#the gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence requires violence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoondoze · 4 years

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coin toss | jjk

you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 25.4k

genre: soft and hard angst, mafia/detective agency au, complicated exes (?)

warnings: language, violence, blood, character death, sexual implications, little bit of gore, jimin has a weird hatred of yoongi idk don’t take it seriously, mentions of torture, grief, too many italics

a/n: long time no see everyone, hope you’re doing well! this story was inspired by my favorite anime, bungou stray dogs (it’s got a soukoku type beat & you’ll recognize some structures). it’s my first back in a while, and it’s also the longest piece i’ve written, so i hope you all enjoy it! <3

To be called to the Boss’s office for a quick word is almost always a sealed exit ticket from this world. One, because regular meetings of necessity are always held in the boardroom and discussed amongst the executives. Two, one on one meetings mean no witnesses. You’ve been there once before and barely made it out alive. To make it out a second time? The chances are practically nonexistent.

The room feels less like an office and more like an 18th-century study, a dark academia dream with the coffee-toned furniture and ceiling-high shelves stacked with books. The only sign of modernity is the pristine silver laptop sitting perfectly on his desk. The guards to the side of the room look straight ahead, no indication of how this will end for you.

“My dear, good to see you,” The Boss purrs, eyelids falling into tender crescents as you place yourself gently on the cushion of his ornate bergère. Typically there are two of a kind that sit across from his dark oak bureau, but at this moment one has been removed from the space so yours could be positioned parallel to his own chair.

The Boss has an intimidating air about him. From the gentle yet feline-like movements that look like they mask something sinister, to his signature verbosity that’s almost professorial, he’s the perfect paradigm of a godfather.

“And you, Boss. It’s been a while.” You maintain a cool tone, not breaking his eye contact. He was a dog that could smell fear and would drag it out of you if he thought it could sate his twisted desire for control.

He sighs as his cheshire smile fades. “I don’t like beating around the bush, as I’m sure you know. You... must have heard the rumors of a third party organization stepping foot in this city, yes?”

The whispers started only days ago, and the most you heard was only an assumption from another underling at the bar. Considering how much people loved to gossip and how boring it got around here, you were just going to brush it off. However, if it was enough to bring you here, it had to be something worth your attention.

“Yes, it’s been floating around.” You clear your throat. “Is it something to be worried about?”

He puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, sucking a breath through his teeth. “This has happened before, when a new group tries to disrupt our hold on the functioning of our territory, and we have always squashed them from the picture quietly. But unfortunately, those who call themselves the Syndicate play dirty.”

It seems as if things were not heading in the track you imagined when being escorted on the long walk here. But then he orders the guards at the sides of the room out, and your heart jumps to your throat.

As the large doors close behind them, he resumes talking.

“Last week, twenty-two of our men were killed and one taken during a weapons exchange with a western group...who we thought were a western group. All they left behind was a handful of playing cards.” His wrist flicks up suddenly, a black card tucked between his two fingers. The shine on the back glints under the dim lamplight. He stares in disdain.

The nervous habit of jumbling your fingers started up in your lap, asking, “Who was it?”

“Underlings of the Syndicate,” he brushes past, holding up a single finger before continuing, “The key is that the missing one was a trusted man in our central intelligence unit. He was carrying knowledge of our expansion plans within the next year. When backup came, he was gone. Intelligence then reported that the Syndicate was also responsible for the crisis of our allies in the Midwest, Fox Lodge, two years ago. And a year before, the Federacy in Europe. They crumbled in a matter of weeks.”

The man sweeps his dark hair from his forehead, an undetectable motive flaring in his eyes, the one person you could never read.

“Simply,” he shrugs, “this fish is too big to fry on our own.”

You couldn’t help but swallow. “And that means…?”

“I’ve spoken to the director of the Detective Agency. A temporary ceasefire has been agreed upon... Similar interests, a common enemy, you see.”

Existed an extensive list of things that did not have the capacity to surprise you anymore in this life. But a ceasefire? That was impossible; The Detective Agency and the Mafia had always been at odds like a fated grudge of the gods above. The fighting had been continuous for all your time spent in the organization.

“I know,” he nods, “It is a miraculous thought. But they have the resources and we have the manpower. While it would be great to let Syndicate take them out for us, we would ultimately be next on their list. Cooperation is our best bet.”

And the thought of what this conversation may be coming to strikes you like lightning on waiting sand. “I thought you didn’t approve of betting, Boss.”

“Hmm… I see you’ve caught on,” he says pensively, a smile rising on his face as fast as it disappears. “This gamble is one I have much faith in. It used to be our ace in the hole, you remember?”

Weakly, you mumble, “I do.”

“You must realize that our situation is grave. I would not suggest it if there was another way. In the kindest manner I can put it, dear, your willing partnership is required.”

And there’s the kicker, the whole reason why. A sick feeling seethes in the pit of your stomach, makes you want to gag or throw up or pass out. You have a choice, of course, but not a real choice. To clarify, it was agree, or be squashed out quietly, as Boss liked to say. On the off chance you would choose death over discomfort, he had to call you to his office for safe measure.

“I understand, Boss,” is all you could manage.

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Though we have all turned a bit sour since Jeon’s departure, I’m sure you are capable of uniting for the sake of our city. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him after the mission is complete, either, but I will leave that up to your judgment.”

The name is awkward coming off his tongue, even with the chuckle he throws in to lighten the mood, implying an air of distance and estrangement.

Jeon. That bastard. The thought of working with him… incredible. It was silly of you to think that you’d never see him again while fighting for control of the same city, but there you were, awestruck and in embarrassing shock. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll do what is needed.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow with the other executives and we will talk about the plan. You are excused.”

With an obedient nod, you are lifting yourself from the chair and heading toward the door, the sound of your heels muted on his burgundy carpet.

“Oh, and dear?”

You pause, turning your head over your shoulder and clearing your throat. “Yes?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he traces his thumb along the blade of his knife, glinting in the dim glow of the moonlit window. “You know I trust you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without a falter in his expression, he makes a swift movement with his wrist. Before you can blink, the blade flies past your ear and lodges itself in the door in front of you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A threat not to be taken lightly.

“Of course.”

As you tread down the hallway on your way out, you can't help but chastise yourself. How dumb could you be? Of course he would try to intimidate you like that. Any other day, you could have sensed it and caught it before it even parted with his palm. That was how it was supposed to be, as the renowned Scorpion, right? Was the thought of Jeon and having to see him again so debilitating that you let your guard flounder like that? Pathetic.

Hopefully he’d only take it as a slip-up. Take it as a respectful allowance and understanding as opposed to weakness. If you were losing your skills, your value was lost, as was your privilege to live.

The ride back to your apartment is the worst you had in years. Even the radio station you listen to regularly for mind-numbing background noise has you wanting to burst. The traffic lights make you want to scream, the sound of the air pushing past the open window has you bubbling with fury, the blinking advertisements circulating building perimeters driving your mind blank. Somewhere in a moment of clarity, you know it all starts with fear.

Truth was, you and Jeon were partners once. In crime, the trump card the Mafia put down to play dirty, no way to get around you. In tandem, a menacing duo, the bold and the lethal, the Lion and the Scorpion. In the sheets, from time to time, after a few too many drinks or a few too many flirty looks on a sober night. Two sides of the same coin. But that was then, in a different time and a different world, and in a way that you hated how your mind had retained him so perfectly in his bitter absence.

☆☆☆

To be honest, the atmosphere of the first meeting really couldn’t have been any better than expected. It’s the furthest thing from civil, of course, but it can be considered a blessing that everyone participating was still breathing.

For protective purposes, office space had been rented out for a few hours for the intents of the meeting. There were only eight of you gathered in the small space; From the Mafia, the four top executives and from the Agency, the VP and three head advisors. One of them, none other than Jeon himself. The president and the boss stayed out for this meeting in an attempt to lower the tension, which was certainly an effort taken. Personal affairs mixing in would have resulted in at least one dead body within the first thirty seconds.

While there is some sort of discussion occurring around you, you are only focusing on how pathetic you feel in that you’re actively avoiding Jeon, as well as the discomfort in the pit of your stomach that appeared as soon as he did. You always thought that you’d be strong and bold the next time you met, but now that the time has come, you’ve let yourself down. Seeing him face to face after all this time is a reminder of everything you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for years.

Meanwhile, Jeongguk isn’t sure what the playing field looks like just yet. He’s resting his head on his fist, sneaking a glance at you when he can and wishing you’d speak up so he’d have a good reason to look at you for longer than a blink, but you’re awfully quiet. He hates to think it might be because of him.

“We received an anonymous tip this morning about an underground base in the Coral District. Supposedly, there are multiple entrances from bars in the surrounding area, creating a tunnel system.” Namjoon, the VP, pushes his glasses up and closes the manila folder in his hands he had been referencing. “As our only lead, I think it is in our best interest to take a look.”

Namjoon is by far the most uptight man you had ever met. A little pretentious, of course, but in a way that almost made him cute. His calculative nature made him a good asset, but you couldn’t imagine how much of a bore he must have been in his daily life. You could bet without a doubt that he had been the most opposed to collaboration - if not by the countless moments he had spent sighing in your past encounters, then surely by how his condescending tone went into overdrive the second he sat down.

Yoongi, one of your fellow executives, states plainly, “That means nothing.” He seems more focused in the dirt tucked beneath his fingernails than the meeting at hand.

“It’s anonymous. For all we know they’re trying to trick us,” adds Yeji, personality plagued with suspicion. She doesn’t want to be here as much as you do, but she’s trying. Yeji is scrutinizing and not impressed by the image of naivety that stems from such a simple deduction, and that’s on top of her personal problem with the righteous narrative of the detective agency. You don’t blame her.

“And for all we know, it could be useful. The people of this city are our eyes and ears.” Jimin shoots back, stare unwavering. “It’s not like we should just ignore it. Do you have anything better?”

The strain in the air is almost unbearable, pulling up the hairs on your arms with all the tense energy circulating. It’s as if lightning was about to strike any second. No one says another word, only dirty looks being exchanged between headstrong personalities until a defiant knock comes to the door, startling the aggression into temporary submission. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, the only movement he had made this entire time. You only shrug at him.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asks, standing from the table.

“Just clean up. I’m here to take out the trash.” Silence engulfs the space like a dense fog hanging in the air, until the man behind the door calls again, “It’ll only be a second.”

Hesitantly, Namjoon makes the call for him to come in. All eyes flick over to the man, who cautiously enters the room with a nervous laugh. He is clueless to what he’s walking into. He waves a hand of greeting before fetching the bin from the corner of the room, taking it to the main dump on wheels in the hallway. After a few shuffles and plunks, he comes back in to put it in its place.

Namjoon adjusts his tie and clears his throat as he sits down again, resuming the meeting.

“I don’t care what we do as long as we can be done with this,” Taehyung mumbles, resting his head on his palm with half-mast eyes. He’s practically falling asleep, like a cat resting in the sunbeams pouring through a window.

Wendy, another advisor, rolls her eyes at him, responding with a scoff, “Of course you don’t care…”

“Oh, like you’re such a saint.”

The boardroom erupts into yet another argument, different groups spitting words at their own personal targets. All you can do is sit and listen, your hope for this mission decreasing exponentially as the seconds tick by. At least if it didn’t work out, you won’t have to see Jeon again after this.

“Creep,” mutters Yeji under her breath from the chair next to you. She had been removing herself from the argument like you save for a few special dramatic sighs and trivial insults that you didn’t condone, but didn’t exactly scold her for either. After all, she is the closest thing you have to a best friend.

“Huh?” you inquire wisely. “Who?”

She tilts her head to the hallway. Your head whips around to see the janitor through the walls of windows walking away with a peculiar bounce in his step, one he most certainly did not arrive with.

“What’s his problem?” you whisper, leaning in.

“I don’t know, but he was laughing to himself while they were arguing. He’s probably just another weirdo,” she snubs with a sigh. “You know how people are in this city.”

Though you had a slight feeling of discomfort from the commencement of the meeting, since stepping foot in the lobby of the building even, you simply brushed it off as paranoia, or nervousness from who you were about to see. But it just seems too strange to ignore anymore. Wasn’t the building supposed to be completely empty today, aside from those in the conference taking place right now? Your instincts scream at you through a closed mouth, wariness freezing your limbs, but why?

You hold your hand up discreetly as you stare at the simply dark grey bin across the room. It’s the only thing that seemed out of place - besides the meeting table and chairs, the room is completely empty. The pristine board room, black and grey and sparkling clean. And then, the cheap plastic bin.

The argument settles when Yeji whistles, getting their attention.

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asks obliviously before you shush her with a raise of your pointer. All focus zeroes in on the bin… and that barely noticeable line trailing from it to the door handle.

One tick is all you need to hear.

“We gotta go, now,” you state, standing up hurriedly from your chair. Chatter and confusion ensue again as you drag it behind you over to the floor-length window. You pause, narrowing your eyes at the distance down from the second story. Considering there were no other exits from the room and you suspected that no one here was a part of the bomb squad, it was the only way to go. You drawback, hands gripping tightly around the armrests and hoist it up, swinging it around your side. it effectively shatters the glass, the piercing noise as shards clatter to the floor making you squint.

“Woah, woah, what are you doing? Do you know how much that’s gonna coast?” Namjoon shouts, becoming frantic as you further knock the glass out from the surrounding area.

“They knew where we were. Look at the bin,” you explain quickly. Their surveillance of you averts to where you had been looking moments before, realization dawning as their sight finds the transparent cord set tight.

“Taehyung, you first.” The boy trails to the make-shift exit without question, blond locks bouncing in front of his face as he hurries over. Carefully, with a hand on the frame, he peers out to see what he’s working with. He’s made do with worse before. He lowers himself out onto the ledge one foot at a time, cautious not to cut himself on the jagged glass poking out. With a deep breath, he commits to the jump and launches off, landing cleanly on the flower beds below.

He cranes his neck up to you with disgust written all over his features.

“It’s new still,” he complains with a frown, toeing the dark mulch which must be fresh and with a rotten stench. You don’t have the time to admonish his behavior as you usher the others out, keeping an eye on the bin and the hallway. Yeji is out next, hitting the ground lightly with Taehyung’s guiding arms.

You fish a compact walkie from your pocket, tossing it down to her. “Find the janitor. Evacuate anyone else you see. Channel Six.” She catches it with ease, only providing a nod before sprinting off around the corner, ponytail whooshing behind her. Namjoon, now on the ground with Jimin, spares a word with him before Jimin takes off after Yeji to catch up.

“You run a well-oiled machine, Y/N. I’m impressed.” Jeon’s voice from beside you grabs your attention, to which you can only hold his eyes for a moment before breaking it off. He stands smugly with his arms crossed in front of him.

He immediately cringes internally at the way it comes out. It was just supposed to be a compliment, genuinely, but the tinge of complacency in his voice took it all away. The way you don’t respond clamps his heart, but only pushes out more awful dialogue with an inappropriately playful tone.

“What, you’re just gonna ignore me?

Swallowing your nerves, you insist, “Get down.” Now, of all times, he chooses to chat you up? The chipper attitude had your nails imprinting half-moons to the base of your palm.

But he can’t stop himself. Even as he reads your growing impatience, he acts like a whiny toddler, emphasizing, “No, no, ladies first of course.”

“Get down.”

He’s trying not to let your firm edge get to him, playing it off with, “God, so cold. You’re hurting my feelings-” “Get down, Jeongguk!”

The once fluid movement of the world slows as you shout at him, your own voice becoming muted as you listen for it. A blinding light bursts from across the room, ripping through the walls and bursting the glass like balloons, growing brighter and brighter as you watch. In a split second you’re falling, tearing through open air while barely sensing your entanglement in something soft before hitting the ground with a blunt stop.

He had pulled you into him instinctively as the blow forced him off his feet, but the regret is instant in Jeon’s mind as he struggles to move. Not for grabbing you, but for the stupid words he couldn’t close the dam on as they poured out. The threat completely left his mind in the effort to get you to respond to him. He wants to smack himself, but his body hasn’t had the chance to recoup yet.

You groan, body practically frozen in ache. Rolling off of him, you rub your lids and scratch the hair out of your face, looking up to see smoke pouring out of where you just stood moments before. Jumping to your feet, you brush the small shards of glass from your clothes and ignore the dizziness, aiming to put as much distance between the building and you as you could, but not before pulling a disoriented Jeon to his feet to take him with you. He’s coughing and clutching at his rib, your weight hitting him as an extra beating once he had landed.

Collapsing on the curb out front, you try to catch your breath. That bastard. If it weren’t for his necessity to uphold such a jackass mentality, you wouldn’t have needed the extra painful push out of the building. Without even needing to look, the sound echoing alone let you know that the building was collapsing in on itself. While you can’t feel it now because of the adrenaline, you know you’ll be hurting later.

A muffled noise comes from the walkie in your back pocket. It’s Yeji, who is suspiciously breathing fine as her heavy footfalls transmit as loud as her voice, reporting, “Finally caught up to him. It looks like he’s heading to Coral District, we’re on his tail but we don’t know what we’re going into!”

The device jumbles in your shaky hand as you scramble to get back to her. “We’re on our way, don’t worry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

You bring yourself to your feet, your fleeting moment of recovery already gone.

“Namjoon, can you stay behind for cleanup? Rest of us will catch up to Yeji. You heard her, right?”

He nods solemnly, and you suppose the blast to the building also was one to his ego. His notorious calculative nature had failed him this time around with that poisonous hatred in the way. Maybe he’ll reference it next time.

You think that Jeon is going to come up with another snarky comment to make, but all he does is pinch his nose bridge and massage his temples. He chooses to stay behind also as you, Wendy, Taehyung, and Yoongi follow in quick pursuit. It’s no surprise that Yoongi, one of the most sloth-like yet efficient strong suits of the Mafia, is already pulling over a civilian vehicle to take.

“Yeji, current location?” You ask into the radio, trying to keep up an acceptable trot behind the group.

It only takes a second for her voice to crackle back through. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. It’s weird though - he’s not just running away from us, he’s running to somewhere.”

Up ahead, Wendy is pushing Yoongi aside as she shows her ID to the astonished woman floundering for words, admirably commandeering the car rather than stealing. No surprise, but smart nonetheless. One less lawsuit to worry about.

It only takes a second to envision a mental map of the city. The Corner of Park and Third is heading toward an unfamiliar side of town. What was even over there? The subway station, a shopping center? No place plausible for a bar, and definitely not near the Coral district. There was no place you could think of he might be leading them to - unless, of course, he was leading them away from something.

In fact, his direction is almost exactly opposite from…

“Tae!” you shout, just as he’s getting into the car. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. Get on your walkie, I’m taking a detour!”

He tips his head back in understanding as he jogs backwards to the car, soon ducking in slamming the door shut behind him, the car speeding off with a squeal. The thought of being in that car with them makes you shudder, but it’s not like where you’re off to is any better.

The location is printed on the backs of your lids in vermilion red ink. You had to know it regardless of whether you were a frequent visitor or not, because being aware of your surroundings when doing the kind of work required for your job was just as necessary as the job itself. You couldn’t be making arms deals in the alleys behind the Detective Agency unless you were aiming to spend some time behind bars.

Your heart drops as you round the corner to see the building absolutely sacked, your sprinting pace coming to a standstill with disappointment. A small crowd of people have surrounded the area, phones out to snap pictures and take videos. The windows lining the building are smashed in violently, and small plumes of smoke wisp their way out of what remains, the alarms that alerted no one still ringing.

Light footsteps approach from behind you as your own step carefully over the glass to get a closer look. He’d been in his head for only a few minutes after you left, but when he saw you crossing back over to the other side of town, while he was stuck pathetically on the curb, it sparked his brain back up into working condition.

“Huh. Smart cookie,” states Jeon, seeming to finally be back to reality. Enough to make it here, anyway. In less than a second your blade is against his neck as a firm warning. All he does is smile cheekily, raising his palms up so you could see them.

“No need to be hostile,” he tries, hiding the way he gulps when you look away. “Just a compliment.”

“We are nothing more than work partners. I advise you to drop the act now,” you spit, sure you’d break your jaw with how hard your teeth were pressed against each other, hearing the sandpaper sound grinding in your ears. You lower the blade and tuck it away, exchanging it for your gun in hand as you approach the entrance.

It’s a mess inside. The walls are dented, desks broken, drawers and filing cabinets sprawled all over the floor. Random papers make a muddle of everything visible. The computer screens are cracked and wires mangled as if someone with a bad temper had taken a baseball bat to them. Even the potted plants had been bashed in, fragments of terracotta and clumps of dirt spread out everywhere.

“Was anyone working?” you ask, fingers tracing over the splintered edges of the welcome desk.

“No,” replies Jeon, in awe of the state of the office. “The President doesn’t come in, and two of our teams are off carrying out other tasks. We sent our office staff home to keep them out of danger.”

Not one thing untouched. Such great care was taken to ruin every piece of the space - but when no one was home. If the office staff were here, would they have hurt them? Or was it a purposeful decision in favor of the empty building?

Jeon’s shoulders slump, bottom lip jutting from his pout. Upon your questioning brow, he says, “They took my octopus pen.” He stares longingly down at what you assume is his desk, or what was his desk.

You squint in confusion, about to prompt further explanation, but Taehyung comes in through the radio. “We caught the janitor. Don’t know anything yet, but he’s being taken into police custody. We looked for the tunnels, but there’s nothing so far. I think it was a misdirect.”

“I think it was too,” you sigh. “The DA was ransacked.”

The waves flatten into grey static. You can picture the confusion that was rising among the group with Tae’s relay of information. When it comes back on, it is a different voice.

“Ransacked, you said? How bad?” It’s Wendy, the panic blatant on her tongue.

“Everything in it was destroyed…” you say, knowing this was just as much a loss for you as it was them. “They knew where we were and bombed us, and then led us on a chase so they could eliminate one of our bases. Let the others know and we’ll regroup later.”

“Copy that,” says Yoongi shortly, and that ends the exchange.

One of your strongest pieces was impressively knocked off the board. There was no way to get the building back in operating shape in the time span you had to eliminate the threat. While you still had their people and outside resources, the building was essential to the functioning of the agency, and the city along with it. If they had already taken down the home base of the detectives, wouldn’t the Mafia be next? Granted, there was no one set base, but things would surely get fishy if you didn’t act fast. Like Boss said, Fox Lodge crumbled in mere weeks. Whatever your opinion was, you couldn’t deny the Mafia was integral in monitoring the underground of the city, and letting control fall into the hands of such self-serving villains would be far worse than anything already occurring.

Jeon sighs loudly from across the room, spinning on his heels to catch your gaze. He tsks and sweeps a stray strand of hair behind his ear with a delicate hand. “What are you thinking?”

You hum in thought. “It’s a warning,” you conclude, observing the rows of overthrown furniture. “They wanted to show what they’re capable of. Intimidation.”

He purses his lips innocently. “...What next?”

“I don’t know everything, Gguk,” you snap, sending him a fierce glare. “The Agency has to figure out what’s missing, if anything, and then we’ll go from there. Try to figure out a motive or something.”

You’ve been asking for a challenge for years, always unsatisfied with the ease it took to get your way. Laying in bed wide awake all night wanting things to be different, wanting things to have meaning. But with the high stakes, with so much at risk, this was certainly not what you intended.

You have to reassure yourself that you’re capable regardless. Once you get in the rhythm, surely things will be fine. Surely you’d get yourself together and pull through for the sake of the town. When you’ve been biting your nails and staring blankly at a ripped magazine for who knows how long, Jeon interrupts you again.

“Y/N?” The way he speaks your name is gentle and soft, a fondness to it that never failed to pluck at your heartstrings. It’s that special quiet tone of his that you haven’t heard in so long yet could always recall so clearly. It’s a sign of candor coming your way. “It’s good to see you.”

And it boils your blood.

“The park by the marina. Tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.”

☆☆☆

Penny has already started making dinner when you step through the door, just about to slump against the hardwood floor and resign yourself to the eternal slumber. Though she’s only ten, her palate is more tasteful that yours was last year. In times like these, you are grateful for the way she takes care of you sometimes.

“You look tired,” she observes, sparing you a welcome look over her shoulder as she stirs the contents of her pot.

“That would be because I am,” you breathe a huff of laughter, slowly and carefully sliding off your jacket as to not irritate your sore muscles more than necessary. Taking a peek into the pot, your brain allows you a taste of serotonin that you welcome with open, starved arms. “Fettuccine alfredo? Pen, that’s my favorite.”

A small smirk appears on her face at your amazement. “I know.”

You plant a chaste kiss at the top of her head. “You need a trim soon, kiddo. Can barely see your eyes anymore.”

“That makes me look more mysterious though, doesn’t it?” She allows herself a giggle before turning off the heat, giving the pasta one last mix before transferring it to the two identical bowls on the counter. Her technique is a little awkward as her arms reach up to maneuver the tongs, but that’s to be expected of a kid who hasn’t fine tuned her motor skills just yet. Your mouth is absolutely watering as you fumble through the draws for two forks and some sort of napkin.

She hops up on the stool next to you and digs in, splattering sauce all over her chin nonetheless, but as long as she was fed and having fun.

Taking Penny in was by far the best decision you had made with what your life had come to. It was about two years ago when you stumbled upon her crying in a back alleyway during a job, her parents' lives the casualties suffered in a drug trade gone wrong. Further than that, you didn’t pry. You had those moments, too, the ones that felt better tucked inside a secret place in your heart.

Your only option was to take her with you. While he was incredibly beneficial to the Mafia, Yoongi was also hopelessly cold-blooded. He wanted to kill her to end the trail, to avoid suspicion directed at the organization. You ultimately made the call, because while what you did for a living was in no way guided by a moral compass, you still had your boundaries. Fortunately, it was just when you had gotten your current executive position and started making your fair share for the work you did - and while the both of you knew what went on outside of the apartment, inside was a safer space with more love than you could ever afford to show anywhere else.

Housing people was one of the organization’s biggest costs. Most who joined did so out of necessity, whether they were out of work or a place to feel welcome. As long as you took care of her, it was an unspoken rule that they’d go easy on her. Occasionally they made her run errands and do deliveries, as children were an easy way to escape qualms from authorities. More often they used her for bait and leverage over those they needed the upper hand on; There’s no better way to manipulate someone than pretending a little girl’s life depends on their next decision. Usually it worked out the way they wanted and she was sent home, but there were times when you noticed bruises or scrapes adorning her thin arms, or hidden beneath her bangs. At least you could provide her with hope.

“So what went wrong today?”

Were you too obvious, or could she just read you inside and out?

You twirl the pasta on your fork before downing a big bite.

“Got stuck in a pickle for the first time in a while. There’s a lot more on the table than I expected there to be.”

“Obviously,” she says, still shoveling her food down her throat. “I mean what happened?”

You sigh, letting yourself sink into your chair as you recount the order of events that unfolded today. Trying to simplify it as best as you can, you settle on, “I can’t say too much because I don’t want to get you in trouble, but it’s not just the Mafia and the Agency running things around here anymore, so there’s some collaboration going on right now that is getting tough to manage. And these new people moving in on the city… they’re smart. They led us on a goose chase today while they took out the DA.”

“Well, you’re smart too. You can manage it. You always do.”

“I know I’ll have to. It’s more the teamwork thing.” Mindless fingers tap at the countertop. “It was a little bit of a curveball they threw at me.”

“Is the curveball what caused all the bruises?” She looks at you slyly, a teasing simper just begging to make an appearance.

Your eyes roll breezily. “Yeah, it is.”

And all of a sudden the air turns quiet, her demeanor more timid. She looks to you for encouragement before she can even get the words out. With a small prompting nod, she asks, “Is… is it your old partner?”

An awkward chuckle bubbles its way out of your throat in surprise. “Um, yeah. How- how do you know about that?”

It’s a little bit of a shock. You don’t want to make her feel bad, but having this conversation is not one you are completely prepared for. Jeongguk, though his existence in your mind is stormy, is one of those things you always wish you could just keep to yourself, like a small love letter sealed in an envelope and tucked away under a mattress for you to pull out when you want to reminisce, but unfortunately everyone has read that letter and its contents seems to perpetuate underground gossip wherever you walk.

The atmosphere returns to normal when she shoots you a playful look, correcting it to the way it should have been. “I don’t just go to work and come back, you know, people talk to me. Especially some of the other kids my age. They sometimes mention how it’s so cool that I’m living with this legendary assassin, and they tell me supposed stories of… what was it, the Lion and the Scorpion? Yeah, and that he left.”

You bob your head along as she explains, somewhat in awe of her level of awareness of who you were outside of your relationship with her. The observant and lethal disposition you take on at work is a rude juxtaposition to the looser, lively personality you allow out at home. Above all, you wonder if she still thinks you’re cool.

“And what do you say?”

That she laughs at. “Well, it depends on the person who’s talking to me about it. Sometimes I say that you’re really scary and strict and sometimes if I like them I say that you’re really nice… I’m careful about it though, don’t worry. As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”

Bingo!

“Hey, I trust your judgment,” you state through a mouthful of food, “I condone messing with people sometimes, and if it can harden my reputation around the place, I’ll take it.”

Lighthearted laughter ensues as you eat. The topic fades away and relief starts to take its place, but nothing good can ever last, can it?

“But Y/N…” she trails back, “Why is the Lion a curveball if you worked with him in the past?��

You click your tongue, tapping your fork at the bottom of your dish trying to stitch together the splinters of words floating around your mind into a cohesive answer.

“I’m sure some kids told you about the rumors,” you say, propping your elbow on the table to support your head as you looked at her. “But he and I… weren’t really just work partners.”

“You were dating?” She exclaims loudly, eyes widening.

“Shh! No, no… well, kind of. But not really. Things were just a little bit more than work-related, that’s all. Listen, it’s not all black and white, and you’ll understand what I mean by when you start to care for people like that.”

“Well did you love him?”

She says it casually and straightforward, as if it didn’t weigh the emotional turmoil of years spent heartbroken and yearning. As if it’s that easy.

Penny’s expression floods full of curiosity. She is so investigative and eager, you wish she could be going to school and learning from real teachers that could give her a real education, not just snippets from your memories that you pulled up for her from time to time. If this wasn’t her life, you can’t imagine what she’d be doing because there’d simply be too many possibilities.

“Yeah, I did.”

And yet, as the words spill, you can’t not remember the pain of his desertion. You can’t not remember the one morning you woke up and he was gone, panic floating through the hallways about him, confusion and worry swirling in your head. Just to find out he had defected without giving you a clue. Not considering what it could mean for you. Not even a goodbye.

“Do you still love him?”

You purse your lips, meeting her eyes softly. “That’s why I called him a curveball.”

Penny grasps on to the fact that that was the most she’d be getting from you today. It was a lot more than most days - you blame it on your tattered spirit from today’s tiring occurrences. She leads in the kitchen clean up, scooping the leftovers into tupperware for tomorrow’s meal and tossing her dishes in the outdated washer.

You pass behind her in the tight space, carrying your own empty dish with you. “You don’t repeat a word, got it?” you whisper.

She visibly sinks in vexation, head coming to a tilt as she stares at you. “C’mon, you just said you trusted my judgment! I’m almost insulted you feel the need to say that.”

You let yourself indulge in another laugh. The credit of her sharp vocabulary character no doubt belongs to your influence. “You know I have to.” Nuzzling the top of her hair, you add, “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”

And for leading a life that was so cruel and devoid of light, crowded with guilt and regret, lacking most that makes you human, nothing ever felt more like home than when she says, “I love you too.”

☆☆☆

The next meeting is only better because of the fresh air separating both sides and the imminent fact that last time’s events have everyone so weary they can no longer think about arguing. It has started to sink in that this is no longer a piece of cake, or maybe that it never was to begin with. As well, a park full of citizens going on walks and taking their day slow is no place to expose yourself. It’s warm for spring, one of the nicest days you’ve had in a while, and you’d hate to ruin it.

There is a large circular expanse of white concrete with different pathways branching off into the park, green shrubbery lining each walkway. Pillars on both sides of each one hold up an awning providing much-appreciated shade. You no longer have to squint and can see everyone clearly.

Namjoon, sulking on a decorative cement bench, kicks off the meeting with a depressing statement on the Agency. “They didn’t take anything physical, but we traced their footsteps back through our computers. It looks like they downloaded a lot of our reports from the past few years and files on both our members and yours.”

“What do you mean?” Yeji’s eyebrows furrow deeply in confusion. “What kind of information was in the reports?”

“A lot of profiles. Skills, incidents you’ve been involved with, current standing position… things like that. On nearly every important person in the Agency and in the Mafia.”

“Why though?” asks Jimin, leaning back against one of the pillars beside Namjoon. “Can’t they find that information anywhere? A lot of it isn’t a secret. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you Min Yoongi is a lazy bastard that-” Jeon gives him a light punch on the shoulder, his disappointed grimace almost saying, “c’mon, man.” Yoongi looks like he couldn’t care less.

Taehyung, who has been pacing the narrow concrete walkways, speaks up. “Get to know your enemy better, I guess? Can’t hurt.”

“To be honest, I don’t think they really needed it either. It looked more like it was meant to be taken as a threat. They probably just did that because they could and they had the time,” You say, recalling the attentive wreckage of the Agency.

“Well, I don’t know about that. We know that they’re tricky, obviously, but they can’t know everything. I think they were also trying to get a better idea of what they were up against. Plus, it’s always intimidating when you come into contact with someone and it seems they know every detail about you when you don’t even know your name.”

Namjoon’s take makes sense. His frustrating attitude is an easier pill to swallow if he’s able to make conclusions like that. Not much could scare you off, but if a random person approached you in a fight and began talking about your past, or your personal life, or mistake you’d made, you’d definitely be unsettled, maybe just enough to slip up. With this group, you’re sure that a slip up is all it takes.

Wendy looks like she has something to add, but there’s a frog stuck in her voice box. She gives a shy look to Namjoon and then continues, something perhaps he was planning on leaving out. “To be specific, there were multiple traces of the words “Lion” and “Scorpion” in the information they stole... It makes me think they’ve heard of your, um, past reputation and wanted to see what they could dig up.”

“Oh, great.” You’re unable to help yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Wow,” Jeon muses, “Didn’t know we were so famous.” His playful regard meets your own, but you’re too down to react with anything else but a blank stare before flicking your eyes away as soon as they meet.

He looks good today. You hate how much your brain keeps begging you to take another experimental glance as if one wasn’t enough. His button-up drapes gently over his shoulders and is tucked loosely into his trousers, sleeves folded all the way up to his elbows. Not that you’re paying such close attention.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you without any pretense, but…”

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your front. “Well, I’m glad she spoke up. What if they target us because they think we’re a threat? They already know we’ve been working together.”

Wendy offers a small smile of appreciation, but it is not to ignore how the agents all share looks of hesitation toward each other, visibly uncomfortable with Namjoon’s secrecy.

“Yeah… that seemed kind of important,” Yoongi says, squinting into the sunlight as he tilts his head up. “You can’t keep things from us if we’re working together. I hate this just as much as you do, but we aren’t gonna win if we aren’t honest.”

Jimin sighs. “He’s right. If one side tries to get an upper hand it’ll just cause a rift that makes us easier to pull apart.”

“Okay. That’s fair. I... apologize.” Namjoon is stiff, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He wants to avoid further questioning, but for the time being, you won’t press it. There’s enough on your plate right now.

“Anyway… what’s our next move?”

Yeji’s question goes unanswered. It sits under the afternoon light, the peaceful chirps of birds and casual chatter and boat horns filling in the blank space that no one knows what to do with.

“We don’t have a lot to go off of. The investigation is still looking for identification factors, but it could take time, which, as I’m sure you know, we don’t have a lot of. The most we can do is conduct some interviews with witnesses and passersby, but…” the Vice President looks up at you, “we are counting on them slipping up somehow.”

The dejection in the air is hard to ignore. Everyone feels it. Regardless of how impossible it might be for the two sides to see eye to eye, they can see how hopeless the fight has gotten in a span of mere days.

With the DA out of the picture, all of their employees are either working from home or in last-minute rented offices with limited resources. Never in a million years did any of the executives think they’d see the building that represented their struggle go up in flames. Yet the day it did, they couldn’t be happy about it. It only struck fear.

“So there’s really nothing we can do?”

No one needs to answer for you to know.

“Okay. Let’s wrap this up then. Just be careful from here on out. You know, be cautious of what you say, where you say it. They might be monitoring radio waves, might have bugged places you think are safe.”

In times like these, you have good reason to be a little paranoid. They already knew where your office space was and the time it had been rented. The Syndicate was skilled and definitely had their reach online, and you didn’t doubt it extended to the personal world. There’s nothing money can’t bribe.

It’s disheartening to see how downcast the group is on a day so bright. Everyone begins to mobilize, though slowly, but they get a move on, going back to wherever they need to be or where they want to be. For now, you decide you want to be here.

Waving goodbye to Yeji and the others, you find a nice spot under some shade on a well maintained wooden bench. It faces the water, today clear and calm, and out in the distance is the gleaming modern drawbridge that closes off the port. To the right, the port terminal stretches out long into the river for the large ships that come in, the marina docked with boats of all shapes and sizes tucked in closer to the city behind it. The boats flood in and out, passing you by, the sails floating in the breeze so temptingly you can just see yourself hopping on one so easily and going along to wherever it may take you.

The dream is short-lived, because Jeon’s presence beside you tugs you from your imagination.

“What do you want?” You can feel him looking at you, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the ships drifting by.

It’s a hit to the confidence he strode over here with, but he continues. “What, we can’t make small talk? We’re partners for this, Y/N.”

Any opportunity he sees to make contact with you, he’ll take. He knows why you’re the opposite, but he’s dying to see you, and not just from across a meeting table or a park.

“Partners don’t need to make small talk, they just have to do the job they’ve been assigned and be done with it.”

He exhales tiredly, disappointed in your lack of engagement, like he expected at least a small something more. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you. I know how things are, and-”

“No, Gguk, you don’t know how things are,” you snap, finally facing him. “You had the past three years to talk to me, but you didn’t. You don’t get to come and take care of things now while it’s convenient for you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It sure looks like that.”

“Well it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s me wanting to talk to you. Because it’s been a long time and I miss you.”

You make a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, feeling even more let down than you thought you could be. “Yeah, okay.”

It sounds like bull to you. Does he really think you’re that gullible? Does he really think you were going to see him again and run into his arms like a bride who's been tying yellow ribbons around an old oak tree? The anger you felt at the agency yesterday returns, for what happened in the past, for what’s happening now, for all of it. How he can say he missed you when he had all the time in the world, when he was clearly happy after running away from what he had with you, you can’t understand.

Meanwhile, Jeon feels his heart palpitating as he waits for a reply. The explanations want to roll right off his tongue, but he knows this is not the time and place to bring up the subject matter he’s really urging to talk to you about. That conversation will be held soon as he finds it possible. He thought it might be worth it to just start the build-up with trivial chatter, but it’s not working, and probably never will with you.

