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blossom-hwa · 2 years

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taking care | k.th

I was... inspired. yes. let’s just call it that. definitely not me projecting my idiot brain into a fic. Definitely Not.

Pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, slice of life!au, sick fic, editor!taehyun, writer!reader

Triggers: cursing, mentions of medication (prescribed), panic attacks are mentioned once but no one actually has one

Word Count: 12.6k

When Taehyun goes missing from work, you hunt him down to his apartment where you find him sick. Attempts to take care of him ensue. It doesn’t all go as expected.

Seungcheol (SVT) Ver. | TXT Masterlist

It is two am on a Friday morning when you finally emerge from your little den of sadness and misery to actually attempt to be somewhat of a functional human being.

(The little voice in the back of your head that sounds annoyingly like Beomgyu reminds you that no one is ever able to actually function at two am like a normal human being, and the fact that you are only able to attempt functionality at this hour speaks to something deeply, deeply wrong with your sleep schedule and mental psyche. You swat it away.)

Switching on a light, you blink into the brightness. For a moment it feels like your eyes are burning. Sometime over the past five days, you became a vampire, probably. Minus the bites and fangs and sexy undead creatures.

Wait.

Five days?

You pat your pockets for your phone, which does not seem to be on you. Ah. Yes. You often shove it away when you're in gremlin writer mode so that the bright light won't distract you from your empty word documents. Shuffling back into your study, you flip on the light there too and start throwing things around.

“Beautiful,” you mutter, finally dragging the device out from under a pile of scribbled-on papers. “Please turn on, please turn on—”

It turns on. Bless, so it isn't dead. Squinting at the tiny screen, you check the date and time. Two oh seven in the morning on Friday, November seventeenth.

(The tiny rational voice in your brain that sometimes sounds like Soobin and sometimes sounds like Taehyun reminds you that you could have easily checked your still open laptop for the date and time instead of rooting around for your own. You swat it away, too.)

Hm. So it has been five days. That's... interesting. And mildly concerning. Not because of your fucked up sleep schedule which isn't even a sleep schedule at this point, but because this means Taehyun is off schedule. And by that you mean he didn't show up on the third day of your writer gremlin-induced madness to bring you coffee.

It happens like clockwork. You get sucked in by a deadline, ergo you go MIA. You ignore all texts and messages for two days, ergo Taehyun deduces you have spiraled into deadline induced writer gremlin madness. Coffee is the only thing that sustains you on a day to day basis, ergo Taehyun shows up at your apartment on day three, your favorite coffee in hand and not the bitter unsweetened shit you make yourself at home, and forces you to take a nap while he cooks.

It's a neat little syllogism. Or something. You don't quite remember the names of all the literary devices your writing teachers tried to shove into your head in high school. It all became irrelevant anyway in college when you could have arguments with your professors over the merits of the Oxford comma (it has many merits, but sometimes you just like to be contrary and your professors grew to know this very well). But now the syllogism has been broken because it's been five days since you sank into your little black hole of word documents and black coffee and Taehyun has not shown up once.

Ergo, concerning.

Your fingers have pulled up Taehyun's contact before you realize what you're doing at this time of the night—well, morning. You cannot call Taehyun right now. He's most definitely asleep because he's an actual functioning human being who goes to the gym, eats semi healthy food, and has a sleep schedule. And also happens to be ridiculously good at editing every anxiety-infused chapter you send him of your in progress novel. Therefore you cannot bother him before six in the morning, which is when he actually wakes up. It would be unholy. An even greater transgression upon the gods, assuming they exist.

You close your laptop, making sure to double and then triple save your work because accidents happen and you don't need any of them at two am on Friday when something's already wrong with Taehyun, then shut off the light before shuffling back into the room where you're actually supposed to sleep. The bed looks extremely inviting all of a sudden, what with all the nice little blankets and pillows that you haven't seen in days because you've just been taking cat naps in your office, and it's all you can do to force yourself to brush your teeth first and attempt to wash your face before plugging your phone into its charger and falling onto the bed.

In minutes, you're fast asleep.

. . . . .

When you wake up twelve hours later, at first you don't really remember why there's anxiety buzzing in your chest.

Your eyes feel crusty. So does your mouth. It feels like something died on your tongue. And your entire body feels grimy, probably because you haven't showered in a couple of days, so you ignore the little flutter of anxiety for now, just for now, and head to the bathroom.

One shower and a set of fully brushed teeth later, you stand in front of the bathroom mirror and attempt coherent thought.

Fact 1: You feel somewhat anxious.

Fact 2: It is true that you can sometimes feel anxious for no reason. It's called anxiety and it's the reason you see a therapist.

Fact 3: You're finally on track to meet your deadline in several days thanks to the past five days of gremlin behavior.

Conjecture 1: The deadline is not the source of your anxiety.

Conjecture 2: Something else is the source of your anxiety.

You blink. Wait. How many days has it been since you went into writer gremlin mode?

Five. It has been five days.

Your final thoughts from two in the morning come rushing back. Right. Taehyun didn't come by on the three day mark to bring you coffee, make you food, and force you to nap.

Somehow in the light of day, this realization seems more concerning than ever.

You head back into your room to check your phone, which is now happily and fully charged at your bedside. Several new text messages, but none of them from Taehyun.

Concerning has now become worrying.

You flick through the other texts. One from Beomgyu that's just a weird meme, one from Chaewon reminding you to take a break at some point. Nothing from Taehyun at all.

You call the office.

“Hello?”

“Is Taehyun there?”

A pause. “... Y/N?”

“Yes, it's me, I'm incredibly offended that you don't remember my voice,” you rattle off. “Is Taehyun there?”

Soobin pauses again on the other end. The sound of shuffling papers fills the phone. “Greetings to you too,” he snarks, and you really want to hit him. So much. But he's several miles away in an office building and your only connection is through like... electrical wires. Or waves. Or something. Science wasn't your strongest suit in school. Point is, you can't hit him. “Glad to see you've dragged yourself out of your writer gremlin induced stupor. And no, before you ask again, I don't think he came in today.”

This is more worrying than you thought it would be. Taehyun doesn't miss work. He's always on time, if not early—the one time he came in late and you were on time, you thought the world was going to end.

“Cute, thanks. Have a good—” you check the time— “four more hours of work!” You hang up before you can hear his reply.

So not only has Taehyun not texted you or called you at all in the past few days, but he isn't at work either. These levels of worrying are starting to get dizzying. Which means only one thing:

You need to find him.

Luckily, you've been to Taehyun's place several times for both work and social purposes, like when Yeonjun and Beomgyu convinced him to host a little Christmas party that ended with almost everyone tipsy or drunk and passed out in his living room by morning. You were on your meds so you couldn't drink, so you got saddled with the fun responsibility of bullying everyone into drinking hangover cures when they woke up.

It was actually kind of fun getting to record them doing and saying stupid shit, though. You were able to stock up on at least a year's worth of blackmail material in just one night. Efficient.

Not the point. You know where Taehyun lives. Now you need to go there and ascertain whether or not he's alive. And if he isn't alive, see if his cat is doing okay before you go have a mental breakdown because Taehyun can't die. It's like, impossible. He's pretty much invincible. Anyone who goes to the gym every day like it's his religion can't die.

You throw several things into your beaten up bag, then on second thought shove your laptop into its case to bring it too. Another voice that sounds ridiculously like Yeonjun chirps something like you bring that everywhere.

“It's called separation anxiety,” you say out loud.

No one replies. Which is good, because if someone did, you’d have a whole new problem on your hands.

With that, you grab your laptop charger, shove it in the bag, and head out the front door. You only almost forget to lock it on your way out.

. . . . .

It only hits you that you might be overreacting when you're right outside Taehyun's apartment. When you've literally raised your fist to knock on the door.

Because maybe he's... fine. Maybe he's perfectly fine and he's just tired of coddling you like a child. It would be valid. He shouldn't need to bring you coffee every third day of your gremlin life. He shouldn't need to learn to cook for you just so you can actually eat a fresh vegetable every so often. He shouldn't need to make you take naps like a toddler because you forget to take care of yourself a little too often to be acceptable as a full grown adult.

Maybe you should have called him beforehand and seen if he actually needed you before coming here.

Okay, no. A voice that sounds suspiciously like your therapist cuts through your spiral of negativity. Taehyun is your editor. He is also your friend. Friends check on each other and make sure they're doing okay.

Yes, but friends don't usually do... all of that. Taehyun's cooking has actually improved in the process of attempting to make you eat. That's dedication you aren't sure you deserve.

That's the effort he's putting into your friendship, your mind therapist says. And you put your own effort into the friendship. It's not like he's doing this all alone.

Right. You look at the door. You've shown up to his apartment unannounced because you were worried about him. That has to count for something, right?

Yes! your mind therapist cheers.

No, says the bitch ass part of your brain.

This hurts, says the arm that is still raised in the air, ready to knock on the door but unable to because anxiety.

Whatever. You sigh. You've already made the entire subway ride and walk to his apartment and are standing outside his door. Might as well check on him while you're here.

You knock.

No one answers.

You frown. Maybe he's not home, in which case finding him will be considerably more difficult. Or maybe he just didn't hear you. That would be the better option. Maybe you should knock again.

You knock again.

This time, to your relief, something does sound behind the door. To your concern, however, it sounds like a groan mixed with a crash, which is not something you ever thought you'd hear from Kang Taehyun's apartment. You did not prepare yourself for a possible horror story on this bright Friday afternoon.

“... Taehyun?” you call through the door.

Another sound follows, more like a thump this time. There's also a meow that sounds like Hobak, which is reassuring. “Coming,” you make out very faintly.

Well, it sounds... vaguely like Taehyun. You frown. You could kind of hear the undercurrents of his tone in the garbled mess that you made out as coming. Maybe it's not a horror movie monster in his apartment, then.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other as you wait for what is presumably Taehyun or some sort of Taehyun-esque form to open the door. Someone is staring at you out of the corner of your eye at the end of the hall and you really don't want to be out here for longer than is necessary.

Finally, you hear something click in the door. You have about one second to prepare yourself for something ghastly and horror movie-like before it swings open.

You blink. So does Taehyun.

“... Y/N?”

Okay, so not a horror movie monster. At least not one that's possessed him. But honestly, if Taehyun had told you such a monster had ransacked his apartment and left him to die, you'd have believed him because this is the worst you've ever seen him.

His eyes are red. So is his nose. He's got this huge fluffy blanket wrapped around him and—is he shivering? You have to look again. The Taehyun you know would never look like this. He always looks so put together, even when he's just come from the gym—which is ungodly because you always look like shit after you've gotten off the treadmill—and even when he's wading through your little writer gremlin cave he never looks out of place, but right now...

“You aren't, like...” You gesture vaguely. “You are Taehyun, right?”

Taehyun blinks. That's how you know he’s really in bad shape—it's taking him a full one, two, three seconds to actually buffer and process the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth when it normally takes him less than one. “Yes, I'm Taehyun,” he mumbles, all congested and muffled, and if you weren't so shocked you might actually laugh because it's kind of cute.

“Oh. Okay.” You blink again. “You're sick.”

Taehyun's face flushes redder, which you thought would’ve been impossible. “I'm not that sick.”

“Taehyun, you are very, very sick.” You push your way into the apartment and shut the door. “As in I've never seen anyone this sick before, even myself. Which is weird because I thought you could never get sick, given that you're actually a healthy human being with a functional eating and sleeping and exercising schedule that you actually keep to on the regular.” You dump your bag on a nearby chair—how is he still so neat even when he's probably a mess on the inside? “Where were you before I came? On the couch?”

He nods feebly.

“Go back to the couch and sleep.” You steer him toward it and push him lightly onto the cushions. He does it without much protest, which is highly worrying considering Taehyun is made of many pounds of pure muscle and you shouldn't be able to maneuver him this easily. “I'm going to make you soup. Or something.”

“You shouldn't be here,” he mumbles, though his eyes are already closing. You might coo if you weren't half worried he'd spring up and kill you for it. “You'll get sick.”

“Lucky for you, I have an immune system of steel.” Which is kind of a lie, but you'll take your chances while Taehyun is too conked out by his own shit immune system to counter you with facts. “And I can make a mean fucking bowl of soup. Do you have masks?”

“By the door,” he mumbles, even softer than before. “Thanks.”

“You're very welcome.” You pat his head. “Now go to bed. There'll be soup and meds for you when you wake up.”

He's knocked out before you finish your sentence. Which is just as well, you think as you locate the masks and pull one over your nose. He shouldn't be exerting himself at the moment, and you need to concentrate on making some soup.

. . . . .

An hour later, you have made one trip to the grocery store and convenience store and returned with a variety of things with which to make soup and some pills that you think Taehyun might need. You're not a doctor—the universe should thank you for that—so you're not sure what exactly he's come down with, but you checked his forehead and it was hot, so fever pills are probably a safe bet. Hopefully. As for the soup, you've made this so many times you could do it in your sleep. Mostly because when your mom made it the first time you were sick, you liked it so much that you kept bugging her to make it again and eventually she taught you to make it on your own so you'd stop bothering her.

Good memories.

It takes a while to locate everything you need in Taehyun's kitchen because he's not an organized mess like you are, he's just organized, therefore because there's no chaos in the kitchen you can't really find anything at first. This is not made better by Hobak attempting to climb up your leg every five minutes, but eventually he goes to his refilled food bowl, which gives you time to get together all the things you need and can start cooking. Taehyun doesn’t make a sound in the background, which worries you several times, but each time you check on him to change the wet cloth you've draped across his forehead, he's just sleeping. Very, very soundly.

According to Google, that's a good thing. Because he needs rest. So you leave him be.

Soon, the soup is done, and you can smell its wonderful aroma even through your mask. Probably because you're standing right in front of it. But the point is, it smells wonderful, and Hobak clearly likes the smell too since he keeps sniffing your fingers, so hopefully Taehyun will also be able to smell it being wonderful if his nose isn't too congested. Maybe then he will also be able to appreciate its taste. Something in an intro psych class you took in college said smell and taste are very much related. You also didn't need an intro psych class to tell you that because you have experienced the connection several times in real life firsthand.

Like when you were sick.

Luckily for you, Taehyun's eyes are beginning to flutter open when you check on him after ladling half the soup into a bowl. He kind of blinks when he sees you like he doesn't really believe you're there, so you wave a hand in front of his face. “Hi.”

“... Hi,” he says. “You're actually here.”

“What, did you think I was just a dream?”

He nods, then winces. “Yeah.”

“Fortunately for you, I'm not a dream. And to prove it, I made soup.” You point to the kitchen. “Can you smell it?”

Taehyun blinks blearily. “Vaguely.”

“Oh, great.” You breathe a sigh of relief. “Your nose isn't completely shot then. Do you think you can eat it?”

“... Maybe?”

“All right, I'll go get it for you.” Bustling back into the kitchen, you return with a hot bowl of soup and a glass of water. “You should take some of these meds before you eat, probably,” you say, indicating the bottles you dumped on the table before.

Obediently, Taehyun swallows the pills you give him and drinks the full glass of water. When you hold up the soup bowl, however, he grimaces.

“What's wrong?” You put it down. “Does it smell bad? I promise even if your sense of smell has been completely corrupted by whatever illness you have, it tastes good.”

“No, no, it smells good.” He coughs. “I just... don't know if I can hold it. The bowl.”

“Ah.” You look at the soup, then at him. That might be something of a problem. Hm.

Oh, simple solution. You pick up the spoon yourself. “I'll feed you, then.”

For some reason, Taehyun seems to balk at this. For the entire world you can't understand why. “Do you want the soup?” you ask. “If you can't eat it, I can just store it away for later.”

“I want it,” he mumbles, looking very put out and very childish in a way you never thought you'd see on the one and only sturdy, steady, reliable, healthy Kang Taehyun. “You just shouldn't have to feed me.”

“Well, I don't see why not.” You wave the spoon in the air. “You're sick. You want soup. You can't hold the bowl without dropping it and I am here. Ergo, I will help you drink the soup. By feeding you.”

Bam. That's a good syllogism. If that's even what a syllogism is. You still haven't checked the definition.

Taehyun finally relents, nodding slightly. “Okay.”

You pat his head. “Good boy,” you smile before dipping the spoon in the soup. Blowing on it softly, you extend your hand. “Open wide.”

“I'm not a child,” he mutters, but he follows your instructions anyway. You feed him the soup. “Good, isn't it?”

“I think so,” he says, swallowing.

You blink. “You think so?”

“I can't fully taste anything,” Taehyun complains. “My nose is stuffed.”

“I can't believe you're missing out on my mom's famous soup,” you say, shaking your head. “You know the first time she made it, I bothered her into making it so many times after that she just taught me how to make it myself at some point so I wouldn't keep asking her.”

Taehyun swallows the second spoonful. He coughs and you hand him a second glass of water. “You kept asking her, didn't you.”

You grin beatifically. “Well, when I'm at home with a mother who's willing to cook, I'm going to try and take advantage of that. Otherwise, I will go into my messy kitchen and cook it for myself.” You poke another spoonful into his face. “Drink.”

Sip by sip, Taehyun empties half the bowl before he decides he's had enough. You carefully push the rest of the soup away so that you won't accidentally spill it before handing him the glass of water. “Drink the rest of that,” you say, “and then you should probably sleep some more.”

He grumbles, but he finishes the glass. You pat his head again. “Go to sleep, now.”

“Don't wanna sleep,” he mumbles. “I slept so much earlier.”

“I'm pretty sure you slept like—” you check the microwave clock, which now reads five in the afternoon. “Two hours since I got here. At most.”

“I slept a lot before you came,” he mutters. “Why did you come, anyway?”

Oh. You blink. That's a question you weren't exactly expecting to have to answer. “Uh. Well. I kind of, uh, emerged from my den yesterday. Well, this morning. At like, two am.”

Taehyun makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. Out of the kindness of your own heart and mercy for his sick little body, you ignore it.

“And I realized five days had passed since I spiraled into my deadline anxiety, and then I realized you hadn't come by on the third day to bully me into halfway taking care of myself, and then I checked my phone and saw that you hadn't texted or called me at all, and then I kind of passed out because I was going to call you but then I saw the time and thought no reasonable person should actually ever call anyone at this time of the morning and especially not you, so I passed out for like twelve hours and then I woke up and called Soobin and he said you weren't in the office. Which is extremely worrying because you always go to work on time. So I kind of panicked and decided to find you and then I showed up at your front door.” You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. “I realize I probably should have called before coming, but I only came to that conclusion when I was like... right outside.”

Taehyun blinks about five times before he actually says anything in response. “I got like... half of that.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “Sorry.”

“It was enough,” he reassures you, and you feel kind of bad because even sick he's still having to reassure you about dumb things like talking too fast for his sick brain to keep up with, but then he coughs again and you have to go fill up the glass a third time and the thought flies away. “Anyway, if you'd called, I probably wouldn't have answered,” he admits after drinking more water. “I was kind of dead to the world for a while.”

“Why didn't you call anyone?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “I'd have thought of all people, you'd be the reasonable type to actually call someone for help, you know. Like Kai. Or Yeonjun. Or Beomgyu or Soobin. They would've brought you meds.”

“None of them can cook,” Taehyun says.

You pause. “Yeonjun can cook.”

“He has the ability to put things in a pan and not burn them,” Taehyun corrects, and you have to admit that he's right. “That's not exactly cooking.”

“It's cooking. Just not cooking well,” you say, and Taehyun grumbles a little but nods in the end. “And anyway, they could've brought you convenience store soup or something. Doesn't need to be home cooked.”

“Home cooked is best,” he says.

“Taehyun, you could barely taste what I made for you.”

“Still.” He pouts, and this time you actually coo. “What?”

