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delopsia · 2 years

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Just And Just As | Nick Furcillo X Reader

Word Count: 10,000 t.t Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: Implied NSFW, brief mentions of food. Really just a lot of fluff and borderline smut. Idk man, I blacked out when I wrote this. Gender-neutral reader and mentions of a height difference because I couldn't resist.

No, no no no, this is not how your plan ends.

The voices behind you are growing louder. Closer. They'll be here any moment. Trembling hands turn the doorknob once more. It turns. Pull again. Nothing. The damned thing is jammed and won't budge.

"Y/N!"

Shit.

They're almost here. They know this is where you've gone. Any moment now and they'll be rounding that bend into camp. One more time. One more time.

Again, you turn the knob and pull.

No dice. You're accepting defeat - the ziplines would have been a better place to run. Fuck, why did you choose the fucking pool of all places?

The doorknob tears out of your hands as it flies open. Familiar hands grasp your wrists and tug you inside. There's no time to grasp what just happened, no time to avoid stumbling face-first into a broad chest.

"Whoa!" The door audibly slams shut behind you. "What's got you in such a rush, sweetheart?"

Temptation to step back is ebbed away by the arms that circle around you, gently securing you against his chest, fingertips tracing circles into your spine.

"The campers were getting close," you grumble, peering up to meet his eye, "and I couldn't get the damn door to open."

He's silent — just for a moment, brown eyes flickering to the door, then back down to you. "You do remember..." he pauses to fight the big, goofy grin that's sprawling across his face — his efforts are futile, "that the door is a push to open, right?"

Your cheeks burn.

"Oh my god," you bury your face back into his chest, concealing your shame, "what am I supposed to even say after you've just stood here and witnessed me act a fool for a full two minutes?"

"You could say, 'Nick, you're such a good boyfriend, thank you so much for saving me from those rabid counselors and their equally vicious kids'," you're vaguely aware of a nose bumping against the side of your head. It's the best he can do to bend down and rest his head next to yours without outright bending down.

Nick's fingertips ghost up your naked spine, featherlight, settling at the base of your neck. They're firmer, a singular finger tapping the skin there until you draw your face from his chest to meet his gaze. "You look beautiful in this swimsuit," it's barely a whisper, so quiet that you briefly consider whether or not you'd actually heard it. The flame in Nick's cheeks state otherwise, visible even in the darkness of the pool room.

"I wish you could have come to the island with us," your hand wanders up to brush the hair from his eyes, he leans into it, "you would have loved the view from the treehouse."

"Unfortunately, someone around here has to keep all the campers fed," Nick tilts his head to press a kiss into your palm. He misses by a bit, getting the side of it more than anything, but still, it lands. "I've got a lot better of a view right here, anyway."

Both of your cheeks go up in flames, and you have to look away for a moment to regain your composure. You're not quite sure who the comment affected more, you or him. Words are hard to come by, your fingertips idly fidgeting with a lock of his hair. All this effort and planning for some alone time together, and now you can't even find the words to respond to a witty compliment. Nick takes hold of your hand, guiding it further up until you've fully tangled your digits in his long hair. It drives you impossibly closer to him, noses bumping together in your efforts to compensate for your height difference without standing on your tiptoes.

"I hope Jacob didn't trouble you too much while you were out," he says, with a dimpled frown. Jacob's constant pestering has only ramped up now that he became witness to a poorly timed peck on the lips — so much for keeping your relationship a secret, for your sanity's sake.

You shake your head, nose rubbing against his in an unintentional nose kiss, "he's calmed down since your stint in the woods last week." The image of Nick losing his temper and slamming Jacob up against an oak tree is one that will forever be burned into your memory.

Nick's stepping away, and for a fleeting moment, you're afraid that he's suddenly decided that you're far too awkward for his tastes. There's the slightest of tugs upon your wrist and it hits you that he's just leading you behind the lockers. As soon as you've rounded the corner, Nick's crowding your space, backing you into the corner until you have no space left to give him.

His lips bump against yours, touching but not quite there, "you seem to enjoy bringing that up," he observes, and before you can defend yourself, he cuts you off, "you couldn't possibly have a thing for me being mad, hm?"

Again, words fail to find you. You're saved by the familiar pressure of lips against your own, just a peck, one, two, three, four times. He goes in for a fifth, and this time you're standing on your tiptoes and catching him off guard, kissing him properly. Nick whines oh so softly, big, clumsy hands finding their way to your waist as he leans into it. The sound travels its way straight to your core, lighting a fire that burns impossibly brighter as a palm travels down your hip, fingers seizing a plush thigh. He does this every time, yet you still squeak against his lips as your leg is guided up to his hip.

You have to break it, lungs burning as you take a deep breath in, and with Nick's shoulders as leverage, hoist yourself up. It's a far cry from your first attempt, where you had jumped too low and Nick reacted too slowly, finding yourselves in a red-cheeked heap on the kitchen floor and fumbling for an excuse when Mr. H rushed in, fearing the worst.

Nick's giggle shatters the memory, and only now do you become aware of the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips. He makes no effort to break it, squeezing your thighs as he meets your lips once more. Here, with Nick comfortably settled between your legs, it's so much easier to kiss him, no ache from craning your neck up and standing on your tiptoes, just the comfortable flutter in your chest as your lips melt against his.

Cheeky, you nip at his plush bottom lip, tugging it in the slightest of nips. He gasps, lips parting oh so beautifully. He knows your tricks, meets your tongue halfway, chuckling at your surprised retreat. He chases you, hot tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with your own in the softest of touches. He tastes like peanut butter. Your lungs burn as you chase him back, spit-slicked lips sliding against his in the messiest of kisses.

You don't have much time, you both are aware of that, and you take the chance to break away from him in exchange for further ventures, catching your breath in between pecks and licks down his neck.

"Baby," he warns, and you're becoming increasingly aware of a blooming pressure between your legs.

The warning is futile, though, because your lips land on a sensitive spot just below his jaw, sucking at it gently. Nick twitches under your touch, pressing you further into the lockers with his hips, a newly freed palm gripping the back of your head as your tongue salves across the spot. The pressure of Nick between your legs is a new one, you can't quite recall a moment where he was ever this close.

"Baby wait, oh," he's powerless at the way that you nip at his skin, it's one of your favorite things to exploit.

Light explodes above you, white LEDs burning into your poor retinas.

Nick's letting you down almost immediately, backing away as if burned. The room feels impossibly cold without him crowding your senses, drowning you in all he has to offer.

"I knew I'd find you two stooges in here somewhere," Mr. H's voice is jarring, compared to how softly you and Nick had been speaking. It's only now that you realize that you've shut your eyes. "The hell are you two doing in here?"

"Intense game of rock paper scissors," Nick supplies, "we're going to Nationals, haven't you heard?"

When Mr. H doesn't immediately buy it, you fill in with your preplanned lie. "I got a migraine from the sun and this was the only quiet, dark place we could find," you've told this lie so many times that everyone is beginning to think it's true.

"Where are the sunglasses I bought you?" Mr. H makes a motion for you and Nick to head towards the door. You follow without question.

"Emma borrowed them for a theater class and never gave them back," at least you're honest, this time, "it's all an exploit to keep me from telling you how she's sneaking out at night."