He picks at his nails, scraping the minimal dirt out. Should he say it? A part of him wants to go for it, and another wants to wait in fear of scaring you. Unfortunately, he thinks it will either way.

“I heard you’ve been taking care of a girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’s right.

It steals the breath from your lungs, that residing anger booking it to make room for fear. Though you try to conceal it, you’re sure he’s seen through it, already felt how the atmosphere has shifted. He shouldn’t know about Penny. In fact, no one outside the Mafia should. You can’t meet his eyes, taking more interest in trying to count every strand of fine hair on the space between your knuckles.

It feels just like what Namjoon had talked about, and though you’re sure deep down he wouldn’t try to hurt you like that, it plants a seed of dread in you. In any other world, it might be similar to someone asking, “How are the kids?” and there would be nothing out of the ordinary about it, just a friendly gesture. This instance, however, is layered with a cocktail of warning and concern.

Penny can fend for herself, she’s responsible, of course, but no one is invincible. It’s only up to a certain point, especially knowing that she’s only a child.

“How do you know about her?”

“I still get around,” he says, letting the pause marinate before adding faintly, “Don’t worry. No one that’s gonna try anything knows. I made sure of it.”

The way he still knows what you’re thinking makes you shiver. Or want to throw up. You pass over the slight relief of his last statement in favor of the bliss that comes with ignoring it.

When you don’t reply because you simply don’t know what to make of it, he continues. “It’s honorable. But that’s dangerous for you. To have someone important to you.”

“I know that,” you admit.

It wasn’t like you were stupid. Sure, you were an executive, but what did that mean when Penny made you so vulnerable? The same way they used her against their enemies could be used against you in a heartbeat for tenfold the amount they wanted. She was your weak spot.

“You have to be careful.”

“I know that.”

Jeon winces at your icy inflection. He’s like a child being scolded by his mother. His eyes squeeze shut, thoughts circling back to all the words that were just aching to pour out of him.

“Listen, Y/N, maybe we can go get some coffee? Or-”

You have to cut him off before he gets too out of hand, palms hitting your thighs. “I think that’s enough for today, Gguk.”

He wants to object to your leaving, but he doesn’t want to push you. Your deep sigh is proof of the distress he caused in the past and still continues to leave behind.

So much for some nice quiet time on your own, huh? You stand up and turn from him, heading down the exit path. Realistically, you’re glad he doesn’t call out after you, because you know it would just get you worked up and that was the last thing you needed. When you were around him, you felt the piercing image your reputation had created crumbling to ruins. It pains you to think of the consequences of an emotional err during times like these.

Yet still, it breaks your heart to leave.

☆☆☆

“He’s been really getting to you, huh?”

Yeji’s voice is quiet above the cacophony of clinking silverware and incoherent conversation, but intelligible enough for the both of you to hear in your own space.

You smear some whipped cream on your forkful of waffle, placing it in your mouth and letting both the fluffy texture and immaculate taste sweep you off your feet for a moment, as brunch is everything good and great in the world. Or at least in your world, at this very moment.

You swallow before answering, your usual temper tamed by the sedative of a certain portmanteau of breakfast and lunch. “Of course he has. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“Well, he does have to work with you.”

As you chew, you shake your head in wide, dramatic arcs. “No, I mean he keeps acting like we’re old friends. After the meeting he asked me If I wanted to get coffee with him!” you exclaimed, “Like no, I’m not getting fucking coffee with you, who do you think you are?”

Yeji flashes her pearly whites at your short fuse, the one she’s versed in remedying. Deft hands lift up her mug for a thoughtful sip.

“Maybe his intentions aren’t that bad. He’s always been happy-go-lucky like that and he’s probably just too oblivious to think about the consequences of what he did. Yeah, pretending like it didn’t happen hurts, but because of what’s going on right now... it might be a blessing in disguise.”

Despite her intimidating appearance, Yeji was an exceptional conversationalist and particularly thoughtful in her advice. It feels more like a talk between two childhood friends catching up over some food, gossiping about people from high school and boy drama. Though it’s not quite that simple, it lets you take a back seat for a little while. Yeji is one of the only people you’d consider a friend.

“What, like making it easier for the mission?”

“Yeah, 'cause if you can push that issue out of the picture temporarily, you can get the job done and either deal with it after or forget about it entirely. And hey, you’re the Scorpion!” Yeji leans across the table in an enthusiastic whisper. “Scorpions are badass and vicious and don’t spend their time getting worked up over men. In fact, Scorpions reel men in and then kill them, especially you.”

You know she’s trying to encourage you, but the thought is spectacularly unappealing. While she was right in what you did, it’s not like you enjoyed it or were proud of it. You hate to be described that way. Perhaps that is your character among the mafia and the image you spread to protect yourself, and perhaps it’s even true when you get in the work mindset, but is that really you? Talk about an identity crisis.

You reach for your water, the condensation slippery on the glass. “That’s just my reputation.”

She sighs, slumping back into her side of the booth. “Okay, scratch that then. What I mean is that, besides the people you’re close to like Penny and I, you’re this astute, intelligent, skilled executive. You’ve accomplished a lot to get where you are. Why are you letting him get under your skin and uproot that?”

Yeji wouldn’t let someone make her feel like that, and she wishes you wouldn’t either. As much as she secretly admires you - for both that reputation and the real you - she cares about you all the same. Maybe one of the only people that does.

“I guess you have a point.”

“You know I have a point.”

“It’s not that easy though, Yeji,” you say weakly, staring down into your glass. “Every time I see him, I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or beat his ass.”

She laughs at your comment, making you crack a smile too. “It happens, Y/N. Love and hurt go hand in hand.” When you look up at her, she reaches a slender hand over the table and interlocks her fingers with your own with a squeeze. “Just tolerate it for now.”

A troubled exhale leaves you at the prospect, but you squeeze back nonetheless.

“I can do that.”

☆☆☆

It's two days later when you get a call from none other than the Lion himself. The time has been passing unbearably, slower than a soul train passing an ambulance. You and Penny relaxed by bingeing an ungodly amount of shows and movies, even delving into your weekly budget for a stockpile of snacks and drinks. But with every laugh that tumbled out of you and blended into the live audiences’, the nervous thoughts of the situation lingered in the back of your mind.

But hopefully, this call will have some good news.

“What’s up?”

“Good news.”

Eureka! For once, you’re happy to be speaking to Jeon.

“Like Namjoon said, they slipped up. Someone wasn’t wearing gloves and left a fingerprint in the DA. Intelligence was able to track it down to a random guy living in the Gambling District. I’ll tell you more about him, but I’m coming to pick you up now.”

You to your feet from your seat on the couch, wedging the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could throw your stuff together. Penny pauses the show for you, sending a raised brow. In silent conversation, you shrug.

God, it’s too early. You’re rummaging around the room for your wallet and trying to process cohesive thoughts simultaneously, and it’s not working out.

You stop to let your hands rub at your eyes. “Okay, but how do we know this was an actual slip up? We don’t have footage to check… it might have been on purpose to lead us somewhere.”

The one thing you had learned in all your time was to play like your opponent. Never underestimate them - especially the Syndicate, who clearly wanted that message to reach you. But if you were trying to get the upper hand on the people you were trying to eliminate, it wouldn’t be far fetched to give them a false lead the same way you had before.

“It’s all we got. And if we are led somewhere, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Talk to you in a bit. I’ll meet you in the parking garage?”

“No need. Already walking up.” In the background, you hear Jeon’s keys jingling as he strides. “Also, we’re stopping for food first. Bye.” A blunt click signals the end of the call.

Shit. He’s coming to your apartment? The current state is an indescribable mess - hopefully he wouldn’t call CPS on you. More importantly, you are still in your pajamas, and there is no way he can see you like this.

“Was that the curveball?” Penny asks with an impish interest.

Your eyes squint. “Take a guess.”

Hurrying down the cramped hallway to your shared bedroom with Penny, you trade your sweats for some comfortable jeans and, with the time ticking down, throw a moto jacket over your hoodie. As the knock on the door sounds, you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail.

When you reach the living room, Penny is already pulling the door open. You hear a greeting, and then Jeon’s head appears around it comically, peeking into the apartment.

“There you are,” he says, looking at your current state with confusion. Not exactly what you might wear to base, but it got the job done. He snickers. “What, did I catch you off guard?”

Trying to hold back your minor pants from running around so much, all you can muster is, “Yeah, a little bit.” You turn to the mirror and pluck a bobby pin from your lips, tucking it into your hair to keep the flyaways down.

“Okay, let’s hit it. Penny, super sorry about this, I’ll finish watching with you later when I get home. There’s food in the fridge, you know where the money is, and I’ll call Yeji to check in on you if it gets late, okay?”

She pouts. “Okay.”

“Hey, you remember the safe word?”

Penny nods dramatically, her dark bangs bouncing, standing on her tippy toes to whisper in your ear, “Cherry-cola… also, he’s really cute.”

You pull away laughing, giving her a light noogie with your fist as her nose scrunches up. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Your time apart did him well, and you assume he must have gotten tips on how to dress because of how effortlessly put together he looked these days. But that's beside the point.

“Love you, Pen. Bye. And make sure your ringer is on.” With a small peck on the top of her head and bidding goodbye with a promise to return, you’re pulling away and leading Jeon out the door, being careful in locking it behind you.

“What’s with the safeword?” He asks, starting down the hall to the elevator. An uncomfortable tilt to his lips fixes on his face. “Isn’t that… kinda inappropriate?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at his shoulder. “Ew. Not that kind of safeword, dumbass. It’s so she knows who she can trust and let inside. There’s a lot of people that I trust that she doesn’t know, so if I have someone swinging by I tell them so she knows she can trust them too.”

He makes a sound of understanding, slipping his hands into his pockets. The way he ambles is spirited yet composed, shoulders relaxed with purposeful steps. Jeon always came and went like low tide in the morning, a calmer view of his personality considering his notorious “devil may care” attitude.

“Can you tell me?” Once he sees the disapproving expression on your face, he continues, “Listen, I already know about her. What if something happens and you need me to get her and you’re too busy dying to tell me?”

Crossing your arms in front of you, you shake your head. “Hopefully that will never happen in the first place, but god forbid…” you cautiously lower your voice, “Cherry-cola.”

“Cherry-cola?” he repeats casually.

You shush him loudly, glaring and speaking through gritted teeth. “The point of a safeword is that not everyone knows it!”

“Sorry,” his lips purse as you press the button and begin waiting for the elevator. “Why that one?”

“It’s our favorite drink. Goes with anything.”

“Well...”

You cut him off with a hand as the thick metal doors slide open and the two of you step inside. “Not a matter of opinion. I don’t want to hear it.”

He raises his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I will respect that, but you know...”

It’s then that you see him giving you a look, an impish smile adorning his cheeks. The dimples that gently poke his skin are the kind that make you feel lucky.

“What?”

His eyes avert, head shaking as he turns away and exchanges his view for his sly reflection in the metal. “Oh, nothing.”

“Gguk.”

A teasing tone coats his tongue as he speaks. “Well, I don’t know, it just reminded me, you know, just pulled the thought from the deep recess of my brain, that.... we used to have one too.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, even considering asking him to repeat himself. The arch look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, we did,” you agree. “Not like I ever had to use it...”

He faces you with a disbelieving breath of laughter leaving his open mouth, astonished. “What, did you want to have to say it?”

You shrug nonchalantly, raising your voice to say, “No, no… you were always just a little soft about it, that’s all.”

You can’t help the grin growing on your face as his lips part in offense, one corner slowly turning up in a knowing open-mouthed smile. His lids drop in the slightest manner, barely noticeable if you didn’t pay such close attention, and you have to turn away before your face starts to blaze too unbearably. “Oh, you know I was not soft.”

Both of you are thinking the same thing, no doubt about it. Memories roll back like pristine tapes on a projector, ones that most definitely prove his point.

You clear your throat, unsure of where the conversation is going and not bold enough to let it brew. “Anyway, about the guy…?”

He’s disappointed in your choice to change the subject, the tell in the way his head drops and chews at his lower lip for a split second, but abides nonetheless. “Twenty-six years old, been working at lots of casinos around as a dealer but his most recent job was three months ago at King’s Crown. After that, no record. Unfortunately, we have to take him alive since the investigation has the police involved.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Well, kind of. It’s just limiting when there’s a stipulation.”

“Okay. I will respect that.”

Your callback is the cause of a smile taking over his face. You’re glad he doesn’t mention your attitude - if he did, your dignity wouldn’t let you continue. Maybe it’s your good mood paired with his unexpectedness, maybe it’s Yeji’s advice telling you to tolerate him, but regardless, you won’t deny that it feels better than the anger. With hope of a lead comes hope that this could work out.

“By the way, what’re you in the mood for?” Jeon asks casually, turning to you. “We can do fast food, we can do Firehouse...”

As soon as he says the word, memories from long ago that almost don’t even feel like yours resurface. Firehouse was always your and Jeon’s go-to pizza place on lunch break or for celebration after a job well done. Though you haven’t been there in years, the delectable taste of their pies is still fresh in your mind. It’s tempting, but you don’t want to make the decision. You weren’t that hungry, anyway. Jeon stares, awaiting an answer.

At your shrug, his patience runs out and he fishes his hand into his pocket. “Okay, I’m flipping a coin. Firehouse is heads, tails is the nearest drive-thru.”

He says it naturally, but you know he’s testing the water by the way his gaze lingers, measuring your reaction to see if you’ll be angry with him. Not one, but two fond tokens from the past, all in the span of thirty seconds? At one point, flipping a coin was an everyday occurrence to settle disagreements, whether it be where to eat, what time to close up shop, or whose plan to follow. You know he’s trying to jog your good memories, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

The metal flings from his thumb and lands with a muted tap in his opposite palm. He slaps it over to the backside of his hand.

“Heads. Firehouse it is.” His eyes flick up to yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

You grin. “Sure. Wanted that anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. A shy smile crawls up his face, the faint hallmark scar at the edge of his cheekbone shifting. “Yeah, alright. Tell me next time before it lands on something you don’t want.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, freeing you into the open world. If you let the resentment subside for a few minutes, it feels just like it used to when things were okay - you and Jeon against the world.

☆☆☆

“So this is it?”

You’re staring up a beat down brick building four stories high. It’s dilapidated and nearly falling apart, in contrast to the virgin casinos, modern and flawless with intricate architecture and an ambiance of expense just half a mile away. Supposedly, your guy was somewhere in there, and it was your best bet that he had something of value to give you.

Jeon slams his side of the car door, still licking at pizza grease on his forearm, and comes around to stand next to you. “Yeah. Floor two, apartment two.” You laugh to yourself incredulously at his casual antics, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks right up to the door.

He finds that no buzzer is needed for entry, so with your guns at the ready, you take slow steps inside. Jeon leads, you trailing to the side of him. It’s eerily quiet, not a single person out to encounter, none of the hustle and bustle a usual apartment would contain, not even the sounds of footsteps or moving furniture. Did anyone actually live here?

The floors of the hallways are decorated with faded forest green carpet, stains and dust covering the washed-out fabric. There is an ugly floral strip of wallpaper at the top of the beige walls that are dented and scraped in random places.

You’re careful to keep down the volume of the creaking stairs as you shift your weight over them, but it’s nearly impossible. Upon further inspection, the door frame of apartment two was covered in scratches and markings, thin cobwebs joined in the corners. The door itself looks cheap and it has what seems to be a few drops of blood splattered near the knob. You and Jeon share a look of uncertainty, those gut instincts kicking in to let you know that something was off.

He begins to count down, and on three, you’re pushing in the door. He rushes in first with you on his tail to scope out the sides. The apartment is empty, except…

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”

There’s a dead body occupying the chair in front of the television. It’s the man, alright, but his throat has been slit, red coating his neck and clothes, head hanging back over the seat. There’s no smell, though - it couldn’t have been that long since others were here, especially due to the slight glisten of blood not yet dry on his skin.

They didn’t bury him, either. Just left the body out in the open for you to find. One alarming step ahead, just like last time.

“Covering their tracks. They knew he fucked up and took care of him before we could,” says Jeon, scouring the rest of the beaten-down unit. No signs of a struggle, no mess, no nothing. A dead end.

When you pat the body down, reach into his pockets, there’s nothing. When you move to his bedroom and start to search through his nightstand, it strikes you that there might be something invasive about rustling through a dead man’s belongings, but you’ve done it too many times to still be sensitive to it. You peer around his closet, look under the mattress, filter through his drawers, until a certain glint of light catches your eye.

On the side of his bed closest to the window, a small card lies on the carpet beneath, hidden by the frame if it weren’t for the shiny sticker on the back. You bring it up for a closer look in the light.

It’s got his name, picture, and contact information as well as a barcode at the bottom. Not a driver’s license, but an ID card for the Belvedere Casino. The sticker in the top corner makes out a small icon of a spread of playing cards.

You’re about to shout out to Jeon, but stop yourself as soon as you open your mouth. You take a slow once over around the room. Namjoon’s words echo in between your thoughts - Could the place be bugged? They were here not so long ago, and considering how they kept seeming to be a step in front of you at all times, it wasn’t a far stretch. There was no way to be sure, but you had a hunch.

Walking back to the main room, you catch his attention from where he is snooping around the shelves.

“Didn’t find anything. I think we’re out of luck.” When he turns to look at you, you widen your eyes and make an intense gesture with your finger to your lips before pointing a finger from your ear to the ceiling and directing your eyes around the room. You’re grateful when he understands immediately.

“Seriously? Nothing?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah. They got us. We should head back and call for cleanup, see if they can find anything.” You start for the door, pulling it open.

He hums, eyeing the item in your hand as he walks out behind you. “Good idea… I don’t really want to be here anymore anyway. Feels too weird.”

It’s silent all the way down. Was it too obvious? Was the dialogue too strange, too choppy? The two of you reach the street, careful of your surroundings, before getting back in his car.

“What was that about?” he asks, shutting the door as he slides into the driver’s seat.

You hold out the card for him to take. “Look. You know how you said there was no recent record of employment besides at King’s Crown? He’s been working at the Belvedere the past three months.”

He looks at you incredulously. “And?”

For whatever reason, he makes you doubt yourself. Suddenly, that solid idea you had in mind that made you split from the apartment is no longer so solid.

“The Belvedere has to have something. That’s our new lead!” Pulling your seatbelt over your body, you reach for your phone to give the Boss an update.

“He could have just been working off-record and gotten involved with the Syndicate some other way.”

You turn to him seriously. “Jeon. If it’s separate, why bother? Why would he be working for the Syndicate when he has a stable source of income as a dealer unless the two come hand in hand? They have to be hiding in plain sight.”

“And you’re willing to bet all your cards on that?” You almost find the doubt in his voice offensive.

You exhale deeply, trying to push down your temper. “The people in the Syndicate who killed him made sure there was nothing left on him to tell us who he was. No wallet, no keys, no license, no nothing, because they wanted his identity hidden. If he was working for them separately, why would they bother to do that? They would have just killed him and left. But it was about who he was and what he did. Which was dealing at The Belvedere.”

The car goes silent, and Jeon doesn’t reply. He only looks at you blankly, his poker face hard to break through, but not impossible. You know when he lets a hand slip up to tug at the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Good job,” he grins, hooking the key in the ignition and rumbling the car to life. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road casually.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You cross your arms in front of you protectively, glaring at him from the side.

“Oh, come on. I never actually doubted you, I was just messing around.”

You scoff loudly, turning to the window. “You’re such a fucking liar, Gguk. You didn’t get the connection until I explained it and the fact that you can’t even admit that you’re wrong, the fact that you have to act like you always knew, blows my fucking mind!”

He makes a left turn, looking out at the road, clearly avoiding you even though you’re stuck in the same damn car a foot away. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s not that serious.”

“But it is that serious! It was going so well, Gguk. We were finally acting like regular partners on a job. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? It always has to be about you, and how much of a hero you are-”

“I never said I was a hero.”

“But you sure act like it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Comes from the guy who claims he was ‘just joking around’ during a serious case like this when you know it’s not like what it used to be.”

“Okay, fine!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the steering wheel. “I did doubt you. I thought it was far fetched.” Jeon's voice booms as he rambles quickly in aggravation. “And then you explained it and I remembered that you’re really fucking smart and I wouldn’t have made that connection myself. And I lied because I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, okay? Are you happy?”

Jeon’s free hand, which had been jerking around as he yelled, finds itself gripping the wheel again regretfully. Silence fills the car, hanging in the air as heavy and solid as concrete. You’re almost scared to breathe in face of all the tension. He looks like he’s about to say something else but stops himself before the words fall out.

The way you were fuming brings tears to your eyes. When your parents died, all you had was Jeongguk. But Jeongguk’s heart had been rooted in the mafia since he was young. The two were mutually exclusive, and your best option was following after him. It was hard to believe the boy you put your trust in so blindly all those years ago had grown into the man sitting next to you now, bringing you to tears with the way he infuriated you. Where did it all go wrong?

“No. I’m not.”

☆☆☆

You’re tired when you go to bed that night, and you’re tired when you wake up. Though you’re barely awake, you can feel Penny nestled into your side, body rising and falling as she breathes. It’s a small comfort, especially after the rough day you had. Last night had been a mess as you tried to hold it together for her, but simply couldn’t.

Today, you’ll be heading over to a motel in the Gambling District to stay at indefinitely with Jeon while you work on the case. You have no clue how long it will take - you’ll be taking a look at the Belvedere, but what comes after that, you don’t know.

It was important to note that somehow, the two of you had moved up to the faces of the mission, even though both sides were working tirelessly in the search.

The last thing you want to do right now is see him, but you have no choice. The sooner you start working and get it done, the sooner you can get home. But for now, you have to start packing. You take another moment to lay with Penny, because when you’ll next feel this safety and comfort again, you can’t be sure of. Then, you carefully unlink her from you and begin laying things out.

Something nice to wear for the casino, clothes to sleep in, essentials for hygiene, an extra pair of socks…

Eventually, Penny stretches out and groans to inform you of her awakening while you roam around the room. Her feet shifting under the comforter push a t-shirt off the bed.

“Sleep okay?” She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, you?”

“Eh. Could have been better.”

While you are away, Penny will be home by herself. The Boss said that she wouldn’t be required for work while you were gone - she could stay home and safe, for your reassurance. It still makes you nervous, of course, but bringing her with you isn’t an option. Yeji promised she would stop in from time to time, and you would be leaving her with a sum of money in case she needs it to order food or something of the sort.

“When are you leaving?”

“I have to be there by one, so probably in an hour or so.”

“Can we make waffles then?”

You sigh, letting your arms go limp at your side. Waffles were a hassle, and the cleanup could be a nightmare, but… something told you it was worth it over the potential mess.

“Sure, go get the machine set up and I’ll come out in a sec.”

It takes a few more minutes to get everything packed, take a few extra bottles of soaps and gels just in case, quickly zipping up your duffle bag and tossing it down onto the bed for when you return later.

Out in the kitchen, Penny has gotten more of a move on. She has already retrieved the ingredients from the pantry, even started measuring amounts out accordingly with the instructions on the back of the box.

You let her have a little fun and crack the eggs this time - though some shell gets in there, it’s nothing you can’t pick out. She makes jokes and you can’t help but laugh, and something about it has its way of calming you down. It reminds you of how precious moments spent together are. Something about the girl just makes you let go of the burdens you carry.

But it’s much too soon that you’re cleaning up. A small ending for a small fragment of your day bound to be filled with things much larger than you’re ready to handle.

The rain falls like feathers when you pull into the lot, plunking consistently on your windshield. You turn the key and take it out, shutting down the vehicle’s rumbling engine, the lights dimming out all around you. You should get inside sooner than later, before the weather worsens, but you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the car. Jeon’s is already parked, meaning he’s inside waiting. But there’s no other choice you have. You’ll have to see him at some point, anyway. Postponing will only anger you further.

You push open the car door quickly, grabbing your bag and darting up the stairs as they clang under your shoes. The droplets smack against your skin and drip down relentlessly. It could be worse, but it is certainly not pleasant. Once you find shelter under the awning, you raise your hand in preparation to knock, but Jeon is already yanking open the door and stepping aside to make way for your entrance.

Inside, you dab at your hair with your sleeve carefully, fixing it in the mirror opposite to you. As clued in by the backpack and laptop already set up on the right side of the singular bed in the room, you deduced he had already claimed it. Therefore, you take the initiative to place your own bag on the left side, closest to the wall.

“So… how are you?”

“I’m fine.” You reach into your bag to begin unpacking a few of your essentials, feeling his eyes glued to you as you move around the room. Even as you plug in your charger, toss your computer on the bed, you could sense his firm yet uneasy presence behind you.

“Have you started yet?” you ask, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward onto your face. You’d prefer to start your work instead of floating around the elephant in the room awkwardly.

He tucks his hands into his pockets. “No, I was waiting for you.” Jeon has been stuck to the same spot near the dim lamp beside the door since you stepped through the threshold. It inclined you to think that maybe he’s as nervous as you are, but you’re sure it’ll pass over in a matter of minutes once he gathers himself.

“Okay.” You exhale in thought, sweeping yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. “I’ll start doing background on the casino and it’s ownership records. You can look into workers or people associated with the man who was killed. Or call the agency, I don’t know. You do you.”

He makes a small noise of agreement, flipping open his laptop. However, with the slow movement of his fingers across the keyboard, the air void of purposeful clicking, you can tell he’s not getting much done. In fact, you can see in your peripheral his stillness, as if he’s waiting to make a move.

When you spare a glimpse over to him, he offers an expression of deep thought, only to say, “There are snacks, too. In case you get hungry.”

Your scampering flow of typing pauses. “Okay.” All you can offer is a brief, tight pull of your lips, what you could barely define as a smile.

Luckily, he seems to receive your message loud and clear, turning back around in his chair to start up whatever he was planning on. You know what you want to get - the information most valuable to doing what you needed to do and confirming what you already suspected, which was in the past records of the proprietorship. It would also be helpful if you could find current workers and see what they were doing; Maybe even more helpful if you could find nothing at all.

The records you stumble upon are nothing short of interesting once you finally break down that barrier. Ownership of the casino had been consistent up until three months ago, when the deed holder - a healthy man of only fifty-six years old - made a business deal and swiftly moved out of the country, only to be found dead in his home a month later. The new owner’s background appeared without even the slightest scratch. The lack of suspicion is suspicious in itself - you don’t think the Falcon would have the place under his own name, but having it under someone who is pristine as a newly minted coin is dubious all the same.

It’s the shut of Jeon’s laptop that sucks you back into the reality of the motel room from your online sanctuary. He stands up to stretch and makes a move for the bathroom. The room is shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the sorry excuse for a lamp on your night table. It wouldn’t kill you to call it a night either.

When he emerges, you take your turn, bringing a change of clothes with you so you won’t have to face the tension that might arise if you came back out in just a towel. The shower is pleasant; For a second, if you close your eyes, you’re no longer in the same space with him and can enjoy the time for yourself.

Your heavy heart can’t be kept at bay for too long. Outside the bathroom is a surprisingly accurate reminder of old times, when scenes just like this were the regular, and the feeling was the same. But at this moment, the way you’re avoiding his eyes while you braid your hair in the mirror is a show of just how much things have changed.

“Why are you looking at me?” you pipe quietly over the steady padding of your feet on the carpet, his watch following you hesitantly.

Jeon sits back at the head of the bed, not sure where to direct his gaze anymore now that you’ve verbally interrupted it. His constant attention, and especially the way he doesn’t deny it even in the face of your attitude towards him, leaves you with a weary ache that you’re quickly getting tired of feeling all the time.

A charming, shy smile fixes on his face as his head tilts endearingly, testing the waters. “What, I can’t look at you?”

“Not like that,” you mumble, barely above a whisper, lifting up the sheets to crawl in, leaving as much space as possible between the two of you. When you turn your back to him to look at the wall, you think he might make another teasing comment, but he doesn’t.

“It’s the braid,” he elaborates, as if it’s some sort of excuse sufficient enough to play flirty and cool with you when the situation is anything but. “It reminds me of when we were kids… you used to wear it like that every day.”

It’s almost as if to say, do you remember? But of course you remember. Afternoons spent at the playground, your hair in a loose braid thrown over the front of your shoulder. Mornings spent in the courtyard, scribbling down answers to work that was due in ten minutes. Evenings spent wandering around town, laughing and joking together as kids should. But nothing offered by the times of the past could dismiss the times of the present.

You lean over and tug the chain on the lamp, darkness enclosing your small room.

“Go to bed, Gguk.”

He doesn’t make another sound that night.

☆☆☆

The storm has proven its resilience yet continues to torrent, horribly testing the aging logs of trees and endlessly splattering your windows. Even still, it has something to say, residing anger it wants to make you feel, trapping you inside your room and limiting your options. It’s a deep pain, but perhaps if you were a storm, you’d let yourself drain out every ounce of deplorable wrath until there was nothing leftover, too.

Jeon sits at the small table near the door. He’s been there for who knows how long, flipping through pages, making phone calls that connect no dots, wasting his time. There is nothing that can be done at the moment, not with the state of the weather at least. Weather, a trivial matter, the most popular topic choice for insignificant conversation, heeds your course of action without a known resumption.

In the meantime, you enjoy yourself as much as you can. You make popcorn in the less than appealing microwave and settle in to watch whatever piques your interest in the slightest, meaning there is not a wide selection. Right now, you’ve got on a show about the aliens who have supposedly visited ancient Egypt and other societies bygone, and have been consistently present throughout the timeline of human history.

“Y/N. Let me ask you a question.” Jeon rubs his forehead, slumping over in his chair. “Did you come here with the intention of helping this case, or just to vacation?”

You nod in thought, humming. “Good question. I’d say the former, but I don’t think your question was intended to have an answer. Let me ask you a question then.”

His tired face turns to you expectantly.

You take a pensive breath before raising your hand and asking slowly, “Do you think that aliens provided advanced technologies to the Germans to build new weapons for the Third Reich?”

He stares at you blankly, meeting your still and inquisitive expression for just a moment until he cracks, shaking his head and looking away toward the window, as if he’ll find something better to say out there.

“No, I’m serious,” you insist as you toss another kernel into your mouth, hoping he takes your biting satire to heart. “Because, this guy is saying that the Germans built a flying saucer. A whole fucking flying saucer, called the Haunebu, and no, wait, listen, it was said to use mythical technology from old Indian texts.”

You stare, intent on waiting for a response. Jeon pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his fuse was quickly shortening keeping you bitterly entertained. “You have to work with me, Y/N. Can you please just work with me?”

The joke dissolves and you blankly turn to flip through the channels. “I am working with you. There’s just nothing to work on.”

He puts his head in his hands. “For God’s sake, can you stop? I know you don’t care for me, but if you could just cooperate-”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Care for you?” you repeat, your smile fueled with gallons of flammable offense, sitting upright on the bed. He spins in his chair to face you again, eyebrows knitting together before confirming, “Yeah, care for me!”

A sour laugh escapes you, arms folding over your front. “I don’t care for you? That’s rich, Gguk.”

“No, you don’t! And I don’t think you ever have, quite frankly, because you’re acting like such a bitch to me and can’t even give me a chance!” Jeon stands now, leaning into his words as his hands stretch out in dramatic gestures.

You jump to your feet. ”Why should I give you a chance? What good has that ever done me?”

Jeon’s jaw visibly clenches, his hand shooting up to meet his chin as he eschews your scrutinizing eye. You feel your nails digging into your palms as your fists clench, but you’re sure you’ll swing at something if you stop.

Your throat begins to sting, masking your cracking voice with a low tone. “I almost died for you, Gguk. And a week later, you left me.”

The room collapses under the weight of the elephant. It’s everything you’ve wanted to say for years bubbling to the top.

As soon as the venom leaves your mouth, you know he remembers. The guilt washing over his features says it all, awful clips of the last mission you ever went on together passing through his vision.

It was supposed to be an easy interception of a deal, but Jeon’s inability to differentiate between necessary risk and recklessness cost you your covers. He got away. You were captured.

It was torture at the expense of his safety. Excruciating pain in order to protect him from his own mistake. Your blood spilled, your tears cried, your body hurt. Yet at the end of every video, every call, every threat, your only message to him was that it was okay.

They were the worst you had ever encountered. They wanted leverage over the Boss; They wanted Jeon. And the only way to him was to you. At the time, it was worth it. You wouldn’t give him up, you wouldn’t let yourself become a part of an exchange for his life. You put his over your own in a heartbeat.

And where had that gotten you?

Your depth of a breaking point had provided that desperately needed time to organize a plan of attack, and even though you hadn’t been there quite yet, even though you had been trained and it was far from your first rodeo, it wasn’t anything less than scarring.

Even though the mafia infiltrated and rescued you successfully, the inner turmoil never fully recovered. Though you moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks that hid in your damaged subconscious, the memory never stopped hurting. Especially when he up and left you to deal with it on your own.

“I know,” is all he can muster.

A thrilling laugh of spite rips from your throat. He hates it.

“What? That’s all you can say? You can’t even give me an explanation?”

“I… I was out of options for us, Y/N. After the mission, I knew it was me making you vulnerable. People were hurting you over me, and I didn’t want that for us anymore. I made a plan to leave, and I thought that you could come with me… but I was stupid and in a rush and the deal was only for my cooperation if the Agency helped me out. They wouldn’t let me take you.”

Your usual crisp verbosity fails you now, everything you need to say stuck in your throat. A stabbing anguish falls like bullets in a downpour, a storm born only in the bitterest winter.

“I know I fucked up, Y/N, I know I did. And I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always regret it. And I’ll spend every second of my life trying to make up for it.” Jeon’s lip quivers through his shaky breaths, his eyes now soaked, the ache in his heart unforgiving. “And I know I can’t ever take it back, but you hate me so bad…”

A pained upturn of your lips feeling the grudge of a thousand wrongdoings phases over your expression, for him, for you, for everyone you’d ever known in this sickening lifetime.

“I don’t hate you, Gguk,” you sob through your teeth, wiping furiously at your eyes, “I hate… I hate that I love you regardless of what you do.”

He winces. “Please don’t do that to me.” “Do what?”

Hot streams of tears trickled down his supple cheeks, voice cracking as he whispers, “Say that you love me when you know how I feel.”

“Oh shut up, Jeongguk!” you yell, wet rage prickling your veins as it courses through you. Your cheeks are now just vessels for a dam breaking loose. “I have always loved you!”

And it hurts so bad to say it. The way he makes your stomach flutter feels like a betrayal to yourself. But that smile he wears like a medallion, those eyes that are always searching for you, that golden heart that loved you so well - everything you hate is everything you love. Even when you want to ignore the truth for everything it’s worth and all the weight it heaves on its shoulders, it’s impossible to escape the way you love him even when you wish you could just hate him.

You calm yourself with a shaky breath. “I loved you before, and I loved you after, even when you left and I knew you weren’t coming back.”

“That’s not true,” he sputters, taking a step toward you. “I was always going to come back. Every day, I begged for help to get you out. But the deal I made with the agency was only my rescue for my cooperation, and it didn’t include you, no matter what I tried to do.”

It stings your chest. You have to turn away when your head drops to your palms, but he’s quick to reach a hand to your shoulder for your attention.

“It’s been over three years, Gguk,” you whisper, sniffling as you wipe your running nose with your sleeve. Your voice is clogged in disappointed acceptance. “Don’t lie. Just say my relevance to you faded and you forgot.”

He grasps your arm gently, beckoning your eyes to meet his. While your tears are slowing from tire, his are an endless faucet left on in negligence.

“No,” his tone softens, “No, I was waiting until it was safe.”

You shake your head, the soreness in your chest present as ever as you try to hold it all in. “It was never going to be safe.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t ever be. But you have to let me make it right.”

“How do you intend on doing that? Putting snacks in the fridge doesn’t do shit, Gguk.”

He inhales deeply as his lips press together. Jeon takes a careful glance around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he silently pleads with you.

“I made a plan to get you out after the mission is completed. The higher-ups at the Agency agreed just in exchange for you to give a private report with as much as you know for future reference. From there, it’s you going wherever you want, no strings attached, no extra deal you have to make.”

“That won’t work,” you scoff.

“Yes, it will! I promise it will! Listen, everything is already planned. My friends are taking extra care because they trust me. You’ll have new records, a new passport and a license, new everything, and even…”

“Gguk...” You whisper as he continues rambling. “Gguk. Jeongguk!”

He takes in a sharp breath as his words are cut off mid-stream, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.

In a quiet, calm whisper, you explain, “I can’t. I have Penny and other people here that I care about. For god sake, I have money I've been saving for years in that apartment, all our stuff is there, I can’t just leave and not come back.”

The desperation in his voice is now out in the open. “I know. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m working on her now, too. You just have to trust me.”

For a second, he lets himself swell with hope, but your deep, despondent sigh crumbles him right back down to where he started.

“Gguk…” you start, but he can’t bear to hear it, leaning down to meet your hesitant eyes straight on. Distress clouds his watery pupils as he implores you with every ounce of sincerity he can muster to the surface for you. He doesn’t know how else he can make you see he’s being more honest now than he ever has been in his life.

“It’s okay if you can’t forgive me. I understand, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And, and I’m sorry for how I acted when I saw you again, but I was just so scared.” His lip trembles as he searches for eyes for something, anything. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I was so scared of what you’d say and how you’d feel and I thought if I acted like it was fine, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.”

He swallows on a dry mouth, trying not to stammer but his heart denying him that ability.

“I, I thought about you every day. Every day. And I knew it was complicated and everyone told me I should just let go and, and I just couldn’t! I just knew it was you. It was always you. And I am so, so sorry I made you feel it wasn’t.”

By now, you can’t restrain your tears, no matter how hard you clench your teeth or comfort your face. In a moment of deep affliction, there’s no other place to turn but him. The second you pull him to you is relief synonymous with the feeling of when a battered castaway finally spots a plane coming for their rescue; it is joint.

“I wish I could trust you, Jeongguk,” Sobs muffled by his comforting chest, you cry, ”But I don’t know if I can do that. I want to believe you so bad, but I… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

The comforting warmth of his body is a mean juxtaposition against the harsh sobs that rack through it. Jeongguk smells of something sweet and nostalgically familiar, like sunny beach days spent down by the salty water, plucking seashells from the sand and digging for hermit crabs once the waves pull away from the shore. Light sunscreen and grainy memories that flash by as your brain slides through like film.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles into your hair. Your will splinters in his arms. “Just think about it. That’s all. Just think about it.”

Though you nod against him in shaky assent, it’s not a promise.

☆☆☆

Not the next day, but the day after, is when you decide to make your move.

The casino is a home base, hidden in plain sight. Not even that - crowded by the public eye, and yet not a suspicion raised despite its astronomical numbers being reported over the past few months. Sure, it was bustling full of rich men in need of something to spend their money on, but not enough to sustain those incredible reports.

And under that brittle, flimsy assumption comes your similarly brittle, flimsy plan. Go in, see what you can see. Scout for suspicious activity, chat up drunk patrons and loosen their lips, explore the building a bit. See what you see.

