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kareofbears · 3 years

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plainly in truth, chapter 1/5

“Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs to his apartment after a lengthy run.

It’s hot for spring, mild for summer, and now that it’s late June, it’s finally starting to teeter into real heat. He escalated slowly, gripping the guard rail like an old man to make sure his legs don’t give out, in no rush to head back to an empty apartment. His mom’s been doing back to back shifts, businesses booming like it does during this time of the year.

Normally, that would make him miserable. Nothing worse than hopping back from a day of fun shit only to come back to an empty living space with laundry piled to the nines and the TV left running. He doesn’t blame his mom because he’s not an asshole, but he never dealt well with being alone. But nowadays, he’s actually starting to like it. Crave it. Maybe a little too much.

It’s easier to deal with being alone than getting that sinking feeling he gets whenever he talks to his friends.

Shoving his hand in his basketball shorts, he pulls out his keys when something makes him pause. The plastic plant beside the entrance had been moved. Ryuji squints. Quietly, he grabs the knob and turns. It’s unlocked.

“Hey.”

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, tension leaving his shoulders as he kicks the door closed. “Fucking hell. How’d you get in here?”

Seeing Ann sit primly with her legs crossed in a dining table that’s barely big enough to put two plates down evokes a feeling of nostalgia in him. She holds a key between her fingers idly. “Spare key hasn’t changed since we were thirteen.”

He walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk and drinks it straight, ignoring her grimace. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he offers it to her.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, putting it back in the fridge. “I’m gonna shower. I think we might have some chips in the cupboards if you want some. Might be stale though.”

When Ann speaks again, her tone is flat. “You haven’t been hanging out with us. Or even talking to us.”

He tries not to let the annoyance show in his face too much. “Yeah, well, what part of ‘I need some alone time’ was confusing to you?”

Wood creaks, and he can feel her presence right behind him. “Cut the crap, Sakamoto. Something happened, I know it did. It’s not like you for your big mouth to be shut like this.”

Shaking his head, he strides to his room, praying that Ann will take the hint.

She doesn’t. “Okay, so I’ll just keep talking until something happens.” She leans against his door frame as he rummages for a change of clothes, listing off with her fingers. “It’s summer vacation, so it’s not a school thing. Phantom Thief stuff has been done for a while, so it’s not that either. I saw your mom last week, and she’s doing great. Congratulate her on the promotion for me, by the way. And the only other thing in your life that’s important is—” he hears her pause suddenly. “Are you and Akira doing okay?”

The sudden sharpness in her voice is enough to make his irritation ebb away for a second. “We’re fine,” he answers, pulling a probably clean shirt from the bottom of his drawer. He knows just how much she’s invested in their relationship. She’s pretty much a third member given how desperate she is to make them work. “I would’ve told you if we weren’t.”

“Thank god,” she breathes. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes. “A big fat load of nothing with nothing sprinkled on top. You want me to say it again?”

“If it’s nothing, then why aren’t you over the moon that Akira’s finally visiting tomorrow?”

His stomach does a weird flop inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s a good flop or a bad one. “I’m over the moon,” he defends. “I’m crazy excited.”

“Then show it!”

“Okay! Damn, sorry I wasn’t happy enough for you.” Giving up on finding clean shorts, he picks one up from the floor and hopes it isn’t too gross. “I’m headed to the shower.” He rounds on her, giving her a glare. “And do not tell Akira that anything’s going on with me, ‘cause there isn’t anything going on. You’re just gonna make him worry for no reason and he’s gonna be all—” he frowns, overexaggerated. “—About this, so cool it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He won’t hear about it from me.” Ann gives him a long stare, and he refuses to look away. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time.

“Never been better. Now scram.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late!” she calls as she marches through his apartment, foot out the door. “Noon! Leblanc!”

“I got it!” he yells back.

When the lock clicks back into place, Ryuji leans his back against the wall, letting his eyes slide shut. Is he that obvious that Ann would notice? He rubs his eyes with palms, frustrated. If Ann noticed, Akira’s definitely going to notice, and that isn’t allowed. He’ll just have to do better.

Going into the bathroom, flicking on the shower, he realizes he forgot his towel in his bedroom. Stupid Ann, distracting him.

Padding back to his room, he nabs it from the side of his bed, refusing to look at the letter collecting dust on his desk as he flicks the light off once more.

—

Akira came home to a face-full of streamers, two pots of curry, and six arms tackling him. Smiles and hugs were passed like a bottle of wine after a war has been won, and Akira shrugs it all off like he isn’t soaking up each and every exclamation of how much they miss him for a rainy day. Morgana gets his fair amount of head scratches, Akira gets enough noogies to warrant a concussion, and even Ryuji somehow manages to forget his problems for approximately three minutes.

It’s evening now, and while everyone had already left (not after slamming down two plates each and Yusuke brazenly asking for tupperware after the fact), Ryuji decided to linger.

“So,” he starts, sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes while Akira dries. It might not look like it, but he doesn’t mind doing his chores; especially not with the way they both purposefully knock their knuckles against each other whenever they pass a plate between themselves.

“So,” Akira repeats. “I’m home. That’s cool, huh?” Even with eighteen layers of nonchalance layered on top of each other, there’s no hiding the lilt in his voice.

“Pretty damn cool,” he rinses a mug and hands it to him. Ryuji pauses as he watches Akira dry, lip quirked up. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Cleaning?”

“No, you bastard.” He reaches forward, unable to help himself as he pinches his cheek. “Smiley.”

Akira slaps his hand away. “I’m always happy,” he says, voice fond.

“I didn’t say happy, now did I? I said—” Ryuji wipes both hands on his jeans before pinching his cheek with both hands. “Smiley!”

He doesn’t fight back this time; instead, he lets Ryuji knead his face. “Your hands are wet,” he complains, slightly slurred.

“Suck it up.” His skin is mesmerizingly soft. Probably softer than even a girl’s. He would hold him like this all night if he’d let him. “This saves you from washing your face tonight, so you’re welcome.”

With one last tug, he reluctantly sets him free. Akira’s face is red and blotchy from the assault, but somehow he pulls it off because of course he does. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. You know I got you,” he laughs, and for a second, he feels good. Light. Being with Akira does that to him, a pendant that wards off all evil. The pendant must’ve had some fine print in the contract though, because his stomach drops again when he remembers again. Ryuji turns around and starts scrubbing the pan harder than he needs to. Chill out, chill out, chill out.

Arms encircle his waist. “Sojiro’s gonna smite us if we don’t finish these before he opens tomorrow,” Ryuji says.

“I know.” A chin hooks around his shoulder blade, sliding in place. A perfect fit. “We’ll get to it.”

Ryuji leans back, far enough to smell the shampoo in his hair. He breathes in deep. It’s not what he’s used to, probably different brands in his hometown, but it still smells nice.

With the water still running, a group of businessmen’s laughter booming from just outside the cafe, Ryuji nearly says it. To take that weight off of his weakened knees and share some of the burden with someone who’s never complained about carrying some of his baggage. It would be embarrassing, humiliating, fucking mortifying, but it would be better than this, right?

He opens his mouth. “Missed you,” is what comes out instead.

“Missed you more, I think.” A beat passes, and then Akira continues, quietly: “You don’t know how good it feels to be back.”

That was all it took. The final piece, the last lock. The words he needed to convince him that this was the right thing to do. If he was on the fence of whether or not to tell Akira, this was the tug that took him over the edge. Because Akira came here for one reason: to have fun. To feel good again. To feel like Akira again. Is Ryuji really going to be the one to shit all over that? To fuck up his summer vacation with his problems again?

Yeah. Fuck that.

He wishes he can pull Akira impossibly closer. “Welcome home.”

It can wait until he leaves. After that, the world will just have to explode, taking him with it.

—

Ryuji’s in bed that night, tossing and turning, blanket tangled in his legs and head underneath his pillow, when he finally caves.

Smacking around for his phone, he pulls it to his face, squinting against the bright light.

SR: futaba

The response was immediate.

SF: what SR: that was fast. whatre you doing up SF: im always up. why are YOU up SR: just wanted to talk SF: ok

He waits a few moments to see if she’d continue the conversation. She doesn’t.

SR: hows school? SF: ?????? who cares, its three am SR: i care SF: ugh, go to sleep. we’re meeting tomorrow anyway SR: yeah but you dont talk about school during group meetings much SF: alright weirdo SF: schools cool. people mostly leave me alone, and i think akira must’ve tipped off kawakami cause she is wayyyy too nice to me even after bullying her in front of the class SR: what did you do lmfao SF: she said that whoever could recite pi to ten decimal points can get a bonus ten percent in the final SF: and i kept going until the bell rang SR: damn! SF: its mostly okay though. better than i thought it’d be for sure SR: and how about actual school stuff SR: like classes. Math, science, english, all that shit. SF: sheesh, easiest part no doubt. could do all that stuff in my sleep SR: really? even though youre a year behind? SF: uh yeah? i could be eight years behind and still dunk on these clowns with one hand tied behind my back and watching a live stream

Ah, right. Futaba’s a literal genius. As in ‘Make A Documentary Of Her In Twenty Years In A Movie He’d Never Watch But Makoto Would Love’ kind of genius. He forgot.

SR: nice SR: thanks, im gonna sleep now SF: kk see you SF: (¯﹃¯)

—

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Ryuji says when he opens the door to his apartment.

Ann is sitting in his dining chair once again, this time donned in hot pink shades and a comically big sun hat. He tries not to let annoyance and panic flare inside him. He loves her, because of course he does, but he was banking on stocking up some energy and alone time before they hit the road. Maybe even shed a couple of frustrated tears, who knows? As long as he’s alone, it’s fair game.

“Hey, don’t give me any of that,” Ann says. “You and packing your luggage is like mayonnaise and my flawless complexion—it’s not good, buster. Remember Hawaii?”

He feels his skin heat up, and slams the door harder than he should. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get randomly checked? ‘Sides, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“A backpack filled with condoms and a toothbrush might as well have been illegal.” Ann reaches into her pocket, whipping out a wrinkled piece of paper. “You can’t pull that kinda crap now, and if I know him as well as I do, I’m sure Akira’s already packing for that.” She laughs at her own joke and raises her hand enthusiastically. He can’t help but grin as he high fives her. Hey, even if his life is falling apart, at least he’s still getting some, right?

“So I’m here to help,” she continues, shaking the sting from her palms. “I finished packing a day early and everything, so I better get some thanks after this.” Before he can complain, she holds up a finger, expression stern. “I know you don’t need help. Yes, I’m still worried about you. Yes, I’m doing this because I’m worried about you. Let me do this stupid little thing, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

His stomach churns, more intense than usual. “You’re still worried about me?” he asks, breath hitching. What? No. Did he fail at that too? Does she know? That must mean Akira knows, right? And if Akira knows, then—

“Whoa, hold on!” A hand grips his shoulders. “Deep breaths, Sakamoto. Don’t spiral on me now.” Gently, he’s led to a chair. He sits gratefully and waits for his heart rate to drop. The entire time, Ann stays quiet.

Eventually, when the room stops closing in on him, he sighs and leans back against his chair. “Sorry,” he says, feeling really stupid. Damn, what happened to him keeping this on the down low?

She slaps his knee. “Shut up, don’t apologize for that,” she scolds, and he almost smiles. It’s easy to forget how good Ann is at this sort of thing. For better or for worse, she’s had plenty of practice while talking to Shiho. The grip on his knee tightens. “Ryuji…”

He shakes his head. “No.”

And, for better or for worse, she absolutely does not let things go.

“Look, buddy.” The grip is starting to hurt, and it means business if her red acrylics are anything to go by. “I just saw you have a teensy little panic attack two damn minutes ago, and you’re expecting me to just leave you to it? Are you a clown? Are you a clown in a circus, Sakamoto? Is that what you are?”

“I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.” He shoves her hand off his knee, and before he knows it, his voice is raised. “Christ, can’t you just leave me alone? All you do is get up in my business when I clearly didn’t ask you to. Just cause we did this whole Phantom Thief crap together doesn’t mean it gives you the right to everything going on in my life.”

He loathes the ringing in his ears from his own voice. He hates it when he yells in the apartment, but hates the silence that follows more. Too much like his dad, too much like his exhausted mom.

Ann is staring up at him, hard and unwavering. “You’re such a piece of shit sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me off your tail, you’re gonna have to work harder than that.” She gets on her feet, glaring at him. “‘Piss me off and make me leave in tears’ was your tactic, right? Boring. Overdone. Try again.”

The way she’s standing, shoulders pushed back and chin jutted out like she’s ready for a shoot in some kind of army magazine, means she’s dead serious.

“Ann, just get the fuck out of my house. You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Ooo, classic 'angry and make me storm off’, right? Better, but not good enough.”

“What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could say whatever pops into your bleached head—” she flicks his forehead, viciously sharp nails digging into his skin. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere. You could call me names, or threaten me, or try to hurt me, but I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are bright blue, but he can still feel the heat of it like Carmen was inches in front of him. His throat quivers when he swallows. She’s really not going to give in.

“My knee’s been real bad lately,” he relents, making a fist and lightly knocking it against his thigh. “Normally it acts up during bad weather, but the sun hasn’t left in weeks and it still sucks. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ‘cause I hate talking about…” he trails off, but she doesn’t need him to continue. They both know damn well who he’s referencing.

Ann’s face crumbles. “That’s horrible,” she says, absently rubbing the red mark on his forehead. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He waves it off, the same way he does whenever his mom asks him if he’s getting enough sleep. “Don’t sweat it. I know how crazy you get.”

It’s a real testament to how worried she must’ve been when she didn't take the olive branch. “I know you probably don’t want to worry the group, but you should tell Akira.”

“Ann—” he starts wearily.

