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aitseleci · 3 years

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deceived pt. 2

details: angst, albedo x gn!reader | cw: death / injuries / blood

word count: 1840 | part one !

note: do i like this? idk mixed feelings tbh — didn’t bother to add a picture for this one. but like here is part 2 as many requested

It’s been months since the day Albedo broke up with you. A relationship that Albedo didn’t cherish, as he states. As time continues to pass, your heart aches as you recall those joyful moments with each other. Your affectionate feelings still lingered on edge; holding closely to the past. The nostalgia had you at ease in times of distress. You’d still loved him. No words can express your desire to stop loving him. But what else can be done? You were nothing but a victim to his research. He used you and admitted it, after all.

Melancholy thoughts seem to be on your mind lately. You wonder how Albedo was doing, how he’s been, what he’d accomplished. You’d still cared, in fact getting over him wasn’t a no brainer. Everywhere you looked reminded you of him. His own essence loiter among commodities. The residents of Mondstadt and Dragonspine didn’t assist in your healing; the reminisce of the things you two did together: exploring, sketching, finding materials, indulging the savory dish of Sunshine Sprat. He taught you how to recreate this dish, lecturing you how to properly cook the salmon.

“You make sure that the salmon becomes a dark orange and stiff,” the blonde whispers as he observes you flipping the meat over the stove. You nodded, eyeing the salmon carefully, letting out giggles in response.

“I can’t believe we’re so focused on salmon ‘Bedo.”

“Hm, you think so?” he answers in an amused tone.

Whenever he shows you his special dish Woodland Dream, the prince himself had a smiled painted in his eyes. Indeed proud of himself with his culinary masterpiece. He describes the dish to be sweet and tender — a blooming flower with each bite. You can still remember the tangy flavor that danced on your tongue. Despite this savory dish, this prince seemly has a sweet tooth. To him, he finds the sugar rush that washes throughout his body quite pleasant. A childish nature that you didn’t expect yourself.

“You find it pleasant... a sugar rush?”

He was hesitant averting his eyes from your stare, “Well the ‘hyperactivity’ feeling, gives me a boost in energy... It's refreshing.”

“Hm, okay..” you smiled. How cute.

Those wistful moments will remain to be daydreams of your little mind. It was a facetious act he pulled to test you. With the little hope you were attached to, you hope maybe Albedo didn’t mean what he said. At least a little.

You didn’t bother going to Sucrose or Timaeus for your answer to your questions. Your relationship wasn’t public and doubted anyone would understand. Moving on shouldn’t be onerous, it’s not compared to your daily tasks. Ugh, you sighed in frustration.

You were exploring the land of Dragonspine, wondering to find new discoveries. Despite Albedo’s influence to pique your curiosity of Dragonspine, your shrewdness needed to go beyond your understanding. It’s been a while since you stepped foot in the land of snow. Not after how much of his essence remained for your little heart.

You trudge up along the path of Dragonspine, slowly recalling the time you had with Albedo. The crunching of the white snow underneath your feet, digging deep in the ground. The noises you can hear over the screeching winds. A path of fresh footprints laid behind you, displaying where you came from — not where you’re heading. In honesty, you don't know where you’re heading. All that was known was that you are going somewhere. Discover something. Get your mind off of him.

The Adventurers’ Guild was still trying to post expeditions and catch the eyes of others. Though many adventurers have turned down these pleas. The cold condition was much too dangerous for them to handle, proper preparation was needed but expensive. Dragonspine was menacing for their safety and that was understood among the citizens.

You briskly rubbed your hands for warmth. The icy winds swirled and sighed around you, sweeping against your skin. Sending chills throughout your body, the fabric of your clothing keeps you warm. Warm enough to make you at ease with the temperature, but not your cold thoughts of gloominess.

“[y/n], you need my coat? It’s quite cold today, I wouldn’t want you to freeze,” Albedo sighs with the hinges of concern, already starting to slip off his coat.

“Huh, you sure, what about you?”

A slight curve plastered on his face. An expression you don’t usually see besides his familiar blank expression. “Yes, I don’t exactly get cold and of course I insist.”

He placed his coat on top of your shoulder, instantly feeling the warmth. The soft fabric rubbing against your cold skin. Your nose was occupied with his scent, filling you with wonder and interest. At times, his scent would be simple than complex. That day it was simple, calming and reassuring you with solace.

You looked up to the sky, it was filled with ominous mackerel clouds. The dark sky was kissed by the high mountains and bare trees. The sudden wintry breeze whooshed passed you, overwhelming your body. You were missing the sunlight spilling its rays among the land of Mondstadt. How much time has passed? Who knew you would be homesick after wandering in the land of Dragonspine. And Albedo’s company, you couldn’t grasp the fact that he’s no longer in your life. The warmth and bliss of both the recollection of fond memories. Face lit up, feeling your own embarrassment in your cheeks.

It’s been months, why can’t you get over him?

“Ya!” the strange noise alerting you. You looked frantically trying to find the source of those gurgling sounds. It was deserted, the possibility of small rodents roaming around the area is surely high — no wait; trying to think rationally. Then finally you see a monster camp right in front of you.

You were ready to whip out elemental reactions and attack — oh no. Your vision illuminated its bright color. Still, nothing was released and hilichurl fighters were running at you. No way you were going to stand with this commotion, resorting to run for your life. As you huffed and puffed, accelerating your speed. The cold oxygen filling up your lungs, fingers were numb. Vision started to get foggy, decreasing your pace. You gaze down to notice red blood drizzled on the white blankets of snow.

Blood?

You felt the arrows that shot your head and leg. It must have been the hilichurl shooters. There were gashes on the back of your head and leg that began to rip you with pain. You touched the back of your head and felt the wet blood. With the energy in your had left, you continued — you looked back to see blurs of mitachurls with huge axes. Axes that can slice you in half. Your head and thoughts were swirling, unable to focus. Numbness seeped through your legs — stability was lacking. You were trembling, feeling your own body was out of your control. The snowy scenery swayed underneath you as your vision bathed in black spots. You collapsed in the snow, unable to pick yourself up. Legs and head were throbbing with agony and anguish. Pain that you never thought could exist, groaning in pain. The urge to scream came to you but no noise came out of your tired lips. You pushed yourself to crawl, eyeing a tree. Glancing back to see the monsters were leaving you alone. In the vast distances, struggling to hang on to dear life. Faint soft footsteps were heard, the soft slushing of the snow. Must have been an echo or from your imagination. Left alone suffering in the sub zero condition. Your mind was so foggy, eyes half-lit before seeing a glimpse of a familiar figure along the path. It was a blur of colors, you squinted in attempts for a clearer image. Just before you could make out what or who it was, darkness swallowed you whole; lying face down.

“[y/n]!”

You blacked out, unconscious in the cold.

Albedo came running towards you, surely was shocked to see your body stiffly laying there. But noticing your wounds and the wet blood on your clothes — he had to take action. Still seeing that your vision was glowing, he didn’t worry as he checked your pulse. You were bleeding profusely, as Albedo swiftly wrapped you up with cloth he had on him. No words can explain how Albedo felt, as he threw your arms on his shoulders and back. Lifting your body up and holding on to your thighs; securing you.

Albedo felt your pulse, beating with each running step. His pace started getting quicker, the desire to keep you alive. Not sure what to think of it besides the want to face you. His thought process was incoherent and he wanted it to be resolved.

Little time.

After sending you off, Albedo handed back to his camp, straight back to work. Focusing was an issue though. He had mixed feelings of frustration, unsure what these feelings could mean? He hoped you would be alright, but again, why would he care? Ever since the end of your relationship, Albedo noticed that he’s more sensitive than usual. Reactions seemingly to be more livid, stronger. New unfamiliar emotions that he can’t wrap his head around. This all left him at a dead end.

He felt himself drowning in his own unwanted guilt. The princely blank face wasn’t there, instead contrasting it was the void of such strong rage. Teeth clenched, eyebrows arched. Face painted with pain and remorse. The look on your pale unconscious face... What was the source? His body heats up from this confusion, slamming his gloved hands on his desk. Palms sweating, soaking the leather, as he tossed them off. Papers and documents were flying everywhere, his arms swinging with tension.

Is this what you're doing? It must be.

Maybe as a vision bearer, you found a way to manipulate others. Nonetheless, Albedo needed answers. But with your crucial state, are you going to be alright?

Albedo never felt this rage towards anyone: his master, Alice, Klee, Sucrose, Timaeus, The Knights of Favonius...

If only times were different.

Weeks, months had passed, you were pronounced dead from your fatal wounds. On your deathbed, the glow of your vision had dimmed to a gray color. You were truly gone. Word got out and Albedo couldn’t pull himself together. Your death has left a void in many lives and memories.

If only he cared.

The blonde was choking with despair, gasping for a change... hope. As he flipped through the sketches of you, he stared blankly at your face. The little details that made you, you. He repeatedly muttered incoherent words: If only, if only.

There it was a sketch of you and your smile, if only he could see it one last time. He sighed, letting his head drop. His blonde hair was unkempt as he exhaled heavily.

Once that first tear fell on the paper, more followed.

If only he loved you.

#🌧; angst-cele #albedo x reader #genshin angst #angst genshin #albedo genshin impact #albedo angst

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thatslikely · 3 years

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lined-paper confessions - s.s.

lined-paper confessions - stiles stilinski x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of fighting (scott and jackson predictably), strict teachers

word count: 1.5k

a/n: head full of stiles rn... requests for our favorite sarcastic boy are open right now so send some in!

Why is every teacher at Beacon Hills High the absolute worst?

Mr. Harris had just rapidly climbed your (highly opinionated) mental ranks to number one: your new least favorite educator. Giving you after-school detention, for doing nothing but watching with horror plastered on your face as Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend, threw punches left and right at a topless, water-drenched Jackson, who reciprocated every strike as if he were nothing but a reflection. Seriously?

Previously, you had simply been sauntering down the locker-lined hall, Stiles on your right, passionately ranting about some unnamed problem that had him on edge for the past few weeks. You two turned down the empty, cinder-block-walled athletics corridor as he continued to agitatedly let off steam; the setting was decidedly unromantic given the unshakeable scent of overly pungent deodorant and mildew that was all too familiar.

You clung to every word emitted from his mouth with an almost comical frown like it was a mug of steamy hot chocolate on a bone-chilling winter day. To your disgruntlement, however, his ramblings were stopped mid-sentence when Scott and his wealthy rival Jackson tumbled out from the dingy boys’ locker room, hands clenched in fists and eyes flaming with fury.