“You're cute when you're pouting.” You pat his cheek, which is still worryingly warm. “Hang on, I'm going to change the cloth on your head.”

You half expect Taehyun to have gone to sleep in the time it takes to wet a new cloth with cold water, but when you come back, his eyes are still open. “You really aren't sleepy, are you,” you say, draping the new cloth over his forehead.

“No, I'm not,” he says, like a petulant child.

“Sleeping will help the sickness pass faster,” you point out. “I don't really know what you were thinking, keeping this from everyone for what—five days? Were you sick this entire time?”

“I wasn't. I started feeling kind of off on... Tuesday, I think.” Taehyun screws his eyes shut, as though trying to remember, which is ridiculously cute but you manage to keep yourself from cooing this time. “On Wednesday I still went in to work but then I was coughing by the end of the day so I didn't go in on Thursday and just slept like the whole day and now it's apparently Friday, I guess.”

“Aw, look at you. You're the one figuring out the days of the week this time, not me.” You giggle at Taehyun's death glare expression as you pat his head again. “Seriously, though, why didn't you call anyone? All of the people I mentioned before would've helped if you'd just said something.”

“Why didn't you mention yourself?”

Okay, another weird question you weren't expecting to get asked. It actually takes a moment to formulate your answer because you don't even know it. It doesn't rely on undebatable facts the way your previous answer did. Just stupid personal opinions.

“Uh, probably because I'm a mess?” you finally say, raising an eyebrow. “Like a certified, grade A mess, Taehyun. I'm like one of those grade A eggs at the supermarket that are expensive, but a mess. Not an egg.”

“Yeah, I figured you weren't an egg.” Taehyun goes into another coughing fit and you pat his hair through it—which he seems to like, at least unconsciously, by the way that he keeps sort of leaning into your hand. “That's what snark will do to you,” you say seriously as he drinks the rest of the glass of water. “It'll throw you into a coughing fit. Better watch your mouth, Taehyun.”

He puts down the glass of water with a withering glare that gives you hope he might fully recover, because that's a normal Taehyun expression. Not the weird, sick one he's been sporting for most of the past few hours. “Be quiet,” he mutters. “Anyway, you're not—that much of a mess.”

You laugh, loud and sharp in the silence. “I'm very much a mess, Taehyun. There's no need to sugarcoat it for me. I've accepted it.”

“Y/N—” he starts, but you cut him off. “I go into like... hibernation, but more messed up because I'm not a bear for like. A week in a row. Sometimes. Because I have spiraling anxiety about deadlines and stuff and like, yeah, I'm going to therapy, but it still happens so you have to bring me coffee and cook for me and make me nap and shower because I can't really take care of myself like a normal human being sometimes, Taehyun. I'm like... a certified mess. By anyone's standards.”

Taehyun stays quiet for a moment. You realize then how much you dumped on him and how you really didn't mean to do that at all.

“That sounded kinda like trauma dumping, right?” You try to laugh. “Sorry. Didn't mean to. Just ignore everything—”

“I don't do any of that because I have to,” Taehyun says quietly. “I do it because I care about you and I worry about you sometimes. Not because I have to.”

You blink once. Twice. How do you respond to that?

“And like, you kind of are a mess,” he continues, “but it's not like the most destructive mess in the world. You realize what's up and you get help for the things you need help with. I think that's pretty commendable.”

Your heart is beating a little faster. This is not what you needed. Or expected. But for some reason you're getting it anyway.

“You're the one who came to me when you thought something was up,” he says. “The others didn't. They probably will, at some point, but you're the one who came first.”

Now you really don't know how to respond. Like even saying supercalifragilisticexpialidocious wouldn't cut it. Or whatever the fuck that word is.

“Y/N?” Taehyun's looking up at you now with a very strange expression on his face—not the sick one, not really, but very... earnest. And honest. It's how you know he wasn't lying with his words, not the way the fucked up part of your brain would try to have you believe.

“Huh? Yeah, I'm still here.” You smile. “I just—thanks, Taehyun.” Your voice drops a little. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“I appreciate you a lot,” Taehyun murmurs. “A lot of people appreciate you too. You just don't see it, sometimes.”

That's probably true, if you operate under the assumption that Taehyun's second statement is true. His first statement too. Which is a logical loophole because the veracity of the third statement relies on the truthfulness of the first two but your brain is a little fried from Taehyun's compliments so you decide to just take them at face value. He's probably right about all three things, as hard as it is for your little fucked up brain to believe. If people do appreciate you as much as he says, you have a hard time noticing it. But hey, that's what therapy's for.

“Maybe,” is what you eventually settle on as an answer. Ambiguous enough to not fully agree, but also to not fully disagree. Taehyun will understand. He always does. “Are you sleepy now?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Well, uh.” You check the time. Wow, you've been talking a while—it's almost six. “Do you want to try drinking the rest of your soup? I can heat it up again.”

Taehyun blinks. Coughs. Eyes the bowl of soup at the end of the table where you can't accidentally knock it over. Hobak might have a chance at it if he weren't asleep in the corner by now. “I can try,” he says warily. “I don't know if I'll be able to finish it, though.”

“Don't force yourself,” you say. “If you don't want to drink it, we can save it for like, tomorrow.”

Taehyun looks up at you with a strangely hopeful expression. “Are you going to stay until tomorrow?”

You pause. Well, it's more like you were planning to go home, fuck around with your word documents for several hours, pass out, and then come back. But with the way Taehyun is looking at you... “Do you want me to stay?” you ask.

He burrows into his blankets even more, like he's shy. If you weren't sure that Taehyun would find some terrible blackmail on you and leak it to all your good for nothing friends, you'd take a picture. “Kinda,” he mumbles.

“I mean, uh...” You think. You have your laptop with you and there's another bowl of soup for yourself waiting on the stove. “I'd probably have to go home and get a few things. But if you really want, I could stay the night...?”

“Please,” he mumbles into the blankets. “I don't really want to be alone.”

“You're so cute when you're sick,” you coo, patting his head. The look on his face would be more menacing if he wasn't curled up in a blanket burrito with a very red nose sticking out. You tell him as much.

“Stop being mean to me when I'm sick,” he mutters.

“I'm not being mean. I'm telling the truth.” You point at the half empty bowl of soup. “Now do you want to try and drink the rest of it, or no?”

He does end up finishing about a third of the remaining soup before he decides his stomach can't handle more. You get another glass of water into him before pulling your own soup out from its spot on the stove, and then you put on some random white noise Netflix drama on Taehyun's laptop as you eat your own dinner. Taehyun makes interesting commentary on the characters and you shit on the plot. At some point, Hobak wanders into your lap, and Taehyun complains about his cat liking you more than him. It's like things are back to normal, except for his sniffling and coughing and you periodically helping him sip water from his glass.

Eventually he does doze off and only then does Hobak decide it's time to snuggle with his owner, so you take the opportunity to clean up the living room table a little, sweeping a few tissues into the trash can and wiping down the table itself. His place is still annoyingly clean even though he's sick—if you were in his position in your apartment, it'd be even more of a shiftiest than it is now—and when you're done washing the dishes and throwing things away, you finally check your phone.

More memes from Beomgyu, a cat picture from Kai, a missed call from Soobin and a following text. You open that up first.

did u find taehyun? is he ok?

You rattle off a quick message in reply.

he's sick at his apartmnt. dw I made him soup and he's sleeping now sorry didn't se ur call earlir

Immediately your phone buzzes with some sort of response, but your brain is already headed in a different direction. Namely trying to decide whether or not you should change the towel on Taehyun's head again. You end up changing it because he still feels pretty warm, but his nose is dotted with sweat. Maybe his fever will break soon.

Settling back down on the floor, you scroll through your phone for a bit and answer Soobin's ensuing text as well as the other meme messages before remembering that you're staying the night, which means you need to head back home and get a few things.

Taehyun's still asleep, though. And you feel kind of bad leaving him here without any notice, even if you know you'll be coming back within an hour. You debate between waking him up and just leaving a note, but in the end you decide to shake him awake a little. He wouldn't want to wake up to just a note, you know that much.

“Taehyun.” You nudge his shoulder lightly. “Taehyun.”

He mumbles a little, eyes blinking open slowly. “Wha…”

“Don't move, you'll disturb Hobak.” You hold him in place. “I'm going to go back to my place to get a few things,” you whisper. “I'll be back within an hour.”

You turn to leave, but something's tugging you back. You look behind you to see one of Taehyun's hands gripping your sleeve.

“... Taehyun?”

“Don't go,” he murmurs adorably, and your heart nearly breaks at the sight. “I have stuff. Spare toothbrush under sink. Sleep on my bed.”

“Taehyun, as much as I appreciate it, I need clothes,” you say. “Not just a toothbrush. Probably a towel too, I'd like to shower. Remember?” You wiggle your fingers. “You're all germy and gross and I've been here for several hours.”

“I have extra towels,” he protests, his eyes blinking awake further. Damn it, this is ruining all your plans to just shake him awake and be on your way in a minute. “And you can wear my clothes. I have stuff that'll fit.”

You have to buffer for a minute to make sure you're hearing this correctly. “Me. Wear your clothes.”

Taehyun nods.

So you weren't hallucinating sounds. You shake your head. “Taehyun, seriously.”

“I'm being serious,” he whines. And he looks so very heartbroken at the thought of you leaving, even if it's just for an hour, that you actually find yourself reconsidering. Kang Taehyun, a full grown man with muscles and a sleep schedule, is acting like a child and melting your heart in the process. “You can use my shampoo and soap too.”

Oh, God. He's being so ridiculously convincing. What is his problem. You sigh. “I'm going to make a mess, probably.”

“I don't care.” Taehyun pouts and it's even more ridiculously convincing. “Everything's already messy.”

You look around. That's a blatant fucking lie. Everything is still in very much spotless condition. But when you look back at him with a raised eyebrow, Taehyun's eyes are already fluttering shut like a cute little baby and you find your heart melting again. “You can't deny me my dying request,” he mumbles.

“I never thought you'd be this dramatic when you were sick,” you mutter. “All right, all right, I'll stay. On one condition.” You point at him. “Go back to sleep.”

His eyes narrow. “Promise you won't leave?”

You sigh again. “I promise.”

He goes quiet, then, his eyes fluttering shut. You turn toward the bathroom, ready to take stock of whatever he's got in his unnecessarily neat cabinets, but a little noise makes you look back once more. “Hm?”

“Can you pat my hair,” Taehyun mumbles, so quietly you can barely hear. He looks half asleep—his eyes aren't even open as he speaks. “'s soothing.”

That's it. Sick Taehyun is actually going to kill you because of cuteness overload. You settle on the edge of the table like you did when you were feeding him, not even bothering to hide the smile on your face anymore. “Sure, Taehyun,” you say, stroking through his messy hair. “Feel better?”

“Mm.” He snuggles deeper into the blankets. Your heart is melting more than you thought it could. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you murmur. “Sleep now, okay?”

“Mm,” he mumbles. He's already half gone.

You smile wider as his breath evens into sleep.

. . . . .

One shower and requisite cleanup later, you've settled on the small armchair by the couch and set up your laptop to write. No longer does a blank word document stare back at you menacingly when you open the application, which is encouraging, and for some reason, the soft sound of Taehyun's sleeping breaths is good background noise as you try to get into this final chapter.

Once you've lost yourself in the writing, it can take anywhere from a few hours to like, a day, or maybe three or five days, for you to pull yourself out of the daze. When you look up from your laptop, eyes burning with the need to look at something that isn't a screen and throat parched for water, the clock says it's a few minutes past midnight.

Time for a break, then. You sneak a glance at Taehyun, who's still fast asleep. If he were awake he'd be forcing you to drink water right about now, anyway.

You down a glass of water in the kitchen, then bring another back into the living room only to see that Taehyun has since shifted in his sleep and is about to kick off all his blankets. Probably half due to Hobak, who has made a nest right on top of him and clawed off several sheets.

That can't be a good thing. You go to pull them back up around him but he shifts again, this time actually kicking half the blanket burrito off of him. Hobak does not help matters by waking up and skittering his way off the couch, taking the other half of the burrito with him. In the process, he also manages to drag Taehyun's shirt... up.

Oh. Okay. This is—totally fine. So, super, totally fine. You put down your glass of water before you can do something like drop it and shatter it and make a huge mess that you're unqualified to clean. Like, logically, you know that Taehyun goes to the gym every day he can, but somehow you did... not make the connection between gym every day and abs.

Because Taehyun has abs. Very nice ones, in fact. The intrusive thoughts are telling you to touch them but you have just enough sense at ten minutes past midnight to abstain, which is something you should earn an award for. Instead, you avert your gaze and pull the blankets back over him as much as possible, swatting away the image of abs abs abs abs abs whenever it comes up. Which is too many times for a single minute.

You sigh, looking back at your abandoned laptop. Part of you wants to go back to writing but another part of you still wants a break (aka time to think about abs abs abs abs—shut the fuck up), so you pull out your phone and settle on the ground. If it's past midnight, that means the new day's wordle is up.

Sure enough, a blank puzzle greets you when you pull up the site. You try a random first guess—grief, it's got two vowels so it can't be too bad—and come up with some decent clues. Hm...

Your second guess goes without much luck. So does your third, though at least all the letters that are confirmed to be in the word are in the correct place. You scan the rest of the keyboard that isn't completely blacked out. What makes sense? Is there even a word that makes sense? What if it's something stupid and contrived, or even worse, a word with a repeating letter—

“Merit.”

You shriek.

Taehyun blinks owlishly from above on his perch on the couch, staring at you heaving on the floor. “Y/N?”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp. “Taehyun, don't scare me like that—I thought you were asleep—”

“I was. Then I woke up.” He blinks. “I feel better, I think.”

“Let me check your fever.” You place a hand to his head. Even under the lingering coolness coming from the mostly warmed over cloth, you can tell he's come down a few degrees. “Oh, good. It looks like you aren't lying.”

Taehyun scowls. It almost looks like a normal expression for him. “Of course I wasn't lying.”

“Uh uh.” You shake your head. “I'm ninety nine percent sure you'd probably lie to me so that you could end up going to work tomorrow. Don't try to refute me.”

He grumbles, but in the end says nothing. You take that as a win. “Give me a second, I'm going to change the towel.”

With a new towel on his forehead and the sweat wiped away from the rest of his face, Taehyun actually looks somewhat better than the death warmed over look you saw on him when you first arrived earlier today. Or yesterday, since it's past midnight. Wow, your schedule is seriously fucked.

You sit back on your heels. “Okay, what were you saying before? Something about merit?”

Taehyun blinks. “Your wordle. Try merit.”

You look down at your phone where it's lying on the floor, your incorrect wordle guesses staring back up at you, taunting you like you're a fucking imbecile who can't guess the correct word in three tries or less. You blink, picking up your phone. Merit might actually work... You tap it in.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whisper, staring at the screen in horror.

It's the correct answer. It's the correct fucking answer. You glare at Taehyun, who glances back at you innocently from his little burrito on the couch. “Was it correct?”

“Yes, it was, you—argh.” You put your phone down before you can do something stupid like throw it across the room. “Why the fuck are you being my editor when you're sick as a dog?”

Taehyun blinks. “I'm not being your editor.”

“STOP EDITING MY GUESSES!” you screech.

“I didn't edit anything,” he replies in a matter of fact tone that makes you want to scream even louder. “I just found the correct answer.”

You groan, flopping to the floor. “I hate you.”

“If you hated me, you wouldn't still be here.”

You glare at him. “Bet. I'll leave right now.”

“You wouldn't.” Taehyun stares back at you, steady, resolute, but...

Aw. There was a little tremble of uncertainty in his voice.

Instantly your heart melts, but you have too much pride (you shouldn't, your dignity was flushed down the drain at birth) to give in completely. “Yeah, I won't leave,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I'm staying until you get better, doofus. Now go back to sleep. I don't know why you woke up.”

Taehyun pouts. “Can I get some water?”

“Anything for you, Your Majesty.”

He successfully drinks half of the glass you bring back to him, and then you have to help him shuffle to the bathroom. When he comes out, you shuffle him back to the couch, where he collapses into a blanket burrito once more. “Sleepy,” he mumbles. “Pat my head.”

“What a demanding little child you are.” You start patting his head anyway. “Go to bed, Taehyun. You'll feel better in the morning.”

“Mm.” He snuggles closer to your hand, and you have to fight back a coo for the umpteenth time today. Or in the past twenty four hours, because it's Saturday. Allegedly. “Goodnight.”

You laugh a little, stroking his hair. “Goodnight, Taehyun.”

. . . . .

In the morning, Taehyun's fever has mostly broken, and by midafternoon, he's able to get up and walk around. Soobin and Yeonjun show up at lunch with some convenience store soup that he can actually taste, and then for dinner, when Beomgyu and Kai come around, you make your mom's famous soup and all of them say it tastes better than convenience store anything. You beam with pride.

All this is to say that when evening comes, you're mostly convinced that Taehyun is actively getting better (he hasn't had a coughing fit in five hours, you were counting) and he probably won't die if you don't spend the night. Taehyun doesn't seem as convinced, but when you show him the reading on the thermometer that Beomgyu brought along, he kind of acquiesces. At least that's what you think he does when he sinks back into the couch.

“Look, your nose isn't even that red anymore.” You show him a picture you took when he was sleeping, then snap another picture right now before he can protest. “See the difference? Before and after. It's evidence.” Taehyun likes evidence.

So eventually, after washing your clothes from yesterday and changing from the t-shirt and sweatpants Taehyun lent you, you head back to your apartment. It's dark and Taehyun-less and Hobak-less and for a moment, standing in the doorway, you feel a little lonely, but then you remember you have a deadline to meet in three days and half a chapter left to write and your mind decides to latch onto that.

Which is to say when Taehyun calls two days later, demanding you open your door, you're mostly a mess. Not entirely, because it's only half a chapter and you have probably just a few paragraphs left, but you've written the ending three different times and each time it just sucked more. You'd probably start biting things if it weren't for Taehyun's call.

Stumbling out of your little writer cave, you throw open your apartment door. “Hi. Why did you ask if I had a mask.”

“I forgot one from home and I thought you might possibly be sick. Also, I might have leftover germs.” Taehyun pushes into the door, vaguely reminiscent of when you shoved yourself into his apartment the day you found out he was sick. “Have you eaten? And do you have one?”

You blink. He looks... mostly normal. There's a little sparkle back in his eyes, and even though you can't see his nose under the mask to tell how red it is, he doesn't sound nearly as congested anymore as he used to be. He actually came all the way to your apartment so he can't be feeling too bad.

But there's still something kind of... off. You're not sure what it is. Maybe it's the remnants of sickness still clinging to his body, but while the conjecture makes sense, it doesn't feel right.

He looks at you. “Are you listening to me?”

“… No.”

Taehyun sighs. “I asked if you've eaten. And if you have a mask.”

“I ran out of masks like two weeks ago and forgot to restock.” Ignoring Taehyun’s groan, you purse your lips. “I... think I ate a cup of ramen last night.” A memory returns of you dumping an empty ramen cup into the wastebasket by your desk. “Yeah, I definitely ate ramen last night.”

“So maybe you aren't sick.” Taehyun sighs, and it sounds kind of relieved. “What were you thinking, coming over and staying the night when I was sick?”

“I—what?” You poke his forehead. “You were the one insisting that I stay over! Do you remember yourself? You were literally begging me to stay, you wouldn’t let me leave to even get clothes—”

“You shouldn't have agreed!” Taehyun snaps, and that's when you see the anxiety buzzing around his figure. Ah. That's what was off about him. He looks a little jumpy. “You should have gone home and not worried, Y/N, I would've been fine.”

“No, you wouldn't have.” You wish you hadn’t left your phone in the office, you could show him pictures—evidence—that he was sick as a fucking dog for the day you were there. “You were dead and dying on your couch. Who was going to take care of you? Hobak?”

