jimin since you’ve stepped foot onto this roof, but at the the first wave of vertigo, you instinctively sink down on your knees and remain fixed there. You must look ridiculous but like hell do you trust yourself right now to walk around on the flat roof of 6-story building with a system full of alcohol. Still, it doesn’t stop you from taking in the sights before you. It’s a clear night, not a single cloud lining the sky which leaves it so much more clear and vast, and with the glow from the lights below, you see the rich deep blues that peek through, reminding you of the depths of the open ocean. The view is beautiful and mesmerizing, like something you’d only see on the back of a postcard or in movies. You hadn’t noticed you’ve been swivelling around in your spot, head craned upwards in an attempt to take everything in until your world tilts once you’ve stopped long enough. You catch yourself on time from tipping over completely, hands shooting out as your heart leaps into your throat and you let out a shaky giggle.

“Slow down cherub, you’ll lose your head that way.” Jimin chides playfully, coming down to sit beside you. “If you think this is a view, wait till you get closer to the edge.”

“Oh ho ho, no, no, no.” You laugh, holding up a finger. “I refuse to go anywhere near it. Here is just fine.”

A snort, “I’ll catch you if that’s what you’re so worried about.”

You smile, “I had expect you to anyways.” And after a brief pause, you add quietly with your eyes fixated onto the city. “It’s still pretty — real pretty.”

You don’t catch the way he smiles softly in turn, the both of you lapsing into a companionable silence as you watch the city life continue to flow along. The ambient noise lets your mind drift freely, almost in a meditative state.

“This is nice.” You think aloud though your voice barely comes above a murmur, “Just watching the world go by like this, not having much to think on. Is this where you usually go off to when you’re not causing trouble?”

You side eye Jimin and hear him release air through his nose. “I’m much less of a menace than you think you know, but yes, I do come out here when I want to get away for a bit.”

You nod in understanding, letting your gaze wander over the landscape in front of you once more. You’re not sure what part of the city you’re in right now but you could imagine it being downtown, the faint bustling of traffic if you listen closely enough carrying over the gentle breeze and it doesn’t take much to picture the people down below, enjoying their night out in town with friends or families over dinner, a drink, or just by themselves, heading out or heading home. From the buildings, sometimes you catch the flicker of a light going out only for another one to come on in a different spot and you begin to wonder the lives these people might have.

“I wish I could stay up here.” You say, suddenly feeling melancholy. “Get away from it all too….”

Tired, you lean back until you’re lying down with your arms behind your head, facing towards the sky. Even from this high up and the sky as clear as it is, you don’t see a single star glimmering and you think it’s a pity; this would’ve been a perfect night to see them.

“It must be nice to be someone like you.” You continue to muse, “Not having to worry about insignificant mortal problems, like time or money…..”

You don’t hear a response from him and for a moment, you think he’s not even listening. It’s only when you think about backtracking do you hear his reply.

“Yeah, it’s kinda great when you start off but when you’ve been doing it for as long as I have….” He sighs, “It’s not what it’s cooked up to be….”

“Is it because it gets lonely?”

“More like boring…”

You laugh quietly under your breath, thinking to yourself that it’s so like him to think that; it’s evidence enough with him being here. Then another thought crosses your mind and you ask, “Do you think God judges you on the time you spend on earth?”

“….What makes you think that?” Jimin asks, sounding genuinely confused but also curious. You shrug, examining your nails listlessly.

“I saw it in a movie once. Apparently, when you die you go through seven levels of hell and each one has a trial you have to pass if you want to get reincarnated. If you fail one of the trials, you spend the rest of eternity getting punished there — one of them being called the Hell of Indolence, where they judge you on how well you’ve spent your time on earth and if they deem you’ve whiled away your life in laziness and inaction, you’ll be punished by running on a spinning disk while a spinning stone windmill chases you.”

“Sounds like a weekend on spring break.”

The wheeze comes out without you meaning to and you throw your hand out to the side to give him a reprimanding smack, trying to subdue your laughter. As usual, it hits his thigh but you’re too caught up in his punchline to care.

“I’m serious Jimin.” You say after collecting yourself. “It might’ve been fiction….Or maybe it really is real at this point who knows, but it really made me think — what if I had to go through those trials, like,” You take a moment, picturing the scene you’ve seen in the movie, imagining yourself before those trials, “how awful would it be to get told by a deity that you’ve basically failed at your life and you don’t deserve to get a second chance? Because you’ve done nothing with it….”

“….Do you think you would be told that?”

He knows it’s a loaded question, could hear the morose way in which you speak about life, death and the beyond, things he’s most familiar with. To him, it all means nothing but to you, it’s something that hangs above your head as a constant reminder that your time here is limited and it’s so precarious that it could end before you know it. He watches you shrug, too caught up in staring at the starless sky to notice.

“….Maybe….A small part of me does, and that’s what scares me.” You admit in a small voice. “Every year I feel like I haven’t moved forward at all with my life, just stuck doing the same thing while everyone else is getting that job they always wanted, traveling the world, getting engaged, doing what they love….” A humourless laugh expels along with the breath you exhale. “I don’t even know what I want to do beyond tomorrow, much less in two years… ten years from now? And it’s like any day, I’ll be left behind….”

The confession spills from you with unadulterated honesty, the most honest you’ve ever been in forever, it surprises even yourself. You think it’s the alcohol talking but you also think it’s mixed in conjunction with the coming of your birthday; another year tacked onto your life and along with it, the painstaking realization that time is passing by you way faster than you had fooled yourself to think otherwise. It’s something you’re not prepared to face.

Or ever will be.

So that’s why you choose to run, push it back to the farthest corners of your mind and even as it festers and grows, you vehemently ignore it. You drown yourself in school and work, meaningless distractions that lead to no self-satisfaction. It’s something to fill your time, nothing more or less. In those time, you yearned for an escape and that’s how you found your way through music, had found voices that called out to you with comforting words and made the uncertainties of the future seem less daunting.

“You won’t be left behind.”

His voice pierces above the white noise of the city below, clear as day even when it comes out no more than a quiet rasp. It rips you out from wallowing in the thoughts that you keep in the darker parts of your mind, almost startling you. Jimin’s eyes are locked on the horizon in front of him, even as you crane your neck up, you can’t discern any expression on his face but it seems you don’t need to as his words were more than enough to make up for it.

“If God judges you on your time spent on earth, then it is time where you’ve truly done nothing in the face of being able to do something.” Jimin says, unwavering. “And you’ve done something — have been doing something, because you’re somewhere different than where you were two years….ten years ago.

Life is many things darling, and everyone is too caught up with other people’s versions of it half the time. So even if you don’t know where you’re going, I think you owe it to yourself to at least make yours about you because no one else will.”

He finally turns his head to face you and if you thought you had trouble suppressing the swell of emotions in your chest before, you sure are screwed now. The lights of the buildings around you cast a warm glow to his profile, letting you see the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the curve of his cheek that has you itching to stroke just to see if they’re as soft as they look, and the wispy way the strands of hair falls over his forehead, shorter than you had remembered; you wonder idly if he had it cut (it looks good). He’s beautiful — heartbreakingly so, like a statue carved in the finest of ivory but in that moment, it’s his eyes that makes your heart ache.

Endless pools of the deepest amber that hold so much history, seen so much history, perhaps the worst of mankind. They know of suffering, of loss, of betrayals and deceit, had even been the cause of them. You see the many emotions that had been reflected in those eyes, like gazing at an iridescent gem — pain, hatred, sadness, regret and at times, simply nothing at all. Time has both wisened and jaded them, but it is not a hardened glare that meets your own.

It’s tenderness.

“I know it may not seem like it, but if it’s worth anything,” Though it is only the two of you on this rooftop, he speaks in a way where he’s about to tell you the secrets to the world, something that only he wants you to hear and no one else. He takes a breath, never breaking your gaze as he says, “I think you’re doing just fine cherub, I really mean it.”

It’s so self-assured, so sincere, like he truly does believe in what he says that you think you don’t deserve this kind of faith, but perhaps it’s because he’s the one who said it that you find yourself believing it too.

A small smile breaks out onto your lips for the first time in a while. “You’re not saying that just because it’s my birthday right?” You tease in hopes to swallow past the lump that’s formed in your throat but your voice comes out sounding tight regardless. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t comment, instead shoots his own smile back at you, lips stretched until the tiniest hints of teeth are showing and eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that I’ve seen some shit as a demon who’s lived way longer than you’ve been on earth. Besides,” He turns back to the city view before him, leisurely reclining back so that he leans his weight on his hands placed behind him. “No place worth going has any shortcuts and those that do would most likely lead to hell.”

You chuff a laugh with a shake of your head, turning your gaze back towards the dark sky that is still void of any stars. This time, you don’t mind that there aren’t because if not tonight, then maybe another night you’ll be able to see one.

And a part of you hopes it’ll be with him too.

“Thank you.” You say softly. “For everything until now…”

“….Don’t mention it cherub.”

It’s a heartfelt thanks that echoes in the quiet night, a rare display of vulnerability from you and shockingly, from himself. Even if your confession was acted upon by liquid courage, he knows that it had been something that weighed heavily on your mind for who knows how long but now, you’ve finally calmed that turmoil that threatens to break you and however temporary it may be, you’re genuinely grateful to have confided in him and walk away with a lighter heart.

It’s gratitude that he’s more than happy to revel in, if only it didn’t sound like this would be the first and last time.

“What time is it?” You ask, voice breaking through Jimin’s troubling thoughts and he belatedly reaches into his pocket to check his phone. You don’t see the way he raises an eyebrow at all the missed calls he’s got.

“Almost four.” He says, swiping away the notifications to clear the screen before his fingers tap away to pull up an app.

“Oh wow,” You breathe, getting up with a stretch. “Think we should head back? I’m definitely ready for bed.”

“When are you not?” Jimin snorts, “Is the age catching up to you already?”

“Stop, my back was killing me when I woke up today too.” You retort through a smile. You give your neck a roll and another stretch of your arms from having laid on a hard surface for a long period. Just when you’re about to muster up the strength to finally stand, Jimin stops you.

“There’s one more thing I have to show you.”

That catches your attention, whipping your eyes to him in mild surprise. He doesn’t have to — whatever it is that he has planned because this was more than enough. And you’re about to express that much when he suddenly shoves his phone into your face, startling you. You have to blink a couple of times in order to adjust to the brightness of the screen but when you do —

“What is this?” You dare to ask, heart beating quicker without meaning to as your eyes scan over the words, reading and then re-reading them but failing to register them all the same. Your eyes dart to Jimin who watches in quiet amusement from beside you, searching for any sort of answers for what you’re seeing.

“What does it look like?”

You’re left speechless and the only thing you could do is glance back and forth between the phone and Jimin, shaking your head in disbelief while trying to formulate words to your mess of thoughts.

“I — I don’t understand. How…?”

“….Guess you can call it a little demonic miracle of my own…” He says it as a light-hearted joke but unconsciously he brings a hand up to run through his hair, suddenly feeling bashful. Well, not like he could help it when you’re staring at him with wide, sparkly eyes. When he can’t handle your Bambi eyes any longer, he hurriedly blurts out the words you dare not speak yourself into existence for fear that it’s all just one hell of a good dream. “I got you tickets to go see BTS in the next city over alright?”

“But what about—?”

“I’ll take care of it all, don't worry about it.”

“Jimin that’s—!”

“Cherub, do you want to go or not?”

“I-I do! It’s just—“

“Then you’re going, no ifs, ands, or buts.” Jimin says it with finality, stern and in a way where you know he’ll ship you in a box if he has to. With no room left for arguing, you’re reduced to an overwhelming mess of emotion that has you struggling to contain it, leaving your hands to shake instead. Your quietness concerns Jimin for a minute before he lets out a grunt in surprise as he abruptly finds himself at the other end of your body slamming hug. He goes rigid, not knowing what to do with his hands as he lets you wrap yourself around him in a rather snug embrace that he thinks he can actually feel how fast your heart is beating against his chest. Or is that perhaps…his own?

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out as a hush warble against his ears. Two words and yet the amount of happiness Jimin hears coming from it is palpable, it makes him think that this is the happiest he’s ever seen you. He softens at that, tentatively wrapping his own arms around your waist to hold you steady and he thinks it’s nice to hold you for once without the context of having escaped a rather sticky situation beforehand.

And there it is again, that wretched twinge in his chest only this time it’s so obtrusive that he can no longer brush it off or ignore it. It comes with a realization of many things, but among them was something that he never would’ve expected to ever come into terms with, shocking him like an ice cold plunge in the middle of winter.

That as both a powerful demon and as a decent but temporary guardian, this is the extent of happiness that he'll ever be able to give you.

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langdxn · 4 years

Text

likewise | richard x fem!reader

WARNINGS: Mentions of self-harm and mental illness (duh), implied smut, trauma and angst errywhere, fluff to the extreme... oh and the ending.

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: I’ve never written for Richard before so all the credit goes to the lovely cherry anon for the wonderfully thoughtful request!

Richard was a man of few words.

Maybe that’s why you were attracted to him the moment you first saw him from across the clinic lounge.

“Sleep well?” Jonah sneered as he towered over Richard, already brimming with accusations and critiques. The new guy’s unnerved, steely silence only poured petrol on the fire.

“You know, that mattress can be a little lumpy, sometimes I just lie there tossing and turning.”

Richard froze, speechless.

“Didn’t bother you, I guess?” He goaded, chewing his nails as he eagerly buzzed with passive-aggressive material for the first time in weeks. “No nocturnal emissions?”

He clutched at Richard’s arm and leaned in to whisper something. From your seat in the far corner, you couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but the way Richard wriggled uncomfortably in his new self-assigned armchair suggested he was pouring his usual poison in the new guy’s ear.

“Has anybody ever told you you’re a total fucking dickwad, Jonah?” You barked, pacing over to stand by Richard’s side and placed a gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Once or twice,” Jonah shrugged. “But you love it, Y/N, don’t try and deny it.”

“Think what you want, slasher, you always do. Now fuck off and find someone else to piss off,” you scolded. There was no genuine malice between you, you just knew how to push his buttons in the same way he pushed everybody else’s.

“Sure, I’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone... I’ll be out on the court if she bores you, kid.” Jonah slapped his knees contentedly and practically skipped out of the lounge.

“Wanker,” you muttered jokingly, waiting until Jonah had left the area to perch on the arm of Richard’s chair.

“Please don’t take him personally, he’s like that to everyone,” you reassured, a comforting smile hanging in the corner of your lips. “I’m fairly certain he’s compensating for his microscopic dick.”

Richard restrained a chuckle under his breath, breaking his stare into the middle distance to meet your friendly gaze.

“I’m Y/N, and you are...?”

Richard looked down into his lap, not yet confident to speak up. You settled for the silence, changing the subject as much as you knew how in the confines of a clinic where everybody’s common denominator was being fucked in the head.

“I have bad dreams too,” you confessed. “I don’t see faces in them though, that’s why I’m so fucked up. I see Slenderman everywhere I go. I’m pretty sure I’ll see Slenderman with your voice tonight too.”

He sighed deeply, clearly reminding him of his own traumatic experiences.

“Look, Jonah’s the least of our problems in here. He’s alright once you let him know his bullshit doesn’t work on you.”

As he raised his hand to sweep his long hair from his forehead, you noticed dark pencil smudges on the back of his hand. Deep lead imprints, the charcoal ghosts of an artist.

“You draw? Fancy showing me?” You smiled warmly, a subtle grin emerging on his lips as he nodded eagerly. You hopped from the arm of his chair and outstretched a hand to help him up. He accepted -- reluctantly. As you turned to leave together, a voice piped up beside you.

“Richard, my name’s Richard.”

———

You’d been in Jonah’s room a few times before, mostly to borrow books and exchange insults, but ever since Richard arrived, the bedroom became darker. The shadows in the corners deepened, the air thicker, the atmosphere colder.

While Richard rummaged through his drawers to find his sketchbook, you leaned over Jonah’s bed to crank the radiator up a few notches. Teenage boys wouldn’t have the first idea about living sensibly, in fact the radiator wasn’t even turned on.

A hard smack on the floor behind you suggested Richard had found what he was looking for. You dropped to your knees beside the red sketchbook, Richard sat cross-legged and peeled open the pages to unveil his work inside.

Page after page of sinister, dark characters unfurled before you. Cowering, gargoyle-like figures, emotionless faces, morbid imaginations even the worst horror movie couldn’t conjure.

You sat in total silence for what felt like hours, flicking through the pages with a nervous trepidation, almost terrified which nightmare would grace you on the next spread.

“These are the guys you see in your dreams?” You broke the tension between you.

Richard nodded silently.

“I can’t decide which is worse - Slenderman dressed as Richard or Hunchback of Notre Dame over here.”

Richard burst into a full laugh, swinging his head back and slapping his thighs.

“You’re alright, Y/N,” his hand landed on your knee, innocent but comforting. Richard was warming to you and this was his sign.

“Likewise, Richard.”

———

By some chance, your room was right across the hall from Jonah and Richard’s. For the first few weeks, their room was silent all night, every night.

One night, Jonah hadn’t come to bed. Presumably his basketball game with himself overran, that was nothing new. What was new, however, were the scratching noises coming from their room.

Had Richard woken in a frantic mood? Was he determinedly searching his drawers for something? You tried to ignore the offending cacophony of scuffles against the paper-thin walls, until they became louder, faster, unbearable.

With a huff, you crossed the hallway in your sleep shirt and shorts, tapping on the door for permission to enter. No reply. You gulped hard, your clammy hands gripping the handle to quietly creep in.

Your gaze fell upon Richard, fast asleep in the dark bedroom, laid flat on his back with his shirt wide open, his hand twitching in his sleep. So where were the noises coming from? Was he really fidgeting that much in his sleep?

Something foolish in your head told you to nudge him just to check he was okay, perhaps waking him would help him out of his restlessness. You stood beside his bed, your fingertips gently grazing his shoulder.

Suddenly, he leapt out of his bed and backed you against the wall, clutching tightly at your throat. His eyes had barely opened before he saw you wriggling against his restraint, clawing at his hand.

“Ri—Rich—Richard it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Y/N,” you strained, “I’m not going to hur—hurt you, please.”

His head shook furiously, as if he wasn’t in control of his own body. A strained tear coursed its way down his cheek as his eyes pierced through yours in the dim light of his bedside lamp, his grip on your airways unwavering, unrelenting, unstoppable.

“Richard, plea—please,” you spluttered between struggling gasps, pleading for your life. Feeling yourself losing consciousness with every shallow breath, white spots scattered over your vision and your grasp on his hand weakened.

With a blink, Richard’s glare softened and his clawed hand loosened around your throat. You searched his eyes for a moment, watching his shy gaze return to his pupils. They glinted as they stared back at you, registering your kind, caring eyes looking back at him.

They suddenly darted down to your lips.

You crashed your lips against his in an open-mouthed, hurried kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Richard’s hands wandered passionately through your hair, combing your flowing tresses. His leg hooked skilfully behind yours and you both tumbled back onto his bed without a flinch, his knees deftly separating yours to fall between your open thighs. Exploring each other’s mouths with frantic tongues and teeth clashing recklessly, your hands snaked down his back to grip his shirt.

Richard took your direction and broke your sloppy kiss to yank his shirt over his head, leading you to return the favour with yours.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you panted as his hands scooped behind your back to tussle with your bra.

“Likewise,” he hummed, leaning down to pepper kisses up your neck. His hands met the waistband of your pyjama shorts, stopping his progress to sit up and look back into your eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Of course, Richard,” you reassured, cupping his face in both hands. “I’m yours.”

———

Richard waited for you the next night. He sat propped up against his headboard, sketchbook tucked neatly away in his drawer, tugging at his best shirt.

You never arrived.

That night, he had his worst dream so far. He was terrified for his life.

The next morning, the clinic was alight with gossip. Apparently the staff had walked in on Richard and Jonah in the same bed.

Following a strict dress-down from the governor, Richard slumped in his weary armchair, avoiding eye contact with everybody in the lounge as whispers and giggles filled the awkward silence.

You arrived to find him scowling to himself, glaring at the television as if he were holding it responsible. You dropped into your usual chair beside him, not daring to utter a word.

“Where were you last night?” he snapped.

“I--” you started.

“I needed you,” he whined as if you swallowed hard, preparing for his next bark once you explained your reasons for being missing in action.

“The governor called me in,” you hung your head, lowering your voice to a shameful mumble. “They told me I can go home.”

“But you’re still here?” He broke his middle-distance glare to turn to you.

“I... I told them I was having bad dreams again,” you stuttered, clasping your hands together and twirling your fingers around each other nervously. Richard, however, clasped his hands around the arms of his grey chair, his shoulders tensing as realisation hit him.

“Bu--but you’re not? W--why would you do that?”

“Because I want to stay here with you,” you met his gaze with a kind smile, a reassuring reminder that he was not alone in the clinic. Not anymore.

“Even after last night?”

“Especially after last night.”

———

Jonah hadn’t wanted to leave.

He begged, pleaded, he even told the governor how much Richard needed him. It was futile, their minds had been made up and it was in his best interests to leave the clinic before his mental state declined again.

Freedom from the clinic should have been more satisfying, more liberating. Instead, he could’ve retched with fear. Richard had become more than a friend — a friend that needed him, relied on him.

Standing in the doorway to the lounge, bag in hand and ready to face the big wide world outside the clinic, he saw Richard being handed his meds by an orderly.

“Richard,” he pleaded as he watched his friend reluctantly down his dose. The orderly left his side and Jonah looked on, devastated.

That is, until he saw your hand rest atop Richard’s, your palm laying open as Richard spat out the tablets. You tucked them discreetly up your sleeve and Richard’s hand returned to link with yours, his gentle fingers slotting perfectly between yours.

You leaned forward to wave Jonah goodbye, a wave that soon flipped into a middle finger that Jonah gleefully returned.

Making his way to the front door for the first time in months, Jonah breathed a sigh of relief. Richard was in safe hands.

Slumping back into your seat, Richard’s fingers gently squeezed yours.