"Are you sure you don't want us to tell you how they're doing it?" Nick chuckles, bumping his shoulder against yours with a not-so-discreet wink.

Mr. H shakes his head, fumbling with his keys. Hell, he's locking the door this time. "I want to catch them organically, in the act," he says, rather jovial for a man who just walked in on two of his counselors making out in the locker room, "what use am I if I can't even catch two horny twenty-year-olds sneaking out?"

His loss, you suppose. Ever since Emma figured out that Mr. H religiously goes to bed at 10:45 PM sharp, gets up once to pee at 2 AM, and then sleeps until 6:30, they haven't been caught once.

Nick bumps you again, harder this time, forcing you to glare up at him and acknowledge his presence. There's a red spot under his jaw and a funny little glint in his eye — like he's gotten away with murder.

"Back to why I'm looking for you, Y/N, you have a patient, and Nick, you have mouths to feed." Just like that, your excitement has exited from your body and flown off to the high heavens.

Back to work.

Blaire Whitson is one of those children that is almost always in your office, nursing a new injury. Yesterday she fell off the swing and cut her hand wide open, the day before that, she burned her tongue on a freshly roasted marshmallow.

"Why did Lucas push you off the canoe?" Talking is hard when you're focusing on this stubborn splinter, but it's all you can do to keep the poor girl from crying.

She huffs, loud and dramatic, "same reason he pushed me out of the tree last week. He doesn't like that I have a crush on Antonio."

You've almost got this splinter, but she keeps moving and you keep losing the damn thing, no matter how hard you try to keep her knee still.

"I still think he's just jealous," there's only one person at this camp who bares that accent.

"Hi, Counselor Nick," Blaire giggles. In her moment of distraction, her knee finally holds still long enough for you to get that damned splinter. She doesn't even notice it.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" You sneak a glance up to Nick whilst you reach for the Neosporin.

He's settled himself in the doorway frame, idly massaging his wrist as he watches you do your thing. "Burned myself in the kitchen," he lifts his hand, showing off the angry red burn along the side of his right palm, "my hired help turned on the wrong burner."

You don't need to ask who his hired help is. It is common knowledge that Dylan is a menace in the cafeteria and should not be allowed within fifty feet of a microwave, regardless of whether he's being chaperoned or not. You suppose that's why you've been smelling something burning for the past half hour.

"Why would Lucas be jealous?" You haven't quite figured that one out, just seems like childish bullying, but you're not usually spending time with the kids.

Nick settles in an open chair next to you, still has a faint red mark along his neck. You practically have to drag your eyes away from it, and only because Nick is leaning over to whisper in your ear. "Ryan confiscated a love letter from him this morning."

Ah.

It takes less than a minute for you to finish cleaning up Blaire's injuries, and then she's rushing off to get dinner before it's too late. She's eaten late meals in your office far too many times for it to be a fun experience for her anymore, and you're thankful that she doesn't linger like a lot of kids do.

"Sit." You point a finger at the newly empty bed, getting up to fetch a cold compress and anything else you suspect you may need to treat his burn. You assume it can't be too bad — Nick has never been great at hiding his pain, and he doesn't seem all that bothered right now.

The burn isn't too bad, much to your relief. Nick whines every time you touch it, but that's the most you gather out of him.

"Love note, huh?"

"Said something about being upset that every girl likes his brother and not him," Nick grumbles as you massage aloe into the angry flesh of his hand, "couldn't imagine why the ladies aren't all over him."

"It's almost as if people avoid bullies, out of fear of being bullied themselves," you're struggling to focus on the task at hand. Nick's uninjured hand working its way up your shoulder is proving to be quite distracting.

"What? You don't consider being shoved out of a canoe a quality trait in a man?" He teases, giggling at his own dumb comment.

"Not exactly, no," you raise your head at the same time he does, brushing your noses together.

You can't quite bring yourself to pull away. You really should, considering the door is wide open, but you can't resist just one kiss. It seems Nick had the same idea, because he meets you halfway, chases you down for another as soon as the first one ends.

"I wish we got to have more alone time," he pouts, the moment your lips have left his. "There's literally nowhere to escape, and our wonderful coworkers take over the boathouse every damn night."

An idea strikes you as you reach for the gauze. "Why don't we sneak down to the ziplines? There's a dock down there, too."

"Oh thank the Lord, are you two finally gonna fuck?"

You're not sure when Dylan arrived, but there he is, smug as ever in the doorway. Before you can ask what he's doing here, he points to your medicine cabinet. "I need hard drugs and a nap."

Ah, right.

Dylan has a habit of getting migraines while in the cafeteria. Something about the various noises and smells just sets him off. He's brought his honorary bottle of water, saving you the trouble of fetching one yourself.

"Cabinets unlocked," you supply, beginning to wrap Nick's hand, "don't overdose."

You know the drill by now. Feed Dylan some painkillers and allow him a 30-minute nap on one of the beds, and he's good as new. You're thankful that he doesn't follow up on his first statement. If there's anyone at this camp who knows how to tease without being a genuine pest, it's Dylan.

Jacob should start taking lessons.

"Is this where you go every night after dinner?" Nick is so wrapped up in his new revelation that he doesn't notice when you finish wrapping his injury, leaving his hand stuck out even as you step away to put your things back.

"Congrats, you've found me out," Dylan says around two ibuprofen, "took you long enough."

You don't have to ask about what's coming next, ushering Nick out of the room to avoid any more fussy remarks from your most frequent patient. You just so happened to have picked the one room with a decent mattress, and Dylan religiously picks that room to sleep in.

"What's going on?" Nick wonders aloud, once the door has fallen shut behind the both of you.

"That room has the only decent mattress," you elaborate, yawning, "Dylan refuses to sleep anywhere else."

With Dylan curled up in your office, Nick walks you down to the cafeteria under the promise of reheating a meal for you. Dinner is already over, much to your dismay, but there seem to be some perks to dating the lead chef. The kitchen is a damn mess, but it's one that Nick seems to know like the back of his hand. He breezes through it, alternating between a variety of pots and pans seamlessly. There's only one empty space, in the corner next to the fridge. You swear Nick keeps it cleared just because you always sit there. You're just beginning to sit down on the wooden stool when he comes bounding over like a puppy.

"Chili mac 'n cheese," he announces in his best southern accent, placing a bowl in front of you, "and cornbread." The cornbread is on a napkin, he's been improvising ever since Dylan knocked over a whole rack of plates last week.

"Is this how you got rid of all those different noodles?" There are at least five different noodles in this, even alphabet pasta, strangely enough. Nick nods, long hair bouncing with the motion. He's always like this, eagerly awaiting your reaction to his cooking.

Nick can be quite the chef when he wants to be, and that proves to ring true even with this unusual-looking chili. He starts grinning when you go in for a second bite and cheers when you give him a thumbs up.

"Do you have tomorrow figured out or is that still a work in progress?" You ask, reaching up to push his hair from his eyes.

"Chili spaghetti," he chirps, around a mouth of cornbread. He's been obsessed with it ever since Mr. H lent him the Hackett family recipe, makes it two or three times a week anymore.

You're not sure if you heard him right. "Chili what now?"

"Chili spaghetti," he says, slower this time, "my dad and I tried it after we went camping midwest last year. I've been thinking about it ever since." His stomach growls as he speaks, as if to put emphasis on his statement.