Taehyun looks at you for a very long moment, almost tensed to spring. Then, all of a sudden, he deflates. “I didn't want you to get sick too,” he mumbles. “You already overwork yourself.”

“Says you.” You snort. “And you’re forgetting, I have an immune system made of steel.”

All Taehyun does is raise an eyebrow.

Damn, you forgot that he's mostly back to normal, which means you can't get away with speaking outrageous untruths because he'll catch you in them immediately. “Well, that means you're better,” you mutter.

“Huh?”

“You're judging me with that raised eyebrow.” You point. “It took you a whole three or five seconds or something to process my bullshit when I came over. Now you're back to dealing with it in one.”

“I feel like your standards for determining whether or not I'm sick are kind of concerning,” Taehyun replies. “Whether or not I'm able to judge you.”

“Well, it's that, and also you look considerably better than when you were burritoed on the couch with Hobak sitting on you like a fluffy hat. In addition to the fact that you were able to get on the subway and walk here like a normal human being.” You blink. “Anyway, why are you here? I have a deadline. I feel like I probably mentioned this to you. Actually wait, you're my editor. Don't you have my deadlines memorized better than I do?”

Suddenly, Taehyun looks very... embarrassed. Which is interesting and concerning because he rarely looks embarrassed. You've seen shy Taehyun, giggly Taehyun, cute Taehyun, but never really embarrassed Taehyun.

“Just...” He shrugs slightly, then doesn't say anything else.

You put your hand to his forehead and he jumps. It's not feverish, but you still narrow your eyes. “Are you still sick? You're weirdly jumpy today.”

“I'm not sick,” he mumbles. “I just... thanks.” He swallows very visibly. “For taking care of me.”

You blink once. Twice. It's like when he complimented you when he was ill—how the fuck do you respond to that?

“It's fine,” you eventually say, feeling like something is definitely not fine because there's still tension in the air except you don't know how to resolve it. “I mean, you're always taking care of me. It was the least I could do for you.”

For some reason, that seems to upset Taehyun more. His eyebrows knit together like he's worried and you have no idea why anything you said could have made him more jumpy or nervous or upset. “... Taehyun? Are you mad?”

“It's not a negotiation,” he says, and now you're more confused than ever. Negotiation?

“It's not like... a tradeoff.” He blinks and this time you can't look away from his big eyes looking at you like the saddest, most worried puppy in the world. “I take care of you because I like taking care of you.”

Vaguely, a memory starts to re-form from when Taehyun was sick and you were sitting by him on the couch and you were probably patting his head while talking. Or maybe not. You're not entirely sure. But you do very much remember talking about how he shouldn't need to make you take care of yourself because you should be able to do it on your own, but your brain has made it clear that one some days you can't, and then he said something very akin to what he just said...

I don't do any of that because I have to. I do it because I care about you and I worry about you sometimes. Not because I have to.

You didn't know how to respond then. You still don't know how to respond now.

“Uh.” You blink. “Is this about, like. What I said when you were conked out on the couch.”

Taehyun sighs. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Okay, we can probably move past that.” You try to smile. “I mean, like. I'm getting help. I'm figuring things out. At some point I'll actually be able to deal with my own shit, hopefully.”

“That's the point,” Taehyun snaps, looking even more upset. “I don't take care of you because it's an obligation, Y/N.”

You're starting to get a little annoyed now, too. “Okay, you've said that several times. It's not as if I don't believe it at all, Taehyun. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

“God.” He puts his face into his hands and stays there for one very awkward, charged moment. When he lifts his head again, though, he looks a little calmer. “You just... act, sometimes, like me taking care of you is this huge burden on me. It isn't.” He takes a deep breath. “I like taking care of you, Y/N. Seriously.”

He's said that twice now. That means, logically, that it's probably true. Logically. But mentally, your brain has decided not to compute it properly. “Uh.” You try your best to hold his very intense gaze. “I gotta ask—why would you ever enjoy taking care of my bitch ass?”

Taehyun almost laughs. You can see it. You can fucking see it and it's more of a relief than anything else, honestly, to see him able to laugh.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he asks, now smiling slightly.

You blink. “Spell what out?”

“Y/N.” He steps closer, and suddenly you become much more aware of the very short distance between the two of you. You were already cutting it kind of close before in this little entryway, and now you're even closer. “I like taking care of you because I like you.”

I like you.

Oh. Oh wow. Okay. That's certainly—a statement. A very strange one. One that could be taken—in a myriad of ways, certainly. Probably he meant it in a friendly way. Like, as in he likes you as a good friend and likes taking care of you that way.

But even the idiot part of your brain knows you'd be stupid to think that with the way he's looking at you right now.

“Uh.” Your voice is a lot squeakier than you'd like it to be. “You don't, uh, mean it, like, in, um, a friend way. Right?”

Taehyun shakes his head. “No, I don't.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. You're probably going to have an aneurysm. Okay, he confirmed it which means your brain can stop being a fucking stupid idiot now, he confirmed it and there is literally no reason for him to lie.

Okay, but what if—

“You're not lying to me, right?”

Taehyun blinks. “Why would I lie to you about this?”

Exactly. Shut up, brain. You smile. It probably looks somewhat insane. “Sorry. Brain being stupid. But. Uh. Let me get this straight.” You take a deep breath that feels a little too shaky when it comes out. “You like me.”

Taehyun doesn't even bat an eye. “Yes.”

Oh. Okay. Wow. You close your eyes for a long moment. Maybe this is a dream. But when you open them, Taehyun is still there.

Probably not a dream, then.

You take a deep breath. “Okay, so—you, Kang Taehyun of the gym bros—”

“I'm not a gym bro.”

“—You go to the gym every day, you're definitely a gym bro—of the men who own cats, of perfect abs and bringing me coffee when I haven't seen the light of day for a week, like me, Y/N, writer gremlin extraordinaire and stupid bitch supreme.” You pause. “Did I get that right?”

“You're not stupid.” Taehyun frowns. “Also, when did you see my abs?”

Your mind chooses then to very conveniently place the memory of Hobak dragging several sheets to the floor while clawing Taehyun's shirt up at the forefront of your memory. Horrible. Terrible. You're going to have to have your therapist order you a brain transplant sometime soon.

“You kinda rolled over in your sleep at one point and dropped half the blankets to the floor.” It's kind of funny watching Taehyun's face redden with embarrassment. Or at least it would be if you weren't internally screaming as much as you currently are. “And then Hobak was sleeping on top of you but woke up so he dragged the rest of them with him and in the process he kinda rolled your shirt up and you flashed me.”

Taehyun is very red. Redder than you've ever seen him. And you've seen him drunk. Also very sick.

Before your brain can tell you to shut the fuck up, your mouth decides to speak again. “I covered you with the blanket. Promise.”

“Oh God.” Taehyun puts his face back in his hands. “This is…”

“Look, you just said that you liked me,” you protest. “I feel like this is a fair trade. Or something.”

He looks up at you, deadpan. “A confession for... what exactly? The reveal of an ab reveal?”

“Oh come on, you go to the gym every day and anyone can see the results. You having abs would probably be the least surprising thing ever.” You scoff, very blatantly ignoring the fact that you were extremely surprised for zero reason about him having ridiculously sculpted abdominal muscles.

Taehyun groans. “This is a terrible conversation.”

“As I'm pretty sure most conversations with me are.” You smile widely. It definitely looks insane because you don't know what else to do and when that happens all you end up able to do is smile like a serial killer. “Are you rethinking your past words?”

“No!”

You jump. Taehyun also seems to realize the volume of his words because he kind of cringes into himself. “Sorry. But no, I'm not.”

This is terrible. Not even a ridiculously horrible conversation with you and your over caffeinated, sleep deprived brain is deterring him. You ignore the therapist voice part of your brain that asks why you want to deter him and look him straight in the eye. “Why?”

Taehyun blinks. “What?”

“Why.” You gesture vaguely to the air. “Why do you like me, even now?”

“What do you mean, even now?” Taehyun raises an eyebrow and oooh, this is terrible, he's taking another step closer and there's probably like two feet of distance at most separating your bodies. Vaguely you remember that you haven't even stepped out of the entryway, that you're both still standing right in front of the door. “Your conversations are a very physical manifestation of you, and I like you. So why would talking with you change my mind?”

“Okay, when you put it like that, it makes sense.” You huff. “But also, my brain can't exactly wrap its mind around the fact that someone with their life so put together at almost all times likes me, a...” A meme gif that Beomgyu once sent you pops into mind. It was a blue dumpster set on fire floating down what you presumed was a flooded street. It seems to fit the situation. “A certified dumpster fire that’s floating down a flooded street.”

Taehyun laughs. He actually laughs and you don't know what to do with it. He looks ridiculously cute and it's doing unhealthy things to your heart—like making it skip beats or some shit. “Where do you keep getting these things?”

“Beomgyu.”

“Figures.” He shakes his head. “You may be a certified dumpster fire, but you're also very much... Y/N. A kind, wonderful, amazing person who writes extremely well and has a way with words that makes me cry, who always tries their best in everything they set out to do, who makes a really amazing sick person soup that I would eat even if I wasn't sick.”

He's smiling now and it's doing even worse things to your heart. You never liked the metaphor of someone's heart beating out of their chest because it reminded you a little too much of panic attacks, but now you kind of feel like you need to use it because there's nothing else to explain this feeling. At least it's being used in a situation where you are very much not about to have a panic attack.

Taehyun's continuing. He's continuing with no regard for your sanity and you can't even stop him because your throat is refusing to allow you to speak. “I like that you're self-aware, Y/N, and I like that you're honest. But I also think that you never really understand that you're capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for.” His smile softens.

That’s it. You're going to need him to pay your hospital bills. And therapy bills. Actually, your therapist might need to bill him because he's all you’re going to be able to talk about for several sessions straight, just your really hot editor and his really cute smile.

“You're brilliant, you're smart, and you're funny and kind, and really, I don't see how anyone couldn't like you.” Taehyun looks a little nervous now but he keeps going. “Honestly.”

You open your mouth. And then close it, mostly because you think if you try to say anything you're going to make some noise that is extremely reminiscent of a dying whale. It takes you a second to compose yourself and get rid of the stupid lump growing in your throat but finally, you've convinced your brain that you are sane enough to speak—

“My therapist is going to hear about you.”

Oh God. Oh fucking God. You really just said that. And you've scared Taehyun, look at his big eyes, what the fuck is wrong with you why are you such a monster—

“Uh.” He blinks. “Why?”

You blink too and it surprises you to realize that there are tears beginning to form behind your eyes. This is worse than you thought it would be.

“Because you're hot and sweet and kind and you always take care of me even though technically you're just my editor and like I've talked to my therapist about the hot gym bro editor in the office before but that was mostly because we were like, friends or something, and I was worried that you were doing too much for me and I wasn't doing enough for you so then she told me about friendships being a two way street and that I'm definitely not the one forcing you into taking care of me so you're probably doing it of your own volition. And we worked on enforcing that for my brain for a while but that was in a friend context and I never told her that I had a kind of dumb stupid kid crush on you but now you're telling me you actually like me as something that is not a friend and you are complimenting me and holy shit I have so much to unpack.” You take a deep, shaky breath. “My therapist is going to hear about this for the next twenty sessions and she's going to get sick of hearing me talk about you and your smile so she's going to have to bill you because you’re the one who did this to me.”

Great, you're really crying now. Shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes in a botched attempt to stop the tears, you try to breathe. “Pay my fucking hospital bills, dipshit, you're going to send me into cardiac arrest.”

“How about I try something else instead of paying your hospital bills?” Taehyun's voice sounds above you, light, amused, entirely too sweet for your brain to handle. And then—as if that wasn't fucking enough—two warm arms begin to encircle your body, slow, slow, and you know this is Taehyun's way of reminding you that you could back away at any point and he won't take offense, but it feels really fucking good to be hugged right now so you let him wrap you up tight against his chest, your head knocking against his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“... I'm going to cry into your shirt.”

Taehyun laughs. His chest kind of rumbles with the sound and it feels ridiculously soothing to your still rapidly beating heart. “That's fine,” he says. “I think I coughed on your clothes a lot more when you were taking care of me.”

“Yeah. About that.” You swallow, choking back another round of tears. “Why were you so pissed about me taking care of you? You'd do the exact same thing for me. You already do the exact same thing for me.”

“... I don't think I've ever taken care of you when you were sick to oblivion, Y/N.”

“You bring me coffee like clockwork every three days when I descend into writer gremlin oblivion and force me to eat, sleep, and shower.” You gulp. “That's how I knew something was wrong with you. Five days passed and you didn't come.” You blink. “Oh, also Soobin said you didn't come in to work that day.”

“Yeah, I know. You told me, remember?” And vaguely you do remember, which should probably make you feel embarrassed at having repeated knowledge to Taehyun who apparently still retains information even when his brain is working at twenty five percent capacity, but now he's patting the back of your head and you kind of just want to space out into the void. “And... I just, I know how you are sometimes. I know how you try to take care of yourself, but even then, I know your immune system can be kind of shit.” Taehyun sighs. “I got worried that you got sick because of me, and I really hated that, and then you weren’t answering my texts for a while...”

“I had a deadline.” You blink. “I still have it.”

“I know. But I also wasn't thinking properly.” He pulls you a bit closer and it makes you want to cry harder. This is too sweet. Too nice. Too comfortable. Too much Taehyun, you’re drowning in him. “It's kind of hard to think properly around you, you know.”

“I live in my own brain, Taehyun.” You let out a very wet laugh. “I don't think properly around me. Ever.”

“Touché.” He joins your laugh. “But in my case, it's because you're sometimes a little too brilliant.”

“Or because I talk a little too fast,” you reply in an effort to deflect because if you let yourself process how sweet that was you’re going to probably die right here and now.

“That too.” He pats your back. “But mostly the first reason.”

His admission forces you to process it, which brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes and now you're getting snot on his shirt instead of just saltwater. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I'm feeling a lot of emotions right now.”

“I can tell.” You can't bring yourself to look up at him just yet, but you're certain you hear a smile in Taehyun's voice. “It's okay. I'm feeling a lot of emotions too.”

“You're not crying, though.”

“Just because I'm crying doesn't mean I'm not feeling anything.” He pulls back just enough that you look up again to whine about why, but then you lock eyes with him and every word in your throat dies. “Remember? You're the one who said crying was an overused tool to make characters show emotion.”

Fuck. You did say that. You said that on like your second time meeting him when you went off on a rant about cliches and tropes and ended with the caveat that while they can be done well, some people just overuse them for the heck of it and you hate it. “I can't believe you remember that fucking rant,” you mutter.

“I remember a lot of things about you.” Taehyun smiles. Your heart is on its way to beating out of your chest again. “Sorry, was that too cheesy?”

“Yes,” you snap, but Taehyun's smile only widens. “Stop it. You're going to send me into cardiac arrest for the second time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Second time?”

“Yeah, the first was when I saw your abs.”

That was a terrible thing to say. Horrible. For you and for Taehyun. You because you can't get the image out of your brain for the nth time, and Taehyun because his ears are turning red again.

“… Sorry.”

“It's... fine.” Taehyun coughs a little, but it doesn't sound like a sick cough. More like a clearing his throat cough. It sounds kind of shy, which is very cute. “Sorry. I'm just kind of... shy about it.”

You blink. “Why are you shy about your fucking abs?”

“I just am.” Taehyun pouts and you kind of want to slap it off. Or kiss it. Or both. None of those choices are probably a good idea at the moment.

Silence kind of falls for a moment. It's not that uncomfortable. The tension from before is gone, at least. But then Taehyun has to ruin it with his sweet little voice and sweet little smile. Bastard.

“I don't think you ever responded to my confession,” he says, once again trapping you with his dark eyes that you can't seem to look away from in times like these.

You make a very intelligent noise. It sounds something like 'uh.'

“I said I like you.” Taehyun is taking no prisoners now. Actually, he'll have your heart soon if he keeps looking at you like this. “Do you have anything to say to that?”

“... I told you already that I had a dumb kid crush on you.”

Taehyun shrugs. “Does that dumb kid crush mean you still like me too?”

You stare at him for a moment. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

He grins. “Yeah.”

“You're a terrible human being, Kang Taehyun.” You jab a finger into his chest, which was absolutely the wrong thing to do because it is hard and muscled and now you're having bad thoughts again. About abs. “I feel like a fucking middle schooler,” you mutter. “I like you.”

“Could you say it again?” Your jaw drops as Taehyun looks at you, all doe-eyed and innocent with so much evil brimming behind that sweet expression. A true demon in disguise. “I didn't really hear you.”

You stare at him for one second. Two. Three.

It's like it happens in slow motion. You watch your arm shoot out, fingers grabbing a fistful of the front of Taehyun's shirt. You watch yourself jerk the arm back, see Taehyun's eyes widen for a just a moment before—

You're kissing him. You're kissing Kang Taehyun, your editor, your good friend, the boy you just nursed back to health like three days ago, the guy you've had a dumb idiot crush on for longer than is probably healthy and who apparently has a dumb idiot crush on you too.

Taehyun makes this small noise into your mouth and your brain promptly goes blank.

When you come to, you've both pulled away, somehow, and you're trying to breathe properly. Which is an ordeal, considering you just kissed Taehyun—you just kissed Taehyun—and remembering that in and of itself is taking all of your brainpower. There's none left for air.

“I like you, Taehyun,” you say too loudly and too clearly, but it's worth it for the sparkly doe-eyed look that burst full force into Taehyun's expression. Yeah. The imminent cardiac arrest is totally worth it.

Wait. Cardiac arrest. Your mind whirls. Hospital. Sick.

Taehyun was sick two days ago.

“Oh, shit.”

Taehyun blinks like he's just come back to Earth. “What?”

You try for a sheepish smile. “So, uh. What are the chances of me getting sick, now that I've kissed you?”

(You succumb to chills, snot, and a light fever exactly one day after your deadline has passed. Taehyun arrives with an overnight bag, plenty of disinfecting wipes, and several surgical masks that he wears the entire time he's here. Which is nice because he shouldn't get sick a second time, but also terrible because you can't kiss him.

It's okay, though. Because when you're finally feeling well once more, the two of you go to meet your publisher at the office, and Taehyun doesn't let go of your hand the whole way there. And when you leave, in full view of the entire lobby and all of your friends parked at various angles around it—

He kisses you. Once, soft, light, gentle.

Someone gasps. Someone else screams.

Grinning widely, you pull him in for a second one immediately after.)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 flower over my fucking casket I'm so down bad for taehyun it’s a problem)

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tinywitchgoblin · 1 year

Text

Studying With Tech (Earth!AU)

Tech x GN!reader (no pronouns, no y/n)

Summary: You needed to study for an exam the next day, but the material wasn’t clicking in your mind. Can Tech help?

Word count: 608

Author’s notes: I’m back! The academic concept/material is never specified, so fill in the proverbial blanks with whatever you feel fitting. Not proofread, I HC that Tech would totally help you pirate your textbooks (“Why should you be forced to pay exorbitant amounts of money for information that can mostly be found on the Internet for free?”); I really need a Tech hug right about now, and my wrist hurts. I think that’s everything, have fun reading!

Warnings: none (?)

“Ugh,” you groaned for about the 13th time that evening. You had been studying for an exam in one of your classes- your hardest class. Most of the time, you did fine, but this was a concept you’d never been able to wrap your head around. To make matters worse, the exam was scheduled for the next day, so you had to learn the concept- and fast.

“What is it this time, darling?” Tech inquired, finally looking up from his phone. You couldn’t tell, but he seemed a little bit irritated.