“We’ll see him again,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the blinking TV set before you.

“Let’s run away,” you blurted out, even surprising yourself with your bluntness. Somehow, Richard didn’t even flinch at the idea, simply nodding in agreement. “You’ve got a rich cousin in the US, right?”

“Somewhere by the beach,” he explained, a smile dancing on his lips.

“Let’s run away to the beach, then. Change our names, dye our hair, pretend we’re brand new people. We could learn to surf, rule the waves together, you and me.”

A vibrant commercial burst onto the lounge television, a saccharine advertisement for a sunny seaside idyll. Through the crashing azure waves soaked in gorgeous sunlight, the location’s name burst onto the screen.

“Palos Verdes?” You repeated, meeting Richard’s blue eyes matching the ocean on the screen.

“Palos Verdes.”

#the last time i saw richard #richard x reader #cody fern

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indigomasquerade97 · 4 years

Text

Rescue Attempt

@secret-sanders-sized @theradicalrainbow

Secret Sanders G/t. I got @theradicalrainbow . Happy holidays! I hope you like it :) Sorry it’s so long.

Characters- Roman, Logan and Virgil

Warnings- fear and injury.

Roman crouched down, carefully peeking out through the slits of a dusty old air vent. He grimaced. This was not good.

The vent was in the above corner of the room, giving him a clear view of the bean below. He was sitting at his desk, appearing to be getting homework done. Sitting on the desk, easily in arms reach of the giant, was a young borrower. The young man was sitting cross-legged, reading something on a human phone. His back was to the bean, and Roman couldn’t help a shudder at the thought. Was he crazy?

He flinched as a thundering boom echoed in the world beyond the roof. Roman hadn’t planned on staying long in this house. He was just trying to get out of the storm. But now, he almost wished he had picked another house. Just his luck that he had found a house with a bean that had actually caught a borrower.

The human groaned, slumping against the desk. He rested his chin on his crossed arms, eyes landing on the borrower.

“Logan, can you give me a hand with this?” He asked. The borrower huffed.

“I am not your personal calculator,” he said, not even turning to look at the human, “You need to do your own work.”

“Oh, come on. This is my worst subject, and you know it.” The human whined. Then he reached out for the borrower.

Roman barely stifled a gasp as giant fingers wrapped around the borrower. Logan tensed as they made contact, but he didn’t fight as the human dangled him in a loose fist.

“Come on. If I’m struggling this bad, wouldn’t it be easier if I had someone tutoring me?”

“… I suppose you are correct.”

“Besides, your good with numbers. It’s not like it will take too long, anyway.”

Logan squirmed, glancing over his shoulder at the phone. After being left idle, the screen finally shut off. He sighed, then nodded to the human, who grinned. Roman sighed. Fiddle sticks! He couldn’t just leave the poor borrower captive to such a beast. His honor would not allow that.

So he settled in for a long wait, using the time to plan his rescue.

~~~~~~~~~~

After hours, wherein Roman began to wonder if this bean could even sleep, the giant finally settled down to rest. The borrower had long since retired into what looked like a dollhouse. A fricken cage, Roman realized in disgust. The poor guy.

Even still, Roman waited. Watching. Just because the bean was still, didn’t mean it slumbered. Only once Roman was certain enough time had passed did he begin enacting his plan.

He carefully placed his fishing hook against the side of one of the vent slits. He worked slowly, listening for any creaking the whole thing may have caused. He winced when the edge scrapped against the metal and, after a moment of hesitation, he removed his cloak in order to muffle any sounds. Without the dark cloak, he only had an old prince shirt he’d borrowed from a child’s doll set years ago. Not exactly discrete, but it would have to do. Now satisfied, he carefully slipped through the vent to grapple down to the desk below.

Once on the desk, he dashed across to the dollhouse. It was a simple box, though decently made. Glancing through a window, he realized it was only a two room. The one he’d glanced though looked to be a poor remake of a human study. The bookcase was filled with tiny books made from simple paper, with one sat at the desk under the window. The desk and chair seemed to have been handcrafted by a bean, looking too bulky and hard to be comfortable. Practical, maybe, but definitely not comfy. There wasn’t even an attempt to cushion it.

He shook his head, turning to glance through the other window. No time to criticize the human’s lackluster attempts for his captive. He had a rescue to do.

Roman crept forward, slowly opening the door. He glanced over his shoulder to the slumbering giant, pleased to see it hadn’t moved. At least his luck was holding. He easily slid inside, making his way to the trapped borrower.

So focused was he, that he didn’t register how the door was unlocked the whole time, and the implications that came with it.

Once by the other borrower, he reached out to cover his mouth so that no sounds of surprise would escape. He was fairly successful as the guy jolted awake, clumsily flailing at his unknown assailant.

‘Shh! Calm down!’ Roman whispered, chancing a look out the window. Although, he needn’t have worried; the human was too far away to hear such muffled sounds. ‘Stay calm. I’m here to rescue you.’

The borrower finally stilled, blinking rapidly at him. Roman released him, smiling encouragingly.

‘There you go. Now come on,’ He continued, grabbing the guys hand to drag him along, ‘We need to hurry before-’

‘Release me!’ The borrower snapped, ripping his hand out of Roman’s. He paused, watching as the borrower reached out to the dresser, grabbing glasses made from bent wire and mismatched glass shards. He casually placed them on, sitting straight in the doll bed.

‘Now,’ He started, quickly appraising Roman, ‘What is this about a “rescue”?’

Roman blinked. Really? He spluttered, thoughts jumping from one thing to another. REALLY? Where did he even start?

‘Human!’ He barked, though he made an effort to keep his voice down despite his growing annoyance and dread, ‘You’re literally being held captive by the most deadly threat to ever plague borrower kind!’

The borrower frowned. He looked Roman over again, taking note of the disheveled hair and dirty, ill-fitting clothes. He hummed to himself.

‘Am I right in presuming that you are an “outie”, as I have heard others state?’ He queried. Dumbstruck, Roman could only nod mutely. The borrowed nodded.

‘I thought as much. I do apologize,’ He began, pushing the glasses back, ‘But I am no prisoner. I am afraid that you have simply jumped to a false conclusion. Virgil and I have a mutual agreement in place. I am here of my own free will.’

Roman stared at the borrower before him. Was he serious?

‘What do you mean “your own free will”?’ He demanded, so heated by the sudden, and frankly horrifying revelation, he didn’t realize he was getting much too loud, ‘I have seen how the bean treated-’

‘I believe you mean “being”,’ He interrupted, a corner of his mouth quirking slightly, ‘A common mistake, I have foun-’

‘Who cares?’ Roman screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at the bemused borrower, ‘What kind of borrower would fraternize with a lying, good-for-nothing, life destroying, motherfu-’

‘Logan?’

Roman froze at the voice. Oh no. That was the last thing he had wanted to hear in this predicament. Logan sighed, removing the blanket from his lap.

‘I am fine, Virgil,’ He called out. He turned to Roman, slowly reaching out as if to avoid spooking him. ‘Now, just stay calm.’

Roman slapped the offered hand away, retreating from the suddenly much more dangerous borrower. He yelped when he suddenly hit the wall, but he didn’t take his eyes from this “Logan”. It was worse than he had thought. The borrower was brainwashed! He had to be. Roman couldn’t believe that a borrower would betray his own kind like this.

‘How could you?’ He demanded.

The human was moving outside. Logan reached out, clumsily saying something that was probably meant to be reassuring. But Roman, distrustful as he now was, with his panic mounting, with a human on the move beyond his immediate vision, could only see an outstretched claw ready to trap him.

He always did have an overactive imagination.

Then the light turned on.

Roman ran. He slammed the door against the wall in his haste, the noise spurring him on even as the bean began to move. He prepared himself to jump, to get to the desk, to scurry up his rope, to disappear from this forsaken house. But the bean jumped at his sudden movement, the entire surface beneath him jolting as a result. Roman yelped as he slipped, missing the jump entirely and falling an entire foot to the carpeted floor below.

He groaned in pain, dazed on the floor. He could vaguely hear the bean bark something above. He struggled through the haze, forcing himself up. But he hissed in pain when he put weight on his right arm. He balked at the already swelling limb.

Oh no. He was stuck in a beans room. While the bean was awake and probably seconds away from discovering his prone body. A quick look around revealed that there were no vents - not even a measly hole - to escape into the walls. He was a sitting duck! How the hell was he supposed to get out of this?

Then he was plunged into darkness.

He turned to the human. He was crouched beside the desk, bent over almost double just to see into where Roman landed. Looking up at the giant, with the light behind it nearly blinding him, it looked even bigger and more intimidating than ever. He whimpered, using his uninjured arm to drag himself backwards. He knew it was useless. Nothing he could do would stop a determined bean. He could already imagine it reaching out for him. Grabbing him. Squeezing the life out of him. Maybe trying to turn him into a conditioned pet like the other borrower.

‘Shit!’ The bean moved away, looking up at the top of the desk, 'I think he’s hurt!’

'What appears to be wrong?’ Logan asked. The human glanced back at Roman.

'I dunno… but I don’t think his arm should look like that.’

'Then bring him up here. But be slow and steady. Don’t jostled him until we know for certain.’

With a solemn nod, the human got down on its knees, slowly reaching out for him.

’D-don’t touch me!’ Roman yelled, his uninjured hand held out in a futile effort to ward away the bean. It hesitated, the hand pulling back slightly.

'Dude, you’re hurt.’ The bean said, frowning at him. Roman gulped.

'I’m fine,’ he said, glancing at the very not fine arm, 'I-it’s supposed to look like that.’

'Riiiiiight,’ The human said, rolling its eyes. Then it reached out anyway. 'Sorry, but we can’t just leave you like this.’

Roman yelped as fingers longer than he was tall crowded around. He flailed uselessly as they began nudging at him, forcing him onto the humans palm. He tried to scramble off. But the human sensed his plan, placing its other hand over him like a fleshy cage. He pushed at the flesh surrounding him, but there was no way he could ever dream of forcing those fingers apart. He was trapped.

The whole ordeal didn’t last too long, at least. Once the bean straightened up, it gently placed its hand down on the desk. Logan was waiting, easily jumping into that hand to get to Roman. He frowned at the sight of his injury. Roman glared right back, not so subtly turning his body to keep his injury hidden. He didn’t need some human pet touching him.

‘Come on,’ Logan said, reaching out for him, 'let’s get you on solid ground.’

'Don’t touch me!’ He hissed as he pulled away, his shoulder flaring with pain.

'It’s either you get off with him,’ the human boomed, causing Roman to freeze as the hand under him twitched, 'or I’m dumping you off. Your choice.’

Roman hesitated. He did not want to cave to the beast. But he also knew that it wouldn’t be bluffing, either. Being dumped would only worsen his arm. And, he reasoned, if he could avoid any further harm, maybe he could escape later.

So, begrudgingly, he allowed Logan to help him off the uneven surface. Once both borrowers were off, the bean moved its hand and grabbed the side of the desk, steadying itself as it leaned closer.

'Is he alright?’ It asked, softer than usual. Roman almost did a double take at the unusual behavior. This was a merciless human... why did it sound almost concerned?

Logan began working immediately. He slowly ran his hand over Roman’s arm, inciting slight hisses of pain. Logan hummed, ignoring his cries.

'There does not seem to be any breaks,’ he said, turning to the bean, 'Go grab an ice pack. And something soft, as well. We should at least attempt to make him comfortable.’

The human nodded, bolting out of the room. Roman blinked in surprise.

'The human listens to you?’ He asked. Logan shrugged.

'As I said before, this is a mutual agreement.’ He said, moving behind Roman to examine his arm further.

'But why? I mean, the bean has as all of the power here,’ Roman continued, shaking his head as he looked back at the door, 'there is no reason for it to listen like that.’

'Actually, he has every reason to listen to me. He knows that I have extensive knowledge on common ailments. A dislocated shoulder is easily something I can fix,’ Logan said, placing a hand on the back of Roman’s neck, 'Plus, he is much too sensitive to this kind of procedure.’

'What proc- AHHHH!’ Roman screamed as Logan moved, hearing a pop as his shoulder was effortlessly popped back in its socket.

‘OW! A little warning next time!’

‘Apologies.’

Somehow, he didn’t think Logan was actually sorry.

Roman tensed as he heard the telltale booms of human footsteps. Logan just sighed, turning to address it. Roman slowly inched himself back in an effort to distance himself from whatever was about to happen.

The human approached slowly, holding an ice pack and what looked like an old grey shirt in its hands. It raised an eyebrow at him, then glanced at Logan.

'Soooo… what do I…?’

Logan rubbed at his chin, looking around the desk. Finally, he pointed towards the dollhouse.

'Move it away from the wall and place the ice pack between the two junctures,’ he instructed, then turned to Roman, 'Is a nest of fabric an adequate sleeping arrangement until you are properly healed?’ Roman frowned, nodding slowly.

'Wonderful. This shall be ideal.’

The human shrugged, beginning to follow Logan’s instructions. With one hand, it was able to drag the fairly bulky piece of wood away. Roman stared, wide eyed. It was one thing knowing humans had that kind of strength, but actually seeing it? It only continued to drive home just how powerless he was against the human.

But Logan’s fine.

Roman shook his head to rid himself of the annoyingly persistent thought. Just cause the human hadn’t hurt the other borrower didn’t mean that he was safe.

Even if the human was proving Roman wrong at every turn.

The human worked quickly, continuing to follow Logan’s precise instructions. Finally, he had a small nest set up right next to the ice pack. It took some coaxing, but Logan was able to get Roman to sit down, his injured arm resting against the cold pack. He shivered a little, but the numbing did help his arm.

‘Okay, that should work.’ The human mumbled to himself, leaning back so to give the two borrowers room.

Roman fidgeted. He glanced between Logan and the human. Logan seemed to show almost no emotions, leaving Roman at a loss of what he was thinking. The human, though, was slightly easier to read, though not by much. He wasn’t looking at either borrower, his dark bangs hiding his eyes.

‘So... what now?’ Roman asked. They both looked back at him, although the human made an effort to look over Roman, like it was trying not to look directly at him. Why?

‘Would you care to elaborate?’ Logan asked. Roman flailed his good arm uselessly.

‘What do you- I mean about this!’ He said, pointing at the human, who almost seemed to flinch away, ‘What's going to happen now?’

‘I suppose you get some sleep, and when you are well, you can decide what you wish to do.’ Logan said simply. The human’s eyes widened suddenly, and it made a small noise of discomfort. The implications Roman was vaguely trying to convey going straight over Logan’s head, it seemed. The human cleared it’s throat.

‘Logan, he thinks I’m not gonna let him go.’

Logan blinked, looking back at the human, then at Roman. He could practically see the gears turning, and his eyes lit up as he realized that what the human said was true. Then he sighed, annoyed that he hadn’t picked that up himself.

‘I can assure you, Virgil won’t hurt you.’

... “Virgil”?

Only now did Roman finally process what the human’s name was. He choked on a laugh. He glanced at the human, raising an eyebrow.

‘Really?’ He said, failing to hide his mirth, ‘What kind of name is that?’ The human, in turn, raised an eyebrow, cocking its head.

‘Mine. And a good one, too, Princey.’ It jested, the corner of its mouth rising ever-so-slightly.

‘Whatever you say, Emo Nightmare.’ He shot back.

‘Enough with the inane titles, both of you,’ Logan scolded, then turned to Roman, ‘I am Logan. What is your name?’

‘Uh, Roman.’

‘Oh, and he say’s my name is weird!’

... Just when did Roman start smiling?

‘Well, whatever,’ The human continued, moving to the side. It stood up, reaching out to the vent. Roman gasped when it took hold of his hook, still dangling from the vent. Oh no. It was going to get rid of it. Without the hook, he would have a much harder time escaping this mess. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh-

He flinched slightly when the human’s hand was suddenly near him. But just as quickly, it retreated. In it’s place was his hook, the string neatly folded up so that it was out of the way. Roman frowned, looking back up at the human.

‘I won’t try to stop ya if you wanna leave, Princey,’ It said, rubbing the back of it’s neck, ‘So, when you’re feeling better, I think the closest hole into the walls is behind the dresser. Left corner. You can’t miss it.’ The human then stood up, returning to the bed and disappearing under the covers.

... Huh.

Logan watched the entire conversation with intrigue. He smiled slightly at Roman.

‘He is not so bad once you become acquainted to him. You two seem to get along quite well, considering the circumstances. Partnership with a human can yield surprising benefits, for both parties involved,’ He said, starting to walk around the dollhouse, ‘Consider it. You may be able to gain access to things you have never considered.’ Then he was gone.

Roman frowned. Was Logan suggesting... friendship? With a human?

No. He was nuts. Insane. It was a miracle that Roman wasn’t dead, or stuck in some sort of cage. He couldn’t become friends with a human!

... Although...

By morning, Roman was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

This is a very bad idea, Roman thought.

It had been three days since he’d had that encounter with the human and borrower. He should have left. But Logan’s last words had stuck with him.

This is such a horrible, no good, very bad idea! He crept forward, looking around the large toaster. The human looked so tired, leaning against the counter like that. Roman had learned that the bean thrived on the coffee it was waiting for, almost not even being able to function without it.

He briefly wondered if this “Virgil” would ever have been able to survive if he were a borrower, as he was in that moment. Probably not.

Ding.

The human began to pour himself a mug of the dark liquid, and Roman could see the change in him immediately. He stopped slouching, smiling as his eyes focused more. Roman snorted. Humans were said to have no magic, yet witnessing him literally brew a potion out of beans that brought him back to life? He was hard pressed to believe that.

The human hummed, beginning to move again. He opened a nearby drawer, pulling out a handful of supplies. Roman could spot a couple of rubber bands, paperclips, and other office supplies. The human then placed the bundle on the opposite side of the counter to where Roman hid, by one of the two “secret” doors into the walls.

The human had been doing this a lot over the past few days. Sometimes it would be random items for supplies, other times it would be food. Roman shook his head. While the offer had been useful to him, the bean could have at least tried to be more discrete in the act. At this point, Roman was almost getting offended.

Then he felt eyes on him.

Roman flinched back as the human’s eyes caught him, glancing over. The human also flinched back, quickly looking away.

‘Hey, Roman,’ He said, rubbing his neck, ‘Uh... you hungry?’

'Uh... Yeah, I could eat.’

The human nodded, beginning to look through the cupboards for something appropriate. He ended up pulling out a small jar of some jam.

‘Toast sound good?’ Roman nodded.

The two were silent as the human began preparing the food. Roman hummed.

‘So, Panic-At-The-Everywhere,’ He began, causing the human to chuckle quietly, ‘Why are you being so nice?’

The human didn’t answer right away. He sighed, averting his eyes. He finished making the toast and cut off a square, passing it over to Roman.

‘It was my fault you got hurt,’ Roman blinked. Well, he hadn’t expected that. ‘I mean, if I didn’t rush over, you wouldn’t have- geeze, it could have been worse! You could have died falling from that high! If you had fallen in the wrong way, you could have broken your neck, and I wouldn’t havebeenabletolivewithmyself-’

‘Okay, okay, calm down!’ Roman interjected as the bean began to morph into a near incoherent rant. He stepped away from the toaster, completely forgetting the offered toast. ‘Look, I’m okay. It was barely a scratch, see?’ He moved his arm, demonstrating that, indeed, he was fine.

‘Wrong arm, Princey.’

Roman winced at that. He was hoping that the human wouldn’t have noticed that he was brandishing the uninjured arm. In reality, his arm was still hurting, and it was hard to move. It was a major reason to why he hadn’t actually left the building yet.

‘It still hurts, doesn’t it?’ Roman didn’t answer. Just looked away.

The human hummed, turning to the fridge. He reached inside the freezer, quickly pulling out something. He held it out to Roman. He squinted at the small white thing between the beans fingers.

‘It’s a mini-marshmallow,’ The human said, shrugging, ‘Logan suggested it as a substitute to an ice pack.’

Roman gingerly stepped closer, taking the frozen treat. It was freezing, the cold already seeping into his hands. But, unlike a cube of ice, it was soft in his hands. He pressed it against his shoulder, sighing as the numbing took away the slight pain. He could see how this was a better alternative. There was no risk of it melting and making a mess.

And, he thought cheekily, once it became useless, he would have a sweet treat.

‘... Hey, would you like to watch a movie while you rest?’ The bean asked. Roman blinked at him. The bean just shrugged. ‘Logan says you shouldn’t move your arm too much, otherwise it won’t heal properly. Might be boring just sitting up here on your own.’

Roman hesitated. After observing the human for the past few days, he’d come to realize that he was not, in fact, a deadly monster like many humans. He was gentle, though his... fashion, tended to make him seem more scary and intimidating than he actually was. Geeze, Roman had seen him catch a spider, only to take it into the garden outside. What kind of evil being would go out of their way to help a small creature like that?

‘... Can we watch a Disney movie?’

The human began to laugh. He shook his head, looking right at Roman for the first time.

‘The little prince is a Disney fan? Why am I not surprised?’ Roman huffed.

‘What’s wrong with princes?’ He demanded. The human just laughed again, turning to go to the TV.

‘Any preferences?’ He asked as he began looking through his collection.

Roman would just stay for a few days. Just until his arm was better. Then he would move on, like he should.

But, in the meantime, he would watch all the movies he had always wanted to watch, but never got the chance to. Yeah...

~~~~~~~~~~

‘Lo, come on. You gave me your word!’

‘Roman, I am reading.’

‘Oh no. You know it’s movie night. Get out here.’

Logan sighed as he was ganged up on. He turned away from his phone, glaring at both Roman and Virgil.

‘You two are insufferable.’ He declared. But, he stepped away to join them.

‘Yes! Another victory!’ Roman yelled. He rushed over to Virgil’s waiting hand, practically vibrating in his excitement. Logan rolled his eyes, walking at a much calmer gait.

‘So, what movie are we going to be watching?’ Logan asked as he sat down in Virgil’s palm, right next to Roman.

‘Was finally able to get a hold of Frozen for Romano.’ Virgil said, chuckling at Roman’s indignant sputtering.