If you had your phone, you would look this up, because you have no idea what the hell this entails. Alas, Mr. H is hellbent on keeping the camp as "original as possible", whatever that means. It makes sense for the counselors, but you'd really appreciate it if he would lighten up on the rules. Especially considering how often you overhear him playing Candy Crush.

Boomers.

You finish your food quickly — Nick's waiting on you before he starts cleaning, and you'd like to lend him a hand so that he doesn't get stuck in here until 11 PM again. It's happened before and you'd feel guilty if you let it happen again. You take off to hunt down stray utensils in the cafeteria, while Nick begins the long, strenuous process of washing every single dish by hand.

"I have eleven runaway spoons and a singular plate," you announce, upon your re-entry. Nick makes a noise, you can't tell if it's him acknowledging you or if he's just pissed off with the pot he's scrubbing. He's got a glove on his burnt hand, which only seems to be getting in the way more than anything.

With a clean towel, you dry the dishes and put them away, working as quickly as you can to catch up to Nick's queue. It's not hard — most of the dishes are the same and as such, go in the same places. Between that and the pots, you catch up to Nick rather quickly. You're leaning against the counter, waiting for the next dish when Dylan comes bounding in.

"We're back in business boys," he yawns, making a beeline for the spare sink, "Y/N I hope you can keep up."

Going into this, you weren't aware it was a challenge. Regardless, you're up for it. With two pairs of hands washing, your job gets a lot more hectic. Back and forth, you alternate between the two stations, drying the dishes as you walk them to their destinations.

"So are you two actually going down to the ziplines tonight?" Dylan asks as he hands you a particularly large knife, still dripping with water when you take it.

Nick's handing you a handful of spoons as you breeze past him. "Depends on whether we finish these dishes in time and if Mr. H catches us."

The knife block is just out of your reach, to your dismay. You have to clamber onto a stool to get to it, have to ignore the amused grins of your much taller peers. Sometimes you catch yourself wishing witchcraft was real, just so you could pay a witch to make them short for a day. Humble them a little. There's laughter outside, and you're pretty sure that's Kaitlyn who's raising her voice to garner everyone's attention.

Dylan huffs dramatically, sets down a bowl a tad too hard, "another campfire without us." It's an ongoing issue — the kitchen crew gets left behind to do all of the cleanups while the rest of the counselors go to the campfire to listen to Ryan's campfire tales. You used to go with them, but ever since you stumbled across Nick and Dylan washing dishes after midnight, you've felt too guilty to not help them out.

"We're almost done," Nick, ever the optimist.

You're working up a bit of a sweat, jumping between the two stations, drying dishes as fast as your hands will allow. Nick's moving as fast as he can. He really wants to make it to one of these fires — you can see it in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, tongue poked out of his mouth as he scrubs away, determined to get these dishes done.

"Is there a reason why the nurse is in the kitchen?" Mr. H's voice is so jarring that you nearly drop the plates you're cradling.

"I want to sleep at a decent time," Dylan's tongue is sharp as he speaks, "forgive us for accepting some much-needed help."

You choose not to speak, smiling as you breeze past to take another freshly washed dish. It would be far nicer if Mr. H would go ahead and just scold or kick you out, but he just stands there in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring. His presence makes it harder to focus on the task at hand. Your hands tremble as you take the next set of dishes, nearly drop a spoon when you're separating it from the forks. 'It's okay', Nick mouths, out of view of Mr. H's careful watch.

"Y/N, get to the campfire and help with the kids," your heart sinks, "I'll take over and help them finish up."

"We literally have ten plates left," Dylan deadpans.

Mr. H is quiet, stares until it begins to feel uncomfortable again. Frowning, you hand off your dish to Mr. H and head for the door. You feel like a stray cat being tossed out into the rain, slinking out into the rapidly darkening outdoors. The campers have already been herded down to the fire pit, leaving the main section of the camp empty and deserted. Walking alone in the woods is not your favorite cup of tea. It's not even that far, but the dark forest is ominous, trees towering overhead, bushes concealing God knows what behind them. The constant reports of kids seeing something lurking in the woods at night are certainly not helping the matter.

Alone and out of Mr. H's watchful eye, you drag your feet, walking as slowly as you can manage without outright stopping. Either time must be passing slower, or Mr. H is talking the boys' ears off because you find yourself approaching a roaring campfire and the boys are nowhere to be seen. Kaitlyn's waving you over, perched up on the 'Counselors Log' as she calls it. You're still not sure how she's managed to ward off all the kids, but she's successfully staked her claim and so far it seems to be well respected.

"How did flirting with Nick go?" She asks once you're within earshot.

"Great until Mr. H ran me off," pause for dramatic effect, "twice."

"Keep on trying my little Storm Trooper," you can smell the faintest twinge of alcohol on her breath, must've been a hard day for her to dig out the vodka she smuggled in, "once you get out of here, you'll be set for life with that man's fortune."

Here we go again. "I still don't know what makes you think he's rich," there's not much space on the log, you're surprised you have room to fit. Of course, all of the counselors could hypothetically fit, if Jacob wasn't taking up an entire quarter of it.

"Dude, he was wearing a designer jacket at orientation!" Emma chirps, kicking her feet. "He has to at least come from a little money."

Right on queue, Dylan and Nick walk around the bend. Mr. H follows closely behind, like some sort of creepy shadow. Something cold hits your legs, and you realize it's Kaitlyn handing you her canteen. "Hold this and pretend it's yours," she whispers, "I'm afraid Mr. H may be on to me and my drinking habits."

There's a big shuffle to fit the two extra counselors — Jacob doesn't want to move to the edge and close his damn legs, Ryan nearly knocks Abigail's notebook into the fire and she just about smacks him upside the head with it once it's returned. You find yourself teetering on the edge of the log, thrilled that Nick has chosen to sit next to you, but it's getting hard to stay on this damn log.

"This log could be just a little bit bigger," Nick chuckles, watching you struggle. "Would you rather sit in my lap?"

You're not sure if it's his words or if it's the raging fire that puts the red in your cheeks. "Are you sure?"

"Long as you're comfortable with it," he says it so easily like it's the simplest thing in the world.

Despite your better judgment —the kids are definitely not going to let this one go— you agree. Nick shuffles a bit, adjusting to the extra space, and reaches out for you with open arms. He curls around you, long arms securing around your waist as you settle into his lap. Vaguely, you become concerned that you may be a bit too heavy for him. You attempt to alleviate that worry by putting more of your weight onto your feet than you are in his lap, it's an awkward sensation.

Nick's arms tighten, pulling you the rest of the way down. Plan? Foiled. "You're not too heavy for me, darling, don't even worry about that," lips ghost against the shell of your ear, presses a kiss behind it. There's a loud gasp from the kids that has you freezing, fearing the worst. Did you do something?

Then you hear Ryan's voice, and it hits you that he's just telling a story. Nick's chin hooks over your shoulder, a welcome weight that draws the stress from your tired body. He's so warm, all wrapped up around you like an oversized blanket, it's like you were made to fit right into his arms.

You've forgotten about the canteen in your hand. At least, forgotten it until Kaitlyn reaches over and plucks it from your hand. "Don't you two just look cozy," she teases, and you feel Nick hide his face in your shoulder.