Stiles bent down in a rush, poorly attempting to conclude the boisterous brawl with furrowed, concerned brows, but he looked not dissimilar to a toothpick compared to the two burly teammates.

“Detention for all of you!” Mr. Harris spat venomously as he dashed to the scene, his voice ringing above the grunts and slams that came from the fighting co-captains of the lacrosse team. “Detention now, Stilinski, McCall, Whittemore, Argent, and Y/L/N! Come on!”

You were dragged by the ear to the vacant library, a place which you often resided in whenever you studied with Stiles (often about mythical creatures, to your confusion). Posters that looked commonplace in an elementary school lined the walls, vibrantly encouraging students to pick up a book, or pen works for a writing contest of some sort.

Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peeked through the slatted blinds, and three gum wad-dotted tables were beckoning for the group of you to sit for the next two hours, or until Mr. Harris would finally decide that your soul had rotted away enough to release you.

You were sternly directed to the uncomfortably stiff chair opposite Allison’s, whose eyes shot daggers wherever they glanced. You flashed her an almost unregistrable smile, as if to say ‘hello.’ Slinging the loose straps of your backpack over your seat, your gaze flickering through the pin-drop silent room immediately locked on Stiles’ figure.

Boy, was he perfect.

The unbuttoned flannel over his shoulders speckled with mud from some vaguely mentioned adventure, his soft, tousled hair, that always had a lock out of place, his freckled face, that always bore some goofy expression, all of it. You couldn’t get enough; nothing would satiate your innermost desire for your lips to meld with his’, for your hands to intertwine through the hallways before class, after class, whenever, wherever.

One eyebrow-cocked, knowing look from Scott in your direction sent Stiles’ umber eyes to meet yours’, an almost confused look swimming through them. He opened his mouth curiously, surely to ask a question, most likely something along the lines of, ‘is there a stain on my shirt?’, but before he could, Mr. Harris seethed, “Take your seats, now.”

Stiles whipped around, not wanting to anger Mr. Harris any further, and he took his seat. The room was quickly conquered with suffocating silence, which the snotty chemistry teacher was bent on ensuring.

You unsheathed a doodled notebook from your backpack, eventually indenting its pages with inky black strokes of various weights and thicknesses. Your habit of penning loose sketches, vague outlines, began one day in math when the clock seemed to tick aggravatingly slow, and every word from the teacher became drawled further and further until they dissolved into the hum of the air conditioning and the chewing of gum: the rhythm of the classroom.

The unconscious lines eventually formed to a familiar portrait: Stiles. Some would be tempted to call him your muse, your kindling of an elegant flame of creativity. You’d always nod your head in complicity more than agreement, for the smart, albeit rebellious boy meant eons more than that to you.

You had just hit your stride, your wrist’s movements thoughtless and easy, when someone- rather something, hit the back of your head lightly with a small crunch. It was a small, scrunched piece of loose-leaf paper, ripped at the edge.

You turned your head to the direction that the projectile was tossed at, but both Scott and Stiles appeared to be very, very engrossed in a hushed conversation, neither of their postures attempting to suggest anything suspicious.

You smoothed out the paper of the angular fruitwood table in front of you, attempting to read the almost unintelligible handwriting.

Hey :)

(this is from stiles, by the way)

Your mood lightened a smidge, a grin bubbling onto your face. You tore a piece of paper out of your notebook along the perforation.

Before you threw it in an arch in Stiles’ direction, you penned a response to his note.

Hey ;) how’s detention treating you?

(This is from y/n, by the way)

Crunch.

not great, as expected. I think I saw harris pick his nose. do you have any bleach to douse my eyes in by any chance?

You chuckled a little, a small smirk glimmering on your face for the first time this excruciatingly long afternoon.

Sorry, I’m all out. used it all after I saw Jackson shirtless. how do you survive in the locker room every day?

A smile lifted on Stiles’ face, one so inflated with abundant excitement (and hormones), he might have burst at the seams.

“Man, you’re down bad,” Scott simpered, nudging his best friend’s forearm.

“Shut up,” Stiles hissed with an eye roll.

just keep your head down and you should be fine. one time, Greenberg looked at him a little too long and he nearly turned to stone, like jackson’s abs were medusa or something.

“Passing notes, are we?” Mr. Harris queried with a malicious scowl, his knuckles white from asphyxiating a helpless ballpoint pen. He slinked over to the tables you and Stiles rested uncomfortably in, raising his brow in heavy suspicion.

Stiles’ deep, dark chocolate-colored eyes widened in worry. “No, sir.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you, Stilinski. You too, Y/L/N.”

As soon as Harris was out of sight, perched back at the desk and typing furiously, another wad of paper tapped your occiput.

hey, y/n, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.

The note, while its contents wouldn’t usually spark too much concern, was subtly unlike the few ones you had previously received. The lines of each letter were neater, more methodical. The small blots of ink resting at the conclusion of every stroke were larger, deeper, as if the nib of his pen had rested in the liquidly black pool for a second too long.

Your face scrunched with confusion, and upon noticing your shift in emotion, Allison nimbly tapped your wrist and mouthed, ‘Is everything okay?’

You nodded with wrinkled brows while shakily scratching a reply.

what is it?

Your knee bounced up and down reflexively, clicking from your rapidly retracting pen echoed through the idle shelves and arrays of desktops. It felt like years, centuries even, before a reply finally tumbled at your feet.

do you like me?

(circle one)

yes? or yes?

Your jaw nearly fell to the carpeted floor in shock as if gravity had been multiplied; your speedily thrumming heart was doing flip after flip in the cavity of your chest. Without a second thought, you quickly circled both of the ‘yes’es as if there were no friction under the ink-dispersing tip of your pen. Before cupping the piece of paper, you scribbled out an additional little note.

wanna go out this saturday?

Stiles’ anxious gaze bore into your hunched-over figure as you giddily wrote your reply. What if you rejected him (even though the page lacked a ‘no’ option, meaning that you would have to add one, which was even worse)? Was it possible for him to ask to go to the bathroom and just never return? Are there any secret werewolf abilities that Scott could use to make him disintegrate on the spot?

But his overthinking was soon alleviated when he received your response, this time neatly folded into a paper heart instead of a crunchy ball. Each crease was crisp and thoughtful; he didn’t have to unfold your expert origami to know which option you circled (or lack thereof).

He grinned goofily like an idiot as his chocolate eyes glazed your response a million times over, taking in every letter, every stroke, the dot in your ‘i’ or the question mark ending your simple but heart-rate-escalating proposal.

Crunch.

stiles stilinski/teen wolf taglist:

it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up at 6? passenger seat’s already reserved for you ;)

@loulouloueh @when-you-wish-upon-a-starrynight @ronbrokemyheart @dylobilysmomg

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astrozones · 4 years

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It’s Hardly Art

Summary: Roman never deserved his prince costume anyway.He was too selfish, too arrogant, too idiotic. Those weren't the makings of a prince, they were villain characteristics.Glancing at the offending clothes, he made a decision.He didn't deserve the costume; it was time to destroy it. Characters: Roman and Virgil. Can be read as platonic or romantic.

Spoilers for Putting Others First

Discord Server: Astro’s Zone

There was no good or bad.

There were no heroes or villains.

There was no "pure" or "dastardly".

There was right and wrong.

There was everyone and… there was Roman.

Roman who was always wrong, no matter which side (heh, Patton would be proud of that one, if he even liked Roman after this fiasco) he chose, it was he who was in the wrong. Even when he went against his instincts and chose the other side, he was wrong, because he was Roman, and Roman is always wrong.

No matter what.

He let out a grunt of frustration, flopping down onto his unbelievably extra bed. Ugh, why did anyone even like him?

Oh wait, they don’t.

He huffed, snuggling closer into the sweater he had grabbed as soon as he sunk out. He didn’t deserve his prince costume anyway. His stupid, idiotic dreams were always getting in the way, he might as well start spring cleaning and throw them out. Starting with his stupid getup.

He set up his prince tunic on a mannequin, which he owned in case of clothing inspiration, even though that was more of Virgil’s thing. Of course it was Virgil’s thing, what good was Roman for? The other Sides could act just as well and- ugh, this wasn’t going anywhere.

He stared at the costume, the stupid, idiotic, creation of his that he had once adored. He curled his arms around himself as he shook. What was he doing? Why was he always so… horrible? Wrong? Painstakingly extra?

He sank to the floor, tears trailing down his cheeks.

He just wanted to be loved. Or, at least, feel loved. He thought Janus was wrong, they told him Janus was wrong, that siding with Janus made him wrong, and evil. As the hero, he wasn’t supposed to side with the villain.

But then Janus wasn’t the villain, and Roman wasn’t the hero, and Roman was in the wrong even when he took their side. He just... wanted to be loved. He poked fun at Janus’ name because he thought they wanted that. And if he did what they wanted, they’d love him.

Now, he’s figured out how much of an impossible feat that is.

He grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk, leaning up and quickly cutting off his sash with a snip! He watched as it fluttered towards the floor. He wiped the tears from his eyes before picking it up, staring at the jagged ends.

Snip!

Snip! Snip! Snip!

Cut, and cut, and cut some more. Watch the pieces fall to the ground as he snipped his worthless, good for nothing sash. A staple of his idiocy, really.

Snip! The last pieces fell into a neat pile. He grabbed a handful and threw it to the side, hiccuping sobs leaving his mouth. Biting the sleeve of his sweater, muffling his cries, he glanced back up to the rest of his outfit. It almost looked naked without the bright red.

It was still too prince-like to be worthy of him, though. The gold- stupid gold, stood out amongst the white.

He stood, picking at the edge of one of the gold lines. Seams ripped from cloth, and with a harsh tug, the gold was riiiiiiipped off.

He ripped off another. And another. And another. Until, finally, the chest of his shirt was practically ruined, along with the collar and sleeves.

It was almost perfect. Except for…

His logo. The one he had spent days over, carefully sketching picture after picture, searching for the perfect logo that represented him. All of him.

It looked awful.

Grabbing the scissors once more, he cut around the patches, holding them in his hands for a few moments. Or perhaps it was hours, he didn’t know.

Striding over to the other side of the room, he held them over the fireplace. He hesitated, even while his proximity to the fire caused his arm to ache like nothing other.

He was too loud. To brash, too harsh, too unsympathetic. Heh, he really put the pathetic in unsympathetic, didn’t he?

Even your jokes suck, the voice in his head said. No wonder no one likes you. Not even the fans.