“I just can’t do it! I don’t understand what any of this means!” you complained, just about done. “I wish the professor had spent some more time teaching us about the lecture material instead of ranting about the differences between various protein bars. It’s completely irrelevant to the topic at hand! And then he expects us to know all of the material for the exam tomorrow. I know I’m not the only one confused, so it can’t just be me, right? But that makes it hard because I don’t know anyone who can teach it to me, and the internet isn’t being very helpful. I’m so screwed! I have to pass this class in order to get my degree! I just-”

“Relax. Take deep breaths,” he encouraged, his voice taking on a calmer tone and pulling you in for a hug. He could feel how anxious you were getting, how much you were winding yourself up. He knew you better than anyone else, sometimes even better than you knew yourself. He had gotten pretty good at predicting when you would be really anxious or have a panic attack, which came in handy in times like this. Fortunately, he also kept a detailed record of how to help you calm down and knew what things worked and what didn’t. He pulled away, still leaving his hands on your shoulders and looking you in the eyes. “I know this is a concept with which you have little familiarity or comprehension, but let’s take a look at how we can remedy the situation. I suggest we take a look at the material together, and maybe I can clarify certain points of confusion? Would you want to try that?”

You took a couple of deep breaths, taking comfort in his words and his presence. You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before pulling your laptop towards him. He read over the material, did some google searches on the side to get another perspective on the topic, and worked you through it. You asked questions, and he answered them, never once getting irritated or raising his voice. The entire time, he was right by your side, guiding you through everything.

After an hour or so (if not more; Lord knows you weren’t paying attention to the time) of Tech working through the material with you, you finally felt comfortable enough to leave it for the night to get some sleep. He smiled and told you how proud he was of you. When you rolled into bed, you felt confident that you would at least pass the exam.

The next morning, you woke up and got ready for your classes that day. When it was time to take the exam, you calmed your mind and imagined that Tech was there as he was the previous night, guiding you through the material. The thought of him made you smile before continuing on with the exam. When you handed in your exam and walked out of the room, you breathed a sigh of relief and thanked whichever deities were listening for such a wonderful partner.

#tech #bad batch Tech #tbb tech #tech x reader #tech bad batch #the bad batch #the bad bois

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live-the-fangirl-life · 2 years

Note

Since you are open for Halloween prompts, how about dialogue prompt #5: “I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep - don’t laugh at me! - can you please come over?” for Nessian! Bonus points if it's Cassian being the scaredy cat lol 😉

Scared, Sweetheart?

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

“I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep - don’t laugh at me! - can you please come over?”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

767 words

*******

She answered on the first ring.

“I’ve been gone less than three hours,” Nesta rolled her eyes and closed her book, making sure to mark her page before placing it on her lap. “You can’t tell me you miss me already.”

Cassian’s voice rang out clear from her speaker, as did his scoff. “Sweetheart, you should know by now that I always miss you.”

She hummed in affirmation and despite herself felt the corner of her mouth twitch up. “Did you call just to hear my voice, or did you have an actual reason?”

“Do I have to have a reason to call my girlfriend?” He asked almost indignantly, but she noticed that he avoided her question.

“No.” She shuffled to put her book on her coffee table and leaned against the arm of her sofa, glancing briefly into her kitchen to spot the flashing clock on her stove. It was late. Both she and Cassian had to work the next morning, hence why she’d opted not to stay the night at his place. She really should have gone to bed an hour ago but one minute she was picking up her book and the next she was a hundred pages deep. She should be asleep right now – so should Cassian. And while neither were strangers to the occasional late-night phone call, they generally respected each other’s schedules when it came to work. Meaning, she decided to push again for a straight answer. “But…”

He sighed. “I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep – don’t laugh.”

Her first snort was involuntary. The second one wasn’t.

He went on, serious but with a hint of pleading that only made her more amused. “Come over. Please.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he sounded offended. “Why do I want you to—”

“No, I mean why did you watch a horror movie?” She corrected with an eye roll. “You hate horror movies. You only tolerate them with me because I like them, and even then, you can’t go two seconds without holding onto me.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be holding onto you, horror movie or not. And don’t act like you don’t love it because I know you do.” He was right. “And I know that right now you’re rolling your eyes at me, but if I could see you then I’d see you biting your lip trying your best not to smile.”

Damn him. She released her lip from her teeth and doubled down on her questions. “Can we get back to the reason you decided to watch a film that you hate?”

“I don’t hate them,” he argued again. “No, I love ‘em. The scarier, the better. All those creepy-ass demons, deranged serial killers, and bloody massacres, what’s not to love?”

Nesta huffed a laugh and shook her head as she stood from the sofa and stretched, groaning as her stiff joints cracked. “And yet, you watch gory war movies without a problem.”

He sputtered for only a moment. “That gore is historical and generally accurate. If I’m watching one of those and someone’s bleeding out it's not because an undead, satanical, nightmare-inducing creature is making a meal out of them.”

“Mhm, so you admit horror movies give you nightmares?”

Nesta waited as she searched for a clean pair of dress pants she could wear into the office tomorrow, carefully folding them and placing them in a bag before aiming for her bathroom to collect her small go-bag of toiletries.

“Irrelevant,” Cassian finally answered, and she could hear rustling in the background as if he was settling into bed. “Are you coming over or not?”

They both knew she was.

So instead of answering, she asked another question, still not understanding why he would not only choose a horror movie but then watch it all the way through. “You did know what movie you were playing, right?”

More rustling.

“Yes, and?”

She thought she heard the faintest trace of a smile in his voice which stopped her in her tracks as she neared the front door.

“Did you watch that movie just to have a reason to call me back over there tonight?”

“Yes, and?”

She absolutely heard the grin in his words this time. Leaning her forehead against her door and loosing a long-suffering sigh, she tried and failed to hold back a smile.

“You’re an idiot.” Nesta stepped out of her apartment and locked the door behind her.

“Your idiot.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, half grumbling half chuckling, with another roll of her eyes as she walked towards her car, “my idiot.”

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @rowaelinrambling @morganofthewildfire @nerdperson524 @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @elentiyawhitethorn @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111 @the-lonelybarricade

#Nessian #Nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #nessian au #nessian fic #nessian fluff #Halloween #halloween fics #halloween prompts #asks #c e d dreamer

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kkrazy256 · 1 year

Note

👀 number 4 for fox?

Carnival Pierrot [on ao3]

Characters: Commander Fox, Palpatine, the Red Guard, the Coruscant Guard, Remedy

Summary:

Commander Fox walks back to his office with a concussion, three cracked ribs, and a sprained ankle.

The rest of the Guard ignores it.

The rigid plastoid of Fox’s leg armor keeps his ankle in a makeshift brace.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for him to mimic a normal gait as he exits the elevator. At some point, he’s learned to ignore the sharp sting that comes with each step. Fox supposes that means he’s improving.

He expects the soft glare of sunset to breach his visor — ( his Excellency leans a pale finger over the button that shutters the windows, leaving the office dark and silenced from the afternoon traffic. It makes Fox’s own breathing that much louder to his own ears. He can’t hear any of his enemies.

Surely, they can hear him.

‘Time is irrelevant when it comes to these, wouldn’t you agree?’

Not true. He has meetings and patrols, time is very important. But

‘Yes sir.’

His voice betrays his location. The crimson shadows move.) —

Fox is greeted by the harsh beams of the fluorescent overhead lights. If he squints, he thinks he might be able to see the silvers of pale moonlight through the tiny viewports. But his left eye is swollen shut and gummy with dried fluid he hadn’t been allowed to wipe away; he can’t really see much at all with his throbbing single vision.

He does finally notice the chrono blinking on the edge of his HUD.

Nine whole hours, fucking hell. He hadn’t realized.

It’s hard to keep track when every moment is spent dodging and blocking. He’s trained himself for agility but also endurance. He can last, even though he hadn’t been made to.

Still, there is only one of him and dozens upon dozens of Red Guard. A new one always seemed to replace a fallen body before Fox even gets a chance to heave a blood-teased breath through his cracking lungs.

It’s never a fair fight. Nothing for Fox ever is.

He reorganizes the schedules in his mind and wonders how many hours he’ll have to spend on playing catch-up. Maybe only three if he forgoes sleep tonight. Doable.

The world goes dark for three whole seconds, but Fox keeps his pace steady and walks through it blindly.

No one walks into him, which is a plus. The night shift roster is shorter and the number of patrolling vode he comes across is sparse.

Those he does see, don’t spare him anything beyond a slight incline of helmet and side glance through their visors. The concussion makes it hard for him to discern if it’s one out of greeting or concern. Or if Fox’s brain is so hemorrhaged that he had just imagined the movements.

They don’t speak, they don’t stop. They all keep walking as if Fox isn’t even there.

It doesn’t matter. Because the responsibility falls to Fox. Not his Guard. Whether they ignore him or notice him, it’s his fault.

So Fox keeps walking. He just has to make it back to his office. Just a few more hallways and turns. He just has to keep walking like he doesn’t want to limp. Like he doesn’t want to sway and lean against the walls for support the rest of the way (his bloody gloves would stain them and give him away immediately).

Thorn turns the corner and ducks into a meeting room without looking at him. The tension in his shoulders is his only tell. Maybe he had been quick enough that no one saw.

But this deliberate blind eye isn’t what Fox wants. He has to do better.

He straightens, folding his arms behind his back and puffing his chest out. He doesn’t even wince when his ribs protest the movement ferociously. The tease of blood in his breath is a drowning river now. Iron paints his teeth and soaks his gums, there’s no place to escape it.

The pain is everywhere and indivisible from his own body. The pain is him, yet he has no control over how it screams through each cell, begging him to sink to the ground and let the galaxy know just how much he fucking hurts.

He counts and takes himself through each and every step. Just one foot in front of the other, then repeat. And repeat. Think of nothing beyond the next step. There is nothing else beyond that.

And slowly, it works. The pain is the background, and he is doing better.

The fleeting stares now linger, their steps being slowed and thoughtful. Their visor-ed glances search his body and armor for falter and injury. They grow uncertain in their initial judgment.

Maybe their Commander is okay. Maybe everything will eventually be okay.

“Commander.” They all finally decide, nodding and speaking their greetings out loud. There is relief in their stances as they pass him by now.

They’ve bought the facade. They genuinely did. Fox could throw up blood in his happiness.

Just a few more hallways and turns. Then, he will be alone and he can stop the act.

The act.

The Chancellor calls it training.

One random day every few weeks, Fox would get called to his office for a personal audit. Never mind that he’s the only Guard member that gets called for them (Fox prefers it that way, his Excellency isn’t allowed to touch the rest of them. Over his dead body— )

Fox obliges, clearing his schedule as abruptly as the summons had been.

He nods to Moore in the reception lobby before entering the office.

It always starts with 12 Red Guards, standing perfectly spaced around the room, surrounding Fox as he walks to the center. The Chancellor stands by his desk, every piece of flimsiwork and datapad packed away somewhere. It wouldn’t do for Fox to dirty it with his blood.

Fox sinks to one knee, “Sir.”

Palpatine never greets him.

His Excellency leans a pale finger over the button that shutters the windows, leaving the office dark and silenced from the afternoon traffic. Or morning traffic. Or night traffic. The city planet never sleeps. That is why they must blind Coruscant themselves, shield its all-seeing gaze from the events of this room.

The final echoing click of the closed shades signals the waking hum of vibrating electric currents. The darkness is replaced with a blinding purple glow that casts infinite shadows over the furniture. It hides the Red Guard well, leaving only their weapons for Fox to follow with his eyes.

Then it begins.

Nine hours.

It had lasted, Fox had lasted longer than he thought.

Dodging and blocking are second nature at this point. Striking with the intent to kill in one strike is also becoming muscle memory.

Red bodies fall all around him, robes fanning out like liquid pools. He isn’t given even a second to think about whether his hits have done something irreversible.

Because Palpatine is talking.

His Excellency always speaks during these sessions.

And Fox is expected to listen as he fights.

Because Palpatine will know if he isn’t.

“Tell me, Commander. What is the purpose of this?” He hears the rustle of the Chancellor’s sleeves as he gestures to the scene before him.

His voice is gravel, the usual elderly demeanor presented without the usual warmth makes Fox’s heart shiver. Or maybe it’s the electricity coursing through the marrow of his bones from a lucky hit of a Force pike.

Then another hit, followed by another. And another. And another. They are no longer lucky hits, he’s just fucking trash. Fox’s blood boils in his own veins, and he wonders if this is what cooking alive feels like.

“Commander.” He hears the warning lacing his title even through the haze of electric-induced seizures coursing his body.

In addition to the listening, he’s expected to answer.

“To push and improve the boundaries of my limits, sir.” He kicks out his spasming legs, sweeping the Red Guards off their feet and pausing their incessant shock attacks. He crawls to his feet, spitting blood. It smears against the inner surfaces of his visor. He’s managed to keep his helmet on for the past two hours. That’s a new record.

The downed enemies recover quickly, and he’s back on defense again. He should’ve broken their legs.

“And why must you improve?”

“Because my duty is to carry out your will, sir.”

“Why must you improve?”

The hesitation costs him a necessary block, and he bites through his lip to keep in the howl of agony when his ribs snap.

“Because I am not good enough.”

Fox fights, Palpatine asks, and Fox answers.

The seconds turn into minutes, then hours. The two-hour mark seems like ages ago.

Then finally, finally, the Chancellor gives the signal and the Red Guard pauses. The purple glow of the Force pikes disappears, and Fox is blinking spots out of his visions from the sudden darkness.

He lands one final swing that cracks the helmet of a Red Guard.

Because fuck these guys.

Fox spits again, and it lands true in a bubbly mess of pink saliva. He had lost his helmet a little while back. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since then.

But he’s standing. Which makes the next part slightly easier.

He turns back towards the Chancellor. The man is leaning against the edge of his desk, not a single spatter on his pristine robes. His eyes are sharp, watching Fox’s every movement. They seem to set off a glow even without the illuminating Force pikes.

Fox sinks to one knee again, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep his facial muscles from twitching.

“Status, Commander?”

At least three ribs are cracked. If he breathes too hard, he might start choking on the fluid in his lungs. His ankle is so sprained, it might as well be broken. There is blood dripping from his ears and nose. His hair is damp and sticky with sweat and probably, surprise surprise, more blood. His left eye is swollen shut.

“Operational, sir.”

Palpatine hums, “I trust that you will be able to return to your regular duties then?” His eyes are golden and Fox can’t figure out the light source, “without disruption ?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then you are dismissed.” The Chancellor waves a hand, and the shutters start to rattle. They must be motion-sensor.

Fox moves to stand, shoving his helmet back on. His ankle doesn’t hurt, because he is beyond this thing called pain.

“Thank you for your guidance and patience, your Excellency.”

He goes toward the private washroom in the lobby. Moore’s pinprick gaze follows him, searching for any sign of faltering. The door closes behind him and there aren’t any mirrors.

But somehow he knows she’s watching.

So he doesn’t fall apart. He simply focuses on meticulously scrubbing the blood from his armor. It keeps his brain away from the increasing heat scorching his nerves. Maybe one of these days, the electricity will finally fry his pain receptors. Wouldn’t that just make everything peachy?

He doesn’t hope it’s enough, he knows better than to leave shit like this up to something as nonexistent as wishes. He scrubs until the plastoid is spotless. He re-attaches each piece methodically.

Then Fox is free, and the second act begins.

The question-and-answer game with his Excellency falls to the forefront of his mind, and he replays the conversations over and over.

It’s the only way to remind himself of the reason for all this.

The purpose of the spars is to improve Fox’s hand-to-hand combat. They’ve all received that type of basic soldier training back on Kamino of course, but the GAR had been made to fight droids. They are supposed to use blasters and other long-range weapons. They had been trained to be good shots with deadly aim rather than brawlers.

Only a rare few like Cody preferred a more direct approach. Though from the stories, Fox has heard that the idiot has convinced his entire damn battalion to adopt his particular brand of fight style.

On Coruscant, Fox receives missives that involved eliminating sentients. Objectives that are passed to him under the table, dressed up in double meanings and subtle messages he’s learned to decipher. The Chancellor has always been of the discreet type.

Not everything is done on a battlefield, Commander. A war is fought in both the light and the shadows. I need you to be my shadow.

He’s gotten better at it. Completing these shadow missions on top of his usual duties with greater success than his initial ones.

But he is also just one man.

He refuses to let the others take on this burden. Practically begging his Excellency for these missions. There is enough darkness in the Senate building day to day, in the soft sobs and restless sleep that plague the barracks each night. The others shouldn’t have to deal with this too.

That being said, he isn’t the one in charge. There’s no guarantee Thorn or Stone or Thire aren’t asked to do the same things when Fox isn’t looking. There’s no guarantee that while he’s on Level 4103 strangling some rebellious faction leader, there isn’t another vod ten levels down executing a politician.

Every time the schedules are suddenly changed, Fox feels sick.

So he just has to be the best. Better at hiding his weaknesses, better at managing the darkness, better at killing. Better than the rest of them, so that the Chancellor’s two yellow spotlights only shine on Fox and none of the others.

Which is why the second act is just as important as the first.

Because a killer has to be able to hide his tracks in order to kill again.

For every injury he sustains in these sessions and on the job, he has to hide.

Injury reports from the medbay that don’t line up with public patrol and mission files will draw suspicion. Where the hell is Fox getting injured if he’s supposedly not doing anything of risk? A well-known Bothan senator is found murdered in his apartment. Why does Commander CC-1010 of the Coruscant Guard have characteristic Bothan claw mark wounds running down his back the next day?

These are shadow missions for a reason.

No one can know.

So he has to hide them.

From the public. From the medbay. From his own vode.

Because even rumors and unease among other clones can grow into something uncontrollable. The Chancellor tells him so, and Fox—

Fox just nods his head, “yes sir.”, each and every time.

“Woof, woof.” He mutters, looking up to see that he’s only two corridors away from his office. There are even fewer vode now. He lets his mind drift away from the pain again.

The first session, he had been completely overwhelmed and underprepared.

Fox stumbled out of the Chancellor’s office that first time looking more unbalanced than a drunkard.

A vod had seen him trailing bloody shoeprints down the halls, and called for Thorn.

Thorn and Stone had both shown up and pulled him to the medbay for Remedy to fuss over.

He woke up to two Red Guards hovering over his medbed side at 0300 Hours and was promptly dragged out, still in his hospital gown, all the way back to the Chancellor’s office.

When he’s returned to his bed at 0710 Hours, his bandages were soaked red and dried to near black in some areas.

The next time Fox woke, Thire was curled around his better side and Thorn was snoring in a chair. His bandages have been changed as if nothing had happened at all. Remedy walked in a bit after, hands clenched around his datapad so tightly, Fox was afraid he’s snap it right in half.

Fox didn’t tell Remedy what happened, but somehow Remedy had figured it out.

The next time he has a training session, Fox walked out slightly better. He had gotten faster and started reacting faster. The injuries were still severe. It hurt like someone had dropped a bantha on his entire body and told the animal to stomp around a few times for good measure. But he was better at hiding it now.

Better but not enough.

He had remembered to wash the blood off this time. But he knew he was still limping, still holding onto his fractured wrist gingerly as he hobbled his way back to his office. The morning light had just started filtering through the windows; it had been an overnight session.

He ran right into Remedy, who stopped dead in his tracks. The CMO looked him over, the corners of his eyes tight. He clenched his fists and—

And he walked away.

The relief that hit Fox at that moment was euphoric. No medbay. No record on file. No Red Guards by his bedside. Remedy figured it out, his kih’vod had always been a clever one. Fox returned back to his office, feeling slightly lighter.

At 0718 Hours, he saw a sudden shift change in the medbay. Remedy was on break; his current shift moved to the third rotation.