‘I so hope that nickname doesn’t stick.’ He muttered to himself.

He really had only meant to stay in the building for a week. But that week and turning into two, then turned into a month. And the longer he stayed, the more he realized he didn’t wish to be anywhere else.

How could he leave his new friends behind, after all?

The three friends talked vehemently while Virgil carried them into the lounge room. The movie was already prepared, and a bowl of popcorn was waiting on the couch. Virgil placed his hand down on the pile of pillows, where the two borrowers graciously sat down. A handful of kernels were in a small saucer between them, and Roman eagerly grabbed one. Virgil laughed, resting an arm around the two borrowers as he got himself comfy.

‘Alright, lets get this movie night started!’ Roman called, then took a big bite out of his snack.

As the movie began, Logan leaned closer.

‘Are you pleased that you chose to stay?’ He asked quietly. Roman just smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

‘Specs, breaking my arm was the best thing to ever happen to me!’

‘You didn’t break your arm. You only-’

‘Oh, just enjoy the movie, Microsoft Nerd!’

#g/t #sanders sides #giant #tiny #virgil #logan #roman #injury #slight angst #but fluffy ending #sorry it's so freaking long

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

Green or Blue

The Greatest Thing Chapter 8

Moulin Rouge Fanfic

Christian x OC

Words: 3k

Weeks turned to months and Christian felt himself becoming more and more familiar with Paris. When he first arrived, he would dance awkwardly to the rhythm of the night, and now his movements were fluid and second nature. His time was spent mostly writing or rehearsing, with the play slowly taking over his life. Getting to know Satine more and more, he grew to admire her, falling in love with the contrast that she represented. But, he knew they could never truly belong to each other. She was to be the Duke's, and he... well, he was beginning to wonder if his heart was truly his to give or if it still belonged to another. He thought of Estelle in fleeting moments, finding that the more he wallowed, the more disillusioned with this life he would become. Crumpled up papers littered his floor, the remnants of letters he destroyed before sending. None of them would be enough to undo the hurt he had undoubtedly caused her. He just hoped that she was happy wherever she was, and that she was being treated like the wonderful creature she was.

Words seemed to fail him every now and then as of late. He was stuck, unable to get past this one part in his draft where the penniless sitar player won over the courtesan. After spending hours with Satine trying to come up with a dialogue that felt natural, he'd gone home frustrated. He ran his hand through his hair as he fell back on his bed. The fact that the scene was later in the play comforted him, since he would have time to finish it, but he was still frustrated. He used to be able to wax on about love for hours, but lately he just found himself going through the motions. He could write treatises on freedom, beauty, and truth... but love? He was struggling. It vexed him even more that he couldn't write on the one topic he valued the most. His eyes fell over on the forgotten manuscript he had started when he first arrived in Paris. It had been left untouched for weeks, sitting there on the table and mocking him. His greatest love story, a story about falling in love while falling out of society, didn't have an ending. In truth, he didn't know how to end it, and thinking about how to end it was like a slap in the face. He could end it with the lovers growing apart, like some of the disillusioned literature of the time, but he wanted to give it a happy ending, but he also wanted that ending to be truthful. He sighed loudly. He could have a happy ending. Satine had offered him that happiness, and he could always go back to London if he was desperate enough. However, would he really be happy in either of those places? With Satine, he would never fully have her be his, and as much as he'd like to think he could handle that, deep down he knew it would tear him apart. In London, he'd grow bitter with society. Christian groaned.

"Is your play not going well?" a voice asked through the hole in his ceiling.

Christian looked up to find his short Parisian artist peering down at him.

"Toulouse, do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?" Christian asked.

Toulouse grimaced. "I feel like it's too early to be discussing what ifs. I think that if you've made a choice, then something told you it was the right thing to do in that moment."

Christian nodded. "And if you end up feeling miserable about it later?"

"Then you go upstairs to your neighbor's apartment and let him cheer you up," Toulouse grinned.

Christian smirked and shook his head. "I suppose I could use a distraction."

"Très bien," Toulouse winked before disappearing back into his apartment.

Christian went up the stairs and into the space, finding Toulouse staring intently at a canvas as he compared it to the woman in front of him.

"Christian, have you ever met Mademoiselle Avril?" Toulouse asked, gesturing to the woman.

"No, I don't believe I've had the pleasure. Although, I have seen you dance, Mademoiselle. You are quite good," he smiled.

"Call me Jane," she chuckled. "And, merci, Monsieur. They don't call me La Mélinite for nothing."

"Am I interrupting?" Christian asked.

"Not at all," Toulouse replied. "Besides, perhaps Jane can help with whatever is making you sigh so loud."

"I doubt that," Christian said with a sad smile.

"Try me," Jane challenged.

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I'm not from here. I'm originally from London. I left a few months ago after being disowned by my father for wanting to join the Bohemian movement and be a writer," Christian told her.

"You're the one writing the play they're putting on at the Moulin, aren't you? It seems like you've achieved your goal," she replied.

"Yes and no," Christian sighed. "You see, I want to write about love, but I can't."

"Have you experienced love?" Jane asked.

"That's what I asked when he first got here!" Toulouse chuckled.

"I have," Christian said adamantly.

"Did she not love you back?" Jane followed up.

"I... I don't know," Christian admitted.

"You didn't ask her?" Jane asked incredulously.

"Well, I never really told her that I loved her either," Christian replied.

"Toulouse, you might have warned me that your friend is an idiot," Jane teased.

"He's friends with me, Jane, I thought it was implied," Toulouse winked.

Jane shook her head. "Men. Scoundrels of the Earth."

"Not intentionally," Christian reassured her.

"Oh, I know, some of you are not intentionally," she winked. "That doesn't change the fact that you are, though. However, if you never knew for certain that it was love, then perhaps that's why you can't write it. Deep down, you feel like a fraud. Or, maybe you just can't stand giving happiness to your characters when you denied it for yourself."

"That's silly," Christian replied.

"Hey, I'm not Freud, I'm just a woman who is trying to help you," she shrugged. "Have you spoken to her since you left?"

"No," Christian admitted.

"Thought about her?" Toulouse asked.

"Yes," Christian sighed. "When life gets quiet, she creeps in. Sometimes I'll see or do something and I'll think about how she might have enjoyed that. Sometimes I feel guilty when I'm with Satine, but then I have to remember that she could be with someone else. I'll write things and I'll realize they're conversations that she and I have had."

"You miss her," Jane commented sadly.

"I do."

"Do you still love her?" Toulouse asked as he swapped out to a new canvas.

"I... I don't know. I love what I remember, but she could be different now. I know I'm different now. She could hate me for leaving. She could have just been humoring me when I was there, and now she could be with someone who's better for her," Christian replied.

"Describe her," Toulouse smirked.

"What do you want to know?" Christian asked, sitting down on a backwards chair, resting his chin on the back.

"Everything. What does she look like? What does she think like?" Jane smiled, sitting down next to Toulouse.

"Well, she's my star. Her name is Estelle, but I've called her Ellie since we were kids," Christian smiled wistfully, "She's always been very headstrong, but she wants to do the right thing and sometimes that will outweigh her own wants. Her hair is dark, like roasted chestnuts in the winter. She usually has it pulled back out of her face these days, but back when we were younger, she always left it free so that she could feel the wind in her hair. It was quite funny, because she has these curls, and when she would run, they would bounce like a spring, always hitting her in the face. Perhaps that's why she has it pulled back now, so that it doesn't assault her face. She's pale, but not in a sickly way. It's almost as if the moon glows from within her skin. Her face fits perfectly in your hands when you hold it. Her lips are rosy, and her cheeks sometimes turn the color of a tomato if you say the right thing. She's not easy to ruffle these days, I think that comes mostly from having to grow up a little too soon after her mother died. However, when we were children she was quite easy to fluster," he grinned.

"So, she's a childhood friend of yours?" Jane asked.

"Yes, but we were out of touch for years. We only recently reconnected during the London social season," Christian explained.

"Is that when you fell in love with her?" Toulouse asked.

"I think a part of me has always admired her, but it didn't deepen until now. Prior to the season, the last time I had seen her, she seemed so small," he explained, brow furrowing. "Her mother had just started to become ill. Her mother would have headaches now and then, but they were starting to get more and more frequent and strong enough to keep her in bed. I suppose that was the beginning of the decline for her mother. She died a year and a half later."

A sad smile settled on his face as he remembered when she told him about it.

He'd been looking for her so that they could go on another adventure into the nature behind their estates, but she wasn't home. He checked around their usual hiding spots until he spotted her sitting on the bank of the river, holding her knees to her chest. As he got closer, he could hear her sniffling.

"Ellie?" he asked softly. "Are you alright?"

Estelle jumped and quickly rubbed her eyes. "I'm fine."

Christian frowned, settling down next to her. "You're crying."

"No, I'm not," she sniffed.

"Ellie, what's wrong? You know you can tell me anything," he said in concern, wrapping his arm around her.

"It's my mother," she sighed. "Her headaches are getting worse. The doctor doesn't know why she keeps getting them. Dad said she has good days and bad days, but she's not... she's not the same even on those good days."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"She's tired easily. She used to love music, but now she's irritable at loud noises," Ellie explained. She turned to look at him with wide eyes. "Christian, I'm scared. I don't know what's happening to my mother."

"I'm sure the doctor will be able to help her," Christian reassured her, but he knew that wasn't always the case. "I'm here for you, Ellie. No matter what. I promise."

Estelle nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You're a good friend, Christian."

"And her eyes?" Toulouse asked.

"Hmm?" Christian asked, coming out of it.

"You didn't describe her eyes," Toulouse repeated.

"Well her eyes are..." he trailed off. He tried to picture her, but for some reason he couldn't see her eye color in his mind's eye. "They're... they're either green or they're blue."

"You can't remember?"

"I think I've forgotten," Christian said softly. "But, they are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen. She's got a quiet strength in them. A resolve. I just hope that resolve never turns into resignation."

Toulouse smiled and moved his hands across the canvas.

"What was it like seeing her again?" Jane asked, noticing that Christian's demeanor had become solemn.

Christian perked up at the question. "It was... well... I had a few feelings in that moment. First of all, I saw her before she had first seen me," he chuckled. "I had introduced myself to this one woman who turned out to be Ellie's best friend. A dumb stroke of luck on my part. I only introduced myself to Ms. Renton because the bow on her dress had come untied and I didn't want her to trip. Then, we started talking, and I looked over her shoulder and saw my Ellie with the Queen. Part of me felt like returning home after being on a long trip away, wondering how things would have changed while I was gone. Another part of me was feeling a rush of nerves, because I wasn't sure that she'd recognize me, and if she didn't, then would she remember me? Then, the last part of me felt like I was being visited by some celestial creature. Watching her walk across the ballroom, I saw the spark in her eyes and I knew she remembered me."

"What was she wearing?" Toulouse asked.

"A green dress, embroidered with flowers. It was fitting, really," he said with an amused smirk.

"How so?" Jane asked curiously.

"You see, later that night we discussed how women were like flowers," Christian smiled dreamily at the memory. "She always did have a way with words and metaphors."

"Even more so than you?" Toulouse asked.

"We had the same tutor for a while growing up," Christian explained. "She always did get better marks than I did in English. She was especially fond of poetry."

"Have you ever written her a poem?"

"No. I haven't. I don't think I could capture all those feelings into one poem. It would take a novel to tell her how I felt," he sighed.

Toulouse finished what he was painting and leaned back. "Then, write her a novel, Christian."

"I've tried. I've gotten thoroughly stuck with the ending," he explained.

"Write the truth," Toulouse replied.

"That's the problem, I've run out of truth to write," Christian groaned.

"Then your story isn't over, either," Toulouse winked.

"She's in London," Christian sighed, "I'm here. That's as over as it could get."

Toulouse shook his head and got off his stool. He took his painting and turned it to show Christian. It was a portrait of Estelle based off the descriptions that Christian had been able to provide. "Physically, she may be in London, mon ami, but we both know the place she truly resides is right here," he said, tapping Christian's chest.

"Toulouse," Christian said softly, taking the painting from him. His eyes scanned over the picture. Toulouse had taken a gamble and painted blue eyes.

"Blue. They definitely are blue," Christian murmured, seeing her almost as if she were actually there. He turned to his friend and frowned, "I don't have anything to pay you with."

"Consider it a thank you for your friendship," Toulouse waved him off. "Most people would have fixed the hole by now. But, I appreciate you not forcing me to. It leaves more funds for art supplies."

Christian grinned and shook his head. "I'll go hang it up."

"Perhaps you should write home while you're at it?" Jane asked, getting up to leave. "I have to get back to the Moulin, but I'll see you two later."

Christian walked out with her and returned to his own apartment. Surveying the walls, he finally found a place to put it, sitting down on his couch to admire it. Perhaps Toulouse was right. Perhaps their story wasn't over yet. One could only hope. His gaze fell over to his typewriter and he sighed. Pulling out a piece of paper, he quickly typed up a letter to William. Then, he put it in an envelope and dropped it in the mail on his way to the Moulin Rouge for rehearsal.

As he walked into the space, Satine sidled up to him. "You seem different tonight."

"I've had a lot on my mind," he smiled.

"I see. Well, if you want, I can help clear your mind and make it go blank for a bit," she winked.

He blushed, coughing slightly to recover. "T-that's... I-I mean..."

"Alright, people, I want you all to get to work, this is my money you're wasting," The Duke huffed as he strode into the building, dropping his coat and hat into Christian's arms.

"My dear," the Duke smiled at Satine, offering her his arm.

Satine plastered her smile on and took it, but she turned to Christian and pointedly told him, "Think about it."

The Duke led her away and Christian let out a shaky breath. Rehearsal started and he went to work on the script. However, his mind went places, thinking about what Satine had said, but the Satine in his head quickly morphed into Estelle. He blushed even darker, a bit ashamed of thinking about her like that. Christian turned his attention back to rehearsal, forgetting about the script and getting lost in his previous words being spoken aloud. The first few scenes were good, and they were working on blocking it all in between dance numbers. Slowly though, people started to trickle away to get ready for that night's entertainment until it was only Christian left in the space. His mind replayed the penniless sitar player meeting the courtesan. He wondered what it might be like to meet Ellie again for the first time since becoming his own penniless self. Would she reject him like the courtesan does initially, or would she be happy to see him? All he knew was that should the world deign to put them together again, he would be over the moon.

#The Greatest Thing #Christian x OC #chapter 8 #Moulin Rouge #christian moulin rouge

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latent-thoughts · 4 years

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The Pursuit of a Simple Life (Chapter 6 - Goddess of Wrath)

[Co-Authored with @emeraldrosequartz]

Rating: 18+ (there be lots of citrus here).

Warning: None

Pairing: Loki/Original Female Character

Summary: Three years after returning to Earth with the other Asgardians following Ragnarok, Loki finds himself working for SHIELD, truly just trying to fight the boredom. While on an undercover mission, he unexpectedly begins to fall for his co-worker, Gemma, and she seems to feel the same way…about Dave, his alter ego while in disguise. Can Loki continue a relationship with her while keeping his true identity a secret? How many lies can the ‘God of lies’ spin to keep his pursuit of a simple life?

[Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017); THOR IS A GOOD BRO AND TOTALLY NOT HOW HE WAS IN RAGNAROK, THNX; Infinity War Doesn’t Exist; Everyone lives]

A/N: Gemma shares some sad details of her life with Dave, and then she has to face her boss again.

________________________________

IMPORTANT NOTES:

Bold Text = Loki’s POV

Normal Text = Gemma’s POV

________________________________

Loki wanted to murder Oliver. Painfully.

In the time the pudgy man had taken to humiliate poor Gemma, Loki had thought about twenty scenarios where he could end up dead, with no evidence indicating any foul play.

He could do it. But he knew that it would not work well for the mission. The man would most likely be declared a martyr who had probably leaked important information against the company.

In his three or so years on Midgard, Loki had learnt quite a bit about how the media of the realm worked.

Hence, after considering everything, he lowered his murderous gaze from the man and tried to appear engrossed in his work.

He'd deal with Oliver later...

For now, he focused on Gemma. His poor Gemma...

Once Oliver was gone, Loki slipped from his desk and walked past hers on his way to the printer, dropping a note down to her surreptitiously.

It was a simple note, stating that he thought Oliver a callous and uncouth monster, and that he believed she wasn't at fault. Lastly, he gave her the venue of their lunch date, to uplift her spirits.

Gemma read the note, like, 300 times.

“Callous and uncouth”...? Who TALKS like that? Dave talks like that. Perfect, handsome, wonderful, sexy Dave talks like that.

Not my fault...well of course it’s my fault. I didn’t get the work done, and now I’m in trouble for it. But it’s nice of him to say so...

WOW he wants to go THERE for lunch?!

By the time noon rolled around, she had memorized that note word for word...and she could not WAIT to get out of there.

She clocked out, grabbed her cardigan, and headed over to Dave’s desk.

“Hey, thanks for the note. That was really sweet.” She smiled and wrung her hands together. “So...ready to go?”

Loki rose from his desk, closing his laptop and grabbing his bag and pea-coat.

"Absolutely," he declared cheerfully, grasping her hand to lead her out of the hall. "Also, you'd do well to learn that I don't accept expressions of gratitude for acting with bare minimum decency."

He helped her put her cardigan on once they reached his car, feeling her tremble as he did so. He kissed her cheek softly to ease the tension in her body, and it only made her jump.

"Relax," he stated, holding her close for a moment. "Everything will be fine. Your reports will be done on time. Now forget the work related hassles and try to take a break."

He opened the passenger door for her as he said that last bit, helping her into the car.

She couldn’t believe he actually held her hand the whole way to his car. His incredible, gorgeous, fancy-as-hell car. Ooooh, she loved it.

And she was kind of starting to think she loved him even more. Not like LOVE love, but, you know, like how you love a cool drink of water on a hot day. And Dave was definitely a cool drink of water.

“Ok, I’ll try,” she responded. He was acting so familiar with her, with the kisses and the chivalry. It almost frightened her...she could get VERY used to this, and then it would hurt that much more once reality set in and he disappeared from her life, nothing more than a fond memory.

Because, deep down, she just knew this was too good to last. Stuff like this didn’t happen to her. But in the meantime, she would enjoy it as much as possible.

She clicked in her own seatbelt this time, and giggled as he drove out of the parking lot WAY too fast, grabbing his hand on the stick shift.

He grinned in response as she giggled, really enjoying the lilting sound it made in her throat. He wanted to make her laugh more often. Every day...

But he couldn't get ahead of himself. Not right now...

Once they reached their destination, he led her out of the car and into the restaurant of his choice.

"So, still want to have sandwiches?" he asked playfully as they settled into an intimate corner table with a large window overlooking the sea. "Or can I endeavour to change your mind?"

“Please...change my mind,” she said. Her tone was verging on sultry, and she dared to put her hands on his over the tabletop. She felt tingles radiate from where she touched him. This was their first actual date!

“Um...actually, why don’t you go ahead and order for me?” She watched for his reaction nervously--she’d never asked her date to order for her before. Then again, she’d never dated anyone like Dave before.

This was all becoming so unbearably and fantastically romantic...

Loki ordered for both of them while still holding her hands over the table. He didn't care if the waiter frowned upon it, he just did it because he wanted to.

"So... " he murmured as the waiter went off with their order. "I want to know something about you, Gemma. Will you tell me?"

He saw the hesitance in her eyes, but still, she nodded.

"Why do you work at PAC & Co.? It's not a very friendly work environment, from what I've seen in my three months here. Surely you can find a better place than this?"

Gemma wanted to bring her hands back to her body, to wring the bottom of her shirt like she always did when she was nervous. But he felt so good holding her hand, and she couldn’t bring herself to let go. So she pushed through the nerves.

“I...well, I never thought I’d end up in a place like that, doing that kind of work. I always thought I would be--oh, nevermind, it’s stupid...”

She sighed and looked away. “I just...needed to pay the bills. And a monkey could do that work, so I knew I could do it. I don’t know. Things just didn’t turn out the way I planned, so I kept settling for less and less until...I got here.”

She hated that THAT was the story of her life--giving up on her dreams and settling for the absolutely dull and tedious world she’d built around herself. But it was the truth, and she felt like she owed that to him, at least.

“I know. Not very impressive...but that’s how it goes sometimes, I guess.”

"I see." Loki didn't like that she was letting go of her wants and wishes and just settling. So he pushed for more information. "And may I know what you actually wanted to do?"

He rubbed his thumbs over her wrists, trying to calm her down the moment he felt her growing restless. She was like a little hummingbird in his hands... so tiny and vulnerable. He wanted to protect her with all that he had.

She looked at him, feeling incredibly exposed. But he’d done nothing except be kind and patient with her; he’d shown her time and time again that he harbored no ill will toward her. But instincts and hard lessons learned were difficult to overcome.

Still...she wanted to tell him. And if he laughed at her, well, then it would be just that much easier when he went away.

“Um...geez, I haven’t told anyone this for a long time. I...I moved to New York City because I wanted to act on Broadway. I was in plays and musicals my whole life growing up, and when I could finally move out of that podunk little town, I came straight here and started auditioning. I took whatever classes I could afford, started meeting people, and then...well, then the attack happened...”

She closed her eyes, knowing she was close to tears but doing her best to keep it together.

“I was waitressing when it started...and I almost got killed. Captain America saved my life...along with everyone else in the building. I was so grateful to be alive!

“But then...well, my apartment was destroyed, along with all my stuff. I didn’t have renters’ insurance--it was too expensive. I was barely making ends meet, and I couldn’t move back home--I couldn’t stand the thought of living with my parents again. So I figured I’d get some admin job, just until I could get back on my feet and start auditioning again. But that was...god, it feels like a lifetime ago. And I just...I don’t feel the passion I used to, you know?

“Maybe if the attack hadn’t happened, I’d be where I wanted to be, but now...well, nothing I can do about it but tread water and try to put my life back together. And a steady paycheck is a big part of that, even if I have to sell my soul for it.”