He dropped his logo into the fire, watching as it burned away. His hand was red, nearly as much as his ex-sash. The injury hardly even phased him as he turned back towards the remains of his clothes.

After a couple more rips, Roman determined it was awful enough for him to deserve it, even if it was a little bit better than he deserved. Perhaps he would show up in it next time. Or, maybe he wouldn’t show up at all. They’d like that, wouldn’t they?

Slumping onto his bed, he stared emotionless at its remains.

He really was a jerk, wasn’t he?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Virgil knocked on the prince’s door, awkwardly shuffling in place. Patton had informed him on what happened, once he walked downstairs only to see Patton and Deceit having a normal conversation.

No, not Deceit- Janus, apparently, because they trusted the liar now.

Virgil had watched them incredulously as they explained the events of today. About the wedding, the argument, Janus’ appearance, Patton turning into a frog- all of it. And when Janus left to go tell Remus, Virgil turned to his friend.

“Do you really trust him? After what he’s done?” Virgil whispered sharply. Patton nodded.

“Of course! Besides, he hasn’t done much,” because of course, they didn’t know. Not like Janus would tell them. Virgil scoffed.

“Of course,” he had muttered, turning away. “Of course you’d all take his side without a second thought.”

“Now kiddo, don’t hate on him! We hardly know him, after all!” Was he daft? “C’mon, Virge. It’s okay. I’m sure you and Roman will learn to love him eventually.”

Him and Roman? Was Roman the only other one who recognized Janus for who he was? Roman, who had tagged along with his flirts and manipulations?

At least he had one person on his side.

“Roman?” he asked. Patton nodded.

“Yeah… he said Janus’ name was very close to Janice and made fun of him for it. Then Janus said that if Remus didn’t have a mustache there’d be no way to tell the difference between the two,” he what- “Which is a little rude but I understand why he did it. Still, I’m certain both you and Roman will learn to come to terms with Janus! I know it!”

“Sure,” he had said. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

And after walking up the stairs with a huff, Virgil found himself where he was now, at Roman’s door.

“Princey?” he called. “It’s Virgil.”

The door opened.

Virgil peered inside, glancing around the room until his gaze landed on Roman, laid on his bed, curled on his side.

“Oh, Roman,” he said softly. He glanced around the rest of his room, eventually noticing the ruined costume of his favorite prince. He gasped quietly, dread settling in his stomach. Roman loved that thing with all of his heart, he was so proud of it, and now it was… ruined.

Oh, Roman.

He sat down on the bed next to him. “Roman?” he asked. “Can I hug you?”

After a few seconds of silence, Roman gave a stiff nod, and Virgil gathered his friend in his arms.

“Did someone ruin your costume?” Virgil asked. Roman shook his head.

“Did it- did it myself.” He mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder where his head lay. “Don’t deserve… it.”

“What makes you think that?”

Roman sniffled, opening his mouth only to close it seconds later as a low keen escaped.

“I’m hardly a prince,” he said, finally. “I’m just… too selfish. Narcissistic. I’m idiotic, and naive, and unrealistic. Those aren’t things that make a prince. So I… I destroyed the stupid costume. It doesn’t deserve to be mine. I deserve rags, and- and torn clothes, and broken dreams.”

“Oh, Princey,” Virgil muttered, heart aching for his friend. He hugged him tighter. “I’m so sorry we ever let you think that. I know it’s hard to believe, Roman, trust me, I know, but it’s… it’s true when I say that you deserve all that, and more!

“Because you’re you, Roman. Beautiful, wonderful, you, who tries his best at everything he does and tries so hard to be a good person. Of course you’ve made mistakes, and you’ll make many more, but you’re still a good person, even after all that. What was said today was bad, but Dec-Janus’ response was bad, too. You know it’s not true, right? You and Remus aren’t alike. You know that, right?”

To Virgil’s relief- and surprise, Roman nodded.

“I know…” Roman whispered. “I know… and- and I know that… Remus is better than me and- and!” he cut himself off with a pointed look at Virgil, even through his tears. “And you don’t have to pretend like it’s not true. It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it.”

Roman…

How did we let you get so bad?

“Nonsense,” he said. “That- that’s nonsense, true and utter nonsense, Princey. While I know that no one’s perfect, and no one should be compared, I know that if forced to make a decision, I would say you’re better than him. But since I can be a sensible person, at least in cases like this, I know that neither you or Remus are better than the other. It would be wrong to compare you two, because you’re both so different. You may have the same role, but you’re far from the same person.”

Roman simply shifted in response, hiding his head once more. Virgil carded fingers through his hair, humming softly.

“I feel so sad, Virgil.” Roman said eventually, desperation straining his voice. “It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

“What hurts?”

“Me,” glancing up at Virgil, Roman hiccuped. “Everything. It just… it hurts to be me right now. I feel so empty yet full with every negative emotion possible. I feel alone, even with you here. I miss feeling loved, Virge… Everything was easier back then. I knew things, or at least thought I did. I was confident, without faking it.

“Now I feel like I just… hurt everyone. Intentional or not, it’s all I’m good for, and it’s not even good! It’s bad. I’m… bad,” he shoved his face in his hands. “I’m evil, Virge, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Virgil frowned. “Ro… you’re not evil. Far from it. Mistakes were made, sure, but you’re still a good person. And you’ve been trying so hard for it too, and for the most part it's paid off well. I believe in you. I believe you can do it- no, I know you can do it, Roman. Because you’re Roman, and the Roman I know tries his best at everything he does and succeeds. Even when he’s been stepped on, he rises again and demands another challenge. He’s brave, and imaginative, and is willing to change bad behaviors. He’s a good person. You’re a good person. I promise.”

Roman stayed silent. Virgil gave a slight sad smile.

“I know it’s likely you don’t believe me, and I know that it can take a while to accept it as truth, but I’ll be there to help you every step of the way, alright, Roman? If you ever- whenever you feel bad, feel free to come to me. Even if I’m asleep or busy. I’d rather help you feel better than sleep, and it helps me to know that I can help you. Alright?”

Roman nodded, crying once more. “Thank… thank you, Virgil. I appreciate it. I really do.” Virgil smiled, hugging him closer.

“Of course. Anytime.” After a few seconds of thought, Virgil spoke again. “Wanna make a pillow fort and watch Disney?”

Roman nodded eagerly, causing Virgil to giggle.

Collecting the blankets from his room, Virgil allowed himself time to think. No, it wouldn’t exactly be easy to help Roman, but Virgil was willing to try. Because Roman was important to him.

Weeks later, Virgil showed up at Roman’s door with a new prince costume. When Roman cried, they were tears of joy.

Maybe things would get better.

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

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Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 6

Eddie was bored. Like, really bored. Both his health studies and his history class had been slow, more introductions than actual work, which was total bullshit. With no homework, no studying, Eddie was lost. He didn't have many hobbies thanks to the cage his mother had forced him into (pencil lead will poison you Eddie-bear no drawing and also skateboards are death traps and you'll stab your eye out with a knitting needle oh dear oh no) so he really had nothing to do. He was sat on the sofa with his eyes trained on the TV though he hardly registered the news channel playing, foretelling the Tuesday weather. Bill was on the other end of the couch, the soft sounds of his pastels gliding across thick paper just barely heard over the Anchorwoman voice of Cindy Williams. If he were back in Derry, Eddie would most likely be down in the barrens, sitting with three jackets and a scarf (even though it wasn't that cold just yet) on the banks of the Kenduskeag with Stan and Bill at his sides. Maybe they would be playing go-fish or maybe they'd have brought down Eddie's Parcheesi board or maybe they'd just be talking and talking and talking about God-knows-what. With the third of their party, Stan, at work for the evening neither Bill nor Eddie felt adventurous enough to bother going out and wandering the streets of Portland in search of something to do. The rain had yet to return, the sun from the day prior still holding strong, but despite the warmth that was promised Eddie would rather just stay inside and wallow. A sudden, too-loud beeping sound erupted form Eddie's left pocket, making both him and Bill simultaneously leap right out of their skin. Eddie actually let out a shout, his heart soaring into the air and then plummeting all at once. It was just his phone. His phone was just ringing. He didn't need to freak out. Jesus.

"Sorry-" He apologized quickly to Bill, shooting him an irritated glance and pulling his phone from his pocket. Leaping to his feet (he didn't want to disturb Bill any longer, since he had already pulled him from his drawing trance) he hurried away towards his room, slipping past his door and answering his call, finally silencing that infuriating Nokia ringtone. It had always gotten on his nerves. "Hello, this is Eddie Kaspbrak?"

"Why didn't you call me?" Eddie went rigid, stiff as a board, the voice in his ear the last one he currently wanted to be hearing- why didn't he check the number before picking up? Shit, he thinks to himself, and then immediately worries that he might have spoken that aloud- it was his mother, contacting him for the first time since he was swept away by his two best friends. "I was worried for you, Eddie-bear. Why didn't you call me?" Sonia's tone is weird, off-sounding, and Eddie can detect a multitude of different emotions both fake and real even through the crackly distorting of his speaker.

"Mommy, I- I'm sorry, I totally forgot," It's difficult to find any words right now. How had Eddie forgotten to call his mother? She and Derry, home, had been on his mind so frequently that it was genuinely astonishing that he hadn't thought to call her. Of course, he didn't want to call her, he was terrified of what she'd say to him on the subject of his schooling, his 'running away', but- how had the thought never once crossed his mind? "With school starting and trying to get used to everything here I've been really busy and-"

"Are you being worked too hard over there? What time are you waking up? Going to sleep? It's probably cold over there today, you'd better be wearing your jacket," His mother's voice washed him with a feeling of illness. Instead of listening to her words, her senseless pestering, he tried to pick apart what feelings shone through he words. Those jumbled tones, all different, were confusing. Eddie managed to pick out the sickly-sweet tone that Sonia often adopted when she was covering up her rage or her hurt or discomfort- it was the tone that promised a silent terror, a silent wrath. If he had to compare that voice to anything else in the world it would be like the moment before a tiger pounces and tears you limb from limb. Despite her efforts to hide it, her anger shone through nonetheless, sending a shiver down Eddie's spine. Sonia Kaspbrak was furious. "-Home again and then everything will be alright, won't it Eddie? It'll be just fine again and I can-" The phone erupted into ringing once more. Eddie winced, ripping the device away from his ear as the little Nokia chime blew out his right eardrum.

"Mommy, mom- I'm getting another call, please just give me a moment-"

"Don't put me on hold, Eddie! Don't you dare put me on-" Eddie put her on hold. He let out a huff as her voice finally went silent and another one took it's place. To say the least, this one was no more pleasant.