Ryan's tale of the night comes to a close, and the kids are not happy about it. A handful of them beg for another story in their shrill little voices, someone offers their fruit snacks as bribery. You really need to pay attention to his stories more often, they're the highlight of the night, and half the time, you don't even hear them.

"I think I've told a story for just about everything," Ryan's mostly just talking to himself, albeit loudly.

"Have you told a story about werewolves yet?" The words tumble out of your mouth before you can do anything about it.

Ryan's eyebrows furrow, and he's quiet for a moment. "Can't say that I have, actually."

"Hey guys," Mr. H is lowering his voice, stepping between you and the fire, "let's just skip the werewolf topic and get everyone to bed."

It's not like you're being scolded, you've done nothing wrong, but his tone makes you feel like you've committed the most heinous crime imaginable. Your coworkers share the same expression, confused beyond words.

"Mr. H, we still have thirty minutes before bed," Nick's protest goes nowhere. Mr. H's words are law, and if he wants everyone in bed now, what more choice do you have?

With a bucket of water, Mr. H puts out the fire, and you're once again tasked to do a job that you don't get paid enough for. Getting out of Nick's lap is the worst part—you feel so safe there; it's like nobody could lay a single finger on you.

Getting the kids back to their cabins is like herding cats. Someone is always doing their own thing and not listening to instructions, and it makes your job impossibly tricky. You lose sight of Nick rather quickly, too wrapped up in stopping a group of boys from marching off to 'hunt down the wendigos themselves'. In a way, their attitude reminds you of Jacob. Invincible until they're not. It's all you can do to keep the ringleader from tearing off into the night, and he's only talked out of it once you're out of the forest altogether.

"Campers, head to your cabins!" Kaitlyn shouts, "don't make me tell you twice!"

She's gonna have to tell them twice. About half the kids, including your Wendigo Fighters, trudge to their cabins, but the remaining half cant give a damn what she just said. Who's truly in charge here? Because it seems like the campers could overrun this place if they so chose. Speaking of running camps, you can see Mr. H tying some sort of rope to the side of the pool building. He's dragging the rope across the lawn, looks like he's taking it all the way across the main exit of camp. The hell is he doing?

There's a small voice behind you that barely stands out among the chatter of campers. Blaire stands behind you, Antonio close behind, holding her tiny little hand.

"Did you say something?" You ask, kneeling to get on her level.

"Counselor Nick asked me to ask you to come and save him," she repeats, pointing off to your right.

Ah. There's Nick.

He's amassed himself a small crowd, and he really doesn't look like he knows how to get out of it. This happens every time he opens his mouth; the kids love asking him to say things in his accent.

"Thanks, Blaire," you reach up to fix a stray hair, "head on to your cabin now, 'kay?"

With Blaire and her friend running off to their cabins, you're faced with the familiar task of saving your boyfriend from certain doom. You can hear the words he's saying, "butter," "squirrel," and "juice box," being the first three you hear.

"Okay, kids, let's not harass Counselor Nick anymore than we have to," you hate raising your voice, but it's the only thing that's ever worked in the past. The kids are disappointed, but they scamper off just as Kaitlyn whips out the megaphone.

You get the feeling that you're no longer their favorite Counselor.

With the megaphone out, you only have a few moments before you need to disappear into your respective cabins, but Nick's wandering hands are finding your waist, bringing you in for the quickest of kisses. "You never told me your plan for tonight, love."

You'd almost forgotten about that. Had you even planned anything?

"The two stooges sneak out at eleven fifteen; we might be able to get out after they do," you offer. Quite frankly, you have no other ideas.

"Works for me," another kiss, and then you're separating, jogging to your cabins before Kaitlyn can come after you. It's happened before—you still think your left ear is ringing a bit.

Your bunk isn't much, just some tiny thing tucked into the corner. The frame is cracking, so nobody sleeps above you, and you've tucked a spare sheet around it to create some makeshift curtains. It's nice; privacy is a rarity around here. As a bonus, your bed is pushed right up against the window, granting you full, unlimited access to it. You're really glad that you left the blinds open this morning because opening those would make a lot of racket.

The kids settle in rather quickly; your cabin has learned the hard way that Kaitlyn does not mess around when it comes to bedtime. She is a woman of routine, and she has no problem reminding them who is in charge. The problem is that now, the cabin is impossibly quiet, and you have nothing to help pass the time.

Pushing open the window helps a little bit—at least now you have some fresh air. The camp is eerily quiet, forest looming behind, a monster in plain sight. You will never understand how people go camping alone. What do you do if something gets ahold of you? If something goes horribly wrong?

It feels like an hour has passed before Jacob's cabin door opens up; your watch says it's only been twenty minutes. Emma comes out next. It's clear that she does this pretty often because she makes no effort to be quiet. How Mr. H constantly fails to catch them, you'll never know.

Nick's door is the last to open. He's more cautious about it, minding the squeaky, loose stairs far better than Jacob and Emma did. He crouches next to his cabin, only scurries across camp when the two have their backs turned on their way out of camp. Unfortunately for him, he isn't graceful enough to avoid stepping on and snapping a rather loud twig.

"Did you hear that?" Good lord, why is Jacob observant now, of all times? He wasn't very observant last week when he drove the golf cart into a ditch.

Emma is dismissive, you don't hear what she says, but she's tugging on his arm and urging him on his way. From behind the central tree, Nick pokes his head out, wide-eyed and pale. You feel like you're in a spy movie when you clamber out of the window as quietly as you can manage. The way that Nick scurries over reminds you of a puppy, clumsily tripping over his own feet, just barely able to catch himself.

The loudest cowbells you've ever heard ring in the distance.

So that's what Mr. H was doing earlier. You can hear his voice in the distance, a bright white flashlight landing on the two escapees. There's no time for Nick to run back, not without getting caught himself. Nick seems to have gathered that himself because he picks up his speed and jumps, grabbing onto the railing and hoisting himself over in one fluid motion. He doesn't need to say anything, you're already climbing back through the window, and Nick is tumbling in after you.

Limbs are everywhere, you don't know where Nick starts, and you end. This bed is barely big enough for you, never mind you and Nick. He might as well be a second blanket, with the way he's sprawled out on top of you, panting in your ear.

"This isn't how I imagined this escapade turning out," he whispers, voice unintentionally sending a ripple down your spine. He must feel it because he finally squirms himself away from your ear.

Mr. H is beginning his lecture outside; you can hear it in his tone. Preaching about responsibility and putting the kids first. You'd heard enough of this at orientation.

"After all, what will the parents think?" Nick mocks with a roll of his eyes.

"If something happens to the kids, their parents won't send them back next year," you finish, much to his delight.

Nick shuffles around, rearranging your positions to put you closest to the window. Your pillow barely accommodates the two of you, but you hardly even notice it. It's hard to think of anything when Nick's all wrapped around you, legs tangled with your own, barely an inch of space between you.

His hand slips under your shirt, settling flat on the small of your back. "Isn't it silly that a lecture is what brought us together?"

It was only a month and a half ago, but it feels like it's been a millennium since that day. Framed for a mistake made by Emma, you and Nick had been subjected to an hour-long lecture and a three-day sentence to cleaning. You've been bound at the hip ever since.