“You know I’m right about this. Now that the Metaverse is back and we’re going to be running around more, he can’t not know about this. Your boyfriend aside, he’s our leader. Something really nasty can happen if we’re not thinking straight.”

“...Sure.”

Ann gives him a weird look. “That was surprisingly easy. I thought you’d complain more.”

She’s getting way too sharp. “What, you wanted me to be a dick about it?”

“I guess not.” Leaning against his kitchen counter, she chews her lip like it’s bubble gum. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji stands to stretch, ready for this conversation to be over. “You can keep this between us—”

“—Except for Akira,” they say in unison, Ryuji exasperated and Ann insistent.

“Fine. I’ll back off if you think you have it under control.”

“Hallelujah, she’s finally giving me space.”

“But,” her gaze is harder than steel. “Never, ever keep secrets from me again, got it?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Gotcha. Can we get started now? I’m over talking about my horrible past so that we can finally have a straight-out-of-an-anime summer vacation.”

Her eyes brighten up. “Yes! Okay, I made this huge list and I know for a fact we’re gonna have to go for a quick shopping trip—”

“Quick? So, like, three hours going by your standards?”

“Don’t interrupt me. We need to pack some swim trunks, toiletries, and I know you’re worried about your mom so we’ll go grocery shopping for her before we leave in the morning.” Feet tapping excitedly, “This is gonna be so fun. You start packing, I’ll go shopping. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Before he even gets a chance to put a word in, she’s already out the door.

—

Later that night, when everything is messily thrown into one oversized backpack and a rucksack and the fridge is chock full of groceries for his overworked mother, he gets a text.

TA: i know you said not to bring it up but i dont care TA: i searched it up and apparently cold and hot compresses can help with the pain on your knee TA: also getting shoes with really good support would help too. i modeled for some shoe brands, i can def get you some discounts!!! TA: like, i know this is all base level stuff and you know this already, but i bet you we can ask sophia for more help. maybe she can access top secret doctor stuff for knee injuries?? :O

Ryuji stares at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it under his pillow.

Great. Add ‘guilt’ and ‘keeping up with a lie’ to the list of shit he has to worry about.

—

“A lake!” Yusuke cries, kneeling in front of the body of water like a man discovering a desert oasis. Gently, he cups the clean water and cradles it against his cheek. “You are nothing like the garbage-infested sewers in Tokyo. You are crystal clear. You are divine. You are salvation. You are—”

“Akira, Inari’s being a weirdo again,” Futaba points an accusing finger at Yusuke, who’s shirt is slowly absorbing more and more of the water. “At this rate, he’s gonna have to change.”

Makoto grunts as she lugs out the grill singlehandedly, a loud clang ringing out when she nonchalantly sets down a family-sized piece of machinery. “Alright, here it is.” She catches the look of awe that Ryuji’s giving her. “Does it still shock you that I can probably bench press you twice over?”

“I’m just trying to figure out where you’re hiding all that muscle, prez,” he snorts, and it’s the truth. Her and Akira must be the same breed, considering they’re both way too lithe to be this strong. He’s seen the way they throw a punch in the Metaverse—they could probably disintegrate a dude in real life if they really wanted to. Like yeah they workout, but not that much. Maybe they’re dieting too? He’s tried dieting, but ramen is just way too good, even at the expense of muscles.

“Ryuji, when you’re done spacing out, can you grab the ingredients?” Akira calls out.

“Ugh, cut the mind reading dude, it scares the hell out of me.”

He shoots him a signature Kurusu Akira smile; small yet disarming all the same, and it never fails to get Ryuji’s heart to do weird flips. “It’s not mind reading once you realize that I’m just obsessed with you.”

Instead of answering, Ryuji grumbles as he stalks off into the RV. Damn him and his genuine words and compliments.

He pulls out their luggage from underneath the table. Akira doesn’t need to say what ingredients he needs to grab—he’s helped out enough times during Leblanc’s afterhours to know the curry spices by heart. Ryuji might be a failure, but hey, he can do this no problem.

Grabbing bottles and shakers and balancing them on top of his arms like an overworked waiter, he glances left and feels his heart dropped. The envelope from his room—dust-free from rubbing against the rest of his luggage—is sticking out of his backpack. After a quick adjustment, he uses his free hand to shove it deep in his bag, hearing the paper crinkle in on itself.

It was a spur of the moment decision to bring it along with him, one that he’s still half-regretting. Why’d he do it? Maybe he was worried that he might enjoy this trip a little too much? Maybe he was some kind of masochist that likes having his problems and anxiety follow him literally everywhere he goes? Maybe he was scared to hell and back that his mom would find it before he had a chance to tell her himself? Fuck if he knows.

Poking his head out of the door, he yells, “Heads up!”

Throwing a bottle of black pepper, Akira catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Too late, I already sweat a little bit.”

Ryuji squints. “It’s sweated. Right, Ann?”

“Don’t look at me. I went to America for modelling, not a spelling bee.”

“I won all my spelling bees in middle school,” Makoto says, chest puffed out in pride.

“Were you the only one who joined?”

“That’s not important.”

Akira’s phone beeps enthusiastically, and Sophia’s voice rings out. “Got it! According to the internet, ‘sweat’ and ‘sweated’ are both grammatically valid. Technically, both Ryuji and Ann are correct.”

“Can we all just shut up for a second about sweating, for the love of god,” Futaba fans her face weakly. “It’s already sooooo hot. I feel like my skin is melting. Yusuke, is my skin melting?”

He looks at her for a moment, peering closely. “Yes.”

“How about we go in for a quick dip in the lake?” Haru offers, and Ryuji suspects that she can feel the same energy that he’s feeling when the group gets like this. “We were all talking about how beautiful it was, and it would cool down Futaba-chan no problem.”

She leans down, swirling her hand in the water. “It’s a little chilly, but it’ll definitely take care of the heat.”

“Good idea!” Futaba jumps up and throws off her shoes, ready to march in. “This is gonna feel so good.”

“Socks!” Akira reminds her.

“I know that!”

Haru and Yusuke follow suit, eager to get away from the heat, Makoto going in to change to shorts. Ryuji guesses it’s probably not an easy feat to roll up leather pants. Probably makes it either to ride motorcycles, or whatever people with leather pants do.

He feels a poke in his side. “You hopping in with them?” Akira asks.

No. The answer is already at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out. Given how cramped the RV is, keeping up the trademark Sakamoto energy while lugging more baggage than an airport employee is brutal. It’s barely been a day since they started the trip, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Already his chest feels heavy with something, and whenever all the windows are rolled up, it gets weirdly hard to breathe. But if he says no, Akira would definitely know something was up.

“Uh—”

“Actually, I think we’ll take over the curry for you,” Ann cuts in.

Ryuji turns to her, startled and wide eyed.

“Why?” Akira asks, just as confused as he is. They both know how much Ann loves being in the middle of things, especially in group hangouts.

“Because you look like you could use a break. I know for a fact that you had to pack Yusuke’s stuff for him, or else the van would’ve had fifteen canvases and an easel, and you had to grocery shop for everyone, and talk Haru out of a guilty spiral because she wasn’t confident enough in her driving. And all this before—” Ann looks down at her wrist to peer at a non-existent watch. “Five o’clock.

He frowns. “Sure, but I’ve done twice as much during our prime. This,” he gestures at the pot. “Is a walk in the park. Thank you, though.”

Ann sighs, heavy and contemplative. “I didn’t want to say it out right, but since you’re being difficult…” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should hang out with Futaba more. Being gone from her for that long has been rough, and yes, we took care of her while you weren’t there, but you’re different.” Her hand tightens. “You know, Wild Card and all that.”

“That’s not what that means, but I appreciate the effort,” Akira says. Despite his words, it’s clear that what she said bothered him. Eyes flickering to Futaba, enthusiastically kicking the water to see how far the droplets would go, he directs his gaze to Ryuji. “Is it okay if…?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, pretending like relief isn’t crashing through his body. “Go.”

Akira kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” When he pulls away, he gives Ann a hesitant look.

She grimaces. “Thanks, but no. Go hangout with the gremlin.”

He gives her a salute and saunters off, rolling up his jeans to wade through the water, making sure to splash Futaba on the way there.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll say it. Your acting classes are actually doing you some good.”

“Ha!” she points at him triumphantly. “And you said it’d be a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryuji slouches into a nearby camping chair, the one that Sojiro forced them to lug along, hoping that some of his fatigue would seep away. “We both know that Futaba’s never been better, so what’s up? Why’d you throw out Akira like that?”

“It’s not for me, stupid,” she scoffs, but he can’t help but feel the weight in his chest get even heavier. He sinks even deeper into his chair. “The water was cold, right? That would make your knee even worse.”

“Yeah,” he blinks, having already forgotten the whole fucked-up knee story. “Thanks.”

“I won’t chew you out for not telling Akira, even though I should. But like I said,” she ruffles his hair. “I got your back. I know it must be hard, but you’re still acting all normal. We’re lucky that it’s only affecting you in the real world, too.” She had come up with that one herself, and thank god she did, cause he wouldn’t have known what to say if she had confronted him on how he could easily do flips and sprints in the Metaverse. “That just takes a lot of guts, and even though I know for a fact this would make you feel so much better once you tell him, I trust that you know what you need better than me.”

“Quit trying to look all cool,” he says, and prays to fucking god that the red on his face comes off as embarrassed gratitude rather than earth-shattering guilt. “And aren’t you supposed to be cooking, curry master?”

“Hey, he asked you to do it, not me. I’ll help you get the ingredients, but no way I’m doing the whole cooking shebang.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, as if he doesn’t secretly love the idea of getting to cook for Akira this time instead of the other way around. Pushing himself up, Ann reaches out to help him. “You don’t gotta baby me, Takamaki.”

“I’ll baby you for as long as I need to, and then eventually Akira will be the one babying you. We come in shifts.”

“I hope you’re unionized.”

Makoto pokes her head out of the RV, wearing a showercap. “Did someone say unionized?”

“What the hell?” Ryuji staggers back in shock. Crap. “How long have you been there?”

“And why are you wearing that?” Ann gasps.

“Not long, and I don’t want my hair getting wet in case I fall in. We have no idea what’s been in here.”

“Were you going to fall in a bathtub?”

“Did you want me to push you in?”

“No, ma’am.”

—

There wasn’t a problem initially. Well, not one in Palaces, anyway. Wait, they’re called Jails now, which is really confusing. Ryuji’s just gonna have to avoid using those words so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot.

Back in Shibuya, it had been...fine. Attacks landed, punches were dodged, Batons passed like his life depended on it (and it did). Like clockwork, instinct came to him and the weird nostalgic normalcy of fighting Shadows made it bearable.

Ryuji was off his game, and he could tell.

But he was barely off his game. If anything, he still had a foot on his game. Maybe even an entire leg on the game if he was being generous. He was still enough on the game that even Akira doesn’t notice.

But the weird part was, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s off his game. In an even weirder way, he’s never been more on his game in his entire life.

“There!” Futaba’s voice crackles through the comms. “Uncle is open wide!”

“Her name is Ante, Oracle,” Makoto responds, brass knuckles jammed into the throat of some poor Shadow. “It’s open, but it’s vicious.”

Ryuji calls for Kidd just as she pulls away, wiping out the rest of the weaker ones with ease. “This thing’s like a goddamn mousetrap.” Ante’s serpent body slithering on the cool tiles so fluidly that it gives him the creeps. Her tail has tiny spikes etched into it, like mini knives hot glued onto a tetherball. The minute any of them even come close, she strikes outwards. “How vicious is vicious?”

“Depends on how fast you are.”

Akira’s head jerks up, and when their eyes meet, cracks a smile. “Fast, you say?”

Ryuji grins wider than he has in days. Joker relying on him? How can someone not feel a little giddy at that? “Say no more, leader.”

He stretches quickly, and feels eyes piercing the back of his head. Ann, probably. Shrugging it off, he sprints low towards Ante. As long as Ann doesn’t say a word, there won’t be a problem.

She’s taken hits from where Akira’s been concentrating on her. A mixture of bullet holes in its scales mixed in with cross slashes from where his bless attacks hit had left her delirious and pissed off. When he’s close, she bares her fangs and strikes, only for him to skid on the smooth tiles, rugged hands touching his mask.

“Come on out, Captain!”

His blond hair ruffled from Kidd’s attack, a crack of lightning came down from his Persona’s mangled hand, and a split second later her tail had been sliced clean through. And another crack comes, her neck landing on the tiles with a muffled thud. An attack that should’ve just been enough to incapacitate Ante had instead completely decapitated her.

A beat of silence passed as everyone processed what had happened. Ryuji’s mouth drops open, but he can’t muster any surprise.

He doesn’t know how, or why, but for some reason his attacks have been at least five times as strong as they had been back before the Metaverse was still intact. Moves that he didn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue, as if he had practiced them all his life. Normally this would only happen after rigorous training for months, adding up in tiny increments.

Now it happens every day.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the gym today,” Futaba laughs awkwardly.

“What on earth was that, Skull?” Haru asks, eyes wide. “I had never seen you do something like that.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “She makes a good point. When’d you learn that one?”

“I don’t know.” He calls back Captain Kidd, eyeing the drop that Ante had left behind, but doesn’t move forward to snatch it up. “But whatever the reason is, it’s awesome as hell. I mean, did you see that? Sliced that thing open like a stuffed bear.”

“Let’s not bring stuffed animals into this, please,” Makoto frowns.

Akira’s giving him a look again, and it leaves Ryuji unsettled. “What is it, dude? I got something on my face?”

“No,” he steps closer, and his voice drops. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I’ve never been better, man.” He flashes him a grin, hoping that it’s bright enough to distract Akira’s ever-searching eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. Natsume’s heart isn’t gonna change itself.”

After one last glance, he nods, and Ryuji can see the minute Calculating Joker comes back. “You heard him. Let’s get moving, everyone.”