Loki felt as though he had been slapped in the face, several times, with a hand made of uru metal...

While several centuries' worth of experience gave him enough fortitude to keep a straight, concerned facade on, internally, he was wilting. He had not felt this deep a bout of self-loathing in years.

The attack. His attack on New York had destroyed and forever changed many lives. One of them had been Gemma’s life. His sweet, loving, kind Gemma...

He had almost killed her.

Norns, he hated himself so much...

But there was nothing he could do to undo the past. That was the most frustrating part of his life.

His grip on her hands tightened slightly as he spoke. "I understand, though I cannot empathize fully. Being here when the attack happened.... it must've been terrifying. That monster changed your life forever, and he didn't care one bit about it. I'm sorry, Gemma... so sorry."

His voice nearly cracked as he tried his best to apologize for his deeds, though covertly. He knew that he didn't deserve forgiveness, but still, apologizing was the least he could do.

“Yea...” she sighed, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “But it’s not like I’m the only one it happened to. Plenty of people died that day, and I didn’t. So I have to believe there’s a reason for it...even if that reason is pretty far out and I can’t see it from here...”

She was shaken out of her thoughts when the waiter placed a beautiful cut of filet mignon in front of her, with a side of roasted vegetables and a few crostini. She thanked the server and cut off a generous bite of the meat, and as soon as it hit her tongue, her eyes rolled up and she moaned.

“Oh MAN--this is delicious! You ordered me filet mignon for LUNCH?! It’s like you’re trying to impress me or something...”

She giggled, letting the somber moment pass. Her depressing life story wasn’t going to change, and this incredible lunch was in front of her NOW.

“So, Dave...” she said, still chewing. “How did you get into sales? Family business?”

Loki was still feeling shaken, so he just looked down and played around with his food while she spoke.

Even though her little moan was distracting, it couldn't pull him from the pits of despair he was presently wallowing in.

"Not really. I was told that I was very persuasive from a very young age. So I suppose going into sales was a natural progression." He shrugged, trying to give her a little smile. It felt strained.

“Hey...are you ok?” Gemma asked. He had been so enthusiastic before her story, but now he seemed...depressed. She swallowed, then sighed heavily. “God...Dave, I’m sorry. I ruined the mood... Talking about the attack probably isn’t the best way to have a fun afternoon, is it...”

She sighed again. She’d blown it, just like she knew she would. There was still plenty of food on her plate--delicious food, better food than she’d eaten in years--but now, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“I...I’ll just catch a cab back to the office. Thanks for lunch, Dave. Have a good one.”

She wanted to offer to pay for her meal, too. But she knew she couldn’t afford it, so she had to leave before he asked her to.

"Gemma," Loki said firmly as she tried to rise from her seat. "Sit down."

Norns, he had upset her now. First, he had nearly killed her in New York, destroyed her life, and now he was ruining her day as well.

No, he would no longer be a cause for her misery. He wanted to give her joy... to mend the life he had nearly snuffed out...

He looked up at her with an earnest expression. "I'm sorry. You didn't ruin the mood, I did. I shouldn't have pried into your life like a rampaging bilge--like an untamed bull. It was insensitive of me. Stay, please..."

That look he gave her nearly melted her heart.

Stay, please...

How could she not?

With another nervous gulp, she sat back down and looked at him softly--he looked almost more upset than she had been. What an odd reaction...

“I didn’t really want to leave anyway...” She smiled and took his hands in hers again. “And, thank you...for asking, I mean. It’s been a long time since...well, actually, I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before, about why I work at PAC & Co. It’s nice that you care.”

Their eyes locked, and she found she couldn’t look away from him. There was so much in his eyes, in his face--sadness and joy, nerves and excitement, concern, desperation, longing...she’d never seen anyone more expressive than him in that moment.

She was lost for words...time stopped. Her universe zoomed in and all she could see--all she wanted to see--was this incredible man who had suddenly shown up in her life and, for reasons she couldn’t even fathom, wanted to be with her.

"I do care," he stated truthfully, picking up the fork and offering her a piece of the fillet. "I wanted to know you better. I still do."

He squeezed her hand, almost afraid that she'd pull it away and run from him. It was an irrational fear, but still, it was there...

He didn't want to lose her.

She didn’t want to lose him.

She squeezed his hand in return and ate the filet off of the fork as he offered it to her. And the next. And the next. Until the meal was over.

She checked her watch, realizing she had gone WAY over her lunch break time, but...it didn’t matter. Let them fire her. What she needed--what she wanted--was to stay here as long as possible, pretending the outside world didn’t exist.

As the meal concluded, Loki paid for it, watching her as her eyes tried to discern the bill surreptitiously. That made him smile.

He didn't let her see the amount.

"I suppose it's time to go back to work, even though I honestly don't want to," he said as the waiter left with the bill and the amount paid. "But we both have things to finish."

He kissed her hand and rose from the seat, pulling her along.

"Do you think that Oliver would've lost his shit over your reports by now?" he asked casually, wrapping his arm around her as they made their way out of the restaurant. "Or would he not care till tomorrow morning?"

“I don’t think he’s even going to be there tomorrow. He’s probably already left for the weekend.” Gemma said drowsily. That lunch was MUCH bigger than what she usually ate, and the extra food in her system was making her sleepy. She curled into him and put her arm around his waist in return as they walked to the car. “He doesn’t like me...so he just tries to make my life miserable. Little does he know I’m a pro at having a miserable life. Sucks for him, right?”

She chuckled morosely as she climbed back into Dave’s amazing car, settling into the leather seat with a contented little moan.

“Thanks for the lunch, Dave. Truly. That was the best meal I’ve had in ages. And the best company.”

She smiled warmly and held his hand, letting him go when he needed it to change gears but otherwise holding on to him the entire way. As they pulled back into the parking lot, she pouted.

“I don’t wannaaaaaa...” she cried sarcastically.

Loki laughed at her childish little whine as he got out of the car and opened her door for her.

"I'd honestly take you back to my place and ravish you in all the ways I want to," he confessed as he pulled her out of the car and pressed her against it with his body. "But I'm trying to practice restraint. We ought to be more responsible, no?"

“No,” she answered cheekily, narrowing her eyes in a scrunchy little smile. “Let’s not be responsible. Let’s run away from this two-bit town and never come back.”

She was joking, of course...wasn’t she? Also...who said “ravished” these days???

Dave. Dave says ravished.

She enjoyed the little shiver that ran down her spine at the thought of it

But as they walked back through the doors with their arms around each other, fielding the raised eyebrows and sudden titters from their co-workers, Gemma just smiled. Maybe, JUUUUST maybe...things might work out.

And then she saw Oliver waiting for her in the lobby, tapping his foot and looking at his watch...

Oh...FUCK...

Loki was feeling elated once again. Gemma was in his arms and she looked so happy. She was glowing.

Because of him. Or Dave... it was the same thing, really, for his affection wasn't any different in either form.

While he was lost in his own thoughts about Gemma, Gemma's step faltered. That brought his mind back to the present, and he saw Gemma's face fall.

Following her line of vision, he saw their boss, Oliver, waiting in the lobby, looking none too pleased.

Oh, what did he want now? He was going to undo all of Loki's attempts to cheer the girl...

Very subtly, Loki stepped ahead of Gemma and tried to shield her from the portly man's renewed ire.

Gemma and Oliver’s eyes locked. She could see the hint of a malicious smirk on his face...he was going to chew her out--AGAIN--in front of the entire team. Twice in one day. For whatever reason, he seemed to love singling her out...he’d done it for years, and for all that time, she had taken it. Just sat there and let him do it...and she was sick of it.

Had she NOT been through enough? Talking to Dave over lunch had helped her put her life in a bit more perspective; just because she hadn’t succeeded in what she’d expected to do did NOT mean she deserved to be abused by a bully.

She. Was. Done.

Gemma felt Dave beginning to move in front of her, and she stopped him. He turned to face her, the same heart melting concern on his face, and she gave him a firm, resolved look. She let him go and walked up to Oliver.

“Have you been standing here waiting for me to get back from lunch, Oliver?” She put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.

Loki's jaw dropped. He hadn't expected Gemma to confront Oliver straight away...

That seemed to affect the idiot as well, for he seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds before he responded.

"I was wondering why you had gone out for lunch when you have work left to complete! Do I need to remind you that I want the reports on my desk by Saturday morning?" he asked with malicious glee, most likely expecting to see Gemma wilt against his verbal tirade again.

But Gemma didn't wilt this time. Much to Loki's surprise, she kept staring at Oliver with an even gaze.

Gemma felt a fire in her belly...she didn’t know where it came from, but she liked it. She wasn’t going to let Oliver push her around anymore.

Because if someone like Dave thought she was worth something, maybe she should start thinking that, too.

“Is it Saturday morning yet, Oliver?” she challenged him, a hint of sarcasm slipping into her words. She practically spit his name out.

Oliver sputtered and turned beet red, eyeing Gemma as though she had sprouted another head.

Loki was enjoying this immensely. His Gemma was fighting back! This was glorious...

"No," Oliver finally answered, glaring at her while also knowing that she had him. It was written on his face, clear as the day.

“Then what’s the problem? Seems like I still have plenty of time to finish those reports you asked for--which I’m assuming you must need so urgently that you’re going to meet me here tomorrow, right? Otherwise, this could wait until Monday?”

“What? No, I won’t be here tomorrow...” Oliver’s face turned that purplish-crimson color she despised, and she scoffed at him.

“So why, exactly, do I need to get them to you by then, hm? Could it be that you needed to make yourself feel better by putting me down, just like you have for the last three years? Your fragile little ego needed a boost? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but a TPX report isn’t going to fix that. And I’m not taking your shit anymore.”

She pushed past him, saying quietly so only he could hear. “Now please leave me alone so I can finish the work you so desperately need completed, despite the fact that you won’t see it until Monday when you get back from your weekend of self-destructive binge eating and coddling your porn addiction.”

His eyes went wide and he sputtered as she glared at him one more time.

“You really should clear your browser history more often when you’re at work.”

With that, she headed to her cubicle, absolutely vibrating with nerves.

Loki was absolutely stunned, as was Oliver.

Gemma was... Norns, she was a GODDESS of WRATH!

The way she eviscerated that buffoon, with class and dignity, was breathtaking to watch. Loki had a front row seat to that, and it wasn't at all disappointing.

He was so excited to see her stand up for herself that he wanted to jump up on his desk and give her a big round of applause.

Oliver was now standing there like a man emasculated. And justly so. The absolute wretch that he was, he deserved every word of her scathing response.

As Gemma settled into her chair, the pudgy man made himself scarce, leaving the hall with his tail between his legs.

Loki couldn't help himself. He skipped over to Gemma's desk and grasped her hand.

"That was great, Gemma. I'm pretty sure that he's not going to bother you for the rest of the day now," he said, feeling nothing but pride soaring in his heart for her.

And just as he finished speaking, other people from the hall came rushing to her cubicle to tell her how wonderfully she had dealt with Oliver.

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[PREVIOUS CHAPTER] Ch-1; Ch-2; Ch-3; Ch-4; Ch-5 [NEXT CHAPTER]

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 4 years

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Boku no Hero Academia - curiosity killed me my dear (but you brought me back) (Drabble)

Okay, this one is interesting! This story was originally a drabble on my Patreon account that someone later commissioned me to make into a full story! Here’s what the original story was, however, and I hope you enjoy it!

If you want to read the full 18k story, then click here!

Summary: Thanks to a mission gone wrong and the ill timed use of Erasure, Yamada Hizashi is now stuck half way between being human and being a cat. It was better than being a cat, but not by much. Luckily, Aizawa Shouta always knows just what to say to set Hizashi’s worries at ease.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Relationship: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count: 2,566

Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content like this drabble!

⁂

Watching the slew of quirk and mutant body specialist doctors file out of the room, Yamada Hizashi dragged a hand through the ends of his hair, nervously picking out some of the knots as the words from the doctors bounced around his head, words like partial body morph, complete new structure, and permanent. It was only the sound of a recorded guitar plucking out a tune to one of his favorite songs that had the tension draining out of his shoulders, a shaking breath leaving him as he looked over to where his husband was setting down his phone on the table, music playing from it softly.

“You know,” Hizashi finally managed. “I thought you would be more excited by this.” Shouta twitched, startled enough at the words to finally look up at him, Hizashi almost whining at the guilt he saw in the man’s eyes. “C’mon, Shou-chan, am I not a good enough kitty for you?”

The guilt at least edged away, but Hizashi wasn’t sure if annoyance and anger was any better. “Is this really the time to be making jokes?” The words were harsh, but Hizashi could see nothing except the worry and fear wrapped around them.

“Are you kidding? This is the best time for jokes! Hey, you think the Wild, Wild Pussycats will ask me to be a part of their group, now? Because I’ll have you know that Sosaki-san wanted me to join when we were all still in school! She said I would look cute with the ears, which, now we have proof that I do, but I turned her down because, hello, if I’m going to be part of a hero group it would be with you, Nemuri, and Tensei, yo. Hey! What if we formed a duo? I mean, I know you shot me down, like, twenty times before, but I really think-”

“Hizashi.” Snapping his mouth shut at the call of his name - at the desperate call of his name - Hizashi shifted on the hospital bed he was trapped in for at least another day, shuffling to the far corner and then looking at Shouta expectantly.

They had been confined to hospital beds enough times over their life that Shouta didn’t even hesitate, instead crawling into Hizashi’s bed, not quite leaning against him or touching him, but far closer than he had been. It was enough to soothe some of Hizashi’s restless energy, his jokes and assurances leaving him as he gave a tired smile.

“You, my hero, take the blame for things that aren’t your fault far too much.” Ah… And there was the guilt, clear and bright as day. “Shouta… I would be a lot worse off if you hadn’t stopped that quirk when you did.”

“It’s because of me that you’re half cat.” Shouta didn’t shout, but he might as well have for all the emotion that was wrapped up in his voice, staring at where Hizashi could feel the ears that were now pointed, furry, and on top of his head. It didn’t help that he had the tail to match and who knew what else until his x-rays showed up.

Tugging at his hair again and picking out another knot and trying not to focus on how something about his hands felt wrong, Hizashi settled for looking at his husband, a part of him calming at the sight. For as bad as it had gone, it could have been a lot worse.

“Shouta,” Hizashi said softly, frowning when Shouta flinched and looked away. “Shouta. This is not your fault. Our information was wrong. It was as simple as that.”

Seeing Shouta’s mouth open to argue again, Hizashi decided that for as fun as it was to debate and argue with Shouta some days, today he didn’t have the energy to hear it and keep up a smile.

Reaching over to lightly slap his palms against Shouta’s cheeks, Hizashi kept him from looking away as he continued speaking. “No. You’re the one who’s always saying how much of a ‘genius’ or whatever I am, right? With the information we were given and the measures we took, we did everything right, Shouta. I’ve run over everything in my head a hundred times since I got pretty much shackled to this bed-”

“You are not shackled to the bed, Hizashi,” Shouta interrupted, Hizashi just raising his voice to compensate.

“Since I was spiritually chained to this bed!” Finally there was a smile from the man. “There were only two ways this could end, Shouta, and I think I prefer the option where we both lived.”

Shouta was silent, finally whispering a soft, “I should have reacted quicker. If I had, then you wouldn’t be here like this.”

“You did everything right, baby,” Hizashi sighed, tugging Shouta closer and leaning their foreheads together, taking solstice in how Shouta near slumped against him, hands moving to tangle together with his own. “Now, really, you’re allowed to show a bit of excitement about this.”

“I’m not obsessed with cats like you seem to think I am,” Shouta pouted, pulling back and already looking much better than before, shifting to get more comfortable on the bed while pretending he wasn’t trying to look at the cat ears that were now on top of Hizashi’s head.

“Mhm.” Hizashi felt fondness and warmth bubbling up as Shouta grabbed his phone and switched over to one of the softer playlists Hizashi often had playing when they were home. He was so stupidly in love with this man. “You can touch them, you know.”

Shouta could act uninterested all he wanted, but it was easy to see how much Shouta wanted to just by the twitch his fingers did as he set the phone down. “Hizashi-”

“Please?” Hizashi asked quietly, looking away when he saw Shouta’s surprise. “I just… really need you to act like everything is normal right now, Sho.”

It felt like a lifetime passed before Hizashi felt fingers skimming down the edges of his new ear, the sensation feeling similar to the moment a tough knot was worked out of his neck, something soft and warm and wonderfully good that had him slumping back into Shouta’s side before vibrations were leaving his throat in a way that reminded him of their cats at home.

“Are you… purring?” Oh. That’s what those sounds were, then. Tilting his head back to look at Shouta, Hizashi saw the hidden glee there. “As if the cats needed anymore reason to love you more than me.”

“It’s because I feed them the good cat food!” Hizashi beamed, pushing down his unease at realizing he was purring. While he could use his quirk to achieve something similar, the fact his voice did something he hadn’t had any control over was… more than unsettling.

That was okay, though. That was fine. Hizashi wasn’t in pain, Shouta was smiling again, and everything would be alright. It would be fine.

It would not be fine. The doctors had revealed that not only had Hizashi’s body structure changed, but so had some of his instincts, which meant his years of cultivating his fighting style and hero instincts now had to be completely relearned; which was something he couldn’t afford to deal with when the whole damn world felt like it was starting to fall apart, especially after All Might’s downfall and Endeavour's almost downfall.

As it was, Hizashi had screwed up his last three patrols and almost let multiple people get away over basic mistakes. His sense of balance was completely off to the point he was tripping and falling into walls and doorways every time he stopped paying attention, which was too often for his liking.

His hearing had also changed, to the point that he no longer needed his hearing aids. At the same time, however, he couldn’t use his quirk until his hero support could figure out a way to not let his even more sensitive ears be damaged. He was a hero without the use of his quirk and damn if that didn’t give him some new nightmares.

And now, as if that didn’t make him pathetic enough, he was sobbing like a fucking child in a pile of his clothes that no longer fit due to his changed musceluer and spine structure. Instead of sighing and going to get new clothes, because between him and Shouta and the five jobs they worked they could certainly afford it, he was crying like it was the end of the world.

It wasn’t even the clothes that were the problem. He knew it wasn’t. It was just the final shattering from the pressure that had been weighing down on him since this whole mess had begun. The instincts he could have handled on their own. Present Mic may have been upbeat and social and loud, but Yamada Hizashi knew what it was to crave peace and silence and the company of only one or two people at a time. The instincts were stronger, and there were some odd ones like chasing moving lights and getting the urge to hiss and purr, but they were nothing insurmountable, but the physical changes?

He had to learn to walk, move, and fight in a completely new body. He would have to relearn on how to essentially use his quirk, which had been dangerous enough the first time and was the reason he had needed hearing aids for most of his adult life.

“‘Zashi?” Hearing Shouta’s voice in the doorway, and too tired to try and pretend it was all okay to the man who knew him better than anyone, Hizashi only kept glaring down at the clothes on the floor around him, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You know, usually it’s me destroying the closet trying to find something.”

“They don’t fit,” Hizashi mumbled, hoping that would be enough to explain why he was on the floor now made of clothes while crying and wearing nothing but a pair of new boxers that allowed for his new tail. “None of them fit.”

“Then we can go shopping,” Shouta said, no hint of pause or hesitance in his words. Just a simple solution for what was a simple problem. “You love shopping and now you can try even more clothes that you couldn’t before, and whatever you really want to save we can get altered to fit you again. Right?”

Hizashi flinched as he felt his tail lash out and thwap against his skin, reminding him that it wasn’t just the clothes that was his problem. “I can barely do my patrols because everything is different.”

“Then we’ll just train more until we figure out a new way for you, like we did when I couldn’t use my binding cloth as well.” The memory of Shouta re-learning new ways to use his quirks and binding cloth after USJ had Hizashi giving a small shudder before he noticed Shouta’s voice was closer, Hizashi finally looked up only to have fabric dropping over his head, Shouta pushing and nudging at him for a minute until Hizashi was soon wearing an overly large sweater that was soft and warm and settled the restless itching of his skin.

Tucking his hands into the sleeves of the sweater, Hizashi felt like a pathetic child as he felt Shouta wipe away the tears that were beginning to slow. The man’s voice was soft and warm when he spoke whispered words of encouragement. “We’ll get through this, ‘Zashi, just like we have everything else.”

“Shouta…” The clothes would easy to fix. The physical training would be harder, but it was nothing Hizashi hadn’t done before. The little things like the new ears and tail he could learn to be okay with, but… “I can’t use my quirk like this.”

His vocal folds had changed and they had no idea if his quirk was going to be more powerful or less powerful because of it. There was no way to even test it with his new ears, bulky and awkward and too dangerous around loud noises. If Hizashi wasn’t careful, then he could go completely deaf with just one scream. He had been hard of hearing before, but he had still been able to hear, and his hearing aids had been made to restore almost full sound. The idea of going completely deaf and never being able to properly use his quirk again without risking damage and harm was too awful a thought.

If it was just him in this mess then Hizashi wouldn’t know what to do. If it was only him, Hizashi would have been lost. Stupidly, though, he had almost forgotten. It wasn’t just him.

“And since when has a quirk decided who you are?” Shouta’s hand settled on his jaw before lifting his head up, Shouta’s entire focus solely on him. “How many fights have you been in where you won and didn’t use your quirk?”

“I- Those were specialized cases or training exercises or times where I just got lucky, Shouta, it doesn’t mean-”

“And since when did you need your quirk in order to do your show? As far as I remember, they hate when you use your quirk on your show; and you hate it because it damages the equipment.”

Hizashi bit his lip at that, conceding that he did have a point with that, at least. Hizashi didn’t need to use his quirk to still be a DJ, which was one of the jobs he loved most.

“You also don’t need your quirk to teach your students. In fact, I think they’ll appreciate that you can only scream at them normally when they fall asleep instead of quirk screaming at them-”

“It was one time and that little punk had it coming,” Hizashi defended himself, slightly startled when Shouta’s hands tangled with his, palms clasped together and grip tight on his own. For the first time in days, it felt like Hizashi could breathe again. “Shouta…”

“Since when did you ever need your quirk to be Yamada Hizashi?” Shouta gave him a soft, fond smile, bumping their foreheads together and startling Hizashi into giving a wet laugh. “This isn’t the end of the world, Sunshine. Isn’t that what you told me all those months ago?”