"Remember the fight in the showers?" It's growing hard to think; Nick is so warm that he's putting you to sleep.

He hums, "I was convinced that you hated me."

You'd coincidentally thought the same thing. Strange how all this worked out. Nick presses a kiss into your forehead, then another one, right between your eyes—you can't help but giggle at the sensation.

"Shh," a kiss to your nose, "your giggles are going to get us caught."

"Well, nobody was bothered by the cow—," you're cut off by a pair of familiar lips, effectively shutting you up. The kiss is too short for your liking, Nick may have only intended it to be a small peck, but you didn't sneak him into your bed just for a peck.

He gasps against your mouth, effectively surprised at how you chase him down, and for an agonizing moment, he goes still. Your hand finds its way up his chest, fingers splaying out over his heart, and that's what draws him from his stupor. It's a sensation that you never want to get used to, the way you fit together, the pressure of his soft lips against yours, the strength of his arms around you.

Teeth clack together with a soft noise; your mouth opens to him, a hot tongue delving into your mouth. His tongue is rather short, can't quite reach yours unless you meet him halfway, and the muffled whine you receive makes it all the more worth it. You don't know who's melting more, can't tell who is breaking kisses to gasp for air and who is starting them again. What you do know is that it's you who moves your leg up; it's Nick who whimpers when your thigh presses into your groin.

Oh, what you wouldn't give to be in a place where you could adequately act upon your inner thoughts.

"Fuck," Nick pants, breathless, although you're not much better yourself. He shifts a bit, only making your thigh press harder into him, and you suddenly become very aware of what you're doing to him.

Drawing your lips away from his feels like the most monumental task you've ever completed; it's all you can do to stop yourself from kissing him until your lips bruise and your heads spin. You don't want to go to sleep, but you know that if you continue on, neither of you may be able to stop.

Neither of you recalls exactly who fell asleep first or when. It just happened somewhere between Nick's thumb rubbing the side of your cheek and the novelty of sharing a bed for the first time. One moment you're gazing into sleepy brown eyes; the next, Nick's watch is vibrating and stirring you both from your slumber.

"What...?" Words are difficult. Your bones are heavy; it feels like you've slept for a century and a half.

"Just my alarm," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

Despite the growing need to get up and be ready before the kids, neither of you can bring yourselves to move. Nick is so warm against you, a stark contrast to the cool breeze coming in through the open window. The moment is fleeting, though, as Nick's watch reminds you of the time.

"Find me in the kitchen later," kiss, "I have something to show you." Before you know it, he's slipping out the door and scurrying back to his own cabin before Dylan can wake everyone with his announcements.

You don't get a chance to visit Nick until after lunch.

Usually, you have time in the morning, not for long but enough for a kiss on the cheek and a chat about the day's plans, but your day is going wrong in every possible way. First, two of the showers broke, and your morning shower rapidly turned into a midday one, and so, so many kids fell when on their trail hike with Ryan and Jacob. You've never seen so many scraped knees and elbows in your life.

When you do finally get to visit, Nick is... "What are you doing?"

Nick all but jumps, startled by your sudden appearance. It's short-lived because very quickly, he's grinning and waving you over to look at what he's concocting now.

"I don't get it," really, you don't. He's got what appears to be raspberries or strawberries in a strainer and a tin can underneath.

"Do you remember how Mr. H bought all that lemonade, and now we don't know what to do with it?" Whatever this is, he's excited, practically vibrating with it.

Cautious, you nod your head. You were one of the poor souls who had to carry all of it in and put it into the freezer. It's hard to forget that much lemonade.

Nick moves the strainer, revealing a bright red liquid underneath. "I made syrups," he can barely speak with how much he's smiling, "now we can have a little variety."

Where he's found the time to figure this out, you're not sure. He's handing you a glass from the fridge, already mixed with syrup and ready to go. Nick has never given you something that didn't taste amazing, and as you take your first sip, it continues to ring true. Strawberry lemonade.

"God, you look at Y/N like they hand-crafted the universe," Dylan must be coming up with these in advance—he's too quick with it.

"Hey," Nick scoffs, "you're not much better than I am."

"At least I don't give off the vibes of a golden retriever."

Speechless. That's what Nick is. Jaw slack, eyes wide as he glances at his reflection on the fridge. Now that it's been pointed out, you can't unsee it.

It falls quiet. Nick is still looking at himself in what you can only assume is horror; Dylan is getting into the granola stash, and you're so busy watching them that you don't even think to speak. Distantly, you think you can hear Emma and Jacob bickering, a familiar sound around these parts.

"Romeo and Juliet got sentenced to three days of hard labor," Dylan supplies around a mouthful of granola. Nick grimaces, and you can't tell if it's in response to the punishment or the granola.

"I can't believe Mr. H caught them with cow bells on a rope," there's a glint in Nick's eye as he speaks. "What's he got them doing?"

"Do you want to find out?" Mr. H's voice is loud, booming through the quiet little kitchen, effectively shaking you to your core. You don't realize that you've jumped and grabbed onto Nick until his arm is wrapped around you, anchoring you against him.

Emma stumbles in through the door, her cheeks red from the sun, "Y/N, can I borrow you? For...something?" Being borrowed means, you'll be busy until sundown. But you'll take anything over Mr. H staring through your very soul as if he knows all of your wrongdoings. Slipping from Nick's protective embrace, you follow her out of the building. She's got a mini play going on, but she needs extra hands, and Jacob is being particularly...Jacob, today.

"I just need someone to keep an eye on the extras and make sure they don't wander off," she tells you.

At first, you don't understand it, but then it becomes very clear that her group tends to wander. You feel like a herding dog, weaving back and forth and turning the little heathens back to the task at hand. One of the kids spills your lemonade all over the ground, and nobody owns up to it. You hadn't even gotten to drink much of it, and now your glass is completely empty.

Mr. H really doesn't pay you guys enough.

"Has Mr. H been rude to you lately, or is he just doing it to me and Jacob?" Emma asks you shortly after Ryan has come to escort the kids to dinner.

"He definitely has been sort of..." you have to stop cleaning up just to have a coherent thought. Yeah, now that she mentions it, he definitely has been teetering between pleasant and snappy lately. "Snappy? Menacing?"

"An ass?" She drops some gnome hats into her costume box, "he got mad at me and Jacob earlier just for being in the same room."

With all of the gnome gear packed away, the two of you are finally able to leave. The sun is already falling, bathing the forest in deep hues of red and orange—a true golden hour. It's comforting, a stark contrast to how menacing it can be once the sun goes down. A shiver ripples down your spine.

As you grow near the main building, Mr. H's truck tears out of the driveway, sending dirt and gravel flying up into a plume of smoke. Idle, Ryan stands stiff as a board where the truck was once parked. Even from a ways away, you can see the whites of his eyes, like a deer in headlights. When he finally does come to face you, he remains the epitome of shocked, jaw-slack, eyes distant.

"What's going on?" Emma's the first to speak.

Ryan's quiet for a moment, and then, "he's...leaving for the night?" He says it as if he doesn't quite believe what he's saying.

There's a cheer to your left. It sounds like Jacob and...

"Nick?" You're surprised to hear your own voice. He just grins, stepping out from beside Jacob to come to you.