They all follow him up the stairs, eager to get moving past the eternally bleary and uncreatively written setting of Natsume’s Jail.

“Psst!” Ryuji hisses at Ann, who turns to him with a question in her eyes. “Panther! Get your ass over here!”

“What?” she whispers back.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I fucked up my knee when I rushed her, and I still haven’t told Joker, so do you mind…?”

An expected look of disapproval emerges from her expression, and Ryuji hurries to beat her to the punch. “I know, I know! But I can’t tell him in the middle of all this, now can I?”

“Fine,” she grumbles before calling Carmen. “I’ll cover you for now, but only ‘cause I’m a good friend and I’m super cute.”

“Yeah, the cutest, prettiest, whatever.” He glances over to Akira, swooping down to grab Ante’s drops before heading up. “Quick, before he looks back.”

Diarama washes over him, and even though relief floods through his body, he can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not sure if it’s from her inherent heat or from the stress of lying to her again.

“Better?” Ann asks.

“Way better. Thanks.” He catches Sophia looking at them curiously. “The kid’s watching us. You better move ahead before she starts analyzing our personality types or something.”

Her eyes light up. “You think she’d do it if I asked? I really wanna know.”

“Just go!”

Ann hurries to catch up to Sophia, and while she’s distracted, Ryuji gently rolls up sleeves—he had gotten nicked by Ante as he slid. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he had gotten thrown through walls, been hit by mini hurricanes, been blown up by a boat, and walked away from all that still swinging.

Yet lately, any tiny, fractional, miniscule injury is enough to shoot unbearable pain throughout his entire body. It’s as if he was back in Kamoshida’s Palace, where every punch thrown at him had been life or death.

Glancing down at his forearm, he sighs. The cut was gone, but he can’t keep asking Ann to heal him in secret every time.

“Skull?”

Hurriedly pulling down his sleeve, he glances up to see Akira standing in front of him.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says casually, as if those words don’t mean the entire goddamn world to Ryuji. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “My bad. Let’s go.”

They clambered up the staircase, and Ryuji decides that all of that stuff—getting injured and having it hurt like hell—just isn’t too important.

That just means that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn't get hit, and he’s had plenty of experience dodging punches that were thrown at him before.

—

“Cheers!”

All of them raise their red plastic cups, clinking it against each other in a way that they see adults do all the time on TV. Apple juice and iced tea slosh as they gulp it down eagerly, excitement so prevalent that they can hardly taste the cheap, convenience store-esque quality of their drink.

“This isn’t too bad,” Makoto muses, leaning against the faux-leather seats of the RV. “Though it would probably taste better if it wasn’t room temperature.”

“Does it look like this place has a mini fridge?” Futaba says, legs swinging down from her top bunk. “That’s a good idea though. I should’ve bought mine from home. Can you imagine we’re halfway through a six hour road trip and you want iced coffee and boom! Two feet behind you is Futaba’s Ice Cold Cafe, one hundred yen per use.”

“I hope you’d be ready to sleep on it, because this place is cramped enough as is,” Akira slaps the wall a few times, the way a rancher would a sturdy horse. “We’re lucky with what we have.”

“I know that! Without this thing we never would have been able to conquer Natsume’s Jail.” She reaches down to muss Yusuke’s hair. “I’m sure Inari feels good about that.”

He smiles, hair sticking up in all directions. “Of course I feel satisfied. Though I understand his struggle, being able to stop a fellow artist into becoming a true monster is always something that will bring me joy. Justice will never stop feeling good.”

“Cheers to that!” Ann raises her drink. “And you know what? This wouldn’t have been possible had Ryuji not kicked some major ass in that Jail.”

The group whoops and hoots loudly, and Ryuji can’t help but scoff when Ann winks at him. “Aw guys, you’re making me blush. I’m fucking awesome, sure, but we’re all pretty amazing.”

Haru shakes her head. “She’s right, Ryuji-kun. WIthout you, defeating dragon Natsume would’ve been much more difficult.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve gotten much stronger, Skull.” Morgana leaps onto the table, licking up the bowl of apple juice that Haru had left him. It feels wrong to let an animal drink that, but he’d never say anything about it. “Have you been training?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Ooo, look at Mr. Humble all of a sudden,” Futaba jeers.

“I’m always humble!”

Ann grimaces. “I don’t think so. Remember when you finally got Akira to go on a date with you—”

“How dare you. He was begging me to go on a date with him—”

“And you wouldn’t stop telling us about how you had nabbed the coolest guy in Tokyo—”

Ryuji nearly jumps over the booth to put a hand on her mouth. “Quit yammering, Takamaki, I’m begging you.” He feels something slimy on his hand, and pulls back quickly. “Ew, did you lick me?! That’s so effing gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, warm and familiar. “I don’t think you’re gross, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I think you’re very clean.”

A harmonic beep rings through the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia’s clear voice cuts in. “But Akira, you got an email.”

“Thanks Sophie.” He points to where his phone is perched on the windowsill, propped up so she can see them celebrate their victory. “Can you…?”

Ryuji wordlessly passes it to him as everyone breaks off into smaller conversations, chatter blending into each other until it sounds like the kind of white noise he would queue up when he’s desperate to get some studying done. Immediately, Akira begins scanning through his phone, gray eyes focused.

He props his head against his shoulder to read alongside him and makes a noise of interest. “You signed up for cram school?” he asks, surprised.

“I did,” he replies, thumbing through the details of his admission.

Ryuji stares at him. “But you’re so fucking smart. Why are you paying who knows what to learn shit you already know?”

“Because Tokyo U barely cracks a 30% admission rate, and chemistry is hell incarnate.” With one last few clicks, he sets his phone down with a wince. “Sure is expensive though. We might have to reform the heart of someone in the education committee.” When he continues to stare at him wordlessly, Akira turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m still leeching off of the Thieves' money from last year, so it’s not too bad when you take into account my part-time back home.”

“No, that’s not—I’m just—” he shakes his head and forces himself to start over. “Since when did you decide on Tokyo University?”

It’s Akira's turn to look taken aback. “What do you mean? You’d never leave Tokyo, especially if it meant leaving your mom.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m making you choose between me and your hometown!” he exclaims, but he already knows in his heart what Akira’s choice is going to be. It’s stupidly obvious. For some reason, the longer this conversation goes on, the tighter his chest feels.

The feeling doubles when Akira’s eyes, always focused and always sharp, subdued at his words. “Are you really comparing yourself to that place? You know I’d choose you over anything.” He reaches forward and combs through Ryuji’s hair, hushed and gentle in a way that only Akira can manage. “I’m so excited to live life with you again.”

The white noise, so comfortable before, abruptly turns overwhelmingly loud—grating and unbearable and painful to be around. Ryuji stands abruptly, barely reacting to Futaba’s yelp when he backs into her.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I…” his eyes dart around, flinching when he accidentally makes eye contact with Akira, and again when he locks eyes with Ann.

The sudden silence from the group is somehow worse than the noise from before, and if the tightness in his chest gets any more painful, his lungs are gonna burst into a million pieces and he’s not gonna be able to pick it all up from the ground if everyone’s watching.

“Trash,” he blurts out.

“What?” Makoto blinks, glancing up from her map.

“This place is disgusting and it’s way too cluttered and it’s bad to leave such a big mess so I’m gonna—” Ryuji grabs the plastic bag filled with garbage, haphazardly tossing empty cans and plastic cups into it. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

Before they can question him, he’s already out of the RV, towing trash and leaving his friends behind him.

—

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryuji screams into the sky.

He was far enough from the trailer that he knew they couldn’t hear him even if they had strained their ears, and it was late enough into the night that even the tourists weren’t poking around to look at the shrines or the Great Masamune himself.

“Keep it a secret’, my ass! That was the second dumbest thing—no, the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Do you know how high that threshold is, Sakamoto? High! Higher than you can see with your own two eyes! Higher than Yaldabaoth’s goddamn crane-sized spine!”

Swooping down, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws it as hard as he can. “You are so selfish! What happened to keeping ‘Kira happy, you effing asshole?” Relishing in how far it went, he takes another two more. “You are so annoying. You are—” he throws, the rocks landing with a little plink. “Insufferable. Stupid. Selfish. A fucking—” this time, he doesn’t even know where it lands. “Gah!”

Turning on his heel, he glares up at the statue and grits his teeth when he sees Masamune’s stoic expression. “Don’t give me that look—you’re dead. You ain’t got nothing to complain about. Everyone’s remembering you as the guy who saved Japan, or whatever. But guess what? You’re probably a loser. A dumb, stupid loser who convinced everyone that you’re good for something when you’re worth jack shit!”

Before he can stop himself, he takes the garbage bag full of cans, glass bottles, and crumpled chip bags and hurls it at Masamune. It hits the base of the statue, far below damaging the One-Eyed Dragon himself, but the glass cracks under the force of being thrown, tearing through the plastic and causing trash and shards to explode all over the steps. Ryuji’s chest is heaving as he stares down at what he’s done.

“Impressive.”

He whirls around at the voice behind him, stomach lurching straight to the ground when he sees who it was. “In his years of war, I doubt that anyone’s ever tried throwing waste in his direction in order to defeat him.”

“Yusuke,” he breathes, feeling his frustration draining away to make room for even more guilt, if that was even possible. Ryuji cannot possibly look any more of an asshole than he does right now—tearing his throat raw in a public space, surrounded by the garbage he had thrown at a national monument in front of a guy who clearly worships and respects art that’s old as hell. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I was just…” he hesitates. “Talking to myself.”

Yusuke hums, unconvinced, and carefully approaches the mess in front of him. Ryuji waves him off. “No, don’t. Broken glass is a bitch, especially the little pieces. If that gets in your skin, it’s game over. You’d have to go into the hospital for sure.” He grimaces. “Trust me. My dad used to throw beer bottles at our place like he was in a ball game, and that ain’t fun, I promise you that.”

“I see.” Turning around, Ryuji hoped that he was magically going to head back to the group and not mention this to anyone there, but instead Yusuke stopped in front of a water fountain. “You’re right. If you’re not careful, it could be very easy to hurt yourself when dealing with broken glass.” Pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket in a way that only Yusuke can, he soaks it in water before crouching down at the shards glimmering under moonlight. “But if you use wet fabric to dab it on the shards itself—” he pats the concrete and flips the fabric over, revealing the moist and glistening pieces stuck on its side. “You can clean up the pieces with little to no danger.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he realizes that he’s making Yusuke do the dirty work for him. “Pass me that. Thanks for the tip, but I can take it from here. I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s totally my fault that the glass is here anyway.”

He doesn’t look up from his task, eyes focused and movement meticulous. “No need. If you’d like to help, you can start picking up the non-dangerous litter around us.”

Ryuji does as he’s told, wincing as he has to pick up sticky, pop-soaked wrappers with his bare hands but he doesn’t complain. Karmic retribution has never held back against him. “The glass thing,” he starts, squatting down and picking up empty cans and plastic utensils with curry remnants still stuck to them. “They teach you that in Kosei?”

“No, from one of Madarame’s past pupils actually.” Yusuke shifts over to dab at another glass-covered section, concrete looking clearer with every pat. “Sensei had a rather violent habit of hurling canvases at the wall if they do not meet his standards, and his actions had led to many of our more fragile belongings being shattered when he did.” His tone doesn’t change, but Ryuji can see his shoulders tighten. “At least it allowed me to move away from that house very quickly, considering I had very little to pack away.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself speaking in a low tone. “Glad that bastard is rotting in jail,” he resists the urge to spit on the ground. “Then afterwards, I hope he rots in hell, just to really cover all of our bases.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Yusuke. “Thank you,” he smiles, and all Ryuji can do is nod. There isn’t much you can say after that without making it weird. But how weirder can it possibly get when the two of you are off towing around someone’s perception of the world on a daily basis?

They continue to work in silence; the wind is gentle, but it’s enough to rustle the leaves and allow Ryuji to feel some relief from the summer heat. He’s picking up wet paper tissues, and it’s gross, but it’s nice to be doing something with his hands.

He’s just about done his part of the clean-up when he can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“No,” Yusuke answers without looking up. That’s another thing that Ryuji really appreciates about him—playing dumb has never been something that he’s done to get out of an awkward situation. To be fair though, Yusuke himself is an awkward situation.

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to?”

That question makes him pause, and Yusuke doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve always been the most vocal in the group, and while many a time it has been our downfall in terms of secrecy, I have always considered it one of your strong points. And if you, Sakamoto Ryuji, are indeed struggling with using your words,” Yusuke’s eyes turn to him. “Then it must be very difficult to talk about.”

A beat passes. “No,” Ryuji mutters. “I don’t want you to ask.”

“Then I won’t,” he says easily. “But I do have a question.”

“Lay it on me.”

Yusuke shuffles to crouch down next to him, and it’s kinda weird seeing someone as elegant as him pose like some kind of hoodlum. “Does Akira know about your struggle?”

His mind flashes back to the confused look back in the RV and he scratches his neck roughly. “I bet he does now.”

Yusuke leans back, shocked. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m getting there! Don’t pressure me, man. You said it yourself, I’m fucking struggling.”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but it’s Akira,” he says the name almost reverently. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t sense that something is askew.”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Goddamn, you and Ann are just two of the same peas in the same freaking pond, aren’t you?”

“It’s ‘pod’, Ryuji,” he corrects. “Ann is aware?”

“She—” Ugh, how does he explain that she thinks she knows, but really he had lied about what he told her? “She basically knows.” And because his fat mouth just keeps getting fatter, “She’s sort of part of the problem.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen and Ryuji hurries to cover up for his mistake. “She’s not a problem, it’s just that I didn’t explain…It’s really my fault, and how I deal with internal shit, you know what I’m saying? And Ann’s just kind of in the crossfire, so what ended up happening is when I talk to her about what I’m feeling, I end up just feeling worse.” He winces. First he lies to her and now he’s shit-talking her? “I did not say that. What I really mean is that, uh, feelings...and actions...are complicated,” he finishes weakly.

