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thesightstoshowyou · 7 months

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Au Courant

- Part 2 -

(Read Part 1 here)

Asa Emory x AFAB Reader

Summary: The night of your weekly support group doesn’t go as planned either.

Warnings: Soulmate AU, angst, violence, attempted mugging, mention of minor character death, manipulation, mentions of stalking.

Chilly evening wind gusts, crispy leaves rustling around your feet as you walk. The breeze stirs up the scent of decaying foliage and rotting trash from a nearby dumpster. Wrinkling your nose, you shrug further into your jacket, wishing you’d worn another layer. The quick tap, tap of your shoes echoes off brick as you pick up your pace.

Ahead lies your destination: An unassuming little church, brick facade freshly power-washed and cleaner than the surrounding buildings. The light above the door shines bright in the gloom, illuminating various fliers taped to glass.

‘One is Enough: Support group for former and non-Pairs. Tuesdays at 6pm,’ one such paper reads. You purse your lips as you heave the door open, still embarrassed to be attending these meetings at all.

It has been almost two months since that day at the grocery store. You thought, maybe after a little time had passed the ache would lesson, but it’s just as sharp, just as crushing as it was when he’d left you in that parking lot.

You’d gone back several times since then. Waiting in your car, eyes trained on the door, you prayed he would show up. If you could just talk to him, just for a few minutes, maybe he would—

Shaking your head, you force yourself to stop spiraling. Replaying these scenarios in your head isn’t healthy. They only make you feel worse. He hasn’t returned to the grocery store. You won’t see him again. You must accept this.

You just wish you knew his name, at least.

Descending the stairs to the right of the door brings you to the basement. A few florescent lights flicker at the far end of the room, illuminating the circle of plastic folding chairs. Nearby sits a little table, customary carafe of hot water and assorted tea and instant coffee packets littering its surface.

Christ, it’s fucking bleak.

You sit quietly and listen, little paper cup of earl gray growing cold in your hands. It’s a full house tonight; many faces you’ve seen before. They mostly talk of loss, of soulmates that passed away too soon. Some speak of isolation, of never finding their other half.

None, however, had a soulmate reject them.

You decline to speak when asked to share your story. You can’t talk about it, not yet. It’s too fresh, and the mortification of having to disclose the fact that not even your soulmate wants you is something you can’t bare to say aloud. Better they think he died.

It kind of feels like he had, anyway.

Meeting adjourned, you stand and make your way back to the stairs, tossing your full paper cup in the trash as you go. You’re out the door and hiking your jacket up around your shoulders when you hear your name called behind you.

Turning, you find Alan, one of the group leaders hurrying out the door after you. His soulmate died a few years ago, poor guy. He beams when you meet his gaze and gives an awkward half wave as he catches up to you.

“Hey, uh, thanks for coming tonight.”

Weird. “Yeah, it’s…um, nice to be with people that get it, you know,” you comment, forcing a wan smile to your face. Alan nods, glances at his feet, back to your face. He sucks in a breath before he speaks.

Oh no. No, no, no, no—

“Um, hey I was…I mean, if you’re feeling up to it, would you, uh, like to…to get some coffee sometime?” You bite the inside of your cheek and muster every ounce of willpower to keep from grimacing.

He’s nice, really, but it’s just too soon. God, you’re never going to be able to come back here, are you?

“Oh! Oh, goodness, that’s…that’s really kind of you, Alan, but I’m not…not sure I’m ready. Yet.” You add the last word to soften the blow. Would you ever be ready? You’re not sure it’s even possible.

Alan smiles gently, warm understanding all over his face. You hope your expression is passive. “Hey, I totally get it. Maybe another time.” He moves to head back inside, then quickly spins around again to add, “Please don’t let this stop you from coming. We’re good, really, okay?”

You fake a grin and nod, hastily turning away so he can’t talk to you anymore. Shit, there goes that group. There have to be others, right?

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you bow your head against the frigid breeze as you hurry back to your car, mood now as sour as the weather. Why did he have to go and ruin this for you—

“Hey.” You startle when a voice speaks directly into your ear. Whipping around you find a young man inches away from you. You hadn’t heard him approach over the blasting wind.

You try to back away but he grasps your arm tightly. “Money. Now. Don’t make a scene.” Your stomach plummets when he produces a knife from his pocket, streetlights glinting off the blade.

You stammer, “I-I don’t have—

“Shut up. Give me what you have.” Blood rushing in your ears, hands shaking, you nod, wondering what the hell you’re going to give him. Everything is in your car. Maybe he wants your keys…?

Behind you, quick footsteps approach. The young man balks, releases you, backs away. Hurriedly, you stumble backward, bumping into whoever had interrupted. Strong hands grip your upper arms, steadying you.

Glancing over your shoulder, your mouth falls open in shock. It’s him. The man from the grocery store.

Your soulmate.

He wears that same cold expression he had at the supermarket. He’s not looking at you though, his dark gaze instead trained on the would-be thief.

He releases you just as the young robber attempts makes his escape. You watch in stunned silence as your soulmate pursues, powerful legs giving him a surprising burst of speed. The thief darts down an alley, the man hot on his heels.

Now, silence, save for your frantic breathing. Your wide eyes are glued to where you watched them disappear, your heart throwing itself wildly against your ribs. What if he gets hurt, or worse? What should you do?