"Hey, Eduardo! Nice of you to answer!" Richie was loud, too loud, but Eddie put up with it because at least he wasn't Sonia.

"What do you want, Richie?" His words came out clipped, snappy- significantly more rude than he had meant, which is a surprise, because he did mean to be a little rude. He grimaced at his own voice and could basically see Richie's confusion on the other end.

"Woah there, Eds, what's gotten your panties in a twist? Doesn't matter- I have a proposal to make."

"I- Richie, sorry, now isn't the best time I have another call on the line-"

"Today is our weekly 'Taco Tuesday', but Mike and Ben both got called into work last minute. It's just me, Bev, and wayyyy more tacos than any person can safely eat." Eddie hadn't noticed he had begun to pace. He didn't want to hang up on Richie, but the burning anxiety bubbling like boiling lava in his stomach was direly unpleasant and spreading by the second. His mother would be pissed. "I know Stan the Man's got work today, but why don't you and Bill swing by for dinner and a movie? It can be our first date, what do you say?" Though his tone was teasing, Eddie's face went red. He began to pace quicker- he wouldn't be surprised if he burned holes right into the carpet.

"Yeah- sure- whatever- I have to go, Richie," The quickest way out of this conversation was to agree, and so Eddie did just that, without really thinking it through. He could stomach a night at Richie's, especially if Bill and Bev were there. Beverly was nice, and Eddie wouldn't mind getting to know her better.

"Aha, that's a yes Bevvie! I told you they'd wanna come! Alright, you know the address, be here whenever, we don't have any pla-" Eddie jammed his thumb down onto the 'hang-up' button and then his mom was on the other end again.

"Sorry, I'm back," Eddie's heart was thumping unnaturally fast. His asthma inhaler was on his vanity, only two steps away, but he couldn't use it or else who knows what his mother would do and say. He wouldn't be surprised if she came speeding all the way to Portland. "What were you saying?"

"Who was that, Eddie-bear? You were gone for so long I thought you might have hung up on me or something!" A retort on the tip of his tongue, Eddie swallowed his annoyance- after all, he was only gone for about thirty seconds- and put on his own false voice.

"It was just a telemarketer, mommy, it's alright. Sorry for making you wait, but I do have to go now. I need to eat dinner." That was a general truth. Sonia didn't need to know what he was having for dinner, just that he was having it. She would lose her mind over tacos- too fatty, the shells can hurt your teeth, cut your gums, you have delicate gums Eddie- and so it was best not to tell her at all.

"Oh Eddie, I miss you so much! Please, please call me and maybe we can organize a visit? Maybe I can come over and say hello? You can show me your school?" 'Show me your school' was code for 'Let me point out every dangerous little thing so that you have a panic attack and have to come home'. "I love you, Eddie-bear, I love you so so so so so-"

"I love you too mom, I have to go. I'll call. Bye." The call was ended. It was almost as if a weight was lifted off of Eddie's shoulders. He staggered over to his desk, picking up his inhaler and staring down at it. It looked foreign in his hands, dangerous, maybe- but heavenly at the same time. Eddie would have taken a puff if it weren't for Bill's footsteps approaching his doorway. He dropped the device quickly, spinning to the door just as Bill pushed it open, peeking his head inside and offering Eddie a small, tentative smile.

"That was your muh-mother?" He asked, pushing the door the rest of the way open and letting the golden hallway light shine through, banishing the growing sundown shadows, "Is everything oh-okay? Are you okay?" Eddie smiled- the expression was fake, but boy was Eddie good at pulling off fakes.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm great. It was my mom, and Richie, too- He wants us to come over for tacos or something. I don't really know, I was hardly listening. Beverly's there, I think, but Ben and Mike are at work." Bill's own smile grew into something more genuine, less frightened. He nodded his head.

"That sounds gr-great, actually. I'm stu-starving." Eddie let the anxiety from the call with his mother wash away.

-----

"Heya, Big Bill! And Eds, too, just swell- come in, come in!" Pulling his door wide open, Richie swept out an arm, "Welcome to my humble abode! Take a look around, make yourselves comfortable- it's a pretty nice place when it isn't crawling with teens." Bill and Eddie stepped through the threshold, into Richie's apartment. Richie noted with a burst of pride the way his guests both ogled, their gazes raking across the space they'd stepped out into.

To their immediate right sat a modern/retro kitchen, an odd mixture of sleek black marble and sickeningly bright reds, oranges and yellows. There was a massive green fridge covered nearly top to bottom in different papers, school tests and flyers and sketches of clothing and poems and- God, who knows?- all locked in place by random magnets picked out of gift shops and shopping centers and delivered as gifts. The kitchen was bordered off by a peninsula, three red bar stools, one of which was an entirely different shape and brand, seated at it's side. There was a fruit bowl on the counter though it held no fruit- instead it was filled with different CD cases from all the big rock bands and even some smaller ones that hardly anybody ever heard of. Other than the fruit bowl there were also takeout boxes, lots of them, containing the tacos and other miscellaneous snacks Richie had ordered for dinner.

Past the kitchen sat the living room, and it was just as chaotic. The couch was nice, a simple grey with a detached ottoman of the same colour. On top of that couch was a multitude of different pillows and cushions- one was blue, another green, just normal squares, but then there were also the stranger pillows like one shaped to be an electric guitar and another taking the form of an octopus with long, dangling legs- as well as too many knitted blankets to count thrown over the backrest. A rug sat across the floor, swirling, psychedelic, red, brown, orange. The regular lights were off and instead the golden glow of the setting sun cast the room alight. All over the walls were different posters for movies and bands- there were even some records hung about. If Richie had to use one word to describe his home, that word would be 'radical'.

"Hey, guys," Bev waved from her spot on a bean bag chair sandwiched between the couch and the huge, yawning, nearly floor-to-ceiling window on the far end of the room, "You're finally here, Jesus I'm starved! Richie made me wait for you two before eating," She climbed to her feet, her mass of scarlet hair tied behind her head with a pale pink scrunchie. Richie just rolled his eyes, crossing to those red bar stools and letting himself fall down into one with a dramatic huff directed at Beverly.

"Suh-sorry we took so long," Bill said with a grin, apologetic and sincere just like his smiles always were, "We got a l-little caught up." Richie didn't fail to notice the way that Eddie wrapped his arms around himself, looking like he might shrink into the earth. Why?- Richie couldn't be sure- but the boy didn't look comfortable in the slightest and something about that put his stomach in a knot. Without even realizing it, Richie found himself taking on a silent mission- make Eddie laugh, genuinely, at least one time tonight.

"No problemo, my good friends! Take a seat, take a seat- Bev can stand," Richie grinned, a toothy smile screaming mischief and teasing- Beverly didn't waste a single moment before ramming her fist against his shoulder, effectively threatening him out of his chair and leaving it free for her to take instead. "Oi!" Richie hunched his shoulders, screwing up his face to the best of his abilities. Snatching up a plastic butter knife, he pointed it at his friend, taking on a New Yorker's accent, becoming a character that was still in the works- Wyatt, the Homicidal Bag-Boy, "You put those doi'ty paws nea' me again an' I'll cut 'em 'ight off an' bake 'em in this weeks bread!"

"I haven't heard that character before," Eddie said, mostly to himself, but he shot a glance in Richie's direction and almost looked something near impressed.

"Hu-how do you do it? How do you swi-switch between these Voices so e-easily?" Bill asked, following Beverly, who was the one to start the feast, in ripping open the top of a takeout box to reveal the food inside of the first- five tacos were stood side-by-side-by-side, overflowing with different toppings. Richie bought from a local food truck down the street, and they made the very best authentic tacos in all of Portland.

"A pact with the devil and a few sacrifices," Richie shrugged, pushing in past Bev and Bill to reach the food for himself, "And lots and lots of practice." In all honesty, his Voices came to him as if it were breathing or walking. They were a part of him for a multitude of reasons, but most of those reasons were more private than he'd like to admit. Briefly, he pointed out what different items were, which tacos had what toppings and which ones were his personal favorites (Not even he knew if he was telling them his preferences to get them to stay away or because he thought they'd like them too). Only after he had filled his plate with more tacos than he could eat did he step back to let the others pass, though he did notice that Eddie was sitting patiently and waiting for the others to serve themselves up first like the gentleman he had shown himself to be. "Here, Spaghetti-man. Try this one," Out of the kindness of his own heart, Richie sacrificed one of his chicken avocado tacos despite the scowl Eddie gave him thanks to the nickname, and despite the fact that they were the best of the best, "They're perfect," making an 'ok' sign with his fingers, Richie kissed at the air like a chef complimenting his craft. Then, he stepped around Eddie and hopped up to sit in the counter to his right.

"Jesus, Richie, you're lucky I love you or else I would have eaten these ages ago," Bev said, and then took a too-big bite out of her food. As if it were karma for stealing Richie's stool, she accidentally inhaled a flake of cheese or maybe lettuce, hacking out a cough and dropping her taco down onto her plate to thump her fist against her chest- immediately, concern was scrawled across Eddie's face, and he was about to leap to his feet to help her when she held out a finger and cracked a goofy smile. "All-" she choked out, and then buried her face into her sleeve, "All good-" Eddie was already putting his plate down and moving to get out of his chair. His mouth began to run a mile a minute, speaking so quickly that even Richie, ADHD in human form, could hardly piece the words together.

"Are you sure? I know the Heimlich maneuver- CPR too- and I have 9-1-1 on speed dial. You could damage your throat or your lungs and you don't always recover from stuff like that, even if it's just-"

"Woooooah there, Eds! She's just fine, trust me- she always does this. Bev's a bit of a blockhead in that aspect," Speaking through a mouthful of food, Richie placed his hand on Eddie's shoulder to keep him in his seat, "She seems to like choking on food almost as much as-"

"Bee' bee' Ri'ie!" Her face red, still choking, Bev found it necessary to end that train of thought then and there. She lunged across the counter, one hand connecting with Richie's side, and pushed him right from his seat. He hardly had time to catch himself, letting out a startled shout and almost dropping his plate. Bill's face split with an ear-to-ear grin and even though he had never heard that phrase, Beep Beep Richie, in his entire life, he knew that it was a part of him now just as much as any of this- He was laughing away, his eyes bright like small suns or maybe reminiscent of the glow of something alien, like a life force in the form of light or the glint of shiny teeth though that wasn't what Richie was paying attention to. Instead, through his thick glasses, he was staring at Eddie and passing him rapid glances out of the corner of his eye, trying to confirm his suspicions and to ease his surprise. Eddie Kaspbrak seemed to be smiling, just a little tiny quirk of his lips- on any other face this smile would have meant nothing but the fact that it was Eddie who was showing any sign of joy was a monumental moment.