“Maybe, but you said it better.” Hizashi tilted his head up to give Shouta a chaste kiss, fears and worries chased away by Shouta once again. “At least I’m even better looking than before, right?” Hizashi joked, feeling his heart skip a beat and his stomach drop as he saw the heated look in Shouta’s eyes and the smirk on his face. “S- Sho?”

“You’ve always looked amazing, ‘Zashi, but a few days ago you were telling me that your skin sensitivity had increased, right?”

Before Hizashi could respond, he felt himself shoved back, a grunt knocked out of him as he slightly squirmed on the uneven ground thanks to the discarded clothing. Before he could ask or complain, he felt the sweater Shouta had put on him slowly being pushed up, trails of goosebumps erupting across his skin wherever Shouta’s fingers touched, already more sensitive than he had been in years.

If nothing else, Hizashi supposed, at least he would have Shouta to help him through this like he had with everything else in their lives. And, well… maybe the half-cat thing wasn’t so bad.

#bnha #erasermic #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #present mic #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #my writing #my patreon #original

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jojosthetic-boogaloo · 5 years

Note

Hello, I'm back! I'd really like a matchup please (M!)! I'm a white girl, who is 5'4" with green/blue and gold brown eyes and wavy to slightly curly extremely dark brown hair. I love to read (mostly historical fiction), write stories, and play video games, most of which are on the rpg genre. Most of my friends say that i am very nice and willing to help anyone who needs it, as well as having a very dark sense of humor. Most people don't know that i also have a really bad short temper, that used

Welcome back, Emily dear! Thank you so much for the kind words!!! <3 The matchup is all yours, hope you like it! //AND sorry for taking a while!!! Lemme tag you (if tumblr lets me) so you get the notification @emilyd-i-c-k-ens ;;//

Okay this is gonna sound a bit weird, but at first I didn’t know who to match you up with! Why? Because except on the physical aspect, you and I are pretty similar! Imagine the struggle of not just slapping in here a moodboard of my biggest stinky jojo crush...

NO MATTER! I found the answer in the end! And it’s double, so bare with me please!

Translation: “Love, with you by my side, I can do anything!”

Narancia Ghirga!

He just finds your natural charm and mature air tremendously magnetic. It’s like you’re exactly the balance he needs in his life.

You met at the movies when you went to see the same one, you went by yourselves so when you sat down and saw the theater almost empty and the single spot between you two vacant, Narancia just decided to sit next to you and give you a bright smile to start up chatting before the movie started rolling.

You had time to introduce yourselves, and you heard him ramble on how much he liked this kinda movies! He was so excited it made you feel his own excitement in return, making you naturally relaxed and bubbly around him.

When you got out of the movies, he chatted with you about it all the way outside, with your small input from time to time when he slowed down for a second. Once outside under the night’s sky, he seemed to look around curious, raising an eyebrow and looking back at you while scratching the back of his head. “Say, Y/N, is no one coming to fetch you? It’s pretty late to walk around alone...” He drifted off, even more surprised when you shook your head to confirm that, in fact, no one was coming.

“Well, in that case, I’ll walk you to your house, if you don’t mind it!” He asserted, showing you some quite comical flexing and posing to pretend he was strong and fearsome. “Alright, let’s get going then, Narancia.”

You didn’t live that far from the theater, so it didn’t worry you to make him lose his own path back to his own place. While you walked in silence, his hands in his pockets and kicking the occasional peeble on the pavement, he seemed to steal quick glances on your direction, thinking you didn’t notice.

“Something on my face, Nara?” You asked, both amused and curious. His reaction made you chuckle, as he shook his head from side to side violently and turned his gaze away from you. “No it’s...” He started, quietly. After a sigh from him, he finished his sentence. “You look pretty, that’s it.” Even if his tone sounded uninterested, you knew full well he was actually very embarrassed. The shade on his cheeks and his slight pout gave him away.

“Why, thank you, you look handsome too.” He gave you a look, his lips contorted into a lopsided smile and his eyes cast into the ground before him. Taking one of his hands to the back of his head, he kept walking with a small smile on his face. “Well, thanks, Y/N.” That was the first time a girl as pretty as you had called him handsome. Hell, the only one that called him that sometimes had been Buccellati when he asked if an outfit was ill-fitting on himself.

Before you’d realized, you stood at your door, turning to face him and give him a smile. “Thank you Narancia, it was a pleasure to walk home with you.” You started, not expecting the dark haired male to almost instantly extend his arm towards you, firmly grasping a phone in his hand that pointed in your direction. “P-please, could I have your number, Y/N?” Silence, and Ghirga felt some sweat beads on his temples. “I-I mean, I just really want to keep taking because you’re so nice and, and we like the same stuff and well I-” He was cut off by you gently hoovering your index finger on his lips, taking his unlocked phone and introducing your number in his contacts. “Saved.” You announced, giving him back his device and turning around once more, and waving him off with a little amused smile on your face.

He gave a little jump in front of your now closed door, that you didn’t fail to notice since you could see him through the window right next to it. This adorable gesture made you let out an amused small chuckle and a hand be brought to your chest. He was a cute one, and you wanted to get to know him better.

Almost around midnight, a text message entered your notifications from a new number, and you smiled. You couldn’t fall asleep thinking on how well your evening went, and the cause of that state just texted you without even thinking that people are usually asleep at that hour.

“Wanna go the arcade tmrrw??” Yes! You wanted to! And you let him know.

You went to the arcade and spent a wonderful time in there! He’d playfully bump your shoulders together when playing on the racing games, making you lose your balance to give him advantage. Whine even if he was amused when you beat him in crane games, and even sticking his arm inside with the risk of sticking it inside to get you a price that didn’t quite fall right!

It was a cute teddy bear, the perfect size to sit in your palm. Fluffy as all could be, and it held a small heart between its tiny arms. Narancia gave you a shy smile. “It reminds me of you and me, Y/N!” He said, cheery. “Why is that?” You replied between giggles and fist-bumping his shoulder gently. He reluctantly rose his hand to his neck and looked down. “Well.” He started. “We just met it, and it already holds a heart between its hands. You two are similar.” You took a second to understand what he meant, giving him a shy smile. Damn, he really went for it all huh?

“That’s so sweet, Narancia.” You replied, giving him a soft smile and gently grabbing his wrist, only to tug at it and start leading the way. “Come on, I wanna try and beat you on DDR*. Winner gets to challenge the other on whatever they want.”

The violet eyed male blinked a few times before smiling and following after you with an excited step. He was very good at DDR, excellent almost. As you stood both in your positions, one to the other’s side, he was already thinking about what he’d challenge you to.

As soon as the coins slid down the slot and you’d chosen your song, it was clear that neither of you were playing around. Nevertheless, Narancia’s movements were smoother, precise, his “Perfect!!” combo streak never faltering. You, on the other hand, were growing weary. Why’d he have to choose the difficulty? You were trying your best to keep up, when you slid your arms behind you and rested them on the support bar, while looking at the screen and trying to keep up. Unfortunately, last minute, when you tried to step on the correct arrow, your foot slipped and you fell on your butt, the last 4 arrows going by and the song ending with a nice little tune. Of course, Narancia had won.

“Y/N! Are you okay??” He missed his last notes to come immediately help you up though; and you couldn’t help but smile at him and swat your free hand to make him rest assured, while your other hand was the one he held tightly to help you. “I’m... fine, don’t worry.” You stared at him, he was close.

He gave you a lopsided smile, never letting go of your hand as he almost hoovered over you, you could barely feel his chest press on yours. “You know what, I think I know what I challenge you to, Y/N.” He started, tilting his head slightly to the side as he gave your face a short scan with his beautiful eyes up and down.

“Yeah? ... What is it?” You replied, your voice quiet, feeling a weird sensation turn and tighten in your stomach, your heartbeat in your ears. He smiled, showing you his slightly pointy canines and leaning close to place a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I challenge you to have another date with me, next time, we can meet in my apartment, I got Danganronpa on my PC.” You raised your eyebrow and gave his shoulder another soft punch. “That, that fills me with hope.” You replied, making him chuckle and gently let go of you, holding his hands behind his back. “Well then, it’s settled!” He exclaimed, balancing his body on his feet one time on his tip toes and one time on his heels. “I would have been filled with despair, otherwise.”

You laughed at his reference and gave him an amused smile. You liked him, you really did.

After you start dating some months later, he’s just... a wonderful boyfriend, you really have no complaints. He loves to laze around with you at home, playing whatever games you particularly enjoy. He particularly loved to watch you play Stardew Valley, he found it relaxing, even if sometimes, he got pouty and was overly clingy almost not letting you move when he noted that “You married a small pixel character and had two children and he was stuck as the pillow boyfriend”. You smacked him softly when he said such stupid things, but, it made you laugh, and he knew that.

Get ready for lots of cuddling and just physical affection while you watch movies at home together. Sometimes, you’ll feel him shake if something on the movie disturbed him. Occasional screaming when he gets scared. You noted he feels more distressed when watching indie horror movies, such as the Blair Project. He claims “he just likes the adrenaline they give him” when you ask him why he watches if he’s scared.

Fugo Pannacotta!

He finds support and understanding in you, he sees you as a strong pillar, he really admires you! As a person who’s had some problems with keeping his rage under check, he finds your understanding of the situation very assuring; he feels like a completely normal guy when he’s with you.

He thinks you’re the most interesting person around that does not get on his nerves, ever. (Narancia, does, even if he loves him very much, all has to be said.) You read very interesting books too! He respects that hobbie, sometimes he’ll sit with you to read his own and then quietly comment on how’s each other’s lecture going.

Your dark humor... He loves it. Each time you crack a way too dark for normal comfort joke, he absolutely cracks up. He just really likes how you have no trouble saying such things, besides, that’s his type of humor too man! He loves that!

He really likes your eyes! That’s a weird trait, but he really likes to focus on people’s eyes, and yours were so pretty and full of depth, he really liked what your eyes communicated. It made him feel assured and relaxed around you.

A smaaaaall side note on the * ; For the younger peeps, DDR means Dance Dance Revolution. And in my time (I mean i’m not THAT old but yeah), it was basically the most popular, fun and stressing dance game there was at the arcade back then. Now it’s rare to find one of those machines, at least where I live!

#narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #matchup #moodboard matchup #jojosthetic-boogaloo #emilyd-i-c-k-ens

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missblanchette · 5 years

Text

This Distance Between Us [1/1]

Series: Hypnosis Mic

Characters: Jinguji Jakurai/Kannonzaka Doppo; Appearances from Hifumi and Ramuda

Rating: PG

Summary: Day by day, Doppo learned that Jinguji Jakurai was more human than god.

Words: 11,287

Notes: Drowning tw in section iii. Implied self-harm tw in section iv. A JakuDoppo relationship study/Jakurai character study via Doppo’s POV! I wrote this before TDD Chapter 3 dropped, so that aspect of Jakurai’s character wasn’t taken into account though I tried to amend this fic as much as possible to include it. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it~!

ko-fi // You can read this on AO3! Thank you all so much for reading!!

❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

With the ban of violence and the rise of rap, the exploits of The Dirty Dawg had spread far and wide. Their voices had commanded the attention of Japan, claiming the land as their own and bringing all those who crossed their way to their knees. For a salary-man like Doppo, however, who was more concerned with his next paycheck than the territory battles, The Dirty Dawg's ascent to power had meant very little to him -- save for the genius doctor who used his hypnosis mic for healing instead of harm. Hifumi had introduced him to the famed ill-DOC with a shove of his phone into his face and a "Look, look, Doppo-chin! Check these guys out!". While The Dirty Dawg's voices harmonized powerfully and shook his core, ill-DOC's low baritone captured him instantly. If listening to him through video had been enough to soothe his fried nerves, Doppo wondered what listening to him live would’ve been like. He never got the opportunity during that era, though, for The Dirty Dawg fell as quickly as they rose.

That said, sometimes it was easy to forget that their reign ever happened.

The screen separating him and ill-DOC disappeared within a span of two years, a sales visit at Shinjuku Central Hospital leading to him becoming his patient. Over time, ill-DOC simply became known as Dr. Jinguji Jakurai to him: his physician, his leader, and (something he was still coming to terms with) his lover. On the day-to-day basis, Jakurai embodied the patience of a saint as he treated the sick and dealt with his and Hifumi's problems; with him and Hifumi as the rogues guarding Jakurai's side, they made up Matenrou, the pack of wolves who defied the cruelty of the world. For all they faced together, Doppo felt like he had a good sense of who Jakurai was -- a genius, a legend, a god. But staring at the photograph of Jakurai smiling along with Amemura Ramuda, Aohitsugi Samatoki, and Yamada Ichiro, Doppo came to realize that there wasn't a lot he actually knew about him.

"Do you need help, Doppo-kun?" Jakurai's voice echoed from the hallway.

Doppo startled and hit his head against the shelf, biting back a yelp as the box he'd picked up collapsed onto the ground again. He'd gone to Jakurai's closet to get a scarf for him since it would get cold later, but he knocked down a box on one of the shelves causing photographs and badges and other trinkets to scatter among the floor.

"Are you okay?" A hand rested on the small of Doppo's back, steadying him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snoop around. They all fell out and I was trying to pick them up --"

"There’s no need to worry about it," Jakurai said, rubbing his back. The soothing motion faltered, stilted and abrupt, when he caught sight of the photograph he held and Jakurai's azure eyes clouded over. "My, that's an old thing."

Without another word, he reached for it and Doppo handed it to him. He gripped it tightly, as if it were a letter bringing news of a loved one's death, and his lips pursed like reflecting upon an earlier disappointment -- a stark contrast to the radiant grin he wore as Amemura Ramuda pulled him into the group picture.

"You were cool back then," Doppo blurted out. When Jakurai's gaze snapped towards him, Doppo sputtered. "I mean, you're still cool now, but you and The Dirty Dawg made an amazing team."

Jakurai turned back to the photograph, expression unreadable.

"We were," he said, a hint of remorse in his tone. "But I believe Matenrou triumphs in every aspect."

"Do you miss them?" Eyes widening, Doppo slapped a hand to his mouth and bowed his head. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"It's okay, Doppo-kun." His fingers carded through Doppo's hair, languidly and absentmindedly, though not once did his eyes leave the photo. "Thinking about it makes me rather nostalgic --" His lips twisted bitterly. "-- is all."

Silence followed, the ticking of the clock's hands serving as the sole reminder of time flowing on and on.

"Doc -- Jinguji-san," Doppo started, the less formal title still strange on his tongue. "I'm... here for you, if you ever want to talk about it?"

With one last stroke through his hair, Jakurai's hand fell to his shoulder and he patted him. The corners of his lips tugged up. "Thank you, Doppo-kun."

Though his words were kind, they stung regardless; gratitude he’d spoken, hiding a "no, I'd rather not" underneath. There were things Doppo wasn't privy to, certainly, and he would respect that -- yet, compared to all their sessions in the hospital where Doppo had complained about his life, had bared out his emotions, had burdened him with his anguish, Jakurai hardly spoke of his own. Was he so untrustworthy as a person -- as a lover -- that he couldn't share in those thoughts? Though maybe it was his fault for being so heartless and never asking about them in the first place.

"Let's clean this up and get going, shall we?" Jakurai asked before his self-doubts could turn tail to hell. His hand left his shoulder, leaving a chill in its place, and he crouched down to pick up the remnants of his fallen memories.

Shoving the remains of his negativity to the side, Doppo stared at the scene before joining him. Jakurai barely gave the scattered mementos a glance before placing them back in the box, away from sight and away from mind. Through the curtain of his lavender locks, Jakurai's azure irises dulled and his mouth curved downwards -- his face lost within seasons that Doppo couldn't recall.

With everything cleaned up, Jakurai tucked the box back into the darkness of the closet. His previous wistfulness swept away, he smiled at him with a composure much more akin to the Jakurai he'd come to know. Doppo forced himself to return it.

Jakurai had always seemed so far away, but in that moment, he felt unreachable.

ii.

Overtime might as well have been Doppo's regular work hours, considering how often he dipped into it. Always the last to leave, it was because of the coffee running through his body that he was able to catch the last train home. The note Hifumi left him was sweet as always, but as delicious as his dinner looked, Doppo could only manage a few bites before his eyes began to fail him. He barely even had the energy to shower or change his clothes before plopping into bed. Just as he sank into the mattress, he choked on his saliva when he remembered he'd forgotten to respond to Jakurai's message from earlier.

He quickly sent an affirmative for their plans this weekend and locked his phone, dropping it onto his chest while he waited for sleep to claim him. It wasn't long, though, before his phone buzzed and shook him awake. He squinted, the light far too bright though it was on its lowest setting, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset and he smiled at Jakurai's text.

Locking his phone again, Doppo leaned back into his pillow and sleep steadily settled in, but his eyes shot open and snapped towards the clock. 00:58. Much too late for Jakurai to be awake right now, let alone replying to him -- especially when both of them had work in the morning. Fingers fumbling, he opened his phone.

Doppo frowned. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, wanting to say something -- anything -- to comfort him but the words couldn't come. "I'm sorry," he wanted to say, but that wouldn't do any good to help him fall asleep; "that sucks," was his next thought but that came off as callous; "try some sleeping pills," maybe, but that sounded dismissive also. After all Jakurai had done to help him with his insomnia, he couldn't even say something back to him. What a terrible boyfriend he was, not being able to comfort him when he needed him --

A couple seconds passed before his next message.

Doppo read the texts over again. And again to make sure he was reading them correctly. And once more to be doubly sure. Then he rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly to be certain he wasn't hallucinating. Nobody had ever asked him anything like that before; his voice was nothing special, after all, being dismal and weak among Shinjuku's white noise. "Are you serious?" he almost replied, but he was never one to deny Jakurai's requests. With jittery hands, he typed out a "Yeah, that's fine."

For something set on vibrate, his phone blared loudly in the quiet of his room. He almost dropped it, too shaky to get a grip and accept the call, but Doppo's nerves settled down as he heard Jakurai's soft breaths on the other end.

"Hi?" he said, unsure of himself.

"Hello, Doppo-kun." Tiredness seeped through Jakurai's greeting, fondness mixed in it. "How was your day? Is your manager still giving you grief?"

"Yeah, the same as usual..."

The conversation flowed on, reminiscent of their appointments in Jakurai's office but with a more casual air to it. Groans and sighs replaced Doppo's words, too exhausted to actually verbalize his feelings, whereas Jakurai hummed along to every utterance. Nevertheless, Doppo kept his complaints short and to the point because they'd gone through them plenty of times to write an entire anthology about his grievances. As their conversation fell into a lull, he directed the question back to him.

How strange it felt to be on the flip side of things, to be listening to Jakurai instead. Not that Doppo minded at all, taking in everything he said and holding onto it. In the still of night, Jakurai's speech blended together and he paused over his thoughts unlike the formalities and preciseness he spoke with during the daytime; but that didn't change anything about the softness in his voice as he told him of his day -- how his hair had gotten caught in the elevator doors, how one of the children he'd been attending to cried as he gave them an injection, how he'd heard that one of his patients had died.

Stuttering, Doppo offered his condolences as best he could and he could only imagine the sad curl of Jakurai's lips as he thanked him. His patient was an elderly one who suffered from heart pains on top of their insomnia, and Jakurai had been taking care of them ever since he started working at Shinjuku Central Hospital. Death was inevitable, Jakurai told him, but that didn't stop the regret that filled his tone.

They delved into lighter topics afterwards, carrying on like that until their voices lowered into whispers. Yet, neither of them made the move to end the call. Doppo didn't want to, either, no matter how much he yawned, no matter how much he slurred his sentences, no matter how much his eyes drooped...

"Rise and shine, Doppo-chin~ Oh, who's that?"

Eyelids weighing like iron, Doppo could hardly lift them without feeling like his eyeballs would combust into flames. To his right, a low rumble filled his ear like a windy day at Katase Beach. Something slammed down on his shoulder, eliciting a grunt from him, and hovered over his body. Squinting, he saw Hifumi looking at his phone with his mouth agape.

"Ooh, Dr. Jakurai. You guys have been talking for five hours?!"

Doppo's brows knitted together before remembering what happened last night. Never before had he jumped out of bed so fast.

"He's still on? Give that back --"

"Hi, Doc!" Hifumi said, putting the phone on speaker.

The rumble that'd been at his side echoed throughout his room before breaking into choppy breaths and then a loud snort. Hifumi giggled, lifting the phone higher into the air when Doppo reached for it.

"Wakey, wakey, Doc~"

"...Hi...fumi-kun...?" A long yawn came through, followed by a confused mumble. "I... oh dear. What time is it?"

"It's like six, but I bet it's easy to lose track when you and Doppo are having so much fun~"

Glaring, Doppo jumped up and snatched his phone back. Hifumi gave a cat-like smirk.

"Do --" A yawn. "Doppo-kun, my apologies. Did I keep you up?"

Turning speaker mode off, Doppo turned away. Hifumi pounced onto his back, ever persistent, and pressed his ear against the other side of the phone. Doppo couldn't muster up the strength to shove him off.

"No, it's all right, Jinguji-san. I fell asleep, too. I'm... I'm glad you were able to get some rest, though."

"It's thanks to you," Jakurai said. Hiufmi bounced excitedly behind him.

"It's nothing really..." He threw a look at Hifumi, but the tips of his ears grew warm.

"Of course it's something. We have not seen each other in a while, so I'm glad I was able to talk with you at least." Exhaustion dripped through as he spoke, but Doppo could hear the smile in his words.

Slapping his shoulders with the fervor of a hummingbird, Hifumi squealed. Doppo elbowed him and he finally backed off. He meant to say something else, but he saw the current hour -- 6:23 -- and blanched. Shit.

"I feel the same way, Jinguji-san, but, um, I'm sorry, I have to get ready for work now."