“I see,” he says finally.

It seems that even Yusuke has a threshold for uncomfortable moments, because he rises to his feet. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Thanks for the glass trick.”

“No need to mention it. It’s much easier to clean up a mess when you have someone helping you.” He points vaguely behind himself, “Would you like to head back together? I’m sure by now the festivities are winding down, and the trash you were so keen on disposing of has definitely been thrown away.”

Ryuji blanches. It grossed him out that he forgot he was holding an armful of garbage in his hand. “You go ahead. I just need to,” he rocks his arms, almost cradling the wet garbage. “Throw this out.”

“Very well. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He waves at him, and Ryuji wiggles in response (unless he wants it all hitting the ground and restarting that whole process again, which, no thanks.) After dumping it all into a nearby trash can, the process of which lasts several minutes since he still had to sort out the recycling, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

KA: come back when you can KA: i miss you

He takes a shaky breath.

SR: on my way

#p5 #p5s #ryuji sakamoto #akiryu #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #akira kurusu #pegoryu #happy birthday ryuji this ones for you

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realactualfancontent · 4 years

Text

Wilbur Whateley Goes Shopping Part 2.

While he’s still in London Wilbur goes Solstice shopping.

Wilbur Whateley did not belong here. Slinking through an overcrowded department store where even his unusual stature and the stench that clung to him weren't enough to keep him safe from being jostled by over zealous holiday shoppers. He jumped every time, fussing to see that none of his wardrobe had been disrupted. Looking around over the crowds heads to see if there was any quiet spot he could try to observe from. Figure out where he was going. What exactly he was here for. It was as if the whole city had been funnelled in here. How was no one else overwhelmed? How was no one else overwhelmed by the sheer quantity. Someone jostled him especially hard and Wilbur hurled a few choice words in their direction loud enough that the immediate crowd paused a moment to stare before getting back on with their errands. The offending party scurried away without so much as an apology. Though the look of terror on their face served as one. Even if he felt a little embarrassed now. He just, didn't do well around people. Not that it mattered, they'd all be gone soon. He could only hope that there were less old ones, or that they had a better grasp on personal space. But he was determined to make this trip worth something. After that disaster at the book store he wanted to come back with something. And Dunwich's single general store was beyond limited when it came to luxury goods. So here he was, scraggly, unkempt and absolutely freezing in place when anyone so much as brushed against him. Eventually, after what seemed like eons he made it to a counter and stared down a perfectly quaffed and dressed shop attendant. Who looked up at him with wide frightened eyes. “Can I help you?” She asked timidly. He gulped, fighting down a sudden wave of embaressment at the garbled excuse for English that was about to come out of his mouth.

“Yeah-yes.”

She looked like she'd rather do anything but, she looked like she wanted to call security. Wilbur soldiered on trying to downplay his accent. “I'm shoppin' fer my ma.”

That made her relax a little. As if anyone buying Christmas gifts for their mother couldn't be entirely terrible. She was wrong of course.

“An' my younger brother.” He added hastily, seeing as laying on the sentiments seemed like a good plan.

Humans and their sentiment.

Not that he was much better. He just acknowledged it was stupid.

“Oh, well then, what sort of gifts are you looking for?” She asked brightly, giving him an appraising once over, now that the initial fear seemed to have worn off he could tell she was trying to size up how much he could spend.

“'Spensive ones.” Wilbur answered, there was something distinctly unpleasant in the smile that accompanied that.

He couldn't help it. There was something distinctly unpleasant in most of his expressions. But he did love the rare chance to wave his money in people's faces. The look of scepticism and shock on her face was priceless. The absolute disbelief when he pulled out a wallet from the tenebrous pockets of his shapeless coat and discreetly opened it to flash the woman it's contents was almost worth the trip. “I see,” she said looking between the over stuffed wallet and Wilbur's ungroomed face, managing to set aside any misgivings he gave her and settle back into her blandly polite default mode. “I'm afraid you'll have to be slightly more specific, as we do carry a wide range of luxury items, any of which would make lovely gifts.” Wilbur rolled his eyes in response, and let out a deep sigh, so irritable you'd think someone had asked him to set his foot on fire. “Dunno, what dew women like?” It was a genuine question. What the fuck did he get for Lavinia? Clothes? Jewellery? Not shoes that was for damn sure. “Oh, well, if you'd like I can show you around the accessories section and point out some of our more popular items?” “Yeah, that'd be good.” “Alright, follow me then.” She slipped out from behind the counter and led Wilbur around the shop. He was grateful for the assistance, even if he didn't fancy following someone around like a lost dog it was better than milling around poking things aimlessly. He ended up with an armful of things. Perfume (which didn't smell all that good to him, but he was assured it was lovely, and much subtler once it settled on to the skin.), A hat with a bunch of flowers (Lavinia liked flowers, he wasn't to sure about hats.) And an armful of assorted fripperies and frills all floaty and lacy. Grossly impractical, he hadn't the faintest idea when she'd every get the chance to wear things like this. But he'd seen her ogling similar things in a magazine once or twice, and she was very fond of some of the gauzier curtains in the house. Even if they all had moth holes. “Do you think that's enough?” His shop attendant asked looking up, craning her neck to see over the stack of gifts. “Uh, think so, one 'er two more things. I we-was thinkin' I might get her sum 've those tinted glasses...An' a sewin' machine. One 've the treadle 'uns.” In truth the sewing machine was for Wilbur, who's continued growth spurts meant he was spending an enormous time trying to stitch together his own clothes. Hopefully this would speed things along. “Oh I know where both of those are, just follow me.” Wilbur did, staggering after her, carrying his precarious load. “Would you like us to gift wrap those for you?” Wilbur had to peer down and around to see her. “Yeah, that'd be...good.” “Okay, I think, just put them down here.” Wilbur did, dropping the whole stack on the table. Trying to pick up the sewing machine had been a mistake. People always assumed that his size came with strength to match, but after only a few moments his arms felt like jelly. “And you said you're also shopping for your brother?” His assistant was currently wrapping a hat box in a garishly bright paper covered in pictures of stockings and cats. Tying ribbon into bows it seemed almost a crime to tear it apart later. Wilbur had an overwhelming feeling He'd be seeing the same piece of wrapping paper for the rest of his natural life, trundled out at every birthday and solstice until it disintegrated or his pa's friends destroyed the world. "Ah, yeah...he's lookin fe-for a..." Wilbur trialled off here knowing exactly what he needed to say but not quite able to get the word out. "Dog." He finally spat. His volume dropping to barely above a whisper, as if mentioning the word might summon ten. She looked up at him puzzled. "Sir, we're not a pet sho-"

"I know that." He snapped back. "He can't have a real 'un." There was a note of actual panic in that last sentence, his assistant flinched at the sudden snapping. Pausing mid ribbon bow, she was about to apologize for speaking out of turn but Wilbur continued. "I'm allergic, is the thing. So I thought I'd get 'im one of those toy one's, yew know, with the leash an' the wheels. Just, needs t' be a real big one." She nodded at the explanation.

"Well I'm certain we have something close in the toy department. It's just upstairs. You can pick up your packages when you're done."

As much as he hadn't been particularly offensive as a customer she really was glad to be rid of him. She couldn’t place what about those goatish features made her so uncomfortable, but something definitely did. She very quickly turned her attention back to the shawl she was packing to avoid studying them further.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Wilbur said. Excusing himself to trundle upstairs. He got lost on the way of course. Anyone who's spent signifiant time in a department store can understand exactly how easy that is, although in retrospect Wilbur could have followed the cacodaemoniacal shrieks of small children and found it quickly enough.

Something small and fast blundered into his legs he jumped, it let out a high-pitched shriek of terror when it looked up to see who it had collided with. Wilbur was sneering down at the kid. Some other parents pulled their children closer to them.

Typical.

Some other brat blew a raspberry at him. In Dunwich at least people knew to give him a wide berth. That trying that sort of thing was a good way to get your crops blighted. He ignored them to instead move as quick as he could to the desk. Calling the clerk's attention with startling ease despite the crowd. Being over a foot taller than the masses had some advantages. At least here he had some clear goal. It made everything so much easier. Knowing what you were here for. "...Just bring me the biggest 'un yew've got." He finished explaining to the desk clerk, before she scurried off. Leaving Wilbur to mill about and wait, unable to help himself from pulling a face or two at the small children who tried the same with him. Or chuckling when one of them started crying. A thoroughly inhuman noise which drew even more strange looks. That brief good mood vanished when he saw the plush Great Dane. "Is this big enough?" Wilbur nodded suddenly sheepish. "It'll dew." He picked it up under one arm, glad it was lighter than the sewing machine, still awkward though. He ended up buying a wagon too. Something to haul the rest around in. And then he was done.

Well, technically there was one thing left on the gift list. But that wasn't found in any department store. He toyed with buying a wedding gift for Pickman as he loaded up the rest of his stuff. But decided against it. They weren't friends. And if he had to spend another minute in this crowded hell scape he might scream. So, with a gigantic plush dog under one arm, and a wagon loaded with prettily wrapped parcels, Wilbur Whateley headed out, to the graveyard, and after that, finally, back to Dunwich.

#Fanfic #Wilbur Whateley #Lavinia Whateley #Pickman #The Dunwich Horror #H.P. Lovecraft

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lookbluesoup · 5 years

Text

Fallout OC Interview

@robobrainmurdermysterytheatre and @quinndecker214 tagged me to do this LITERAL AGES ago! Thanks for this and IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG it got lost in my drafts I hope it was worth the wait //shot I TAG @nuclearvessel @ronqueesha @tarberrymentats @wild-w4steland-snip3r @daddyfuckinlonglegs @saltsealed @thewookieruns No pressure!!

Choose an OC.

Answer them as that OC.

Tag 5 people to do the same.

1. What is your name? Nathaniel Christian Wright. Maiden name Ronan, if, aha, you like fun-facts.

2. How old are you? You know I lost count somewhere after 240?

3. What do you look like?

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now? I was born a good ways South of here, spent most of my childhood there. Moved to Boston... before the War. Now I stay with Piper in Diamond City between work, got an infield view and everything! Never would have bet on that the day I woke up in the Vault. I guess life’s funny, hunh? I - ...I’m glad to be there.

5. What was your childhood like? Oh, nothing special, really. My Pa was ex-military, a chaplain. Ma stayed home to tend the house, and raise rambunctious sons. She was - good. I wonder sometimes whether she’d be proud of me, out here.

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? Well, I am K i n g of the Castle - a-hem, I mean, General. Yeah, just General. (//Ronnie distantly yells something about the joke not being funny the 80th time)

[[There are rumors of Nate being a leading Railroad Agent, but he absolutely would not admit to that in a casual interview xD]]

7. Tell me about your best friend. Deacon? Hah! What can’t I tell you about him! He’s got a two-dozen kids. Twelve wives. One’s a ghoul. He’s also a synth, but you didn’t hear that from me. Has an extra toe on his left foot. Those sunglasses aren’t a fashion statement, they’re glued to his face. Horrible accident, really. Inoperable. He can speak five languages, including Zetan. I swear, it’s all true! But, ah. He’s a good friend. Better than he knows.

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them! My son, Shaun, lives here at the Castle. I wish I could bring him to Diamond City, let him make friends with the other kids, try to give him something of the life he might’ve had before the War. But I’ve got enemies. The Minutemen have enemies. Comes with the job. It’s safer for Shaun to be here, out of the limelight. And also, you know, with a barracks full of guns ready at a minute’s notice if there’s trouble. My men are family, too. Hell, I feel closer to the people here than I did most of my own blood in the old world. There’s also my butler, Codsworth. And Natalie, Piper’s little sister - well, she may as well be my little sister, too. But hey, keep that one off the record. Nat’d never forgive me.

9. What about a partner or partners? I’m a happily tethered man, bound for life to one kickass reporter, Mrs. Wright. You may have heard of her.

10. Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? [Nate seems more guarded] Yeah, I know them. That graveyard across the channel used to be their airship. I wish it had ended differently, but... well, war never changes.

11. Who are your enemies, and why? I suppose that’s a natural follow-up question. Well, most of the Raider gangs will attack on sight. Gunners, too. But we’ve managed to clear a pretty safe stretch between major towns over the past year. Since the Minutemen have established a pro-synth stance, more than a few settlements shut their doors on us. Lost a fair number of volunteers. But no violence so far. Other than that... the remnants of Brotherhood here aren’t fond of me, personally. Why? We parted on bad terms. Lets just - leave it at that. Anyone else out here can tell you the story. There are Institute survivors, too. We tried to get as many noncombatants out as we could the day it fell, but it was a battle. It was messy. A lot haven’t forgiven me for turning on them. [sighs] ...Can you blame them? The Minutemen have kept a running list of Courser sightings since then. So many still aren’t accounted for. Keeps me up at night, sometimes.

12. What about The Enclave? I’ve heard rumors. None of them good. 13. How do you feel about Super Mutants? Tough bastards. I wish we could help them. I know they don’t all go crazy, and Virgil was making progress on a cure. But I haven’t seen him in years. We’re not - really on speaking terms.

14. Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? More than once, and never unscathed. Not bragging! It’s the truth. Take a look at this, [he rolls back his sleeve to show a massive scar running over his upper arm] Piper and I got pinned down, lizard gutted me and nearly lost me an arm. Also? Ruined my best flannel shirt.

15. What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? Bunker Hill. What a hellscape. Between the Railroad and the Institute, things were hot enough. But somehow the Brotherhood found out, too. It’s a wonder Bunker Hill wasn’t razed to the ground. My Courser escort was killed in a Railroad ambush and the synths we were after escaped. I barely got out alive.