Fox’s gut rolled anxiously, and it wasn’t from the extensive bruising. He got back to work, and the painkillers he’d filched made his mind wander away from the apprehension.

By evening, he had caught up with everything. His comm pinged once, and it was a message from Hedge. Fox groaned into the palm of his hands. He had forgotten about cards night. In his condition, he didn’t think he had it in him to even pretend.

He opened the message, a quick apology for canceling ready at his fingertips.

It’s Hedge asking to cancel the card games tonight.

He has to take over for the current shift. His words were the usual brand of sarcastic bite, but something was wrong. Fox remembered the shift rotation and wanted to throw up.

What happened to Remedy. He typed back, chewed fingernails rapping against his desk.

He broke his arm.

Fox dropped everything and ran.

It’s Hemlock who caught him by the wrist, his fractured wrist, as he rushed by. Fucking ow. He cut off his hiss of pain abruptly and let the medic pull him into one of the smaller medical offices.

Hemlock’s voice was stony, a practiced calm as he gave Fox the answers he was looking for.

That’s when Fox found out that Remedy had been abruptly called from his morning shift and then promptly went missing for the next twelve hours.

He showed back up just in time for his shift and was ushered immediately into a surgery for a vod who got caught in a lower-level shootout.

Remedy performed perfectly, Hemlock read the file out loud. His calm was morphing into something closer to anger barely contained.

Two hours later, the surgery was a success and the vod was stable, The shiny assistants were told to take over.

Remedy barely made it two steps out of the surgery room before collapsing. Then, he had been the one carted into emergency surgery by a group of alarmed medics.

His right arm had been cleanly broken but properly splinted, probably by Remedy himself. There had been a big scare with the anesthesia. Apparently, he had been on two different stims to keep the pain at bay while he performed a fucking surgery with one broken arm. That cocktail mixture of drugs reacted badly to the cocktail of drugs they tried to pump into him during the surgery.

It was fucking bad, Commander. Is the only thing Hemlock managed to say outside of reading the report verbatim.

They had finally gotten their CMO stable an hour ago.

That explained the gaggle of shiny medics sitting on the floor outside the medbay, heads buried in shaking hands.

Fox found himself doing the same, muttering colorful curses under his breath.

Hemlock didn’t say anything. After a while, he took out a medkit from the cabinet. Fox started to object, but Hemlock just dropped the case next to him.

The medic began reciting the instructions on how to build a proper splint. Fox swallowed the bile and made a splint for his own wrist.

He was sitting beside Remedy’s bedside when he woke.

“He asked if I was worthy of my rank.” His CMO’s voice was hoarse, eyes staring up at the ceiling, just slightly off-focus.

“Surely the Chief Medical Officer would notice such obvious injuries.” Remedy recited.

“He asked if I was incompetent or purposedly ignoring your injuries for some reason.”

Fox can’t look at anything other than the cast around Remedy’s arm.

Remedy didn’t tell Fox his answer for the Chancellor.

“He told me it was time to brush up on my training. He told me to perform first aid on the Red Guards you—” He stopped, “to perform first aid on some injured Red Guards.”

“But that I may be in situations where I have to perform my duties, even when under high tensions.” Remedy finally looked away from the ceiling, glancing down at his arm, “his Excellency was generous enough to simulate such a situation.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox whispered, gripping his splinted wrist until the pain reignited all over again.

He nearly flinched away when the cold fingers of Remedy’s good hand ghosted over his.

“What can you do.” Remedy shrugged, not expecting an answer to his non-question.

They both knew there’s no answer.

Fox is one hallway and turn away from his office now.

He is suddenly reminded of the market fairs the Guard has to patrol occasionally. The streets are busy, noisy, and filled with hundreds of different scents.

There is so much going on during these festivals, yet their favorite thing to do is observe the games.

Booths that boasted giant plush toys and bags of sweetmeats, luring children and adults alike to try their hand at winning the prizes.

And if Fox isn’t feeling like an asshole that particular day, he would allow his group of shiny patrols to stand close to these booths. They would all whisper through their private comms, trying to figure out the trick to the games. If he’s feeling particularly generous, he would crack a few jokes himself, watching the kih’vod stare at him, shell-shocked through their helmets.

The games are rigged, and they all know it. Yet, no one accuses the booth owner of cheating. The children lose and beg their parents for more credits. The parents know the games are fixed, and still fork the money over. They still cheer as they lose over and over.

If Fox doesn’t hide his injuries well enough and gets the mark on his medical file, he’s failed.

If he lets his vode take the responsibility by pretending not to notice his injuries, they’ve failed.

He had put that burden on their shoulders. He has failed them.

There’s no way for Fox to win.

And Fox will still come running the moment Palpatine calls.

Because if not him, then it will be Thorn. It will be Stone. Thire. Hound. Remedy.

The list is endless. Because he is the cog holding this precariously running machine in place. If he stalls, they all will.

Someone’s feeling self-important today. His mind hisses, sounding concussed and vindictive. Kriff right the fuck off.

His hand finds the keypad to his office, and he fumbles with the code. His fingers are finally starting to shake.

The only thing Fox can do is get better. He has to sustain fewer injuries and hide the ones he does receive more effectively. He has to be faster and deadlier. He has to kill them until there isn’t enough for the Chancellor to throw at him.

His office is a mess, the smell of stale blood mingled with stale caf. Fox pulls the hidden medkit from his desk drawer. It’s the same one Hemlock gave him all those months ago. His half-filled bottle of moonshine is also hidden inside. As an antiseptic and painkiller all in one. The Coruscant Guard is nothing but efficient.

He uncorks the bottle, swirling it around with his barely healed wrist.

And one day, one of these never-ending days, he’ll figure out the trick to this rigged game. He’ll find a way to cheat the cheater.

He’ll find a way to win.

Fox takes a swig from the bottle and starts treating his wounds.

once again, on ao3 if you'd like to leave some kudos <3

#commander fox #coruscant guard #clone medic remedy #star wars #tcw #sw mine

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princessmisery666 · 2 years

Text

Glimpse Of Heaven - Part 5.6 Under The Radar Mini Series

Summary: Unknowingly, Jake earns himself some brownie points, and you reward him.

Warnings: smut, fluff

W/C: 1.3k

Characters: Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin, fem!reader (You. Call sign: Huntress). Mentioned/Small Parts: Penny Benjamin, Lieutenant Javy "Coyote" Machado, irrelevant but required OC’s.

Pairing: Hangman x Fem!Reader, (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

A/N: my wonderful beta @deanwinchesterswitch is all finished and given me her stamp of approval. So I'm changing the schedule to post the last 4 parts over the next 4 days.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: made by me on canva // @writercole made the dividers.

Series Master Lists: Parts 1 - 5 // Drabbles & One-shots

A Glimpse Of Heaven

A month or so later.

It’s been a long day. One of the new recruits, Apollo, went into G-lock - luckily recovered before he made friends with the mountain edge, and another, Flipper, decided to throw up while inverted in the two-seater F-18 with you. Funny how Maverick never gets vomited on.

The last thing you want to do is go to The Hard Deck. You want to shower and sleep. Coyote stuck around Fightertown, too, so it’s not like Jake is all alone, waiting on you, and you’re sure he’s having fun drinking and shooting pool with his friend.

You call Jake, and he answers on the third ring.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets, a smile evident in his voice.

“Hey babe,” you say wistfully.

“You sound tired. Everything okay?”

“Long day. Do you mind if I give tonight a miss?”

“No, of course not, darling,” he says, but he sounds disappointed. “But can I come give you a kiss when I get back?”

“I’ll leave my door unlocked,” you smile.

“G’night, baby,” Jake says softly before hanging up.

It’s been a busy few days, you’ve hardly seen him, but you look forward to him waking you up later with a kiss. But while you shower, the notion of being able to kiss him now, feel his arms around you, massage some of the tension of the day out of your shoulders has too great a pull, and you find yourself rushing to finish up and change.

The bar is packed; with uniforms and civilians. A pretty blonde strides in your path as you enter, laser-focused on a target, and she gives you an apologetic smile when you have to stop to not collide. “Sorry,” she says.

You chuckle, telling her, “go get him, girl,” with a wink. Her smile grows, and she continues on her path.

The queue at the bar is three people deep, and you have to wait. You don’t need to search the crowd for Jake; you know he’ll be at the pool table. When you finally make it to the bar, you glance over. Coyote is bent over a pretty dark-haired woman, giving her some pointers on her form. Jake’s standing to the side, leaning on the wall waiting his turn, but the blonde woman you’d encouraged is standing close by - too close. Jake’s head is tipped low so she can whisper in his ear.

“Hey, Y/N,” Penny greets you at the bar, just as Jake straightens and laughs. “Usual?”

You hear her but don’t process it; too busy watching the interaction. The blonde’s hand is on his bare forearm.

“Don’t worry about her,” Penny says, finally gaining your attention. “She’s a frequent flier, and I’m pretty sure he’s already been there, but we all know you’re the only person he’s ever gone back to.”

Penny isn’t wrong. Besides, Jake is a flirt. It’s something you’ve come to expect. He flirts with everyone - likes the added ego boost. But he also has a high sex drive, his appetite is insatiable, and he likes to come twice during every session.

However, it’s been a month, and you still haven’t let him get passed third base. Maybe he’s had enough; maybe he’s frustrated enough to think he can get his dick wet with this groupie, and you’ll be none the wiser. After all, he’s no longer expecting you.

Penny hands you a bottle of beer, and you take it without looking. Jake takes a half step back, and her hand falls from his arm. You see his lips move, and he’s shaking his head. You maneuver through the crowd, and the blonde is walking toward you, smile now absent. “Strike out?” you ask.

“He has a girlfriend,” she shrugs with a look of genuine disappointment, carrying on toward her friends.

A warmth spreads through you. Bashful glee that one, he rejected her and didn’t revert to his old ways, and two, he called you his girlfriend. It only occurs to you in the moment that it's the first time either of you has officially labeled the relationship. Okay, he’s definitely earned some brownie points, and you decide he deserves a reward.

You squeeze your way through the mass of bodies and stand at the left corner pocket of the pool table just as Jake pots the black ball. His eyes drive the length of the cue and up your body. His face breaks out into a huge grin when he sees it’s you. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, beautiful,” he greets, straightening up. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I wasn’t, and we’re not staying,” you tell him. You can feel the lust in your expression, hungry eyes, and husky voice, “take me home.”

Jake reads the situation correctly, wets his lips, and holds his cue out to Coyote without taking his focus off you. “Bye, buddy.”

Jake felt the tension in your body when he pinned you against his car outside the bar. His hands under your shirt, kneading your breasts, mouths connected in a charged kiss. Your hand gripping his hair, the other groping his hard cock. “Backseat,” you’d suggested breathlessly.

“Nu-huh,” he’d said, pulling back to look into your lust-blown eyes. “No, sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for this. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” he told you, “no quickie in the backseat. I want to take my time. Take it real slow. I can see your mind is overworked, I can feel the tension in your body, so I’m gonna make every second of this worth it.”

He meant every word, and he’s following through with his promise. Yet, it's increasingly more difficult not to rut into you and chase his end.

Jake’s completely intoxicated. The lights are dimmed low, and the temperature is just right, the open window blowing a gentle breeze over his naked form. He’s right where he should be, you caged beneath him, slotted perfectly between your legs, cock buried so deep he’s nudging your cervix with every calculated thrust.

“Tell me your desires,” he whispers in the shell of your ear, hips rolling and snapping. “I want to provide every single one.”

“You, Jake,” you moan, eyes fluttering, “you're my desire. I just want you.” you draw his face down to yours and kiss him with a passion and eagerness he’s never felt before.

Fuck. That’s enough to make him want to blow his load, but he doesn’t. He holds himself back, smoothing his hand up your arm, intertwining your fingers, and presses it into the mattress.

You roll your hips as he fucks into you, making him go unbelievably deeper, and you whimper his name on a stuttering loop.

You’re so warm and tight, enveloped around him, and he can’t describe how incredibly perfect it feels. It’s different this time. He’s never gone this slow before. He used to let his cock take over and sprint to the finish line, only slowing to make sure you come before him. But this, this moment, he wants it to last forever.

“Fuck, Jake,” you groan.

“Shit, you feel so good.”

“I want you to come with me,” you request, “please.”

From the pitch of your plea, he knows you're close, right on the edge, and he knows one precision swirl of his thumb on your clit, and you’ll come undone.

“No, baby,” he apologizes, reaching between your bodies, and hitting the bullseye with his thumb. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he manages to say before you splinter beneath him.

He kisses you through it, never slowing or changing his rhythm, waiting for you to come back down.

“I love you,” he declares, and though you don’t say it back, the way you look at him, he swears he catches a glimpse of heaven in your eyes.

Part 5.7 - Attention

#top gun maverick #jake seresin #hangman #hangman smut #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #female reader #fluff

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hello-eeveev · 28 days

Text

How to Rest: Director's Commentary—Chapter 4

I always knew this chapter was going to be the problem child. It was the least clear snapshot next to Chapter 6. But unlike Chapter 6, Chapter 4 is the emotional nadir rather than the high, and I did not have a great idea of what form that low point would take for a very long time. So writing this was very much a process of discovery that sometimes felt like pulling teeth, but I still feel like I got a good chapter out of it, and there are some moments and choices I’m excited to discuss.

So let’s get into it!

(spoiler warning for the entirety of How to Rest)

We start off with a bit of scene setting—Caleb is trying to read a book but is distracted by the ever-present countdown to Essek’s departure—before properly establishing how we got to this point.

It’s a bit of a departure from the format of the rest of the fic because of the cut to a past event rather than it being one continuous scene, but I felt this was justified because 1) it’s also just Caleb remembering what happened this morning, 2) Essek and Caleb do not separate in between these scenes; Essek is there all day, and 3) it aids the narrative. And 4) I like it :)

I have a whole 1644 words laying out what Caleb and Essek are individually doing during their six weeks apart (Caleb’s is week-by-week; Essek’s is a more general summary of his emotional state over the month), which is far too much to include here and largely irrelevant to the story, BUT I can offer you a glimpse into Essek’s perspective as he shows up to Caleb’s house in the middle of the night.

First off! He is somewhere in the Menagerie Coast when he gets the message from Astrid that it is likely safe to return to Rexxentrum. He is also in the middle of his trance, because you’re lying to me if you think Astrid has a normal sleep schedule.

(I don’t think I’ve explained my thoughts on Essek’s relationship to Astrid and directly tied it to How to Rest, but this post was made from my planning for this fic and this chapter specifically, and sums it up well.)

So Essek’s trance-addled, anxiety-ridden brain gets a rush of relief and adrenaline, so he’s not thinking clearly at all, and he gets as far as “Rexxentrum = east = later” before he has his go-bag in his hand and he’s teleporting away. It only occurs to him that “an hour later than the middle of the night” is still very very early in the morning once he’s at Caleb’s door and knocking on it (probably harder than he intends to because again, he just woke up and is tightly wound coil of paranoia and stress regardless). But that’s all right because Caleb is there despite the hour, and is pulling him inside and holding him so tightly that Essek both feels like he is at risk of exploding and being put back together at the same time.

Six weeks of hell is worth it if it means he gets to keep this.

Essek spends a looong time in the bath to make up for all the quick, cold ones he had to take in the road. Warmth seeps into his muscles, his bones, his heart. He closes his eyes and accidentally trances for fifteen minutes or so, and even that is better rest than he had in weeks.

He finally takes in the state of his hair. He was aware that it was long and unruly, had felt it tickling his ears and neck for the better part of a fortnight now, but taking a razor to the unkempt hair was like washing away the last of the muck and grime.

He emerges from the bathroom and sees Caleb asleep on the couch, and what a joy it is to be overcome with tenderness and…

(This is one of the first times that word has crossed Essek’s mind with the full romantic and devoted meaning behind it. He recognizes it and sets it aside with the knowledge that it may well be the just product of a long-awaited reunion.)

He sits with Caleb and finishes his trance knowing that they are both safe and he is cared for here.

Now let’s talk about lines and scenes from this chapter:

Essek held his spellbook in his lap, propped up against one knee, an invisible Mage Hand keeping the book he was referencing floating in the air just to his left.

I have given Essek the Telekinetic feat (as shown by the invisible Mage Hand) because I refuse to believe he used a whole-ass 5th level Telekinesis to take the cupcake from Jester in c2e74.

[Essek] was chewing on the inside of his lip, Caleb noticed, and the pen he tapped against his chin pointed directly to the slight pull of his skin beneath his mouth. This—Essek in the Tower, bathed but unstyled, comfortable and focused and brilliant—was perhaps the loveliest sight Caleb had ever seen.

Caleb is down so bad he just likes to look at Essek and honestly I don’t blame him.

It’s about comfort! And feeling like you don’t have to put on airs around each other!! Essek doesn’t have to look or behave like anyone but himself here!!! And Caleb thinks he so beautiful for it!!!!!

He moved across the couch and wrapped his arms around Essek’s middle, shifting him just enough that he could hook his chin over his shoulder. Essek went along with this repositioning without hesitation; he leaned fully into Caleb without taking his eyes off his work. He tilted his head to the side, his cheek warm against Caleb’s own.

It’s not just comfort in a space, but comfort in an interaction! It’s like second-nature to lean into an embrace now AHHHH

ahem.

anyway.

“If you think they would be of use to you, you are more than welcome to my notes on the Happy Fun Ball.” Caleb made to summon one of the cats to retrieve them, but Essek laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “I appreciate it,” Essek said, “but I don’t think there is time to go over them tonight.” Caleb lowered his hand, and his heart fell alongside it. “Right. Of course.”

Caleb was not intentionally trying to get Essek to stay longer, but he certainly wasn’t trying to get him to leave sooner. Poor buddy :( and then he’s having a resurgence of the dread with added anxiety about Essek’s well-being while Essek’s still in spell-mode :(((

In this next section, we stumble into a misalignment of Caleb and Essek’s goals, at least in this moment. They’re both trying to recuperate from a very stressful six weeks apart, but they’re approaching it from different angles. Caleb’s way of making himself feel better is trying to convince them both that it doesn’t need to happen again, but Essek’s is reminding them of the reason it happened in the first place. It is Essek’s desire for Caleb’s rest and peace of mind vs. Caleb’s desire for Essek’s safety and well-being. Essek’s mindset is, “I will not subject you to a life of transience and paranoia. Maybe I deserve it, but you do not. After everything you’ve been through, you should be allowed to create a comfortable life for yourself. I love you care for you too much to let the consequences of my poor choices jeopardize that.” While Caleb’s is, “I am fully aware of what you have done, and I have known that refusal to let anyone else shoulder any of the burden. And it’s bullshit. I know what you are facing, and I am here. I accept the risk that associating with you brings because I love you care about you a great deal. I have the resources to keep you safe, and if there is a gap, I have the resources to fill it. I will do whatever is within my power to protect you.”

They try to comfort each other, but they’re also frustrated. Mostly at the situation, but kinda at each other and kinda at themselves. And a big part of what made this chapter difficult to write was finding the balance between showing frustration and showing concern, because honestly, the frustration wasn’t planned. It kept showing up, and I, Eve, the author, had to figure out how to incorporate it in a way that felt true to the characters, the scene, and the fic as a whole.

“You are leaving soon.” Essek’s mouth went slack before pinching into a frown. This close, Caleb could see the remnants of his earlier exhaustion, the faint circles under his eyes, the redness around his irises. “Ah,” Essek said, closing his eyes. The weariness seemed to settle into his body anew. “Yes.” […] Essek covered Caleb’s hand with his own and nudged closer. “But I will return.”