"Hm... oh? Oh." He stifled his yawn. "Yes, I suppose I should be getting ready as well," he said with an inkling of reluctance. "I hope you have a good day, Doppo-kun."

"You, too, Jinguji-san."

"Bye, Doc!"

Jakurai laughed. "Bye to you, too, Hifumi-kun."

Ending the call, Doppo spun around to see Hifumi grinning at him.

"Late night calls with Dr. Jakurai, hm~" Hifumi said, waggling his eyebrows.

"It's not a big deal." Averting his gaze, he rubbed the nape of his neck. "Jinguji-san was just having trouble sleeping."

"Aw, so you're like his medicine!"

Doppo's face reddened. "S-Shut up. Don't you have something else to do?"

A hand flying to his mouth, Hifumi gasped. "Breakfast!"

As Hifumi ran back to the kitchen, Doppo took a deep breath as he thought about the workload that awaited him -- another twelve-plus hours of labor, another twenty-four hours of mind-numbing stress. Though typically getting the bare minimum amount of sleep was enough to ruin his day before it started, he found motivation within the phone warm in his hold. Their call fresh in his mind, Doppo knew he wasn't the only one struggling to get up. For Jakurai, he would gladly stay up again and again; for him, too, he would do his best to get through work.

iii.

"Uh, is it always this slow?" Doppo asked, adjusting his hat as the sun steadily climbed higher and higher across the sky. He'd been sitting there at Ichigaya sandwiched between Jakurai and Hifumi for about two and a half hours now, and they'd only managed to catch one measly carp -- a joint effort between him and Jakurai (or rather, Jakurai took control of the rod when he freaked out at the fish's tug) while Hifumi waved the fishing net like a madman. He'd spent hours at work dreaming about this day -- the day he'd finally join Jakurai's and Hifumi's fishing trips -- and... "underwhelming" could only describe so much.

"Some days are slower than others." Smiling sheepishly, Jakurai’s eyes crinkled.

"Yeah, like, sometimes we don't even catch anything at all," Hifumi said, prouder of the fact than he should've been.

"I thought you said you were 'pros.'"

"We are!" Hifumi puffed up his chest, his fishing line swaying from side-to-side. "Like, Doc and I totes know how to use the fishing poles and stuff. It's just a bad fish day today."

Hunching over his knees, Doppo sighed. He and Hifumi must've had different definitions of "pro."

At his right, Jakurai chuckled and Doppo's mood brightened a bit; he couldn't bring himself to be disappointed at the sound of it. True, the trip didn't quite meet his expectations but he had to admit it was a nice change of pace from sleeping the whole day. The pond's ripples wavering to and fro and the light breeze accented Hifumi's and Jakurai's conversation about the deals at the supermarket, the scene lulling the stress and tension of the work week away. To be honest, with the three of them even having the chance to spend time together like this, Doppo couldn't have imagined anything better.

"Oh!" Nearly bouncing out of his seat, Hifumi furiously wheeled the handle. "I caught something!"

"Did you really, or do you think you caught something?" Doppo eyed Hifumi’s line. It wouldn't have been Hifumi’s first false alarm. He had the tendency to shake his rod while speaking, tricking himself into thinking he caught something when he chattered on for too long.

"I did, I really did! Quick, someone get the net!"

Jakurai reacted faster than he did, the warmth at his side dissipating as he stood up to aid Hifumi with his catch. What neither of them noticed, however, was that Doppo sat with his legs outstretched before him, and Jakurai stumbled over them. In a hurry to get out of the way, Doppo dragged his legs back but his feet knocked against Jakurai's as he did so, tipping him over and sending straight into the pond with a large splash!

"Dr. Jakurai!"

"Jinguji-san!"

They ran over to the edge of the platform, watching Jakurai flail helplessly in the water as the carp scattered off in different directions. His head bobbed up and down, eventually falling under and replaced by a froth of bubbles. Sinking deeper and deeper, his long tresses splayed up like seaweed.

"O-Oh my God, t-this is my fault." Hands trembling, Doppo clutched his face. "I tripped Jinguji-san, I made him drown, I --"

Hifumi slapped his shoulder and shook him. "Now's not the time, Doppo-chin! We have to save Dr. Jakurai!"

"How?! Neither of us know how to swim!"

"I dunno! But we have to!"

Dread crept into Doppo's stomach much like Jakurai's body falling to the depths of the pond; all the while, Hifumi yelled at the water as if begging would make it spit Jakurai back out. For a Saturday, there were hardly any fishers around and the ones there were too far away to call over. The tendrils of Jakurai's hair disappeared and an eerie stillness returned to the pond.

Now or never. Ripping off his hat and vest, Doppo shoved them over to Hifumi.

"What are you doing?" Hifumi asked, taking them on the automatic.

"I'm going to save Jinguji-san." Hopefully, the fear in his voice wasn’t too obvious. Toeing off his shoes and socks, Doppo peered down the pond and calculated how deep it was. He might not know how to swim, but he knew how to hold his breath for long periods of time. The perks of not caring about whether he lived or died.

"But you said it, we don't know how to swim!" Hifumi pleaded, continuing to take his clothes.

"I sat it on some of my little brother's swimming lessons before." He took a deep breath --

"Doppo!"

-- and jumped in.

How the hell elementary school kids made swimming look so easy, Doppo didn't know; he could barely kick his legs as he sank through the pond. The carp circled around him as if mocking him for his dumb decision. Not only would he have killed Jakurai, he'd have gotten himself killed, too; he could imagine Jakurai's disappointment in the afterlife when he learned that he'd drowned the both of them. But as he struggled through the water, he spotted Jakurai floating towards the bottom and a surge of energy powered through him. He could fail himself, but he wouldn't fail Jakurai.

With his pathetic doggy paddle, he somehow reached Jakurai. But then came his second challenge: bringing him up. His weight was one thing, but carrying him wasn't an easy feat with a single arm free and his lungs burning. In his peripheral, the carp zipped by as if pushing him back, telling him to give up -- that Jakurai was already dead and it was no use. It only edged him on, Doppo using the last of his strength to break the surface.

In his arm, Jakurai's head lolled onto his shoulder. The chill running through him surely wasn't from the air.

"Doppo, grab on!"

A splash hit the surface, sending more water into his clogged ears. It was the goddamn net. Had he not been desperate to get out, he would've sighed. Still, he held onto it and let Hifumi hoist them in.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Hifumi chanted over and over as they laid Jakurai onto the ground. He hadn't made any sign of movement nor breathing since they surfaced, but Doppo pressed an ear against his chest and heard a faint heartbeat. The dread ebbed away but only crashed back like a tsunami as the whole ordeal wasn't over yet.

"We have to do something, like -- like -- like CPR." Hifumi flittered over Jakurai's body, a blond blur pacing back and forth. "How do you do that? Like this?!"

Balling his hands into fists, Hifumi slammed it hard against Jakurai's stomach. Before Doppo could yell at him, Jakurai spasmed and he threw up water. Hacking his coughs, he struggled to sit up and Doppo hurried to his side.

"I-I-I'm so sorry, Jinguji-san! Are you okay?!" Patting his back, he cringed as the question left his mouth. "I mean, how are you feeling?"

"I'm --" Cough. "I'll be --" Cough. "Fine." Cough.

"Oh my God, Doc, you almost died!" Hifumi threw his arms around Jakurai, practically squeezing the rest of the water out of him. "Who'd fish with me then?!"

"Gee, thanks for remembering me," said Doppo.

"Okay, yeah, but like you'd rather sleep! Besides, Doc catches most of our fish,” Hifumi said, if by "most," he meant "all," and by "all," he meant "one."

Doppo readied a retort, but the sound of Jakurai's scratchy chuckle made him bite it back. Instead, he let Hifumi attend to him while he rummaged through their bag for the towel. Towel procured, he returned and began patting Jakurai dry.

"You're wet, too, Doppo-kun." Jakurai sounded hoarse from all the coughing, but Doppo was thankful to be hearing him at all.

"It's all right, I'll air dry."

"Nonsense, you might catch a cold."

"But --"

Cutting in, Hifumi grabbed the towel and wrapped it around them. Doppo moved in out of instinct, not realizing how close he was to Jakurai until he bumped into his chest. Before he could back away, Hifumi started rubbing their heads.

"See? Now both of you can be dry!"

They looked up at him. With Hifumi drying them off, Jakurai and Doppo shared a smile.

"Very well. We're in your care, Hifumi-kun," Jakurai said with an amused lilt.

"Be careful, okay?"

"Jeez, Doppo-chin, you're acting like I'll tear your hair out!" Making light of his threat, Hifumi rubbed Doppo's head extra hard.

"Oi!"

As Doppo shoved him off, the three of them laughed and fell into a steady rhythm. Hifumi hummed as he worked, and a hand placed itself atop Doppo's. He glanced over at Jakurai, who sat unperturbed as if he hadn't just drowned. Ever so hesitantly, he laid his head on Jakurai's shoulder.

"By the way, Doc, weren't you part of the military?" Hifumi mused as he worked on Jakurai's hair. "Didn't you, like, have to learn how to swim?"

"Ah, doctors weren't required to undergo that type of training," Jakurai said. His eyes fell to the pond, blue hues reflecting off them like waves. "Besides, I... have a tendency to sink like a rock."

"So you suck at swimming."

"Hifumi."

Jakurai chuckled. "You could say that it's not my strong point."

"Haha, y'know what that reminds me of? Doppo really sucked at PE. Like, one time we were playing volleyball and --"

"Jinguji-san doesn't need to know about that!"

"He's your boyfriend, of course he does. So, anyways..."

Groaning, Doppo buried his face into Jakurai's shoulder while Hifumi recounted The Volleyball Incident. When he'd gotten to the part where he gave not one, not two, but three of their classmates bloody noses, Doppo risked a peek up. Jakurai nodded along as Hifumi spoke, an amused smile on his face, but he met his eyes then and leaned in closer.

"I wasn't much better, I have to admit," he said in a whisper meant solely for him. "I gave my teacher a concussion and another classmate a broken arm during a game of basketball once."

Hiding his mouth behind his palm, Doppo snorted. The image of a younger Jakurai stumbling around in a gym and wrecking havoc popped into mind, a contrast to the serene figure he knew today but one he'd keep close. He supposed Jakurai's hands hadn't always been used for healing, but that made that fact all the greater.

iv.

In spite of of Doppo's unlucky streak, there was a tiny silver lining in it in the form of Jakurai. Despite Hifumi's reminders and the news warning of the thunderstorm coming that evening, he'd forgotten his umbrella when he rushed out the apartment. While he'd been lamenting his situation during the last of his overtime hours, Jakurai had messaged him asking if he'd like a ride since he'd be getting out of work soon. With the storm showing no sign of letting up, Jakurai also offered him to stay over at his place because it was closer. Doppo's instincts had told him not to impose any further, but the thunder boomed louder than his hesitation so he took him up on his offer.

Shooting a text to Hifumi that he wouldn't be home tonight, Doppo stretched his back and cringed at the cracks that resounded. He flopped onto the sofa with a hiss, his body protesting as it hit the firm material.

"Are you feeling well, Doppo-kun?" Jakurai's voice drew closer as he returned to the living room, a change of clothes for him in his hands -- Doppo's own clothes that he'd left behind after the first time he stayed over at Jakurai's place. Doppo never understood how wearing your partner's clothes was supposed to be "cute." He only felt embarrassed when he put on Jakurai's lounge wear, the shirt hanging loosely off his frame and the pants running past his feet.

"Just fine," Doppo said, rolling his shoulders and wincing. "My body feels kind of sore, is all."

"I should have some eucalyptus oil to relieve the pain, if you would like to try?"

Doppo opened his mouth to reject his offer, but a sharp pain ran through his back and he clamped it shut. He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "That'd be great."

Setting his clothes next to him, Jakurai left once again. Doppo figured he might as well get changed now, so he picked up the clothes and made his way to the bathroom. Unbuttoning his shirt, he froze as he saw the heat pads on his shoulders in the mirror, sickly white against his pale skin. He chewed his lip, recalling Hifumi's words from that morning and the chitchat of his co-workers. Instinctively, he tugged his shirt closer.

"Doppo-kun, I have the oil. Would you like me to apply it?"

The door hinges creaked as the door opened and Doppo rushed to press it closed.

"T-Thank you, Jinguji-san, but I got it," Doppo said, peeking his head through the small space he allowed between them. He stuck his fingers out for the bottle, straining to keep his shoulders out of sight.

Jakurai frowned, brows furrowing. He made no move to give it to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, like I said, I'm just sore."

Jakurai tried again to open the door with more force, but Doppo put his weight on it and shoved back. "Is there a reason you won't let me see you?"

"N-No, no reason."

"If there's something wrong, I would be more than glad to take a look at it. It's better to be safe than sorry." There it was: his Doctor Voice, the one that wouldn't let any potential ailment go unchecked. Though typically calming, it nagged Doppo in that moment.

"No! No, it's nothing like that, I... ugh." Counting to ten, Doppo slowly opened the door all the way. He hunched his shoulders in, he rubbed at the pads, and he kept his gaze on the floor. "I'm... wearing heat pads. I know -- I know it's really unattractive. I'm not even thirty yet, but Hifumi called me an 'old man' for wearing them. And the other day I heard my co-workers say they're a major turn off --"

"Doppo-kun."

Doppo's head snapped up and he let out a small "eep!". He covered his eyes, the clamminess of his hands cool against the heat rising to his cheeks, as Jakurai took his sweater off. Although, he couldn't help it if he peeked a little bit. Only enough to see Jakurai's arm muscles tensing and contracting. Doppo widened the spaces between his fingers ever so slightly.

Folding his sweater over his arm, Jakurai pulled his hair back and -- oh. Doppo's mouth hung ajar. On Jakurai's shoulders sat a pair of heat pads, much like the ones he wore on his own. Gently, Jakurai tugged Doppo's hands down.

"I wear them, too, see? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about." Eyes crinkling, he chuckled. "We match."

Doppo huffed out a laugh, though any other thought running through his mind stopped short as his eyes wandered downwards. He'd always imagined Jakurai's body to be as perfect as the lavender locks that flowed down his back, to be free of blemishes, toned, and fit -- a figure befitting a man so heavenly like him. Though toned and fit appeared to be the case, the same couldn't be said of blemish-free. Marks and scars ran through his body, through his abdomen, and through his arms that ranged from muddy reds to matte whites, from short nicks to long gashes, from deeply depressed to highly pronounced.

And yet Jakurai stood there as if none of them existed.

"You have scars?" Doppo asked before he could think. He slapped his mouth. "Sorry, I just noticed them."

"It's okay, I do not mind them." Following his gaze, Jakurai's expression fell into a neutral one. "Most of them are from the war."

Fixated on the wounds that grazed him, Doppo stepped forward; likewise, Jakurai kept quiet as he approached though he showed no sign of apprehension. Fingers trembling, Doppo lifted a hand. "Can I touch them?"

Jakurai inhaled sharply, the sound harsh and strident against the stillness. "Yes, you may."

His fingers hovered over his chest, and Doppo looked up at Jakurai once more. Jakurai nodded.

Slowly, Doppo traced the longest one first -- the jagged one that ran from the lower left side of his abdomen to beneath his right pectoral, outlined in a coarse pink that encased dull white and protruded his skin. He'd gotten it during a melee, Jakurai told him, where he'd been cornered. The other men had been taken out, but one of them survived and lunged at him with a knife. Jakurai managed to defend himself, though barely.

"I thought you weren't allowed to attack medical units?" Doppo asked.

The corners twitching, Jakurai's lips pursed together.

"...There is often no regard for rules in war." He stated it like a fact, simple as that. No wonder, Doppo thought, that women had eradicated violence when they overtook the government.

His fingers traveled up, right to the round wounds about the length of his thumb on Jakurai's bicep. Like a pair of twins, they sat right next to each other, identical in every way what with being faded dark splotches that dipped into his skin. Gun shots, Jakurai told him; he'd been assisting a few wounded soldiers back to the hospital, but the enemy had crossed no-man's land and started firing. All the soldiers who he'd been helping died.

"I never thought you'd get caught in the crossfire..."

"Being in an active war zone means putting one's self amidst the action," Jakurai said, voice even. His azure irises hazed over like a fog.

They continued on like that, with Doppo tracing the scars that marked his body and Jakurai explaining the story behind each one -- each fight he endured, each body he encountered, each soldier he tried to save. Having lived in the relative peace of their homeland his whole life, Doppo shuddered hearing Jakurai recount his experiences; though, in all honesty, whether it was because of the contents of his tales or the tone Jakurai took on, he wasn't sure. He spoke with an indifference to his words, as if disconnecting himself from the events, but a tinge of regret underlain it all.

Doppo was sorry. Sorry that he had to see all of that, sorry that he couldn't do anything to absolve him of the blood stained on his hands, sorry he couldn't relieve him of the anguish he suffered through. But there was little his apologies could do in the first place and so he kept quiet.

Reaching their last stop, Doppo's fingers came to a set of scars on his right wrist. They were different from the others strewn across his body; a multitude of stripes that had carved their way into his skin, each mark precisely made and organized rather than serrated and scattered. Paler than his ivory skin, they held a blotchy, white color to them. Jakurai's wrist spasmed as he made contact with them, his arm jerking in place. His eyes didn't meet his.

"Ah, those are... older scars."

He didn't need to say anything more.

Letting go, Doppo hastily unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it back. The scars on his left wrist were redder and thicker, angrier and more distinct; they zig-zagged and criss-crossed, their own kind of morbid pattern. Lower down laid some keloids that formed years ago. They were a sight Doppo had long grown used to, a sight he'd grown to hate, a sight that he was tempted to continue working on to this day.

He was sorry. Sorry for being so weak, sorry for being so cowardly, sorry for being so useless. But he pushed his apologies down and he held his wrist next to Jakurai's.

"Mine are, too," Doppo said, voice feeble. Their scars might've looked different, but they weren't unlike each other's. "...We really do match."

Carefully, Jakurai ran his fingers over the scars. Doppo resisted the urge to rip his hand away, his wrist twitching in his hold. Only Hifumi had ever seen his scars this close, having avoided the matter with his parents as much as he possibly could. But Jakurai's touch was gentle and delicate, caressing the wounds as if they'd re-open at the wrong move and inspecting them with a grim interest.

Jakurai let out a mirthless laugh. Softly, he said, "We make quite the pair, don't we?"

As the storm continued to rage outside, they fell into a silence, sharing unspoken words of a similar sorrow.

Neither he nor Jakurai were the touchy-feely type, much to Hifumi's displeasure. No matter how many times he insisted that they "act more like a couple" and pushed them to get out of their comfort zones, they reserved those gestures for private spaces and intimate moments. In fact, Doppo preferred it that way since it made it easier to keep things between them on the down low -- something they both agreed to early on in their relationship. He received enough attention by having a loud mouth for a best friend and being a member of Matenrou, he didn't need people poking their noses into his business for dating the renowned Jinguji Jakurai either.

But nothing ever worked out Doppo's way.

"Wow~★ So the rumors are true?"

It was his fault that things came to this. His fault for not being discreet in their interactions, his fault for causing rumors to circulate, his fault for suggesting they go to the tea house bordering Shibuya, his fault they ran into Amemura Ramuda -- the very bane of Jakurai's existence. Rarely did Jakurai show any sign of annoyance that Doppo couldn't help but cower at the storm brewing in his azure irises, even if the look wasn't directed at him.

"I believe I do not know what you're talking about, Amemura-kun," Jakurai said, tone curt. No doubt Jakurai was tall, but his height had always served as a comfort, a safe space where Doppo tucked himself underneath his chin within moments of stillness. Right then, however, he loomed over Ramuda's small figure like a wolf cornering the pup that dared cross his path.

"Huh? For real?!" Widening his eyes, Ramuda's hands flew to his cheeks with a pop! Maybe it was because Doppo wasn't used to him, but Ramuda's voice sounded like it'd gotten higher since their last encounter -- grating and pitchy, a noise more annoying than the city’s clamor. "Everyone's talking about it, y'know. They're saying that Matenrou's leader is dating one of his members!"

Ramuda's eyes landed on him, lips curling into a grin that seemed akin to a sneer. Bouncing onto the heels of his feet, Ramuda bent forward to get a better look at him but Jakurai stepped in between them acting as a shield.

"Doppo-kun is my teammate."

"So you're having some team bonding without the other one?" Ramuda stood on his tiptoes, jumping up and down with his hands framing his eyes like binoculars to scan the crowds.

"Hifumi-kun is busy."

"You're just leaving him out? That's so mean, Jakurai!" Ramuda stopped hopping and he crossed his arms, cheeks puffing out as he stuck his chin up towards Jakurai. From behind, Doppo saw how Jakurai clenched his fists and how his veins bulged in his skin. "I bet what you're doing is really, really, really bo~ring, too!"

"That’s none of your business --"

Without warning, Ramuda shoved Jakurai to the side and skipped right up to him. Before Doppo could react, Ramuda grabbed his hands and swung them up-and-down so hard he worried his arms would pop out their sockets. For someone so damn tiny, Ramuda had a strong grip. Peering up at him, Ramuda tilted his head to the side and batted his long, long eyelashes.

"Why don't ya leave that stuffy, old man and join me today, Mr. Salary-man~? I'm sure you'll have tons and tons of fun with my honeys! ♥" His finely manicured nails poking into his palms, he dragged him into the crowd and the one thing keeping Doppo from tripping over his feet was Ramuda's vice grip.

"Um --"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't manhandle my teammate, Amemura-kun," Jakurai cut in. A contrast to his usual gentleness, Jakurai pushed Ramuda away and Doppo's back hit Jakurai's chest as he wrapped his arm around him. Meanwhile, Ramuda stumbled backwards, pink hair bouncing against his shoulders, and he pouted in a way that put spoiled, little girls to shame. Jakurai's grip on him tightened.

"But you're doing the same!" Ramuda whined, hands on his hips. "Besides, you didn't even ask him what he wanted. See what a big meanie you are?!"