"Beep beep yourself, asshole!" Richie rolled his eyes, his grin still strong as ever. Leaning on the counter across from the three, they all began to eat again though Richie was practically buzzing with a mixture of emotion. He was determined to get something bigger out of Eddie, a full on laugh, a double-over and clutch your sides kind of laugh, the kind of laugh that only came from something so insanely stupid that you couldn't not break down because of it. He knew all too well that you couldn't force comedy, and just had to hope that the perfect opportunity arose. "So," Richie leaned his head on his hand, fluttering his lashes innocently (which meant he had something mischievous planned), "What all do you know about choking? Were you really able to save Bev if she was dying just then? How?" Eddie scoffed, his eyes flicking up from his plate for just a moment to meet those of the Tozier boy.

"What do you mean 'how'? You have to have learned basic First Aid. Everyone should know this shit." Crunching down onto his taco, Richie shook his head. The look that crossed Eddie's face then was hilarious. The horror mixed with disappointment morphed his boyish features perfectly- if he had a camera, Richie wouldn't have hesitated to take a photo. He knew what CPR was and the Heimlich too, he wasn't that dumb but for the sake of the teasing he would play dumb as a brick since that was what he was best at. "So, what you're saying is, if I hadn't been here and Beverly had really been choking she would have just- died. Just like that. Because you don't know how to do CPR."

"I'm sad to say so," Richie shrugged one shoulder, "She'd be done-zo. Six feet under. Kickin' the can."

"First of all, it's the bucket, not the can," Eddie said with a roll of his eyes, though that upward quirk of his lips had returned and Richie felt a swell of triumph, "And second, that's really, really hard to believe."

"Well, it's the truth, so..." Another one-shouldered shrug. "Are there like, different types of CPR?"

"Oh my God, you're a fuckin'-" Eddie bit his tongue. Shaking his head, one hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then he dropped it and turned a surprisingly patient gaze onto Richie. "It starts with chest compressions," Something in Eddie changed, then, so suddenly it was almost invisible. His shoulders pulled back, his chin tilted up, and his eyes adopted a light that Richie had yet to see in them. It was confidence, self-assurance, a sign that Eddie knew exactly what he was talking about. "Chest compressions help the flow of blood to the heart and the brain. You do 30 chest compressions and then you have the check the persons airway, make sure there's no blockage-"

"What kind of blockage?" A snicker from Richie,

"Shut up," Eddie continued without pausing, and there was now the concern that he needed to breathe, "Then after that you can do mouth-to-mouth-" And, that was the breaking point for Richie. He smiled wide, leaned in a little closer, and, in that sly, mischievous tone, said,

"So what do I have to do to get CPR from ya Eds?" This promptly earned him a shove and another harsh punch to the shoulder.

***

After dinner passed, the group had shifted over to the couch for a movie. The thing with Taco Tuesday's was that each new week someone else picked the movie, and this week just so happened to be Richie's choice. That was why they were currently huddled around the TV watching 'The Birds'- Richie has to have seen it a billion times by now.

"Watch watch watch watch watch- oh! Bird attack!" Punching his fist into the air, Richie hollers his words, his elbow nearly jamming Eddie in the ribs as he flops back down into the sofa, "Shit, this scene used to scare me have to fuckin' death when I was a kid!" Watching, unamused, as birds flew in through a homes fireplace, Eddie let out a sound that might have meant to be a chuckle but sounded more like a scoff.

"I seriously can't believe this movie scared you," Eddie was still wearing that small, serene smile. All through the movie so far Richie has been making his silly little comments, pointing out the parts that always made his younger self shudder with fear, "It's just- so boring! So slow! And it's not realistic in the slightest-"

"Oh come on Eds, you're the one who's supposed to be terrified of these feathery little dudes. Shouldn't you be shitting your pants right now? Clinging to my side, sobbing, oh Richie, oh Richie please hold me close, I can't look any more!" As Richie's tone shifted into a falsetto, a poor, poor mimic of Eddie, he slumped, clinging to the shorter boy much like he was describing, "Turn it off, I'm shaking in my boots! Turn it off, pleeeeeeease-"

"Shut up, Richie!" As Richie's arms locked around Eddie's waist, he heard that sound that he was starting to think he'd never hear. As Eddie began to squirm, pushing and shoving at Richie's arms, his smile grew wider, something goofy and uncharacteristic, all teeth and dimples- along with that smile came the lightest, happiest, warmest sound that ever seemed to have existed. Eddie laughed, a real chuckalicious laugh, high-pitch and joyous. Richie's teasing words didn't cease, and he even began to wiggle his fingers, jabbing them into Eddie's sides and driving the boy to curl into himself, almost whacking Richie in the side of the head with his knee. As the laughing continued, Richie's chest tightened up pleasantly, warmly, his heart fluttering and his stomach doing some seriously impressive somersaults.

"Yowza yowza YOW-za! Richie Tozier gets off a good one!" Now, both Bev and Bill were laughing too, the movie long forgotten. In a brave moment Richie leaps to his feet, but his arms don't leave Eddie's form and then he's carrying him right with him. Eddie lets out a cry as the couch falls away but Richie holds him nice and tight, beginning to prance, spinning, jiving across the room, "Richard Wentworth Tozier is on a roll, on a ROLL baby! Yowza yowza-" He and Eddie are interrupted then by a dinging sound, the familiar ring of his cellphone. Richie's cheeks were warm, and he was certain that they were red, too. "Here ya go, Eds," he set Eddie back down, ignoring the 'It's Eddie, dickwad' and instead plucking his phone from where it sat on the coffee table. He felt high, no, better than high. He had only smoke weed a few times but in this moment he felt better than he ever has before- and then as he looked at his screen exhilaration in his chest died in an instant. His smile fell away, just for the briefest moment, before he forced it right back in it's place to cover up the pang of pain he felt at the new absence of his contentedness. The text he had received had been small, just a simple word, and yet it had killed the wonderful squeamishness in his stomach. It had killed the feeling that he had never felt before. It had killed that infinite warmth.

Hey.

Riche dropped his phone again without bothering to ask, and collapsed onto the couch once more, eyes trained on the film. It was all fine, he was vibing, living, enjoying his evening and no one would ruin that for him. Eddie, seeming to have noticed the split-second shift in Richie's expression, leaned in close and, brows furrowed with concern, asked,

"Everything okay?" Richie knew just how to deal with situations like this- he was a trained expert at skirting questions. With an easy-breezy smile and a set of thumbs up, he clicked his tongue and responded with,

"Cool as a cucumber, my friend," His own voice sounded funny to him with how grossly happy it was. It didn't match the pit in his stomach at all. This tone he took on in the direst situations was one of his few Secret Voices- he called it 'Richie 'I'm-All-Right' Tozier' and it was basically him, but without any life problems and crippling anxiety. He was so good at it now, so good at faking that good that you could hardly tell I'm-All-Right from the real him. Eddie shrugged and returned to the movie. For a few moments, everything was okay again, until he got another text. This one was... different from the last. It was from the same person, but had an entirely different feel.

hope you understand that we're not over. We won't ever be over.

Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Richie put his phone away, letting it drop down into his lap, as inconspicuously as possible though his heart was beating at 10000000 miles an hour. Christ, he felt like he needed a puff from Eddie's inhaler! The hidden threat in those words, the passive aggressiveness of them, it terrified him more than even a Voice could hide. The way his shoulders tensed must have been all too obvious. Not only was Eddie looking at him again, worried, but Bev was passing him discreet glances as well.

"Are you sure everything's okay, Rich? You look tense," Eddie still kept his voice low, so low, the perfect level to be heard by Richie and Richie alone.

"I- Yeah, I'm fine. Don't, uh..." Joke joke joke he needed a joke or he might let his smile turn all wobbly and weird and then Eddie would worry even more, "Don't worry your pretty little head." Panic panic panic- Richie is panicking. He thinks his hands might be shaking and maybe his eyes are glossing over just a little. The movie is bright right now, reflecting off of his watery gaze and as he watches Eddie's mouth begin to move again, preparing to pour out more concern, Richie spoke first because he can't bear to see Eddie worried and he double can't bear being the reason for that worriedness. "Excuse me for a moment, dears," Richie stood, smiling wanly, "I require a piss." And, with that, he hurried away for the bathroom. He hardly made it into the room in time, slamming the door shut and punching on the lights, before the fear really gripped him. He stumbled up to the sink, his hands gripping so hard onto the basin that his knuckles went white. Looking at his reflection in the mirror was strange. His face was white, his eyes were, indeed, glossy, so so obvious behind his glasses, and he looked positively miserable. He didn't want to look at his phone again, yet at the same time he was almost desperate to reread those messages, to reassure himself that maybe they were in his head, just memories, all a ploy, all just him remembering bad times and creating more bad times from those memories.

But Richie wasn't foolish. He knew that those messages were real. Should he even be surprised? Taking off his glasses and setting them aside, Richie turned on the faucet and cupped his hands underneath the rushing stream of lukewarm water. He sucked a breath through slitted teeth, and let his eyes fall shut, just for a moment. Texts could be bad, yeah. Texts could be threatening. In the end, though, texts couldn't hurt him. If Richie was careful, alert, he never needed to see that douchebag again. If he was careful than this asshole couldn't get close to him. Leaning forwards, Richie brought the water up to his face, splashing it upwards and letting the refreshment roll over him in a steady wave. Ex-boyfriends were assholes, yeah, Richie's especially- but he had fought so hard to get out of that relationship. Surely no God could be cruel enough to throw him back into it. Running a towel over his face and replacing his glasses, Richie caught his own eyes in the mirror once more. In an instant, the damaged, sunken, shell of his face morphed up into that Richie Tozier grin. It was movie time, baby. Cool as a cucumber.

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stan uris #stanley uris #mike hanlong #the losers club #it #it movie #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it 2017 #it 2019

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silenceindetroit · 6 years

Text

The Meaning of Silence - The Question (Part 12)

I apologize in advance if the keep reading break doesn’t work, as this is a bit long. Author notes at the end. Read here or on Ao3

The sound of the pencil against the thick, uneven paper in Markus' notebook was faint, almost nonexistent amidst the noise from the other rooms. Not that he minded—it gave him the cover to work unnoticed, which he preferred.