Caleb is not the only one dreading Essek’s departure. But Essek is trying his best to stay optimistic, partially for his own sanity, partially because both of them having a breakdown about how much stress Essek being on the run is causing them would be a really sucky way to end this visit. It wouldn’t help Caleb at all, and Essek just had six weeks of stewing in the misery of his situation, so he can put off the next breakdown to when it’s not going to cause both of them to lose all sense of reason.

“Caleb.” Essek’s hand was gentle as it came to rest on Caleb’s knee, but his voice was tight. Concerned. “What do you need from me?” […] Caleb opened his arms, and Essek fell into them. He wove his arms between Caleb and the couch and squeezed him tightly around the waist before settling his head against Caleb’s shoulder, his breath skimming across Caleb’s neck.

This is something of a call back to All Things End, specifically this moment:

“Is there anything else I can do?” Caleb pressed his lips together, looking down as he placed his elbow on the armrest and extended an open hand towards Essek. Taking a deep breath, he glanced up. “Stay with me a while?” Essek softened and took Caleb’s hand in his, wrapping cool fingers around a warm palm. “Of course.”

Like. Please note: Essek is more confident in both his readiness to ask and in his ability to provide comfort. Caleb is less nervous to accept it. Holding your crush’s hand vs. laying on your dear friend/bf/doesn’t-matter-what-you-call-it’s chest like a weighted blanket.

But also, unfortunately: the “of course Essek can stay” of then vs. the “Essek must go” of now :'(

“I miss you,” he choked out.

Not “I have missed you,” not “I will miss you,” but “I miss you” less as a current emotion and more as a state of being. Essek is away more often than not, and even when he visits, it is for such a short amount of time that he is not truly able to reprieve Caleb of missing him. This is the essence of what is bothering Caleb in this chapter, and saying “I miss you” while Essek is here is the closest approximation he can get. He’s throwing darts trying to pinpoint his emotions.

“I…” Essek’s confusion filled the silence. “I am here.”

But Essek doesn’t know that. How could he? “I miss you” is surely not an unusual thing for them to say, but it doesn’t make sense when Essek is here, holding him. I think Essek recognizes that there is some further meaning, but he cannot figure out what that may be.

Caleb throws another dart and gets a little closer to center:

“You don’t have to go.” Essek sighed, resigned, and pressed his forehead against Caleb’s neck in what felt like an apology. “Yes, I do.”

And Essek finally understands that Caleb has been trying to say, “I want you to stay.” Essek cannot promise him that, and they both know this, so there no point in pretending it's that simple. But there is something about knowing this that allows Essek to let down his own walls a bit and let Caleb see how the separation affects him, too.

“I have only just confirmed that the Assembly is unaware of my movements. It would have been better for me to stay away for at least another week, so as not to give my hand away immediately, but I—” His voice faltered. “Well.” He tightened his arms around Caleb.

The unspoken sentiment here is “I needed to see you.” But he can’t say that out loud. Not yet. He’s too emotionally stunted. The earnestness and blatant sentimentality would give him hives.

I don’t know what else to say about this. I am in my own walls. You know that image of someone biting a laptop? Yeah. That.

Cut content (1) “It’s not easy being a weighted blanket”:

A brief rush of vertigo suddenly came over Caleb. He tried to blink it away, and while the initial sensation faded, a slight sense of floatiness persisted. “Apologies,” Essek said, running his hand along Caleb’s spine more easily than he should have been able to with the weight of both of them pressed against the couch. Ah. Adjust Density. “I was losing feeling in my hands.”

Cut content (2) “Essek flexes his shadowhand skills”:

“The Assembly is not looking for me officially, so any tail Ludinus sends after me must be small and likely has some limit to their resources,” Essek explained. “Becke has her fingers on the pulse of the remaining Scourger contingent and is disinclined to believe that any would be working under Ludinus without her knowledge. “Regardless, a target teleporting erratically across the continent is difficult to track at all, even more so without the force of a government to bolster the effort. After six weeks, they have certainly lost my scent. With some skill and some luck, it will be a long while before they are able to pick it up again.” Essek lifted his head to meet Caleb’s eye. “That is why I was gone all that time. I had to be sure that shaking them off would last, and that no suspicion would fall on you or any of the Mighty Nein.”

(a/n this is very hot of Essek tbh)

“This is the longest I have stayed in one place in quite some time.”

I wrote this line at 3am. It destroyed me. This line is what led to this post. I can’t believe I did this to my boy. He spent 6 whole weeks never staying in one place for more than 18 hours. How dare I. I’m so sorry, Essek.

“There is always a place for you here.” He felt Essek smile. “Someday, maybe.”

This is the rewrite of this short exchange that, for the longest time, was the only solid I had written for this chapter.

“You don’t have to go.” “I do. I wish I didn’t.” “Someday, maybe?” “Someday.”

No matter what, I knew that I wanted the “someday, maybe” sentiment. It’s kind of the core idea of this chapter, and it’s all they can really offer to each other at this point in time. We will discuss the first line more in Chapter 5, but the seeds have been planted.

Their foreheads knocked, and Essek’s eyes fell closed. “I will miss you,” he breathed, “most dearly.”

Yes, this is a not-so-subtle nod to Miss You Dearly, but it is also a nod to the fact that for the better part of 3 years now, I have headcanoned that Essek and Caleb use “my dear friend” when they refer to the other. Not “boyfriend,” not “partner”, though they’re not really going to correct anyone about it. It’s not wrong, it’s just not what they say.

Does this line really work as a reference to that headcanon? No, I am realizing. Nevertheless, that was part of my intention. I’m just thinking of it constantly, and I have yet to figure out a way to properly incorporate it into my fics.

With a tilt of his chin, Essek pressed his lips to Caleb’s.

This post sums up what happened here. I didn’t mean for this to happen. In some ways, I was trying to avoid it because I… kinda feel bad? that all the big kiss scenes seem to happen from Caleb’s perspective? Yes, this is silly. Yes, I have a How to Rest coda fic in the works that amends this somewhat.

“It will not be so long this time,” he said. “I promise.”

Essek cannot promise Caleb that he can stay, but a promise to visit more often and more frequently is not impossible, especially after the work he put into getting ahead of a tail.

While Essek put on his boots, Caleb went into the kitchen to scrounge together food that would keep well to send with him—half a loaf of bread Caleb got from the market the other day, some dried meats, the last few hard candies from a tin given to him by a student, and a puck of fermented tea from the Blooming Grove that he knew Essek liked—and bundled it all together.

This scene didn’t exist until I was sitting down and writing the transition between “they leave the Tower” and “Caleb starts to teach himself Private Sanctum,” but I love it. The care package, somewhat hastily assembled on account of zero notice that Essek would be showing up, is both practical (Caleb knows what keeps well on the road) and indulgent (candies and a favorite tea for a man on the run). The tea is pu-erh tea, which Essek tried back in Chapter 3 and which Caleb keeps in his house specifically because he knows Essek likes it. This is very important to me.

Caleb slipped into his study and tossed a few pearls in the tin with the candies. He didn’t doubt that Essek had enough, but, well, one could never have too many.

c2e135 01:07:05!!! “How are you on pearls?” “I will always accept more.” “They go fast.” hhhhhhnnnnnnngggghhhhh

Plus, Essek’s gets a little surprise present when he opens the candies the first time, and I think that’s nice :)

He looked down and ran his fingers softly across Caleb’s wrist. “I suppose it is time to say goodbye, then.”

For all his talk about how he has to go, Essek is procrastinating. He put on a very brave face, but he had a miserable time for the last 6 weeks and he’s worried that might happen again. It won’t get that intense again, I know, but he doesn’t. And even if he did, he’s allowed to steal a moment or two more. Like the Beacons :)

Essek reached into one of his pockets for a stone whose origin Caleb could not begin to guess, and rolled it around in his palm. “Goodbye, Caleb Widogast.”

It is important that Essek uses Caleb’s name—his full name—before he goes, as he will not be able to until the next time they see each other. We see that in the message Essek sends a bit later, where he says:

“Goodnight, my friend. I will see you soon.”

“My friend” isn’t really an Essek-ism. He most likely picked it up from Caleb. Other endearments with more romantic connotations aren’t really a good idea for someone on the run to be using openly. “My friend” is generic enough to the average eavesdropper, but you and I both know he’s really saying, “Goodnight, my (dear) friend (Caleb Widogast).”

Caleb opened his notebook and got to work, a small seed of hope sprouting in his chest.

I used a plant metaphor to describe Caleb’s feelings in Chapter 6, so I wanted to repeat that here to create a bit of a throughline. A leitmotif, if you will. Essek gets the fire/spark descriptors, Caleb get the plants ones. We have a little fun here. We get a little silly.

#there's a lot to chew on with this one #this chapter went through a lot of iterations during drafting #but i'm happy it ended up here #long post #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #eve talks #eve’s writing #how to rest #how to rest director's commentary

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sluggydrabbles · 3 months

Text

FUFFBRUARY 3 - A DAY OFF

“What? No meetings?” Palamedes asked, coming over to look over Camilla’s shoulder at their schedule.

“None.” She sounded almost doubtful. “The trade agreements are going smoothly so Sish doesn’t need us, and the analysts are doing an initial investigation into the results of the public health campaign that just ended, so we don’t have any meeting about that yet. It seems to be a bit of a lull.”

“Huh.” He sat down. “I guess today is a paperwork day.”

She pointed to a small stack of flimsy. He could be finished with that in no more than 20 minutes. “Remember the holiday? The paperwork hasn’t caught up.”

He frowned. “And I can’t do much for Dulcie until we get back the results from the tests.” He looked at her. “Cam, do we have the day off?”

She shrugged. “Aside from these couple of forms, I think so.”

He dismissed the forms as irrelevant. He didn’t think they hadn’t had a true day off—a day off that wasn’t mandated rest and recovery, or filled up with research for Dulcie, or a holiday where he had to give speeches and make appearances—in the two years he had been Master Warden. “What are we going to do?”

She smiled and he wanted to hug her. “Whatever we want, I suppose?”

He blinked. He had some miscellaneous research items he had been meaning to get to, and he could probably visit his father, or get some extra sleep. But the smile on Camilla's face made him dismiss those ideas. “Well, what do you want?”

#my writing #campal #the locked tomb #fluffbruary 2024

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secretlysheikah · 2 years

Text

Exile Chapter 4

The sheikah brainrot continues and here I am with another chapter!

TW: Broken bones, mentions of death, half assed editing

Start Here:

It took a further week or so until she was finally cleared to leave the outpost and she spent little time hanging around. She even managed to keep up a semi regular sleep and eating schedule for about a week. Though now she walked with slow and tired steps through the field just outside of Castle town. Her eyes ached but she kept them scanning around. She was close the outpost, she could feel it. That, and the way her ribs didn’t feel quite right, they were too tight, it was hard to pull in a full breath. She shoved the thought away like she had done a thousand times at that point. The Yiga she had been tracking had to have come this way; she had spotted his dark hair in the distance she was sure of it. Hiri stopped and looked around for a moment, he was too close to the outpost for her liking and the need to catch him dogged her steps. She rubbed her tired eyes and tapped on her lantern. Scout popped out and bobbed in front of her. “Search,” She whispered to him and he bobbed and zipped around for a moment before he picked up on something and flashed at her. She smiled and clutched at her cloak and nodded for him to lead.

She followed Scout as he floated in front of her, a beacon in the gloom of the day as he led her to where she needed to be. her mind felt like a foggy hum, her thoughts drifting this way and that. Her attention was captured by the smallest things until she spotted Scout and remembered her task and focused once again. She looked up warily at the sky, worried of rain though a racking cough ripped through her and she grimaced. It tasted bad, she shook her head, it was irrelevant.

She walked for she didn’t know how long until she finally spotted him again. The black haired man was wearing traveling clothes, too clean to be believable. The Yiga was talking to a soldier who was obviously out on patrol for the outpost. She wrinkled her brow and looked around, not seeing the soldier’s companion though there should have been one. She was going to have to tell Colin, they shouldn’t be out alone. She bit her lip forcing herself to focus before she forgot again. She whistled softly for Scout to return to his lantern, the little flame froze in midair before he returned in a twinkling as she swallowed and worked herself up to speak.

“Oh thank the Heavens!” She cried and winced at how her voice sounded rough. The two men looked over at her and she saw a flash of recognition on the soldier’s face. She prayed silently that he wouldn’t say anything as she moved quickly towards them, careful to keep her hair hidden beneath her hood. The Yiga looked her up and down and she could tell that he was annoyed but didn’t say anything. Did he know? She wasn’t sure, but she was going to keep up the charade as long as she could.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I am a bit turned around. I was looking for a place to stay but I found myself here,” She started and blinked slowly at the soldier as he gave her a confused look. The Yiga blinked and stepped back, and she bit her tongue. He was getting way too close to the soldier and she tried extra hard to seem unassuming and lost.

“Would, would either of you care to help?” She asked quietly and mentally cursed as the Yiga tilted his head and sneered at her. She watched him pull a knife and she darted forward and grabbed his arm, twisting and wrenching the knife away. The soldier pulled his sword and she ignored him and twisted the man’s arm further and forced him to the ground.

“Sheikah swine! Release me so I may slice you to ribbons and send you to Hylia so she can forsake you as she has done to countless other souls!” The man screeched and bucked under her. She ground her teeth together and looked over at the soldier and nodded towards the outpost. “Get to the outpost and ensure a cell is ready, go!” She yelled at the stocky looking soldier and to her relief he went without a word. “Stop squirming, and answer my questions,” She hissed and the man spat on the ground. She made a disgusted noise and shifted a bit and pressed harder on his back. Her boney knee dug into his spine and she grit her teeth. She dug into her side pouch and yanked out the missing posters and threw them on the ground in front of his face. “Where are they?” She snarled and grabbed his hair and pulled so he had to look at them. The man let out a low growl and tried harder to make her let go.

“Tell me!” She roared and felt her breath catch in a painful cough. Her body bent forward automatically, her hold relaxing slightly as she fought to catch her breath and was knocked to the ground. The Yiga got to his feet quickly and kicked her savagely in the side. She let out a breathless wheeze and she struggled to get to her own feet. The man followed closely, a puff of smoke surrounding him as his cloak dropped and revealed a white mask with the inverted sheikah eye. Finally Hiri got to her feet and crouched low, her knees bent and loose as they circled each other.

“Oh my, getting sick? Why don’t you go rest, I hear six feet under dirt makes for a comfortable blanket,” He said and spun his demon carver around in his hand. Hiri let out a low laugh and rubbed her side where he had kicked her. She felt the blow rattle and shake her ribs painfully and her breath caught, bruised rib, possibly cracked. She forced herself to take a deep breath letting the pain clear her head.

“While that sounds pleasant I fear you have other obligations. For instance I hear the cells calling your name,” She hissed and started to sway from side to side. The man laughed again and rushed at her. She dodged around his carver smoothly, the pain in her side being pushed to the side as adrenaline coursed through her. The Yiga seemed to be enjoying himself, he laughed and swung his weapon in quick clean swipes as he tried to land a hit. To Hiri he almost sounded deranged and she ducked out of the way of another swing.

“What’s the matter? Can’t fight little exile? Or maybe you just forgot, you forget a lot of things from what I hear,” He taunted and Hiri grit her teeth and finally spotted an opening. She grabbed her dagger from her belt, breezed past his arm and grabbed his wrist. She yanked him forwards and while he was off balance she brought his arm down across her knee and heard a satisfying crack as his arm broke. He cried out in agony, his grip loosened and the weapon dropped to the ground. She didn’t let go however, instead she continued her forward motion and pulled his arm across her chest and dug her knife into the soft skin between two of his ribs.

“I remember enough to be dangerous,” She breathed and knocked his legs out from under him. She followed him to the ground and pressed harder with the knife.

“If you so much as breathe too deeply you’ll slice your lung, and it won’t be too hard to just go a bit further and puncture your heart,” She said calmly and smiled at the little pained noises she pulled from him. She heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching but she didn’t let him go.

“Tell me where those men are, tell me and I swear I will see to it that you are safe and returned to your family. I’m sure you have one.” She said softly and felt him start to shake. What she hadn’t expected however was the laugh that bubbled out of him.

“At least one of us has a family, how is your brother? Have you found his corpse yet?” He chuckled and she twisted his arm slightly and got a howl of anguish from him. She nodded and waited for him to settle before she spoke again.

“I would temper your words, you’re in a dire situation,” She hissed and looked over to the small group of soldiers that had come to greet them.

“Take him to the cells, he isn’t worth the magic,” She said and turned back to the man as two soldiers nodded and made their way over to them.

“We will continue this later,” She said and let him go as the Yiga was grabbed and pulled away from her. She stayed kneeling on the ground for a moment longer and slowly put her knife away. She spotted her missing posters and slowly collected them.

“Well aren’t you a sight,” a man’s voice called out to her and she glanced up to see Colin striding towards her. She sniffled a bit and nodded before she got stiffly to her feet, her breath felt slightly too shallow but she offered Colin a smile nonetheless. She hoped he didn’t notice.

“I didn’t expect you back for a little while yet. How are you doing Mouse?” Colin stopped in front of her and she could feel him taking stock. His brow wrinkled slightly and he stepped forward and pulled her cloak back before she could stop him.

“That’s a nice footprint on your shirt, do you want to see the medic now or later?” He asked kindly and dropped her cloak. Hiri swallowed and glared at him for a moment before she straightened the best she could and fixed her cloak.

“I don’t want to see Miller at all, he’s a jackass,” she grumbled and started walking towards the outpost, following the small group of men who more or less carried the Yiga to the cells. She could hear Colin following behind her and she sighed and slowed so he could walk beside her.

“You aren’t looking so good,” Colin continued on as if she hadn’t been trying to dismiss the topic.

“Well I was following our friend here for a week or more,” she said nonchalantly and spotted him nodding slightly out of her peripheral.

“So you’re going on no sleep for a week. Good job,” he started and she tilted her head to the side to glare at him.

“I did sleep,” she huffed and he nodded, took a big step forward and turned to face her while continuing walking backward. Like a show off.

“Uh huh, you’re limping and favoring your side,” he commented lightly and Hiri blinked at him. She subtly worked to correct herself and pulled a snort from him. He leaned forward and before she could stop him he reached a hand out and pressed the back of it to her forehead. She pulled her head back and watched him squint at her.

“You’re warm,” he hummed and her cheeks flushed. She rubbed at her face before she ran her hands through her hair.

“I was just fighting, come on Colin,” she complained though it fell on deaf ears.

“Miller should look at you,” he whispered and she shook her head vigorously, her hair fluttering around her head.

“No, no, I don’t like him. I’ll be fine, just need some sleep. How have things been at the outpost? Where is Ford?” She asked, clearly trying to change the subject. “Why don’t you like Miller?” Colin asked and Hiri let out a loud sigh and bit her lip. Colin looked at her expectantly and she stopped walking and looked around for a place to chat. She spotted a tree and gestured for him to follow, hopefully out of earshot of the other men. Colin nodded and gave the men orders to continue on before he followed her to the tree. “Don’t you think Miller… Is a bit rough?” She asked when they were alone. Colin tilted his head and leaned against the trunk of the tree as he thought it through.

“I suppose, though he is used to treating rowdy soldiers,” Colin started and Hiri tapped her foot and sighed.

“I mean sure, but… I don’t know, he rubs me the wrong way. He doesn’t seem to like me,” She tried and was once again met with a shake of his head.

“He cares about you,” He started and she raised her finger.

“He cares about his work. There is a difference,” She said and looked towards the outpost. “It is clear he hasn’t worked with sheikah before and I will give it to him that it is not a regular occurrence. We are a secretive people after all and medical care is one of the things we don’t often seek from outsiders.” she said and finally looked towards him. “I don’t know, I see a dangerous curiosity from him. I don’t trust him,” she warned and watched Colin roll his eyes. “You don’t trust anyone really,” Colin shot back and she flinched a bit. That had stung a bit.