Jakurai's chest rose and fell, the exhale of his sigh a heavy weight blowing through his hair. Reluctantly, Jakurai let go of him and his backside grew colder as he left him. Jakurai wore an unreadable expression.

"Well, Doppo-kun." Doppo squirmed in spot, hearing the traces of irritation that leaked through. As if sensing his discomfort, Jakurai's face softened and he continued speaking in a calmer tone. "Do you have anything to say?"

Two pairs of eyes stared at him -- a bitter azure and an icy blue. Doppo's decision had long been made, but that didn't make him any less stressed. The rejection would probably make Ramuda bother Jakurai more which would make Jakurai more upset and it would be all because of him. Mentally berating himself for this whole mess, Doppo turned to Ramuda and dipped his head. He gulped.

"T-Thank you for the offer, Amemura-kun, but I'm sorry, Jingu -- Dr. Jinguji and I already made plans for the day."

He might've been seeing things, but he could've sworn he saw Ramuda's mouth twitch.

"Awww, but you're gonna miss out on sooo much fun!" Face scrunching up, Ramuda's shoulders drooped and he kicked the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. But with the blink of an eye, he perked up and returned his gaze. "But, I totally get it! That dumb-dumb Jakurai doesn't let go of anything, so I guess you'll have to be his prisoner for the day."

Grabbing his collar, Ramuda pulled him down to his level and Doppo's stomach churned at the sugary, saccharine scent of his perfume. He met Jakurai’s eyes, placing a kiss on Doppo's cheek with a particularly loud mwah that drowned out the noise of passersby. He grinned a smile that sent a shiver down Doppo's spine.

"Hit me up if you ever wanna have some fun! Catch ya later, Mr. Salary-man~! ♥"

Ramuda winked at him and stuck his tongue out at Jakurai, running off before either of them could say anything else. Once he'd disappeared into the sea of people, Doppo released the breath he'd been holding and the tension eased out of his body. He thought that spending two decades with Hifumi was exhausting, but a couple of minutes with Ramuda left him deader than dead.

"Are you okay, Doppo-kun?" Jakurai's voice returned to its mild cadence, but a ghost of a scowl lingered on his features. He cupped his face, his thumb stroking the cheek that Ramuda had kissed to wipe off the lip gloss residue. Though, with the force with which he rubbed, he might've been trying to wipe off the kiss altogether.

Fidgeting at his touch, Doppo's eyes shifted from side-to-side. "Yeah, but are you?"

Jakurai's frown deepened.

"Yes," Jakurai said in a clipped tone. "Amemura-kun is just... quite a special character."

Doppo nodded, not daring to press further lest he irritate Jakurai any more. He couldn't fault him, anyways. Even if he didn't know exactly what happened between the two, Amemura Ramuda embodied the cacophony of the city and the chaos of the crowds that pissed him off to no end and that was enough to put him off.

"Anyhow, it's best to forget that happened. Shall we get going?" Not giving him a chance to respond, Jakurai grabbed his hand and pulled him along. While keeping up with Jakurai's strides usually didn't pose a problem, Doppo stumbled over his feet as he followed behind.

"J-Jinguiji-san, we're in public...!"

Jakurai paused and Doppo nearly ran into his back at the sudden stop. Lips quirking up in a rather crooked manner for a gentleman like him, Jakurai turned to him with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. Doppo's breath caught in his throat.

"There’s no harm if others know that you are my teammate, hm?"

Heat rushed to Doppo's cheeks and he shook his head, not trusting himself with words. Jakurai squeezed his hand, which he returned, and they made their way to their destination. A selfless saint who always gave yet never took was all he'd ever known Jakurai to be, but as Doppo fell in step with him, he wouldn't deny that seeing this side sent a thrill throughout his body.

vi.

Silence and stares weren't normally part of the menu -- especially when the planets aligned to get him out of work on time and let Jakurai join them for dinner -- but Doppo found himself at the center of stunned attention that evening. Hifumi's chopsticks clattered onto his plate, jaw dropping to the table and eyebrows flying up to meet his hairline. Across from him, Jakurai's face bloomed into a red that rivaled the color of Doppo's hair and his bottom lip quivered slightly.

Doppo squinted at them. "What?"

"You said it, Doppo-chin."

"Said what?"

"Doc's name, you said it!"

Doppo looked at him incredulously. "Yeah? It's ‘Jinguji-san’ --"

"No, not like that!" Posture drooping, Hifumi picked up his chopsticks and mimicked Doppo's pose. In fake annoyance, he said, "'Hifumi! What Jakurai and I do at his place is none of your business!'"

Replaying the sentence over and over in his mind, Doppo's eyes bulged wide. Holy shit. He did say that, didn't he? He looked over at Jakurai, who'd buried the lower part of his face with his palm and looked at his half-eaten food as if it was the most interesting thing on the Earth; his usual perfect posture faltered under his gawking.

No matter how many times Jakurai assured him that calling him by his first name was all right, no matter how many times Hifumi urged him on, no matter how many times he told himself that no, it wasn't disrespectful to call your boyfriend by his first name, Doppo always found himself tongue-tied whenever he tried to speak it and fell back to "Jinguji-san." Somehow, he'd beaten out the "Doctor" habit, but crossing the first name boundary seemed about as possible as that damn manager of his cutting him some slack.

Who knew that all it took was an incredibly taxing day at work and a lack of patience?

"I-I'm so sorry, Jinguji-san --"

"Boo!" Hifumi pouted, giving a thumb's down. "You said it already, no going back!"

"You butt out of this --"

"Now, now, let’s settle down," said Jakurai, a warble in his voice. He cleared his throat, the red dusting his cheeks having faded to a bright pink, and schooled his face into a neutral expression -- or as neutral as wobbly lips and an unsteady gaze could be, that was. "Hifumi-kun, let Doppo-kun take things at his own pace. Doppo-kun, it's not everyday we are able to have dinner with Hifumi-kun so let's enjoy it."

Hifumi mumbled an "okay" and grumbled, but as always, he was quick to return to his upbeat attitude and started chattering on about some stray cat he saw on the way home from the supermarket earlier. Doppo, meanwhile, kept quiet and watched as Hifumi and Jakurai carried the conversation. His eyes caught Jakurai's, but Jakurai looked down after a moment's hesitation and gave him a stiff smile. All of a sudden, Doppo didn't feel hungry anymore.

After they finished dinner, Doppo washed the dishes while Hifumi got ready for work and though he insisted otherwise, Jakurai volunteered to help him. Usually, working in silence wasn't a problem between them, but the awkwardness in the air led to the simple task stretching out for an eternity where Doppo skirted around him -- made worse whenever he brushed up against him or had to say something.

"Sorry, J -- ...sorry."

"J -- Um, can you pass those plates?"

"Did you get those yet, J -- ...yeah."

The last of the dishes settled into the dish rack with a louder clack than necessary. Jakurai turned to him.

"Doppo-kun, you do not need to be so afraid of saying my name." A hint of exasperation lied underneath his calm tone. "Either of them, for that matter."

"I'm sorry," Doppo said as he wiped the counter dry, moving methodically to avoid the look Jakurai gave him. "I just -- I just don't want to overstep any more boundaries."

Jakurai's face softened, though a frown marred his features. "Whoever said there were any?"

"I mean, you're you." Doppo flailed the towel in his direction, drops of water flying off. "You're Dr. Jinguji Jakurai, you're a genius who lowered the death rate on the front lines and you were part of the legendary Dirty Dawg and you're a really great guy in general." He heaved a sigh, the towel falling to his side as he slumped. "And I'm... me."

The dripping of the faucet filled the pause that followed, Doppo fidgeting in spot. His low self-esteem was no secret to either of them, neither were the comparisons he constantly made between them. For every "I don't deserve you," he uttered, Jakurai countered with a "You deserve the world," but his words could only do so much to stave off the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him Jakurai was way out of his league. Some days his reassurances were easier to swallow, others virtually impossible. And now that he'd spoken Jakurai's name as if they were equals of all things, his doubts suffocated him.

Hurriedly, Doppo returned to drying the counter. "It's dumb, I know --"

"Yes, you're you," Jakurai said. He took Doppo's chin and lifted his head up to meet his eyes, gracing him with a smile. "You're Kannonzaka Doppo, a salary-man who works incredibly hard, a member of the battle season’s champion Matenrou, and a very good friend. That's pretty amazing, no?"

Doppo couldn't bring himself to return the smile. "That's nowhere near as impressive as you."

Tenderly, Jakurai stroked Doppo's chin. "Your feats are separate from mine. Mine are not worth more than yours."

"But --"

Jakurai pressed his thumb against Doppo's lips, shushing him. "We're partners, correct? Are we not equals?"

A lump formed in Doppo's throat, his question ringing in his ears. He'd never entertained such an outrageous idea; the very notion of it incomprehensible, unfathomable. Someone as unremarkable as him paled in comparison to Jakurai's glory. Matching the crest of Shinjuku's skyscrapers that pierced the skies, Jakurai stood atop a pedestal kilometers high and all Doppo could do was stop and stare.

But here Jakurai was, the one who he'd admired for so long placing them on the even ground.

His instincts, inevitably, yelled at him to refute him -- that he was just saying things, he was simply placating him, he was merely leading him on. But for as much as his demons twisted Jakurai's words and strangled him with them, Jakurai himself shone a light upon him whilst stuck in a tempest of torments and cleared his mind, if only for a short while; his doubts would probably never leave, but Jakurai always won over all else. If he couldn't trust himself, he could at least trust Jakurai.

The weight on his chest a little bit lighter, Doppo gave a sheepish smile.

"We are, I guess. Thank you... um..." He forced out the name on the tip of his tongue. "...Jakurai."

The serenity on Jakurai's face immediately scrunched up in embarrassment, and he squeezed his eyes shut as red colored his cheeks once again.

"You're welcome, Doppo-kun," he said, choking the sentence out.

"Er, are you okay... Jakurai?"

Covering his face with his hands, he nodded vigorously and the strands of his hair fell out of place.

"...Jaku -- huh?!"

Pulling him into an embrace, Jakurai buried his face into his shoulder. Pressed up against him, the warmth of his blush seeped through his shirt and his unsteady breaths tickled the nape of his neck.

"Forgive me, Doppo-kun," came Jakurai's muffled voice. "Even though I said that you may call me by my name, I’m not used to being addressed so informally."

"T-Then I'll call you 'Jakurai-san' --"

"No." Jakurai shook his head, long locks flying from side-to-side. Softly, he said, "It makes me happy when you call me 'Jakurai.'"

Doppo’s heart thumped, skipping a beat or two at that. In the end, all he wanted was to make Jakurai happy. He'd do his best to never let him down, and he could start with something so bold such as saying his name.

"Okay..." He paused. "Jakurai."

If he strained his ears enough, he could hear Jakurai let out a noise. Doppo grinned and patted his back, a chuckle bubbling within his chest. "Mature" was one of the first words he thought of when it came to Jakurai, but "cute" fit him as well.

"...Jakurai?" Doppo said, the name still strange on his tongue. Nonetheless, it brought him a sense of giddiness he had to admit he enjoyed.

"Yes, Doppo-kun?"

"If I can call you 'Jakurai,' you can just call me 'Doppo.'"

Jakurai's knees buckled underneath his weight and Doppo used all his strength to keep them from toppling over. In the background, Hifumi whooped.

vii.

Another bought of restlessness struck tonight, though Doppo couldn't tell if it was due to his insomnia or from laying beside Jakurai. It wasn't as if this was the first time they'd shared a bed, but his body weighed so heavily, so uncomfortably, that he feared waking him up from his much needed rest with his bare existence. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded sleeping on the futon, or even the couch, but Jakurai insisted that it was fine and he wasn't one to argue with him.

As quietly as possible, Doppo turned over to see Jakurai sleeping away. He laid so still that the only indication he was alive was the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breaths barely audible within the silence of the room. A part of him was tempted to clutch onto the tail of his braid, plaited across his shoulder with not a strand out of place, but he fought the urge so as to not ruin the image of the sleeping beauty. Watching him deep in slumber, Doppo's lips quirked up regardless of his own fatigue. At least one of them was able to get some sleep.

The hands of the clock on Jakurai's side ticked by gratingly, reading 1:03 in an ever present reminder that work was steadily approaching. He watched as the minutes changed, every sixty seconds feeling like sixty lifetimes, before stifling a sigh and carefully pulling himself out of bed. Jakurai mentioned he had sleeping pills somewhere around, if he was remembering correctly. Normally he'd ask first, but he didn't dare wake him for something as small as this. If he could find them, he'd apologize first thing in the morning and buy replacements himself.

As his feet hit the cool, wooden floor, a low murmur made him freeze. He turned back, an apology ready on his tongue -- "Sorry for waking you up," "Sorry for taking things without asking" -- but Jakurai simply laid there the same way he left him. One beat, two beats, three beats, four; the sound didn't come back. Rubbing his ears, Doppo wondered if he was so tired that he'd started hearing things. He pushed himself off the bed when a groan filled the room.

He snapped back to Jakurai, still lying motionless but his features twisted in agitation. Doppo drew closer to his side, another groan escaping Jakurai's lips while his brows furrowed together.

"Jakurai?" Doppo shook his shoulder. His murmurs grew louder and his breathing became more erratic. Chest heaving heavily, his shoulders tensed and his hands clutched the duvet.

"Jakurai." Doppo shook harder, to which Jakurai's head jerked to the side. His braid became tousled as he began fidgeting, strands sticking to the sweat beads rolling down his face and neck. Biting his lip, Doppo watched as his body convulsed. Whatever he was dreaming of only seemed to be getting worse.

Breaking Jakurai's fingers free of their death grip on the duvet, Doppo grabbed his cold, clammy hands and squeezed hard. Hoping the gesture would have the same effect as it did on Hifumi during his nightmares, he tugged up.

"Jakurai!"

Jakurai's eyes shot open with a gasp, darting around the room as if in search for something -- or rather, like something was searching for him -- and his nails dug crater-deep crescents into Doppo's palm. He curled in on himself as he sat up, poised to protect himself as if he were under attack. His mouth hung open, breaths short and rapid, and finally his shaken gaze landed on him.

"...Doppo?"

"I'm here." Doppo squeezed harder. "You were having a nightmare, I think."

Running a hand down his face, the strands of Jakurai’s hair fell loose and clung to his skin which had taken on a deathly, pale hue.

"I... I believe that's right, yes." Nodding, he swallowed hard and his eyes fell to his lap. He shivered, the sensation rippling throughout his nerves and onto Doppo.

"What was it about?" Doppo asked, barely above a whisper. When Jakurai's fingers twitched, he hastily added, "I’m sorry. I mean, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

In the silence of the night, Jakurai's gasps echoed loudly throughout. He sat motionless hunched over his figure, save for the heaving of his chest as he took in air, deeply and desperately. His lavender locks curtained his hooded gaze, sockets holding empty eyes that dulled and slackened. As his breathing steadily returned to a normal rate, his grip on him loosened though he didn't let go. Likewise, Doppo remained equally as still -- scared that any movement would set him off or that any sound would send him into disarray again.

With a small voice, Jakurai broke the quiet.

"It's a dream I have often." Azure irises taking on a faraway look, he stared ahead at nothing in particular.

"...Yeah?" was all Doppo could respond with. Comfort might not be his strong suit, but at the very least, he could listen.

"I may have saved many lives on the battlefield, but I've also taken just as many and failed much more." Try as he might to keep his voice even, it quavered and shook as convulsions racked his body. Inching closer towards him, Doppo rubbed circles onto his hands with his thumbs. Jakurai's jaw clenched, the only response to his touch. "Those lives... in my dreams, they haunt me. The ones I failed curse me for abandoning them and the others try to drag me straight down to hell with them."

Eyelids shutting close, he shuddered. The wrinkles framing his eyes deepened, his cheek bones hollower. Hesitantly, Doppo wrapped an arm around him; after a moment, the other one followed and he embraced him tightly. His presence was all he could offer him, as little as it meant.

The clock's hands ticked on, and Jakurai's arms circled around his waist and he pulled him into his lap. Resting his chin atop his head, the beating of Jakurai's heart hammered wildly against his ear.

"Perhaps that’s my fate and I deserve it." Doppo's heart broke at how resigned he sounded, stomach churning at how weak his words were. Neither suited Jakurai, neither felt right. "I have been called a genius for my work, but sometimes I wonder if I truly am one when there were so many lives I couldn't help."

"That's not your fault," Doppo said, louder than intended. Jakurai's jaw clenched against his head, his hold on him trembling as it tightened. "You're -- You're just one person. You couldn't have possibly saved everyone. Not by yourself." Softly, he continued. "You did what you could and... I think that's enough."

A stillness fell over, and he felt Jakurai's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed his words. He made neither a move nor a sound, but the drumming of his heart slowed to a steadier tempo. An apology bubbled up on Doppo's tongue as the seconds of silence passed -- for overstepping his place, for butting into something he knew next to nothing about -- but Jakurai pressed his lips onto the top of his head before he could spit it out.

"Thank you, Doppo. I needed to hear that." He spoke quietly, but the fragility in his voice dissipated. Sitting back, he still wore an ashen expression, but the storm had left his eyes. Relief washed over Doppo at the small smile Jakurai gave him. Though not the strong and gentle face he was used to seeing, it was better than before.

"You're welcome," Doppo said, thankful for the darkness covering his blush. "I-I'm here for you, if ever you need someone to listen."

Another kiss met his forehead and Jakurai's fingers threaded through his hair, slowly and gingerly. "I know. Now, forgive me for disturbing you. Let's get back to sleep, shall we?"

"Haha, right..."

Deciding to keep his restlessness to himself, he followed Jakurai's lead and laid back down. Here, Doppo found himself in the same position as he was earlier: awake, with sleep far from his grasp. He should've been used to this by now but he suppressed his sigh, not wanting to burden Jakurai any further with his own problems. As he contemplated his previous decision of searching for sleeping pills, Jakurai shifted beside him and their fingers brushed against each other's.

"Doppo..." His name hung in the air, faintly like the sounds of cars driving by in the distance. "May I hold you?"

He waited a beat before hooking their fingers together. "Yeah."

Permission given, Jakurai wasted no time wrapping his arms around Doppo and cradling him. Doppo's head pressed up against his chest, his heartbeats playing a steady rhythm in his ear and his breaths a light breeze through the strands of his hair. Finding a comfortable spot atop his waist, Doppo's arms encircled him and their legs tangled together underneath the duvet. Despite everything, Jakurai's embrace was always warm.

Neither of them managed to fall asleep that night, but they were at least able to find some semblance of peace in each other.

viii.

Date nights where they actually went out were few and far in between considering their schedules, not that Doppo minded. The times where they'd fall asleep on each other on the couch were good enough for him, but he had to admit that going out for once was a nice change of pace. Although, yes, he much preferred the quiet night ins. he didn't care where they went nor what they did so as long as they were together.

Waiting in the living room, he checked his watch -- not out of dread, but out of anticipation for the evening ahead. They'd stopped by Jakurai's place first after finishing their shifts since he had some documents to drop off, though Doppo certainly wasn't complaining about the respite. Sinking into the couch, his eyelids fluttered closed and he pinched himself to stay awake as sleep tempted him. A dull thud came from further in the apartment, shaking the rest of his exhaustion off.

"Jakurai?"

No response.

Standing up and walking towards the bedroom, a sinking feeling fell through Doppo's stomach while he fought off his negative thoughts as best he could.

"Jakurai...? Oh --"

Crouched before his closet, a box had spilled over onto the floor that scattered an array of photographs and badges and other trinkets around Jakurai's feet. They laid there ignored, though, in favor for the photo he held in his hand. From his angle, Doppo couldn't make out the image but he could see the way he pressed his lips together in a fine line and the way his brow creased as he looked at it with hazy eyes.

Doppo fidgeted by the door. "Do you need help?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Jakurai blinked and turned his attention to him.

"My apologies for the delay, I..." He glanced back at the photograph. "I got distracted."

"It's okay," Doppo muttered as he hurried to his side.

He picked up the items with haste, trying his best not to dwell on them -- badges with symbols he couldn't identify, photographs with memories he wasn't privy to, mementos of a life Jakurai led without him in it. They held no meaning to him, though perhaps the lack of meaning was meaning in and of itself; for all they've gone through together, there was still so much he didn't know about him. In his peripheral, Jakurai worked at a much slower pace, or maybe it was more accurate to say not at all. Each emblem he turned over, each photograph he took, each piece of years gone by that he picked up was held with a delicacy that made him think they'd come alive and bite back if handled clumsily.

When he was done with his side, Doppo arranged everything he'd collected into a neat pile much like the many paperwork he'd done at work. Making sure not a thing was out of place, he held them out to him. But, Jakurai didn't take them. His face held a pensive expression, his azure eyes a still sea.

Jakurai clutched the photograph he'd been looking at when he entered the room. "Doppo, you were curious about these before, yes?"

"No," Doppo blurted out. At Jakurai's raised eyebrow, he scratched his chin and chuckled nervously. "Well, maybe a little bit. Just a little! You don't have to share anything you don't want to."

Taking the stack from him, carefully and cautiously, Jakurai sat down on the floor.

"I want to."

Doppo looked back and forth between Jakurai and the remnants of his past. "Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to feel obligated to, or anything."

Jakurai huffed a laugh, lips quirking up with a forlorn touch. "Yes, I'm very sure."

Moving over to make more room, he patted the empty space beside him. The seconds of the clock ticked a full rotation around the dial before Doppo crawled over and sat next to him. Their shoulders leaning against one another's, Jakurai handed him the photograph. It was the same one that he'd seen a while ago -- the group photo of The Dirty Dawg smiling together as if their reign wasn't fated to crash and burn, to destroy each other, to break apart in a matter of months for reasons he never dared to ask. Despite being a thin piece of paper, it weighed heavily between his fingertips.

"If... we're to have some sort of future together, I thought I ought to share these with you." Sitting right beside Jakurai like this, his soft voice reverberated throughout their shared space and vibrated through his touch. His hand covered his as he held the image of The Dirty Dawg as if to support him in the endeavor, a thumb running over the smiling faces. "A fair warning that the story behind them is rather ugly. That is, only if you do not mind listening."