Your fingers are nimble, but your prickling nerves make them fumble as you try the clasp on your necklace. The nail on your pointer can’t seem to hold the small lever down for long enough, even when you twist the chain around so you can lean forward to do it in the mirror. You even consider just tossing it to the side and going without the necklace.

Jeon, standing awkwardly to the side and already having fixed his sleeves in place countless times, glances over to you in the mirror briefly. You sigh when you catch his hesitant watch in the reflection - his shy offer goes unspoken, just a reminder that it’s there if you want to take it. All it takes is a minuscule top of your head to give in.

Resisting Jeongguk is like resisting gravity. It pulls you down sooner or later, no matter how high or far you push yourself off. But at the end of the day, it keeps you grounded.

His footsteps are barely audible on the carpet as he approaches timidly. Light on his feet, as always. You surrender the ends of the necklace to him and tug the pendant back around to the front. The pads of his fingertips are rough as they drag lightly across your skin in the exchange, igniting a flaming feeling in their path. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as he pushes them out of the way with the back of his hand. Considering his extensive training and incredible eye, you’re sure he notices it, but you’re grateful he doesn’t say anything.

You try not to let your eyes wander in the mirror for too long. For your excursion tonight, your dress is one of the best you own - a simple, dark satin gown with a generous leg slit to steal some eyes, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. The deep cowl neck is flattering in its pristine v-shape, especially with the way the pendant hangs itself just above.

Jeon is sporting all black. His shirt is ironed smoothly, fitting well over his shoulders and tucked with care into his trousers and secured with a sturdy belt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal his skin, tattoos peeking out in a shamelessly appealing way, and the collar…

Okay, too much. You’ll go into sensory overload if you look any longer. He’s caught onto it, the way a smirk creeps onto his face. He lingers a second longer after he’s clasped the jewelry in place. The Gguk you know flicks his eyes up quickly and throws a small, short smile your way, hands reluctant to pull away as they take the time to drift over your bare shoulders.

You clear your throat, taking the initiative to get on your way. He hides the way his spirit dips at the rejection, but he knows he can’t expect more. Once you’re outside and have locked the door behind you, the night air hits you, cool and fresh and promising. But for what exactly, you can’t be sure.

☆☆☆

The Belvedere is one of the most expensive-looking places in the city - in the months since you’d last worked a case around the gambling district, it had certainly been renovated. At the very front, the casino’s name glows light blue in a thin font while large ivory columns hold up a wide intricate ceiling to shade the pavilion. A wall of luxe glass doors lines the entrance, so sparkly and reflecting you think it can’t be just glass.

As inviting as the front entrance seems, it is not your way in. Too many scrutinizing eyes, too many cautious cameras, too much security for your type of job. That leads you to the side of the building, a small alley between buildings with one side entrance. The agency already looped the footage twenty minutes ago just to be safe.

But of course when you try it, it’s locked.

“And… what now? They’ll notice if we just break in.”

Jeon shrugs. “Maybe not until a little while. Besides, we’re covered.” His pointer finds the camera up above the two of your for reference.

“I’d rather hold off on the damage we do.”

As he racks his brain for another option, your brain tunes in to the muted sound of shoes on linoleum. He raises a question just as you put your ear to the door but your shush quiets him immediately. The footsteps are coming your way.

Just as you feel the door about to open, you tug Jeon to the side next to the door’s hinge, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss. The door opens loudly and his hands, after his initial shock dissipates, find themselves on your waist as your own snake their way around his neck. You make sure one hand covers the side of his face generously and that your hair masks your own, meanwhile Jeon can’t help himself from getting swept up in you.

A guard, you think it is, halts when he sees the two of you, but takes it off his radar when he can no longer stand to watch your shamelessness. Or rather, Jeon’s shamelessness. His lips persistently press themselves to yours, nipping and pulling all the while his large hands push into your waist. Something about it makes you think it’s not just for a distraction.

The man shakes his head and turns the opposite direction, walking out toward the street. Before the heavy door falls closed behind him, you reach an arm out to grab the handle. Jeon pulls back slowly, blinking dumbfoundedly. He never thought you’d do such a thing - but clearly, it wasn’t such a thing to you by the way you were grinning like you’d only told a joke. He swallows, mentally slapping himself in a note to get himself together. You’re already stepping inside, and he picks up to follow suit.

You follow the hallway down the main room, and no one raises any concern, probably unable to sense suspicion in their state of inebriation. The two of you weave your way through crowds of people with too much money to spend, quietly thinking of how easy it would be to pickpocket them - but that’s for another time.

A quick scan of the room provides you with the bar, rows of slot machines, pool tables, and a large lounge area filled with the sounds of mindless chatter and glasses clinking. You order drinks to blend in, nothing alcoholic, because as much as you wish you could get drunk and have fun in a casino, that wasn’t the reason you were here. Jeon hands you your coke with a practiced movement.

In a cheesy sort of cheers, he says, “To… the Lion and the Scorpion? Or is that too soon?” He purses his lips, half scared you’ll agree its too soon. It’s relief when he hears the laugh he missed so dearly.

“Not too soon, just a little embarrassing.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. Jeon leads you over to the dartboards in excitement, one of his favorites to partake in. He chooses the one at the end of the row so you can stand beside him, supposedly to be impressed by his skills and praise him.

“God, this reminds me of Macau,” he sighs out contently. His coffee eyes roam around the large expanse of the hall, seeming to glitter under the crystal chandeliers hanging above you as he walks back from the controls, darts in hand. He gets into position and throws his first, landing for two points in the ring of red. As if you didn’t already know, he adds, “I loved Macau.”

You scoff. “What, because of the way our covers were blown and we had to massacre the lobby, or the sex?”

“Why not both?” He shrugs, smirk creeping onto his face. Another dart leaves his grip, expert aim leading right to the bullseye.

You take another sip of your drink. “Careful,” you warn, “Can’t be too good at this. It comes with questions.”

He hums, and you wonder if he’s even listening. “And you still had blood on your chest. Weirdly sexy.” His eyes narrow jokingly as he speaks just low enough so only you can hear it, and the reaction it pulls from you is exactly what he wanted when he starts to laugh. He lets go of his last dart with a shake of his head, either at the memory or his bad throw that says he’s going fishing.

He turns back to you. At your annoyed expression, he takes another swig of his drink and leans down to your ear. “Seriously though. That was hot.”

You roll your eyes before sending a scowl his way. “I’ll make sure to be extra messy tonight, just for you.” Your eyes crinkle peevishly. The sarcastic tone doesn’t escape him, but he does look hopeful.

“Hey, speaking of, this could be my New Macau. If you’re feeling frisky after the mission.” He throws you a flirtatious wink. While your poker face implies disinterest, your stomach is somersaulting head over heels, and you have a feeling he knows it by the way his eyes linger on you when you raise your glass to your lips.

The phone in your purse vibrates. It’s a text from Yeji - need to get a move on. Jeon already has your gaze when you look back to meet him, but he knows it’s time from your expression alone. With a small nod, he goes up to end the game on the machine’s screen. Instead of coming back to you, though, he subtly taps your arm as he walks past and heads off to the door of the main floor, disappearing from your sight. You wait for a good thirty seconds, let people pass across the camera view at random, before hopping down from the barstool to follow in his footsteps.

You find him waiting in a secluded hallway, away from crowds or casino-regulars. He looks solemn, back pressed against the wall, and you have a feeling that what he has to say might upset you. He thinks so, too.

“Listen, you have to make a decision now. Before we split up, because there’s a chance I might not see you after this.”

You shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyebrows draw together as he gives you a pleading expression. His eyes flick to both sides of the hall before coming back to you, releasing a deep breath before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“I gave you the time, Y/N. You have to before it’s too late.” Jeon gulps, fumbling for the words. “Just come with me, please. I know it’s a lot to ask and I know you’re scared but you can trust me. I can help you.”

“No, Gguk. You don’t get it - It’s not possible. It’s not an option.” You sigh in resignation. A depleted smile surfaces as you shake your head. “Not in this life.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You did it once, you can do it again.”

“I’m not… I- I won’t. Y/N, please…” His lip quivers, his eyes glossing over.

He can’t accept the answer your silence provides. It’s not enough, not something he’s willing to endure. If it’s going to be a no, he has to hear it loud and clear.

He purses his lips tight. “I’ll flip a coin then.”

“...What?”

“I’ll flip a coin. Heads, you come with me. Tails, I’ll go,” he says shakily, swallowing, “...and I’ll never speak to you again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s wiping away the tears that have not yet had the chance to escape and aggressively fishing a quarter from his pocket, placing it on the tip of his thumb. Desperation burns in him, but you’re paralyzed. All you can do is stare, a fish out of water being held in the grip of an angler who just can’t let go. Or maybe one that’s urging you back out to sea.

His thumb flicks and the coin flies, the sound barely audible in this corner of the building but piercing to your ears. It flips in the air, every rotation executed with purpose - in that moment, as its arc nearly completes, the thought strikes you like lightning and without a second thought, you hand reaches up and snatches it midair.

Jeon is awestruck. He searches for something to say as his fountain of hope runs dry.

Weakly, you mutter, “Okay.” Its compliance, but a strange relief that makes you feel guilty the second it washes over you.

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

A tight-lipped smile spreads on his face - it’s the best he can do after such stress. In a heartbeat, he embraces you tightly, broad shoulders enveloping your form. His grip is familiar and only full of good things, even if it might suffocate you. His long, wavy locks brush lightly against your jaw as he buries his face in your neck. For once, you let yourself have that rare moment of comfort.

“I won’t let you down,” he says, a vocal assurance for himself maybe more than for you. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say it, but he has to. “I promise.”

It’s his first small triumph tonight. If nothing else, it is a debt repaid. He won’t push for more. He pulls back, lets you fix your hair and readjust your dress.

“Let’s get a move on. I’ll search the main floor, you take a look around the building. Keep in touch.”

You’re about to turn away from him, but his arm catches your wrist at the last second. When you look back to see what he has to say, he has trouble finding the right words.

“Listen… Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but I have this awful feeling. And I’m trying to ignore it, I know I’m probably just nervous, but I just want you to know in case. You don’t have to say anything…”

The hair framing your face bounces as your head begins to shake, trying to deny him before he can even say it. “No, Gguk, I know-”

“No. I...I love you. And you gotta know that, no matter what happens.” His thumb traces small circles on the patch of skin where yours meets your index. Before you have a chance to respond, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, lips plush and sweet against your dimple, his last action as your token of remembrance.

He doesn’t know why he feels so frail as he walks away, wiping away the wetness leaking from his eyes as he tries to calm himself down. Maybe it’s the lack of information, maybe it’s you possibly being in danger again. He tries to push it down as he struggles to resist the urge to look back at you; He’s just all up in his head, right? You can defend yourself, you’ll be fine without him, he reassures himself. You can make rope from kitchen twine.

You’re stuck on your own as the distance between you grows, heart racing as your time to say it back runs out like sand in an hourglass. In less than seconds, his figure has already disappeared around the corner.

A delicate finger reaches up to press the small button on the spyware piece tucked behind your ear. The whisper is low but you mean every syllable, regardless of the leftover turmoil that has consistently tempted you into anger the past few years - “I love you, Jeongguk.”

It’s a shot in the dark for you without his physical presence, but he hears it. It’s barely audible, but he hears it, and rings in his mind for moments after. It makes him feel right, like the moment when everything sifts into the bowl perfectly, no clumps of doubt left behind in the minuscule metal crosshatches. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of relief stays frozen in time.

You’re on your way back to the main hall when a buzz from your purse alerts you to an unknown number calling your phone. Typically you’d let it ring, thinking it was spam - but considering this was an agency phone, that wouldn’t make much sense. Your finger hovers over the green accept button, hesitantly pressing down and lifting it to your ear.

The response is immediate. “The Scorpion,” a man on the other end addresses you, sounding much too enthusiastic for your taste. His voice is masked with a changer, the tone fluctuating as he speaks. “I’m glad you could make it tonight. I’ve spent a lot to make this place nice.”

The theatrics elicit an impatient eye roll from you. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think? You’re a smart cookie. There’s a reason they call you the Scorpion, isn’t there?”

He lets the pause marinate and continues, “I actually wanted to meet with you. I need to discuss something vital to you in person, but you’ll have to do some things for me first.”

You begin to turn around, spinning on your heels and intent on heading to Jeongguk downstairs, but the voice on the phone stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, an eyebrow raising at the voice’s inquiry. Keen eyes scan quickly, landing on the faceless lens of a security camera -

“It’s my casino. Of course I can see what you’re doing.”

A skeptical breath escapes you, squinting at the camera focused on your position. “...What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.” It’s casual.

“How do I know it’s not a trap?” “You don’t. But you don’t have any other option, really. If you need convincing… why don’t you check your home security?”

The dubious persona falters as your heart stops. It couldn’t be. You exit the call and open the app on your phone right away, and a sinking feeling hits you like a truck on the freeway, full speed and with reckless abandon. The view from the camera, grey and grainy, displays the apartment in pieces, furniture overthrown and papers scattered. The dread crawls up your spine as your worst nightmare, the one thing you always prayed for despite the lack of faith, comes to life; Penny is gone.

You call the number back.

“What now?” you say, jaw clenched. trying to calm your breathing.

“Take out your earpiece, toss it to the floor, and crush it. I need to protect my location somehow, right? Just a precaution.”

You slowly remove the receiver from its spot nestled in around your ear, thumbing the tiny matte black tech. It’s your connection to the outside, to safety. It’s your connection to Jeongguk. But the Falcon has played his cards right, leaving you with no other option. It falls from your fingertips, clatters to the linoleum, and you crush it underneath your heel.

“Now, your weapons. My guards will come to escort you - hand over your gun and any knives you may have on you. I know you’re sneaky, but now… really isn’t the time. I’ll see you in a bit.” A cold click ends the call and he’s gone.

On cue, two masked men dressed in all black emerge. They don’t frighten you, you know you could take them if you needed to. However, the priority is Penny, so you have to. You surrender your weapons and phone to them, and then they begin to shuffle you away to wherever the Falcon had made his nest.

Despite the nerves prickling like electric shocks, uneasiness itches in the back of your mind. Something about the phone call - was it the strange familiarity that made you feel so nauseous? You couldn’t quite place your finger on what was so off, on what about it pulled the alarm, but something besides the obvious situation at hand was wrong.

☆☆☆

Jeongguk doesn’t have much to go off of. He’s looking for something, anything, that can clue him in. He finds a creepy looking stairwell and decides to take it down. That’s how you find everything in need of being found, right? By following what feels off?

He comes to a storage room full of dusty metal shelves, all lined with boxes upon boxes. He takes a quick sweep of the room, shrugging to himself before delving into one. It’s just piles of text he doesn’t understand, pages and pages of orders and receipts dating back years and years. Maps of the building, information of repairs and inventory and renovations. It doesn’t mean anything useful, until he sees orders under names that ring a bell.

But from where? People he went to school with, maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember where he knows them from.

He’s frantically flipping through pages, pulling boxes from the shelves and trying his best to read under the dim light. It’s not making any sense, until he lands on orders filed under the name… Jeon?

He freezes, all alone in the middle of a storage room full of thousands of documents, a sickly feeling washing over him.

A trembling hand reaches up to press the button on his earpiece.

“Y/N? I think I just found something.”

He waits, and no response from you.

“...Y/N?”

☆☆☆

The penthouse is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks away from the Belvedere. The view is enough to tell it to you - it overlooks miles of blinking lights and busy streets with which you have an archetypal love-hate relationship with.

You’ve stepped fresh off the elevator into an open room that is in dire need of an interior decorator, or at the very least some basic furnishing. It’s basically empty, the dark hardwood floors even coated with a light layer of dust. Nothing except the moon and the fireplace at the other end of the room illuminate the space.

There’s shuffling, and the guards on either side of you are grabbing firmly onto your arms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggle against them, fighting to get out of their grip, but one of them mutters how it’ll be better for you if you cooperate. You strain against the instinct to escape, every bone in your body screaming disgusted by the forced submission. Handcuffs click into place, and pressure on your shoulders pushes you to your knees. Then, they resign themselves to the back corners of the room.

A door creaks open at the far side of the room. The man sports a dark coat that obscures his figure, and long, dark hair hangs over the man’s face. His steps are slow and calculated on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the fire. Slender, practiced fingers grab onto the poker and stir the fire, glowing orange embers soaring in a blizzard of an inferno. A silver ring glints in the moonlight - one you’d recognize anywhere.

The details flood back, chains of connections like dominoes tipping over the edge of gut-wrenching betrayal -

“...Boss?”

The man pauses, followed by a sudden clasp of his hands in… delight?

He spins on the heel of his oxfords to face you, hair sweeping back as he smiles at you.

“Keen as ever, my dear. You truly are the Scorpion. I know how you feel about your title, but you’re deserving of it.”

A shaky breath leaves your throat, eyes stinging as you make out a low, “What is this?”

At the sight of your panic, the boss hurries over to you, making a show of how he takes your jaw in his hands. Though you flinch, he wipes the escaping tear with a calloused thumb.

“No, dear, no need to cry! This doesn’t have to be difficult. You are just leverage - you won’t be hurt as long as what needs to happen, happens.” The way he shakes his head, the twisted compassion in his eyes, makes you sick.

“Then where’s Penny?”

His sigh is accompanied by a sad smile. “Penny is the leverage over you. In case you get any funny ideas.”

“For what? What is this about?” you press, “What about the Syndicate, huh? Aren’t you gonna tell me what this is for?”

A rush of air, and then a sharp pressure on your throat. The Boss’s blade creeping up your throat - a small burn as he nicks your skin.

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You should remember where your loyalties lie.”

You swallow thickly, and he continues.

“The Syndicate is real. Their presence in this city is real - but we are on good terms with them. I help them, they help me. They sacrifice a few men because they do what’s needed for the terms of the agreement, just like us.”

He blew up a building, ransacked the agency, led you on a wild goose chase in search of a threat that didn’t exist? There was always something psychotic about the Boss, that’s why he instilled so much fear in you - his lack of empathy, the lengths he’d go just for a show of power, but a ploy like this?

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

He scoffs. “It’s not about you, my dear. It never was. It’s about your connection to who it is about…”

His grin grows inverse to your pained frown, lips quivering as the realization dawns on you. “Jeongguk.”

“You’re the link, Y/N. I know how much you hate to love him. Only if you were forced to for the sake of the city. The reconnection wouldn’t be easy, but that boy is persistent, and the moment he heard you say those words back, it was sealed.”

You’re choked by the weight of his words crashing down on your throat. It’s horrifying, the way the tears well up and spill recklessly, finding it hard to breathe with your arms restrained. You focus your hardest on the effort to stay conscious, but the nausea is eating away at you.

“He was honest, too. He’s tried multiple times to fish you out of here. And it always rubbed me the wrong way. He’ll leave me behind, but not you? You’re my best, Y/N, but I despise you simply because of what your existence means.”

“You’re going to kill him?” you bite your lip to hold back the sob trying to crawl its way from your chest.

The Boss blinks, tilting his head in a faked compassion. “Only if he makes the same mistake again.”

An alert sounds out from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and holds it up to show you a map with a green dot steady on a location, seemingly yours.

“And it looks like we’ll find out right about… now.”

The elevator behind you opens, and the guards point their guns straight at the figure stepping off. His gun is held up protectively, but he has nowhere to go, face falling as he reads the situation - reads the pain on your face as you stare back at him on the floor.

He lowers his pistol, glaring at the man waiting smugly in front of him.

“Nice to see you again, Jeongguk.”

His lip turns down in disgust, spitting rancor -

“Can’t say the same for myself, Dad.”

☆☆☆

The tension in the air is tight, like a thousand strings of yarn pinned wall to wall and floor to ceiling and impossible to maneuver. The Boss tsks at the cold reunion, more bitter than he had hoped.

“What, you didn’t miss me all these years? I raised you, after all.”

“Raised me?” Jeongguk scoffs incredulously. “Try training me into your personal pawn, like some fucked up trophy for you to flaunt.”

“It was only so you could someday take my spot, son. I treated you the same way my father did me.”

The bitter timbre of his voice is laced with venom, so uncharacteristic of the Jeongguk you know. “Well, I worked out my daddy issues with a therapist. Maybe you should give it a shot. You should also probably mention how fucked up you are to plan a scheme like this just to bring me here.”

“You left, Jeongguk. I’d do anything for my son.”

“Oh, please-”

A loud click, and cool metal pressed against your forehead. Jeongguk freezes, and he knows the stakes. His blood boils from the blatant manipulation. There was a reason he left - he hated feeling this exact moment, and he hated reliving it even more. It was a place he thought he’d never be in again.

The Boss rolls his eyes again. “Always with something to say, forgetting I’m your elder, your father no less. Plan on letting me speak soon?”

His eyes are as cool as Jeongguk’s now. Dark, disappeared from dramatic frills or drawn-out tones. The resemblance is stunning, strikes fear in your heart, both physical and the mannerisms long-buried by time now resurfaced by each other.

When you meet the Boss’s eyes, they show no remorse for someone he claimed thinks of as his best.

Jeongguk’s eyes flick down and back up. Cooperation.

“Thank you.” He pulls the gun away, letting you catch a breath. “It’s simple, son. You agree to come back, and everything goes smoothly. If not, you won’t be leaving this room alive, and neither will she. Can’t have my trump cards playing against me.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“She’s the reason you’re here, how could I leave her out of this?”

“This is you and me. Not her.”

His father muses the idea, chews it up, spits it out. “Okay,” he grins. “Just us. I’d say go until one surrenders, but that’s not how us Jeons do it. If you can kill me, you’re free to do what you want.”

The guards lower their weapons, leaving the room at a snap of the Boss’s fingers, and Jeongguk’s grip on his tightens, knuckles turning white as he nods sharply in agreement. He’s been caught, a three-year-long game of cat and mouse finally come to a standstill. The man he looks at is just another cruel, cold-hearted crook on a power trip. The last thing he wants to do is fight him, because as skilled as Jeongguk might be, his father is equally such. He also has the upper hand: No feelings of remorse.

But he sees you on the floor, and when it comes to your life on the line, he knows he’d do anything. No matter the risk or the cost, he’d play a losing hand if he had to, if just to keep the fear from your mind. He steps past you, eyes speaking of reassurance when they meet yours, but it’s not a promise.

Once Jeongguk has made his way around you to the center of the room, the Boss’s attention falls to you.

“Hear that, dear? This is a family issue. But in case you need any more convincing…”

The same door he creaked through minutes ago flies open, and in shuffles two people. Penny’s figure mirrors your own, arms tied behind her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. There’s no blood or bruising visible, but it kills you the second you lay eyes on her. Your chest heaves silently, panic rising as she is brought in front of the fireplace, led by… Yeji?

The sleek, dark ponytail is unmistakable, and her cat eyes flick over to you in guilt as your words confirm her presence.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths, tears clouding her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

It was impossible to believe how easily everything was collapsing. Maybe your foundations were not as strong as you once thought. Wasn’t it just a week ago you had last spoken to her, taken her advice on working with Jeongguk?

“Again. No need for anyone to get hurt as long as you don’t interfere.”

But would Yeji hurt Penny, even at the Boss’s command? Was she that scared of him? Penny finds you, and you try your best to communicate reassurance, but you fall short. She trembles in fear the same as you.

Without warning, the Boss’s blade flies across the room. Jeongguk side steps, but the red gash sliced along his cheek taunts him for being a second too late. He reaches up a finger to dab at the blood in awe.

His anger fuels him forward. He raises his gun, ringing out shots that bury themselves in the drywall as he closes the gap. The Boss dodges each one. Slender fingers pull the gun from its holster, firing back immediately, glass shattering behind the younger.

Jeongguk zig zags on his feet, blade swinging up viciously at his father while he pulls the trigger in his left hand. The Boss is quick despite his age, no hesitation to his wide, ruthless swings. Jeongguk ducks and spins, changing their positions, knocking a knife from his grasp.

The man laughs. “That was good, but you can do better!” he yells, evading Jeongguk’s relentless swipes. As he taunts, a shard of glass reaches your vicinity. “Or are you too scared to hurt your old man?”

Your fingers bleed hot as you force the shard into the keylock, lifting up the metal lever.

It only fuels Jeongguk’s fire. A firm kick to the chest sends the Boss stumbling back. Jeongguk progresses, his knife dropping around in his grip, taking the slim moment to drive a sharp ice pick stab to his father's shoulder.

His eyes flick to you, and he doesn’t have the time to pull it back out. His father parries his left wrist outward and the gun is knocked from his fingertips, skidding to the floor, arriving kindly right in front of you. A single shot blasts out and Jeongguk lets out a clipped yelp. Your wrists free from the lock and reach for the solution just inches away.

But it’s already checkmate. The Boss’ blade is pressed up against Jeongguk’s throat, who is on his knees as he clutches at his thigh, crimson seeping through his fingers.

“Has the Lion been tamed since I last saw him?” The Boss mocks. There is nowhere for Jeongguk to go. “I’m disappointed, son. Love has made you weak.”

It steals the breath from your lungs. His eyes dart to your figure, mirroring his son’s actions just moments ago. He dares you to make a move. With his play, you can’t.

But that’s where the Boss is wrong. The man void of love sees it as a shot with a predetermined course from point A to point B, easily interfered with by the right tools, by the right move. However, love should not be mistaken for something meager. It’s an ever-weaving thread, crossing and connecting each and every way. Love does not have to be star-crossed and dire, it is not always a fated, tragic romance. There is no one love to outlast all others - not when it can be one you choose.

Yeji meets your eyes from across the room. The Boss has only a bluff catcher against her, the mistake of expecting loyalty before knowing for sure. It’s a twisted collusion that you never would have chosen, but it’s not your hand to play anymore.

Her vision is blurry through her tears. Yeji takes a breath she’s sure will be her last and releases it shakily. She has to do it now. She thinks of every other woman roped into his scheme, every future Penny that will be taken if it doesn’t end here, and she knows you can do it, because she was never strong enough to.

“Forgive me,” she croaks.

An enraged bellow leaves the Boss, but all too late. She has already fired, breaking the lock that has held you captive all these years. A scream rips from your throat as Penny’s body falls forward and collapses to the hardwood.

Yeji is shredded by the entourage of bullets ripping from the Boss’s gun. She stumbles back, hits the wall, sinks to the floor.

Your hands instinctively reach for the weapon in front of you, hands fumbling as you pull the trigger with the weight of a thousand lives behind your index alone. The Boss falls, knife slipping from his fleeting grip, the third and final seal to the game.

The silence is stunning. Nothing feels real. It’s all shock before the pain rushes in, the inability to breath, the feeling of drowning. It’s utter anguish as you fight to the other side of the room, but Jeongguk holds you back. Pushing past him, only for him to spin you around and make you look him in the eye.

“We have to go,” he says through gritted teeth, voice cracking. His eyes plead with you as they blink away tears. Blood coats his hands, urgently dripping down his wrists as they grip yours. “Y/N, we have to go.”

It dawns just as the day on the glowing horizon behind him that it’s over, but there is no victory in sight.

☆☆☆

The coming days are a whirlwind. Most of the time you’re numb, finding yourself stuck in your mind replaying memories over and over, and wincing to pull yourself out of them to the real world that is not much better. The funerals are a blur, long and tiring processions of black and sympathies you are not capable of accepting that leave your head pounding by the time you finally can sleep. But the dream world is not as kind to you as you would have hoped.

It isn’t the memory of her death. It’s the memory of her smile, bright and tender, that could not see another day to shine. You haven’t stepped foot in the apartment yet. You will at some point, but not yet.

Yeji is another story. It’s a moral dilemma of what your inner compass tells you is wrong and your love for the only friend you ever had. Yeji was not bad, you know that. But it was murder, and perhaps that was why it did not go unpunished. Were her actions the results of weakness, or strength? Of personal desire, or wide-scale consideration? You could spend hours wondering whether things might have been different if she hadn’t done it, but at the end of the day, you would never get the chance to know.

In the meantime, the mafia is collapsing. Those who wanted to leave took their chance the second the news of the Boss’s death came in. Ran away to other cities, shelters, anywhere they could to get away from the struggle of the organization. Others who had nothing else are stranded picking up the pieces. They won’t be able to make a comeback, you know that. They’ll turn to other forms of crime, maybe even those that you’ll have to face again in the future.

You can get away from it all for a few moments of peace, but not much more.

Jeongguk’s apartment is close to the marina. He’s lucky for such a beautiful view. This early in the morning, the world is silent, relaxing without the mindless bustling of life. Boats float calmly across the harbor, sails reaching up to the sky streaked with blossoming pinks and clement oranges. Daybreak’s retiring light glitters as it touches the surface of the water with a gentle hand.

The glass door slides open slowly behind you, and Jeongguk’s presence enters to calm your thoughts. The slight limp in his step is barely visible, and he’s lucky that his father’s bullet avoided his femoral artery. If it did, he’d probably be in a much more dire situation than he has now. Since that night, rumors have surfaced that the Boss missed due to nervousness, or fear. Jeongguk knows that his father’s aim was too sharp to miss, and also that he was a hypocrite.

He takes a seat in the chair beside yours. His hair is mussed from a long night of tossing and turning, the same as yours.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, tongue coated with exhaust.

He hums. “Me neither.”

The flux of air from his sturdy chest is a comfort that relieves the pain for just a little while. Lifts it away like a fog being cleared, and the weight falls off your shoulders so you can breathe again. His eyes swim with affection, and you’re sure that a thousand particles of stardust must be locked away behind his irises.

It never fails to amaze you how Jeongguk always seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I know.” It’s weak, barely a whisper. Your head drops to your palms despite your claim. “But it really feels like it.”

He takes a deep breath, atmosphere placid and unassuming. “You did everything you could. Some things are just out of your control, no matter what you do. It’s not fair, but just because you couldn’t stop something bad from happening doesn’t mean you caused it.”

You swallow blearily. “I just don’t even know where to go from here. It’s never going to be the same. So what do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” he speaks gingerly, “Maybe you should get out of here. Start again, somewhere else. I’ll probably do the same eventually.”

Your head begins to shake at the thought.

“I don’t want you to go,” you pause. “I told you that.”

Jeongguk softens. “Oh… okay. I, I won’t then.”

Finally, your head raises to see him properly. His calm guise masks the need of reassurance beneath. “I mean it. Do you remember when you said to tell you the next time so it didn’t land on what I didn’t want?”

He nods slowly.

“When it was in the air, there was just this split second watching it that it hit me. I knew what I wanted. Despite everything,” the corners of your mouth upturn, but not all that happily, “I wanted to choose you.”

Dark, wavy hair falls in front of his eyes, brushing at the healing cut that will certainly leave a scar. His gaze is tender and soft and all that’s good in this world. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

“I forgive you, Jeongguk. For everything, I don’t care. I’d go through it again and again if I had to.” A fleeting smile pushes the tears from their deep wells. “‘Cause I need you.”

Jeongguk suffered the subtle heartbreak of unknowing for years on end. He’d sit on his balcony just like this, mild evenings under the setting sun, knowing you were out there living under the same sky as him, yet so far apart. He thought of you crossing city streets, breathing the air of the home you loved and hated simultaneously, maybe even sitting out on the fire escape of your own apartment. You were within a radius of just miles, which sounds like nothing compared to how far he’d go for you.

He saw you everywhere. Saw you in every crevice and crack of the city. When the sun was shining brightly, when rain poured like bullets. From the window of the train, from the coffee shop. Retracing his routine steps was hard when he always saw your footprints right beside his own.

It was the feeling he’d been waiting on. At last, he feels contentment in his chest. It’s all he’s ever wanted. His pulse stutters as he thinks that he might just be dreaming, but when he reaches out to touch your clasped hands, steady fingers curling over yours, he knows it’s real. You’re real. It’s pure, unadulterated sunshine splintering over his soul.

Jeongguk stands, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulls you up with care and tugs you into his embrace, warm and kind. His arms around you are safe and sound, and the gentle beat of his heart eases the noise in your mind. It’s the heart that wouldn’t quit on you, the one the angels must either admire or envy. It’s the only thing that feels okay.

One day, things will be better. It’s far away and hard to grasp, but it’s there, waiting for you. Things that are meant to be will find a way, no matter how long it takes, just as Jeongguk and you found your way to this very balcony. But for now, sharing the weight of a heavy heart soothes the lonesome burden of loss, and what it means to love.

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

“Beware” - A GLOW Sequel

F/M pairing: Y/N x Seo Changbin

Warnings: Smut, Language, and mentions of violence

Genre: Werewolf AU

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: Oftentimes, Y/N is fine with Changbin’s insistence that she and their new pup stay protected inside the cabin. But just one night outside the camp should be okay, right?

A/N: Changbin as a dad. Thank you.

Let me preface my observation with this: after nine months of labor, I thought that I might return to my regular nights of sleeping for a comfortable nine hours before starting a fresh new day. However, it was wishful thinking because, as it turns out, raising a pup is the equivalent of permanent insomnia, and I was lucky to even close my eyes for a few minutes in between feedings. In actuality, it was Changbin’s fault that our pup slept between the two us every night - depriving us both of intimacy and the comforts of stretching out our limbs without a wriggling bed mate who tossed and turned at whim.

Changbin insisted that we should enjoy these moments because our pup will eventually grow older and no longer wish to share her parent’s bed. He also claimed that it made him feel better when his mate and daughter were close to him in case anything happened. Which I tried my best to understand. But the biggest problem was actually managing to calm down a rambunctious three-year-old to the point where she wasn’t demanding our attention.

Maybe it was the small portion of sweets that I had allowed her to consume at dinner, but Leah was treating her parents like they were glorified playgrounds. At one point, I had rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face into the pillows, hoping to dissuade her playful attacks. And when she only received a groan of complaint from her mother, Leah turned her attention to Changbin who was more than willing to entertain her childish imagination.

“I’m gonna be an even better hunter than daddy!” Leah exclaimed, wrestling on top of Changbin as he allowed her to hold down his arms.

“You pinned me!” Changbin said in mock surprise, and I snorted around a laugh as I felt the exhaustion heavy in my limbs.

“I win!” Leah giggled, squealing when she was wrapped into Changbin’s arms. His lips pressed soft kisses to her glowing cheeks, and there was almost a feeling similar to jealousy burning in my chest when I thought about how long it had been since Changbin and I were intimate.

I groaned at the thought. How pathetic was I? Feeling that way because my daughter was receiving so much attention from her father?

Changbin eventually tucked Leah into the space between her parents with a gentle touch. “I think mommy’s tired, sweetheart,” Changbin said. “How about we all try to get some sleep?”

“Okay,” Leah whispered in return, and I would’ve felt endeared at her easy compliance if I didn’t already knew that Leah would likely wake-up again in a few hours because pups apparently operated on very strange sleep schedules.

In any case, I purred in delight when Changbin pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, whispering a muffled “I love you” against the skin.

“I love you both,” I said, closing my eyes because I was determined to get as much sleep as possible.

Changbin was gone for most of the following day - attending to his duties as the pack’s beta wolf. Meanwhile, I did my best to entertain my daughter - playing a variety of games while wondering if she might be more interested in something that required less exercise. However, perhaps it was good that I chased her around for most of the morning because Leah suddenly wanted to nap for once and I helped tuck her into bed.

“Is she sleeping?” Changbin asked from behind me, and I startled since I wasn’t expecting to hear him.

“Yeah,” I said. “Did you need something?”

“I left the evening patrols to Jisung,” he replied.

“Really?” I asked with a mischievous smirk, leading him out of Leah’s bedroom and into the one we shared at the other end of the hallway. For the most part, Leah was agreeable with sleeping in her room during the day, even if she insisted that the imaginary monsters under her bed were too much during night. Which meant I received very few favorable opportunities to get Changbin alone like this.

I gently tugged on his shirt, pulling him into our bedroom. “How about you take care of me, daddy?” I asked, and Changbin growled before molding our lips together in a searing kiss.

It didn’t take long for his hands to make a leisurely exploration of my body, tracing along my curves and shifting my clothes around to touch bare skin. “Shit, Y/N,” Changbin sighed, guiding one of my hands down to his bulging erection.

I smirked against his lips as I squeezed him through his pants. “Did you lock the door?” I whispered, moaning when his fingers crawled up the opening of my shorts.

“Of course,” Changbin purred, jerking down my shorts before he lifted me over his shoulder. I gasped at the display of strength, shrieking when he landed a slap on my ass while carrying me to our bed. It was jolting when he threw me down onto the mattress, looking me over with narrowed eyes. “Take off your panties and spread your legs for me,” Changbin said, reaching down for his belt. “I want to see that pretty cunt all wet for my cock.”

I shivered at his dirty words, but it was hard to disobey the clear authority in Changbin’s voice as I quickly shoved my panties down my legs, holding my thighs apart so that I was exposed to him. “Binnie,” I cried, feeling a fresh wave of slick leak out of my core.

“Oh, shit, Y/N,” Changbin said, losing his jeans and underwear before jerking himself off with a tight fist. “Are you ready for me?”

“Fuck, yes,” I managed, feeling my entire body flush as he threw one of my legs over his shoulder, prodding the tip of his cock against my swollen cunt. He was gentle then - sinking into my expectant heat until the swell of his knot fit snugly against my opening.

“God, it’s been too long,” Changbin said, taking a deep breath like he was trying to resist the urge to fuck me hard into the mattress.

“It feels so good,” I said, bracing my hands on his shoulders as he gave an experimental thrust - dragging his cock perfectly along my tight walls.

“Hold still for me, babe,” he said, closing his eyes as he held tightly to my thighs, holding out my legs even further for a better angle at my pussy.

“Please just fuck me, Changbin,” I said, leaning up for another deep kiss.

“If that’s what you want,” Changbin growled, and I was already trembling as he pressed his cock back inside of me at an impossible depth. His hips started rocking even faster, gradually picking up speed as I started to adjust around him - practically gaping for him at this point. “I’m gonna fill this pussy full of my cum,” he snarled, jerking back when I squeezed around him.

“Changbin, I-”

CLICK! The sound of the lock on our door being messed with was jarring, and Changbin and I looked at one another before jumping into action.

“Shit,” Changbin cursed, pulling his cock free before tucking himself into bed next to me, dragging the sheet over our exposed bodies. He reached for our underwear out of the floor, pushing my panties into my hand before we both turned to watch Leah poke her head inside the room.

“Why did you lock the door?” Leah asked as a single tear fell down the side of her puffy cheek. “Did mommy and daddy not want me?”

“Oh, we’re both sorry, sweetie,” I said, even though I was curious as to how my daughter managed to even get inside.

“We didn’t do it on purpose,” Changbin said, holding out his hands for Leah who immediately rushed around to his side of the bed.

Meanwhile, I managed to pull my underwear back on, wincing at the sensitivity of my clit against the fabric. It was hard to stay mad at my daughter, but I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that was still disappointed that I had been denied yet another orgasm. But there was nothing I could do to revive the mood, and I watched as my daughter settled against Changbin’s side as he began to recount his day.