"We're finally unsupervised!" Jacob looks like a little kid as he all but stumbles over to you, taking the box of props from your hands, "I'll take this."

With Mr. H gone, Jacob and Emma are bound at the hip again, and you get the feeling you won't be seeing them until morning. In the back of your mind, a tiny voice suggests you do the same, but your grumbling stomach has its own ideas. Nick doesn't need to say a word, taking your hand in his and walking you to the cafeteria.

Sometimes you think he'd go hungry if that meant keeping you fed.

Chili on top of spaghetti is not what you expect him to put in front of you. To be fair, he did tell you that this is what he'd be making, but it still gets you. For once, you get to sit at the Counselor's table, a luxury you don't often have these days. Nick settles next to you, absolutely enthralled with what he's made.

"Didn't you eat once already, Nick?" Kaitlyn remarks, biting into a slice of garlic bread. Nick's cheeks turn pink, all he can do is nod and stare at his empty plate.

Is he...pouting?

You choose not to bring it up with the others around, Nick's never been good at explaining what he's feeling, and teasing will only ensue if you ask. He does, however, scoot closer to you. Enough so that your thighs are pressed together, and your shoulders brush with every movement. You stay like that, listening to the conversations happening around you as you finish your food. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Dylan heading for the stairs, bleary-eyed and half awake.

Abigail leans her elbows against the table, lowering her voice as if Dylan can somehow hear her over all the chatter. "Where does Dylan always go this time of the day?"

"Not a clue," lying straight through your teeth. He's probably curling up in your office as you speak, but that's none of your concern.

With Mr. H gone, you and the counselors have free reign over what to do for the night, and together you all decide that the best thing to do would be letting them play at the cabins until bedtime. A far easier task than herding them to the fire and back.

The routine begins. Nick takes your dishes, disappearing into the kitchen just before Kaitlyn and Abigail begin directing the kids. In the blink of an eye, you're carrying leftover dishes into the kitchen, and you're once again taking up a towel to begin the drying process.

"I'm here, I'm queer," Dylan all but bursts into the kitchen, "and I don't want to be here."

"This would be so much easier if Mr. H would actually invest in this place," Nick's critique is not without reason. It feels like half of the camp is falling apart around you. From the unfinished construction and deteriorating structures to its barely functioning equipment. Hell, the golf carts are so old that parts for them are becoming rarer by the day.

"At least he's left us for the night," you try to be positive about the situation, but there's nothing positive about a whole bunch of dirty dishes.

It's dizzying, spinning back and forth between stations so mindlessly. With no Mr. H to worry about, it goes smoothly. Nothing gets dropped, and it's looking like none of Nick's plates have gone missing, for once. The same cannot be said for the forks, which seem to have dropped in numbers since yesterday, likely at the bottom of the trashcan. None of you get paid enough to go in after them.

It's quiet outside. Far too quiet, actually. Usually, you can at least hear the kids playing or a counselor talking a touch too loud, but all you hear tonight are crickets. Nick must be picking up on it, too because he's squeezing your hand a bit tighter than usual, and he's not torn his eyes away from the path.

Darkness has already fallen, casting a blanket of black and blues upon the forest. A full moon hangs in the sky, acting as the only light to guide you through the poorly-lit trail. The cabins are deserted, with not a child in sight.

"Can you believe it?" Kaitlyn's sudden appearance startles you. "We got everyone in bed without a singular thing going wrong."

"Gee, did you threaten them, or did they do that naturally?" Dylan barely dodges the swift kick that comes for his shins. You don't think he'd even have shins anymore if Kaitlyn's legs were any longer.

"It just required a werewolf story," you hadn't even seen Ryan sitting on the cabin steps. Had he been there the whole time? "Kaitlyn called for bedtime, and they scattered like roaches."

Abigail giggles next to him. "You should have seen them, scurrying to their cabins like a werewolf was after them."

As conversation blossoms, Nick lightly tugs at your hand, eyes darting from you to the beaten path leading to the ziplines. Well, here's your chance to finally go through with that plan. You move slowly, at first, feet treading lightly as you depart from your group. If anybody notices, they don't mention it.

Then, Nick's picking up the pace, and you're all out running, wrapped in a fit of giggles as you sprint hand in hand to the ziplines. Finally, finally, you have each other all to yourselves, with absolutely no one around to impose. The forest is dark and Lord only knows what's lurking in the shadows, but the path feels like it's lit up like a Christmas tree. Absolutely nothing can come between you, Nick, and the open trail ahead of you.

"Do you think they know we're gone?" Nick pants, just as the ziplines appear in your line of sight.

You're already stumbling to a slow walk, lungs burning, out of breath for all the wrong reasons. Nick's long strides are hard to keep up with. "Let's just hope they don't come looking for us."

The ziplines aren't as nice as the boathouse is. It used to be illuminated by a singular fluorescent lamp post, but the bulb has since gone out, and Mr. H refuses to buy "unnecessary lights." The stairs are a different monster in of itself. Old wooden boards creak menacingly beneath your feet, seemingly growing louder with every step you take.

"Y/N."

"Did you say something?" You turn to look up at Nick, who just cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy.

"Nope," he blinks, "at least...I don't think I did?"

It happens again, at the bottom of the stairs. A faint whisper of your name, fleeting, dancing around your ear just long enough for you to become convinced that you didn't make it up.

"Did you say my name?"

"Baby, I haven't said a word since the last time you thought I said something."

You're not sure if you buy it or not, but Nick is tugging you into his chest, wrapping you into the sweetest of hugs—tight, just enough to remind you that you're safe. He's got you. You're safe here. He sways you back and forth, the motion shaking all of the worries from your head and filling the space with nothing but Nick. Nick and his heart that you can feel pitter-pattering against your ear. The way his fingertips trace invisible shapes into your spine, the way his cologne meets your nose, a faint mixture of vanilla and coconut that's just barely there.

"It's just the forest playing tricks on you," he murmurs into your ear, chin heavy on your shoulder, "I've got you."

You only unwrap from each other to go and sit at the end of the dock, feet dangling off the edge. Nick's feet just barely avoid touching the water; any wrong move and you're afraid he may end up with wet feet.

"I think this is the first time we've ever truly been by ourselves," yawning, he leans over to rest his head against yours, "as strange as that is to say."

"Do you think we'll get more moments like this before summer ends?" You hadn't intended to ask that yet, but it tumbles out of your mouth anyway.

Nick hums, the noise sending a quiver down your spine. "I like to think that we will," soft lips press a kiss to the skin just before your ear, "maybe after we leave, we can have a night to ourselves at that one hotel in town."

"Harvester?"

"Harabinger?"

It starts with an H; that's all you can recall. It's hard to think with Nick's nose pressed against your cheek, hot breath fanning out against your sensitive skin. An unknown voice calls your name from across the shore; you know you heard it this time. Yet you pay it no mind—distracted by the kisses trailing across your cheek and the sparkling brown eyes that could drown you if you gazed into them for too long.

His lips meet yours, a gentle, unmistakable pressure that you've come to know so well over these past weeks. He breaks it, then comes back, once, twice, thrice. You don't have time to consider pulling him into something that isn't just a few teasing pecks; he does it all for you. It's soft at first, just a simple caress, and then he deepens it in a way that has your head spinning.