For so long, Doppo had seen Jakurai as this faraway figure -- a genius among the replaceable, a legend among men, a god among mortals who'd simply blessed him with his presence. He'd pulled him out of the cacophony of the city and given him solace amidst the chaos. In a world that punished them for existing and cursed them for fighting back, Jakurai stood as an unwavering pillar, the white of his lab coat a sight he'd always be following but his figure one he'd never walk side-by-side with.

But as time went on, his image of him shifted.

Jinguji Jakurai was indeed a pillar that wavered -- a genius that knew not everything of the world and held finite patience, a legend that faltered and stumbled in the face on intimacy, a god that suffered through haunted memories and bore never fading scars. Yet somehow he stood strong and steadfast, resolute and firm in his beliefs, caring and gentle in his touch in spite of all that he faced. Neither a genius nor a legend nor a god he might be, but rather a man who felt, a man who hurt, a man who loved just as he did.

There were many sides of Jakurai that Doppo had come to see, so many things he'd come to experience. At the same time, the very proof of all the things he still didn't know stared back at him. The unreachable sat within grasp and the space separating them grew smaller and smaller with each passing day.

Shaking his head, Doppo leaned in closer. Perhaps Jakurai wasn't so far out of reach like he'd once thought.

"I don't mind."

#hypnosis microphone #hypnosis mic #hypmic #jakudo #jakudoppo

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aswithasunbeam · 7 years

Text

Homecoming, a Hamliza fanfic

Summary: Eliza and her family are thrilled to finally have her husband home from the war, but Hamilton is far from well. She cares for him.

Warnings: Enslaved character; vomiting

[Read on A03]

The bed was empty.

Eliza halted in the doorway with the tea tray, looking about the room with confusion. Medicinal bottles still cluttered the side table beside the water basin. Eliza’s dressing gown still hung over the back of the chair by the bed. The stale air of the room was just the same as when she’d left. Only her husband was missing.

She placed the tea tray down on the bureau and pressed her palm against her back in a futile effort to ease the ache that had sat there since she entered her seventh month of pregnancy. Where had he gone? She moved towards the bed, her brow wrinkled with worry. The bedding was disordered; the sheets and pillow case were damp with sweat.

The creak of a floorboard caught her ear, and she turned to see Hamilton braced against the door frame, face pale and shiny with perspiration.

“Hamilton!” she gasped, hurrying towards him as fast as her protruding belly would allow. “What are you doing out of bed?”

He coughed roughly into his fist, but then smiled weakly. “I went for a bath,” he answered when he had his breath back.

“A bath,” she repeated flatly. Unbelievable. He nodded. His smile made his blue eyes glitter. She gazed up at his handsome features and debated whether to kiss him or slap him. Perhaps both. “Do you know how worried I was? I didn’t know where you were.”

His smile dimmed. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

The apology dispelled some of the urge to slap him, so she leaned up to kiss him softly. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt his muscles trembling under the strain of standing. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I’m all right,” he whispered, but he didn’t object when she slipped an arm under his own to brace him.

He refused to get into the bed. Instead, he sunk into her chair, his head tipping back and his eyes falling shut. “Diana promised to bring fresh bedding,” he explained. “The sheets are soaked. I believe my fever has finally broken.”

Before she could say anything, the house keeper entered carrying a bundle of fresh linen. “I have some nice fresh sheets for you, Colonel Hamilton. I’ll have these changed in just a few moments,” Diana cooed reassuringly. “Are you feeling better after your bath, sir?”

“Much improved, thank you,” Hamilton replied, giving the middle aged servant a charming smile. Diana, who Betsey had rarely seen so much a smile during the whole of her childhood, quite nearly giggled at Hamilton’s attention. Hamilton seemed to have that effect on the whole female sex. Diana must have been the one to draw the bath for him when Eliza went for refreshment downstairs, she realized.

“Betsey, darling, would you open the window?” he requested as they watched Diana efficiently stripping the bed.

“It’s December. You’ll catch your death,” Eliza refused.

“Just for a few minutes?” he pleaded, turning those eyes back to her. “I could do with some fresh air.” His palm moved gently over his middle, gliding over the soft material of his night shirt to settle over his stomach. He’d told her before that the heat from the roaring fire and close air of the room made him feel queasy.

“One minute,” she agreed reluctantly. She cupped his cheek fondly and kissed his temple before going to the window. After she’d pried it open the icy air of winter rushed through, causing goose pimples to rise immediately on her arms.

Hamilton gave a sigh of relief behind her.

“There, now, Colonel. The bed is all ready for you,” Diana announced as she gathered up the sweat soiled sheets for the wash.

“Thank you, Diana,” Hamilton said, smiling again.

The stern house keeper seemed to fight down a girlish giggle once more. She eyed Eliza before taking leave of the room, warning, “Don’t leave that window open too long, Miss Betsey.”

The bedroom door closed behind her with a click.

“Do you think she will ever take to calling you Mrs. Hamilton?” Hamilton asked, chuckling softly.

“I don’t think she likes thinking that Angelica and I are old enough to be married,” Eliza explained. “She’s been with us since we were infants.”

The mirth disappeared from his face quite suddenly. She winced as she realized her misstep in mentioning the purpose of Diana’s purchase and the length of her servitude. When they were first married, Hamilton had explained his distaste for slavery. He told her the cruelty he had witnessed in the Caribbean, and about the little boy he had grown up with who had been sold immediately upon his mother’s death. Eliza agreed with him more the more she considered the issue, but neither of them were in any position to demand her parents release their servants.

She turned towards the window.

“Please, darling, just a few minutes more. It really does help,” Hamilton asked as he levied himself off the chair with a groan.

“At least get under the covers,” Eliza sighed. “I’d hate to get you back from the war only to be widowed by your insistence on fresh air.”

Something dark passed over his expression, as it always did when she mentioned the war, but it disappeared quickly, replaced by a his sunny smile as he eased into the newly made bed. “A great improvement,” he declared as he settled in. “When I woke, I was bathed in sweat and my stench offended even me.”

“I brought up some tea,” she told him as she helped arrange the blankets over his legs. “Although it’s probably ice cold by now.”

His nose wrinkled lightly. “Thank you, dearest, although I wouldn’t much care for tea at the moment anyway,” he said.

She worried about his persistent nausea. He’d lost at least a stone during this bout of illness, and he’d been skin and bone to begin with. “Is there anything you would care for?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

He cocked his head to the side as if considering. “Something sweet,” he decided seriously. “Perhaps something chocolate, or, maybe, some cherry tarts?”

Eliza let out a fond chuckle. “I thought your stomach was upset. Really, you were just holding out for sweetmeats.”

“The cool air helps tremendously,” he told her with the same serious expression, although it soon gave way to the eye crinkling smile that made her knees feel wobbly.

She kissed him again. “I’ll see if I can find you some sweets,” she promised.

A loud rap on the door startled them both. A moment later, Philip Schuyler poked his head around the door.

“How is my favorite son in law?” he asked loudly, stepping into the room and leaving the door ajar.

Eliza glanced furtively at the open door, hoping Angelica and John weren’t in earshot. Hamilton laughed heartily, as though her father had just told a great joke. “I won’t tell John, sir,” he answered easily.

Her father look unconcerned with whether Hamilton mentioned it to John or not. He may have accepted John into the house, but he still wasn’t entirely happy with the man who had eloped with Angelica against her father’s will. Eliza had spent her life in Angelica’s shadow. She still wasn’t used to this new world order, where she basked in Hamilton’s glow while Angelica withered in the shade of disapproval.

“How are you feeling, son?” her father repeated, voice softer.

“Stronger every day, General,” Hamilton replied. He’d been saying that ever since he came home from Yorktown. He’d rasped it out while a doctor hovered at his side, monitoring his pulse with a worried expression. Still, he did seem better today.

“Good,” Philip nodded.

“Hamilton was just saying he felt well enough to try some of mother’s cherry tarts, Papa,” Eliza reported.

Philip clapped his hands with pleasure. “How wonderful! I’m sure Kitty will make you a special batch. They’re delightful when their still warm from the oven.”

“If memory serves, they’re delightful any way, sir,” Hamilton replied.

Philip laughed. “Betsey, my beloved girl, why don’t you go ask Mama to cook up a batch? I’ll keep your young man company while you’re gone.”

He wanted to talk business of some form, she sensed, likely something related to the army or Hamilton’s future career as a lawyer. She snuck a glance at Hamilton, meeting his eye. He’d been so ill and tired, she didn’t want him forced into a conversation he wasn’t up to having.

He gave her a little nod. “Bring back a plate full,” he requested.

She’d be surprised if he so much as nibbled a corner, but she promised him a heaping plate. She closed the window quickly, before Hamilton could voice a complaint, then stepped outside. The door clicked behind her, followed immediately by the sound of her father’s low, raspy voice.

She began to make her way down the stairs, smiling to herself at her father’s fondness and enthusiasm for her husband. In Morristown, two years ago now, her father had been beside himself with joy when he heard the name of her suitor. Still unmarried at the age of twenty-two, Eliza had sensed his concern with her prospects. When she related that Colonel Hamilton, of General Washington’s staff, had been courting her, Philip had given her the smile until then reserved for Angelica when she made a particularly clever comment.

And, when word reached them a few weeks ago that Hamilton had lead the attack on one of the British forts and thus helped secure the surrender at Yorktown, her father’s chest had puffed up with pride. My son, the hero of Yorktown, he took to saying at every available opportunity, his face beaming. She sobered as she remembered her eldest brother John’s face upon hearing that for the first time. Her other brothers, Philip and Rensselaer, hadn’t looked terribly happy either. Never mind Angelica’s husband, even her father’s natural born sons felt displaced by her father’s regard for Hamilton. She wondered if Angelica had felt guilty when she had been the object of such apparent favoritism.

The kitchen was humming with the sounds of a great dinner being prepared. Christmas and the New Year were fast approaching. The number of guests in their home always exploded at this time of year. Kitty Schuyler stood calmly in the center of the ordered chaos.

“Do you need something sweetheart?” her mother asked upon seeing her.

“Hamilton’s feeling up to trying some food. He requested something sweet, perhaps some of your cherry tarts?” Eliza asked, kissing her mother’s cheek.

“Of course!” Kitty cried, face lighting up. “I’ll make him some fresh right now. They’re best warm from the oven.”

Eliza held in a laugh at her mother’s inadvertent echo of her father. After two and a half decades of marriage, the two seemed mentally linked. She wondered if she and Hamilton would be like that in twenty years or so.

“Should I help with anything?” she asked, looking around at the servants bustling around as they prepared for the latest grand dinner.

“No, no. You should have a seat and rest,” Kitty urged. Her hand rubbed fondly at Eliza’s prominent belly as she nodded to a stool.

Eliza sighed and sat down, rubbing her own hand over her round stomach. The idea of childbirth was nerve wracking, but part of her couldn’t wait for it to be over. She’d always been hardy and active. Ever since she’d realized she was pregnant, however, people had been treating her like an invalid. Everyone wanted her to rest, even Hamilton. Resting was terribly boring when there was nothing wrong with you. She rested an elbow on the counter, her head on her fist, and contented herself with waiting.

Not too long after, Eliza was climbing the steps with a heaping pile of tarts still hot from the oven. She knocked once on the closed door to announce herself and then pushed inside. “Fresh cherry tarts, warm from the oven, as requested.”

She looked up to see her father sitting in the chair by the bed. He held a finger to his lips and nodded to the bed. Hamilton had fallen asleep again.

Eliza hesitated, then shook her head. “We should wake him. He needs to eat something.”

Her father reached a calloused hand towards her husband, laying it gently on his brow. He shook his head. “Still feels warm to me, poor fellow.”

“He said he thought his fever had broken,” Eliza said, disappointed at this new setback.

“Well, if it did, it’s come back.” Philip sighed and looked at her. “Still, perhaps you’re right. It’s important for him to eat. Keep his strength up.”

Eliza stepped up to the bed and shook Hamilton by the shoulder gently. “Sweetheart? Wake up.”

“Mm,” he hummed, turning his face away.

“Hamilton, darling, you need to wake up.”

“Son?” Philip added, patting his large hand over Hamilton’s slender chest lightly.

“What?” Hamilton asked, voice slurred with sleep.

“Food, sweetheart,” Eliza explained. “You need to eat.”

His brow wrinkled, but his eyes blinked open. Eliza leaned in to press a kiss to his soft pink lips. As she pulled away, his lips quirked up. “That’s the way I want to wake for the rest of my life,” he whispered hoarsely.

Philip cleared his throat beside them.

“My apologies, General. I didn’t mean to drift off during our talk,” Hamilton said.

Philip waved a hand as if to banish the words. “Think no more of it. We’ll talk more when you feel better. Until then, rest, and do as my dear girl says. And that includes eating.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I will leave you to her tender ministrations. Be well, son.” Philip rose with a hint of a wince, no doubt from putting weight on his gouty toe. Eliza frowned at him, which prompted him to chuckle. “Focus your maternal inclinations on your husband, my dear. I get plenty of those looks from your mother.”

He walked around the bed, pressed a kiss to her brow, then patted her belly twice before leaving the room.

Eliza collected the plate and settled onto the bed, holding out a cherry tart to her husband. His pale complexion turned slightly green as he looked at the treat, but he took it obediently. He stared down at it for a long moment. Finally, he held it to his lips. He took a long breath through his nose and then bit off a corner. Eliza patted his leg approvingly.

“What did Papa wish to speak to you about?” Eliza asked after he’d finished chewing his second bite.

“General Washington has settled into his winter encampment with the army. Your Papa wanted to know if I intended on joining him.”

Eliza felt her heart skip a beat. Joining Washington? But the war was over, surely? He was supposed to be home for good now. “And? Do you?”

He shook his head, his bright blue eyes locking with her own. “No. Not unless the war starts up again, and I don’t see how it could.”

Papa surely knew that more fighting wasn’t likely. “Why did Papa think you might rejoin General Washington, then?”

“I had asked him to send a letter to the General yesterday. I needed to request additional leave, as I haven’t yet resigned my commission. I assured your Papa that I would, once I was sure the fighting was over. We’ll know more this coming spring.”

Eliza didn’t like the hinted possibility of losing him to the army again, but she fought down her concern. The fighting was over. Hamilton said so, and Papa. He was just being a good soldier, she consoled herself.

Hamilton looked down at the tart held loosely in his hand, then back up at her. “I can’t finish this,” he said apologetically.

“That’s all right,” she assured him, placing the unfinished pastry back on the plate for him.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, suddenly, Hamilton grabbed her wrist. “I need a basin,” he gasped.

Eliza’s eyes widened and she scrambled to grab the water basin on the side table. She shoved it before him just in time for him to lean forward and heave. A watery mix of undigested tart and the endless tea she’d been forcing on him splattered into the bowl. He heaved a second time, bringing up little more than spit and bile. Then, for several minutes, he heaved dryly over the bowl, retching and spitting until his face was red and shiny.

He reached a shaking hand out to the handkerchief sitting on the side table. He closed his eyes as he wiped the remnants of vomit from his lips and sat back.

“Are you done?” Eliza asked softly.

He nodded once.

She placed the basin on the side table to be disposed of momentarily.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His cheeks were still pink, but she thought she sensed embarrassment as the root cause now. She shook her head and reached for his hand.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I did plenty of that in the early days of my pregnancy. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

His face fell even more. “I should have been here with you.”

She winced. She was trying to make him feel better, not bring up feelings of guilt. “I was all right. And you were fighting to make the country safe for our child. A much greater use than sitting aside of me while I was vomiting.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded.

“I’ll go clean this out, and bring the tarts downstairs again for now,” she announced.

Hamilton shook his head once. “Leave the tarts. I’m going to try to eat again in a few minutes, once my stomach settles a little more.”

“Are you sure?” Eliza asked.

He nodded. His palm splayed over his middle again as he confessed, “I think some of the pain is from being so empty. I really need to eat something.”

She felt her heart melting for him and she reached out to squeeze his free hand. “Perhaps something else would be better, something lighter?” she suggested. Cherry tarts didn’t seem like the most stomach friendly food to her. “Some broth?”

“They…they taste all right when they…come back up,” he said hesitantly.

Ah. She could sympathize with that. “All right. I’ll just clear out the basin, then, shall I?”

He nodded.

“Do you want the window open again?” she asked gently.

“I thought I would catch my death?” he replied with a smirk.

“I just want you to feel better.”

“Another breath of cool air may help.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand again before standing and going to the window. Fumbling with the latch, she wrenched it open once more. The icy air felt even colder than before, and she could see her breath as she exhaled. Just a few minutes, she promised herself. He wouldn’t be harmed by just a few minutes of cold.

After she’d rinsed the basin in the kitchen, she returned to the room and sat by her husband while he tried to eat again. In the end, he managed to keep down about a third of a tart. Not much, but more than he’d taken in a while, so she decided to call it a victory. He fell asleep soon after.

She dressed for dinner quietly, not wishing to disturb him. Many guests had arrived for the meal when she made her way downstairs once more. Blessings and congratulations were showered upon her, along with well-wishes for her ailing husband.

“He’ll be up and about in no time,” her father interjected into one such conversation after they’d sat to eat. “We’re all so very proud of him.”

“I had hoped to be regaled with the victory at Yorktown,” Judge Livingston replied. “I’m sorry Colonel Hamilton is so unwell.”

“I’m sure Papa could tell it to you,” Angelica said with a teasing smile from a few seats down. “He’s spoken of little else the past weeks.” Nothing but good humor showed in her sister’s face, but Eliza wondered if she was hiding hurt feelings.

Her father didn’t seem concerned at all. He welcomed the invitation, and immediately launched into the tale he’d pulled from Hamilton not long after he’d stepped through the door of the Pastures. Eliza glanced back at her sister and caught her eye. Angelica grinned at her. Eliza grinned back, silently thanking God for granting her the perfect sister.

After the meal, they retired to the parlor for conversation and cards. Dinner had been later than usual to accommodate traveling guests and it was well past dark as they settled into the warm room. Eliza remained long enough to be polite, then excused herself, claiming fatigue. “Sleep well, my beloved child,” her father wished as she left the room.

“Good night, Papa,” she responded.

The quiet of the upstairs house was a welcome relief from the lively conversation below. She entered the bedroom to find Hamilton still sound asleep in the bed. She undressed in silence, pulling on a nightgown and then blowing out the candle. The bed was warm from her husband’s body heat, and she curled against him. She dropped to sleep quickly.

Movement woke her. She blinked open her eyes to find the room still dark. Hamilton tossed beside her, rolling onto his side, then onto his back again, muttering. He whimpered. Sitting up quickly, she reached for him.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” she cooed softly as she shook his shoulder. “It’s only a dream.”

“No,” he whimpered again.

She placed her palm against his cheek, then jerked it away, startled by the heat. He was burning up with fever. “Hamilton,” she said with more urgency.

“Mm…’liza?” he slurred.

“Yes, darling,” she confirmed.

“’liza, I’m cold,” he said plaintively. “I’m so cold.”

She could feel him shivering, his whole body tense as he shook with chills. She pushed the blankets back and moved to get up. “I’m going to ask Papa to send for the doctor,” she told him.

“No,” he groaned miserably. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave me. I’m so cold.”

Worry sat heavy in her gut. “You need the doctor,” she argued.

“Please, hold me. Just hold me.” His teeth were chattering, and his breath was coming in staccato gasps, as though he were standing outside in the freezing cold with no protection.

She closed her eyes to fight back tears, then adjusted in the bed so she could wrap him in her arms. She’d go get Papa when he fell asleep again, she decided. He shook horribly in her arms. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and his skin felt dry and frightfully hot. The baby kicked at her, unsettled by her anxiety, and she fought to take calming breaths. She rubbed her hands up and down her husband’s back, hoping to relax and soothe him.

He went limp in her arms after some time. She eased her arm out from under him, kissed his brow quickly, then hurried from the room towards her parents. Her father woke with a startled shout, sitting straight up in bed.

“Papa, you need to send for the doctor,” she said as soon as she was sure he was awake. Philip wasted not a moment, jumping from the bed and hurrying into action. Her mother got up as well, and had Eliza go downstairs to sit in the parlor with some tea to calm her.

“He’s very strong, darling. He’ll be all right,” Kitty soothed when the doctor finally arrived and hurried upstairs.

The doctor stayed upstairs with Hamilton for well over an hour. Twice Eliza rose to go check on them, and twice her mother had her sit again. “Leave the doctor to his work. Once he’s done you can stay with Hamilton to your heart’s content.”

Finally, the doctor came down, conferring quietly with Papa. The two men stopped in the parlor and the doctor gave Eliza a weak, closed-lipped smile. “You did well to send for me, Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband’s fever had climbed dangerously high.”

“Is he all right?” Eliza demanded.

“His fever has abated somewhat. I gave him laudanum to help him rest. That will keep him asleep for some time, so don’t fret if you have trouble waking him. He should be all right now.”

Eliza smiled shakily at the doctor. “Thank you.”

Her father showed the doctor out, and Eliza hurried upstairs once more, eager to see for herself that her husband was out of danger. The room was illuminated by a freshly stoked fire when she re-entered. Hamilton was on his back, his face slack in his drug-induced sleep.

She crawled back into the bed. Settling onto her side, she gazed at his profile. Hamilton’s hands rested on his stomach and she reached out to hold one in her own.

“Hi,” he mumbled, his eyes opening a sliver to look at her.

Eliza smiled, surprised. “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered.

“Almost.”

“Just rest, sweetheart.”

With what looked like real effort, he scooted down in the bed until his head rested on her chest. One of his arms looped around her belly protectively, his thumb stroking at her side. He let out a long breath and whispered, “Better.”

She held him against her, relishing the feel of him in her arms. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

She felt him nod against her. He muttered, “Me, too.”

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #eliza schuyler hamilton #hamliza #historical hamliza #sickfic #hurt/comfort #post yorktown

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