It had been such a spur-of-the-moment urge that he'd been lucky to have anything to draw with on him in the first place. He didn't normally even bring his art supplies out of the house. It had been a habit he'd been trying to implement recently; capture inspiration where and when it struck. He shouldn't have been surprised what the first moment was when it came, if he was being honest with himself.

His lips pressed into a firm line as his eyes flickered over the page, trying to calculate where to lay the next few pencil strokes. It was an outline really, nothing more. He would fill in the rest later when he had time. But the moment had been too clear to pass up, almost frozen, as if it was waiting for him until he gave the universe some sort of confirmation that he'd gotten what he wanted out of it.

Mouth, he decided.

He glanced up from the page, back to his inspiration's focus. Connor's eyes were still half-lidded, caught up in running his fingers over the thick forehead of a grey pitbull, where she had wedged her face between his knees, looking up with the same wide eyes Markus had seen Connor use many times before. Her thick paddle of a tail hadn't stopped wagging since Connor had started talking to her in a low voice. Even now, Markus could see his lips moving ever so slightly, but the murmur was almost inaudible, lost in the noises outside their door. Parted slightly. Full and defined.

“Markus?”

His attention snapped up, internal fans whirring. Connor's eyes were on him now, noticing the notebook for the first time. He shut it hurriedly. “Yes?”

The wrinkles between Connor's eyes grew prominent as his brow creased. “I think I love her,” he announced. The pitbull's tail sped up at the change in his voice. She pressed her nose further forward, jowls tugging back where they rubbed against his jeans and bunching at the sides of her snout.

Markus couldn't help but let out a laugh. “What would Hank say?” he asked.

“No more pets,” Connor quoted, with more than a hint of disappointment. He turned back to the pitbull and took an ear in each hand. “But she's so sweet,” he added, rubbing them gently. “And she really needs a home.”

Something fluttered in Markus' chest—whether it was his processors or his heart, he wasn't sure—at the way Connor's words lilted, filled with concern and wistfulness. He slid the pencil into the spine of the notebook and set his hand on the cover. “Do you want to keep coming to visit her until she does?” he offered.

“Can we?”

“Of course.”

Connor's shoulders fell an inch with relief. He leaned forward, a hand on either side of the pitbull's square head now, and pressed his forehead against hers. “You hear that?” he asked her quietly. “We'll come to see you until you find a home. So you won't be lonely.” Her nose pressed upward to try and lick his chin, tail speeding up again at the new contact.

Markus' hand twitched against the notebook, fighting the urge to open it back up. Even if he did, there wasn't time to finish in the few minutes before the shelter closed. He made a mental note to go back over the memory later. For artistic purposes.

“Connor?” he spoke up gently. “They'll be locking up soon. We should head out.”

“Okay.” Connor's eyes shut, as if he were trying to imprint a thought into the pitbull's mind through their connected foreheads. “We'll be back, okay?” he assured her one last time, before planting a kiss between her eyes and straightening to his feet. He turned back to Markus, waiting until the other android rose to meet him. “Thank you for the date,” he added as they made their way through the glass door that separated them from the hallway.

Markus gave him a cheeky smile. “Oh, was it a date?” he asked innocently. His fingers reached across the empty space between them, hooking with Connor's as they walked. “I hadn't realized.”

Connor's gaze flickered back over his shoulder, to the door they'd come through. “You really think she'll find a home?”

“I'm sure of it. She's one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met.”

“Next to Sumo.”

Markus gave a low chuckle as he stepped forward to push the front door open for them. “Next to Sumo,” he agreed.

The afternoon sun that greeted them was blinding, flooding the street gold, reflecting harshly in the windows of buildings. Connor squinted as his retinas adjusted from the fluorescent lights they'd been under in the animal shelter. The traffic on the main street was growing relatively heavy, the open tab in his head told him. His brow furrowed as several calculations suggested the quickest routes. It was easier to set a pickup location on a side street and meet a ride there, than have it come to them through the worst of the traffic.

Markus shifted beside him in the stillness. “Well,” he offered, “anything else you'd like to do?”

Connor closed his eyes, exiting out of the maps suggestions. When he opened them again he took a single step down the stairs and turned back to Markus. His internal fans hiccuped at the way the light caught in the other android's eyelashes. “It was a lovely date,” he said in the most even voice he could manage, holding up Markus' hand as if he might kiss it. “But now it's my turn.”

Markus gave a laugh at the over-exaggerated gesture. “What do you mean?”

Connor grinned and shook his head. “Follow me.” He gave the other android's hand a gentle tug, coaxing him down to the sidewalk before setting off, picking up the pace. “If we're fast we might be able to catch the sunset,” he added as they half-walked, half-jogged the length of the pavement.

“Catch it from where?” Markus pressed.

“You'll see.”

-----

The drive down the side streets took an extra ten minutes for them to reach their destination, but compared to the risk of getting stuck in worse traffic, it was worth the loss. Connor's eyes flickered out the window every so often, gauging the time by the brightness of the sunlight over each street. His comment to Markus had been a hint exaggerated—they had plenty of time before sunset. But he wanted there to be a big enough margin to show him as much as he could in the daylight.

“You're not going to give me any hints?” Markus asked halfway through the drive, breaking the silence. Connor glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The genuine curiosity on the other android's face made a smile crack over his own, despite his determination.

“Hm,” he murmured, cocking an eyebrow as he pretended to ponder the question. “But by definition it wouldn't be a surprise anymore if I did, would it?”

Markus raised an eyebrow back. “That's not true,” he argued. “That's why it's a hint. It's not a full revelation, just enough to let someone know what kind of mindset to have.” He gave Connor a look when the other android only grinned at him.

When the car finally pulled onto the final street, diverging from its original path parallel to the worst of the traffic and slowing to a stop against the curb to let them off, Connor reached over to place a hand against Markus' arm. “Wait here,” he said with bright eyes. “I'll be right back.” Markus' brows drew together in confusion, but Connor was already opening his door before he could get a word out, climbing out to the sidewalk and walking briskly up the path to a locked gate.

Markus held back a smile as he shook his head to himself. He scanned what he could see of the area while he waited; it was a place he didn't recognize, a high metal fence separating the sidewalk, the space beyond it hidden from view behind the tops of trees. It had to be a downward slope beyond the fence, judging by the unorthodox height of them.

He trailed a finger over the notebook cover where it rested on the seat beside his leg.The pages whispered under his hand as he hooked beneath it and flipped through them, skimming until he came to the sketch he'd been working on at the animal shelter. His gaze lingered over the lips that were frozen in a half-spoken word that would never be completed. The half-lidded eyes. The defined cheekbone. He resisted the urge to run his index finger along each of them, knowing the charcoal would smudge if he did.

Had they intended to make Connor so intricate when they'd designed him? he wondered. There were so many instances of care to detail that even he didn't always pick up on. They always revealed themselves in unexpected moments, most often when he studied the other android with an artist's eye. And even then it was in the aftermath, as he looked over his work, that he would realize what he'd captured.

And then there were the subtle changes to his mannerisms. The declaration of his freedom had brought out a different side of Connor. It was faint, almost unnoticeable, but Markus had picked up on it—he composed himself a little differently now, talked with a hint more expression in his face, held his shoulders less stiff, as if he felt he could finally relax where before he'd been so desperate to control his desires. In case...

In case it was ripped away.

The passenger door swung open without warning.

Markus' hand jumped to shut the notebook. “Ready?” Connor asked him, beaming into the car with eyes alight and eager.

Markus laughed. “Hard to say for sure, when I don't even know where we are.” He grabbed the notebook and opened his own door to follow Connor up the cement path. “Are we even supposed to be here?”

“I made arrangements.”

The gate that rose above their heads was still shut and locked; whatever this place was, it looked more than closed. Markus stood behind to watch as Connor placed a hand against one of the metal bars, leaning forward to scan for something beyond the entrance. He took a step back when a young man came into view on the other side, volunteer embroidered into the breast of his green button-down shirt. He gave the two of them a wide grin. “Hello, Markus,” he greeted. He raised his fingers to a panel, freckled skin melting away to reveal the porcelain white of an android's hand. The internal lock on the gate opened with a loud click.

“Enjoy the sunset,” the android added with a wink as he watched them make their way in. “Let us know if you have any questions.” Connor gave a nod of thanks, but Markus' focus was already lost on where the path led, descending deep into the trees he had seen from the car. “What...?” he whispered.

Connor took his hand. “Just wait.”

The ground sloped beneath their feet, taking them down into the maze of tree trunks, each spaced several feet from the others around it and standing like grave markers while their leaves caught the fading sunlight, beams illuminating the dust where they pierced the air. Wherever the path led, it was far below and out of sight. The possibility of getting lost felt a little too real.

“What is this place?” Markus asked quietly, almost afraid to disturb the stillness around them.

Connor's gaze lifted to the canopy of leaves above their heads. “It's a project the city started about twenty years ago, originally proposed as a way to bring more of a nature-driven environment to Detroit. They wanted nature to feel accessible to residents who don't have an opportunity to travel to the state parks in Michigan.”

“It doesn't even feel like we're in Detroit anymore.”

The corner of Connor's mouth curled upward. “Wait until we get to the bottom.”

The view of the gate they'd come through was long gone; whether it had come to be hidden by the thickness of the trees or the slope itself was hard to say. The hill began to level out just as Markus began to wonder how far it could possibly go, the space between the trees thinning, until the view ahead was no longer obscured, and he realized it wasn't just a hill they'd made their way down; the entire place was concave, sinking down from street level in the shape of a dome. The bottom of it opened into a grassy glade, bordered by trees on every side. And placed in the middle like the centerpiece of an altar sat a pond, no more than a hundred feet in diameter, its water reflecting the colors of the sky.

It was something out of a fairy tale.

He barely registered Connor, tugging gently on his hand as he stared. “What do you think?” the other android asked.

Markus could only shake his head. “How is there no one else here?” he managed as he let himself be led closer to the edge of the pond, several feet from where the water met the bank. They lowered themselves down onto the grass.

The sound Connor let out was almost sheepish. “They're... actually closed right now,” he admitted.

Markus raised his eyebrows, tearing his gaze from their surroundings. “You snuck us in?” he demanded.

“Not exactly. I just didn't get full permission.”

“Oh my god, Connor, are you serious?”

“The android at the gate maintains it at night, he agreed as long as we didn't disturb anything he wouldn't tell anyone—”

Markus couldn't help himself; a laugh escaped him at the look of embarrassment that spread over the other android's face. “We're going to get kicked out,” he teased, reaching his hand forward to rub Connor's jaw when he saw it clench. “You just caught me off guard is all. I love it. This place is beautiful.”