[[Nate actually killed X4-18 and helped the synths escape, but that’s another Railroad secret :’D]] 16. Do you like fighting? No. But I’ll do what I have to to stay alive and protect the people I care about. 17. What’s your weapon of choice? A modified radium rifle. I was a sniper back in my army days, it’s what I’m trained in. But if the fight does get close, this gun’s versatile enough to still be useful. Wish my loadout back in Anchorage did that. I’m fond of the laser musket, too - but you only get one shot, and then everyone will know exactly where you are. Strategically it’s too limited.

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) My winning charm, of course! [winks] And trekking all over the Commonwealth keeps me fit for when folks aren’t so interested in talking. Piper keeps the luck for both of us. I’m - pretty sure I’m cursed, actually.

S(6) P(7) E(8) C(11) I(7) A(5) L(2)

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? I suppose I should be grateful, really. If not for the Vaults, I’d have died two centuries ago. I’d never have met Piper, or taught Shaun to play baseball. None of this... none of this at all would have happened. [grimaces] Don’t get me wrong. Vault-tec was fucking insane. The things they did to people in some of those Vaults-? I was uncharacteristically lucky. There’s a reason they call me the Sole Survivor, and it’s not from winning some tv game show about living on an island.

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? My Pip-Boy has a Geiger counter built in so I can avoid the worst of it. But sometimes it can’t be helped. I always keep Rad-Away and Rad-X on hand. Other than that, I bring the old vault suit to wear under my clothes if I know exposure’s inevitable. It helps a little. Piper likes to tease me about that, but somehow I think she prefers me with hair and less than six limbs. Plus, my ass looks great in blue. Her words. Not mine. Yes, you can quote that.

21. What’s your favorite wasteland critter? The radstags, no doubt! [motions to Legs Washington] Look at those little extra arms wiggling around. Adorable.

22. What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? Yao guais. They are way too stealthy for something that big. I dunno what they’re eating up in Maine, but Far Harbor was full of them. Big, grumpy ones. And look, have you ever tried to outrun a bear? Don’t.

23. How do you feel about robots? I like the ones that aren’t shooting at me! Codsworth and Ada are friends. Isabel’s eyebot, Sparks? Adorable. I even got this hat from an old Sentry named Ironsides. Those Rust Devils and their junk bots though? I try not to fight them without a lot of backup. Got ambushed by a Succubus once. Not a good time. At all.

24. How many caps do you have on you right now? Why, you planning to rob me? Kidding. About 200, which is a lot for me generally speaking.

25. Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? [Suddenly excited] Wait, does Sunset Sarsaparilla still exist?

26. Do you do chems? Aside from Med-X when I’ve been shot? Not if I can help it.

27. Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? Not as often as in the beginning, but it does happen sometimes. I’ll have dreams where I’m back in my old life, and it’s always... disorienting.

28. What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? There are - a lot. I’ll admit it. Sometimes I wonder, if I’d only just - hm... Well. To be honest, I’ve been trying not to linger so much on what I’ve done wrong, and focus on what I can do right for the future instead. Piper taught me that.

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? I’ll always be proud to call myself Mr. Wright. If I can be half the man Piper tells me I am, I’ll consider it a life well lived.

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? Geeze, you could give my wife a run for her money with a loaded question like that! I want... a future where folks don’t have to be afraid of monsters coming after them in the night. I want synths to have a fair chance at living their own lives, as who they are, without pretending. I want Shaun to - be able to grow up. For myself? Everything I need is right here already.

#text #long post #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout oc interview #nate ronan #screenshot

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danfanciesphil · 5 years

Text

L’Histoire Française (Five Years Later) (NSFW)

Happy Nearly-New Year! This is a gift that I know a lot of you have been waiting for, I really hope it lives up to your expectations. Those of you that read and loved this fic mean a great deal to me, as this one is particularly close to my heart. You deserve a treat, and here it is!

I love you all very much, and here’s to a fab 2019.

Ellen xx

(L’Histoire Française Masterlist)

(TRANSLATION OF THE FRENCH IN THIS CHAPTER)

(Ao3 LINK)

Not Quite The Louvre

June 2022

The restaurant is one Dan has never set foot in, but admired from afar, the way he might admire one of Tyler’s designer suits, or Louise’s newborn - intensely, but with an awareness that it’s very much Not For Him. He walks through the large doors that sit beneath a calligraphic sign reading ‘Gilted’, already deeply concerned about what lies beyond them. From the name, this place promises extravagance, and from the moment Dan steps inside, this is just what it delivers. A wiry, angular woman at a small desk greets him, and immediately summons a young man to take his coat. The young man is wearing a pale green suit jacket, as are all of the other wait staff, which Dan admires for its quirkiness, but is also unnerved by. Is this some new, hipster trend that he’s unaware of? Is he outdated in his plain black suit? Or is it just the restaurant trying to distinguish themselves in some way? As his coat is being dealt with, Dan peers into the dining area, noting a lot of green decoration to match the waiters, including masses of tropical plants spreading their enormous leaves and vines throughout the tables. The walls are a distressed emerald, and plastered in enormous mirrors, which also cover much of the ceiling. Instantly, Dan is gobsmacked by the opulence, and fears for his wallet, which is about to get a pummelling, he can tell.

“Do you have a reservation, Sir?” the angular lady asks, one thin eyebrow arched. Dan tugs on his own boring suit jacket; he gets the distinct impression that she can smell inferiority on him.

“Yes,” Dan replies, cheeks warm. “I think it’s under Lester?”

The woman nods stiffly, then gazes down at her iPad, which has its own pale green cover, and the word ‘Gilted’ etched on in swirly gold. A nice touch, Dan can’t help but think. The woman pauses, then taps the screen, and locks it. She nods to Dan, marginally more amiable now that she knows he’s not some imposter.

“Right this way, Sir.”

She leads him through the maze of tables, of which there seem to be hundreds, scattered across a huge ballroom with vaulted ceilings, and a mezzanine balcony, accessible via an enormous spiralling staircase. Dan swallows, thinking again of his poor bank account, which has no idea of the violent assault headed its way. The woman takes him to a four person table in the centre of the room, underneath a chandelier so large Dan is astounded it can be safe, suspended as it is above his head.

“Enjoy your meal, gentlemen,” the woman says, and Dan nods awkwardly, mumbles a thank you, and sits down.

“Hi,” Dan says as he slides into his seat, and meets the gaze of the person opposite him. “Phil’s going to be late.”

Tyler’s mouth falls open, gasping dramatically. “The scoundrel.”

“He already texted to tell us,” Teddy says, and Dan relaxes a bit. It’s warm in here, not unpleasantly so, but as Dan is already uncomfortable, it feels stifling. He can’t help but think that it would be far easier to relax if Phil were beside him. “So,” Teddy continues, his fingers lacing together on the table in front of him. “Shall we get straight to it?”

Dan freezes, hackles immediately up, sniffing danger misting off of Teddy’s words. He looks between his two friends, trying and failing, as he always does, to decipher the mischievous look in their eyes.

“What?” he asks carefully.

“Well Dan,” Tyler jumps in, suspiciously keen to answer. “I know you’re not one for deep thought, but what do you think the reason might be that your other half might have summoned us here tonight?”

“I hardly think Phil suggesting we all go for dinner counts as a summons,” Dan says, though truthfully, Tyler’s implication stirs the butterflies that have already begun awakening in Dan’s belly.

Teddy’s left hand spreads itself atop Tyler’s, rather obviously. Dan tries not to roll his eyes as Teddy’s fingers waggle, making the large, princess cut diamond on his ring finger sparkle under the chandelier lights.

“Guys,” Dan says in his warning tone, which, granted, is about as terrifying as a guinea pig squeaking. “It’s just a catch-up dinner because you guys are gonna be on your cruise over my birthday next week.”

“Mmhmm,” Teddy says, sipping from his water glass. “In a restaurant expensive enough to bankrupt all four of us with the tasting menu.”

“It’s funny isn’t it,” Tyler muses to the general vicinity, leaning back in his chair. “That what with your parents being on the other side of the world, there’s nobody whose approval Phil could seek if he were inclined to, say... pop the question.”

“Oh, no, Ty,” Teddy says before Dan can object to that loaded statement, patting Tyler’s hand. They share an amused smile. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh no?” Tyler asks, theatrically.

“I think if I were Phil,” Teddy says. “In place of his actual guardians, I’d turn to Dan’s closest pals. The people he’s been closest to for most of his adult life, his mentors, his confidantes-”

Dan snorts loudly, and a nearby waiter shoots him a disapproving glare. “Kim and Kanye couldn’t make it, unfortunately.”

“D-list imitations compared to us, darling,” Tyler says, grinning. He’s wearing an irritatingly smug, patronising expression that Dan is very familiar with. “Come on, Dan. The set up is so obvious even you shouldn’t be able to miss it. He’s probably pacing the pavement outside right now, rehearsing his proposal speech.”

“He’s late because he had to supervise detention today,” Dan mutters, though beneath the table, his hands wring the cloth napkin.

Luckily, a waiter approaches then, and Tyler is distracted, demanding the wine list, and a round of nibbles and G & T’s to start them off. Dan turns his attention to his phone while the waiter reels off the various gins available.

From: Dan To: Phil omg please hurry up im about to commit a double homicide x

Ten seconds later, he gets a response.

From: Phil To: Dan no fair. you promised if you ever murdered them that i could help :( im four mins away. steer clear of the silverware. xx

From: Dan To: Phil no promises x

“Darling, I know the etiquette expected from this sort of establishment is a little beyond you, but texting at the dinner table really is terribly rude,” Tyler says, giving him a level glare.

“Sorry,” Dan mutters, though he doesn’t mean it. He pockets his phone reluctantly, noting that the waiter has once again disappeared. “This place is too fancy for me.”

“I must say,” Teddy says, thoughtfully. He’s gazing around at the other patrons, clinking silver cutlery against china dishes, their bleached white teeth clacking against crystal glasses of Merlot. “I was a little surprised at the venue Phil chose to to do this.”

“To do what? Teddy, Phil is not going to-”

“Yes, I thought the same,” Tyler says animatedly, turning to his husband. “That man’s so off-the-wall in every other respect, you’d think he’d have conjured up some extravagant, personalised proposal scene in a lego version of the Eiffel Tower or something ridiculous. Not a restaurant so posh it almost makes me feel uneasy.” He sips water again. “Almost.”

“For God’s sake,” Dan near-snaps, nails pushing into his palms. “Will you stop? It’s just dinner, for God’s sake.”

Something over Dan’s shoulder catches Tyler’s eye, and the smile that spreads over his mouth is somehow both smug and excited. He leans back in his chair, and exchanges a glance with Teddy.

“Uh huh,” Tyler says.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m stupidly late I know,” Phil’s voice says at Dan’s ear. Seconds later, lips are pressed, fleeting and damp, against Dan’s cheek. “Have you already ordered?”

“Just the wine-” Dan starts to say, and then stops short as Phil slips into the chair beside his.

His boyfriend is wearing a suit that Dan has never seen him in before. The jacket is black velvet, with thin, undulating gold thread woven into swirling patterns across the expanse. It’s fitted to his long, lithe body, and hugs his broad shoulders perfectly. Phil’s hair has been trimmed, jaw closely shaven, and a haze of expensive-smelling cologne floats in the air around him. In short, he looks more delicious than anything on the menu, and Dan hasn’t even read it yet.

“Phil, darling, you look so scrumptious that it’s going to be a struggle not to leap across the table and devour you,” Tyler says with a gleeful grin.

Phil laughs politely, scooting his chair in. “Hey, Ty. Teddy. How are you guys?”

Dumbed by the appearance of his boyfriend, who earlier this morning had had to run out of the house without showering to get to work on time, Dan can only stare. He feels underdressed beside this deity. A pale, unworthy companion for someone so beautiful, in a place so beautiful to match. Dan is wearing a suit as well, sure, but it’s just the same one he always wears, black and tight-fitting, possibly a little on the small side, especially noticeable from how it exposes his ankles.

“We’re wonderful, my dear,” Tyler answers for both of them.

“I’ve been trying to get around to finally divorcing him, but he keeps distracting me with blowjobs,” Teddy says in a sigh.

At that moment, a slightly flustered waiter coughs from the end of the table, holding a bottle of expensive-looking red wine. “Y-your Rijoca, gentlemen.”

Tyler claps his hands excitedly. “I’ll do the tasting, garcçon.” He pushes his glass towards the waiter, who pours a drop in.

Whilst Tyler sniffs and sips pretentiously, Dan leans towards Phil as discreetly as he can. “You look absolutely amazing,” Dan says, still dazed. “Should I have dressed up more?”

Phil gives him a warm, fond smile which spreads, like treacle, through Dan’s entire body, until he can feel it in his toes. “Dan, tu es toujours la plus belle personne dans la pièce.”

A bunch of pink, sun-warmed flowers bloom in Dan’s cheeks. “Merci,” he mumbles. “But seriously-”

“The bouquet is divine Phil,” Tyler announces, gesturing for the waiter to fill everyone’s glasses. “Try, try. Is that not simply magnifique?”

Phil takes his glass, thanking the waiter, and sips politely. “Yeah, it’s delicious,” he says. “Well picked.” He turns his attention back to the waiter. “Um, excusé-moi monsieur, nous voudrons un boutéille de champagne aussi, s’il vous plaît.”

“Assurément, monsieur.”

“Oh? Are we celebrating?” Teddy asks in a knowing voice, chin resting atop his interlaced fingers. His eyes glimmer, though it could be the reflection on his superfluous, hipster spectacles.