“For good reason, I don’t like him, Colin. I don’t want him close to me,” She said firmly and he sighed. She grit her teeth and took a steadying breath.

“He is only trying to help,” He tried again and she nearly lost it.

“He doesn’t act like it! Hell he doesn’t even look at me like I’m a person. Just… Please,” She pleaded and finally got him to nod, albeit reluctantly.

“Fine, I will make sure he doesn’t come near you the best I can. But Mouse just remember I’m not a medic,” He said and she nodded gratefully.

“What about his helper?” She asked quickly and he raised an eyebrow.

“Kent? What about him?” He asked and she felt a hopeful smile bloom on her face.

“You can ask him questions. Maybe he can even help, just not Miller, ask a keese if you must just not him,” She felt herself coming close to begging and she had to bite her tongue.

“Mouse…” He started before he once again sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That would require me going directly behind Miller’s back,” He started but thankfully stopped when he saw her face.

“Alright, alright. I will consult Kent, will that make you happy?” He asked clearly getting exasperated. Hiri nodded and then lifted one finger.

“One more thing, I want a med kit in my room,” She said and Colin raised his eyebrow at her.

“Your room?” He asked and she felt a little blush crawling across her face.

“Hush, can you do that for me?” She asked, getting right to the point. Colin nodded easily and waved a hand.

“Consider it done,” he sighed and Hiri smiled at him.

“Now let’s go and get you some food okay?” He asked and she nodded tiredly and followed him towards the outpost once again. She could feel whatever energy she had gained from fighting the Yiga starting to drain away from her very bones. The world became a muddled haze around her as she blindly followed him inside. She felt herself swaying as they made turn after seemingly endless turns. She didn’t even notice they were in the mess hall until she was being ushered to sit and a plate of food was being placed in front of her.

“So tell me what has been going on,” Colin said as he sat across from her and poured her some tea. She looked up at him and ate slowly as she pulled out a large loose leaf journal and sat it down on the table.

“I traveled towards Hateno to start, I heard some rumors of more merchants disappearing around the hills,” She hummed and held her fork in her mouth as she untied it and flipped through the pages of messy scrawlings and more missing posters. Colin watched her closely and she made a noise and handed him two posters.

“They haven’t been seen for two weeks by the time I got there and asking around I had a few reports that they were in the company of travelers with black hair before they went missing,” She took another forkful of food and chewed it as Colin looked over them.

“Black haired travelers?” He asked and she nodded and pointed to her own white hair.

“The Yiga, while a twisted sect of the sheikah, are still born with white hair. They dye it black in defiance of the elders and the Goddesses alike,” She explained tiredly.

“Don’t you change your hair color when you hide among people?” He hummed and she shrugged.

“I stay away from black hair on principle. It looks good on you though,” She joked and missed the light flush that colored his face. He coughed and nodded as he pulled her journal towards him.

“Is that how you’re able to pick these Yiga out?” He asked and she made a little noncommittal noise. “Kind of, the black hair helps. But mostly they appear to be too clean for normal travelers, among other things,” She said cryptically and pushed her food around. She was sagging forwards onto the table, lacking the energy to sit up fully.

“And what brought you back here to the outpost?” A warm and deep voice asked from behind her and she heard a chair being pulled out next to her before Ford settled easily into the seat.

“Hunting,” Colin snorted and Ford chuckled and patted her back. She winced at the contact as her ribs ached but she didn’t make a sound of protest. She rested her head on one hand and continued to move her food around her plate as she gave Ford a weary smile.

“So that is why we needed to send Miller to the cells, I assume it was successful?” He asked her and she nodded slowly.

“It was, I lost him for a little while though. He managed to lose me on a trail but I picked him up again when we hit the fields. Not a lot of places to hide there,” She said easily and ate another forkful of food and realized she had no clue what she was actually eating. It wasn’t bad, whatever it was.

“What about you Mouse? You’re looking wee a bit wilted,” Ford hummed and joined her in leaning on the table. Colin shuffled through the papers a bit and looked over at them.

“She’s overworked herself, I also think she’s getting sick,” he said softly and Hiri felt Ford’s big hand rest against her forehead. She batted at it but he was undeterred against her weak flailing.

“You are a bit warm,” Ford agreed and Hiri let out a slow drawn out breath.

“I’m fine, I just need sleep. And no I don’t want Miller near me, don’t suggest it,” she added quickly and Ford raised his hands in clear surrender.

“Alright, alright, no need to get huffy.” Ford said gently and Hiri sniffled back a bit and moved her plate out of the way so she could lay her head on the table. She felt Ford pluck at her hood and pulled it over her head. She was covered in darkness and she sighed happily, she hadn’t realized the light hurt her eyes until it disappeared.

“Right, so you followed the rumors and that led you to that man you stalked…” Colin started and Hiri made a noise. She lifted her head slightly to glare at him.

“It wasn’t stalking, I was hunting him and I caught him and questioned him,” she grumbled and lifted her hand to flip him off. The boys chuckled and she smiled slightly before she put her head back down with a small groan.

“Right, sorry, hunting. Anyway you caught him, did you find out anything else?” He asked. Hiri shook her head slightly in the darkness that was under her hood.

“He was being stubborn. He didn’t say anything useful, just some taunting. In all honesty he looks kinda familiar but I don’t know why,” she yawned and heard the boys sit back in their chairs.

“Maybe someone from your past?” Ford offered and she could only shrug.

“Doubtful, my mind is just blanks when it comes to that,” she sighed and scooted back a bit, stretching her back and getting more comfortable. Her side ached however and she had to shift to soothe it somewhat.

“Have you seen him around town perhaps? What about on the trails?” He asked and once again she gave a tired shrug.

“That’s more likely, but if I would have seen him sooner I would have been more likely to follow him,” she said and finally lifted her head to look out at them. Colin made a face and she spotted Ford lean in and peer into the depths of her hood.

“You have a red spot on your forehead,” he said and pointed at his own forehead to illustrate the point. She made a face at him and promptly went back to resting her head on the table. He chuckled and she heard him sait back as Colin flipped through her journal.

“Wait, Colin go back,” Ford said and she heard shuffling paper before Ford patted the table.

“That one, Mouse look,” he said as he patted her shoulder and Hiri lifted her head again and blinked her vision back into focus. Ford was pointing at a paper in Colin’s hand and she had to squint to get her slightly dazzled eyes to focus on it. She furrowed her brow and lowered her hood before she grabbed the missing poster and examined it closely.

“Take me to the cells,” she said and stood up from the table. She wobbled a bit and felt Ford steady her as he too got to his feet.

“But, Mouse, why don’t you rest? He isn’t going anywhere, why the rush?” Colin asked and started to scoop up the papers and put them back into some sort of order.

“Because I need to know,” she said and rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty and hot from lack of sleep but she had dealt with much worse.

“I’ll lead you there, but Mouse when this is done, promise me you’ll rest,” Colin pressed, making her chew on the inside of her cheek. She hated making promises. She grabbed her hood and pulled it over her head as she waved her hand.

“Alright, I’ll rest,” she mumbled and started walking towards the doorway of the mess hall. She felt Ford at her side and Colin ran to be in front of her, her journal once again bound and held firmly in his grasp. She studied the poster in her hand. The man in it was described as having red hair and pale blue eyes, which was at odds with the man she had fought with. She hummed and looked up as they made their way down the hall.

As always it seemed she got lost after the first turn into a new hallway. She couldn’t fathom how the boys could navigate the large base so easily.

As it was she could sort of remember how to get to her room from the outside, but she always had to have someone help her to her room if she came in through the front door. At least the soldiers didn’t seem to mind. A few of them even gave her a nickname and asked to spar with her when she found herself back at the outpost.

She was lost in thoughts like that for a little while until Ford grabbed the back of her cloak and stopped her from colliding with Colin as he stopped in front of a black stone and iron, heavily locked door.

“Jones, how is our prisoner fairing?” Colin asked as the short man saluted and his heels clicked together.

“Fine as far as I am aware. Miller has reset his arm as well as gave him an elixir, other than that he seems to have calmed down. Practically as docile as a lamb.” Jones reported in his slight country drawl. Hiri moved her eyes to the door, impatient to be let inside and see the man. She bounced slightly in place as once again some energy returned to her limbs.

“Wonderfully done, we need to see him please,” Colin said and Jones nodded and produced a set of odd looking keys. He flipped a little bolt on the door and pressed his hand next to it. A rectangle popped out from the door and he slid it aside and looked inside. Satisfied that no one was out of the cells he went back to keys. They were long, gray, and made of heavy metal with a long stem and what looked like a disc with notches cut out from the edges stuck at the end. Jones slid it into a nearly invisible slot on the door and turned it. The key clicked in the lock and sank into the heavy metal, creating a doorknob of sorts. The sounds of heavy bolts and levers fell into place and Jones opened the door with a little grunt of effort.

Hiri could feel the Sheikah magic fizzle and pop as it deactivated from the larger room and she followed Colin inside with Ford close behind. There were four cells on the opposite side of the smallish room. The bars glowed a blue hue as the Sheikah tech hummed and snapped back to them, making sure whoever was trapped inside the cells wouldn’t be able to use their magic. Though Hiri was doubtful that the man that was locked inside was what he truly seemed to be, however it was better safe than dead.

The Yiga man she had captured was laying down on the cot in the corner of the far left cell. His breathing slow and arm splinted as the elixir worked to mend the damage. Hiri moved past Colin and pulled her hood up a bit more as she got closer.

“Oh the exile returns, here to gloat? Or maybe join me in the cells?” The man slurred, Hiri stood eerily still as she looked him over. He matched the description on the poster save for the hair color.

“What is your name?” She asked and watched the Yiga sigh and sit up. She hadn’t noticed before but his eyes were a light blue. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. He looked at her with half lidded eyes and didn’t answer.

“You don’t know do you?” She hummed and toyed with the rough paper in her hands. Still he didn’t say anything and she nodded slowly.

“I know your name, it’s Horace Adams, you were a traveling merchant from Hateno.” She started and the man threw his head back and laughed loudly. Her mouth clamped shut as she watched him get off the bed and walk towards the bars.

“What happened to you? You were gone for a month and now you reappear posing as Yiga,” she asked and he tilted his head to the side. His half lidded eyes sparked with something dark, like he was half mad.

“I am Yiga,” he hissed and Hiri shook her head.

“You are a merchant, a missing one now returned,” she pressed and held up the poster for him to look at. He spat at the floor at her feet and bared his teeth at her.

“I am the enlightened! My eyes opened to the truth!” He roared and pressed himself against the bars. He was practically foaming at the mouth with rage, his breaths fast and crazed.

“What did they do to you? By all reports you were a soft spoken man who loved his family,” she asked, her voice shaking slightly at the sight. The man screeched and reached out trying to grab her cloak.

“Hiri, back away,” Colin said quickly, his voice raised in alarm as the merchant only grew more crazed by the second. She felt frozen though, locked in place by the drastic change from calm to rabid.

“They opened my eyes! The crown will fall and you will play a part! Oracle! Exile! You belong to them!” He spat and Hiri finally stepped back as he tried to force himself through the small gaps of the bars. She heard the bones in his arm crack again but it was like he had gone feral. His eyes fever hot and crazy now, seemingly uncaring as he rebroke his arm and continued to try and force himself between the bars. It was as if the pain didn’t matter, like he couldn’t even feel it. Hiri couldn’t help but see him as if he were possessed.

“I belong to no one,” she hissed and that only made him laugh once more, his eyes leaked red and black from the corners before he gasped and fell against the bars suddenly still. Hiri felt the room tilt and she stumbled back unsure what had just happened. Ford brushed past her but her eyes never left the man crumpled against the bars.

“Mouse, Mouse come here,” Colin said as Ford checked for a pulse. She felt Colin grasp her arm gently and pulled her back and away from the cell. She was shaking, her mind racing as her heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest.

“I think he’s dead,” Ford said quietly and looked back at them. His face pale and hands shaking as he got to his feet and shouted for Jones to call for the medic. Hiri could hear a loud whistle come from outside, Jones summoning help no doubt and she flinched, feeling tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Take a deep breath, you’re panicking,” Colin whispered to her but it sounded too loud and distorted. Her breaths sawed out of her like she was running from a hoard of monsters.

“I killed him,” Hiri said quietly and Colin’s hand tightened on her arm. He gently took the crushed paper away from her and turned her to look at him. His eyes were wide and horrified and she suspected that hers were just about the same.

“No, you didn’t, something else is happening here. This is not your fault,” Colin said gently but she shook her head and gasped for breath, it was getting harder to breathe. The room was tilting more as her legs wobbled.

“Get her out of here, bring her back to her room,” Ford said and Colin nodded and pulled her out of the small room. She was shaking, her mind continued to race as Colin kept speaking a near constant stream of gentle words to her and pulled her along like a balloon on a string. She followed blindly, pulled her hood down low and stared at the stone beneath their feet as he hurried them through the endless halls to her room. She put all her focus on watching her feet, and the backs of Colin’s boots as they appeared and disappeared out of her limited line of sight. She barely noticed the pause and click of a door being opened and closed behind her still she didn’t lift her head.

“Sit,” Colin said simply and Hiri choked in a breath and looked around, unaware of how they had made it back to her room so quickly. She swallowed hard and sat down on the bed and curled forward, her hands coming up to her face. They felt cold and clammy and she could hear Colin pacing around the room.

“That was… intense,” He said after a little while and a bloom of heat told her he started a fire in the small hearth.

“Thoughts?” He asked and she sniffed back, lifted her head and wiped at her eyes.

“Something happened to him, turned him mad,” she started, her voice low, barely a whisper. She looked up and watched Colin continue to walk around the room and nodded along with her.

“I don’t know what that could have been, but the result…” She added and felt her throat close up. She shook her head and tried to calm herself. The image of the man reaching for her, heedless of his injuries, pressing himself against the bars… she shuddered and rubbed at her eyes again as the crack of bone filled her ears.

“All I can think of is that it might be a type of magic but not one that I have run across,” she said quietly as Colin finally stopped pacing and sat down next to her.

“But the cells negate magic, maybe it was a poison?” Colin suggested and she dropped her hands and sighed.

“The cells make it so you can’t perform magic, it doesn’t make the magic in your system stop working. And if it was poison surely the elixir would have been taking care of that,” she said and Colin shook his head before he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She couldn’t stop the tremors that had started to rack her frame and she felt Colin squeeze her shoulders a bit tighter.

“Maybe some sleep will help, you’re tired, stressed and from my guess slightly ill,” he mused but Hiri only shook her head again and looked towards her pillow like it was about to bite her.

“I don’t think I can sleep, not after that,” her voice warboled slightly and she had to cough to get it to even out.

“Then what do you suggest?” Colin asked softly and she sniffled as she looked out the window. The cloudy day turned stormy and wind rattled the window slightly, followed by cold rain. A gentle knock at the door pulled their attention to Ford’s sandy blonde hair as he poked his head in.

“I have tea, would you like some?” He asked and Hiri felt more tears making her vision blurred.

“Sure, I can’t think of what else to do,” she said with a half laugh and shrugged. She swallowed hard and blinked the water out of her eyes. She worked her boots off her feet and scooted back on the bed to curl up. Ford smiled at her and shut the door behind him before he trotted over to the bed with a couple mugs of steaming tea. He gave one to Colin before he held one out to her. She took it gratefully and stared into its depths. The scent of warm oranges and spices filled her nose.

“Orange spice with some honey,” Ford supplied when she looked up at him. He was digging through her dresser and she tilted her head as he worked.

“Soft shirts are in the drawer below,” Colin said easily and joined her on the bed. He pressed his back against the wall and she blinked at him.

“Also I think I left my book over there too,” Colin added after he took a sip of his tea. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth and the scent of lavender, pine and wood smoke became noticeable in the air. Hiri watched the goings on with a distant sort of feeling, like she was floating, almost like everything was unreal. She wasn’t really sure what was happening anymore. She felt a finger tap the back of her hand and she looked over to see Colin motioning her to have some of her drink. She looked back down at her mug, her pale hands wrapped around it so tightly that they were shaking and making the tea ripple. She took a sip of her tea and leaned back against the wall as slightly sweet orange and spices flowed over her tongue.

“Here you go, how about you get changed,” Ford said gently as a pair of soft looking clothes landed next to her. Colin patted her shoulder and got off the bed as Ford grabbed her mug. Together they walked over to the dresser, their backs to her as they waited for her to change.

“What is going to happen to that man?” She asked quietly as she unclasped her cloak and pulled the clothes towards her.

“He is being taken care of, we’ll send him to the castle to be made ready to… send home,” Ford said quietly and Hiri sniffed again and changed her shirt to a warm olive green sweater, throwing the dusty and dirty shirt towards the bin before grabbing her new pants. They were a nicely fitted pair with a soft waistline that felt like flower petals. She ran her calloused fingers over the fabric as she thought of red silk cloths over deathly still people and poppy flowers.

“Let’s not worry about that, not now anyway,” Colin called over to her. His fingers tapping on the wooden top of the dresser the only sign that he wasn’t taking his own suggestion. She made a soft noise and changed pants quickly before she pulled herself back onto the bed.

“Alright I’m changed,” she called tiredly. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs as she watched the boys turn and wander back over to the bed. Ford handed her her mug of tea again and settled himself down on the floor, his own book in hand and started to read. She took another morose sip of her tea and watched Colin sit down beside her on the bed and showed her what he was reading.

“Wanna read with me? It’s pretty good,” he asked with a warm smile and opened the book to the first page.

“Weren’t you already reading?” She asked quietly and Colin shrugged and set the book between them.

“I don’t mind rereading,” he said easily and gestured for her to look at the page. She gave him one last look and sighed before she started to read along with him.

Soon enough her tea was gone and she was blinking tiredly at the pages as they flipped and changed. She had long since leaned against Colin, her head resting on his shoulder as he moved the story along. She struggled to keep her eyes open. The warmth of the tea and soft sounds of pages turning paired with the fire crackling held a magic of its own that finally made her slip down into sleep.

Colin looked over at her when he felt her shift more of her weight onto him. He set the book down and gently took her mug out of her sleep slackened hands and gently tapped Ford with his foot to get his attention. The big man held up a finger as he finished a section and turned to see Hiri wrapping her fingers up in Colin’s shirt sleeve.

“That took a while,” he murmured and set his book aside so he could grab the mug from Colin.

“I can understand why though, she just watched someone die,” Colin said softly and ran his fingers through her hair. She twitched a bit and let out a breath. He noted the dark almost black circles under her eyes, the way she seemed thinner than when she left. He looked over at her hip and watched Scout flicker tiredly in his lantern. Ford noticed the look and set down her mug and reached over and took off her belt, lantern and all and set it down next to him.

“Not to mention the creepy message, what did he mean by calling her an oracle?” Ford asked and knelt next to the bed and pillowed his head on his arms as he studied Hiri. Even in sleep she looked stressed, her face occasionally twisting into a grimace before easing back into neutrality.

“I wish I could tell you. All I know is that I’m curious if she knows or not,” Colin whispered and carefully moved towards the pillows. He slowly uncurled her fingers from around his shirt and replaced it with a pillow. He was glad they figured out that trick as he watched Hiri wrap the plush pillow up in a death grip. Colin carefully pulled her across his lap and settled her down on the mattress, once again silently singing the praises of the pillow trick as she settled easily. It really made her easier to move around.

“I need to go get Kent, I want him to make a little med kit for the room and maybe show us how to treat some wounds,” Colin said absently as he got off the bed and stretched. He felt Ford put a hand on his shoulder, its weight holding an understanding of its own. He didn’t even have to look to confirm his suspicion.