The wind blusters, sending goosebumps racing across your skin. You’re about to call for help when a dark figure emerges from the alley. The air leaves your lungs in a rush of relief, your trembling hand gripping the front of your coat. He’s okay!

And he’s walking right toward you.

You swallow thickly, your heart now hammering for a different reason. What will you say? How will he respond? Are you about to get your heart broken again?

Wait, what the hell is he even doing here?

“Are you alright?” You blink and dazedly look up into his eyes. They look black in the darkness, glittering in the light of the street lamps just as the knife had.

“I…yeah, I think so. T-Thank you.” Your voice quivers as you speak and you realize you’re trembling from head to toe. Is it from fear or the chill air?

“I lost him,” the man laments, motioning to the alley. You nod, amazed he even went after him in the first place.

“Should…do I need to call the cops or something?” You hate that you sound so helpless in front of him.

“Do you remember what he looks like?”

You pause, realizing you can’t even recall what clothes he’d been wearing. Timidly, you shake your head. The man shrugs.

“Not much they can do then.” You nod, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. The urge to reach out and touch him is almost too great to resist. He watches you so intently, keen eyes trained on every shift of expression, every movement of your nervous hands.

What is he thinking, you wonder? Is this it? Will he leave now, for good?

Instead, he surprises you. “Let me walk you to your car.” You can’t suppress the hopeful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Your heart stutters when his warm palm finds your lower back. He turns and guides you down the street toward your vehicle. His body is warm too, comfortingly so. You hope it’s not too obvious when you lessen the gap between you, your arm brushing his as you move.

You walk in silence for a few beats, gathering the courage to say what’s been on your mind for weeks. Clearing your throat, you steel yourself.

“Why did—

“I panicked,” he interrupts. Taken aback, you glance up at him. He offers you a wry smirk. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

You shake your head, baffled. “Does anyone?” you ask. A quick breath leaves him, the barest hint of a laugh.

“I suppose not.”

“And…what are you doing here?”

“I just happened to drive by, as crazy as it sounds. I saw you walking and knew I had to turn around.” His words make you look down to your shoes, heat spreading across your cheeks. Fate had intervened again, it seems.

All too soon, you reach the parking lot. Coming to a stop next to your car, you turn to face him. His lips press into a line and you can almost see him thinking, considering. Your hands wring anxiously.

“My life is…complicated,” he says finally. His words are measured and there’s something there just under the surface, some urgent need for you to understand.

“I don’t care,” you reply instantly, taking a step closer to him. It’s like there’s a magnetic force pulling you in. “I don’t. I just want to be a part of it.”

This close, you can see the muscles in his jaw flex. He breathes in deeply, his exhale a heavy sigh. “My name is Asa,” he says finally.

You smile so wide your face hurts.

Asa watches the taillights of your car until they disappear around a corner. Only then does he allow a victorious smirk to cross his face. He will never tire of the satisfaction of success.

The Collector turns on his heel and strides back down the street. One more task to complete before the night is over.

Everything had gone optimally. The druggie had played his part of “thief” perfectly, thanks to the cash Asa had given him a few hours prior. Snapping his neck in the alley had been so easy. Heaving his dying body into the dumpster had been less simple, but still manageable.

What he said to you was a different matter. Telling you the truth was difficult, much harder than he previously anticipated. Indeed, he had panicked when you’d run straight into his arms, or panicked as much as someone like him could. Meeting his soulmate had not been in his plans. Asa doubted such a thing even existed for him in the first place, and that was preferable.

You were a liability. Getting caught was not an option. The last thing Asa needed was you stumbling into his carefully curated life and spilling marina all over the place. So, he’d left.

But, you would not leave his mind. Your meeting had awoken something deep inside him, some need. The obnoxious ache gnawing away at his gut grew tiresome. As he followed you home from the grocery store parking lot, watched you leave from work to attend your silly support group, as he learned your schedule and your habits from afar, his thoughts had drifted to the potential.

A partner, even more so a soulmate would aid with his disguise: Dr. Asa Emory, entomologist, professor, and now one half of a loving Pair. It’s the epitome of “normal.” Perhaps having you around would also quell the incessant nagging of his coworkers. This is not necessary, of course, but it would be welcome none the less.

You saw him, as well. When you’d collided, you looked into his eyes and caught a glimpse of what he kept so well hidden from everyone else. Asa had seen it on your face, the fear, the understanding. And, still, you chased after him. You wanted this, wanted him. Maybe you could want the Collector too.

Could you learn to understand?

Faking tonight’s emotions, the nerves, the story he fed you about “just driving by” shouldn’t have been so simple, but you’d accepted everything without question. Your gullibility is ideal. Everything about you seems to work in his favor. Is this luck? Or is this what it is like to be a Pair?

Time will tell.

Now, Asa turns his attention to the church door. He only has to wait a few minutes before it swings open. A man exits, papers clutched under his arm. The light above the door illuminates his face when he turns to lock up. It’s him, the one who asked you out earlier this evening.

Peering around the corner, Asa watches the man adjust his coat before heading off down the street. After a slow count to ten, Asa follows, stalking silently.

One more task tonight; a lesson to be taught, a price to be paid in blood.

You belong to the Collector, and the Collector does not share.

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #the collector 2009 #the collection #thesightstoshowyou #this is just turning into a slow burn isn’t it

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