“We are,” Phil confirms once the waiter has disappeared off. The three of them wait for Phil to continue, but he simply sips Rijoca, and pretends to be intrigued by the décor. Just as Tyler’s big mouth opens, clearly intent on prompting a further explanation, Phil clears his throat loudly, and opens his menu with a flourish. “So! What are we having? French cuisine can be a somewhat hit and miss. Do you think you’ll be alright finding something you like?”

Reluctantly, Dan turns his attention to his own menu, though his heart has started to thump distractingly beneath his shirt. He feels as if he might need to remove his suit jacket soon, or else rivers of sweat will begin pouring out of his sleeves. That might put Phil off whatever it is he has planned. Not that Phil is necessarily planning anything. This could, still, just be a normal, catch-up meal between friends. Where everyone is dressed to the nines for no reason, and champagne is being placed on standby, and the very air itself tastes decadent.

The menu is entirely in French, and despite the lessons he’s been taking for the past three years, and despite Phil’s steady stream of dirty talk and sweet nothings in the language, Dan cannot understand a word in front of him. Then again, even if the menu was in layman’s English, Dan doubts very much that the words would seep into his mushy brain.

“Hmm, what’s cuisses de grenouilles?” Tyler asks, peering at his own menu.

Phil hides a smile behind his wine glass. “Frog’s legs.”

Tyler shuts the menu sharply. “Right, think I’ll stick to the salade.”

“I can never resist a French Onion Soup,” Teddy says with a conspiratorial smile. “Just don’t tell my health-freak husband how much oil and cheese they pour in.”

Tyler immediately begins Googling this on his phone, which starts a quiet, whispered argument on the other side of the table. Phil turns to Dan; there’s no mistaking the hidden twinkle in his eye, unsuccessfully being held back, perhaps until the champagne arrives.

Phil’s eyebrow lifts. “Dan?”

“Y-yes?”

His heart is pounding against his chest, as if it wants to break free and launch itself onto Phil’s plate.

“What are you going to have?” Phil asks, nodding towards his menu. God, he looks phenomenal, Dan can’t help but think. In the low, warm lighting, surrounded by pastel green, Phil is a waterlily in bloom. He puts Monet’s Nympheas to shame, and Dan saw those right up close, too. “Do you need me to translate anything?”

“N-no,” Dan says, mesmerised. He swallows, quietly, and tears his gaze away. Oh, God. Is his entire life about to turn upside down at the sight of one fold of a bended knee? “I’ll just have the, uh,” he casts about the thick ivory page for something vaguely recognisable. “The ratatouille.”

“Are you sure?” Phil asks, frowning. “I think they have galettes. They’re like savoury pancakes. You like pancakes.”

“No, really,” Dan assures him, stomach roiling at the idea of attempting to digest a flappy, doughy pancake right now. He lifts his glass of wine to his lips and pours about half of it down his throat. “I’m in a, uh, tomatoey mood.”

“What a romantic sentiment,” Tyler mutters to Teddy.

“He can treasure it forever,” Teddy replies, luckily too low to be overheard by Phil. Even so, Dan kicks both of them in the shin.

The waiter returns with an ice bucket and champagne, and Phil orders for everyone in his fluent, silken French. Dan is on edge, certain now that he is about to be jumped with some monumental romantic gesture that he is entirely unprepared to deal with. It all feels overwhelming - the glitz, the alcohol, the unrecognisable, expensive food - but he tries to cling to the presence of Phil beside him, safe and comforting even gussied up as he is.

Is this how it always is? Is the proposer supposed to fire the question out of the blue, giving the proposee no time at all to rehearse or prepare? He supposes in all the films he’s seen, the woman is always totally caught off-guard by the sight of her man kneeling before her. Dan’s always been pretty cynical about this however, thinking she must have had some sort of inclination.

Before he can dwell any further, the food arrives amidst casual chatter about jobs and grievances, and Teddy and Tyler’s usual guilt tripping about Dan having “abandoned them to go and live in sin with his French lover.”

“It was three years ago,” Dan says to Teddy. “I think possibly it’s time to forgive me.”

“We should really be angry at Frenchie, of course, for snatching you away,” Tyler says, studying a tomato on his fork with scrutiny. “But who could stay mad at those chiselled features?”

“You do know I’m not actually French, don’t you?” Phil asks, though he’s laughing good-naturedly, playing with the stuffed aubergine on his plate. “And hey, without Dan there I bet it was great that you could have sex in any room of the house, before you moved into your new place, obviously.”

“Never stopped us before,” Teddy mutters and Dan throws a napkin at him.

By the time dessert is over with, the red wine has been drained, and the champagne is finally lifted from the ice bucket, Dan has almost forgotten what he’d been worried about. The wine in Dan’s bloodstream is creating a pleasant, blurred hum around their table. It even makes Tyler’s loud, boisterous chatter just the right side of tolerable.

“So,” Phil says in a louder voice than he has been speaking, and reaches to pluck the unopened champagne from Teddy’s hands. “I have something I’d like to announce.”

Instantly Dan’s heart leaps into his throat. Tyler and Teddy exchange a look loaded with something like ‘here it comes’. Phil turns to Dan, and reaches for his hand. Dan lets him take it, limply, and tries to focus on the words about to come from his boyfriend’s mouth; in the thousand ways he’d imagined Phil might do this, he always knew he’d need to remember everything he said. Phil’s always been a master of language, wielding it like a sword in the hands of a medieval Knight.

“Dan,” Phil says. “There’s a reason I wanted us all to be here tonight.”

Dan takes a deep breath. “O-oh, okay.”

“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” Phil says, unexpectedly. “There are things I want to ask you, in the future, but that’s not what this is. You should know, by now, that I love you more than anything. I see a future for us, a long and happy future, and that’s why I think we don’t need to be swearing it to one another with rings just yet.”

“I…” Dan frowns, looking towards Teddy and Tyler. Their expressions are unreadable; they look excited, brimming with some secret thing Dan is perplexed by. “Wait, so you’re... not proposing?”

Phil smiles sweetly, and squeezes Dan’s hand. “No.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a key. There’s a keyring attached, in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. On it, Dan can see silver lettering, though he can’t read what it says. “I thought about it. I’m always thinking about it, honestly. Of course I want to be married to you. But before we splash out on a big wedding, I think it’s important for us to get to a place, individually, where we’re happy in ourselves.”

Dan’s heart squeezes. He knows that somewhere in that speech Phil said he loves him. That he wants to be married to him someday, even. But all Dan hones in on is the word ‘individually’. He and Phil have tried individually. It had been, and remains to this day, the worst period of Dan’s life, trying to extricate himself from Phil, after he’d known the touch of him, the closeness. Surely Phil cannot be suggesting they do that again - try some new-age method of spending some time apart to ‘find themselves’ before committing? Phil turns Dan’s hand over then, distracting him, so his palm faces up, and drops the key into it. Bemused, Dan brings it to his face, squinting at the words written on it.

La Cerise Galerie, 234 Lipton Avenue

He recognises the name. It’s a gallery Dan used to like visiting from time to time, smallish, and independent, run by a French couple with a passion for the romantics and the impressionists. Unfortunately, the couple, Madame and Monsieur Cerise, decided to put the gallery on the market a few months ago to go and travel the world on an extended retirement trip. They were clearly wealthy from some unknown source, the gallery just being something they did on the side. Sadly, the pretty mansionette that the gallery was in, with its white, modern, square exterior, and neat gardens, has since remained empty.

“I don’t understand,” Dan says, feeling as if he’s stood on the edge of some tall, sheer cliff in high winds.

“He never was the brightest bulb, Phil,” Tyler says in a stage whisper. “You may need to spell it out for the poor dear.”

“It’s yours, Dan,” Phil says, inexplicably. “I bought it. Well, almost. I’ve had a a little help.” Phil shoots a meaningful look towards Tyler, who lifts his glass, smiling. “You need to sign the deed for it, and I have to finalise some stuff. But it’s yours if you agree, Dan. I picked the key up on my way here. And now I’m giving it to you.”

Dan stands from his chair, making it screech across the wooden floor. He can barely breathe; he knew this suit jacket was too small for him. The key sits weightily in his palm, loaded with all that it represents.

“Phil” Dan says, shaking his head. He wants to hurl the keys across the room. “You can’t do this. This is... mad.” He looks at Tyler, who is wearing a fascinated expression, as if Dan’s reaction is a scene in a teledrama. “Ty... you knew about this?”

The room is rocking violently, side to side beneath Dan’s feet. Tyler nods, sipping wine. “Of course. Phil and I have been in the process of purchasing the place for weeks.”

“But earlier... you were hinting he was gonna propose!”

Teddy laughs then, clearly thoroughly enjoying this crazy scene as much as Tyler. “We had to throw you off the scent, obviously.”

Well, Dan thinks, they sure managed that. Dan feels utterly blindsided by this, can’t even wrap his head around something so absurd. The keys in his hand are dragging him to the floor as the responsibility they drip with mounts. Being a property owner of any description at his age is something far out of Dan’s expectation, let alone the owner of his own gallery. Carefully, as if he’s approaching a wild, skittish deer, Phil places his napkin on the table, and stands too. He holds his hands out to Dan, wary of spooking him.

“Let me explain,” Phil says, or Dan thinks that’s what he says; his heart is pounding so loudly it’s nearly drowning out the words. He takes Phil’s hands anyway, if only to ensure he doesn’t topple over. A few heads have turned towards them from nearby tables, presumably because Dan standing up and clearly on the verge of a panic attack is not the usual spectacle for a place like this. “I want you to be happy, Dan,” Phil is saying, somewhere on the horizon. “I want to see you flourish, and grow. I’m so, so grateful you decided to apply for a TA position five years ago, I truly am. But I know it’s not the path you’d have chosen, if you could.” He pats the keys in Dan’s hand. “This, right here, is what you want. I’m lucky enough to love what I do. All I want is for you to feel the way I do each morning, when you get in to work.”

Glassy-eyed, Dan just stares at Phil. He looks down at the keys in his hand again, and slowly curls his fingers around them, just to feel the cold, slim weight of them, and test out the idea that they belong to him.

“It’s too much,” Dan whispers, trying to remember the asking price painted onto the sun-faded For Sale sign in the front lawn of the gallery. Even with Phil’s additional new research-job at the University in the next town over, he’s can’t be earning enough to afford this. “We can’t afford it.”

“I loaned Phil what he couldn’t reasonably stretch to,” Tyler says then, dropping this snippet of information with far too much nonchalance. “My promotion has given me a salacious new salary. Teddy and I already bought the dream home last year, and had the big wedding. We thought about getting one of those abandoned infants from China shipped over, but on balance, this seemed more of a priority.”

“Tyler, no,” Dan says, coldly. “I don’t want a handout. I’m working full time, and I’m doing the teacher-training course. In a few years I’ll be a qualified English teacher, I don’t need-”

“Your dreams are always worth a shot,” Teddy interrupts, then reaches out, and pops the champagne. “Even if it’s just one shot, with everything you have. Besides, you’ll never persuade Ty out of it. He’s a regular sugar daddy now. Buys his way out of everything. Cooking dinner, doing the dishes, return blowjobs-”

As if to prove this point, Tyler whips out a few banknotes from some pocket in his immaculate suit and throws them into Teddy’s face. “Twenty pounds to shut your cute trap, darling.”

Suddenly exhausted from the overwhelm, Dan sits back down, heavily. Phil follows suit, watching Dan with scrutiny.

“I know it seems like a lot,” Phil says softly, one hand on Dan’s shoulder. “But it seemed… right. I was on my way to the jewellery store to get you some fancy ring, and I drove past the gallery on my way. And I got this feeling in my gut, a familiar feeling that I couldn’t quite place. So I drove on, and then I realised - it’s the same feeling I had when you walked into my classroom that first day. A kind of static buzz, exciting and hopeful. Like all the atoms around me just aligned.”

A lump, huge and insistent, aches in Dan’s throat, making his eyes water. “I won’t be able to repay you. Not for years.”

“I think I speak for Phil and myself when I say that the only repayment we need right now, is for you to give it your best shot,” Tyler says, making Teddy smile at him in that rare, fond, proud way. “Well,” Tyler corrects. “I’m sure Phil wouldn’t mind a grateful blowjob or two as well-”

“He’s right,” Phil interrupts, and Dan raises an eyebrow. “About you not needing to worry about repaying us,” Phil adds quickly, though a smirk has crept onto his face. “You don’t need to decide right now. But I thought we could go and see it after dinner, take a look at least.”

“See it tonight?” Dan asks. His full stomach squeezes and contracts uncomfortably, the ratatouille threatening to make a second appearance. “Um, w-well...”

He looks at Teddy and Tyler, now kissing on the other side of the table. He’s not sure he can take a visit to the potential property of his dreams with them in tow. Phil follows his gaze, then leans towards Dan, smiling.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll tell them seulement nous.”

They walk to the restaurant, floaty and slightly swaying from the champagne Dan had forced himself to knock back in celebration. He’s still incredibly unsure about this whole thing, and feels as if either accepting or rejecting the offer would have equally disastrous consequences. Not even taking into consideration how it would disappoint Phil to refuse the gallery, Dan can barely stand to imagine how, in the weeks and possibly years that followed that refusal, he’d slowly be consumed with regret. Phil had been right, earlier - Dan had never wanted this career path, and has only really stayed on it to be near him. But Phil’s career prospects are changing; he’s spending more and more time at the University, and Dan knows it won’t be long until he goes from Assistant History Researcher, to PhD student, to full-fledged History Professor. And then what will Dan’s excuse be for working in a job he has no passion for, with children that are more inclined to fondly mock him than listen to him as an authoritative figure?

Working as a teacher has always been a horrifying thought for Dan, if he’s honest. The only thing that makes it tolerable is knowing that he’ll be able to snatch time with Phil, before class and in class and a bunch of times between. The idea of patrolling the school halls without this prospect is not a fun one.