The weekend approached fast, and both Leah and myself were disappointed when Changbin announced that he would be leaving camp for a few days to visit the Vampires with Chan.

“Is Daddy coming back?” Leah had asked with her best pout.

“I won’t be gone long,” Changbin promised her, standing up straight to offer me a quick kiss before he was closing the front door behind him.

It wasn’t often that Changbin took these long trips away from the pack, but this was the first time since Leah had been born. Thus, my mind was a whirlwind of anxieties, and did my best to entertain my daughter despite her occasional desire to go outside. “Maybe later,” I always said in return, and usually it was enough to convince her.

For the most part, Leah behaved for the first and second days of Changbin’s absence, albeit with a darker mood. Unfortunately, on the day before Changbin’s anticipated return, Leah must’ve hit her breaking point because she had never went this long without her father. I did my very best to appease her - attempting to coax her into bed because when she woke-up the next morning, Changbin should be back.

However, long after the sun went down Leah was restless sleeping next to me in bed. She had yet to stop tossing and turning - her scent bitter with an unpleasant smell while small whines filled the room. “Leah.” I sighed, hoping that my daughter would heed the warning in my tone.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered to me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, sometimes daddy takes me on walks,” Leah said, turning over onto her side to fix me with a look.

“I don’t think we should go out with your father,” I said, shivering at the idea.

“Just for a little while?” Leah pouted. “I promise I’ll go right to sleep.”

“I don’t know...” I replied, still hesitant about the idea of leaving camp, but Leah’s pouting and whining was quite persistent, and I eventually gave in if she promised to go right to sleep when we returned.

In the next instance, I found myself following my daughter as we walked around the outskirts of the camp, listening as she mindlessly chattered about the changing leaves signaling Autumn’s impending arrival. “Let’s not go too far,” I warned her anxiously.

There was something dangerous permeating the air around us, and I wasn’t keen on discovering the source. But my daughter was still naive to the dangers of the world, and I immediately picked up my pace when I saw her scampering outside of the camp entrance. “Leah!” I hissed.

Immediately, my instincts were on high alert as I followed my daughter’s footsteps, stumbling over some old roots that were cracking through the ground. My eyes quickly adjusted to the dark night, and I found my daughter standing next to one of the old pine trees, waving up at a small barn owl who considered my daughter with an impenetrable stare.

“You can’t leave the camp,” I scolded her, snatching her hand even as she giggled in delight at her discovery. “Wait until we get back...”

“Mommy, what’s that?” Leah interrupted, and I swallowed hard as I followed her outstretched hand to a pile of underbrush that provided the perfect coverage for a pair of scarlet-red eyes.

The scent was putrid, and my wolf recognized the vampire’s distinctive smell as I pulled my daughter away from the impending danger. “Stay behind me!” I said, and I hated the look of fear in my daughter’s eyes. But I allowed my wolf to takeover as I shifted into a defensive form, digging my new claws into the fresh Earth.

The vampire didn’t take kindly to the sudden challenge, letting out a piercing snarl as it left the coverage of its hiding spot to slowly slink closer to where I was waiting. It had been years since my last battle training, and I would have to rely on what little knowledge I could remember. Because there was no backing down, and I would do whatever was necessary to protect my daughter.

Still, I was unprepared for the vampire to make the first move, launching itself at me with uncanny speed. The hit was enough to knock my on my back, feeling the air leave my lungs before I felt the first painful bite on my hindleg. I howled in protest, spinning around to fling the vampire away from me. I was back on my feet in an instant, rushing at the superior fighter with a pounding heart and a mother’s spirit chanting to protect my daughter.

I should’ve listened to Changbin when he offered to teach me practice moves, but I never thought that I would need them. But hindsight is 20/20, and I whimpered when the vampire wrapped its arms around my chest - fingertips digging into my skin. I recognized instantly that it was trying to break my sternum, and adrenaline kicked in as I tried desperately to fight against him. But it was to no avail, and I could only think about my daughter watching from the trees as her mother was torn apart by a rogue vampire.

Yet, the anticipated pain never came, and I was gasping for air when I felt the vampire’s weight leave my body - collapsing to the ground in pain. Everything was hurting, and I couldn’t differentiate between the pain spots as I looked up to see a flash of black cross my line of vision. The fight was vicious, and there was blood painting the grass and a foul stench filling the air.

But when I came to my senses - having recovered just a little from my attack - I instantly recognized the bigger wolf who had successfully wrestled the vampire to the ground. “Changbin,” I managed between heavy inhales, watching as the onyx-black wolf held up the vampire’s head between his teeth.

Meanwhile, I could feel the presence of my daughter nearby - pressing her little hands against my fur. “Daddy?” Leah inquired, hesitantly peaking her head from around my raised haunches.

The simple call had a strange effect on my enraged mate, and Changbin dropped the corpse from between his teeth before shifting back to his human form. I quickly followed suit, meeting him halfway across the forest before throwing my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry,” I cried into his shoulder, feeling comforted by the familiar sensation of his warm arms wrapped around me - ignoring the pain that was slowly dissipating as my enhanced healing took effect.

“It’s okay,” Changbin whispered. “It was a rogue. Felix warned us about a wandering coven of nomads.”

I nodded, still feeling my heart racing inside my chest, and I pulled away to glance over at Leah who was still watching us with wide, terror-filled eyes. “Come here, sweetie,” I said, and Leah quietly walked in between her parents, gripping tight to Changbin’s waist.

“Thank you, daddy,” Leah said and Changbin chuckled as he ran his fingers through his hair affectionately.

“What did daddy tell you? He’ll always be around to protect his family.”

Leah nodded, and I felt nothing but safe and secure with the two most important people in my world next to my side.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stayverse #skzsmutnetwork #stray kids changbin #seo changbin fanfic #changbin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #mostlycompetent #requested

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ahkaraii · 3 years

Text

tov postgame drabblefic (3343 words)

“Raven?! Hey, Raven!”

Raven turns to smile at the little shrimp—who’s really more a jumbo shrimp now, with all the acne that comes with puberty—and waves. “Heya, Boss-man!"

Karol’s embrace draws a startled ‘oof!’ out of him, his blastia-heart creaking against his ribs. “You’re in town!” Karol exclaims. “And you didn’t say?!”

“I just got here, kiddo,” Raven says, patting Karol’s back—it used to be a pat on his head, but his head’s just about level with Raven’s now. “Damn, you’re getting tall!”

“You should’a said you were coming,” Karol grouses into his neck. “I’ve got a client I’m already late for across town.”

“Aww, that’s awright. I’ve got some time-sensitive stuff to get ta, too. We can join up after! Brave Vesperia’s still at the same place, yeah?”

“West corner across Saggitarius, yup!” Karol beams. “See you for dinner, then?”

“I’ll whip you up a Sashimi,” Raven promises.

“That’s a promise, pops!” Karol says, and dashes off. Raven scratches his messy hair and abruptly feels very self conscious about it. It’s just a casual nickname, old man, he don't mean naught by it. Relax.

After a fast-tracked meeting with Harry results in a tussle — poking gentle fun at the boy’s attempt at a beard earns him a “Your ass is grass, old man!!” and a surprisingly competent sword duel ensues — the young Master is turning into a proper Don, now — Raven subtly lets Harry disarm him and sprawls on the floor, dramatically defeated.

“Ohhh, these old bones!” Raven mimics being out of breath. “You’ve finally bested me, Master Harry. Do with my ass what you will.”

“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Harry is actually out of breath, so he still needs a bit more practice, but it’s leagues better than he was just a year ago. “A duel is an honourable exchange between men! Stop desecrating it with your jokes!”

“I don’t joke with my ass,” Raven says in his Serious Voice, enjoying Harry’s startled look before he dons his jester’s grin again. “Anywho, this old man’s got places to be, so! Toodles!”

“Wait! Raven! What the hell did you come here for!” Harry’s baritone is quite impressive when he gets proper angry. “Did you just come here to waste my time!”

“Never intentionally,” Raven promises. He’d dropped Flynn’s wax-sealed letter on Harry’s desk during their fight, and points to it as he nimbly leaps up to his usual open window. “There’s your homework, Master Harry! I’ll come by to collect it tomorrow at dawn, ‘kay?”

He leapfrogs out in time to hear Harry’s yelps of protest. “When did you put that there! God damnit, Raven!”

Raven’s grinning as he parkours his way away from Altosk’s headquarters and towards Brave Vesperia’s. If he sharply detours into Saggitarius tavern to catch up with the ladies (and the latest, juiciest gossip — who knew Heliord’s newest guild ambassador was trafficking drugs and possibly underage escorts? he did, now), then that’s just Raven being Raven, right? Karol’ll understand.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” Karol says faux-lightly, when Raven finally makes it back a few minutes past midnight.

Aww, shit.

“Heeey, I promised, didn’t I? Business just stretched out a little.” Raven dithers at Karol’s knowing stare. “C’mon, you still up for a good ol’ Raven’s Special Sashimi?”

“Fish isn’t really fresh by midnight anymore,” Karol says drolly. “Unless you wanna go fishing at this hour?”

They’d only get sewer trash in Dahngrest’s polluted rivers, and the next best thing’s thirty minutes out, at the very least. “Ehhh—how bout a Beef Bowl?” Raven says. “Surely you got some cured meats in your pantry. C’mon!! I’ll teach you!”

“Aw, okay. I am pretty hungry.” Karol’s so easy to please, it’s both heartwarming and kind of sad. “I’ve tried making it before but I can never get mine to taste like yours did.”

“’S all in the seasoning, kiddo. Here, watch the master and learn!”

It’s well past two when they finally call it a night, bellies full and hearts warm; it’s solely because of this that Karol succeeds in wrestling a promise out of Raven that they’d talk more in the morning. See, Raven’s got orders to pick up Harry’s response to Flynn’s letter and hussle back to the Empire ASAP, but even he doesn’t have to heart to deny Karol this simple thing.

Ever since Brave Vesperia saved the world by ruining it, everyone’s been struggling to adapt to life without blastia and Raven’s somehow found himself smack in the middle between the two remaining powers: the Empire and the Guild Union. Former member of both and trusted by all due to his role in stopping the Adephagos, Raven’s got the privilege of being messenger boy between the leaders in lieu of formal meetings, due to the fact that a lack of blastia has made travel…immensely more time consuming.

He’s worn down all the possible routes between Dahngrest and Zaphias for over a decade; the presence or absence of blastia has not really affected Raven’s efficiency and timeliness, which, naturally, has made him an attractive player for both sides. It just sucks that this means he’s always on the go, never really spending much time in one place or another. The first six months couldn’t be helped, it was imperative that everyone get their shit together and master the essentials necessary in order to provide basic living to their respective citizens: barrier blastia had to be replaced with rotating squads of knights and guildsfolk trained to fight; food previously preserved by blastia now had to be kept refrigerated with imported Zophier ice, dominated by the Empire, which had to be kept from melting with salt from Weasand mines, dominated by Guilds; everyone had to coordinate and organise to secure trade routes and avoid conflict, etc, etc.

The next six months after that were peace talks and negotiations between what was quickly becoming independent kingdoms in separate countries. Sea travel had slowed the fuck down overnight, because blastia-fueled engines had become obsolete and everyone now had to rely on wind power, so every passing day each country was slowly but surely becoming more and more isolated from each other, and therefore gradually but surely more hostile.

Emperor Ioder ruled over the continent of Ilyccia with his aristocracy of nobles and meritocracy of knights, struggling to keep the Empire’s global standing while lacking the technology to enforce it; Tolbyccia was pretty much owned by Altosk, ostensibly headed by Harry, who was presently overrun with infighting due to the fact that the Union was composed of many, many guilds all clamouring for leadership, if not democracy; East Desier was dominated by the strong-spirited Palestralle guild and its current leader, Natz, whose militant-minded navy had quickly expanded toward West Hyponia now that the Union’s presence was months away by treacherous sea; East Hyponia was an oddly peaceful blend of both Guild and Empire, unique in its joint origin and therefore vocally neutral, though that was quickly becoming contested, and, hence, required Raven-the-Pageboy’s timely arrival to avoid it becoming a full out war. Ugh.

The Schwann part of him that still lived felt heavy resignation at the inevitability of violence—the first one to fall would be Raven, he knew, as no messenger could truly remain neutral in a tug of war between such powerful masters—but the more upbeat part of him was like, stop sweating the small stuff and just go with the flow. Shit always resolves itself one way or another, right?

Right?

“You leaving already?” Karol mumbles into his pillow when Raven rises at dawn; kid’s no longer the type to sleep deeply, it seems.

“Just visiting the young Master to collect his response letter for Flynn,” Raven promises quietly. “Go back to sleep, Karol. I’ll be back to make you breakfast before I’m gone.”

Karol eyes him tiredly but he manages a wan smile. “Okay, pops. I trust you.”

Raven feels goosebumps up his arm. Stupid blastia heart runs too damn cold. He heads out at a jog to warm himself up, since Dahngrest runs both chilly and damp at this hour.

Raven no longer sneaks into Altosk’s headquarters like he did when the Don was alive and Harry was a boy; for one, Don is no longer alive to vouch for his slipperiness and for another, Raven represents the Empire here as much as he represents the Guilds in Zaphias, and no one tolerates his antics as they did before, not with the threat of conflict so close to the horizon. He walks in through the front door and waves at all the folks waiting in line—Pecan, Cactus, Lima and good ol’ Walt; all familiar faces turning sour, as usual—and knocks politely on Harry’s door.

“Master Harry,” he sing-songs. “It is I, Raven the Great, come ‘round at last!”

“It’s been barely ten fucking hours,” Harry’s pissed off voice rings loud and clear through the door.

“Shall I come back at noon, then?” Raven asks diplomatically.

An explosive sigh. “No,” Harry mutters. “Get in here. And call Cactus in, too, would you?”

“You heard the Young Master,” Raven says, nodding at the aptly-named mercenary, with his spiked up armour and sharpened teeth.

“You don’t order us around anymore, traitor,” the prickly fellow spits and shoves past him, to whom Raven mockingly bows to as he passes.

Saviour of the world or not, it's no secret now Raven was a triple agent. The official story Harry graciously gave him is that the Don always knew about Raven’s split loyalty (which is true, probably) and trusted him anyway (which is true, too), so Harry and Altosk will continue to trust him as well (which is flattering, but increasingly doubtful). Harry's a good kid shoved into a position of leadership he's not very well suited for, but even Raven can't deny he's trying and doing better every day.

“Cutlass Cactus, I want you to deliver this to Sirena of Siren’s Fang as soon as possible,” Harry says shortly, handing the man a wax-sealed letter. “Wait for a response, but I await it at most a fortnight.”

“Understood, young Master,” Cactus says, thumping his chest at the honour. He takes the letter, glares at Raven, and makes his way out.

“As for you,” Harry says, “I have a question to ask you before I hand this reply over. A serious one.”

Raven feels his age and more. “Yeah?”

“Ioder is a good man. His dog Flynn is, too. I know this personally.”

There is no question here yet, and there are a fair amount of insults between the compliments, but Raven knows the heart of Harry, and he means well.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “They are.”

“But,” Harry continues, coldly. “Two kind heads on a hydra do not make it any less a monster.”

Raven hides a grimace by scratching at his sideburns. “The same can be said of the Guilds,” he says lightly. “Or of any organization grown large enough.”

“Stop twisting my metaphors,” Harry says shortly. “The question I wanted to ask is: what do you think the Empire's end goal is?”

And what is the Guild’s end goal, Schwann wants to counter, when the Guilds’ very existence rose out of violent rejection of the Empire? Raven, for his part, takes a deep breath and exhales it out as a thoughtful hum.

“I think the Empire was built to protect and manage blastia,” Raven muses. “And I think the Guilds were built to reject the Empire’ monopoly of them. But, well, there ain’t no blastia left, so… the Empire wants to micromanage what remains. And the Guilds do, too. Yeah?”

“So there can be no peace?” Harry concludes, tiredly.

“Harry,” Raven says, firmly. “Your grandfather, the Don, united the Guilds back when they were just a bunch of rowdy, armed assholes. Y’know how he did it?”

“By fighting the Empire?” Harry says dully.

“By uniting against a common enemy,” Raven insists. “By uniting against a common threat. The Empire is no longer the enemy—hell, think of the Empire as yet another guild. It’s just a group of rowdy, armed assholes. But you and they got a common enemy now, too.”

Harry looks at him sharply. “The Adephagos is no more,” he says, carefully, “right?”

“Not the Adephagos,” Raven says. “The lack of blastia. The lack of technology. The lack of creature comforts all of us got real used to. That’s our enemy now; the thing we all gotta pitch in together to fix.” Raven bows low to Harry, as low as he would to the Don. “I beg you, young Master: do not war with the Empire. Not now. See them as a business partner, instead.”

“Business, huh,” Harry says heavily, and then flicks his sealed letter in Raven’s direction, who catches it just before it smacks him in the face. “All right. Tell your Master we can’t afford a war, anyway.”

Something uncoils in Raven's chest. “You are my only Master, Harry,” he says, cheekily. Just like Flynn is his only Commandant, now.

“Ugh, the way you say it, you make it sound so gross,” Harry complains. “Get the fuck out of my room, old man. And call in Lima!”

Raven sends him a lazy salute and hops his way out, placing the important letter in his robe’s inner breast pocket. His heart blastia emits a small barrier shield of its own, using his life-force; this letter will remain pristine come rain, sleet, or snow, as long as he still lives.

“You’re up, Lima bean,” Raven chirps.

“You call me that again and I’ll break more than just your nuts,” Lima snarls, spits in his direction, and stomps off.

“And we used to have such fun together,” Raven laments. “What happened to us, O expert in nuts, Pecan, my man?”

“Careful, Raven,” the aforementioned Pecan murmurs. “Your jests are no longer in good taste.”

“Your fruit cocktail, on the other hand,” Raven says. “Mmhmm. Top notch, as always.”

Pecan gives him a wry smile. “I saw you buttering up Madam Teal and her girls, last night. They talk about Heliord?”

“Oh, you know me: promise me a free night of drinks and I’ll spill my guts,” Raven winks suggestively.

“Hmm…your costs run too high these days,” Pecan declines politely. “You’ll drink me out of business.”

Raven feels a mild pang of loss; he and the third-waiter-from-the-right Pecan used to be pretty tight. Schwann thinks it’s just how things go. Suck it up, buttercup.

“Next time I’m in town I’ll do you one free, fer old times’ sake,” Raven compromises. “Lemme know what info you want and I’ll get it for ya fer a Mabo Curry and a Don’s Special. Within reason, ‘course.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Black Bird,” Pecan murmurs. “But I’ll be waiting for you.”

Raven walks home with a heavy heart and on lighter feet. He makes a quick detour to the fish market, already bustling with a freshly caught haul; he haggles reliable ol' Fin for a kilogram of merflesh and charms Romelle out of a bottle of soy sauce and pays full price for a sack of white rice before finally making it back to Brave Vesperia’s HQ, just in time to catch Karol in the kitchen about to make morning coffee.

“Raven!” Karol’s smile is brilliant, and very welcome. “You’re back!”

“I promised you my world famous sashimi, didn’t I?” Raven says. “Can't have you saying this old man’s a liar!"

“I’d never,” Karol says honestly, and that, more than anything, is what makes Raven want to noogie Karol and maybe cry into his hair or something likewise unmanful. He settles for making that kid the most delicious dish of fish a Weekend Chef is capable of, and if he finds himself also making Karol his special Pork Stew to eat later, he tells himself it’s ‘cause the boy’s a growing man and not because Raven’s a sap at heart.

“So where ya off to now, Raven?” Karol asks, after they’re done eating and making the kitchen less of a mess. “If, um, you can tell me, that is.”

“Atherum,” Raven says honestly. “Flynn said his girl Sodia’d be there to collect whatever response Harry might have on the new moon, so, there I'll be.”

“The new moon?” Karol stares at him. “But that’s in no time at all!”

Raven gives him a wan smile. “Don’tcha worry, kiddo. I always get ta where I need to in time.”

“We should call Ba’ul,” Karol insists. “You’ll never make it otherwise!”

Raven doesn’t have the heart to tell Karol that it probably doesn’t matter how fast or slow his response arrives; in the end, it’s Harry actions from now on that will be his real response, regardless of what his letter says.

“Judith darlin’ probably has better things to do than be an old man’s cab,” Raven says lightly. “I’ll jes' hop on a merchant ship headed toward Atherum tonight; should make it just in time, if the weather stays fair. This time o’ year, the northern wind’s in our favour.”

“But what if merfish ambush you!” Karol protests. “Or if a storm’s brewing—“

“Tempest!” Raven sing-songs, flicking his hand. “Aw, man, I miss being able ta call up storms willy-nilly. That made me feel God-like, it did.”

Karol frowns at the interruption, but then his face turns thoughtful. “Can’t you still, though? Your blastia’s powered by your life-force, right? So your arts should still be working just fine.”

“Shavin’ a year or two off my life fer a light show is a bit too vapid, even by my standards,” Raven says sardonically. “Plus, I ain’t keen on folks realising blastia’s still useable if you use a human fer a battery.”

He can very easily see it happening in the future: folks trafficking humans for energy. Or, fuck, claiming prisoners of war for it—hell of a good reason to go to war, really, if it’s to dehumanize the ingredients you need to fuel your creature comforts. You justify your atrocities by framing it as necessary or even righteous; Alexei and Schwann used to do that all the time, no brainer. Honestly, this fear is one of the many reasons he’s made Rita promise not to share that part of Hermes’ research, despite the fact that human-powered blastia could solve a lot of the world’s present problems. Schwann’s too jaded to avoid thinking of all the ways it can go terribly wrong, and Raven’s too fucking tired of the parasite that is his heart to think of its more beneficial applications.

“People’ll find out eventually,” Karol insists, at once innocent and wise beyond his years. “Desperation breeds creativity, right? You should tell people about it so they know the risks involved, before someone invents it and says it’s a cure-all or something.”

“Ehhhhh,” Raven drawls. “I’ll think about it.”

He most definitely will not.

Karol drops it, thankfully, but then picks up the old tangent of, “I still say I should call Ba’ul for you. I’ve got the whistle and I was thinking of asking Judy to fly me over to Yumanju, anyway, since my next job’s over there. We could drop you off real quick, no worries.”

“The spa?” Raven perks up. The idea of running off to relax there after all this nonstop political bullshit is extremely appealing. “Really?”

“Really really,” Karol says, smiling knowingly. “So, you wanna come with?”

“Boy, do I,” Raven says excitedly. “Okay, kiddo, you’ve convinced this old man to defect to Brave Vesperia once again.”

“You never left, pops,” Karol says without hesitation, which warms the cockles of ol' Raven's heart. “C’mon, then, let’s head to the usual clearing. Ba’ul’ll show up within fifteen minutes after I call for him.”

“Wait wait wait! We should get Judy a gift first,” Raven insists. “The lady’s coming all the way over here for our sorry hides, we gotta say thanks proper-like!”

Karol blinks. “That’s a good idea! What d’you think she’d like?”

“I know just the thing,” Raven winks. “C’mon, kiddo, we got places to be!”

#karaii fic #tales of vesperia #still figuring out my raven voice and such #i wondered what the boy was doing after the game and here we are #=noodle shrugs= dunno where i was going with this

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

He Knew

Pairing: Colt Kaneko x MC (Ellie Whitnall)

Book: Ride or Die (post book 1)

Word Count: ~4600

Rating: R (language, referenced sensual content, referenced violence)

Summary: The five times Ellie came back, and the one time she didn’t

Author’s Note: Written for @rodappreciationweek Day 2 - Colt Kaneko. This is my first time not only writing Colt, but also my first time writing for one of my Choices couples that don’t end up “happily ever after.” I adored the bittersweet endings we got in ROD, and I wanted to keep that vibe here. This is pretty different from my usual writing tone/genre, so be forewarned - this is not a happy tale, but the crumbling apart of a relationship. It think the warnings listed in the rating section cover the content here.

It wasn’t really goodbye. He knew she’d be back. There was no way she would be able to stay away, to just fall back into a world where her only thrills came from acing a test. That was too easy for her. She needed more, the push, the challenge, the adventure. He knew because he was just like her.

He wasn’t sure exactly when she’d be back, though. He was sure she’d be back in LA for Thanksgiving, but he didn’t expect her to come looking for him then. Besides, the shop was still in ruins. He wouldn’t be easy for her to find at this point. He rode past her dad’s place early on Thanksgiving morning and saw her blue Shokai Fourier sitting in the driveway. But he didn’t see her then.

Same thing about a month later, her car parked in the driveway when he drove by a few days before Christmas. But it didn’t surprise him that she wasn’t ready to come back to his world, not just yet. That first semester of college probably had enough novelty to keep her from getting too bored. New friends, new freedoms, new knowledge.

It’s not like he wasn’t busy, too. Hunting down the remnants of the Brotherhood while not attracting any unwanted attention was a new mission, one that required a new sort of careful calculation and anticipation. He wasn’t the type to sit around pining, moping, waiting on some girl, just like he was sure she wasn’t longing for him. They were alike in that way - they didn’t let their emotions define them.

It wasn’t until the anniversary of Pop’s death that he really felt it, deep down, that he… fuck it, that he missed her. Because no one else got him, not the way she did. No one else was quite like her. He was a few drinks in, sulking in the room he was renting from X’s old roommate when he did the thing he swore he would never do - he pulled out his new phone and searched “Ellie Whitnall” on Pictagram.

Her hair was darker, no longer highlighted, but still pulled back in that ponytail. And that damn sweatshirt was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was her in a crop top and a skin-tight pair of jeans in a line with six other girls, a smile on all of their faces as their arms wrapped around each other’s backs. Her lounging on the grass with one of the same girls, textbooks sprawled out around them as they both laughed. Her eating a slice of pizza in some tiny restaurant, a blond dude who looked like a preppy douchebag sitting in the booth next to her.

She looked good, happy enough. It made him proud, but the worst parts of himself wished she was just a little miserable. Not just because he was mourning and miserable himself, and misery did fucking love company, but because she didn’t belong in a world that was bland and ordinary. She burned too bright for such pedestrian experiences. She would see that soon, and she would be back. Until then he just had to keep working on avenging his father’s death, making the Brotherhood pay for all the shit they’d done. And that’s what he did, not noticing as May and June passed by. But then July came.

He was working at the sideshow, trying to find out where Wallace had last been spotted when he saw her on the dance floor. She was wearing a little white tank top and a light blue skirt that was short enough it barely covered anything. It took all his willpower to listen to what the little punk was telling him and not just march over there and kiss her, welcome her back where she belonged. But business had to come first. Besides, she was only dancing with her brunette friend, Riya, and the guy who had worn the orange tux to prom.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away” he murmured into her ear when he finally, finally could join her. She tensed at first, as he came up behind her, snaking his hand around her waist, his fingers tracing along the thin strip of skin between her shirt and skirt, but she relaxed into him when she recognized his voice. She spun to face him, her arms reaching up to rest on his shoulders.

“Who says I’m here for you? Riya and Darius just wanted a taste of what I was up to last spring.”

Colt shook his head. “Nah, you wouldn’t have worn that if you weren’t here for me,” he said as his eyes traced over her gentle curves, settling back on her face, just as beautiful and determined as he’d remembered.

“It’s July in LA. Some of us actually dress for the heat.”

He chuckled lightly, leaned down, and kissed her. She tasted the same, her fingers felt the same as they crawled up his neck and clutched onto his hair. When he tugged her out of there and handed her his spare helmet, her arms felt the same as she wrapped them around his chest. And when they got to his new studio apartment in Broadway-Manchester and stumbled towards his mattress as they stripped as quickly as they could, she felt the same as he sunk into her, both of them moaning in relief.

After, they talked all night, lounging on his mattress, drinking cheap beer and eating the string cheese they found in his pathetically empty fridge. About her classes and seminars, her roommate from some tiny town in Nebraska who had never seen an escalator before coming to Langston, and her upcoming research project. About his plans to reopen the auto body shop next year, now that the heat was finally dying down and he could go back. About how Ximena was still around, ready to help out, but how Toby had made his way north to San Fran, working for some startup that was looking to get into the high-tech auto accessory game. About how Mona would be up for parole in a few months.

“When do you head back?” he finally asked as the sun started to peek through the window, his hand tracing along her spine as she curled up against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Tomorrow,” she said, after a moment, “Dr. Frisch wants me to start on my research next week so that we can get a prototype built before the end of the fall semester.”

Colt swallowed before sliding his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up, looking straight into her brown eyes. “You happy?”

She nodded gently. “For now.”

“Not bored?”

“Not yet.”

“Just want to make sure they aren’t wasting your talents.”

“Colt…”

“Just remember, you shouldn’t settle for bland.”

“I know, Colt. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though it had been over a year since he last saw her in person, he knew she would be back someday. She had his new number now, and every so often she would send him a little text or photo. They had no agreement, had made no promises to each other, still her messages were sometimes flirty, sometimes sexy. The blond idiot still hung around her Pictagram, but if she didn’t feel obligated to keep things between them… friendly or some shit, it wasn’t any of his business really.

The summer after her sophomore year at Langston, she stayed out east, hired on for some summer research program. But Colt was busy, too. The shop was open again. It wasn’t officially under Colt’s management, not until the statute of limitations ran out next year, but he had a couple of mechanics he’d hired on, keeping things on the up and up for the moment. Everyone knew Colt was running the show.

One day in October, he was at the shop, on a creeper under some rich asshole’s Porsche Cayman GTS when Ricky, his newest hire, called out for him.

“Hey, Kaneko. Some chick is here and says she needs to talk to you.”

He rolled his eyes as he pushed himself out. Ricky was talented, but he was far too much of a pushover. “I’m in the middle of this, Ricky.”

“I know, boss… but she kinda acted like you guys were… she seemed like she knew you personally.”

Wiping his hands on his pants, he strode over, ready to tell off whatever entitled little girl thought she could demand to see him, but then he caught sight of her. The sweatshirt was back, but her hair was even darker than it had been last summer.

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” He was shocked by her appearance in his shop, in the middle of the semester, and every instinct to tease her about not being able to stay away went out the window when he saw the look on her face, so hollow and lost. He ushered her into his office, closing the door and hearing it all. How her dad was in the ICU at UCLA after he’d suffered a massive heart attack. How she’d had to go on a leave of absence for the rest of the semester.

“The doctors think he’s going to be okay, but I can’t… I can’t go back to the house alone. Not after everything,” she finished, perched on the end of his desk.

“You’re here by yourself?”

“Riya transferred to UC Oakland to be with Darius, so other than you… I don’t really know anyone here anymore.”

So the blond douche didn’t come with her. Either he was even more of a dickwad than Colt pictured, or he wasn’t that important to Ellie. Either way, it was all Colt needed to know. He tugged her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t tell her things would be alright, because unlike some people, he wasn’t stupid enough to try and lie to her. To make her promises he couldn’t keep.

So he did what he could. He took her back to his apartment, poured her shots of tequila, and fucked her senseless. There was nothing he could do to make things better. But he could make her forget, at least for a little bit. It’s what she would have done for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ellie coming tonight?” Ximena asked as Ricky spread out the takeout on the table in the breakroom.

“Haven’t seen her around much lately,” Ricky said, opening the containers of fried chicken.

“She’ll be back,” Colt said with more confidence than he actually felt. It wasn’t that he doubted that she’d be back… eventually. But she was pissed at him. Really pissed. And he wasn’t sure how long it was going to take her to cool off.

It was absurd that she was angry with him when he was the only one who wasn’t handling her with kid gloves, instead treating her like the grown-ass woman she was. Her dad was recovering just fine, but Ellie kept putting off going back to Langstson. When she’d told him she’d pulled out for the spring semester, though, he’d told her exactly what he thought about that. That she was being stupid. That she was only sticking around out of guilt over her last few months of high school. That she was wasting herself.

“What happened to you telling me I would always have a spot on your crew?” she’d yelled at him, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Not like this, with you just bumming around, aimless. Fucking around, not really doing anything. You’re better than that, Ellie.”

She’d stormed out of his apartment after their fight, and he hadn’t seen her in eight days. He assumed she was with her dad. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. She’d be back once she’d cooled off and realized he was right. But the days continued to tick by, with no sight of her around the apartment or the shop. After three weeks, he rode past her dad’s place, but the Shokai Fourier was still in the driveway, so he knew she was still in LA.

Finally, almost one month later she showed up at the shop, just as they were wrapping things up for the day. She walked straight into his office without so much as saying hello to anyone, so Colt took his time, finishing up with the spark plugs he was replacing before he joined her. She was sitting at his desk, scrolling through his spreadsheets, reviewing the shop’s finances. So damn presumptuous.

“I didn’t realize you were an accountant now,” he said, crossing his arms as he closed the door.

She spun in his chair, glaring at him. “Just seeing if you can afford to hire a mechanical engineer.”

“By my math, you’re only half a mechanical engineer at this point. That has to earn me a bit of discount on your salary.”

“I’m here to negotiate. If I’m going back for two more years at Langston, I need to know it’s going to be worth it. So make me an offer.”

Colt couldn’t fully suppress a smirk as he quirked an eyebrow at her. “What, am I supposed to write a number on a sheet of paper and slide it over to you?”

“I’m being serious, Colt.”

He rolled his eyes. “The offer’s the same as it’s always been - equal partnership, you and me, running this place.”

“And that offer will still be on the table in two years?”

“It hasn’t changed in the past two and a half, has it?”

She stood up with a nod at that, crossing the small office to stand in front of him, staring up at him, somehow looking imposing from five foot two.

“Should we shake on it?” he asked, widening his eyes to tease her, just a bit.

“I think we can do better than that,” she said before she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him with all she had, shoving him back against the door in the process.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colt glanced at his phone. 11:45 pm and no new notifications. She was supposed to be back from Riya and Darius’s wedding today, but as the minutes ticked by, he wasn’t sure if she was more upset than he’d anticipated.

Technically, they were both supposed to be back from the wedding today. But he’d gotten word about some… hot merchandise that was too good of a deal to pass up late on Friday, and so he’d shot Ellie a text to send Riya and Darius his congratulations before he turned his phone off. He’d figured she’d understand. She was as ambitious as him, after all.

But seeing as it had been radio silence all day Saturday and now Sunday, he was wondering what sort of Ellie was going to walk through that door. Either she was pissed, or something had happened to her, but he didn’t think she’d been in any danger in Napa.

His finger hovered over her name in his contact list. She hadn’t answered any of his calls earlier today, so he didn’t have much hope for this one. Just before he pressed down to foolishly call her yet again, headlights flashed through the front window of their apartment’s living room. She was home.

Less than a minute later, the deadbolt turned. There was Ellie, her little duffel bag in one hand, a garment bag in the other. She looked exhausted, and when she glanced up and saw him sitting at their little table, he noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. She didn’t say anything, just shook her head at him as she walked straight into their bedroom.

“Ellie, come on-” he started, chasing after her, but she slammed the door right in his face.

“I don’t even want to look at you right now,” she called through the door.

“It was three million worth of merchandise for only four hundred thousand. I couldn’t pass it up.”

The door flung back open, Ellie practically trembling with anger as she braced herself against the door frame.

“I was the fucking maid of honor, and my plus one didn’t show up!”

“None of them like me anyway.”

“Hmm, I wonder why,” she practically sneered at him as she shoved past him, stomping into the bathroom, slamming that door this time.

“You know we need to move more volume if we want to keep growing the shop. You’re the one who wants us to expand our territory into Vermont Knolls.”

“Fuck you!” echoed through the door.

“What do you want me to say? I made the call that I thought was best for our business.”

“How about ‘Sorry, Ellie. I was a total asshole’ as a starter?”

He winced at that. He probably should have led with an apology. He just didn’t think it would piss her off this much that he’d missed the wedding.

“Ellie, I am sorry. I just thought you would be fine with it since you told me to skip your cousin’s wedding last spring so we could close that deal-”

“-You didn’t even ask me this time.” she called out.

“I didn’t have time. And they are your friends. It’s not like I left you all alone with people you don’t know.”

The bathroom door swung open, but Ellie pivoted on her heel, sitting back down on the toilet seat.

“You say I’m your partner,” she said with a heavy sigh, “but you always make these decisions without me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was a no-brainer. The pure profit on-”

“I don’t mean business partners. I mean in our… personal life.”

He frowned at that, crossing his arms, “What the fuck are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

Ellie just shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes it just feels like… like no amount of growth at the shop will ever be good enough for you. Like you are never off the clock.”

“I’m not ever off the clock. That shop is Pop’s legacy, and with you, it’s grown bigger than he could have ever imagined. I don’t know why you’re acting like this was all me. We’ve built everything we have together. You’ve always been hungry to prove yourself in this world.”

“Look who’s talking! Don’t you ever think that maybe your father wouldn’t want you sinking into this world so single-mindedly after he tried to keep you away from it for so long?”

It was an old argument from her, one he hadn’t heard in years. “My pop made a lot of bad decisions. Underestimating what both of us were capable of was just one of them.”

Ellie’s phone chirped, and Colt felt lightheaded as he watched her stand up and pick up a pregnancy test off the counter next to the sink. “Well, I hope you do better than him,” she said, shoving the piece of plastic into his hand. “This decision’s all mine, and I’m keeping it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was his own fault she was staying with her father for a few nights. He’d been careless and just a little too reckless. The contact on the new stock of Tesla Model S’s had been a friend of Ricky’s friend. He should have vetted him better. He’d been too blinded by how good of a deal it was. But it was a mess from the start, and now they owed a crew in West Adams seven million in either cash or vehicles. At least he hadn’t gotten arrested. He’s pretty sure Ellie would have murdered him if that had been the case.

But he’d gotten them involved in a bad deal. It was 100% his fault. Not only was Ellie pissed at him for not being appropriately cautious with their business, but pregnancy had reduced her fuse significantly. She’d gone off on him when he’d returned from the drop with the terrible news. He didn’t blame her for wanting to take a few days away from him and the shop. He figured it would go a long way if he’d worked out a safe way to repay their debt by the time she came back, hence staying late in his office, trying to brainstorm the quickest way out of this mess.

At some point he must have nodded off in his chair at his desk, because suddenly he bolted awake, disoriented and panicked, grabbing for the handgun he kept in his top drawer before he recognized Ellie standing in his doorway. He let out a rough breath and moved to offer her his chair, but she just shook her head.

“It won’t be worth the effort it takes to stand up again,” she said, reading his intentions in a second. “I was waiting for you at home, but when it hit midnight and you weren’t back, I thought I might find you here.”

“I thought you were gonna stay with your dad for a few more days.”

“He was asking a lot of questions about us that I didn’t exactly want to answer. Besides, I figured you might need some help coming up with a plan.” Her hands rested on top of her stomach. She still had three weeks until her due date, and Colt had no idea how was going to stand up if she got any bigger. Not that he told her that.

“It's my mess, Ellie. I can take care of cleaning it up.”

She shook her head, rubbing her hands along her bump. “That’s the thing, Colt. Your messes impact all three of us. So even if it’s not my fault we’re seven million in the hole at that moment, I need to help you fix things. And the two of us working together has always gotten us better results than either of us working independently.