The light crept back into Connor's eyes. “You think so?”

Markus nodded and tilted forward, catching a glimpse of the other android's eyelids fluttering shut as he leaned to press his lips between his brows. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You told me you wanted to find new places that inspired you to paint,” Connor explained. His eyes were still closed.

“I did.” Markus turned his head to look back to the water, then the trees that rose beyond it, almost aglow with the fading light. “And you certainly know how to pick them.”

“This isn't what I wanted to show you.”

“There's more?”

“Yes, but not yet. After the sunset.”

Markus huffed jokingly. “All this waiting, and not even a single hint to get me through.”

“It'll be worth it,” Connor replied. The grin on his face was blinding. “Just be patient.”

Markus gave a solemn nod, but his eyes were warm. “Very well. I resign myself to wait. And in the meantime I'll keep myself busy studying the most beautiful view Detroit has to offer.”

“That's the spirit.” Connor waved a hand toward what they could see of the horizon far above their heads, where the sky was darkening into the colors of the sunset. “The light will turn the outline of the trees black and create a nice contrast against the sky. It might make for a good painting opportunity.”

“I wasn't talking about the trees.”

Connor's brow furrowed. He turned back, question on the tip of his tongue, only to have his thirium pump stall for a moment when he realized Markus' eyes were on him. “Oh,” he said quietly.

Markus let out a low chuckle and reached his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I almost forgot, I have something for you.”

The box he withdrew was familiar, slim enough to be mistaken for a wallet, but instead of the familiar black Connor had grown accustomed to the color was a deep navy blue. “You said you wanted your own, right?” Markus reminded him. He raised the box up a moment before holding it out in offering.

“I didn't think you remembered,” Connor admitted. Their fingers brushed as he reached to take the new micro-magnet set.

“You might want to open it. These are a little different—they've made a few upgrades.”

Connor did as he was told, sliding his thumb against the clasp to open the box. He blinked in surprise when it fanned out like an expanding file folder, a clear, plastic envelope with its own color-coded tab between each of three sections.

He raised an eyebrow at Markus, but the other android's gaze was on the contents of the box. “They have a few variations now. Before it was just the one model—” Markus' finger reached forward to point to the middle envelope, and then the one to its left— “but now they have one for interpreting lighter touch. And the one on the other end is more intense.”

Connor's eyes widened. “So they all feel different?” he asked.

“That's what I was told.”

“You didn't have to do all this, Markus—I would have been more than happy with the same ones you have.”

Markus gave a dismissive shrug, despite the smile on his face. “They'll be released for sale this month,” he said. “They just let me have mine early.”

Connor ran a finger along the edge of the envelope with a pale green tab, the one Markus had said would feel the lightest. “Thank you,” he said. He took the envelope between two fingers and pulled it from the box. “Should we try it out?”

“Right now?” Markus let out a laugh. “If you want.” He watched as Connor extracted the envelope's contents, fishing out the lip film. “You'll be the first in history to use them,” he added.

“Hm.” Connor pressed the film into place, tucking the tab behind his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “That's got a nice ring to it,” he said. His hand reached forward without warning, cupping Markus' chin to pull him closer. The other android stiffened in surprise, but only for a moment, before melting into a kiss as their lips were pressed together fleetingly. He pressed forward, trying to steal another, but Connor pulled back to study his face. “How does it feel?” he asked.

Markus was slow to answer. His gaze fell over the thumb that held him away, before flickering up to Connor's mouth, his own lips still parted. “Nice,” he managed after a few seconds. “Really nice.” And then he reached forward, grabbing Connor by the back of the neck, and pulled him into another kiss.

The colors of the sunset had already begun to mingle together, mixes of purple and pink bleeding through the clouds, the streaks of orange growing more prominent with each inch the sun crept lower. The surface of the pond rippled under the reflection of the hues in its own moving, messy blend. Neither of them quite remembered to pay any mind until it was almost too late.

Connor's eyes flitted up just as the last of the colors melted into each other several minutes later, fading with the oncoming darkness. He struggled for a moment to pull away from the hunger of Markus' lips. “I think we might have missed the sunset,” he admitted, searching the sky.

Markus reached to trail his thumbs down the length of either side of Connor's jaw. “That's okay,” he murmured back, studying the cleft in his chin. “I think I learned the meaning of soft.”

Connor's internal fans whirred; their mouths were still incredibly close. “Oh? Is it nice?”

“Very much so.” Markus paused, shutting his eyes as his brow knit together. The next words left his mouth slowly. “There's something I've been meaning to ask you.”

Connor tilted his head down to brush his lips against Markus' thumb. The corner of his mouth twitched when the other android ran the length of it. “There's something I've been meaning to ask you, too,” he said. The thumb traveled back the other direction.

“You first.”

Connor shook his head. “You called it.”

Markus' gaze flickered out over the water, nearly black now with only a few hints of orange across its surface. He opened his mouth, only to close it again. “I didn't expect it to be this hard,” he finally admitted to the shadows creeping their way across the glade. He let out a nervous laugh and tilted his head back, as if searching the oncoming evening sky for help. “I've been wondering if you'd like to make us official.”

The last light of the sunset made a silent exit, taking what remained of the orange from the clouds with it. Not even the world continuing on above them, long forgotten, could reach far enough to penetrate the silence.

“What?”

“I'm asking you if you'd want to be my boyfriend, Connor,” Markus reiterated with closed eyes. The nervousness was thick in his voice.

Three seconds passed, each more unbearable than the last, until Connor raised his hands to bury his face. “Oh my god, Markus—” he pleaded.

The pulse of Markus' thirium pump plummeted in his chest. “I-I didn't want to rush you,” he stammered. “But I didn't want to wait any longer, I wasn't sure if it was too early to ask, and it... I'm sorry. I should have waited—”

Connor gave a small shake of his head, cutting him off. “Markus, stop.” He tore his eyes away from his fingers to search the other's in the growing darkness. “Why do you think I brought you here?” he asked.

“I...” Markus paused, his train of thought dying. He blinked twice, slowly. “What do you mean?”

Connor's internal fans let out a sigh of air. “I was already going to ask you. During the surprise.” He gave a smile of defeat when he added, “but I guess you've beaten me to it.”

“Oh m... Connor...” A groan escaped the back of Markus' throat. He lowered his head into his hands, the weight of the situation crashing through his system. This could only happen to them. “I'm so sorry. I should have figured it out.”

To his surprise, Connor let out a laugh. Hands reached up to pull at his wrists. “You know it's okay to give someone else a chance once in a while,” the other android teased. “Stop trying to steal the limelight all the time.”

“I feel terrible,” Markus muttered, the words thick with guilt. He shook his head to himself. “I wouldn't have asked if I'd known that was your plan. I really am sorry.”

“Well,” Connor gave a smile and shrugged, “at least I know your answer would have been yes.”

Markus pulled his wrists gently from Connor's grip, reaching up to run his fingers into the other android's hair on either side of his head, searching his gaze in the darkness. “You could have asked me the day we met and it would have been yes,” he murmured.

The smile on Connor's face softened. “Really, there and then?” he whispered. His body leaned forward to press their foreheads together.

Markus gave a quiet chuckle as he pressed back, eyes closed. “Maybe would have made you be a gentleman about it, take me out on a couple of dates first. Definitely by the second.”

“Fair enough.” Connor copied his hands, reaching up to take either side of Markus' face between his palms. “My answer for you is yes, I'd like to make us official.” His mouth spread into another smile as Markus stole a kiss. “Sorry to make you wait so long. It's almost time.”

“I don't mind.”

“And I guess now I don't have a question for you when it comes after all... well.” Connor's head tilted back, gaze flickering to the sky. “Not the one I intended.”

Markus blinked. “The one you intended?” he echoed.

The edges of Connor's jaw tightened as he clenched it. “Well,” he repeated, slowly. “There is one other question that I've been meaning to ask you.”

A hand trailed from Connor's hair back to his mouth. “I think you deserve an answer to whatever it is, since I stole the one you were going to ask,” Markus said, exploring the wrinkles in his lips.

Connor searched his face. “Honest answer?” he asked.

“Honest answer.”

His eyes closed, weighing the offer, before he allowed himself to nod. “What I want to know is... What was it you said to me, the night we got the news from Kamski?”

The hand against Connor's mouth stiffened. Even in the dark, the surprise on the other android's face was clear as day. His mouth fell open a fraction of an inch, struggling to wrestle out a reply for several seconds, before he managed an unconvincing, “I told you.”

Connor shook his head. “Honest answer,” he reminded him. “I want to know what you actually said.”

Markus' lips pressed into a thin line. Both hands withdrew to his lap, the lightheartedness in his eyes fading. In its absence the hint of something deeper peeked through; something meant to be kept hidden, tucked away in hopes that it would be overlooked and forgotten.

He almost looked guilty.

Connor rubbed his thumbs down either side of the android's cheeks. “Markus?” he tried again.

Markus' eyes closed at the sound of his name. “I don't want it to change your answer,” he finally relented.

“Why would it?”

Markus' gaze shifted away, towards the pond. “I never meant for you to hear it. I never even meant to say it out loud, it just... it came to me in the moment. I thought it had only been, well.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he stared out over the water. “A thought.”

Connor frowned, brow furrowing at the despair laced around the word. “Whatever it was, it won't change my answer.”

“You don't know that,” Markus murmured. Even from only the view of his profile, Connor could see that his face was unconvinced. He watched in uncertainty, waiting, but whatever other thoughts were running through Markus' head, it was clear he was done sharing.

Connor followed his gaze to the pond. Moonlight had taken the place of the sunset's over the surface, rippling in broken patches dimmer than its predecessor, but just as breathtaking. His eyes rose from the water to the moon itself. “Yes, I do,” he said.

But a seed of doubt had sprouted in his chest. Did he? Could he be ready to hear whatever this was, when Markus himself was so unsure?

Either way, it was too late. The other android's head dipped down in defeat, a muttered curse leaving his lips. The next words that came were low—barely audible, even in the stillness—but just loud enough for Connor's eyes to widen as he caught them.

“What?” he whispered. Surely he hadn't heard right.

It had sounded like I think I'm falling in love with you.