And... he has always wanted this. The cute, perfectly situated, small-town gallery. It’s a dream he’s only told a select few about, not even his parents, who would dismiss it as unrealistic. Perhaps their influence was stronger than Dan thought it had been, because never did he expect to actually get his dream, especially not like this, when he’s so young, and only because Phil’s willing to place so much faith in him.

All of this bubbles around with the champagne in Dan’s tipsy brain, until they’re at the door of the gallery, and Dan realises he hasn’t spoken a word to Phil all the way here. Their hands are joined, swinging gently between them. Now, Dan breaks the hold, reaching into his trouser pocket for the key. He looks at Phil before he inserts it into the lock.

“If I decide I can’t do it,” Dan says in a rush, because Phil has to hear it. “If it’s all too much right now, and I’m not ready… I just want to tell you,” he swallows, determined to find the right words, “nobody has ever done anything like this for me. Nobody has ever even listened to me long enough to understand that I dream about this all the time. I don’t think I really understood how much you must love me until now,” Dan confesses, feeling his eyes sting. “I don’t know if I’m quite able to accept something so…” he flaps his hands at the pale grey door of the gallery, with its frosted windows, and neat, quiet sign. “You know. But oh my God. Thank you for this. That doesn’t even begin to cover it. But thank you.”

“That’s okay,” Phil says with a small, pleased smile. “I know it’s big. And maybe I’m doing everything wrong. Maybe I should have proposed first, I don’t know.” He shrugs, eyes travelling to to the sign on the door. “But I know one day, maybe way in the future, but one day, I’ll look over and see a ring on your finger. I know it would make you happy, if I asked you. But I don’t want that to be... what defines you. I don’t want you to just be my partner, who hates his job. I want you to be your best self, and to commit to me knowing you’ll never yearn for more. No pressure, Dan, really. It’s all reversible. But let’s have one teensy, decadent little explore, try out picking which room you’d display what in. It can just be pretend, for now.”

Dan smiles, marvelling as always at Phil knowing just what to say. “Okay,” he agrees, and opens the door.

September 2022

“What are you doing here?”

Phil laughs, thankfully, and walks over to kiss him. “Nice to see you too, stranger.’

“Sorry,” Dan says against Phil’s mouth, sagging into his embrace. “My nerves are fraught.”

“Good thing I brought this then,” Phil says, leaning back and pulling out a bottle of cold champagne from the large bag in his hand. “To celebrate your Grande Ouverture, Monsieur.”

Dan smiles weakly, though the phrase makes his heart speed up. “God, don’t call it that. It’s just a small party to let people know I’m here.”

Phil nods seriously, but there’s a glinting smile in the depths of his eyes. That smile hasn’t faded for one moment since Dan announced, after just one tour of the gallery’s rooms, empty of everything but promise, that he’s going to do this. Since that night, Dan has thrown himself into getting it ready, procuring artworks, establishing a name for himself as a young curator with a new space, and it’s all led up to this. Tomorrow night, the Cerise Galerie officially opens, under new ownership. It’s currently eleven o’clock, and Dan’s been working tirelessly since 7am. He’s barely been home all week, in fact. Buffy probably doesn’t even recognise him anymore.

“Sure,” Phil says, then pushes the bottle into Dan’s hands. “Open this will you? I’ve got some plastic glasses in here somewhere.”

Dan watches as Phil sets the bag down, pulls out his zig-zag blanket and spreads it over the floor of the main gallery room. It’s a strange thing to do, probably, but Dan is rarely surprised by Phil’s peculiarities anymore. Phil finds glasses, and then produces a few cartons of Chinese food, and Dan falls in love with him all over again. They eat and drink sat on the blanket together, shoes kicked off, shirts unbuttoned, until Dan feels vaguely normal again, and much less like he’s about to burst into a million shards of stress and worry.

“It looks awesome in here,” Phil says, leant back on his hands as he surveys the walls. The frames are all simple wood, so as not to detract from the paintings within. This room shows the work of three artists, all Ethiopian by birth, who paint about their culture, their current lives in England, and their families, respectively. Dan found each artist separately, and has placed their work in one room, to see how their combined cultural experience compliments each other’s work. “You’re really good at this.” Phil lowers his eyes to meet Dan’s, still glinting. “I knew you would be.”

“Thank you,” Dan says, as sincerely as he can manage. He must have thanked Phil a thousand times by now, a hundred thousand, possibly, both verbally and… non-verbally, but he still feels he needs to stress it again. “Most people wouldn’t get an opportunity to even try. Let’s hope I don’t fuck it up.”

Phil frowns. “I don’t think you could, Dan. But you know if it doesn’t work out, it’s not your fault. This is hardly the best economy to be opening an independent gallery in. If it doesn’t take off like we hope…” Phil shrugs. “Then we’ll chalk it up to experience, and a fun adventure, and try again somewhere down the line.”

Dan nods, grateful for his optimistic practicality. Those two things shouldn’t fit together, but somehow Phil makes it work. Just then, Dan’s elbows give out, shoulders and back screaming at him to release the tension, and he flops back onto the blanket, groaning.

“You alright?” Phil asks around a chuckle, nudging Dan with his knee. “Getting old?”

“Everything aches,” Dan complains, eyes falling shut. “The stress of running my own business has aged me before my time.”

“And you haven’t even opened yet,” Phil teases, but starts to gather up the empty Chinese boxes, moving them into an empty carrier bag. “Turn over, Grandad.”

One of Dan’s eyes opens. “What?”

Phil laughs, eyes crinkling around the edges. This is a rather wonderful vantage point, Dan muses to himself. Phil is knelt up, in just black jeans and his white shirt rolled up at each sleeve. His jet black hair is starting to pepper grey at the shaved sides, which Dan adores, and tells him so frequently. He looks like a man, strong and lean, with the piercing blue eyes of a mythical sea creature, and the mischievous smile of an eighteen year old.

“I said, turn over,” Phil repeats, but this time he winks. Dan thinks about refusing, but that’s never normally a good idea if he wants to get through the night un-spanked. And yes, the idea of being bent over Phil’s knee is tempting, but as he’s got to run around an opening-party tomorrow, he probably needs to not be in pain every time he takes a step. So, Dan turns onto his stomach, intrigued already by what Phil has in mind. Phil crawls over to him then, and straddles Dan, sitting on his bum. He smooths his big hands across Dan’s shoulders and begins to squeeze and knead them; Dan is so caught off-guard by the massage that he sinks heavily into the floor, and groans, making Phil laugh again. “Good?”

“So good,” Dan says, practically drooling. “Your fingers are like wonderful knives.”

“Hmm,” Phil says. “I’m hoping that’s a positive thing.”

“Oh, it is.”

Phil keeps kneading him, knuckles working the knots out one by one, then carving pathways either side of his spine. He works Dan’s hips, the dip of his lower back, slots his fingers between Dan’s ribs and rakes over them. It’s sinfully good, and by the time Phil’s hips grind into his bum for the first time, Dan is so hard he can barely think straight.

Phil climbs off of him, and pulls Dan’s shoulder, encouraging him to turn over until he’s laid on his back again. Dan moves fluidly, easily, perfectly happy to be led by Phil’s desire. He learned long ago to trust that despite the teasing and playful build-up, Phil will always get him there in the end. Phil unbuttons Dan’s shirt, then trails his tongue up the exposed strip of skin between the lapels. He pulls the material aside, revealing a nipple, and closes his lips over it, first softly, and then biting down, hard.

Dan gasps, the sting of pain giving way to the instant tingle of blissful relief that follows it. At first, Dan had been more reluctant to experiment with the duality of pleasure and pain that Phil had slowly revealed he enjoyed. But over time, Dan has dipped his toe deeper and deeper into the waters, and discovered, to his shock, that he actually likes it a lot. Now, five years into their sexual relationship, Dan is no longer shy about his desire, and readily admits to Phil, as he found it so hard to do once, that he wants Phil to hurt him, and then kiss him. To tie him up with ropes that chafe, and then lick soft, warm lines up his neck. To bite his thighs hard enough to mark the skin, and then push slick fingers inside of him so gentle and slow that it takes hours to open him up enough.

Phil has removed Dan’s shirt entirely now, and is currently working his trousers off too. Once they’re thrown aside, he settles between Dan’s thighs, hands roaming over the bare skin on show. His fingers pinch Dan’s nipples, coaxing them into taut pebbles. His nails drag down Dan’s sides, leaving thin white lines across the skin in their wake. Dan just breathes shallowly, trying not to wriggle too much, or gasp too loudly, as he’s not been expressly permitted to do anything except lie here, on his back, and let Phil do as he wants.

“Do you know,” Phil says conversationally, as he runs a teasing, light hand over Dan’s erection, concealed beneath his black briefs. “You’re just as gorgeous as the day I met you.”

“Less cocky, I expect,” Dan replies, and Phil slaps him in the thigh for answering, then strokes the spot.

“A bit, perhaps.”

“You’re more gorgeous,” Dan blurts, at which point two spots of pink burst into each of his cheeks. “Maybe it’s the salt and pepper hair. Or just… happiness. You look magnificent, every day.”

Phil’s hands pause for a moment, and he gives Dan a fond, loving smile. “No more talking now,” he says after a moment, and Dan is sort of glad. Who knows what other schmaltzy nonsense might have seeped out if he were allowed to continue. He tips his head back, and sinks into the sensation of Phil’s hands on him again, and then his mouth, against his briefs, light and teasing with his flicking tongue.

“Lift,” Phil instructs, tapping Dan’s hip.

As he raises his bum from the floor, Phil tugs the briefs down, and then all the way off. He trails one finger along the slightly curved line of Dan’s cock, then scoops the pearl of precome on his fingertip, and deposits it into his mouth. He takes Dan’s thighs in each hand then, and pushes them upwards, until Dan’s near bent in half. Practiced at this by now, Dan knows to wrap his own hands around them, and hold himself like this, so he does.

“Bon,” Phil whispers, offhandedly, and presses a kiss to Dan’s left foot.

There’s a pause before anything else happens, and staring up at the ceiling as he is, Dan can’t tell why. If he had to guess, however, he’d say that Phil was in the process of removing his own clothes, and the thought of it makes Dan ache, in the centre of his chest. It’s a struggle not to lift his head, and see the slow reveal of Phil’s naked body with his own two eyes. Eventually, Phil is back, and Dan feels lips against the backs of his thighs, making his cock twitch in anticipation.

“Ne jouir pas,” Phil says, firmly, shortly before taking one of Dan’s balls into his mouth.

He does the same to the other, and right away Dan is not convinced he will be able to follow Phil’s instruction. Phil’s tongue trails down, not going the way Dan expected, and he groans, deep and long, sensing the impending development before it happens. His cock remains untouched and flushed a deep pink, Phil’s mouth moving to areas further south. He licks between Dan’s cheeks in one unbroken line, then places a hand on each, and begins to swirl the tip of that tongue around Dan’s rim.

Dan’s face is hot, and probably bright red. Each movement of Phil’s tongue against him sparks a dozen electric pulses through his whole body, along with that delicious, hot sluice of shame that comes from being so vulnerable, from doing something ‘taboo’. If Dan turns his head to the left, he can see a painting he loved from the moment he set eyes on it, of a wild desert, over which a string of bunting hangs, displaying the Ethiopian flag, and beside it, the Pride flag.

“Fuck,” Dan lets slip as Phil’s tongue inches its way inside him.

He’s relentless at this, and saves it for special occasions because he knows Dan goes mad for it. When he does press his tongue there, he is slow and teasing, and can spend hours at it, driving Dan to the brink of ecstasy, and sometimes over the brink, if Dan is out of practice at staying in control. He highly suspects this might be one of those times.

His hips dance and shift, pushing into the feel of Phil against him, all warm wet mouth, and insistent, flicking tongue. “Fuck, Phil,” Dan moans, breathless. “Y-you’ll have to stop if you don’t want me to-”

Phil’s hand draws back and then lands with a slap on Dan’s right cheek, loud enough that it echoes around the room. He draws back to look at Dan between his thighs, lips slick, cheeks flushed. “Ne jouir pas,” he repeats. “And no talking, either.”

Then he dives back in, leaving Dan struggling and gasping, eyes fixed to the ceiling, trying desperately to think of the most non-arousing objects he can conjure up. A teapot. A wheelbarrow. Phil’s socks on the table. Phil’s tongue against his ass-

“Unngh, God,” Dan groans, and then, miraculously, and awfully, Phil moves away. There’s a smirk twisting his lips, and he reaches for the champagne bottle, taking a cheeky swig. Dan lifts an eyebrow, but dares say nothing.

“Très bon,” Phil says approvingly, then offers him the bottle. Dan shakes his head carefully, sensing a trap, and Phil laughs. “Hey, I brought it for us to share, no tricks.” Still, Dan refuses, too aroused to contemplate trying something as mundane as drinking, and Phil shrugs, setting it down. He’s in only his pants now, Dan notes, which are doing a poor job of concealing how hard he is beneath them. He climbs back on top of Dan, takes both of his wrists in either hand, and pins them above his head, smiling. “If I told you to keep your hands here, would you?”

At once, Dan nods, eagerly.

“Alright,” Phil says, leaning down to give him a slow, explorative kiss. When it’s over, he releases Dan’s wrists, and tilts his hips forwards, pressing their groins together. Even through the fabric of Phil’s underwear, Dan’s eyes roll back at how good it feels, to have some friction against his tortured erection at last. “I’m going to let you fuck me,” Phil says, as if he’s telling Dan he’s bought Buffy more dog food. “And you’re not to move your hands.”

Dan’s eyes widen. There’s absolutely no doubt in his mind that he is not strong enough to achieve this feat, but to say so might mean it won’t happen, so he stays silent. His heart races, watching as Phil finds his suit jacket a few feet away, and rummages in the pocket for a hidden bottle of lubricant. Dan wonders if he’s got any other exciting objects in there, but doesn’t dare ask.