“But Colt, I need you to take a step back from this ‘high risk, high reward’ approach. It was one thing when it was just you and me, but we both need to be a bit more careful going forward. Our kid deserves parents that are alive and not incarcerated, alright?”

He sighed but nodded. “I just don’t want us to lose our edge. But I get it, Ellie. I do.”

She sighed as well before she said, “Come on. Pack up your stuff and meet me at home. We can work on solving this from the comfort of our bed, okay?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see you there.”

She gave him a little smile, so forced and empty it nearly shattered him, before turning and walking out the door. He wished he knew how to earn her trust back. But she was like him. She had high standards. Fixing things with her was going to take ages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colt ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm his breathing. She had to come back. She had to. She had his daughter.

This fight had been bad, worse than any other than he could remember. When Ellie had seen the news coverage of Shaw’s shanking in prison, she’d turned to him, horror etched across her face. She hadn’t even needed to ask if it was him. She’d just known that he’d ordered it.

He tried to get her to understand, to see that he’d only done what he had to do. Shaw had his initial parole hearing coming up soon. If he so much as breathed a whiff of freedom, not only was their entire shop and crew in danger, but so were their lives and Margot’s. He was just taking a necessary precaution.

But she’d not wanted to hear any of it. She’d marched into Margot’s room, throwing her clothes and toys into a bag before hefting her out of bed and marching her out to her car, strapping her into her booster seat while she was still sound asleep. Ellie hadn’t so much as said a word to him as she drove off. Of course she’d ignored every call and text from him since that time.

He’d taken to riding past her father’s house daily. Her Shokai Fourier was always there, but he was never lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her or Margot in the yard. It had been nine days since he’d seen his kid, and he was getting desperate. He didn’t know what to do.

He sat along the edge of the cliff, watching the waves crash along. It wasn’t calming him tonight. Nothing was going to calm him. He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he heard a car engine approaching behind him. He would have known that paint job in his sleep. The engine quieted and he felt Ellie approaching him, sitting down next to him, almost close enough to reach out and touch. Almost.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, staring out over the Pacific, inhaling the salt of the sea air.

“Colt… I can’t raise her in a home where killing someone is an acceptable solution to a problem. You had to know I wouldn’t be able to stand by you when you ordered that hit.”

Her words stung, burned his soul. Of course he’d known that. She’d always had her lines her morals didn’t allow her to cross. But how did she expect him to just sit there and let a threat to the safety of his family potentially walk free?

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked. He could hear the tears in her voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, to see revulsion and disgust in the place of love and trust.

“What is there to say? Nothing I can do will make you come back.”

He heard her sigh before he felt her fingers, tiny and gentle against the back of his hand. He turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together more out of habit than anything. He knew her well enough to know that this wasn’t a gesture of love or hope.

“Colt, I’ll always love you, but…”

“I know, Ellie.”

“Are you even sorry?”

He paused, thinking over her question. He knew what she wanted to hear, but he’d always respected her too much to attempt to placate her with pretty sounding lies. “I don’t regret it at all,” he finally said, “I did it for both of you.”

She didn’t recoil from him at that. He hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know in her soul anyway. She’d always understood him in ways others just couldn’t. After all she was just like him. Just like him in so many ways.

They were only really different in one key way. She tried to pretend that there was a way to live the life they did and to be “good,” to keep to some sort of moral code. He knew that wasn’t the case. Or maybe she was just a better person than him. It was hard to tell right now, when he felt so hollow and drained.

“We’ll work out times for you to see Margot,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “I think we probably both want to keep lawyers out of this.”

Colt just grunted in acknowledgement. Ellie gave his hand a little squeeze before she tugged her hand free. She pushed herself up off the ground and walked back to her car. He couldn’t bring himself to watch her drive away, so he just stared ahead as he listened to her ignition start.

It was goodbye. He knew she’d never be back.

Permatag: @choicesficwriterscreations @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

#rodaw #colt kaneko #colt x mc #rod fanfic #choices fanfiction

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troybeecham · 3 years

Text

Fr. Troy Beecham

Sermon, Pentecost 2021

Today the Church celebrates the great Feast of Pentecost. In the Hebrew Scriptures, God promised that in the “last days”, inaugurated by the coming of the Messiah, he would pour out his Spirit upon all people. In Acts (2:14 to 18) the apostle Peter quotes this promise to explain what is happening when the disciples of Jesus are suddenly, miraculously able to speak and understand multiple foreign languages starting on the day of Pentecost (Pentecost is the name given to the Feast of Weeks, Shavuot in Hebrew, by the Jewish scholars who translated the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek some three centuries before Jesus’ birth). This outpouring of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost marks the beginning of the age of the Messiah promised so many centuries before.

But why would God mark this great new beginning, the beginning of the Messianic promise, the start of the Church, by giving Jesus’ disciples the supernatural ability to speak in all the many languages of the world of their time? Why this gift as the first mark of the new Church, and its mission in the world? Later, filled with the Spirit, the apostles would also heal the lame, cure the sick, and cast out demons, as a Jesus said. But why would God mark the beginning of the outpouring of his Spirit by the ability to communicate with others in their own language? Just as he is ascending into the heavenly realm, Jesus commands his disciples, saying “As you go into the world, make disciples of all peoples, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

There it is, the Church’s reason for being, its essential identity, and it is all is about making disciples of all peoples and nations, bringing them into communion with God through Jesus. And this requires language, communication. This is why the first manifestation of the Holy Spirit in the lives of Jesus’ disciples has to do with the communication of truth.

Language, communication, is about so much more than simply understanding words. Language, spoken or otherwise, conveys the totality of a person’s identity, be it cultural, religious, economic, class, sex, and every other kind of social and physical identity. At the surface level, language depends primarily upon the spoken word, and that word is always in a particular language: Hebrew, Greek, Chinese, Sign Language, etc. At this level words can express true things, but they can also deceive and lie. Beyond the spoken word, we communicate through body language, tone of voice, and volume of voice. Our bodies, through posture, eye contact, gestures, and all other forms of unspoken communication, often speak louder and more honestly than our words.

When the truth of our lives speak through our words, actions, affiliations….we are revealing what is true about us, truths that sometimes are not congruent with our words. Words can fail us just when we need them most, especially in situations where tragedy, death, and betrayal render us mute, especially in times of civil unrest as we are witnessing today in our country and around the world. In times of crisis, we may be using the same words, but they have lost their shared meanings. And so we communicate with mass gatherings, riots, burnings, violence, to communicate with force. What will our mouths and our lives say in the midst of such fear, rage, hopelessness, and yes, for some, exultation in taking advantage of this maelstrom, stoking it to further their dark ambitions?

This is why God gives us his Holy Spirit, that we might continuously be born again, sanctified moment to moment, so that our lives and our words are not only congruent, full of integrity, but especially made full of God’s love. It is only through the Holy Spirit that we have still yet a deeper language. By the indwelling of the Holy Spirit of God we are equally able to communicate with each other true things like compassion, humility, generosity of spirit, joy, peace, patience, goodness, long-suffering, fidelity, gentleness, and chastity, even if we do no speak a common language. These speak through us more loudly and clearly, either in their presence or their absence, than do all our words and gestures. This is the language of God given to us by grace, a language that the human family so desperately needs to hear spoken with fluency by the Church, by each disciple of Jesus. We deceive ourselves if we think that we are not fooled by each other. We all hear beyond spoken words, bodily gestures, and beyond what we believe that we intend to say to each other. The heart reads the heart and we feel the spark when the Holy Spirit recognizes itself wherever it sees itself as manifest in us.

Many of us talk passionately about our love for those who suffer: the poor, the alien in our midst, those living under generations of prejudice and violence. But they do not hear us, understand us, or gather round us, even when we think that we speak perfectly in their native tongue. Unless we are filled with the Holy Spirit of God, our words and our lives cannot speak as one of the love of God in Jesus. This is the language, the gift, given at Pentecost by God to all who will receive him through his Son, Jesus. God offers all people salvation from their sin, individually and corporately, through his Son Jesus, and empowerment to be his witness by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. In this age of the Spirit-filled church, all people are invited into communion with the Lord and with each other, first communicated through God’s language of love, forgiveness, reconciliation, and hope.

As we become part of the earthly Body of Jesus, his Church, through grace by faith and through the waters of Holy Baptism, we can discover the gift of mutual love, forgiveness, humility, and reconciliation. What God is asking for are people like you and me to be willing to give our lives wholeheartedly to him, that the Holy Spirit might live in us and through us, speaking the language of God through our lives and our lips. As we are witnessing the violence in our own country, or violence in Israel, anti-Semitism on our streets, the ongoing plague of civil war and mass disease and starvation in Yemen, the continuous but unacknowledged mass killing of Christians by Islamic militias in Nigeria, the plague of abortion…wherever we see the desecration of human life, we need disciples who fluently speak and live the language of God more than ever. I pray that God will touch your heart, and mine, and help us with his grace that we might be filled with his Holy Spirit for the sake of our human family that is so lost in the babble of our brokenness. Pray with me that God’s Holy Spirit will be felt, heard, and received by all who live, that we might truly come to love, respect, and honor each other.

O God, who on this day taught the hearts of your faithful people by sending to them the light of your Holy Spirit: Grant us by the same Spirit to have a right judgment in all things, to speak only the language of your Spirit, and evermore to rejoice in his holy comfort; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen

#christianity #jesus #god #salvation #father troy beecham #troy beecham episcopal #father troy beecham episcopal

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wangxiangiftexchange · 3 years

Text

Winter Solstice Gift for slightlytookish

Happy Winter Solstice, @slightlytookish! May it brings you peace and happiness. I’m (more than) slightly nervous about this gift and I hope the product is to your liking!

References to Chinese idioms and concepts, marked in [], help with but are not necessary for comprehension, and are explained in the Footnotes on AO3 for those who are interested.

Read on AO3

*****

出淤泥而不染，

濯清漣而不妖

— 《愛蓮說》周敦頤 (1017-1073)

For the way it emerged untainted from the muck,

Rising cleanly above ripples of water with an unaffected grace

— “On the Love of Lotus” Zhou Dunyi (1017-1073)

One

Every year, Wei Ying says he’ll wander far and wide with Little Apple; every year, he says Gusu is getting stifling and he needs a breather, needs … no, not anything Lan Zhan can offer — for what he needs isn’t found in the Cloud Recesses, where the air is too fresh, too clean, too cultivated. Every year, Wei Ying explains what he misses is the smell of commoners, free from the promises and ambitions of a golden core. What he misses is the chimney smoke, filthy with soot and stinks of burnt meat and cheap spices. What he misses is the dust that clogs the nostrils, that flies from under the iron hooves of horsemen running their races in jianghu. [1,2]

But Wei Ying always ends up here, inYiling. Specifically, here on this mountain where there’s no chimney smoke. No dust. No kitchens or meat or spices or hooves. No horsemen. No jianghu.

He has never visited the Burial Mounds in winter before. Lan Zhan made a rare request for Wei Ying to help with the revamping of the Library Pavilion, and so he spent his August drunk in the scent of Gusu’s sweet osmanthus.

It was a little too heavy, too fragrant for Wei Ying’s taste. Possibly due to the lack of even a breeze as summer dies. Cloud Recesses can rest within the clouds for this reason. The clouds don’t dissipate.

Here, the wind is strong—it’s the one thing that never dies in this place—and its whistles sharpen into shrieks among the grey bare tree branches. Grey as the sky, bare as the bones that crunch under Wei Ying’s boots only to expose another layer of them. Within the cracks where weak rays of sunlight touch the dead trees, where bones reveal the wounds of their old flesh and blood, white flurries are twirling with the black curls of Resentment.

They look like they’re fighting. They look like they’re coupling.

Wei Ying caps his last jug of Emperor’s Smile and ties it to his waist. He promises Little Apple to be back soon and issues a warning about not doing anything stupid.

The donkey doesn’t even bray.

Well, Little Apple is already stupid. Wei Ying smiles, twirls his flute and scales the slope that leads to Fumo Cave. He doesn’t bother with talismans or setting up borders. He doesn’t mind the Resentment testing him, sending tendrils into the hollowness in him that only here, in Lan Zhan’s absence, does he once again recognise its presence. He doesn’t mind the darkness curling around his limbs, reminding him of how A-Yuan used to cling to his leg while he walked his single plank bridge in the darkest of hours. He doesn’t mind the suffocating pain as the more violent bands of Resentment threatens to strangle him, the pain almost pleasant in how real it feels, like flesh and blood, the pain from all those the Founder of Demonic Cultivation thought he could save but ultimately lost.

There’s an intimacy to the hollowness, the darkness, the pain, the chokehold. The Yiling Laozu is home.

Two

The snow and the Resentment are fighting, after all.

A dark haze swathes the plateau where the Wen clan lived, determined to not let a single snowflake fall upon it.

The lotus pond is frozen, the ring of talismans Wei Ying set around it torn and tattered. The previous summer he visited, like all summers before, Wei Ying filled the pond with water from the Blood Pool — pink water that, supposedly like the water in Cloud Recesses’ Cold Pond, never stops flowing. Like all summers before, he planted tubers stolen from the lakes of Yunmeng, tubers that promised to bloom in the same hue as the lotuses in Lotus Pier.

The time for the first green shoots to appear enumerated the days Wei Ying got to spend in the Burial Mounds. Afterwards, he hoisted a ring of talismans and hurried back to Gusu, feeling more like himself, more guilty as Lan Zhan looked up from his guqin — its strings being plucked, as always, as Wei Ying stepped into Jingshi — and whispered a confirmation that had no cause to exist unless, deep down, Lan Zhan still harboured doubts that Wei Ying would return. From the alleged far and wide wanderings; from taking breaths of chimney smoke and a breather from Cloud Recesses, the Lan Clan, and Lan Zhan himself; from walking among commoners harbouring the spirit of jianghu instead of a golden core.

You’re back. Such excessive words wouldn’t have otherwise left Lan Zhan’s mouth otherwise.

Culprits of the freeze are there for Wei Ying to see; trapped trusses of dark red buried with whatever remnants of a water plant that used to require flowing water to survive. The blood from the pink Blood Pool water has congealed into bands as though it were Resentment’s scarlet sibling, and the bands, the tendrils criss-cross to form a lattice, a prison. Only half a lotus stalk manages to break free, its length above the ice grey as the sky and bare as the branches and bones. Wei Ying breaks it off and stuffs it in his robe, a token for yet another failed Burial Mounds experiment.

The young green shoots never make it into flowers — lotus blooms that, sages say, are untaintable, can purify everything.

The air, in fact, smells even heavier of blood. Violence. No wonder the Resentment is so active today, playful and alive, taking their chance to enter the opened front of Wei Ying’s robe. It traces his ribs before taking off again, like a tease, a caress, a greeting; invasive and intimate as night, as death.

Wei Ying, too, has died before. Once officially, twice in reality.

The first time Wei Ying died, he was here. The first time he was reborn, he was also here.

Liberate. Suppress. Eliminate. The three strategies towards pacifying Resentment leave one mystery unsolved. While the first assumes humanity—with its gratitudes and dying wishes—still living within the Resentment, the other two assume this humanity lost. Gone.

Where has it gone to? Has it left at all?

On the southern side of the pond, Resentment rises and falls into the decrepit huts through broken roofs, dark like the chimney smoke Wei Ying does miss. Humanity remains heavy, too, in the hut once occupied by A-Yuan and his Gran. The chopping board remains by the fire pit, the cleaver on it pitch black as bands of Resentment take turns to lick the blade. Grandma must’ve been cutting what little meat the sect of Yiling could afford then—it was all saved for the child—when she sent herself off to slaughter.

The Resentment can’t let go of blade’s memory of blood. Blood, so reminiscent of wounds, revenges, relief, so unbearably close to living.

Wei Ying was there too—well, here, here on the Burial Mounds, clinging onto his memory of bloodshed. His urge to revenge, to inflict every possible wound onto Wen Chao and his cronies.

He finds the stump that once served as a table and sits, crossed-legged. He brings Chenqing to his lips.

Every one of his flute is Chenqing. It matters not if it wears a red tassel, or comes with a Stygian Tiger Seal. His every flute tells stories that all want to judge but few want to hear. [3]

Cleansing isn’t the song for now or for here. Wei Ying isn’t Wen Ning, whom the Resentment assaulted without consent. By surviving the Burial Mounds, by devising Demonic Cultivation, Wei Ying willingly opened himself up for the Hell Resentment carries.

He plays Wangxian instead.

He plays it as if humanity, its meanings and sentiments aren’t lost to the swirls of black around him, as if they still have gratitudes to be repaid, dying wishes to be granted. As if they’re still worthy of liberation. Of “thank you”s and “sorry”s.

The darkness heeds his call and gathers, ropes against his flesh, closes against his throat in a way that if Lan Zhan was here, if Lan Zhan saw him, he’d be sure to strike with the most lethal note from Chord Assassination.

Lan Zhan…who, over the years, has also developed a habit of closing his hand around Wei Ying’s throat. He does so when their bodies merge into one, when all that remains awake in Cloud Recesses is the vast darkness above their heads, pinned in place by the moon and stars above the rooftops.

I won’t go anywhere, Wei Ying choked out then, as his mind now tells Resentment while his fingers—his body—play Wangxian. He did that, did he? He told Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, so intent and exposed, his hair loose and robe discarded, his full weight pressed upon Wei Ying as if a man missing a golden core could still sword-fly away right there and then? Lan Zhan, soaked with sweat that had never shedded even in the worst of battles, his usually tight lips gasping to drink in whatever breath Wei Ying could spare?

Or did Wei Ying choke then and said nothing, even though Lan Zhan never used any force on his hand?

The cleaver falls onto the floor with a clang. Music that isn’t coming from Chenqing has flipped it over.

Chenqing leaves Wei Ying’s lips. He shoots up from his seat, turns.

Wangxian only grows louder, its notes from a guqin gentle but insistent above the whistling of the winds. It, too, tells a story all want to judge but few want to hear.

The man in Wei Ying’s thoughts, in Wei Ying’s dreams is on the Burial Mounds.

Three

Wei Ying would’ve seen Lan Zhan’s footsteps if the snow has been allowed to fall.

Wangxian stops, finally, when their eyes meet. The meeting isn’t for long. Wei Ying soon lowers his focus to the dust under his feet, freed of snow and Resentment by Lan Zhan’s talismans and marked by not the imprints of iron hooves but of his own lonely trips here.

“You came.” These words from Wei Ying are excessive too. like You’re back. Of course Lan Zhan did. Lan Zhan, ethereal like the rest of snowy Yiling and the cultivation world, his guqin so feared by yao mo gui guai on his lap. Lan Zhan, who still plays Cleansing at dawn before Wei Ying wakes. [4]

Don’t play for me, Wei Ying said.

I play for myself, Lan Zhan replied.

The Lan Zhan before him offers no reaction, so Wei Ying braves a look at him again. Flurries are still clinging on the familiar silver crown, the black hair shining like no Resentment can. The snow has thawed into beads on the jade-like face, as if to prove its chill is but a lie.

Warm, too, are Lan Zhan’s eyes, which harbour no accusations. There’s only warmth—heat—and patience.

Lan Zhan doesn’t belong to the Burial Mounds. Patience is never one of Resentment’s virtues.

Wei Ying smiles. “I thought the Lan Clan Leader is pre-occupied with the latest edition of Virtue and Conduct.”

That was yet another excuse for Wei Ying’s leave. That tome gives me nightmares, he said. Only to come to the place of nightmares.

Lan Zhan stows his guqin with a wave of his sleeve. “Eliminating rules takes little time.”

Wei Ying should’ve remembered that; the rules have been eliminated because they were no longer reinforceable. They were no longer reinforceable because of him.

As the cultivation partner of the clan leader, he was supposed to be a wielder of the Discipline Whip. Instead, he deserved the whip more than anyone else.

“You followed me here.”

This time, Wei Ying is rewarded by a raise of Lan Zhan’s chin, a measured survey of their surroundings. He follows Lan Zhan’s line of sight. Fumo cave—and the palace it once was—is covered with the same dust that could’ve been rocks or shattered tiles from the Xue Chonghai’s final battle; the same severed ropes from the second siege of the Burial Mounds, the talisman nets used to pacify Wen Ning; the same failed inventions and empty wine jugs that explained them; the same splatters of rust-red ….

But something has changed. Something is different about the place and Wei Ying cannot pinpoint what it is.

Still, Lan Zhan’s meaning is clear. He arrived at the Burial Mounds before Wei Ying.

Which is hardly surprising. For those with a well-cultivated golden core, sword flying between Yiling and Gusu takes little more than a few stick incenses’ time. Meanwhile, Wei Ying took a winding road around the mountains, with Little Apple refusing to climb where fresh grass and apples were scarce. It has been weeks since they left Cloud Recesses.

Lan Zhan’s meaning is also this: he expected Wei Ying to be here too, at the Burial Mounds.

He expected Wei Ying to lie to him.

“I—” Wei Ying’s scrambles for excuses, as Lan Zhan rises from the rock that was once Wen Ning’s sick bed.

“As long as I find you,” Lan Zhan says.

These words dig a sharp knife into Wei Ying’s chest. After sixteen years of waiting, the hope and satisfaction of the legendary Hanguang Jun has withered down to this: as long as he can find Wei Ying. Guilt coils around his innards, threatens to cut his windpipe.

He attempts a grin. “But I’m not lost.” He sounds strangled. Choked. “Whereas you, Hanguang Jun, must’ve been totally lost to find yourself here.” He nods at the cave’s entrance, to the Resentment and flurries coupling, fighting. “The Chief Cultivator must have better things to do than to wander into a ruin.”

“Why do you call it a ruin.” It isn’t a question.

Wei Ying walks around, gestures with Chenqing at the pillars, the split beams above him. “This is hardly what I’d call decor. Hardly palatial enough for cultivator conferences and post-night hunt feasts. Also,—” he remembers Lan Zhan’s first visit, of A-yuan clinging onto him like snow on the silver crown “—I don’t think the kitchen has been supplied with tea leaves yet.”

Wei Ying’s humour, his bid to divert their present conversation down the memory lane is lost on Lan Zhan. “This was A-Yuan’s former home. Your former home.”

“Ah, Lan Er Gongzi,” Wei Ying tries harder, feigns a disapproving head-shake before pointing the end of his flute at Lan Zhan. “Now you’re just saying that I, a sect leader of legendary prestige, can only afford a dump like this.” Which was the truth, and Wei Ying flashes another grin as the winds howl outside. The dust in the cave ripples as their robes flap; Wei Ying secures his belt, sticks Chenqing in it. “I’ve have you know though, the fengshui here is more than exquisite, if you consider—”

“This was your former home.” Lan Zhan repeats, ignoring every word Wei Ying has said. “Which makes this place my home.”

Wei Ying breaks into a chuckle, sincere but more bitter than intended. “Your home? Ai-yah, Lan Er Gongzi—”

Lan Zhan lifts his forearm, retrieves something from his sleeve. “And this,” he continues, raising what he found. “Mine to give.”

Wei Ying receives the gift with a trembling hand.

Nothing like it has ever existed on the Burial Mounds. Its fore-bearers—does it count, if they sprouted from the same soil only a lifetime ago?—were sterile, their seeds withered and poisonous. It mattered not they looked tall and green and strong, or the flowers they had once formed the core of shared the same hue as the Yunmeng lotuses.

The lotus receptacle in Wei Ying’s hand is smaller and a shade paler, but each pod is plump and promises the sweetest seed. Wei Ying gives it a sniff; its scent brings forth memories not only of Lotus Pier but of Cloud Recesses—not the sweet osmanthus drifting up from the foothills but the magnolia tree by the Library Pavilion. Sandalwood.

How reminiscent it is of the ones Lan Zhan handpicked for him on the boat in Yunmeng.

No more exceptions. Wasn’t that what Lan Zhan said then? But he has only made more exceptions for Wei Ying ever since, one after another.

Like polishing smooth the rules carved in stone by his ancestors. Like letting pet rabbits roam the grounds of Cloud Recesses proper. Like permitting dissent in Lanshi, as long as it comes with arguments that withstand the test of Wei Ying. Like asking Wei Ying to be his cultivation partner. Like saying nothing when Wei Ying comes and goes whenever he wants, when Gusu Lan’s has always been about order and predictability.

Wei Ying inhales again, and the change in the cave finally hits him.

Fumo cave no longer smells of blood.

He might’ve identified it sooner if the stink of violence wasn’t as strong by the lotus pond, or the proof of a slaughter, as stubborn in A-Yuan’s hut. But these are excuses. Diminishing every summer, like starlight on the rooftops at dawn, has been Wei Ying’s hope that he can heal the only source of healing on the Burial Mounds—the Blood Pool that used to be the kin of Cloud Recesses’ Cold Pond, the Pool that should never freeze; the Pool that turned into a congealed hell during the second Burial Mound siege. Time has since disintegrated the fierce corpses, their Resentment released from cold bones grey and bare; but despite Wei Ying’s best efforts every summer, despite his channeling its water to plant lotuses, Wei Ying hasn’t recovered a single, clean drop of water to return to the Blood Pool.

The Pool water might have flowed again, but it remained pink and reeked of blood.

Yes, it’s been Wei Ying’s intention to kill two birds with one stone. He intended for the Blood Pool’s ever flowing water to sustain the lotuses through the cold, and in turn, for the lotuses—untaintable, as the sages say—to purify the water that nourishes them. But the Burial Mounds have other ideas, handed Wei Ying a double defeat: the water for the Blood Pool never stayed flowing long enough for the lotuses to grow; the lotuses never survived long enough to cleanse its water of blood, of memories of violence and slaughter.

The two birds Wei Ying intended to kill have joined the flight of the snow, the Resentment.

The lotus receptacle in his hand has surely come from elsewhere.

“Seems like you’ve developed a taste for theft, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying plays with the stalk in his hand, the stalk that is as strong as it is pliant. Two failures back to back, he thought, and he didn’t even get to get drunk. He decided to laugh then—at himself, mostly, for attempting the impossible again; for never learning, for never losing the habits he should’ve lost a long time ago — and escalate his rubbish talk. “I bet you got your hands on some Emperor’s Smile, took this from some lake on your way.” He waves the receptacle. “I should be glad you don’t have a sleeveful of chickens—”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying stops. Lan Zhan has that look on him, the look when Wei Ying is amused by something he shouldn’t.

Right. Mine to give. Those were Lan Zhan’s words and Lan Zhan doesn’t lie, doesn’t joke. He means exactly what he says — the lotus receptacle comes from the Burial Mounds, from his own hands. His own effort.

“I saw the pond.” Wei Ying deflates, waves at the cave’s entrance. “Nothing’s growing in it. I guess it’s luck, that time I got something going a while ago. Plus, Lan Zhan, you really shouldn’t be encouraging my infatuation with lotuses. It’s not like I have any more business to do with them.” Especially the nine-petalled ones; Wei Ying gestures with the receptacle again and smiles. “So, unless you’re coming clean about how you got this thing, I think we should leave. Little Apple must be furious right now with this weather; bet it’ll throw me off its back on our trip home.” Home, as in Gusu, where Wei Ying swallows the Resentment, hides it in the hollowness in him; where he dreams of Cleansing, and the man who shouldn’t be playing it, as dawn breaks. “Then, you’ll prepare for that conference coming up, while I’ll lock myself in the Library Pavilion and copy Virtue and Conduct a thousand times.”

As punishment. He isn’t about to list his sins in words; the list is too long. Coming here. Lying. The heart of them all being this: Yes, Lan Zhan, I failed to control myself. I couldn’t break the ties between me and the Resentment, as you said I couldn’t.

You’ve walked the single plank bridge for me, with me, while I stare at the bloody, resentful waters below and find it…homely. I want it to grow lotuses in a way I never do with the waters in Cloud Recesses.

It carries my reflection. Do you see that, Lan Zhan? Do you understand that?

“Ah, it should be two thousand times, now that Virtue and Conduct has been abridged.” Wei Ying blathers on at Lan Zhan’s silence, before schooling his expression to something more sincere, more serious. “You know, I can do with a bit of music for the copywriting. You’ll play for me, will you?”

Still, no reactions from Lan Zhan, whose face has only tilted ever so slightly in Wei Ying’s direction. A bead of molten snow traces the curve of his silver crown as it falls, like a shed tear. “Fine. Fine. I’ll play my own Cleansing. I can do that with Chenqing.” Wei Ying sighs. “Look, I won’t do it again. I won’t come here anymore. I won’t lie about my whereabouts. I won’t make you worry. I won’t—”

Lan Zhan turns before Wei Ying finishes, brings his hands to his back and strides towards the alcove, the corridor that leads to what is once Fumo Palace’s Meditation Hall. Wei Ying has no choice but to follow, the lotus receptacle held close to his chest.

Four

Wei Ying has to stop half way in the corridor. “When?” he asks.

Lan Zhan keeps his pace, his robes growing brighter to crescendo-ing rays of sunlight, which have never seen this part of the cave before. Wei Ying grabs his sleeve, catches up and faces him. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan stops finally. He waits, quiet still, as if the reason of Wei Ying’s question is lost on him.

“You’ve been here.” The light, clean scent of lotuses around them is now unmistakable — not from a receptacle or even a flower, but a pond full of them. “Before today. You sword-flew here, brought in tubers and you—” he points towards the Meditation Hall, where he knows, already, that lotuses are blooming in the Blood Pool. “Why? How many times have you been here since I —”

He chokes; to say more is to admit, in his own words, that he has been lying. He scratches his nose, forgetting the lotus receptacle in his hand.

It gives his cheek a clean slap.

It’s at moments like these that Wei Ying thanks the heavens that few hawkers have a clue what the Yiling Laozu is like.

Lan Zhan’s eyes soften, his lips curved just enough for a smile. “Deceit is no longer prohibited in Gusu Lan Sect.” Wei Ying knows he’s been forgiven then, for everything he has yet to apologise for. “Virtue and Conduct has been—” Lan Zhan heaves a light sigh “— too deprived of chimney smoke.”

True, the chimney smoke from Cloud Recesses blends into the clouds that veil the mountains. Still, Lan Zhan is the better cook between the two of them; he’s the one who’s truly knows jianghu, being wherever chaos is, crosses paths with wherever the iron hooves are.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan does something strange then; instead of nodding an acknowledgement, his lips part, shudder before sealing tight again.

Lan Zhan is taciturn, but never hesitant. The moment soon passes, however, and he reaches out, does a gentle swipe on Wei Ying’s cheek.

It must be water he’s drying; the receptacle is that fresh, that alive.

But then, Lan Zhan’s fingertips come back…

Pink.

Pink, like the water from the Blood Pool.

There’s nothing sharp about the receptacle, however; nothing that can cut into Wei Ying. He lifts the receptor for a better look.

A seed has been displaced from its pod. Red tendrils have clawed their way out from a crack in its skin, before being diluted pink by the surrounding succulent, white flesh.

Wei Ying removes the seed and peels it thoroughly. Something like a drop of blood, old and congealed, soon sits on his palm; or a pearl coughed up by a demon oyster, a freshly dissected golden core. More red oozes out with a squeeze, staining his nails, the fine lines on his skin.

Still, all Wei Ying can smell is the scent of lotuses.

“It’s edible,” Lan Zhan says.

Edible? Wei Ying stares at Lan Zhan, who wouldn’t have made the statement if he hasn’t tried it before. He looks at the seed again. No respectable—or un-respectable—cultivator could possibly have chosen to try this.

“It’s sweet,” Lan Zhan adds.

Wei Ying rolls the seed inside his palm, until the blood—is it blood, if it smells not of violence and slaughter?—renders his hand indistinguishable from that of an executioner’s. Liberate. Suppress. Eliminate. Wei Ying’s straying from the cultivator’s path began with an imagined hand like this.

But he has always known about the sweetness of blood, hasn’t he? In the marketplaces of his earliest memories, fan-waving storytellers used to tell tales of jianghu heroes; those who made a living, they said, by licking the blood on their blades. [5]

Little Wei Ying finally gathered the courage to ask one day. Don’t heroes have something to eat?

The old man, wearing wrinkles deeper than tree rings, laughed. It’s an idiom, he explained, crouching to offer Wei Ying a steamed bun. He whispered then, as Wei Ying replies to Lan Zhan now—

“— But folks do say, blood from revenge is always the sweetest.”

“No.”

With that, Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s tainted hand in his own.

Wei Ying soon falls on his knees by the edge of the Blood Pool.

The ceiling of the Meditation Hall has been broken, the snow and Resentment kept out by talismans woven together by guqin strings. Under the light, grey and dreary outside but kind and forgiving here, lotus pads are floating on clear, calm water, green and round putuans for the flowers resting upon them. The hearts of the bloom are a regal gold; the cup-shaped petals are strong and pure white, carrying no traces of blood or darkness, no memories of violence or slaughter. [6]

They don’t even carry the purple of the Yunmeng lotuses.

If lotuses were native to Cloud Recesses, they would’ve looked like this.

If lotuses were grown under Lan Zhan’s care, they would’ve looked exactly like this.

But they, and the dilapidated hall that houses them, smell of the same summers Wei Ying knows, the same carefree laughter, the same…hint of soot and dust, the Lotus Pier being the only cultivator sect residence built within a commoner’s town. The soot that darkens the rooftops also promises delicious, filling dinners. The dust from iron hooves, from their bloodthirsty riders also delivers the xia from jianghu—its brotherhood, generosity and abandon that attempt and accomplish the most impossible.

Only when tendrils of red seep into the Pool does Wei Ying notice his sullied fingers and receptacle have dipped into the clean water. He snatches them back.

“You grew this.” He lifts his head towards Lan Zhan, who has remained standing, his hands behind his back.

Lan Zhan nods, his eyes trained on the flowers.

“Why? How?”

A long silence.

“I want to understand,” he answers finally. To understand what, he doesn’t have to say. It’s the draw of the Burial Mounds, the Resentment; the forces that compelled Wei Ying to visit the first time, even before the decor of Cloud Recesses had shed the last of its marital red.

“How long have you known?” Wei Ying asked. How long have you tolerated my betrayal?

“Three years.”

Three years, and Lan Zhan has never protested, never said a word. Wei Ying forces a smile.

“Ai-yah. I didn’t know my stealth skills were so bad. How did I give myself away?”

He expects an answer like when he asked for the name of Wangxian; a non-answer that will take Wei Ying months to figure out. A non-answer that’ll make Wei Ying further appreciate his own carelessness, forgetfulness.

His own cruelty.

But Lan Zhan replies softly, directly, immediately. “Your eyes turn red when we…” His lips part, shudder again. His head bows. His voice drops. “When I have my hand on your neck.”

When he and Wei Ying were coupling. When their bodies—when they—were supposed to become one.

The red got in the way. Resentment is black until it escapes through Wei Ying’s flesh. Below the steps of Jinlin Tower, Wei Ying’s tears were indistinguishable from the blood on Shijie’s robe.

Wei Ying’s Resentment was indistinguishable from the blood on Shijie’s robe.

Even now, only a flutter of those long eyelashes offers proof to the riptide of emotions that must have coursed, that must be coursing through Lan Zhan. “The red gets more intense every time you return to Cloud Recesses. It fades until you leave again.”

“Hand-on-throat is what you want between bedsheets.” Wei Ying’s voice falls, darkens at the light Hanguang Jun has cast on the truth. “You want me to —”

Shut up, Wei Wuxian. Shut Up.

What do you think Lan Zhan wants from you? What has Lan Zhan ever wanted from you?

“The Resentment in you gathers at your neck.” Lan Zhan does Wei Ying another favour with the interruption. “I thought I should pay its bones a visit; understand why it told my hand it has you, why it told me it can have me.” He levels his chin, his gaze finding a toppled pill furnace on the other side of the hall. His tone returns to its usual, almost distant calm. “I should do it before my fingers close around your throat; I wanted to do that. So I came and stayed some nights. Sealed my spiritual vein.”

It’s always the words Lan Zhan neglects to say that shake Wei Ying to his core.

The Resentment in Wei Ying has tried to drag Lan Zhan into its darkness. Lan Zhan has resisted, but instead of calling Wei Ying out, instead of trying to cleanse Wei Ying of Resentment, he came to the Burial Mounds to understand it, to experience it himself.

To seal the spiritual vein is to temporary shut off one’s golden core. To temporary downgrade into a commoner.

To turn into Wei Ying.

Wei Ying can see Lan Zhan stumbling among the bare branches alone, his Bichen sheathed and guqin stowed. He can see the billowing white robe being the only mirage of light on the Burial Mounds, the winds whistling, as famished bands of Resentment attacked, tore into him.

The bare bones crunched, exposed another layer.

There’s always another layer.

Wei Ying had lived through that before, unwillingly. The first night he spent on the Burial Mounds, he wished not for death but for the Hell in the scriptures where, at least, the executioners are someone else. Here, on the Burial Mounds, the one who elicited all the pain was always himself; the knives, the boiling cauldron, the mortars and pestles.

The regrets. The guilt. The envy and rage.

Resentment has only grown stronger on the Burial Mounds after the treachery of the Jins.

Who would want to live through that, willingly?

“When? When did you do all of this?”

Lan Zhan’s lips part and shudder yet again. This time, however, they move past his hesitance. “I haven’t been at wherever the chaos is—not as much as I’ve claimed.” He pauses briefly, his minute expression morphing from sadness to defiance. “I eliminated the prohibition of deceit from Virtue and Conduct for myself.”

The honourable Hanguang Jun, Lan Wangji, has lied.

Wei Ying hasn’t accompanied Lan Zhan on many of the trips to chaos. Yiling Laozu has remained an unwelcoming sight for most, so he only goes when his expertise is missed. On those nights when he’s in Cloud Recesses alone, Wei Ying watches the moon and the stars; on those nights, Wei Ying gets drunk on the rooftop and misses Lan Zhan.

On a night when a full moon had shattered into Gusu’s first snow, Wei Ying replayed the first sword fight between Lan Zhan and himself. He played Lan Er Gongzi.

That Wei Gongzi was dead. He was dead until A-Yuan climbed the roof to check on him, then offered to play the Wei Gongzi who had snuck in two jugs of Emperor’s Smile.

Perhaps, the rebirth of Wei Ying’s first death wasn’t on the Burial Mounds, but there and then.

If he only knew at the same moment, Lan Zhan was giving his life away for him.

There’s no survival on the Burial Mounds; only death and rebirth.

“Lan Zhan, Resentment doesn’t have me. I might have come back here for…“ Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t have the answer, “but it doesn’t have me.”

“I know.” Lan Zhan offers an unexpected reply. “That was my mistake.”

Wei Ying stares at the water, the red tide from the crushed receptacle advancing towards the lotuses. He has ruined the Pool again. “No, you were right,” he says, a burst of darkness rising from the hollow in him. He slaps the water, taking cold joy in the tide’s breaking into threads, red as those on the deadliest blades. “You were right about me losing control.”

The darkness chokes the I‘m sorry he meant to say. So what? It leers. You think sorry never loses its sincerity, its meaning?