Markus's fingers tightened in his lap, eyes still cast away. “The night we were dancing after we got the news,” he repeated. “I said... that I thought I was falling in love with you. I don't know why it came to me. It just did.” He paused to run a hand over the back of his neck. “If... you don't still want to be... you know, I understand. I didn't want you to feel pressured to reciprocate anything. I don't even know what I make of my own feelings.” His chin tilted up towards the darkness of the sky, tinged with city light. “I just know that when I'm with you, it's like a weight's lifted from my shoulders, and I can just... be. There's no pressure, no demand to be the leader, or the decision maker. To be the savior. You've never looked at me that way. You always just expect me to be me.” His shoulders fell, the declaration over. “Sorry,” he added, the word tinged with guilt.

Connor shook his head. “Don't,” he whispered, his voice raspy. He paused to clear his vocal box. “Don't be sorry. You've always been so in-tune with your emotions. It's a gift I wish I had. And the way it comes to you, it's almost like art.” His fingers reached down, brushing against the back of the other android's wrist. “Don't ever be sorry for that.” Markus stared down at the interaction, uncertainty in his eyes. When Connor remained unmoving he slid his own hand over Connor's knuckles in silent relent.

An extra breath of air sucked its way through Connor's internal fans as he took in the doubt that still hung heavy on Markus' face. “So,” he started solemnly, “is it safe for me to assume now that you like me?”

The words floated in the air for a moment before they were registered. Markus dared a glance back up. “What...?”

The corner of Connor's mouth twitched. “In all the time we've spent together, not once have I ever heard you say you like me. I was really starting to wonder.”

Markus met his gaze now, confusion passing over his features, before he raised eyebrow of suspicion. “Did you... just try to make a joke?” he asked.

Connor shook his head. “On the contrary, this is a serious matter. My theories have finally been confirmed, after all this time—”

Both brows shot up. “You are making a joke—”

“But,” Connor continued as if he hadn't heard him, “this does mean that you have to build your way up first.” He grinned when Markus gave him a look. “You can't just tell someone you think you're in love with them before you've even told them you like them.”

“For the record, you're the one who made me tell you,” Markus pointed out. He raised his eyes to the sky in a half-hearted eyeroll. “I like you, Connor.”

The grin on Connor's face turned to a smirk as he leaned in, bringing their faces closer. “Now. Do you have a crush on me?”

“Connor.” Markus let out a groan. Even in the dark, the shade of blue beneath his face grew a little more prominent. “Haven't I been through enough tonight?” he pleaded.

“Answer the question, sir.”

The other android threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Yes, Connor, I have a crush on you.”

“There you go.” Connor raised a hand to reach for the back of Markus' neck and pulled him close, pressing a slow kiss against his lips. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

“I don't appreciate the condescending tone,” Markus joked, but the frustrated facade was already disappearing, crumbling under the tingling that bloomed from his mouth to the edge of his jaw.

“To be fair, I don't get to see you flustered very often,” Connor pointed out. His grip tightened to tilt Markus' head back as his lips began to trail down, making their way over the android's exposed neck. But rather than leaning into it like he expected, Markus yanked his chin down, scrunching his shoulder up towards his ear. A half-smothered giggle he couldn't quite suppress rose from him in a hitch that nearly made Connor's processors stall.

A smirk of delight spread over his face as realization set in.

“Now do I?” he teased, holding him in place with the hand still behind his neck and crouching to his feet. Markus scrambled to crawl his way backwards, quick to catch on, but it was too late; Connor was already over him, pushing him down towards the grass, grip on his neck like a vice as he went to work.

Markus let out a growl of desperation as his hands were blocked from reaching to push Connor's merciless lips away. Even with only one unoccupied, the other android was faster, his design for neutralizing hostile threats to his advantage. It didn't take long for the giggles to turn into choked laughter. And then pleads of surrender when Connor's face wedged between his chin and collarbone, taking over the job of his other hand, and he pinned Markus' wrists to the ground.

“You win,” Markus choked out, “you win, let me go—”

A grunt escaped him as the grip on his wrists slackened and he pulled them away, shoving them up against Connor's neck, though the torment had already stopped. “Is this how you get confessions from all your victims?” he demanded, staring up into the brown eyes that were filled with mirth. “Tactics of relentless interrogation and humiliation?”

“Only the leader of the revolution. Who happens to have a crush on me.” Connor grinned at the dirty look Markus gave him. “If I'd known it was this easy Jericho wouldn't have gotten very far.”

“You would have deviated before it got to that point, I'd like to think.”

“Mh, true.” Connor leaned down onto his hands and pressed a kiss against Markus' mouth. “The sound of your laugh would have been enough to cause my software instability.”

Markus gave a devilish smirk. “Or maybe it would've been the other way around,” he said.

“Not a chance.”

“We'll see. I bought two sets.”

“Don't get your hopes up.” Connor raised an eyebrow, waiting for another quip, but Markus' eyes were softening. The hands on his throat found their way to either side of his face. “What is it?” he asked.

“You just...” Markus pressed his lips together, searching for the right words. “You smile so much more now than before. It's like you never really used to let yourself be present in the moment.”

Connor closed his eyes as Markus ran an index finger over the chipped exterior beneath his synthetic skin, where his LED used to reside. “I didn't,” he said quietly. He pushed away the memories bubbling up and lowered onto his elbows, nudging his chin forward to close the distance between their lips. The kiss Markus gave him back was gentle. The memories would have their day, when he would sit down and start the journey of working through them, face the fears he had cut back but not yet uprooted. But not now. Not today. Today was a day to simply be.

A quiet alarm went off in the back of Connor's mind when he pulled away, reminding him of the time that he'd forgotten to be checking. He let out a quiet oh, and without another word rolled off of Markus, settling onto his back in the grass.

“Well?” he asked after a minute of silence had stretched between them. His voice was hopeful. “What do you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Of the stars.”

Markus searched the sky, brow furrowed. “Connor, there aren't any out. There never are—you can't see them over the city lights.”

“You—you can't see...?” Connor shot up, twisting to stare down at where Markus lay before lifting his eyes back to the heavens, mouth falling open. And then his face fell in realization. “I forgot.” He pressed the base of his palm against his forehead, a noise of despair escaping him. “You're not the same model type.”

Markus gave a slow blink. “What—?”

“No,” Connor muttered to himself. He stole another glance up as his mind scrambled for a solution, already lost in thought, options racing through his head.

“Here,” he finally said after a minute. “Give me your hand.”

Markus did as he was asked, reaching to intertwine their fingers while the synthetic skin melted away, down to Connor's wrist, the android's face twitching as he opened an interface between them.

Markus' brow furrowed. Rather than prioritizing the download of information like usual, his vision had gone double, overlapping with what Connor was showing him. He probed at the connection as he closed his eyes. His own vision went dark, but the overlap remained, and Markus realized as it was blinked into focus that he was looking at himself through Connor's eyes. The interface went dark for a moment while Connor lay back down in the grass, eyes closed.

A small gasp escaped Markus when he opened them again.

Beyond the dissipating clouds, the lackluster view he'd seen before had been replaced with hundreds—thousands, even—of stars; clusters to solitary pinpricks, some stationary and white, others pulsing with flares of red or blue. Markus shook his head in disbelief. More than thousands, he realized; they might as well have been deep in the mountains, hundreds of miles away from humanity. “You see like this all the time?” he whispered.

“I don't always use this particular feature,” Connor said. “But yes, I can access it whenever I want.”

“This... is beautiful.” Markus shook his head again. “You're the one who should have been the artist, not me. You have the perfect eyes for it.”

“I could never have your artistic inspiration.” Connor kept his gaze open, trying not to focus on any particular part of the sky to let Markus take in as much as possible. “Are you familiar with the different constellations?” he asked.

Markus shifted beside him, moving to tuck his head blindly into the nook between Connor's neck and shoulder. “Not very much.”

Connor's eyes flickered over the clusters, searching for matches to the star charts, before settling on a particular group. “That's Coma Berenices,” he started slowly. His gaze moved an inch to the right. “That one is Leo, and the one on the left is Bootes, dominated by Arcturus—the fourth brightest star in the sky—which also makes up one point of the Great Diamond.”

He named the details of the sky one at a time, taking care not to miss any of the stars that connected to other, outlying constellations that spread between clusters; Virgo to Corvus, to Hydra, to Canis Major. He had just started on Canis Minor when he raised their clasped hands up to his mouth. “Commonly represented as the smaller of two dogs,” he recited, lips brushing the back of Markus' knuckles while he spoke. A small noise of content rose from the other android. “Running on either side of Monoceros.”

He was wrapping up the layout of Orion when Markus spoke up, interrupting before he could continue. “Do you think we're keeping that other android?” he asked.

Connor blinked. “Jerry? No. He said we could stay as long as we want.”

“Figuratively or literally? Because I wouldn't mind laying here for the rest of night.”

Connor's lips spread into a smile against the back of Markus' hand. “Well, if he tries to say anything you can tell him to talk to your significant other,” he said.

“Ah, yes.” Markus let out a chuckle. He turned onto his side and pulled their hands away from Connor's mouth to make room for his own. The tips of their tongues flicked together, both of their worlds going dark as Connor closed his eyes. “Forgot about that.”

Markus' palm disconnected from Connor's ever so slightly when they pulled away, putting the interface on pause. “So,” he murmured. “Does this mean you haven't changed your mind?”

Connor searched his eyes in the darkness, taking in the fractured moonlight that danced over his irises and caught in his lashes. The strongest, most beautiful soul he knew, looking at him as if he held the fate of the world in his palms. His Markus.

“Not in the slightest,” Connor murmured back. And then his eyes closed as Markus pulled him into a new kiss, their fingers reaching blindly for each other, hands turning as porcelain-white as the stars that burned above them.

Ok, a couple things. Number one, this bonus chapter is a birthday gift for my good friend @nerdbullydraws I liked what they wanted so much that I asked if I could add it to the TMOS canon. Happy birthday binch Number two, the last month has been hell for me. I hope this chapter was up to par—I rewrote it more than once and did the best I could, so I hope it's satisfactory. I apologize if it felt different at all. Number three, I've started an instagram for people to keep up with my writing journey! Fun fact: I have a novel I've been working on for a few years, and ideas for more in the future. If you wanna keep up with me and the more professional side of what I do, you can find me at ollie.writes :) My work specifically for this story won't be associated with it, as I consider this a private passtime and the page will be for my professional stuff, but if you're interested in me as a writer I'd love if you dropped by to say hi! Send me a message if you came from over here and I'll follow you back.

Thank you sticking with me all the way to the end. I am now off to take a long-needed break and a nap. Goodnight

#detroit become human #rk1000 #rk1k #dbh #dbh connor #dbh markus #the meaning of silence #conkus

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