His arm is circling you, drawing you closer until there's no space between you, and that's still not enough. Even as his tongue licks into your mouth, testing the waters, he's still not close enough, won't be until there isn't an ounce of space left between your tired bodies. It's that feeling that guides you to breaking the kiss—you can barely manage it, especially not when Nick whines and attempts to chase you down— to swing yourself over and straddle his lap.

His surprise is heard only through a small gasp. It's short-lived, his arms circling your waist, gathering you against him. Your arms are draping around his neck, and then you're kissing him again. He's all you can think of, senses clouded with Nick, Nick, Nick. You can feel him now, pressed against you between your legs, and it's all you can do not to take advantage of that face.

"You do such crazy things to me," his accent is thick as he mumbles against your lips, breathing heavily.

He falls backward, taking you with him as his back hits the rotting wood of the dock with a soft thump. Then he's kissing you again, insistent mouth parting your lips, hot tongue meeting yours for a fleeting second. An unfamiliar heat blossoms in your core, a dancing flame that threatens to grow into a wildfire at the drop of a hat. Nicks's hands are everywhere, tracing up your spine, cupping your cheeks. All the while, he's humming against your lips, a small noise that you've rarely heard him make.

Your head is spinning too much for you to focus, leaves you no option but to break away and gasp for the sweet, sweet oxygen that fills your stinging lungs. Nick looks so pretty underneath of you, hair splayed out on the wood beneath him, swollen lips, and glistening eyes illuminated by the light of the moon. It's hard to stop. Even with how dizzy you've become, you can't resist leaning back in to kiss down his neck, tongue soothing over every spot you come across.

"Shit," Nick gasps, "wait."

Just like that, you've frozen in place. "Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head, fingers catching your chin to guide you back up to him for a sweet peck. "Not here," his voice is trembling, unable to get above a whisper, "I want to make it perfect for you."

You're rolling your eyes before you can stop yourself. "It's perfect right now."

"Baby, if I have you now, I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep myself off of you for another month."

He says it so seriously that you can't help but giggle. "You have a point."

Breathless, you settle down on top of him, your ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his arms intertwined around you like a vice. Time has stopped; the only thing in this world moving are your two heaving chests. For just a moment, you close your eyes and just breathe.

You awake to a strange sensation. Nick's there; you can feel him against you, but your legs are swaying in such an unnatural way, and his heartbeat is no longer as loud.

"Are you carrying me?" It's a dumb question. As soon as you open your eyes, you're met with a sleepy-eyed Nick and the dark cabins looming directly ahead of you.

"I was trying not to wake you," he frowns, kissing your forehead. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't at least try to carry you to bed."

You grumble, burying your nose into his shirt. There's a weight in your chest that grows heavier the closer you get to the cabins. You really should get to bed, but even as Nick stands at your door, you can't bring yourself to get down. Nick's too warm to let go of.

"Baby?"

"Hm?"

"We're at your door."

"I know." You still make no effort to get down, only clinging tighter.

Nick chuckles, low and heavy in his chest. "Is this your way of saying you don't want me to go?"

Nod.

If Kaitlyn is awake, she doesn't say anything when Nick opens the door and steps inside. Only when he sits you on the bed, do you let go of him, just long enough to kick your shoes off and crawl under the covers. Nick is quick to follow after you, wrapping around you like a blanket.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

1K notes · View notes

k-i-s-m-e-t · 6 years

Note

So I've been watching soldiers returning home and surprising their family videos (cause I like to torture myself apparently) and I can't get the image of GSs dad getting out of prison and surprising him. And GS just completely loses it. T.T

H-hey anon, I can’t even remember how long ago you sent me this. Though I assume it was after the chapter where we see Guan Shan’s dad. I have a really good reason for the delay! I wrote you something cuz I loved the idea so much. I’m not sure you meant ‘lose it’ in this sense *sips drink*

It wasn’t right. Shit, it wasn’t fair! Guan Shan shook with emotion as he stared-down the man seated on his living room couch.

School had been exhausting, not so much the work but rather the implications behind a certain someone that stuck to him like glue. He rubbed at his neck, still plagued by the phantom press of an arm that easily swung around his shoulders, playful but possessive.

Deep in thought, he’d been halfway to his bedroom when a voice spoke his name, barely more than a whisper and filled with emotion. Two words that froze him where he stood, his mind reeling because it wasn’t possible. It was surprising he could even recognize that voice after so long, it was still warm, still firm, low and gravely.

Backing up slowly he’d moved to stand in the doorway of the living room trying to comprehend what had to be illusion that sat pressed close to mother’s side. She had her hands folded within this entities like it was a natural, everyday thing, as if time hadn’t kept them apart.Her cheeks were tear stained, dried rivulets that cracked as she beamed up at him. She reached out with her other hand, index finger and thumb streaked with the black of her mascara, and gestured for him to join them.When he didn’t move, her gaze flitted around in anticipation, bright smile faltering at the mounting silence. Guan Shan stared back blankly, could feel himself closing off, like he was being swallowed whole, like he was underwater. The small part of him that pleaded “why?,” to “reconsider” his next words was shoved down and he let his heart speak.

“What is he doing here?”

It sounded unnecessarily loud, his voice cracking on the question. Tension in the room bred with a vengeance and he could almost see the rift his words cut.

“Guan Shan!” his mother said sharply, eyes narrowing, but his father held up a hand.

“I know this is unexpected, I wasn’t sure my early release would be approved so I didn’t want to tell you and your mother in case it was declined, but please know that I’m very happy to see you.”He smiled.

Mo didn’t get to answer because suddenly he felt sick, his body far to warm. A sharp intake of breath broke the silence but he was not sure whose because he couldn’t see the room anymore. Shapes blurred together before him as his vision swam and breath caught, pinched high in his chest.

Panic attack.

He placed a hand over his racing heart beat to confirm, brain reaching desperately to heap together coherent thoughts. What did he do last time?

His father was on his feet now, face creased with concern as he stepped closer. Guan Shan stumbled back, catching the corner of the doorway square between his shoulders, leaving him winded, doubled over.

“Get… back!” he forced out.

“Guan Shan please, what’s wrong?”

“…son?” A hand reached for him, a touch that for years he’d yearned to feel but he jerked away, banging back out through their front door, the hurt look in his father’s eyes fading the faster he ran.

He moved blindly down their block, a car horn blared, tires screeching as he dodged across the street, cutting down an alley. Distance was the goal, not direction, the more space he could put between him and his father the easier this would be to deal with.

However, his retreat ended when he slipped, fell, dew-wet grass shocking his senses. He laid there a moment trying to calm his breathing before raising his head to take in his surroundings.

The basketball court.

Struggling to his feet he made for the nearest hoop, a beacon half-illuminated in the cast-off light of a street lamp. Collapsing beneath it, he folded his body, arms looped beneath his thighs, head hung between his spaced knees.

The position eased the tense pull of his muscles and the pain in his chest relaxed a fraction. It was better, but he still felt panicked, tiny and vulnerable to these current revelations.

What did he do last time?It took effort but he worked his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed.It rang once, mid-way through ring two the line clicked.“Well, well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure?”Mo could hear his own breath rasp into the receiver as he struggled for words.“Where are you?“ The response was clipped. He could hear a set of keys being snatched up.“…B-basketball… court.”“I’ll be there.” The line died.