How many times have you, Wei Wuxian, said it to everyone who cared about you?

Lan Zhan doesn’t agree, doesn’t argue. “I also played Cleansing for myself,” he says. “I played to know if it liberates, suppresses, or eliminates.”

He leaves his insight unspoken. Instead, he sits down beside Wei Ying.

The way he does so is surprisingly efficient, surprisingly inelegant. He removes Bichen, his belt, his outer robe; he retrieves some cheap, grass-woven strings—doubtlessly bought from the commoners of Yiling—ties up and secures his sleeves, his hair. Wei Ying watches the silt taint the white of his inner garments, the remnants of red from the crushed receptacle soaking, creeping like cracks into the silk. He knows then, that’s how Lan Zhan works on the Blood Pool, the lotuses; that’s how the Bearer of Light levels himself with the young green shoots, until they thrive against the blood, the darkness, the hell of Burial Mounds.

The darkness in Wei Ying dissipates into a silent scream, which he lets out as he falls back into the mud himself, his face buried between his knees.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, his voice like Inquiry for Wei Ying’s soul. He waits for Wei Ying to look up, for the demons in the scream to vanish between the walls of the Meditation Hall. “You’re not here for the Resentment. You’re here for the lotuses, the Blood Pool that is a kin to the Cold Pond. You were searching for a Lotus Pier that isn’t Lotus Pier, a Cloud Recesses that isn’t the Cloud Recesses. You’re here for a place that knows those differences, that knows you.” He pauses; his chest heaves a light sigh. “The Burial Mounds and its Resentment don’t have you. The Cloud Recesses and I have lost you.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying closes his eyes.

“You came here because only the Burial Mounds knows, it’s the Resentment that makes those differences. Resentment that is the yin to spiritual energy’s yang, that has a kinship with blood, the lives in which blood flows.” He finds Wei Ying’s hand in the mud as Wei Ying turns away. “My prior misjudgement, and yours, was that we put up those talismans.” He guides them to look at the hole above them, the yellow papers fluttering on strings. Talismans that Wei Ying hung network after network of, when he self-exiled here with the Wens. Talismans that he set up around the lotus pond, before he returned to Gusu every summer. “The talismans keep Resentment away from the blood it wants to reunite with. Resentment is born out of blood and wants blood with it, wherever it goes.”

The bands of Resentment cannot let go of the cleaver in A-Yuan’s hut; the fabled jianghu heroes, riding for one revenge after another, make a living by licking their blades.

“If you and I spill blood in the Pool again,” Lan Zhan continues, “if we drive fierce corpses into it, heal Wen Gongzi in it and leave the talismans hoisted, the Pool will remain blood-filled. Resentment can’t reach the blood, can’t take it away. The blood in the water will congeal at snowfall; the Pool will freeze.” Like the frozen pond outside, Wei Ying can see now. The blood becoming un-moving, unyielding without its energy—Resentment is its life energy turned dark, turned yin. “The lotuses will die without flowing water. I put up this net to show you.”

Wei Ying sees even more: the bands of Resentment above the cave longing for the blood in the Pool below, wanting to reach across the net of talismans and failing. The snow, with its own entanglements with the dark bands. Fighting. Coupling.

“Show me what?” he asks weakly.

“I want to show you three things can co-exist: the lotuses, the Blood Pool—which should be renamed the Cold Pond, like any cold, healing body of water in a spiritual mountain—the Resentment. And on the Burial Mounds, they do co-exist. They do so to survive.” Lan Zhan turns to Wei Ying finally, and looks into his eyes. “They do so in you, Wei Ying, so you survived. My mind understood that, but my heart, not enough. Cleansing tried to liberate a part of you, but it couldn’t do so without breaking you.”

Wei Ying contemplates Lan Zhan’s words. The lotuses, reminiscent of Yunmeng. The Cold Pond, its twin in Gusu, in Cloud Recesses. Resentment, its home in the Burial Mounds. They all live within Wei Ying. They’ve all made Wei Ying the man he is. That much is clear.

But Resentment is also living within Lan Zhan now. Resentment leaves no lives untouched.

“Cleansing cannot liberate a part of me without breaking me,” Lan Zhan seems to read Wei Ying’s thoughts, says it like a promise, with a smile.

He says it the way he said it felt good to walk the single plank bridge into the dark, on the steps of the Carp Tower. He says it as though he will follow if, at this moment, Wei Ying decides to dive into the bloody, resentful waters below the single plank bridge to chase his reflection.

He already followed.

Wei Ying studies the face watching him. The jade-like skin. The clear, gentle eyes that mimic the stars. The mouth from which no muck, no filth has ever escaped. The expression, soft yet open, like Gusu’s famous Autumn moon.

Resentment may have found a place inside Lan Zhan, but Lan Zhan is, like the lotus flowers in the sages’ words, untaintable.

What had Wei Ying’s past-past-past reincarnates done, what saintly deeds had they achieved, for the three lives of Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriach, the Founder of Demonic Cultivation to deserve someone like Lan Zhan?

“So the lotuses have nothing to do with the restoration of the Blood Pool.” He knows he’ll never have an answer to that question.

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “They cannot cleanse.”

“The Blood Pool hasn’t helped the lotuses grow.”

“The flowers would’ve bloomed in any clean, flowing water. The beauty of lotuses—” Lan Zhan pauses, as a hint of sadness and—is it envy? Has Lan Zhan ever shown envy before?— flashes across his eyes “— is that it seems to prefer the presence of chimney smoke.”

Chimney smoke, from the kitchens of lake owners who chased after Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng. The smells of cheap spices and meat wafted from the thrown open doors of their huts, and Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng would decide, then, that they were hungry enough to go home.

They wolfed down their loot as they did, each lotus seed sweet and pearl-like.

“What is the red in the seeds then?” Wei Ying asks.

“Colour. The Resentment cannot, or is unwilling to remove it.” Lan Zhan takes the crushed receptacle from Wei Ying and swishes it gently in the water. The red spreads and intensifies in front of them. “The red collects in the lotus seeds over time. It’s nothing but memories.”

Memories of violence. Slaughter. Of how Resentment came to be. “You’re saying,” Wei Ying is being long-winded, he knows, but he only wants to make sure. “The lotuses aren’t tainted.”

Lan Zhan nods again. “The sages are correct. Resentment doesn’t leave a mark on them. The seeds are harmless. Sweet,” he remakes his statement, lets go of the receptacle into the Pool as he turns to look at Wei Ying. “I tried my first when my spiritual vein was sealed.”

A commoner, deficient of a golden core, cannot go without food. Wei Ying cannot go without food.

“Then, I ate more because the seeds reminded me of you.” A tremor has found Lan Zhan’s voice as his gaze lowers, as the tip of his ears goes pink.

Wei Ying runs Lan Zhan’s words in his head. He runs them twice. He runs them thrice.

With each pass, his smile widens, until it turns into a grin. This is the closest to love-speak he has ever heard from Lan Zhan.

He leans sideways, bumps Lan Zhan’s shoulder with his own. “You can go ahead and say I’m sweet. I won’t be offended.” He nods at the trail, the tide of red that connects them, through the water, to the centre of the Pool, the most flourished spot of the lotus bloom. “This red will fade too, am I right? I haven’t ruined your handiwork?”

Lan Zhan has neglected to mention how, or why he began the lotus project, and Wei Ying knows him enough to not ask. He must’ve seen the failure of the lotus pond outside; the rings of talismans marking each summer like tree rings.

And who else has always been there to pick up Wei Ying’s pieces, to catch Wei Ying where Wei Ying falls?

Lan Zhan nods, his blush now extended to his whole ears. They’ve been cultivation partners for more than half a decade, broken enough beds and bathtubs for the Cloud Recesses to hire its own carpenter. Even the folks in Caiyi are not so discreetly joking that Hanguang Jun, the Bearer of Light, reserves his light for the million-year long gazes he casts towards Wei Ying … and yet, Lan Zhan still can’t handle even the idea of himself flirting. Wei Ying suddenly finds all of this a bit funny.

Well. Quite funny. Of all the places they can make up their missing courtships, they’ve chosen the Burial Mounds.

Good fengshui here, indeed.

He laughs, kicks his legs high and removes his boots. “All right. Now I’ll go certify that your claim about the seeds are true.” He throws Chenqing to the side, then himself into the water. He dives, grabs Lan Zhan’s boots and yanks them off too. “And you, Hanguang Jun, are coming with me.”

Five

Lan Zhan is the undisputed chief of understatement. The lotus seeds are the sweetest Wei Ying has ever had.

Only Lan Zhan can eat something so messy and still look clean and ethereal. The red, somehow, refuses to sully his teeth and skin, only adding colour to his lips and the water, no higher than the knees even at the centre of the Pool where they are, has washed away every bit of mud on his clothes.

What isn’t so clean and ethereal are Wei Ying’s thoughts. Perhaps it’s the Resentment they’ve let into the hall upon severing the guqin strings, the Resentment now twirling and gliding just above the water surface, its swath of black accentuating the purity of the flowers, dashing in only to capture every drop of red it can find.

They remind Wei Ying of the cormorants in Yunmeng, hunting for fish.

Hunter. Prey. Violence. Slaughter. The Resentment here, strong as it is, has never haunted the dwellers of Yiling. The chaos that requires the presence of Hanguang Jun has never been about it; instead, it’s about those who’ve barged into its home. Who create it, make it a scapegoat, sharpen it into an executioner’s knife.

Wei Ying pops another seed into its mouth, savours yet another burst of sweetness as he further appreciates the scenery. A black tendril interrupts its own hunting, coils around Wei Ying’s neck to join his stare.

Oh, he should stop pretending the Resentment has to do with his not clean, not ethereal thoughts.

It’s Lan Zhan in his wet clothes, having fallen into the water with Wei Ying’s too forceful pull into the Pool. It’s the thick, dripping hair, half loose from its tie under the lopsided silver crown. It’s the forehead ribbon, perfectly positioned still and waiting to be stripped.

It’s Lan Zhan, who manages to look strong as his teeth sinks delicately into another seed, regal as his mouth curves into a smile at its taste. On the days when both Cloud Recesses and Wei Ying get drunk with the scent of sweet osmanthus, Lan Zhan can be found on the back hill playing Wangxian. The music sounds inebriated too as rabbits hop all over Lan Zhan’s lap and guqin, as if the Chief Cultivator is merely one of those rock decors so prized by the Gusu scholars.

Next summer, maybe, Wei Ying can bring with him a nest of rabbits, see how they fare on the Burial Mounds. The species seems to share similar musical taste as the Resentment—Wei Ying once practiced Cleansing on the back hills and their red-eye glares were quite unnerving, quite hostile.

Lan Zhan will come with him, Wei Ying is sure, to check on the lotuses.

Their eyes meet once more—all right, Wei Ying should also stop pretending their eyes have truly left each other since they’ve got to the centre of the lotus growth, since he’s left a trail of not red but his clothes in their wake—and this time, he bends and picks not a receptacle but a flower petal, rolls it into a needle.

The helpers at Lotus Pier smoked lotus petals when Madam Yu was travelling. Wei Ying, of course, gave the smoke petals a try. He starts a flame, pushes one end of the rolled petal into his mouth while peering at Lan Zhan.

Hanguang Jun has got a little too intimate with the lotuses. The image of him on his fours, as he demonstrated where he’d planted the tubers, caused Wei Ying to choke.

This, Wei Ying bets, slicing the petal tip with his teeth. Hanguang Jun has never tried this before.

He pulls a breath between his lips, feels its whistling down the petal tube, his tightened windpipe. The red seed stain on his lips marks the regal white and the thing caught at Wei Ying’s throat sings. The thing obsessed with red.

At that moment, it finds a peer, a rival in Lan Zhan.

The silver hairpin comes off first; the crown falls off next as Lan Zhan’s hair frees itself of its tie. A gust blows above the cave, raining in fresh snow as those star-like eyes gain a mystifying mist, throw Wei Ying a teasing, dark glance. The flame on Wei Ying’s petal dies, accompanied by a smirk from the usually reserved, well-mannered mouth as the perennially ramrod straight body falls bonelessly backwards, its knees naturally spread, its weight shifted back to rest on its elbows.

The Resentment on the water surface makes way for the fall, a circle of clear, bright water opening as sprays of black temporarily cling onto the white petals nearby, before gathering back into a thick band that relocates elsewhere to hunt.

That thing in Wei Ying is ready to hunt as well.

“Come,” the untaintable Lan Zhan whispers, his head tilting to rest against a lotus bloom, his eyes closing. The protrusion on his long neck pulses to the whistling air in Wei Ying’s throat; the same pulse echoes along Wei Ying’s every vessel, drums as, through the crystal clarity of the former Blood Pool, Wei Ying’s eyes can see what is now engorged with blood between Lan Zhan’s legs and waiting.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

#slightlytookish #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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pyxisblue · 4 years

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The Wolf’s Calm

“It’s a secret between the Crazy Wolf and I.”

|| A3!: Omi Fushimi // 2nd POV Yume (self-insert), Swearing/cursing, a bit of violence, mention of alcohol

You already knew about your boyfriend's drunk habit: his previous gangster personality comes out whenever he had too much to drink. And you couldn't say you're a fan.

That one particular night, drinking with his friends, had him reconsider about allowing himself too much alcohol. With it almost costing his friendship with his clubmates, it was something the two of you didn't really fancy.

Sure, it does bring out a very different side of him, which you loved to know about, but if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, you included yourself in the list of people who wouldn't want that to happen again, him on the top of the list of course.

You thought he'd already learned his lesson after his friends didn't talk to him for a week due to that incident... well, he thought so too.

A call from one of his university friends was something you didn't expect in a late night. Drying your hair with a towel, you yawned before you answered the ringing phone.

"Ah. [Y/N]... can you help us out?" You can hear the repressed panic in the voice of the man over the phone. He was one of Omi's friends in the photography club.

"Uh. Sure. What's up?" A lot of possible reasons ran through your mind as to why he'd call you in an ungodly hour while he fumbled with words. But what he said next wasn't one of those you considered.

"It's Omi... I think... he had too much to drink."

The same friend led you to a small karaoke room where you found lots of empty bottles and cans all over. Plates of unfinished snacks covered most of the table. The mic lies silently on one of the long cushion seat while the t.v. displayed a repeating video of sceneries as colorful texts flashed over them saying "Insert Song".

In the middle of the other long seat, there's a familiar figure sitting motionless, had his head hanging in front of him as the tiny disco ball from the ceiling showers him with neon lights in the scarcely lit room.

A sigh escaped from your lips when you saw him alone, left by the friends who 'convinced' him to come along only to leave him to himself when they've met the consequences of their actions.

As much as you wanted to call them idiots for running with their tails between their legs after baiting out the wolf inside the actual sheep Omi could be, you couldn't entirely blame them.

No one could deal with Crazy Wolf Omi.

No one...

Except for you.

And that's exactly why one of them called you for rescue.

"Omi. It's time to go home," trying the amicable approach, you wished it'll be over just like that. But the way he scoffed after a glance at you when he lazily lifted his head... You instantly geared yourself for war.

"It's [Y/N], huh? You're here," he stated as if he knew a battle was coming.

Well, he's damn right, you thought, because you're not about to be a prey... not tonight. You knew damn well that dealing with drunk Omi meant a lot of things. One of them is making sure you don't get overwhelmed by his rough attitude.

Another exasperated sigh came out of you before you sat beside him, hands clasped in front of you.

You saw a corner of his lips curved into a smirk when he realized you're not here to fool around, and somehow, this Omi was amused.

"Look. We don't have all night. Both you and I have stuff to do tomorrow. So, we better go home now," your voice came out in a business-like manner.

Whenever you talk to Omi, your tone is always endearing and full of love. What else would this caring man deserve? In order to fill the gaping hole of his insecurities, self-doubt, and guilt, you always made sure you’re able to relay how much you love him down to every part of his being.

But tonight, the man beside you is in his usual demeanor. So, you knew the situation required a different approach.

You weren't here to persuade him into coming with you. He caught the impression--the one you made sure was obvious-- that you're ready to drag him home if need be, but still you were willing to try and ask nicely.

That... that posed as a challenge for him, and this bold side of his was not about to back down easily.

"Oh, really?" In an instant, his handsome face was in front of yours, wearing a challenging smirk, after he guided your face closer to him with just his fingers on your jaw. "I think we have all the night."

You couldn't help but gulp. This view should already be something you're used to, but his fierce eyes boring into yours with tight brows over them made you feel... things. Not to mention, the scar on his jaw made his appeal more... heart-racing than you expected. The man in front of you was dangerously irresistible that you almost got lured into a kiss.

He's your boyfriend; there shouldn't be a problem with it, but the possible consequence this will bring had brought you to your senses.

A punch in the gut made Omi double over, releasing you from his grip.

"What the fuck?" He cursed with a deadly glare to your direction which you met with an unfazed one once you stood away from him.

"We will return to the dorms. Now." No more playing the nice guy, you thought. You turned to your heel to march away, hoping he'd get the message that you weren't asking nor suggesting this time.

But him catching your hand made you stop on your tracks. Just a look in his eyes, you already knew why he was once called “The Crazy Wolf”.

In those burning amber eyes, it was only you who was reflected.

You actually became worried you've provoked him further.

"There shouldn't be any problem, right? You're mine," he said in a low voice that sent a shiver down your spine just as his grip around your hand got tighter.

What he said is true, but there was something bothering you that gave you courage to deny him.

As strong as he is, you've caught him off-guard when you shook your hand free.

He thought he already intimidated you into submission like a sheep backed into a corner. But you're [Y/N]... you're no prey, even to the Crazy Wolf. Wasn't that what attracted him to you... your fiery wild heart that doesn't bow to anyone?

With a resolute voice, you told him, "You're right. I'm yours. But I don't want to do something with you that you're gonna regret afterwards because you thought you hurt me."

His eyes grew wide not only because of your words, but also because of the way there was pain in your eyes as they met his, foreseeing an expression you'll bear if you went with this, and he regrets everything once he's sober.

It pierced through him, and even with this intense personality... he still have the same heart that never wanted to see you with that pained expression.

You turned around once again to leave. You were ready to give him another jab in the gut after he took your hand again and pulled you to him... but you found yourself unable to fight back his embrace.

"Then, let me at least do this," his warm voice was still bearing a hint of his gangster persona as he held you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

He grinned, amused and amazed about how you dealt with him with no fear.

The absence of his domineering attitude a minute ago made you blink in confusion twice.

Did he finally become sober?

"Thank you," his words were soft and gentle to your ear, making a warm pleasant feeling bloom in your chest.

You didn't know which side of Omi was speaking, but all you knew is that no matter how troublesome his drunken persona is... you knew it's still him, the man you fell hopelessly in love with.

The two of you stood there in the middle of the small space, disco lights glimmering with the silence of the bright karaoke machine.

The setting was far from being romantic, yet you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming affection that made you hug him back.

"Let's go home, Omi." This time, you said it like you were coaxing a child.

And in even in his drunken state he couldn't help but feel... 'Ah, I'm really no match for this woman.'

No other woman can beat you at what you do to him.

You weren't his prey. You were his calm... the breeze that chases away the madness of the wolf... the one strong presence in his life he'd never be willing to let go.

When you thought he'd finally let go after you asked to go home, he didn't move an inch. Instead, you suddenly felt his heavy weight on you when he finally blacked out.

You struggled to support his large frame weighing over you as you reach for your phone to call Sakyo and the others for help.

Waiting for them to fetch you, you tried to bring your now asleep boyfriend back to the seat. It was no easy task, and you cursed yourself for not asking someone from the company to come with you. You sat beside him and pulled his head gently to your shoulder.

His sleeping face looked so serene and gentle even under the multi-colored dancing lights. You giggled to yourself, finding it funny how it was a far cry from the expression he had a while ago.

A few minutes later, Sakyo and Banri arrived to witness the mess in the room whilst the two of you slept with your heads over the other. It was a sight that made the older man exasperatingly sigh and the younger one grin in amusement. Both were relieved they didn't come to a chaos, but the out-of-place image of two adults peacefully sleeping, leaning on each other, in a room where it's supposed to be booming with high energy was nothing they expected.

----

You yawned without a care as you ambled to the kitchen. There, you find Banri with a smirk as he shrugged and said, "You two were really getting it on when we arrived."

"We what??" The knife Omi had been using to cut the carrots fell to the chopping board. His eyes wide at Banri, shocked about the troupe leader's remark.

Usually, he can easily ride this kind of conversation as he knows of Banri’s way of messing with other people. But the absence of his last night’s memories made him consider what the younger man is saying might have truth in it.

Unfortunately, Kazunari was also present, "Ooh. I didn't know you had it in you, Omimi. But then again, you were drunk. You said your old personality emerges when you're drunk, right?"

"Yeah. But I wasn't." All heads whipped to your direction at your sudden interruption.

Your boyfriend became even more flustered with your statement. A color of red appearing on his cheeks, his eyes grew even wider.

"Unlike someone, I knew what was happening, and I remember everything," you ambiguously said just to get back at him for what you went through last night.

He stood frozen by the kitchen counter, seemingly not breathing. Probably trying to recall scenes of last night...only to no avail.

"Oof. Omi.exe stopped working!" Exclaimed excitedly by the Summer troupe member.

This... this is the very reason you did not want something to happen when he's drunk. He'd be too flustered to deal with the aftermath.

"So... something really happened, huh?" Banri was a bit surprised under the impression that he hit the nail right in the head. Though, he’d usually be really amused if that were the case, somehow, not this time. Probably because he only saw the two of you in your peaceful snoring last night.

He was met with your shrug as you approached Omi to make sure he was still breathing.

The curious pair had their brows raised as they tried to decipher what you just meant, not sure how to take it in if the 'something' they thought really did happen.

"Shouldn't you two be at the university by now?"

"Oh, shit," the two younger ones jumped and dashed away once they realized what the time was.

You were relieved you didn't have to use the director's name to have their butt moving. Meanwhile, dealing with the man beside you was another story.

"I-- I... I didn't hurt you, did I?" You felt guilty as you were met with a heavily concerned expression. It wasn't worth keeping score if he's gonna be burdened with guilt.

You gave him a smile as you held his cheek, the side where his scar is, "No, you didn't. I was just trying to turn the tables on them."

He blinked at you with a bit of hope, "So... nothing really happened?"

"Well... something happened... but not what they were expecting."

"...?" He pulled that adorable expression he does when he's clueless, making you giggle.

"Don't worry. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"Then, can you tell me what went on?"

And to that, you grinned, "It's a secret between the Crazy Wolf and I.”

You left him in the kitchen with a wink as he stared at you in confusion and curiosity until you disappear from the room entirely.

"Why do I feel like I missed something big?" He whispered to no one as he unwillingly let it go and decided to ask the carrots on the cutting board instead.

----------------------

This was a self-indulgent one I had written when someone mentioned about a fun fact about Omi who has his gangster persona returned whenever he’s drunk.

I scoured A3! sources to confirm this and was able to read the backstage story about it. I wondered how he really was as Crazy Omi and if ever we’ll see it again when he’s drunk, so...

I have so much love for this man. He deserves all the love I can offer.

Hope you enjoyed~

#a3! game #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! fanfic #a3! yume #a3! omi #a3! omi fushimi #omi x reader #omi fushimi x reader

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talpup · 3 years

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Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Sorry for the delay. It’s the husbands last vacay week of the year and we’ve been out enjoying. Anyway, here’s this weeks belated update. Hope you all enjoy!

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 71

It was afternoon. Two days had passed since the end of the war. While Jax and Bronn were busy filing reports, going to meetings and the like, the other Black Bulls and their fellow Magic Knights were busy restoring peace to the Clover Kingdom. Though the Nine Day War, as it was being called, had been brief the gangs and thieves of the kingdom had run amok, the Sentries proving of little use at keeping them in check.

Yami and Teris returned from their latest mission to an empty base.

“What do you want to do first?” Yami asked, eyes on her backside, enjoying the natural sway of her hips as she walked ahead of him.

“Bathe.” Teris said, dully. She wiped at her grimy neck, unaware at the jolt of excitement that rushed through Yami at the single worded response.

Teris was exhausted and in a sour mood. It was getting closer to her birthday. The reminder that she was working against the clock and had one less year to reach her goal staring her in the face. On top of that there was the annual three day gathering between the Nova’s and Silva’s to dread. With the recent peace and the kingdoms thugs embolden by the Magic Knights absence, maybe Lord Silva would have the understanding and decency to call the torturous event off. Teris hoped so but doubted it.

Yami grabbed Teris’ hand and spun her around. “Want me to wash your back? Help you get all those hard to reach places?” His fingers trailed down her spine, happy to see he at least got a smile out of her.

Teris smirked up at him. “I think I’m good.”

“You sure?” Yami lifted a teasing brow. He lowered to kiss her, the hand resting on her hip slid slowly around to her ass.

Teris stiffened. “Yami. Don’t.”

Yami straightened. The hand on her butt falling away, the one on her back hovering. “Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

Teris shook her head frantically, hating her needless fear. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m stupid. I just--”

Yami gripped her shoulders firmly. “Hey. You’re not stupid. I never want to hear you say those words about yourself again. Hear me.”

Teris swallowed unable to look at him.

“You hear me.” Yami pressed.

She nodded.

He pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of the head. “I’m the stupid one for pushing when you need more time.”

Teris shook her head, hands clutching at his chest. “No. You’re not stupid.”

Yami kissed her head again, leaving his lips pressed against her. If he knew of a way to bring the dead back to life he would just so he could personally kill the bastard who had attacked her. His eyes squeezed shut. Much as he hated that Teris had had cause to use it, Yami was so thankful that she had the hidden blade on her. When Fuegoleon had told him what had happened, Teris unable to, Yami instantly knew what she had used. Despite Fuegoleon saying that Nozel had broken the man’s neck, Yami was certain it was the multiple stab wounds to the mans groin that had done the bastard in. Even so, he was grateful for Nozel and Fuegoleon claiming the other and sparing Teris that knowledge.

“I’m sorry.” Teris muttered into his chest.

Yami shook his head, hands fisted in useless anger. “Don’t apologize. Don’t you ever apologize to me.”

“Ever?” She asked, a bit of humor in her voice.

Yami huffed at that.

“I hate this.” She said, arms sliding under his and up around to grip his shoulders. It wasn’t that Teris didn’t want Yami. She hungered for his touch. His attention. His kisses. But, once those touches or kisses began there was this part of her that went back to that cell no matter how hard she fought against it. No matter how safe she knew she was in Yami’s presence.

“We’ll get there. Together. We just got to be slow.” Yami forced a smile into her head. “We agreed that things needed to slow down anyway.”

Teris pulled her head away from his chest and looked up at him. “Are you really okay with this?”

“Okay with taking our time till you feel confidant and comfortable? Absolutely. In fact I demand it. No pushing yourself cause you think I’m impatient or it’ll please me. Got it?”

Teris saluted, smirking at that. “Yes, sir.”

Yami stared down at her, tan eyes meeting her coal ones. “I’m serious.”

Teris’ smile fell. “I know.”

“Promise me. Promise me you would push, pressure, or beat yourself up over however long it takes you.”

“I promise.”

Yami pulled her close. “That’s my girl.”

Teris closed her eyes soaking him in. The coolness that radiated off of him feeling like a north breeze during the a sweltering mid-summers day. His strength, not just physical but emotional, assuring her that he could help her handle anything she was dealing with. His smell, of earth and wood and sweat a strange intoxicating mix.

“I love you.” Teris whispered.

Yami hummed. “I know. I’m pretty amazing.”

“Shut up.” Teris laughed, pulling away and smacking playfully at him.

Yami gripped her wrist and pulled her back to him. Arms around her waist, he stared into her fathomless dark eyes. “I’m going to change your family name one day Teris Nova.”

Teris looked up at him. Her gaze searching his. He looked so firm and serious yet so gentle and loving. “Kiss me.”

Yami wanted to grip her tight and kiss her hard but knew she wouldn’t be able to manage that right now. He had just told her they would work on this together. That they, that he, had to be slow. That they, that he, had to take their time. He smiled down at her lowering his head as she lifted hers. It was likely the sweetest, most gentle kiss they had ever shared and it was glorious.

Yami pulled away leaving her wanting more, smirking at the look of disappointment in her sweet face. That’ll help you forget and focused on better things and keep you coming back, he thought to her. Thing was could he withstand it long enough till she fully returned to herself? He had to. Teris was worth it, and deserved his support and patience. He’d surpass his limits of desire for her and hold out for as long as it took.

Stepping back, he turned away. “Go take your bath. I’ll make us some dinner.”

71.2

Jax and Julius stepped through the portal and into the Black Bulls base.

Closing the gateway, Bronn gave the two Captain's a wave. “I’m off to bed. Wait...” The Vice Captain pulled up short. He sniffed. “Is that food?”

Jax watched Bronn tear off toward the dining hall. He smirked back at Julius. “That energized him. Want to see what’s available before we continue our discussion?”

Julius’ stomach rumbled.

Jax chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The two Captain's entered the dining hall to find Yami and Teris sitting across from each other, Bronn already served and in his usual spot.

“Hope you all made enough to share.” Jax said.

“I think Yami made everything there was in the kitchens.” Teris answered.

“Was hungry.” Yami told, as if that explained the amount of food he’d made.

Not wanting to have to get up for seconds, Jax served a heaping plate. He was dead tired. He may not have been out in the field like his squad; but he was certain he was getting far less sleep and nourishment. He had once fallen asleep on his feet while the Captain's waited to enter the Wizard Kings office for yet another quick debrief.

“You two slide on down here.” Jax told Yami and Teris. He took his usual seat at the head, Julius taking the seat to his left across from Bronn.

Teris made a face.

Bronn looked over at her, chewing open mouthed. “What’s the matter, Black Sheep? I don’t bite. Much.”

Remembering Nozel’s squad report the day peace had been made and what Teris had been through when the team of five had been captured, Jax quietly commended his Vice Captain. “Leave the girl alone.”

Jax knew it wasn’t Nozel’s fault. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but think if the Silver Eagle hadn’t picked Teris for his team she never would have been there and never would have had the scare. He was just grateful that that’s all it had been. A scare.

As difficult as it had been, Jax had made sure Yami knew what had happened. Given what Yami and Teris had been getting up to before the war, Jax didn’t want Yami going in blind and possibly making things worse. But Teris had already tried and failed to tell Yami, and sought her cousin out to tell Yami in her stead. That couldn’t have been easy, and Jax was proud of Teris for her bravery and maturity in realizing Yami had to be told; seeing that it was done, even if she couldn’t manage telling him herself.

Jax hadn’t told Bronn the details of all that since it wasn’t required. But the two knew each other too well and Bronn had called him on not fully disclosing everything. Rather than say he was the Captain and didn’t have to disclose everything, Jax had inquired about Yami’s heightened animosity toward Bronn. Bronn had quit bugging Jax then. The two men letting the secrets of their knowledge stay hidden from each other.

Teris sat a foot or so away from Bronn, her displeasure at being so near him clear.

“You two already file a mission report?” Jax asked.

“On your desk. There was a new mission order there but thought some food and rest were required before heading back out.” Yami said, tucking in next to Julius.

Teris across the table at Yami. This was the first she had heard of a new mission order. If she‘d known she would’ve insisted on going back out immediately. Which was probably why Yami hadn’t said anything she thought, eyes narrowing.

Jax nodded. “Good. You guys need a nights rest. Bronn will take it.”

Bronn’s head shot up. “What!”

Yami gave the Vice Captain an overly wide smile. “Thanks, Bronn!”

Bronn threw a sauteed carrot at Yami. Glaring at Jax, he cursed under his breath.

“Things finally settling down at Headquarters?” Yami asked the Captain's.

“For the most part. Sir Jorah wasn’t overly pleased that Commander Greywright allowed that conversation between you and King Morris.” Julius said, looking at Teris.

“I think the poor Commander got quite the earful about it.” Jax put in.

Teris looked between the two. “Why? It’s not like Morris King was going to be denied. He stated as much when he said he would restart the war if he didn’t get his way. Wasn’t as if he asked anything scary or personal.” Despite his final words, she thought.

“I think the problem was peace between the kingdoms rested on the shoulders of an ill tempered girl being able to hold a polite, respectful conversation.” Bronn said, reaching over fork pricking a large piece of meat on Teris’ plate.

Teris stabbed the uncut steak with a knife. Her and Bronn’s eyes met. Bronn brought his empty fork back to his plate.

Julius looked across the table at his sister. “Speaking of respectful. Nozel might have covered for you. But I know you gave him no end of trouble.”

“I did not!” Teris stressed.

Julius eyed her skeptically.

“How did this turn into a lecture?” Teris demanded.

Having mercy, Jax stepped in. “Actually, I think Teris treated the acting Captain with the upmost respect, after a short but expected adjustment period.”

“Thank you.” Teris told her Captain remembering the conversation they had that had ensured a somewhat instantaneous adjustment after what had happened on the cliff.

Julius caught Jax give her a wink and wondered what he was missing.

They ate in silence for a bit Teris breaking it to ask her brother. “Have you heard from Fyntch?”

Julius shook his head. He swallow and wiped his mouth. Knowing what she was actually asking about, he said. “No. I assume things will go as usual. The good news is the Silva’s are currently residing at Silva Castle in Castle City and show every sign of staying there up until, if not passed the annual gathering.”

Teris questioned, tersely. “How is staying at the Royal Castle any better? If anything it’s worse.”

Julius watched her get up. “There’s plenty to go out and do in Castle City.”

“You’re an idiot.” Teris told her brother, walking out of the dining room.

Bronn chewed around his food. “Yeah. There’s no way a conversation with her could have offended Morris. Surprised we’re not back at war. Sit!” He barked at Yami, seeing him rise to follow Teris. “Now.” He growled when Yami didn’t move to comply.

“I got this.” Julius sighed.

“No. You’ve done enough.” Jax said. He threw his napkin on the table and sighed. “I’m the one with some actual good news. So I’ve got this.”

Julius could hear Jax mutter something about fools, certain his friend was referring to him.

Sitting back down, Yami asked. “What good news?”

Chewing, Bronn smiled. “Your girl’s gonna out rank you.”

Unlike Bronn’s snide smirk, Yami smiled in true. “Good for her.”

Bronn frowned at Yami’s pleased response. He sniffed and stabbed a fork through the steak he had tried to swipe off Teris’ plate.

Julius arched an eyebrow.

“What? She’s not coming back to eat it. You saw to that being a typical older brother.” Tearing open a heel of bread, Bronn stuffed the slice of meat between the two pieces and got to his feet. “Best get going. Seems I got a mission.” He shot Yami a glare. “Good for nothing, lazy bastards.”

Julius waited for Bronn’s footsteps to fade. He glanced back at the dining halls entrance and listened, making sure Teris wasn’t on her way back. Satisfied, his eyes slid to Yami. “Were you planning on telling me that one of your old friends was sent to kill you?”

Yami wasn’t all that surprised that Julius had been made aware. Although he did wonder if Bronn had told Julius, or the Vice Captain had snitched to Jax and Jax had told Julius. Shrugging a shoulder, Yami said. “Doubt Silva knew he was an old buddy of mine when he hired him.”

“You need to take this more seriously.” Julius scolded.

“I am taking it seriously.”

“This is the second time something like this has been tried that we’re aware of.” Julius said.

Looking at his mentor, Yami asked. “What am I suppose to do about it? Apologize to Silva that his son’s a cold, emotionless loser Teris doesn’t want to marry?”

“Nozel’s not a loser and he’s far from emotionless.” Julius said.

“I know. That just came out.” Yami grumbled.

“And that’s part of the problem.”

“What? Being wrong?” Yami asked.

“You saying things with little to no thought.” Julius said.

Yami huffed. “Pretty sure the Royal Bird and his old man would want me dead whether they ever heard my voice again or not. Teris was right. You are looking to lecture.”

Julius ran a hand over his face and sighed. “I’m tired is all.”

“Then get some sleep. Knowing how you work, you probably need it more than anyone.”

Julius shook his head. “I can’t. I got to talk something over with Jax and get back to Headquarters. Then there’s the stack of reports that were on my desk this morning that has likely only grown.”

“You’re gonna run yourself sick like the Advisor did a few months back.” Yami said. He sensed a sudden alarm and tension in Julius’ Ki.

Yami’s eyes narrowed. He had noticed something similar when Advisor Ellara had been mention on a previous occasion. But back then the sense had disappear so quickly that Yami figured he had read the Captain's Ki wrong or was mistaken as to why it had reacted. Now he was positive that there was something Julius didn’t like or trust about the woman. Yami didn’t know her and could really care less about her. The only feelings he had toward her was the same watchful, mild distaste he had for anyone capable of ordering him around.

Careful not to show Julius he had noticed the unease, Yami suggested. “At least take an hours nap.”

Julius smiled at Yami’s care. “May be after I return to base.”

“Mind if I ask what you and Jax are gonna talk about?”

“Not at all. I won’t answer. But ask away.”

Taking the offer as one to ask anything, Yami questioned. “When can I take Teris on that excursion I planned for my birthday?”

Exhaustion making his temper short, Julius glowered. “You just don’t quit do you? Your life was threatened. Again!”

“I just got off the battlefield of a war. We never know what dangers we’ll face when out on mission.” Yami almost brought up the Agents of Chaos; but thought better of it sure that would only dissuade Julius. “Silva sending this latest gang. There was no threat there. Cin wouldn’t kill me. Even if he tried, he wouldn’t stand a chance. I fought him and Damon together and won.”

“That was a long time ago. Who knows how much he’s learned and grown in skill since then.” Julius said.

“Like I haven’t learned and grown?”

“There were a lot more than just this Cin and Damon from my understanding.”

Yami couldn’t deny that the number of Cin’s gang would have proved a bit of a challenge, not that he was going to admit that. “Who all knows?”

“That you were taken by a dimensional spell? Quite a few. That it was a gang hired to kill you that was luckily led by an old friend of yours? Even less. That the gang was hired by Nathyn Silva? Commander Greywright, Jax, Bronn, and I.” Julius sighed. “The Commander didn’t think it necessary to inform Sir Jorah of that bit. I have to say I agree. There’s nothing the Wizard King could do about it anyway. The Silva’s are--”

“Untouchable. Yeah, I remember. You already said that.”

“Which is why you have to be careful. No more riling up or making fun of Nozel so openly.”

“He has nothing to do with these attempts. Ball of Pride is too principled.” Yami said with certainty. Not to mention he wants to personally oversee my death, he thought.

Figuring even Yami knew better than to use such a nickname in public, Julius ignored it and said. “I agree. But that doesn’t mean word won’t get back to Lord Silva from someone else. Nozel is a royal, and a Prince at that. His family is second in line to the throne. In disrespecting him you disrespect his family and those that who serve the Silva’s. Which is to say everyone but the King himself.”

“People take things too seriously.” Yami complained. “In any case, it doesn’t matter what I say or do. Nathyn Silva wants me out of the way. He’ll try again.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. A man like that has even more on his plate than I do. If you manage not to garner his attention again I truly believe he’ll forget about you.”