“So that’s why she isn’t having red tea, she would have to see Miller first?” Ford asked and Colin nodded slowly. Hiri curled up a bit more and shivered as if she had heard them talking. Colin reached out and pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and rubbed at his eyes.

“She doesn’t trust Miller, he rubs her the wrong way,” Colin said and moved away from the bed to start cleaning up a bit. It was always a whirlwind when Hiri came back to the outpost.

“She says she can see a dangerous sort of curiosity in him, I’m not sure what she means by that though,” he went on and set the mugs down on the dresser, a gentle clink of porcelain emphasizing his words. Ford hummed and watched Colin’s nervous cleaning. It was clear he too was stressed, first Miller and now the dead man, it was clear things were starting to boil up.

“She isn’t naturally trusting Varis, Miller is just going to have to find a way to earn her trust or not. It’s not her job to reach out and try,” Ford said and pulled a sigh from Colin.

“She could at least try to see him. She won’t even do that,” he said grumpily and ran his fingers through his hair in irritation. Ford heard a soft sigh behind him and he glanced over to see Hiri’s face scrunched up and hand tugging at her hair. He turned back to Colin and made a shushing motion.

“It’s clear we have much to discuss, but not here. We have a sleeper after all,” Ford said and looked back to see that she had relaxed again, even just slightly. Colin glanced over as well and nodded slowly.

“Then let’s walk and talk, she will hopefully still be out like a light by the time we come back,” he whispered and moved towards the door. Ford nodded and followed quietly after him but not before tapping the top of the lantern.

“Watch her Scout, make sure she’s safe,” he whispered to the little flame and smiled as he got an answering bob.

Hiri heard the door click shut and she opened her eyes slowly. Her head ached and she felt slightly chilled despite the slight beads of sweat on her brow. Distantly she wondered if Colin was right earlier about getting sick. She pushed the blankets off and sat on the side of the bed resting her head in her hands. She felt jittery, upset in a profound way that made her leg shake.

She stood up and started to pace around the room. The sounds of rain tapping against the window and the fire crackling doing very little to soothe her.

“What did they do to that man Scout?” She asked and looked over at her lantern. Scout only flickered in his lantern and she sighed and rubbed at her forehead. She flexed her hands and whistled for Scout to come out and he floated over to her open palm and nuzzled against her fingers. She wiggled them and watched as Scout bopped at them playfully.

“I can’t stay here Scout, I’ll go mad with questions, how about we go to the tavern?” She asked him and felt a worried pulse of magic come from him. She smiled at him and ran her fingers through the flickering flame.

“I’ll be fine, I got some sleep,” she tried but still Scout only flickered worriedly in her palm. She smiled at him, whistled again and he returned to his lantern. She followed close behind and scooped up her belt and put it back on, slipped her ragged boots on her tired feet then pulled her hood up.

“They won’t even know I was gone,” she reassured and tapped a little beat on her lantern as she moved towards the window. In a flash she flicked the latch open and climbed out the window and into the quickly darkening day. She tapped a different beat on the top of her lantern and shivered as her magic settled around her. Her hair changed from snow white to a dull brown, her cloak shifted and changed as well, turning a deep red and knee length as her eyes changed from deep red to an assuming hazel. She covered a cough behind her hand and started towards Castle town.

#the sheikah writes #Exile #loz #legend of zelda #legend of zelda sheikah #legend of zelda themed fan fic #fan fic?#orginal work #orginial character

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goodygetgoing · 2 months

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14.03.2024

Mind Shift

My mind has been overwhelmed with tasks, unmundane things, events, etc. for the last few weeks. I'm poof. Burnt-out. Unorganized. Plus, I found out I'm allergic to Brazilian nuts (so good, BTW). I'm not deathly allergic, but I had bumps all over my body and itching everywhere. I kept eating it for a week too 😪. Besides the point, my skin is really paying for it even now (it's been three weeks).

This evening, I climbed on my desktop and realized I missed a mouse and a keyboard. I looked at my Google calendar and realized I hadn't done time blocking in a while. I had been writing it down before on paper, but it isn't as accessible as it is on the internet. So, I decided to update my calendar. Here's how I organized it.

I made six main calendars:

1. Daily Duty (morning routine, drop-offs, pick-ups, cooking time, home chores, and everyone's schedule on my time)

2. Shift Work (times I work, and pay days)

3. Me Time (gym, facial massage, reading)

4. Appointments/Payments (everyone's appointments, payments for house, car, etc.)

5. Family Time (birthdays, events, dinner dates, etc,)

6. Creative Work (social media related)

After putting all the information, I noticed that I can squeeze time for writing, or for gym, or even for a light walk. Reading can be done at night before bed. Even drinking my 2-3L of water goal can be done. With that realization, I do have time for things that are irrelevant to others but are important to me. The small stuff matters to me. Speaking of small stuff, sleep is very important, and that task is hard to do. So, my main task right now and every night is sleep. Cheers to six hours of sleep tonight. Hopefully. Good night!

#productivity #self care #focus #self-growth #Time Blocking #Small Stuff

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vitalphenomena · 9 months

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@bluedprints // ezra said: " they have your eyes. and your batshit insane sleep schedule. "

They are in bed, exhausted, Theo wedged between them on a small cot. They dote on them endlessly; Theo seems mostly receptive of the excessive attention.

"These are your eyes. And if my schedule is batshit, it's only because of you."

She has a point — it's Ezra's hours at the station, Ezra's late mornings. (Ezra's salary that isn't enough, Spirit struggling to find work with a consistent schedule — but that's irrelevant to this exact, precious little moment.)

"Do you really think — this is what you looked like?"

#bluedprints #EZRA H.#SPIRIT H.#EZRA SPIRIT 10.

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wittez · 1 year

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looking for attention

EPISODE ZERO.

in which we meet kozume kenma, age seventeen and in desperate need of some sleep.

( a prologue. )

[IDOL CAMP JP] ARE YOU READY TO PRODUCE THE HOTTEST NEW BOY GROUP THIS YEAR?

[+3,672, -1,739] another season of this???? for real??? we got the point 4 seasons ago

[+2,193, -509] mf focus on last year’s winners before making a new damn group i bet they already made friends with the rats in the basement from how little promotions they get

“you look like an idiot, kuro.”

the idiot in question shoots him a wink in lieu of giving him anything resembling a real reply, the golden sunlight filling in the clubroom via the dull windows kenma’s so painstakingly tried cleaning over and over again illuminating sharp features arranged in a soft expression. “wanna help me out? i need a backup dancer for this next song,” kuroo doesn’t even bother pausing the camcorder that sits smack in the middle of the room for this intermission, a relic from an older time courtesy of a box of his sister’s forgotten belongings after moving out. if kenma mentioned it the older boy would claim he’d edit out the irrelevant footage later, but kenma’s not so sure he can trust his word on it.

“pass. i’m tired already,” says kenma, eyes remaining trained on the rpg menu displayed on his psp’s screen. now, if he was in a game, this is right about the time he’d choose the FLEE option.

unfortunately, this time it’s kuroo’s turn to act. “c’mon, bro. just one song, alright?” kenma doesn’t know why kuroo even asks in the first place; because if there’s one thing about him it’s he doesn’t accept a no for an answer. he’s persistent to a fault, really. resourceful, kuroo would correct him with the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. irritating is the word kenma finds far more apt to describe his best friend. maybe kuroo’s trying to craft a pantomime of politeness, but after knowing him for this many years that’s more laughable than it is convincing. and he didn’t even throw in a please or thank you, so is it even that skilled of a performance to begin with?

it’s tuesday, and school’s been out for the day for a couple hours by now— it’s late enough that the rest of the dance club is long gone after a chorus of invitations to karaoke and see you tomorrows, yet judging by the sun outside it’s still early enough that kenma’s mother won’t get on his case for not being home by dinnertime. not yet, anyway. she will if kuroo keeps him here much longer, though, especially given that today’s a shogiyaki kind of day.

this is how kozume kenma caves, after a cursory glance at the time on his smartphone; when it’s not kuroo coercing him directly it’s by proxy, and in this case the impending threat of doom via his mom is enough for awkward, sore limbs to slowly struggle into an upright position. “sure, i guess.” hell hath no fury like a mother scorned, after all, and there’s little that pisses the woman off more than the sanctity of family dinners being perturbed by scheduling conflicts.

kenma pads into frame, languid footsteps leading him to kuroo’s side. if he said the blinking red light of the video camera doesn’t have stage fright seeping into the spaces between every joint of his body as though it were synovial fluid that would be about as honest as saying cows are blue, but nobody asked him and thus he won’t mention it at all.

like most things in kenma’s life, of course, that later proves to be the wrong choice.

because, a week or five after the fact, wonderful news befall upon a barely-conscious kenma on a saturday at a time far too early to be pleasant (for any species other than whatever those birds that just love chirping first thing in the day are, anyway).

LOOK SUSPICIOUS? MARK AS SPAM (YES / NO)

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: FWD: Your application for Idol Camp JP

ur about to be mad as hell but LOOOOOKKKKK!!!!

— ORIGINAL MESSAGE —

Congratulations, KOZUME KENMA! Your application has passed the last round of reviewing. You are now officially a contestant for this year’s season of Idol Camp JP! We are looking forward to having you.

Filming starts on January 20 of the current year. To finalize the application process, please visit our offices before the 15th of this month within business hours (…)

Kind regards,

The team of Idol Camp JP.

for the sake of being totally transparent, let’s clear one thing up right here and now: kenma never submitted that application.

kuroo did on his behalf as a complete and utter intrusion to kenma’s autonomy, where the justification of such a vile action was, in his own words, something as senseless as: “you’re crazy talented, kenma. i know you’re pretty shy, but you can’t gatekeep that from the whole world forever! besides, even just being there will be good for you. a learning experience, and whatever. you know what they say! the journey is as important as the destination, and all that.” that old saying has about as little correlation to the problem at hand as apples do to trains, and this is the part where kenma taps his phone screen with purpose to end the phone call without even bothering to gratify kuroo’s speech with a response.

on kenma’s behalf, kuroo can go to hell.

kozume kenma’s set on enjoying his breakfast, a plate of soft-boiled eggs accompanied by pickled plum and a cup of steaming hot green tea, only to then climb back in bed and, upon waking back up again, realizing the entire day thus far has merely been a nightmare with just about enough realism sprinkled in to scare him shitless. he’d text kuroo afterwards, some lazy approach to pettiness such as “you pissed me off in my dream, so i’m not going to practice this week,” or perhaps even a “when i see you next, remind me to punch you btw” if kozume’s feeling particularly feisty. if he’s lucky, he’ll get another good two or three hours of sleep…

we should keep the following in mind, however: kozume kenma is not a lucky person.

would not know the definition of the word ‘luck’ if it hit him like an uncoordinated forearm to the face or a heel with a particularly thick soled shoe digging into his metatarsals, in fact, which both had very much happened just the day prior. this is exactly why kuroo beats him to the punch, then, kenma’s smartphone all but burning a hole into his pocket with the quick succession of dings! and the nonstop vibrations all throughout the remainder of his cup of tea.

it’s not until he’s wrapped up doing the dishes that he finally sits down and checks his messages, giving the poor phone a borderline accusatory glance as though it’s the innocent electronic’s fault that kenma’s just this fucking hapless.

KURO: itll be just fine!! im gonna be there too yknow~

KURO: so ill have your back all the time! were gonna always be in teams together

KURO: ill make sure of it, so trust me!

resourceful, the word echoes in his head, the space of his cranium reverberating with the sound. if there’s one good thing about kuroo, it has to be that he always keeps his promises.

ME: ok

ME: u already signed me up anyway so

ME: might as well ig

KURO: great!! i knew youd want to give it a try kenma

KURO: im so proud of you

KURO: let’s get some extra practice in from now until the 20th, okay???

KURO: some of my friends will be there too and i don’t wanna let them win

ME: what friends…

briefly, kenma considers blocking kuroo’s number before the other gets to answer his question, far too scared of what the reply may be.

and then, he actually does it.

****

EPISODE ONE.

enter kuroo tetsurou, the culprit of everything that’s ever gone wrong in kenma’s life.

[IDOL CAMP JP] ALL 101 CONTESTANTS PROFILES REVEALED!

[+1,277, -243] aw, the kid with the pudding head is kinda cute… he looks like someone threatened him into getting his photo taken and all, but that’s kind of what makes him charming wwww

[+333, -115] what’s with this show? seriously, all these guys look like middle schoolers… TT

kenma stares at the wall ahead of him, crisp ice blue paint marred by an assortment of signatures and goals, realistic and borderline imaginary alike, scribbled with a dissonance of contrasting— not complementary –colored markers. if kenma was just a smidge more easily influenced perhaps their motivation and optimism would rub off on him, but he’s just not that kind of guy… he can be influenced enough to come here in the first place, that’s one thing, but there’s just no way he can be talked into having a good time while at it, not at all, because now that would just be plain ridiculous!

besides, he ponders as he paces across the room following along the length of the wall, most if not all of these are pretty basic phrases… it’s “let’s make our dreams come true!” on top of “do your best!” with a thick layer of “good luck!” laid across it all, and as narrow golden eyes give the glorified graffiti a once over the only thing of interest they can find is a particular name kanji, one they pause to wonder on its meaning for a second or two to promptly disregard the thought just about as quickly as it had come. generalized positivity seems like little more than the most superficial kind of wishful thinking, and while kenma would rather put his faith onto something more solid like his own skills (or alternatively, wish upon the downfall of the other contestants), he reasons everyone has their own ways of coping with the discomfort of being in this strange, new environment.

as for kenma himself… well, he’s still looking for it! now accepting suggestions, just text +81-xxx-xxx…

next to him, kuroo pretty much bounces in place. you’d think with such a tall frame he’d have enough place to store all that energy and then some, but unfortunately for kenma, kuroo’s a freak of nature who must be of an entirely different species from homo sapiens sapiens. “liven up a little, kenma. we’re already here, right? might as well enjoy it now!” the look kenma shoots him then is a cross between a threat of violence and intent to study him under a microscope with a 100x lens (and he can almost imagine the little spiky-haired cells he’d get out of it, too, the shameless microbes laughing at him as they swim in an ocean of methylene blue).

arms folded tightly across the taller’s wide chest betray near to nothing as he scans the aforementioned wall of dreams, but kenma knows better; it’s all hidden within high cheekbones and poorly-concealed dark undereyes adorned with bags from a bad night’s sleep, presumably from being unable to keep the excitement of what was to come the following day from letting his imagination run wild.

now, as his friend looks down at him after noticing his stare, his gaze is curious—it’s a silent question kenma isn’t sure how to answer, so in its place he only shakes his head in response. albeit lazy the movement is enough to have his hair, bleached blonde and reaching the halfway point between his chin and his shoulders, bob along with the motion. “you want me to liven up when i have to live with a hundred people in a high-stress environment.” the words are spoken flatly, oddly reminiscent of a soft drink that’s been opened and left out in the sun for a long, long time. during the summer. and if he’s being honest, that just about encapsulates how kenma feels at the thought of this being his life for the next couple months… or just a few weeks, hopefully!

kuroo just smiles down at him, all perfectly straight teeth and a promise of sincerity shoved somewhere between his central incisors. “a hundred people’s nothing you can’t handle, kenma. there’s three times that, easy, at every dance competition we’ve been to!” that does little to alleviate kenma’s anxiety, but at least he’s trying… or so kenma figures, at least.

kenma merely blinks in response, long and slow, much like a cat particularly looking forward to nap time would.

behind them, a boy who is more lanky than he is boy trots up with beads of sweat gathering up by his brow. “i’m sorry, i’m late!” he calls as kenma looks him up and down, flashy outfit blinding his eyes for a moment. the scarlet sequins don’t fit the rest of the newcomer’s colorimetry, all gray hair and pale skin with teal eyes to boot, but kenma doesn’t say that part out loud.

actually, he says nothing at all. he doesn’t have to, because this guy just starts spouting off random information like nobody’s business. and it is, in fact, not any of kenma’s business. “my name is haiba lev, it’s so nice to meet you!” he bows, a movement so clumsy he nearly collides with kuroo’s torso in the process. “i’m, like, soooo happy to be here. like, you don’t even know! my family’s already telling the whole town to vote for me, and…”

if this guy keeps talking, kenma’s brain isn’t there to hear it. it escaped through his ears a sentence or two ago, swearing it’d just take a short and well-deserved vacation for only a second…

“kozume, kuroo, haiba. all ready? you guys are up next.” the sound that booms over the loudspeakers by the ceiling leans more towards crackled static rather than a voice, enough so that kenma wouldn’t be sure of what he just heard if it weren’t for the weight of kuroo’s hand on his shoulder as an unspoken nudge of encouragement.

well, that was one short second.

it’s not until now that reality truly sets in. as anxiety infiltrates his bones kuroo’s hand only begins to feel all that much heavier, presumably due to his skeleton slowly degrading as stress chips away at every millimeter of its surface, from his phalanges to his frontal bone. “kenma?” even though he hears kuroo’s voice loud and clear, kenma chooses to ignore him in favor of pondering what his death certificate will be like. if nothing else, this shit’s gonna be a real funny cause of death! see, it’ll look a little bit like this:

NAME: KOZUME KENMA

AGE: 17

CAUSE OF DEATH: HIS BONES ERODED SO BADLY DUE TO STRESS HIS SKELETON BECAME KINDA SQUISHY AND COLLAPSED DUE TO THE WEIGHT OF THE REST OF HIS BODY. A TOTAL FUCKING LOSER, IF YOU ASK ME!

“if the kid won’t go out, you two are gonna have to go ahead without him.” now, this voice is one kenma doesn’t recognize. “not the producers will be happy about it, though. didn’t you sign a long-ass contract? i didn’t get to read all of it, but some parts of it were stone cold, man!” what is familiar to him, however, is the weight on his other shoulder— god, does kuroo want to speedrun kenma’s fall, or something? since when are hands this heavy…?

a blink, long and slow once more.

and then another one, as if just for good measure, as he tries to get himself into a headspace fit for survival. well, he’s already here. that much is an unavoidable truth he can do nothing about now that he’s already signed his soul away to the evil machine that is this god damn broadcasting corporation, other than go out there and do so fucking badly he’s expelled on sight.

ACTUALLY… THAT DOESN’T SOUND HALF BAD!

fueled by a newfound resolve kenma brushes his hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears. his forearm is held out in front of him and he taps it with the opposite fist, as though trying to ensure he hasn’t effectively turned to jelly just in case.

which, truth be told, wouldn’t be all that horrible. at least then that’d get him out of this one…

and because this is real life his bones are still made of, unfortunately, bone. “ummm, sorry… i spaced out,” briefly, kenma thinks he sees concern flash across kuroo’s features. but he’s still trying to focus his gaze back on the world surrounding him in the first place, and so he doesn’t pay it much mind.

the first thing he notices after exiting the narrow hallway all three were led through, the other guy ranting and raving about whatever inane thing his mind has decided to zone in on for that specific fraction of a second, are the bright stage lights overhead. the second thing kenma sees are a hundred (and one!) chairs arranged neatly in a pyramid shape, with each step containing less and less steps. little more than half of them are already occupied by boys happily chattering away, the ones presumably guilty of defacing the poor wall he’d seen earlier, and kenma shortly entertains the thought of wanting to know whoever this nishinoya guy is because really, if a person’s handwriting is that horrendous they’re certain to be quite the character.

…

on second thought, he doesn’t want to know him.

kenma doesn’t have to think twice about it before beelining in the direction of the very last seat, made of a clear material and accented with a 101 in glittery silver numbers, kuroo’s protests of at least going for seat 50 falling upon ears that aren’t deaf—they’re simply selectively closed for the time being.

if one thing is certain, it’s that murphy’s law never fails. so, let’s see how this goes.

#word count: 2996

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