He let his hand drop, focused on breathing. In. Out.

Within minutes a hand fell on his shoulder, startling him out of his trance. He Tian peered down at him, taking in his disheveled appearance. Some brief realization flickered in his eyes and they softened in a way that was familiar but overwhelming, that meant something, when he was trying so hard to be insignificant.

He stepped back as Mo rose to his feet by this time his heart rate was just about even but each breath felt like it was on the verge of erupting into tears.

He shook his head, clearing it. When he looked back He Tian he was still watching him, expression unreadable.

Mo opened his mouth but He Tian beat him to it.

“So,” he started, pulling his shirt over his head “First to 10?”

He Tian dribbled in place, legs switching, ball weaving easily between them.

Guan Shan followed suit, stripped off his uniform shirt, tossed it to the side.

“You’re… not gonna ask what happened?”

He Tian slowed his pace, shrugged.

“You don’t want to talk about. That’s not why you asked me to come here is it?”

“I… no it’s not.”

“So,” he bounced the ball, caught it, passed it forcefully to Mo, quick fluid motion.“Your ball.”

Mo caught it evenly, the weight of it thudding against his palms.

“Alright, first to 10.”

By the time he returned home he was drained of all emotion, having sweated it out at the court. Numb, he was ready to collapse in bed, real life could wait till tomorrow. However, walking up the steps to their front door he braced himself for the inevitable, not knowing what to expect as his mom hadn’t called him at all in his absence. Ear pressed up against the door, he listened carefully trying to catch a hint of any sound or movement -but there was nothing. As late as it was, they’d probably already gone to bed. Easing his key into the lock he opened the door slowly, sucked his teeth when it still creaked obnoxiously. It was dark inside, though he could hear the muted sounds of the TV coming from his mother’s… his parent’s room, soft blue light flickering under their door.

Sighing in relief, he headed to the bathroom, stripped, most of his dirty clothes making it into the hamper. He flipped on the shower letting it heat up while he scrolled through his messages. Still nothing from his parents, but there was one from He Tian asking if he got home safe. He hadn’t pushed when Mo had declined the offer to walk him home, had respected his need for space.Typing out a quick reply he hit send before stepping in the shower under the spray, barely containing a moan at how good the hot water felt streaming over his sore muscles.Lost in thought, he let the water run, soaking his hair. He hadn’t seen his father in years and he hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to see him again. Hell, he hadn’t thought about it because he didn’t think it would happen period, let alone catch him unaware. Anger was his foremost thought but he knew deep down that feeling wasn’t fair even though it was justified. There was just so much the man had missed, Mo thought squeezing his eyes shut.Back in elementary the kids had teased him about the sudden absence of his father. They had concluded amongst themselves that the man had probably run off because he didn’t like Mo, because Mo was bad. He never bothered to correct them because that idea sounded better than the truth, even to him. Kids could be so cruel.“Ignore them, be the bigger person.” his mother had said pulling him into a tight embrace, her voice choked, when he came home in tears after a particularly rough day.Sure, he had misbehaved from time to time but he hadn’t seen himself as any more rambunctious than his classmates. Maybe his teacher had had to tell him to settle down more often than the others -but it was because he was eager, he wanted to participate. The validation and praise he got when he answered correctly filled some void within him, even at that age.But their constant jeering had grated on him, pushed him to the edge and he found they shut up pretty quick if he hit them, so he learned to fight. It felt like he had been fighting all his life, against them but mostly himself. It was exhausting.Now the fight was over, as if a referee had simply walked on the field of his mind and tossed out a white flag determining the match a draw. Fuck that, he deserved to have a say!They couldn’t just make up for lost time, it was unrealistic. Where had he been when Mo graduated from grade school? When he learned how to ride a bike, fucking puberty?Yeah, his mom had been there always every step of the way, filling both the role of father and mother, but there were just some things she couldn’t replace, that she didn’t quite understand.The water beginning to run cold dragged him out of his reverie and he quickly scrubbed himself down, darting in and out of the spray to rinse off. Exiting the shower he scrubbed a towel through his hair as he headed back down the corridor. At the opposite end of the hall there was still no change from his parent’s room. He felt a slight tingle of relief in his gut that he wouldn’t have to face his father just yet, a small victory. He slipped quickly into his room, then sucked in a surprised breath, heart damn near in his throat at the figure sitting on his bed.It took him a moment to realize Mo was present, so absorbed was he in looking at a photo Mo kept on his bedside table. Some framed shot of his mom and him from a sports contest in which he had won first place.He looked up when Mo awkwardly cleared his throat, quickly replacing the photo.“I…” he looked around the room like it held the answer.Guan Shan sighed and he got hurriedly to his feet, his mouth opened and shut a few times, like he was carefully choosing his words.“Guan Shan, please I just want to talk.”Mo pressed back against his door clicking it shut, leaned heavily against it.“I know.”In the dim light Mo could see pain etched in red rimmed eyes, remembered now just where his emotional side came from.They talked for hours, his father explaining what had happened that night at the restaurant and how it had resulted in his incarceration. Guan Shan asked question after question, all the why’s and how’s that had plagued him for years, his father answering all of them even those Guan Shan could tell were painful. As he unraveled the truth, Guan Shan realized he understood far less than he expected, felt that maybe there were some things he’d rather have not known. However, his father held nothing back.When they got to the details of how he’d spent his time in jail, however, he drew the line.“I’m not ready to talk about that yet.” The implications deep in his tone were enough to make Mo balk. He conceded.Light was starting to filter in through the blinds of his balcony window, a bird chirping here and there. Mo stretched, sore from the seated position he’d spent the night in.They were quiet for a bit, enjoying the silence between them.“You’ve got school right?”“Yea,” Mo answered checking the time. Damn he was already running late, he’d have to get ready quickly.“..maybe you could take a day off,” his father said slowly, as if still considering the suggestion himself. “I think we still have a lot of catching up to do.”“Mom’s probably not gonna like that.”“Who says we have to tell her,” he said a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.“Tell me what?” Came a voice from his doorway. They both jumped.“W-we.. well you see I thought-““Mm-hmm we don’t keep secrets in this house.”“I just thought that maybe Guan Shan could stay home, just for today. Maybe we could do something as a family… it’s been… it’s been a long time since we did.”“It has, hasn’t it.” She smiled sadly. “Well who is going call the school ‘cause it looks like I need to call out at the hospital. I could use a sick day,” she waved a hand “God knows I have plenty.”

Mo watched them leave, his mother hooking her arm through the crook of his father’s, he smiled fondly down at her.

Alone he laid back on his bed exhausted but content, his heart fluttering, for once not in panic.

His phone buzzed on the dresser and he reached for it, pretty good idea of who would dare text him this early.

From: He >>“You alive?”

Mo paused, thumb hovered over the key pad. Emotion stung in his throat, prickled up to his eyes as he stared at the second word.

Alive? Had the question been posed at any point before now he would have scoffed at the absurdity of it. But looking at it now, he couldn’t think of a word that summed his emotional state any better than that.

To: He >>“Yea.”

Fin.

#19 days #mo guan shan #he tian #tianshan #kis writes

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