“But--”

Julius cut off Yami’s argument. “Like the rest of them, Lord Silva fully believes Teris will bend when the time comes. They can’t help but think it. Their power, position, and money mean more to them than anything else. Even their own happiness. The thought that someone within their ranks would give up those things is so foreign to them that they’ll never believe it until it’s done.” He looked at Yami. “You believe she’ll do what she says. Right?”

“No.” Yami grinned at Julius’ expression. “I don’t believe Teris will do what she says. I know without a doubt that she will.”

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

Nathyn fully focused on his son and reminded. “You are royalty first. This is more than just celebrating your Intended’s birthday. Not that you shouldn’t insist we continue with that. But there are Peace Parties to attend. The people are happy this war was short and is over. They wish to celebrate you for securing that peace. The King wishes to honor you.” He looked proudly at his heir. “You did good, and should take these next few days to relax and enjoy the fruits of your success.” His face sharpened. “I insist.”

#yami sukehiro #julius novachrono #nozel silva #light in the darkness

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franstastic-ideas · 5 years

Text

I’m Telling the Tooth!

Underfell AU - Sans’s gold tooth gets knocked out during a physical confrontation with a rude human. Unfortunately for him, this means a trip to the dentist’s, and Asgore isn’t the only monster that feels uneasy about dental work. Anesthesia is required for the procedure, and when he wakes up, he makes a lot of loving claims about her that Frisk can’t really believe are true. He says he likes her. He really likes her. He loves her. He wants to marry her. He’s skipping more than a few integral steps of the courting process.

Word Count: 15,829

Warnings: An attempted kidnapping and assault, one instance of a minor curse word, and at one point late into the story it seems as though the narrative will begin to veer into themes of suicide.

Other than that, this is pure fluff with a small spoonful of angst.

It had began as what was supposed to have been a relatively simple shopping trip at the local mall.

But it had ended as anything but that.

Frisk had taken the skeleton brothers along with her because they insisted on tagging along, telling her they had some errands to run as well. Except the two had never been out in public quite like this since coming to the surface and they stuck by her like baby chicks to their mother. After about an hour of this, she had finally managed to squeeze away from them long enough to use the restroom.

It was after she exited the restroom and was finding her way back that the trouble began.

“Hey. You. Pretty girl.”

She continued walking; whoever it was that spoke had obviously not been speaking to her.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Where you going, baby?” A man with a somewhat muscular build abruptly stepped out from his hiding place and in front of her, blocking her way with a smile and a gleam in his eye that made her insides churn with unease.

“Um, I…” Even after her adventures in the Underground, she still wasn’t good at dealing with confrontation.

But then again, she knew that monsters really were different than humans. The monsters she had dealt with on her journey had been at times violent, hateful, and rude, but so were a sizable portion of humans. The grand difference between them was, the monsters had understandable reasons for their unscrupulous behavior. Humans, more often than not, didn’t need a reason.

And Frisk never liked to judge anyone by their appearance or judge to quickly on the first impression, but she could tell from a single glance and the manner in which that one question was said that this man was nothing but a troublemaking creep.

She needed to get away from this guy, maybe alert someone of her presence, but didn’t it just figure that he would approach her when next to no one was around?

“How about you and I go somewhere quiet together, huh?”

He reached out to touch her, perhaps take her by the arm, but she quickly sidestepped him.

“Leave me alone.” She gave him the most disinterested glare that she could muster, but he had the gaul to laugh at her.

“Oh, you’re a feisty girl! I like that. It’s no fun when they don’t fight back a little.”

She’d had enough of this nonsense. Frisk slipped past him, but she didn’t get very far before her arm was grabbed harshly, fingernails digging painfully into the flesh and her entire body was yanked backwards and pressed roughly into his chest. She thrashed and squirmed furiously, attempting to kick, bite, punch and scratch to escape his grip with little results. He laughed cruelly at her, his other hand reaching over to clench her shoulder tightly with enough force that she was certain it would leave more bruises. She took a breath, ready to shout for help, but he clamped his other hand over her mouth and hissed,

“You try to scream, and I’ll snap your neck right here.” This man definitely had the build to do so, and she didn’t want to find out if he was bluffing or not. “Now when I move my hand, are you going to try to scream?”

She furiously shook her head, her heart and SOUL thumping wildly in her chest out of fear.

“Good girl. Now, you’re gonna pretend that you’re my girl. So quit squirming around and looking so miserable before people start staring. You’ve got an awfully pretty face, and it’d be a shame if you forced me to break it.”

Once he removed his hand from her mouth, it shifted to her now aching shoulder, to her back, all the way down her spine, and then the small of her back. Thankfully, he didn’t get to move his hand any lower before…

Frisk heard her captor let out a pained yowl and she was immediately released. Disentangling herself from the loose hold around her that remained, she came face to face with one of the skeletons she had left behind just minutes earlier in another part of the store. Sans had caught the man’s wandering hand and was bending it backwards at an angle that was sure to be uncomfortable.

“now, i understand more than anybody that babydoll here’s got a gorgeous rear view…” Frisk would have normally scolded him for such a crude statement, but the sheer venom in his voice had shocked her into silence for the moment. “but, that don’t mean you can jus’ go and grab her anywhere any ol’ way you like.”

Sans began twisting his arm as if it had the same flexible properties as rubber, his expression appearing at first glance to be the very image of calmness, but the anger bubbling underneath and in his tone was eerily evident if one were to take another look. Normally, he allowed his expressions to twist and fluctuate with his emotions. Normally, he permitted his volume to gradually rise and fall along with his temper. Sans’s expression, an uncomfortably wide toothy smile accompanied by violently trembling red pinpricks which served as his pupils that were just barely visible in the blackness of his large eye sockets still seemed far too relaxed, and his words were spoken in an intonation that seemed far too soft for him to use in this particular situation. It was a tranquil fury, a type of anger that was entirely foreign to him, and Frisk couldn’t recall ever having seen him this enraged before in her somewhat short, but incredibly eventful time of knowing Sans. And this terrifying display of emotion was brought about entirely due to concern over her wellbeing.

“sweethearts like her need to be treated sweetly, and gently…”

They both could hear the slight creaking sound coming from the man’s wrist. Frisk was aware of how ironic it was that he was twisting and flailing around in the same fashion as she had previously in his attempts to free himself from Sans’s grip. She wondered when it was that the man would turn to violence, but she didn’t have to ponder this thought long before he stopped struggling and balled his free hand into a fist. He swung at Sans’s face, right between the eyes, but the skeleton dodged it with ease. Sans had let go of his wrist, but rather than run, the man was instead looking for a fight, and it seemed her monster friend was more than willing to comply with his foolish wishes.

Frisk was torn between leaving the scene to find Papyrus and staying to see how things between the two turned out. She knew there was no use in trying to end the skirmish herself - she could ease Sans out of a dispute herself whenever one arose with some kindness, gentle persuasion, and determination, but he was out for blood and beyond reasoning with.

Sans was taking this personally; that man had his filthy hands all over his sweetheart, and Sans had been anticipating the first sign of aggression he could find so he could have an excuse to retaliate.

In the end, either option wasn’t possible for Frisk. A crowd of shoppers had paused in their browsing to gather and watch the impending strife, and she had become trapped among the mass of people. She couldn’t see what was happening anymore due to her height, and she couldn’t move past them to find Papyrus either. She hoped that Papyrus would eventually notice the sudden absence of shoppers in whatever store he was currently in if not the surrounding chaos and intervene himself.

Once the fight had began, the man couldn’t seem to land any hits on Sans; the skeleton ducked, dodged, and swerved out of every punch thrown his way and then Sans would take advantage of any openings left to inflict damage himself. He didn’t need to use any magic – laws had been recently created limiting the use of monster’s magic in public, but it wasn’t like he cared anything about that. Sans could wipe the floor with him without relying on his supernatural powers, and that was exactly one of the pieces of information about himself he was making abundantly clear. The next being that Frisk was his human, and this particular human was gonna pay for treating her like some sort of cheap toy that was meant to break.

Eventually, though, Sans grew weary. Not tired, just bored. His opponent’s attacks were far too predictable. He couldn’t just walk away from an important fight like this, though, so he resolved to be creative to keep things interesting. So at some point during the fight, Sans pulled out a pair of glasses from his hoodie pocket that he had taken from somewhere when he had briefly teleported mid-dodge, being most likely unpaid for (they still had the price tag displayed on the frames), and put them on. He even had enough time and plenty to spare to tape them to his skull so they wouldn’t fall off.

“you wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would ya?”

MISS

“you couldn’t hit a guy with glasses!”

MISS

He was actively messing with the man now. He almost would have felt a twinge of sympathy for him if he hadn’t rough-handled Frisk and wasn’t a complete creep that was caught preying on women when they were alone. Sans could understand the manly desire to display some aggressive romantic advances, but he paid particular attention to and had learned how to pick up on the mood of his lady and knew when to really back off when his flirting wasn’t appreciated. This human needed to be taught his place, and that the beating he was being put through was just a gentle warning compared to what would have happened if Sans hadn’t shown up when he did.

Frisk had finally managed to wiggle herself towards the front of the clamoring audience, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting over their whoops and howls,

“Sans!”

“yeah, dolly?” His tone was casual but still attentive, not turning his head towards her when he spoke as he leapt away from another swing of the man’s fist.

She wanted to tell him to stop, that the guy wasn’t worth it, and Sans could get into trouble with the law for what he was doing even though he had initially only been trying to defend her. Instead, she found herself asking,

“How did you even get here so fast?!”

“i was lookin’ for ya.”

“I was gone for five minutes!”

“which was four minutes and thirty seconds too long ta be without ya.”

Ever since they had left the Underground, Sans had practically been attached to her at the hip. She barely had a moment to herself anymore. Papyrus and some of her other monster friends were similar in wanting to occupy all of her time, but none of them could even hold a candle to Sans.

Frisk remembered when this possessive streak of his first began to show itself; he had stopped her in the Judgement Hall, begging, pleading with her not to leave them – not to leave him. Only two foreseeable fates lied in front of her then should she continue with the last leg of her journey; defeat Asgore and return to the surface, or be killed continuously by the king of monsters. Sans was one of the select few that knew of the true nature behind her temporal powers, but it didn’t matter to him if she could simply load after each of her demises. He didn’t want Asgore to kill her and he didn’t want her to go somewhere where he would never see her again.

She had made him care again, and then she was going to leave him.

He had finally relented and allowed her passage, but he wouldn’t let her go without a fight. He would never take her life like all the other monsters had, no, but Sans was determined to keep her with him, and he would do anything within his power to make that possible. With each instance he dropped her HP down to 1, he would then incapacitate her and carry Frisk all the way back to Snowdin, muttering how this was for the best and what he was doing was done out of love. This process repeated, over and over again, an uncountable number of times, until finally she had learned to predict his attack patterns and in turn caused him to use up his magic until he was near ready to collapse.

She could have ran past him and left him there, a screaming sobbing wreck, but she didn’t. She had taken that opportunity to instead comfort him, reassure him that he and everyone else wouldn’t be trapped Underground forever and she would do everything to ensure that they would one day reach the surface. His expression then told her he didn’t believe her, but he had reluctantly let her go.

Frisk was the catalyst for everything good that has happened recently in his life; he and Papyrus making up after several years’ worth of senseless arguments and hurling petty insults towards each other, Alphys and Undyne finally speaking to each other as equals when both were too caught up in their pride to do so, Mettaton and Napstablook apologizing to each other first in private then on live television, thus putting their past estrangement behind them… Frisk was responsible for it all.

And now she had granted him and every other monster a life of freedom here on the surface, just as she had promised.

She was important to him, and she knew that, but Frisk couldn’t even begin to fathom just how much value her life and happiness truly meant to Sans.

So much so that sometimes it nearly drove him mad.

The throng then began to shuffle around boisterously with the action, some laughing at Sans’s antics while pushing and shoving each other to get a better view of the spectacle. Someone standing next to Frisk elbowed her a bit too hard in the ribs and she accidentally let out a yelp.

Sans immediately froze, his focus drawn away from the fight as he whipped his head towards the direction he heard Frisk cry out, but couldn’t see her.

“sweetheart?”

That was all the hesitation his opponent needed; the man he had been walloping for the past five minutes took this moment to strike Sans directly in the mouth, probably because he had been taunting and insulting him throughout the entirety of the match. Sans stumbled backwards, moving one hand to hold the affected area and felt something wet there – pulling his hand back revealed it was stained with red magic, his own magic.

If he still had a mere HP value of 1, that would have killed him.

The idiot, the absolute buffoon, then made the fatal mistake of gloating over his accomplishment, one successful strike against the monster compared to the dozens Sans had effectively delivered, but he was instantly silenced when Sans reeled back and punched him just as hard in the solar plexus, sending the man hurtling towards the ground. He fell, and it didn’t look like he would be getting back up anytime soon.

Ignoring his pain and the garbage on the floor, Sans bolted towards the crowd and began tossing people aside haphazardly and without care until he found Frisk. He took her face in his large skeletal hands and pulled her close, wobbling eyelights worriedly searching her form for any signs of injury.

“babydoll! you okay? i heard you shout.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Someone just accidentally elbowed me a little too hard in all the excitement…” She then gasped, eyes wide and hands clasped over her own mouth. “Oh my stars! Sans! Y-Your tooth!”

“my wha-” He then ran his glowing red tongue, made of magic, over his teeth and noticed one was missing – his gold one.

“That piece of-” He growled, wrapping one protective arm around Frisk in case the man woke up again to harass them as he scanned the floor for his missing tooth.

It didn’t take long for him to find it, the deep lustrous yellow contrasting against the marble white of the floor. He picked it up and pocketed it, still clinging to Frisk as he did so. Once that was done, his attention was instantly shifted back onto her.

He took her by the hands, rubbing soothing little circles with his bony thumbs over her knuckles. “sweetheart, ‘m so sorry i was late... did that walking mixture of crap and raw sewage hurt you?!”

When she had been grabbed, it certainly hadn’t felt good, but after taking in the complete thrashing Sans had given to her assailant, she wasn’t sure if mentioning the bruises that were forming on her skin was a wise idea for fear of what more he might do.

That man wasn’t worth Sans losing his freedom over, she thought.

However, before she could respond, Sans’s hands glided carefully up her arms to rest on her shoulders, phalanges delicately grazing over where she had been seized earlier, and Frisk automatically flinched. Her reaction was enough of an answer for Sans.

“i’m gonna kill him.”

“Sans, please don’t-”

“i really mean it. i’m gonna. but first, i’ll castrate him. right here.”

“Sans, he’s not worth it!”

“he hurt you, and then he tried to touch you. and if i hadn’t shown up when i did, he would have. he’s scum.”

Thankfully, before Sans could carry out his threat, Papyrus had finally made his appearance. His sudden arrival was enough to stop his brother in his tracks as he strode up to them with a look of vexation, arms crossed and appearing ready to put Sans on the receiving end of a brutal tongue lashing for being at the center of such pandemonium.

“OUR FIRST TRIP INSIDE A HUMAN MARKET, AND YOU CAN’T EVEN STAY OUT OF TROUBLE FOR TEN MINUTES WITHOUT ME CONSTANTLY HOVERING OVER YOU. I WOULD ASK IF YOU HAVE ANY SENSE OF SHAME IF I WERE LESS INTELLIGENT AND DIDN’T ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER.”

“D-Do you know him?!” The man was apparently conscious again, but he couldn’t move around much; he couldn’t even sit up properly.

“AND WHO IS THIS?” Papyrus questioned as he gestured to him boredly.

The man then pointed to Sans, attempting to play the victim – the only ones that knew the truth of what had transpired were him, Frisk, and Sans. He was in front of an entire mob, and if this other skeleton didn’t believe him, then the human members of the crowd almost certainly would over the word of a monster.

He didn’t even get the chance to plead his case before being interrupted by an enraged Sans that already knew what he was trying to do.

“This lunatic tried to-”

“i caught this pervert about to grope frisk!”

Well that got Papyrus’s attention.

“and before that, ‘m pretty sure he bruised her up! she flinched hard when i touched her shoulders checkin’ over for any damage!”

Papyrus’s already narrowed sockets thinned to slits, his heels clacking thunderously against the floor as he closed the distance between them, snatching the man by the front of his shirt and lifting him up with a single arm. Sans’s height was somewhere in the area of six feet, but Papyrus was a seven foot tall, extremely intimidating skeleton monster; so Frisk’s would-be kidnapper was dangling almost two feet off the ground and was at the mercy of a being that had only just recently learned and had a clumsy grasp on the definition of the word.

Papyrus didn’t say a word as he suddenly summoned a large and heavy bone nearly the size of himself, lifted it with his free hand as if it were weightless, then slammed it over the man’s head. He didn’t even get to let out an ‘ow’ before he was out cold once again.

“He’s going to get brain damage at this rate…” Frisk said, her blatant display of concern for her aggressor shouldn’t have shocked the brothers in the slightest considering her compassionate and forgiving nature, but it did.

“AND YOUR POINT IS…? IT’S NOT AS THOUGH HE WAS USING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.” Papyrus scoffed, dismissing his bone-based attack he had used as a makeshift club.

“gotta agree with my bro here, babydoll. moron should’a used what few brain cells he had and backed off when he had the chance.”

Sans and Papyrus were not finished with him in the slightest, she realized. But before the two could concoct more ways to injure the man further, for the third instance that day, a timely arrival, this time of the police, kept her from having to play the role of the ineffectual peacemaker.

“All right! All right! Break it up! Nothing to see here! That’s right, get moving! You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!”

After convincing the gathered people in the area to disperse, the pair of officers suited in blue, a man and a woman, then approached the three. Much to Frisk’s relief, they didn’t appear to be upset with any of them, and she had been so sure that they were here to arrest her two delinquent monster companions. Rather, they swooped in to apprehend the man lying unconscious on the floor of the mall from where Papyrus had clubbed him.

“We’ve been trying to catch this guy for weeks.” The lady officer, Nina Sanchez explained once the officers had successfully carted the man away and the air around them had began to calm. “He landed himself on our wanted list for multiple charges of sexual harassment, threatening behavior, stalking, and attempted abduction. And now we have to add minor assault to that list.”

“he was gonna try to take my baby away…” Sans quietly muttered into Frisk’s neck; the shorter of the two skeletons was curled up to her side as they sat on a nearby bench, his arms locked firmly around her as if she would disappear into nothing if he loosened his hold by even the slightest amount.

“We’re going to make sure he stays behind bars for a long time.” The other officer, Duke Durland, continued. “He didn’t succeed in kidnapping or causing any serious harm to any of the women he’s interacted with, but the intent was still there and crystal clear. He needs to be punished by being locked away where he can’t bother anyone anymore.”

“I ASSURE YOU; I AM MORE THAN CAPABLE OF DOLING OUT A FAR MORE APPROPRIATE PUNISHMENT.” Papyrus was all too eager to propose.

“I understand that you’re angry over your lady friend being targeted,” He went on, attempting to pacify him. “but up here on the surface, it’s the job of officers and the court to deal with criminals.”

“And that means no vigilantism.” Frisk was quick to add.

“BUT YOU CLEARLY DON’T UNDERSTAND – I WAS VICE-CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD IN THE UNDERGROUND, SO I’M ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN THAT I CURRENTLY HOLD THE CREDENTIALS NEEDED IN ORDER TO DELIVER PROPER RETRIBUTION UPON TRANSGRESSORS OF THE LAW!”

“Papy, that’s not how it works…” Frisk patted his skeletal arm, urging him to sit down on the bench next to her and Sans; he complied with an almost childish pout, crossing his arms as he did so. “Forgive him. His comprehension of surface world laws is still a work in progress. Back where he came from, if somebody had a problem with someone else, then they settled it between themselves – usually with violence...”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that.” Duke laughed heartily, “I have some monster friends of my own, and there isn’t a single dull moment with them around!”

“I thought for sure the two of you had shown up to arrest them or kick us out.”

“On normal circumstances, we would have had to,” Nina nodded in her direction, “But you saved the both of us a lot of trouble in hunting this guy down, and your boyfriend here was in the right to react as he did. …Well, maybe not by starting a full-blown fist fight in a public mall, but we checked the security cameras and the court of law would say he was acting in self-defense and defending another party, in this case, you.”

“Thank you for being so lenient and considerate, but… he’s not my boyfriend.” Frisk awkwardly chuckled, having tried to wiggle out of Sans’s death grip on multiple occasions throughout the conversation, but failing each time. She eventually just sighed in defeat and reached up to pat the top of his skull.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m usually good at picking up on things like that.” Nina apologized, but she took a quick glance at the skeleton currently latched onto Frisk and noticed that his grin had slipped just slightly.

“It’s alright. A lot of people say the same thing about us.”

“Uh-huh…” The lady officer allowed her gaze to fall on Sans again and he looked even more glum than a few seconds prior. “Anyway, onto a more pressing matter – your friend lost a tooth in the scuffle, correct?”

Sans nodded, not willing to dig in his pockets to present his severed tooth if it meant letting go of Frisk.

“HOW LOVELY. THIS MEANS A TRIP TO THE DENTIST; YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU?” Papyrus’s tone was unenthusiastic and dry as he turned to his brother, and Frisk felt Sans flinch.

“bro, w-we can’t go. we don’t got the cash for that.”

“Actually, if the payment to fix your tooth problem is an issue, we can easily have it arranged that the perpetrator pay for the procedure out of his own pocket.” Nina offered, “He won’t be needing any of that money when he’s in prison, and it’s not like he can, oh say, go to the mall to buy anything, now can he?”

“That sounds perfect!” Frisk eagerly replied, the amount of silver linings of this situation gradually revealing themselves had yet ceased continuing to surprise her. “What’s your verdict, Co-Captain of the Royal Guard, Papyrus?”

“HMMM, I CAN FIND NO REASON TO OBJECT.”

“does what i think or feel not mean anythin’ to any of ya?!”

“NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST. NOW HURRY UP AND GET TO THE CAR! WE NEED TO GET THERE BEFORE THIS TRIP THROWS OFF OUR SCHEDULE FOR THIS EVENING EVEN MORE THAN IT ALREADY HAS!”

Sans let out a noise that sounded like a mixture between an annoyed grumble and a soft whine but obeyed his brother’s command without protest, dragging his feet as he followed Papyrus’s longer strides out of the building.

“You two would make a really cute couple, though.” Duke commented before Frisk left to catch up with them.

“I’m surprised you would say something like that. Most people look at human and monster relationships as… you know…”

“Heh, it might surprise you to hear someone say this directly, but I’m glad you brought the monsters to the surface. I never would have met my girlfriend otherwise, Miss Ambassador.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m dating a bunny lady right now. She used to run a store in a town in the Underground called Snowdin. …I hope to one day call her my wife.”

“It makes me glad to hear you two are happy together.” Frisk found herself smiling; it was rare for her to encounter humans that were so open about their tolerance or admiration for the monsters.

“You should probably get going now; your, uh, not boyfriend was shaking like a leaf when he heard the word ‘dentist’.”

“Yeah, he was. I never would have thought of him as the type to freak out over something like that, but… I better go with them. Just in case.”

She would have tagged along anyway even if Sans had been completely unfazed by Papyrus’s declaration, but if he really was frightened about the visit then her presence might help to ease his fears and provide moral support, even if only by a small amount.

When she had caught up to them, they were already at Papyrus’s car, a sleek black sportscar with painted on hot rod flames, and its owner was already buckled up and behind the wheel. Sans, however, was having difficulty with his own buckle as his hands were shaking too hard.

“OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE – STOP BEING SUCH A BABYBONES!”

Papyrus was swiftly losing his patience and his temper.

“Here, I’ll help.” Frisk crawled in the back seat and fastened the buckle for him, their hands brushing over each other’s for a few seconds as she fumbled with the safety apparatus.

“…thanks.” His reply sounded choked to her.

“HUMAN FRISK, STOP SPOILING SANS BY COMPLETING TASKS FOR HIM THAT HE’S PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF ACCOMPLISHING FOR HIMSELF. HE MAY BE MY BABY BROTHER, BUT HE IS NOT THAT INCOMPETENT. NOW CEASE YOUR LOLLYGAGGING IMMEDIATELY AND GET UP HERE WITH ME!”

“Alright, alright. Yes, your vice-captain of the royal guardship.”

“DON’T TEST MY ALREADY DWINDLING FORBEARANCE, FRISK. THIS IS JUST AS STRESSFUL FOR ME AS IT IS FOR MY BROTHER, I CAN ASSURE YOU.”

“Why so?” She inquired as she buckled herself in and the engine roared to life.

“YOU’LL FIND OUT AFTER WE GET THERE.”

“It would be really helpful of you to let me know now.”

“UGH, FINE. WHEN SANS LOST HIS ORIGINAL TOOTH AND BEFORE HE OBTAINED HIS GOLD ONE, HE WAS EXTREMELY PANICKED AT THE THOUGHT OF HAVING SOMEONE MESS AROUND WITH HIS MOUTH. YOU ARE PERFECTLY AWARE OF HOW EVERYDAY LIFE WAS FOR MONSTERS IN THE UNDERGROUND – A DENTAL PROCEDURE WOULD PUT HIM IN A STATE OF VULNERABILITY, AND HE WOULD HAVE TO COMPLETELY TRUST THE ONE PERFORMING THE PROCEDURE NOT TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT.”

“I guess that feeling of uncertainty is still with him, even though he knows there isn’t in any danger of that happening here...”

“THERE’S MORE TO IT THAN THAT – ANESTHESIA WAS REQUIRED THEN, AND I DOUBT THAT IT WILL BE ANY DIFFERENT HERE IN THE PRESENT AND ON THE SURFACE. AND OTHER THAN THE THOUGHT OF HIM FALLING ASLEEP AND NEVER WAKING UP PLAGUING HIS MIND, HIS BEHAVIOR UPON AWAKENING IN THE PAST WAS… INDESCRIBABLE.”

“‘m right here. ya can stop talkin’ like ‘m not.”

“I’m sorry, Sans!” She squeaked, now acknowledging that she had been effectively ignoring him and was additionally asking Papyrus intrusive and probably embarrassing questions about himself. “Listen, I know the needle will be scary, but it’ll all be over before you even know it and then you can go home. I had to get my wisdom teeth removed before and it was finished in an hour, but you won’t even need to get stitches-”

“stop it.” He nearly growled before taking a deep, shuddery breath and his tone shifting to one that sounded less dangerous and more annoyed. “i know yer tryin’ ta help, but i’d rather jus’ not think about it ‘til we actually get there.”

“Ok… I understand.” Frisk tried not to show the hurt in her own tone as she replied, “I just thought that you might need a little reassurance since you seemed nervous...”

“…”

“you ass. now look at what you did – she’s sad now.” He inwardly began to berate himself. “that little frown on those pretty pink lips is your fault, all you. this is why you don’t even deserve to share the same space as her, much less think you’ll ever be good enough to be the kind of man she needs.”

He looked out the window and watched the scenery roll by in silence, feeling even worse than he had previously.

And after about five minutes of pure silence, Papyrus suddenly spoke up.

“I NEGLECTED TO MENTION THIS BEFORE, FRISK, BUT IS NOW AN UNOPPORTUNE MOMENT TO INFORM YOU THAT I WON’T BE THERE TO SUPERVISE SANS ONCE THE PROCEDURE IS FINISHED?”

“what?!” “What?!”

“I WON’T BE THERE TO SUPERVISE SANS ONCE THE PROCEDURE IS FINISHED.”

“Yes, we heard that the first time, but why?!”

“I AM TO ACCOMPANY CAPTAIN UNDYNE, HER MAJESTY, QUEEN TORIEL AND HIS MAJESTY, KING ASGORE, TO AN IMPORTANT MEETING DISCUSSING MONSTERS AND THEIR FUTURE ON THE SURFACE. WE ARE TO, UNACCOMPANIED AND UNAIDED BY YOU, OUR AMBASSADOR, PRESENT PROOF THAT WE ARE NOT MENACES TO SOCIETY. AND IF THE HUMAN OFFICIALS WERE TO CATCH WIND OF WHAT OCCURRED IN THE MALL BACK THERE, I LOATHE TO THINK IT MAY IN TURN CAUSE TROUBLE FOR THE REST OF MONSTERKIND; EVEN THOUGH SANS DID, FOR ONCE, ACT OUT IN A MANNER THAT WAS ENTIRELY APPROPRIATE FOR THE GIVEN SITUATION.”

“i still wanna castrate him, though.”

“AS DO I, BUT IF WE WISH TO BE ALLOWED TO LIVE OUR LIVES ON THE SURFACE IN RELATIVE PEACE, WE HAVE TO COMPLY WITH THE LAWS OF THIS LAND AND LEAVE HIS FATE UP TO THE HUMANS AND CONSEQUENTLY THEIR UNSUPERIOR AND BORING METHODS OF DISTRIBUTING JUSTICE.”

“The two of you scare me sometimes…”

“AH, BUT DON’T YOU FEEL SO INCREDIBLY LOVED BEARING THE KNOWLEDGE THAT ONE INCREDIBLY HANDSOME SKELETON AND ANOTHER OF SUB-PAR ATTRACTIVENESS BY COMPARISON WOULD BE WILLING TO SHED BLOOD IN YOUR NAME?”

“Not really…”

“HMPH. VERY WELL, THEN. IF IT TRULY DISPLEASES YOU SO, THEN MY BROTHER AND I WILL DO OUR BEST TO KEEP DISCUSSION OF HYPOTHETICAL BLOODSHED TO THE MINIMUM FROM THIS POINT ONWARD.”

“Please do. I’d appreciate it if the both of you wouldn’t try to find creative ways to get yourselves locked away in prison.”

“wait just a sec: if pap an’ i did go to prison though, we could beat up that guy for ya! can’t get in ta trouble and thrown in the slammer for beatin’ the snot out of a guy if we’re already in there.”

“YOU MAY HAVE A POINT, SANS! THERE’S A TOLL BOOTH UP AHEAD; I’LL GO THROUGH IT WITHOUT PAYING AND SEE IF THE AUTHORITIES NOTICE AND PULL US OVER.”

“No! Neither of you are going to prison if I can help it!”

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t long after they arrived at the dentist’s office that Sans’s name was called, the skeleton shuffling out of the waiting room like a man sentenced to death row on his way to his own execution. He hadn’t uttered a word since they got here, his posture ramrod stiff, but the greatest sign of the discomfort he felt was noticeable in his eyes – his red eyelights had shrunken down to quivering microscopic pinpricks.

Frisk was surprised that he hadn’t began to rattle; when skeletons felt a great amount of excitement, anger, or fear, sometimes their bones would clatter against each other in response. And the only reason she knew this was because of their confrontation in the Judgement Hall – the entire duration of their one-sided fight, the sound of his bones continuously and violently clinking together echoed throughout the space around them with trepidation at the thought of her leaving the Underground forever. It was the first and so far only time she had heard the noise, and she hoped that should she ever hear it again, it would be from happiness.

Sans had snapped at her during the car ride when she tried to comfort him, so she was left feeling useless and her company unneeded. However, when Sans’s name was called, he instinctively grabbed her by the wrist.

He had wanted to hold her hand.

He held no issue with grabbing her by the hands or nearly anywhere else when he was flirting, but in his time of emotional insecurity, Sans couldn’t allow himself to be put into a position that would reveal what he discerned as his inner weakness. He wanted Frisk to see him as her big, scary skeleton monster bodyguard. How was she supposed to perceive him that way if he was getting his shorts twisted over something as simple as a visit to the dentist’s?

He was both proud and ashamed of the look he gave her before he stood up; Sans managed to reign control over his eyelights for a few seconds, willing them to go back to normal long enough to stare her in the eyes with all the intensity he held within.

Sans looked at Frisk like she was his entire world and this may be the last time he would ever see her.

And it very well may be the last time they see each other; what if the office was filled with monster hating bigots, and when he went under he never woke up again, and then the entire incident would be ruled as a misfortunate accident and swept under the rug along with his dust? Sans loved sleep, but the thought of being forced into an eternal slumber was enough to paralyze him, and every single bone in his body went rigid once the needle came into view.

Frisk and Papyrus were in the waiting room for nearly an hour afterward before a nurse came over to tell them he was almost ready to be taken home. The taller skeleton nudged Frisk along towards the direction the nurse pointed out, his face turned away from her with a light redness dusting his sharp cheekbones.

“YOU NEED TO BE THE FIRST THING HE SEES WHEN HE REGAINS CONSCIOUSNESS. I WOULD ONLY MAKE THINGS WORSE IN THIS SITUATION.”

She wanted to argue that his claim wasn’t true, that the familiarity of Papyrus’s presence would reassure Sans far more than her own, but his tone had sounded so convinced and final that she didn’t push the issue. Frisk followed the nurse to the back room where the dentist himself greeted them before allowing her to see Sans. He went over the things that she might need to be cautious over and what to expect in the next few hours, but she also wanted to know about his current emotional wellbeing.

“How did it go? His reaction, I mean.” She asked with a twinge of unease.

“Just fine. A little bit of cursing when the needle went in, but then he was out like a light. He should be waking up any moment now.”

Another nurse popped in directly after his statement, “Actually, the patient woke up just now and he’s acting… emotional.”

When Frisk heard the word ‘emotional’ pass her lips, she had expected a large-scale, curse-ridden tantrum from the skeleton. What she didn’t expect to find was Sans nearly curled up in his seat, quietly sniffling as tears ran down his cheekbones like miniature waterfalls. He looked so lost, so terrified, and so vulnerable… It was utterly heartbreaking and pulled at her SOUL in ways she couldn’t even begin to describe.

She understood now why Papyrus had wanted her to see him first; Papyrus did love his brother, but he couldn’t handle his more softhearted outbursts. For years, the pair had grown up believing that to show tears was a sign of fragility, a stamp of death in a kill or be killed world, and it was only after the two met Frisk that they became more receptive towards the notion of openly expressing feelings that were unrelated to rage. Sans didn’t cry often, but whenever he did, his brother still didn’t know how to deal with it in the slightest. So it was because he loved his younger brother that Papyrus decided to pass him onto Frisk’s more tender care.

“Sans…?” She maintained a soft volume as she approached, not wanting to startle him.

His head immediately whipped up at the sound of her voice, far too quickly to not have been painful, she thought, and his eyesockets went near impossibly wide as if he couldn’t believe she was really here. Those red eyelights then began to swell, almost filling the entirety of the dark space they occupied.

“y-you came for me…” He whispered, his words slurred but still intelligible.

“Of course I did. I would never leave you, Sans.” She delicately reached over to stroke the crown of his skull and this seemed to placate him somewhat, his flow of tears beginning to slow.

Sans had dreamed while he slept.

It was a dark dream. He had been taken somewhere pitch black and couldn’t see or hear anything. It was The Void, he was certain; a place monsters occasionally spoke of, mostly respected, and always feared. No one knew just how one would cross over to this place, but it was said that once one entered there was no escape. And for Sans, being there even while inside the relative safety of a dream was a complete nightmare. There was nowhere and nothing, time and space no longer existed, and with nobody to speak to, he was left with only his thoughts to keep him company. He was far, far away from Frisk and his brother, and he just knew he would never see either of them again.

So when he opened his eye sockets to find himself in a world of sound and color once more, he had first been overcome with relief. But then his blurred senses couldn’t detect a single sign of Frisk’s existence within immediate reach, nor his brother’s, and that was enough for him to feel as though he were dropped back into another nightmare realm. Her presence and words brought him a great deal of comfort and eased his frightened and weary SOUL; she had told him what he had wanted to hear always, that she would never leave him – if this too was another figment of his imagination, then he didn’t want to wake up if it meant being forced to live in a world without her.

Sans gave her a lopsided grin with his newly reattached golden tooth, content now that she was here before him, safe and within his reach. He wrapped his arms around the limb of hers closest to him, wanting nothing more than to cuddle his precious human. But she needed to go tell Papyrus that he was awake so his brother could help her guide the stocky skeleton to the car, and he was extremely reluctant to allow her to leave his sight for even that.

“Sans, I’m just going to get your brother. You know, Papyrus? I’ll be right back. I’m not going anywhere far, just into the next room.”

He squeezed her hand, gazing up at her with wobbly eyelights. “p-promise…? promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise.” She used her free hand to stroke his left cheek, and he leaned into her palm, lifting up his own to rest over hers and press himself further into her touch.

He reluctantly permitted her to leave only after placing a clumsy kiss against her fingers as they slipped out of his hold.

The dentist stepped into the room directly after, preparing for his last patient for the day and making it easier for Sans to get up when his escorts came by adjusting the chair. As he scurried around the room doing this and that, Sans suddenly became talkative.

“didja see that girl i was with?”

“Yes, you mean Ms. Frisk, the ambassador? Is she a friend of yours?”

“yeah, she is. she’s my best friend in the whooooole world besides my brother.” He swayed around happily in his seat with a carefree giggle. “and i’m gonna marry her one day, but she doesn’t know that yet.”

It took every ounce of his willpower for the dentist to not laugh and retain his professionalism; he saw dozens of patients a week that had their fair share of interesting and amusing things to say while under the influence of the anesthesia, but Sans was behaving so innocently and had spoken so fondly of the human in his company that it was enough to melt the old man’s heart.

“Getting married is an important step in a committed relationship, so wouldn’t it be a good idea to let her know how you feel?”

His eye sockets widened. “you’re right…! i-i do need to tell her! i need to tell her right now!”

He then attempted to wiggle out of his chair to find Frisk himself instead of patiently waiting for her to return. The only thing that prevented him from tumbling out and falling flat onto his face was the dentist’s swift movement of grabbing him by the shoulders to steady him, then carefully easing Sans back into his previous position while scolding him on his recklessness as if he were a misbehaving toddler. The six-foot-tall skeleton then slumped backwards with a pout, his preceding lovesick expression screwing into one of annoyance.

When Frisk eventually did return with Papyrus, as they lead him out the back door and towards the car that was parked just outside, she couldn’t understand why the dentist was looking at her, smiling and chuckling to himself as if she were missing out on an inside joke or something of the sort. Sans must have said something really special for a professional that saw this sort of behavior daily to react in such a way. She nearly shuddered to think what nonsensical statements a mind such as his could have assembled while in this state.

She assisted Sans in buckling him in the back seat as she did before. He practically begged Frisk to sit next to him, but she politely declined. He was acting so loopy that it was taking all of her self-control not to laugh at some of his drunken antics and articulations. He might take her laughter the wrong way and accidentally have his feelings hurt, since he seemed to be far more sensitive when he was like this.

Sans was also incredibly chatty while high, she learned quickly.

Every single thing that popped into his head was evidently broadcasted to his captive audience of two. And most of what was said were things that would certainly embarrass him if anyone else aside from the pair heard them. Sans could most likely brush aside anything that occurred here with them later, but right now he was rattling off puns that made no sense and jokes without punchlines, and Frisk also made the mental note that he was acting incredibly and uncharacteristically sappy. She wondered if this was what Papyrus had meant when he mentioned his behavior being indescribable.

Indescribable was certainly one word for it.

“frisk. ey, frisk? frisky~”

“Yes, Sans?” She sighed for what felt like the fifth time in the past three minutes.

“has anyone ever told you your hair is really pretty…?”

“Sometimes…?”

“well, it is, and no matter how many times ya may of heard so already, it still don’t get said enough. it’s… really really pretty. like, it’s all soft and it smells nice. skeletons don’t have all that soft stuff on our heads, you know. and i know i probably reek of mustard all the dang time, so… it’s really different. it’s nice.”

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you to say.”

“no no no, you’re the one that’s sweet. you-your trait is determination, and i admired that about ya a lot from the moment we first met, but, b-but you have so much kindness in your SOUL that sometimes it’s a lil’ overwhelming... i didn’t understand that back then, but i do kinda have an idea now and i appreciate it so much… i appreciate you so much, frisk.”

“I appreciate you too, Sans. You’re a good friend.”

“no ‘m not. ‘m always causin’ trouble for ya. because of me, people look at ya funny on the street an’ they start ta talk. they’ll look at ya anyways without me there ‘cause yer too pretty not to talk about an’ look at, but i make ‘em look at ya an’ talk in the bad way. it’s all my fault.”

“No, none of that is your fault, Sans. If those people are going to look down on me because you’re my friend, then I don’t want those same individuals to be looking at me in a positive light during the rare times you’re not standing next to me. And besides, staring is rude.”

“but-but what about when i look at ya? does that mean i can’t ever look at ya again because it’s rude? i can’t do that – you’re too cute to ignore. even fer a little bit. i can’t help it. i just gotta look at ya, all the time-”

“Alright, alright! I’ll make a special exception for you – you’re the only one that’s allowed to stare at me, Sans. On occasion.”

“AHEM.”

“Ok, you’re given an exception too, Papyrus…”

“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT, AS I’M CERTAIN YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY FLATTERED TO BE THE OBJECT OF MY ATTENTIONS?”

“Sure…”

“‘asides, if i don’t always look at ya, then what’ll happen if someone decides to take ya away?”

“That won’t happen-”

“but it could! and it almost did just today! d-don’t you remember at all?! y-you were there! my baby almost got taken away from me forever…”

She heard him let out a soft sob in the back seat and Papyrus shot her an unimpressed glance, mouthing out the words that she was still somehow able to decipher despite him not having lips, ‘SAY SOMETHING TO HIM…’

“B-But it didn’t, Sans! You showed up at just the right moment when I really needed you! …I feel fortunate to have someone in my life that takes such an active interest in watching over my wellbeing.”

And that was the truth. Before she befriended the occupants of the Underground, Frisk’s life had been barely acknowledged by those around her, and those that did pay her any mind gave her the sort of heed that she nor anyone would want; tormentors, perverts, thugs; those were the only sort of people that gave her quiet existence any notice… So when the monsters that entered her life began showing signs of appreciating, reciprocating, and even actively vying for her attention, Frisk had secretly felt incredibly flattered and somewhat ashamedly relished it. For once in her life, she finally felt important to not only someone, but several someones. But now that the inner bliss of those occasions had begun to fade and the consequences of their extreme behavior, particularly Sans’s, had come about, she was much less thrilled over the dramatic and even sometimes possessive in nature gestures and displays that were frequently presented to her.

These monsters had gone so long without expressing love for another, they didn’t know how to anymore without going entirely overboard with it.

And that’s exactly what Sans was doing currently – going completely, utterly, and not-so gracefully swan-diving-into-the-water overboard with showing his affections for her.

Sans was flirtatious by nature, and she knew he didn’t mean to indicate interest in initiating a serious romantic relationship with the recipient of his sweet words, recurring caresses, and terms of endearment, especially whenever they were directed towards her - because that’s just who Sans was. And he had absolutely no filter even without the involvement of anesthesia and little understandings of personal space, most likely because he was raised in and exposed to a violent upbringing and environment. So with him there existed a thin line between when either a positive or negative touch, depending on the mood set of the situation, was appropriate at any given time. He would throw his arms around her and nuzzle the pulse point of her neck with the tip of his nasal ridge just as swiftly and eagerly as he would throw a punch to someone on the street that had personally wronged him in some shape or form.

Sans was the living definition of the expression and phrase, ‘all or nothing’ and ‘go big or go home’.

“aww… i feel lucky ta have ya too, sweetheart.” His cooing was slurred, and Frisk imagined the dopey grin he must be wearing as he swayed around as he spoke – the mental image was enough to bring a smile to her own lips. “yer always so nice and sweet ta everyone, even me. …that’s why i love ya.”

Before Frisk could utter a single word or even the slightest sound, they had pulled up at a traffic light, the car pulling to a stop with a loud screech.

How appropriate.

After a long and uncomfortable silence, she slowly turned her head towards Papyrus, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gloved fingers were clutched tightly to the steering wheel and he was staring straight ahead of them at the vehicle-infested road.

“…I LOATHE DRIVING AT THIS HOUR.” Was all he said, his voice noticeably more faint than usual and a near imperceptible tremble discernable in his tone.

The quietness around them stretched on. The only things that could be heard were the sounds of the car’s engine, the air condition, and the occasional honk from an impatient driver somewhere.

Frisk’s cheeks were burning. Her throat felt dry.

Nobody had once ever said that to her. In any shape, way, or form.

Her SOUL should be bursting with happiness, to hear someone say they loved her. But all she could feel was a sense of uncomfortableness – Sans was clearly not in his right mind at the moment. Frisk knew she was important to him, he told her that enough on a near daily basis and she knew that unlike his flirtations, his appreciation for her was entirely sincere.

Perhaps he did love her, she thought, but not in the romantic sense, surely…

She finally managed to regain her voice.

“Thank you, Sans. For saying that. I love you too…”

“noooooo…!” He whined loudly as he kicked his legs, surprising her. Before she could question his odd response to her reply, he continued. “not like that; i know you like me. i-i even know you love me… but, i didn’t mean like that.”

Frisk couldn’t recall having ever felt so confused in all her life – by that way, did he think she had misunderstood his declaration of love as something romantic when it was only intended to be platonic? He had told Papyrus just fifteen minutes prior that he loved him as well…

“you’re the best bro i’ve got, papyrus...” He had nearly cried when Papyrus turned on the air conditioner after Sans complained about the heat.

“I’M YOUR ONLY BROTHER.” He sighed.

“i know, b-but you’re still the best. i love ya, papyrus.” He sniffled, causing Papyrus, after a few seconds had passed, to quietly mutter that he felt the same.

Papyrus probably would have appreciated the sentiment far more if Sans hadn’t been high as a kite when he said it and his eye sockets had been dry.

“Then in what way did you mean when you said that, Sans?” Frisk honestly wasn’t sure if she should have asked – his brother looked so tense behind the wheel, but he wasn’t giving either of them any warning glances or cues to put the topic to a close.

“you know… i love you - like that. like… like this.” He raised up both hands, weak and wobbly, then touched the pads of his two index fingers together. “oh wait, you can’t see back here from up there…”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Sans.” She laughed uncertainly, but she had heard him make a noise with his mouth that sounded like a kiss, despite him not having lips.

Or perhaps he did…? Or maybe she just misheard him because of the air conditioner. Yes, that had to be it.

Papyrus, however, had apparently seen everything from the car’s internal mirror that gave him a view of the back seat, which escaped Frisk’s view because of her far smaller height.

“GOOD HEAVENS, SANS!” He rolled his red eyelights with an indignant huff. “SHOW SOME SELF RESTRAINT FOR GOODNESS SAKE! SHE’S ALREADY MARRIED!”

…What?

That was all Frisk could think after that rebuttal. She wasn’t married; it was true that she wore a ring on her left hand on the finger that usually indicated if someone was or not, but she did so mainly because of the sizing of the ring and because it felt most comfortable on this hand. Papyrus knew that.

And so did Sans.

But in his disoriented state, all logic and reasoning he normally would have exercised and applied in this situation had been flung out the window.

“frisk, how could you?!” He shouted with dismay, struggling against the binds of his seatbelt. “i’m not with you for… for… i get unconscious… and-and the moment i do, you go and get married to some other guy behind my back?!”

“…What?” Frisk turned to Papyrus, hoping for some sort of explanation, but all she could see were the beginnings of dread and regret in his expression.

“WHAT BRAND OF CHAOS HAVE I UNLEASHED…?”

Sans was having a complete nuclear meltdown in the back now, and at this rate, poor Papyrus’s nice and very expensive car might be totaled from the inside out if either of them didn’t put an end to his brother’s tantrum soon.

“Sans, calm down! You’re going to hurt yourself! …Or this car!” She managed to somehow raise her normally soft voice above and over his own, a feat she would later be impressed by. “Sans, I’m not married!”

“……y-yer not? then… then why did papyrus-”

“IT WAS A JOKE. A JEST. A JAPE!” Papyrus interjected with another huff. “…BUT NOW I REALIZE MY MISTAKE. TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUR… EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY AT THIS TIME, IT WAS… A RATHER CRUAL JAPE.”

“yeah, it was.” Sans readily agreed, letting out a growl of his own.

Papyrus mumbled another apology before returning to his usual persona. “NOW CAN WE RETURN TO HOME WITHOUT ANY FURTHER INCIDENTS, PLEASE? THERE, I SAID ‘PLEASE’.”

“frisk… frisk really isn’t married…” He sounded so relieved. “uuunnh…”

And once again, Sans was so overcome with emotion that he could only express it by spontaneously bursting into tears.

“Papyrus, would it be possible for you to pull over, please?” Frisk timidly requested. “Maybe if I sit in the back with him, he’ll calm down for the rest of the ride?”

He wordlessly nodded his consent, then visibly cringed at the sound of his brother blowing his nose into the sleeve of his jacket.

“y-yer gonna sit in the back, frisk? with me?” Sans momentarily paused in his sobbing, but only just for a moment. “i’m so…haaaaappyyyyyy…”

At the next traffic light, Papyrus let his forehead hit the top of the steering wheel with a loud groan.

~~~~~~~~~~

A while later, the three had reached the skeleton brothers’ house without too many more tears being shed. The drive home had only lasted about thirty minutes, but it had felt like hours to Papyrus. He just wasn’t equipped to handle Sans while he was in this condition, so it gave him some amount of relief that Frisk was the one who would be dealing with him.

But only by a small amount.

He didn’t completely trust Sans at the moment, and he would continue not to for as long as he was like this.

“IF HE ATTEMPTS TO DO ANYTHING UNTOWARD, I GRANT YOU FULL PERMISSION TO WARD HIM OFF WITH THIS.”

He then tried to present Frisk a wooden baseball bat riddled with nails. Curiously, there was also a bright red ribbon tied to the handle. Was this supposed to be a gift of some sort?

“I really don’t think that will be necessary, Papyrus.” She gave him a weary smile. “Sans wouldn’t do anything… as you said, untoward. Even when he’s like this.”

“YES, I’M FULLY AWARE THAT HE WOULDN’T. THAT WAS YET ANOTHER ATTEMPT OF MINE TO MAKE A JEST. IT SEEMS ALL MY JAPES ARE FAILING THIS EVENING.”

“…Oh.” That was all she could say; he looked genuinely upset that he had failed to make her laugh, but only for a moment before his usual scowl returned just as quickly as it left.

That wasn’t truly why he didn’t trust Sans right now; he knew his younger brother respected Frisk’s boundaries and wouldn’t harass her, even while intoxicated – no, what Papyrus couldn’t trust him with currently was…

“TRUTH BE TOLD, IT’S NOT SANS THAT I AM CONCERNED WITH.” He began to confess, his expression contorting to one of concern. “OUR LIVES ON THE SURFACE WORLD ARE FAR DIFFERENT THAN WHEN IN THE UNDERGROUND, BUT I HAVE NOTICED THAT THIS WORLD IS NOT DEVOID OF VIOLENCE AND CRUELTY. THE OUTCOME OF OUR BRIEF EXCURSION TODAY REMINDED ME OF THAT… SO, IT WOULD EASE MY MIND SIGNIFICANTLY IF YOU WOULD ACCEPT THIS WEAPON I AQUIRED, SOLELY FOR YOUR PERSONAL USE.”

“Oh, Papyrus…” She had misunderstood his intentions; he was only trying to protect her, in his own odd way.

She gingerly took the nail bat from him, giving it a test swing at a safe distance from any of their furniture, just to make him happy. It did. When she turned around, it was quick, but she caught a glimpse of his smile. Not one of his cocky smirks, but his real smile. There was no other way for her to describe it but dazzling.

“Thank you, Papyrus. I probably won’t have to use it, but I appreciate it and I’ll keep it nearby… because it came from you.”

A deep scarlet rose over his cheekbones. He diverted his gaze from her, shyly.

“THE CRIMSON RIBBON… IT’S THERE IN ORDER TO IDENTIFY ITSELF AS YOURS.”

The Underground had three primary colors, each representing something the entire monster population held sacred to them.

Red – Determination. The monsters craved this trait of the humans that imprisoned them above all else, so they donned its color for strength.

Gold – Their currency. For money sometimes held more value than anything else in their bleak and dreary lives.

Black – The Void. Its purpose unknown, and its existence constantly acknowledged and feared.

Of these colors, red was the only one that held any true significance to the monsters since the breaking of the barrier. Because that was the color of the SOUL of the human that had brought them their salvation.

The ribbon looked fancy, expensive even. Frisk couldn’t say she had ever wanted a nail bat, especially since she considered herself a pacifist. But she could tell that this gift came from Papyrus’s heart, metaphorically speaking.

She took another moment to appreciate the ribbon’s texture before he awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I MUST BE GOING NOW… I SHOULDN’T BE ABSENT FOR LONG. I EXPECT TO BE BACK SOMEWHERE AROUND TEN TONIGHT. BY THEN, THE ANESTHESIA SHOULD CERTAINLY HAVE WORN OFF. AFTER MY RETURN, MY BROTHER AND I WILL ESCORT YOU TO YOUR OWN HOME.”

“Papyrus, that’s kind of you, but it really isn’t necessary. I live just down the road, remember?”

When the brothers had first began looking for a house on the surface, the sole requirements they had listed were that it be located within walking distance of Frisk’s own home, and that Grillby’s was easily accessible from wherever their future residence was located –this second condition came solely from Sans. She didn’t understand herself why that last bit was so important to him when it was common knowledge to the three of them that he could easily teleport anywhere he wanted to go as long as he knew where his destination was located.

And for whatever reason, it seemed both skeletons had assigned themselves as her bodyguards ever since they moved to the surface.

“I WILL NOT ACCEPT ‘NO’ FOR AN ANSWER. I CAN COMPREHEND WHY MY BROTHER’S COMPANY MAY BE GRATING AT TIMES, BUT IS MY PRESENCE SO UNDESIRABLE AS WELL?”

Oh, Papyrus was not above playing the guilt trip card on Frisk if it meant keeping her safe.

“That’s not it at all! Neither of you are unwelcome around me-”

“THEN YOU ARE IN AGREEMENT WITH MY SUGGESTION THAT WE ARE TO ESCORT YOU LATER TONIGHT…?”

“I suppose there’s no harm to be found in it…”

“OF COURSE THERE ISN’T. YOU SHOULD LEARN TO ALLOW YOURSELF TO RELY ON OTHERS MORE OFTEN, ESPECIALLY WHEN THIS OTHER PERSON IS MYSELF.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind. Good luck at the meeting, Papyrus.”

“I HAVE NO NEED FOR LUCK; I CAN CHARM THE OPPOSITION TO SHIFT THEIR CONTRASTING OPINIONS IN OUR FAVOR WITH EASE, BUT I ACKNOWLEDGE THE SENTIMENT.” He was as delightfully conceited as ever as he said this, like a strutting peacock with its feathers fanned out. “KEEP YOUR PHONE CLOSE BY – SHOULD YOU NEED MY ASSISTANCE, FOR ANYTHING AT ALL, I WILL CUT MY PRESENCE AT THE MEETING SHORT AND RETURN HERE. JUST FOR YOU. AS I KNOW YOU WOULDN’T INTERRUPT SOMETHING SO SIGNIFICANT FOR ANY REASON THAT COULD BE CONSIDERED FOOLISH.”

She agreed to keep her phone on her person at all times while he was gone, and he allowed his gaze to linger on her for a short while longer than necessary before he stepped out the door, leaving Frisk alone with Sans tucked into bed upstairs.

Sans had fallen unconscious the instant his head had hit the pillow. Guiding him up the stairs had been a challenge for them both; Papyrus could have simply lifted him and carried Sans up the stairs without the need for any issue, but Sans had insisted that Frisk help him alongside Papyrus, and neither of them were in any mood to hear another one of his tantrums.

He had almost fell down on a few occasions, and a task that should have only taken a few seconds to accomplish instead took several careful minutes. The stocky skeleton had even briefly fell asleep halfway up and the two were forced to carry him with one of them grasping him at each end.

“MIDNIGHT WILL HAVE PASSED BY THE TIME WE REACH THE LAST STAIR IF WE KEEP IT UP AT THIS RATE. I THINK WE CAN AFFORD TO GO A LITTLE FASTER, WOULDN’T YOU AGREE?”

“Huff… That’s easy for you to say!” She panted, struggling to keep a firm hold on him. “You have the light end!”

“SANS DOESN’T HAVE A LIGHT END.”

And to emphasize his statement, Papyrus made them switch sides, nearly sending the slumbering skeleton down the steps for the third time since they began their gradual ascent when he suddenly tried to turn over in his sleep.

Frisk hoped that Sans never got into another accident that would make him lose one of his teeth, because she wasn’t sure she could survive having to carry him up that flight of stairs again.

Magical skeleton monster or not, he shouldn’t be that heavy! That was what she had thought then.

The muscles in her arms ached, but at least she could relax a little now.

They had brought Sans home at about six ‘o clock, and he remained asleep for a little over an hour before Frisk was alerted he was awake by him suddenly letting out an agonized wail.

She quickly pounded up the stairs, his wails sounding as though he were in sincere and significant pain. When Frisk entered his room, she found him lying on his back, eye sockets wide open with his glowing irises shrunken down to pinpricks once more. His hands were clutching the sheets in a shaky grip, and his entire body was trembling violently.

“Sans?” She called out to him softly, knowing that he didn’t seem to be completely there as of yet from whatever undoubtedly horrific dream it was he had escaped from. “Sans, it’s me. Frisk.”

“…frisk?” He murmured after a long stretch of silence, his body stilling.

His voice still sounded slurred, but less than before.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. I’m here.” She slowly stepped across the carpet towards him until she eventually reached his bedside. “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurting anywhere?”

“…had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it or…?”

He shook his head from side to side, small streams of tears escaping his closed sockets.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” Frisk sat down on the edge of his bed and softly cupped his cheeks, gently wiping the tears that fell with her thumb.

He raised his own hands weakly to cover her own, his touch featherlight and barely there as he let out another wet sob.

Unlike the several instances where he had burst into tears during the drive home, this spell of tears felt less like a small child’s tantrum and more like a plea for help. It was more akin to when he first woke up and noticed that Frisk and his brother were nowhere to be found. He had been seized by a sudden, almost primal fear, a deep loneliness that threatened to smother him if not immediately remedied.

“i… i love you, frisk.” He choked out as he squeezed the top of her hand. “i love you so much… you don’t have to feel the same way that i do, but please, just let me love you and don’t leave me, ever…”

This declaration, again, unlike when they were in the car together, sounded far more desperate and anguished.

And it was also now undeniable that he intended his words to be perceived by her as being nothing but romantic in nature.

Frisk wanted to convince herself that it was probably the anesthesia talking, that she must appear different to him while in this state and it caused him to act more needy, and she just happened to be the person closest to him during this time, so she was the one being subjected to his forsaken whiplash responses. Anyone else could be standing in her place at this moment and his reactions wouldn’t change - this is what Frisk tried to tell herself.

But she found herself quickly getting sucked into the whims of this new side of him revealed to her, this lovesick and vulnerable Sans that was looking at her and only her.

“Shh, shh, shh… Sans, it’s going to be alright. I’m right here, in front of you, holding you, and I’m not going anywhere.” She shushed him, attempting to calm him even if only slightly. “It’s okay for you to love me. I love you too.”

“nooooo…” He groaned again, followed by a hiccup. “stop it. just stop teasing me like this! you don’t think i am, but i’m being serious! i love you, frisk. i really really love you! and not just as a friend either. i… i don’t want some no name human guy jerk to be the one to marry you. i wanna be the one to do that… i wanna marry you, frisk!”

Frisk had never felt such a red-hot burning sensation in all her life. Her face was such a vibrant shade of crimson, it was nearly scalding. She was certain that if she could look in a mirror, it would appear as if she had received a severe sunburn, her face was so red.

“Sans…” She began to trail away, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back towards him onto the bed and himself, wrapping his arms around her and pulling Frisk into his chest.

She could hear a wild series of thumps coming from his ribcage, which produced a sound not unlike her own heartbeat at this point in time. There was no other thing that could have produced this noise but his SOUL, forlornly crying out for her own.

“if… if you want a pretty ring, i’ll get one for you. i’ll get you one that’s much bigger and even prettier than the one on your finger. if it’s a fancy and expensive wedding you want, i can give you that too. it may take me a while, but i’ll make it happen, for you. if it’s kids you want, i’ll give you as many as you want our family to have, or none at all if you’d rather it be just us two… but if you do want some, i’ll provide for you and them the best i can, i promise, frisk.”

He had said the ‘p’ word – promise.

Sans hated making promises. While the monsters weren’t ones to honor their word while they had been immersed in the old ways of the Underground life, he still felt the word put him into a position of responsibility. That’s why he avoided that word at all cost.

And Sans had just promised to love, marry, and have children with her if she so desired, three of the most responsibility-laden commitments known to mankind.

Forget being flushed with embarrassment; her head was spinning far too much to even think straight now. How could anyone possibly think straight after hearing all this while being in her position?

Sans slowly carded his phalanges through her hair in a manner that was meant to be soothing as he spoke, his tone much lower and softer than she was used to hearing. Her head was tucked under his chin and his other arm was draped across her back, preventing any possibility of a successful attempt at escape.

Frisk was immensely thankful that Papyrus wasn’t here to see this. Otherwise, the taller skeleton might have actually made due on his previous joke about bashing his brother over the head with a bat covered in nails for this display of behavior.

She wiggled uncomfortably, but instead of loosening his grip, Sans only held her tighter. He then adjusted the two of them into a slightly more comfortable position, as if that would fix the matter in some way. Sans must have thought so, because the hand that had been absentmindedly tangled in her hair moved to the back of Frisk’s head when she had been caught trying to raise herself up and pressed downwards, her ear directly over his ribcage where his SOUL was still hammering away against his bones.

After lying there for a few more seconds, mulling over her options, Frisk finally decided to just be direct with him.

“Sans, you’re gonna have to let me go.”

“no. i don’t want to.” He held her even closer, somehow. “if you’re not here with me, you might go somewhere where i’ll never see you again. so… i’m never letting you go again. ever. simple as that.”

“You can’t do that, Sans. It’s not possible.”

“well not with that attitude.”

“Sans!” She struggled, kicking her legs to little effect.

“do you hate being with me that much…?” There was an audible hint of nervousness and uncertainty in his tone as he said this.

She managed to lift her head enough to get a glimpse of his face, and she wasn’t prepared for how lost and alone it looked. He wasn’t trying to manipulate her with his words – Sans, at this moment, truly was drifting in a sea of self-doubt and was seeking for the answers in her.

“Don’t say something so silly.” She reached up to pat his boney cheek, the texture smooth and oddly soft against her skin. “I enjoy your company. I love being with you, Sans.”

“…i love spending time with you too, sweetheart.” He lifted the hand that had been behind her head and rested it over hers to keep it there, closing his eye sockets as he enjoyed the blissful warmth that emanated from it. “if i could have it my way, i’d never go a second without you. because i love you…”

Frisk involuntarily shuddered; he had moved so his mouth was directly next to her ear. Hearing something like that, so possessive yet loving, with his breath ghosting over her skin… it was just too much.

These affectionate, and nearly obsessive words that were coming from Sans were things she had secretly always wanted to hear.

And it was terribly, horribly cruel.

Because he was only saying these things because he wasn’t in complete control of his thoughts or actions.

Anyone else could replace her at this scene and in this moment, and nothing would change.

So no matter how much Sans insisted that his affectionate claims were true, she couldn’t believe a word of it until he was fully sober.

“…ya never gave me an answer.” He spoke again after a while, almost causing her to jump at the abruptness. His voice was beginning to sound more slurred too. “i finally confessed to ya… i’ve told ya just about everything i’ve always wanted ta say to ya since when i realized i felt this way… but you never said a word.”

“…” She still wasn’t sure what to say.

“i’ve poured out my whole SOUL to ya, and it still ain’t enough…” Before she could come up with a reply, he started speaking again, his tone urgent. “then tell me what i can do ta have ya, to make ya mine.”

“Sans-”

“i’m not flirting with nobody but you no more cuz you’re the only girl i think is attractive anymore. could come home ta find some blonde thing in a skimpy red bikini, posed all seductive on my bed and i wouldn’t feel a thing. nothin’. ask her what she thought she was doin’ here an’ tell her to shove off.”

Frisk absorbed his statement and then took a moment to dwell on it. Her mind did a replay of the time they had spent together on the surface, and she found she couldn’t recall a single instance of him flirting with anyone aside from herself. In fact, he almost looked annoyed whenever a member of the opposite sex flirted with him these days. It had certainly happened on a few occasions, and Frisk was there to witness it.

“and i try not to cuss as much anymore cuz i know you don’t like it. same thing with the alcohol – i used to look forward to one day tryin’ the booze you humans got for myself if i ever got up here, but now i know you hate the smell, and drunk people scare ya, and you’re right: the risks just ain’t worth it. can’t get any of those diseases you humans get, but my mouth runs somethin’ wild plenty enough when ‘m not drunk.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know this now…” She thought, but also had to silently admit that everything he was saying was indisputably true.

Sans had changed a lot since they had become friends.

And she had been mostly blind to it, paying more attention to him for his misdemeanors than his efforts to change. He had been silently working to improve himself, and Frisk hadn’t paid him any mind.

It made her feel guilty, but she still couldn’t allow herself to believe that he really loved her – not yet.

Her own crippling self-doubt and denial was stronger than her desire for affection.

“so… what do i gotta do ta make ya fall in love with me?” He finally allowed her some breathing room, but only so he could gaze into her eyes – eyes were the window to the SOUL, and he needed a glimpse inside hers now more than ever. “i’ll do anything. really. anything ta make ya mine and mine alone.”

“Sans… you don’t need to do anything. Not at all.” She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the one he liked, the one that would make his SOUL do somersaults and backflips every time he saw it. This one looked strained, forced. “I just… this is a lot to process… and I can’t really believe anything that you’re saying right now.”

“why not?!” He replied, indignant.

“Because… you’re not acting normal. You’re… you’re all hopped up on anesthesia right now. And, well… anesthesia makes people say a lot of crazy things that they normally wouldn’t. So until it’s worn off, I can’t believe you.”

“so yer sayin’ ya can’t trust me cuz I’m drunk? ya think ‘m not tellin’ the tooth?!” He spat; his voice was really slurred now. “the-the nerve ‘a ya! i-i’ll have you know… that i am cone sold stober…!”

Frisk just smiled at him, almost smugly as realization bloomed across his face, that what he just said didn’t sound right.

“wait, wait, wait. crap. i… i’ve got this, just… gimme a minute…” His eye sockets began to narrow sleepily.

“Sans, I’ll make an agreement with you, about your confession,” He perked up just slightly, now rapt with attention. “Tell me again in a little while. Then I’ll give you a proper answer. But first, you need to sleep.”

“ok, i promise. but-but… how can i… possibly sleep…” His body was growing heavier and heavier. “when i know that… when I wake up… the most important moment a’ my life…”

The back of his head hit the pillow with a soft ‘pomf’. She sighed, but felt a bit of anticipation as she disentangled herself from him and tucked the covers up to his chest again.

She gave his cheek another gentle pat and made her way out of his room, hoping that this time no nightmares plagued his sleep and that he was in his right mind when he next awoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

At about nine-thirty, a half an hour before Papyrus’s scheduled return, Frisk once again heard sounds coming from Sans’s bedroom.

She put down her book and padded up the stairs, opening his door and praying to herself that the mostly sane Sans she knew had returned.

“uuuugh, i feel like i got hit by a freakin’ sixteen-wheeler truck! fully loaded!” He groaned, clutching his cranium crabbily.

“Oh, Sans, you’re back!” She couldn’t help but shout, causing him to flinch and she gave a quick apology.

“did i go somewhere…?”

“Kind of? You went to the dentist.”

“…oh yeah, that did happen. i’m remembering that now… can we not talk about it? i don’t wanna think about it.”

“Certainly. And how are you feeling?”

“aside from feeling like my bones were hollowed out and got loaded with rocks? pretty ok, i guess? everything’s kind of a hazy blur ta be honest.”

“Is that so…?” She laughed, but it sounded so forced, to both of them.

“…why are my zygomas wet?” He reached up to touch his cheekbones, his confused expression contorting into one of disgust. “feels like i’ve been cryin’. …i didn’t… do that, did i?”

“…”

“frisk.”

“Yes, you did cry…”

“how much?”

“When you first woke up, when you woke up again, on and off nearly the entire ride home-”

“holy sh-” He caught himself. “crap… oh crap… you… and you saw everything… you must’a been so embarrassed an’ grossed out.”

“No, no, Sans… it’s… it wasn’t like that.” Frisk rubbed at her arm, averting her gaze.

“then what was it like?”

“…I’m not sure how to describe it.”

“indescribable. just like paps said.”

“…”

He didn’t remember.

He didn’t remember what he had said to her…

It was taking every ounce of her willpower not to burst into tears herself.

“You idiot. How could you let yourself believe, even for a second that-”

“frisk… can you come ‘ere for a sec?” He asked, his tone quieter, softer.

It wasn’t helping her wounded heart and SOUL at all that it was the same one he used when he had said all those beautiful things to her earlier. But she did as he requested and walked towards him, Sans not saying another word until she reached his bedside.

“hey, sweetheart…” He lifted one hand to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her skin. “why ya cryin’?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she ripped herself away from him and his touch, as painful as it was to do so, and turned around, refusing to face him.

“babydoll? frisk?” He tried to unwind himself from the sheets, but she froze him in place once again.

“Stop it! Just stop it, Sans! Please!”

“stop what?! i don’t understand what your problem-”

“No, you don’t, and that’s exactly what the problem is!” She wailed, knowing that she shouldn’t and couldn’t take out her feelings of hurt on Sans – none of this was his fault.

It wasn’t his fault that she was an unlovable mess that also couldn’t accept even the most simple gestures of affection.

Frisk stood there, crying her heart out and neither knowing quite entirely why until she decided she’d made a fool of herself enough for the night and quite possibly for the rest of her life. Just as she reached for the doorknob, his voice stopped her, barely above a whisper but somehow still audible over her sniffles and sobs.

“sweetheart… i’m sorry…” Sans spoke, his voice filled with genuine sympathy and warmth.

“Why… why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything…”

“and that’s the problem. i… didn’t do something i was supposed to, right?” He smiled wearily at her. “i broke a promise. i promised i’d tell ya how much i loved ya when i woke up sober and then i didn’t.”

“So… you remember?”

“i do now.” He sighed, sitting up. “some things are still a little hazy… but, i remember everything that had to do with you. i… i meant everything, frisk. every word. what i said, those were just a handful of the things i think about when you’re on my mind, every day, constantly.”

“Sans…”

“but… you don’t feel the same, do you? i was thinkin’ you might of told me to wait because you were tryin’ to think of a way ta let me down easy, so i hesitated on telling you how i felt again. but then you started cryin’ for seemingly no reason except for i didn’t speak up when i said i would, so… i’m… kinda gettin’ some mixed signals here.”

“…” Frisk still couldn’t say anything, even now.

“come ‘ere, babydoll. let’s talk this out.” He patted the empty space next to him on the bed, urging her to sit down. “i’ve said how i feel, now it’s your turn. give me the honest truth. i can take it…”

He was still expecting a rejection, and he had lied.

He was certain he would dust instantly if she turned away his love.

She sat down next to him, crawling up on the bed to sit crisscrossed. Frisk opened and closed her mouth several times, but nothing would come out. Not until Sans reached out to take her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back.

“Sans… I… this is so hard for me to do.” She choked out.

Sans’s posture stiffened.

He was readying himself for a rejection.

“It’s just… nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

His shoulders first slumped out of relief, then jumped up with surprise.

“…nobody ever said they loved you?” He had to say it himself just for the concept to soak in.

“Never. I… Sans, you have to understand; nobody has ever treated me like you or the other monsters do. I spent my entire life believing that I must have been some sort of mistake, that I wasn’t supposed to be here and had no place in the world… So the reason I even ended up in the Underground in the first place… was…”

“oh, sweetheart…!” He said in a gasp, gathering her up in his arms and began rocking her in their embrace. “oh, stars sweetheart, you don’t gotta say anything… not if you don’t want to. nobody’s forcing it out of ya. but… you don’t feel the same way now that you did then, do you?”

“No, not anymore. And… it wasn’t like that, Sans. Not how you think it was.” Frisk gazed up at him, attempting to console him now even though she was the one crying. “I didn’t jump if that was what you were thinking. I climbed Mount Ebott as a self-imposed exile. I just… it was dark. I didn’t see that hole in the ground…”

“even if ya didn’t jump, it’s still just too sad for my SOUL to take, sweetheart.” He held her tighter, his bones clattering softly. “you came all the way out there, all by yourself, because you were that lost and lonely… and you could of died!”

“But I didn’t-”

“but you still could have! you could have died when you hit the ground! you could’a snapped your spine in two… or broke so many bones that you couldn’t even walk… then you would of starved to death if some other monster didn’t find you and finish ya off… you would have died… and you might of never got the amount of determination to SAVE, LOAD, and RESET… and i never would have met you… oh, stars, it could’a happened!”

He held her so tightly that it almost became difficult to breathe.

Now he was sobbing.

“frisk, i can’t even imagine what kinda life you must of lived before, but…” He released her just enough to grasp her face in his hands again. “everybody i know loves ya frisk, and even if they didn’t, even if everybody else in the world hated you, and everybody else in the world hated me for it… i would still love you.”

“Sans…!” She buried her face back into his chest. “Sans, that’s… that’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear! Oh, stars, Sans! I love you too!”

“shh, shh, shh… it’s alright, sweetheart. it’s ok to let it all out, but remember to breathe.”

He was such a hypocrite, was what she might have wanted to say if she were less of a mess, but right now she just wanted to bask in the warmth of his love.

His love for her and only her.

After several more minutes of sobbing, they both had finally managed to compose themselves.

“…Look at us. Now our faces are both a mess.” Frisk laughed.

“you’re still beautiful, though.”

Her cheeks turned red at that, but now it wasn’t flushed from crying.

“Well, I thought that you looked cute when you were crying at the dentist’s office.”

“‘ey, i thought i asked ya ta not talk about that.”

“Alright…” She pretended to pout.

Her expression was so cute that Sans couldn’t resist bending down to give her a peck on her scrunched up nose.

“so… you love me.”

“Yes, I do, Sans.” She quirked an eyebrow at him – it sounded like what he had to say was leading up to something.

“so does this mean you’ll marry me?” Bless him, he sounded so excited when he asked her that.

“No.”

“oh…” And then his shoulders immediately sagged, along with the corners of his mouth.

“Not yet, at least.” She patted the top of his skull placatingly with a chuckle. “It’s still a little soon for that, but… I’m also not saying it’s entirely out of the realm of possibility. Especially if you continue to be as sweet and loving as you’ve been tonight.”

If Sans had a tail, it would have been wagging so fast it wouldn’t be detectable by the human eye.

“really? ya mean it? then can i tell everyone we’re engaged?”

“No.”

“aww… no fun allowed.” This time it was Sans’s turn to pout. “…can i say we are to some of the guys that try ta mess with ya so they’ll screw off?”

“…Maybe.” She almost laughed at how quickly his expression changed from sulky to joyful. “Why do you want to get married so quickly, anyway?”

“because… back in the underground, that’s what you did when ya loved someone and they loved you back. it was kill or be killed, so if you didn’t do what you wanted to today, you might not get to tomorrow… so that was why i decided ta be different than everybody else and do absolutely nothin’.”

“Pfft! Sans…” She hugged him. “I don’t plan on going anywhere, and with you and Papyrus around all the time, not to mention the others, I doubt anything will ever hurt me. The surface is different than the Underground. We don’t have to rush this relationship along – we can enjoy it at our own pace.”

“ok, but… i’d still totally be down for marrying you right now if you agreed to it.”

“At least take me out on a date, first!” She snorted, elbowing his ribs.

“ok! then let’s go on one - right now!” He stood up, his steps wobbly as he rushed towards the door. “then we can get married after!”

“Sans, where are you going?!”

“to get something to eat. what else?!”

“Wait, Sans! I don’t think that’s such a good idea!”

“why not? we’re just going to grill- aaaugh!”

Sans let out a startled cry as he lost his footing on the stairs, screaming during the entire duration of his descent. He landed face down on the floor with a pained groan.

“Sans! Are you hurt?! Say something!” She shouted, hurrying down the steps herself as quickly and carefully as possible.

Sans’s hands fluttered towards his mouth, his eye sockets wide.

“ow… my… my tooth! oh stars, not my tooth again! it’s gone!”

Frisk let out a horrified gasp, hands coming up to clasp at her own mouth.

He turned around to face her, and then removed his hands, revealing a cheeky and toothy grin, his golden one clearly visible and gleaming from the brightness of the living room lights.

“juuuust messin’ with ya.”

“You… You…” Frisk seethed, “Forget being a pacifist! I’m gonna clean your clock!”

She ran towards him with fists flailing. He chuckled, sidestepping every blow she tried to land on him with ease. All until she slipped on the rug and it raveled up beneath her. She tripped forward, and Sans held out his arms to catch her. The both of them ended up knocked to the floor, Sans underneath her and Frisk on top of him just like before.

He wrapped a bulky arm around her waist and grinned.

“oh, i remember this part from earlier too…”

She tried to stay mad at him, she really did. But the sight of the smugness on his face melting into an eager smile as he leaned his head towards her with slightly puckered bony lips quickly extinguished any fury she may have previously felt.

Frisk tilted her head to the side so her nose and his nasal ridge wouldn’t collide with each other, but he took the time to brush the tip of his against hers – a nose nuzzle, as they had called it Underground. Then they leaned towards each other more, about to close the distance between their lips for real for the first time.

And at that moment, they heard the door open.

Papyrus stood there, standing at the doorway still as a statue, his left eye socket twitching.

None of them said a word for what felt like the longest, until…

“this… is exactly what it looks like.

#franstastic writes #frans #sans x frisk #papyrisk #underfell #undertale au #sans #frisk #papyrus

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