So Dan is forced to watch, silent and unmoving, as Phil tilts up onto his knees above Dan, shucks off his underwear, and reaches between his legs to insert two lube-slicked fingers inside himself. It’s utter torture, and Dan’s eyes sting from how badly he wishes he could reach up and touch, bite, kiss, claim him. But he does none of this, just watching, mind blurred from lust, as the Adonis above him prepares himself for Dan.

“D’accord,” Phil says after what seems like centuries. “Je suis prêt. Ne bougez pas.”

Don’t move. As if that’s even a possibility, Dan thinks as Phil adjusts their positions, and then carefully sinks down onto Dan’s cock. It’s blinding, and consuming, like a meteor dazzling across his vision, obscuring everything else. Burrowing into Phil’s tight, warm body is akin to no other sensation. Dan feels sounds slipping from his mouth, feels tremors undulating through him, and still Phil engulfs him in a slow, steady swallow, until Dan has bottomed out entirely, and Phil is speared on his cock.

“Oh, for the love of fuck, please move,” Dan begs. Maybe it’s because Dan’s been so stressed, or because despite talking aloud, and making demands no less, he hasn’t actually moved his hands from where Phil pinned them. Whatever the reason, Phil does start to move his hips, in small increments at first, shifting up and down, and then gradually increasing the speed. “Oh, fuck. Oh, God.”

It’s when Phil shifts his angle, and then tips his head back to gasp, that Dan can’t help himself. His hands fly out to grab at Phil’s thighs, to feel his hips shift as he moves them. Seconds later, he remembers that this is not allowed. Despite his own flush, and the glassiness of his eyes, Phil is coherent enough to recognise that Dan has broken the rules, and grabs him by the hands, pinning them up above his head again. This time, he holds them there as his hips work, pulling Dan to the precipice of a cliff with each thrust downwards, grinding himself onto Dan’s cock. It’s Phil’s moans that throw him over the edge. It’s the flutter of his eyes, the slackening of his mouth as the tip of Dan’s erection grazes his prostate. He is a corrupted angel, fallen into iniquity, and Dan cannot bear the sight of it. He cries out as he comes, hips pushing himself as far into Phil as he can manage.

As his body slackens, the tremors slowing and stilling, Dan relaxes into the blanket beneath them, shuddering as the aftershocks ebb through him. He looks down; Phil hasn’t come - looks as if he intended to resist all along - and extricates himself from Dan carefully.

“You broke the rules,” Phil says, making Dan’s spent cock twitch again. “You moved your hands.”

Dan’s mouth is dry, but he manages, “I’m sorry.”

“Tu veux me faire jouir?” Phil asks, and Dan’s heart skips a beat, as it always does when Phil talks to him this way. Filthy and unabashed, not even a light flush against his pale skin. Dan nods, emphatically, and Phil’s smile grows wide. “Trente secondes.”

At once, Dan jumps to attention, leaping for Phil’s lap with such enthusiasm that Phil can’t help but laugh. It’s a kind punishment, really, as Phil is well aware by now how much Dan absolutely loves sucking him off. Before Phil, he’d never have dreamed he’d find it so pleasurable, but now he can’t get enough of it. Phil jokes, from time to time, that he’s more at home at floor level than Buffy is.

In the many, many opportunities Phil readily gives him to indulge himself in his favourite activity, Dan has gotten… pretty fucking good at it, if he does say so himself. He knows Phil’s tells, can switch techniques expertly just by listening to the shift in Phil’s breathing. But thirty seconds to make him come is a tall order, particularly as Dan prefers to draw it out.

Nevertheless, he does his best, head bobbing, keeping a tight seal around the girth of him, using one hand to meet his lips as he sinks down. Before he knows it though, Phil is tapping him on the back of the head.

“T-time’s up,” he says, sounding a little breathless himself. In the second that follows, Dan makes a snap decision. He continues sucking, tongue laving at him as he goes. He doesn’t bother wiping the spit that drips from his lips, and doesn’t respond when Phil taps him again, and says, “Dan. That’s thirty seconds- oh, oh merde.”

Dan can feel the give in him, can sense when he decides to just abandon that incredible willpower he has and let Dan pull him off the cliff as well. Phil plummets down into the ocean of bliss beneath, flooding Dan’s mouth with his release, and groaning loudly, his hands tangling in Dan’s hair. He swears several times in French, and then releases Dan, letting him slide off.

Dan sends him a sheepish, but pleased, look as he wipes his chin. “Sorry,” Dan says, and doesn’t mean it for a moment. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Bitte salope,” Phil says, but fondly, teasingly, and reaches his arms out wide, so Dan tackles him to the floor. “I’ll have to punish you again,” Phil says, trailing his fingers through Dan’s curls. “But I guess it can wait until after your big fancy opening.”

“Very gracious of you,” Dan says, laughing, then sighs happily, pressing lips to Phil’s chest. “I needed that. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Phil replies with a giggle. “It’s very taxing for me, obviously. But for you, anything.”

Dan swats him gently. “If you weren’t so hot and great in bed, you’d probably be a right pain.”

“Je t’aime aussi, chaton.”

In the middle of the party, just as Dan is about to grab one of the wait staff he hired and ask him why he’s been having to top up his own wine glass all night, a familiar, loud and obnoxious voice booms out from nearby.

“Mr Howell!”

Even the sound of that name is enough to make Dan shudder. In this environment, he’s simply Dan. He only TA’s at school a few days a week now thanks to PJ’s unwavering support and understanding, so most of the time Dan can forget he’s got an awkward, stern twin personality, charged with looking after a bunch of teenagers. He looks around, trying to place the voice in his mind, and failing.

Then, in the centre of the room, a young man stands between a few curious patrons, their heads turned to find out who is shouting in the midst of all the quiet, appreciative murmuring. Even staring him full in the face, it takes Dan a while to figure out who this person is, familiar though he seems. Then, his brain helpfully removes the heavy beard from the man’s chin, shrinks him down a few feet, and strips away the pyjama-like clothing, dressing him in a school blazer instead.

“Jonah,” Dan breathes, astounded. Before he can think anything more, Jonah Frank is storming over to him, a grin peering out from within the thick, unruly beard. Two impossibly strong arms wrap around him, thumping him on the back. “Oh my God,” Dan says, “what on earth are you doing here?”

“Came to support you, teach!” He releases Dan, jostling him by the arm.

“I hardly recognised you,” Dan admits, still baffled that the brawny but short kid he once chaperoned to Paris and back has somehow morphed into this stoner-dude, with long hair and a full beard. “You look, uh... nice tunic.”

Jonah laughs heartily, plucking a canapé of some kind off a nearby tray and seeming to swallow it whole. “Thanks,” he says, still grinning. “I’m at uni now, innit. Decided to reinvent myself.”

Dan chuckles, but then re-examines what Jonah just said. “Wait, you’re at uni?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Sir!”

“Dan,” Dan says, blushing. “Call me Dan, we’re not in school now.”

“Oh yeah, guess you’re right! Weird.” Jonah is looking around, nodding as if impressed, as he takes in each artwork. “This is pretty decent if you ask me, Sir. I mean, Dan.”

Dan smiles at him. “Thanks, Jonah. It was really sweet of you to come.”

“Aw, don’t be a nonce,” Jonah responds, batting Dan in the shoulder. “You’re the reason I got into uni at all! Well, you and Mr Lester, obviously.”

It’s an absurd thing to say, and Dan has no idea where to begin responding to it, so he catches a waiter’s eye and waggles his glass, indicating he needs more alcohol, stat. “What are you studying?”

Jonah grins, then clears his throat. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, accenting himself as he says, “L’histoire Francaise!”

Dan’s eyes bulge, and he almost drops his glass when a waiter, appearing at his shoulder, begins to fill it. “Is that… are you actually?”

“I swear,” Jonah says, readily accepting a second glass of wine from the waiter. Instinctively, Dan reaches to pluck it from him again, but Jonah pulls it out of reach. “Oi, I’m eighteen! I just told you I’m at uni, remember? Keep up, Sir.”

“Oh right,” Dan says, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Jonah says. “So, where’s Mr Lester these days, then? I heard he’s not teachin’ at school anymore. Did he come to his senses in the end? Or did you scare ‘im off?”

The lack of tact in that question is so blunt that Dan sincerely hopes Jonah knows this is not the case and is just teasing him. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he does, a voice at his side butts in.

“If Mr Howell and I can survive your meddling Jonah, I think we’ll make it.”

“Ah, there he is!” Jonah cries out, arms thrown around Phil before Dan can blink. “Missed you, Sir. Uni’s got some well shit professors. When you gonna come and teach in the big leagues, eh?”

“Give it a year or two,” Dan says, aiming a loaded look at Jonah. Phil nudges him in the side, but doesn’t contradict the statement.

“Oo-er,” Jonah says, stepping back and draining his wine. “And here I was worryin’ that without me you two’d be lost!”

“Oh we are,” Phil says, smiling. “In an emotional sense.”

Dan nods in agreement, and feels Phil’s arm wind around his waist. “Classroom Nine echoes with Jonah Frank’s timeless words of wisdom… ‘when’s lunch, Sir?’, ‘how come they didn’t just wash a bit in the Middle Ages, Sir?’...”

“‘Stop flirtin’ with your TA, Sir…’” Phil adds, then winks at Dan.

Jonah laughs good-naturedly, and they chat a bit more about his Uni, what he’s studying, how it’s all going. He seems to be enjoying his first year, and not just the partying side of it, either. Dan still doesn’t believe that Jonah is there because of him - for some reason, in his last two years at secondary school, Jonah knuckled down and actually left with a decent set of GCSE’s and an acceptance to a nearby college - but he’s immensely glad that he was there to see it all happen, and in some small way, to help.

“At least now you can say it wasn’t all a huge waste of time,” Phil says once Jonah has excused himself to go and wander round the few other rooms.

Dan looks puzzled. “What wasn’t?”

“Doing the TA thing,” Phil says, nodding in the direction Jonah disappeared. “You successfully transformed the school’s most troubled student into a typical, bong-smoking uni fresher.”

Dan snorts, rolling his eyes. “Wow, I’m truly a marvel at my unwanted profession.”

“It’s not your profession anymore,” Phil says; he’s got a stupidly lit-up expression on his face, like he’s bursting with something Dan suspects might be akin to pride. “This is what you do. It’s what you’ve always been meant to do.”

“Well, don’t jump the gun just yet,” Dan says, mind back on how many tickets are left at the door, and if he’s going to be able to pay the caterers and still make a profit. “It’s only the first night.”

“Dan, look around,” Phil says gently, and Dan surveys the room he’s stood in, which is crammed with people, all admiring the art, talking and laughing, the wine in their hands flushing their cheeks. “This is a huge success. It’s a fantastic start to a promising career. You’ve done it.”

Dan opens his mouth to argue, but the sight of Teddy and Tyler in the corner, bickering over the meaning of the abstract sculpture Dan had fought some collector for, he closes it again. They’re arguing over what they deem is art. They’re arguing because they see different things within it, and interpret it in separate, personal ways, in just the way art is supposed to prompt people to do. And Dan’s responsible for that argument, he’s responsible for their individual reactions that caused it. He placed that art in front of everyone here, for those reactions to spill out of people’s mouths, even in the form of a snappy retort.

“You know,” Dan says in a low murmur. “I think you might be right.”

Phil leans in and kisses him, excitable and without finesse. “Je t’aime, mon petit propriétaire de la galerie.”

Dan laughs, softly, against him, drawing back just enough to dive into deep, brilliant pools of pure blue. “Moi aussi, mon amour.”

Fin.

#l'histoire française #phan #phanfic #thank you all so much!!#five years later

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mvssmallow · 6 years

Photo

Cloudy With A Chance

Chapter 29 Part II: …of swimming pools

Masterlist

Everyone tells them that she has his dimples and eyes but every time he looks at her face, all he can see is Jiwon’s toothy smile and cheeky smirk. They paint her room pale blue but her shoes are always red, like the shade of shiny ripe apples.

****

He tells himself, time after time, not to take anything for granted. And he doesn’t. Not Jiwon’s undivided attention, or how he always asks for advice (as if there weren’t more qualified people in his life to give them), or texts and phone calls about nothing. On top of that list is waking up next to that familiar warm body with all it’s reassuring weight, living and breathing beside him.

He knows that soon enough, in the not too distant future, all these things will fade and become few and far between. He knows it’s coming, like stormclouds on the horizon. But you can’t get on top of the mountain without shedding a few things. Sacrifices and compromises will have to be made and if he has to be the one doing most of that, so be it.

I guess that’s what you get for being in love with someone so amazing.

It’s so easy to love Jiwon in his mind and in his heart but it’s still difficult to say it out loud, he doesn’t pretend that it’s getting easier as the months go by, because it doesn’t. If anything, it’s even worse because the stakes keep getting higher and higher.

Love is for crazy people. Crazy brave people. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s hard but it is. Acknowledging all their feelings makes everything real. To accept that he’s in love is to accept that he’s now got a weakness and responsibility. To be attached to someone is to leave yourself vulnerable to the possibility that they might one day leave. But it’s all or nothing, he can’t have all the good parts without accepting the bad. Love takes all kinds of courage. There’s no bravery in being alone, there’s just survival, which isn’t the same thing. Before Jiwon, he’s pretty sure he wasn’t living at all, just merely surviving.

Maybe Jiwon’s trip to Japan wasn’t such a bad thing. He can get used to being alone again and wean himself off needing Jiwon so much. Not that he wants to admit that either but one day, he won’t get to decide anymore. He won’t be in control of their lives and wanting Jiwon won’t be as easy as just reaching out across some crumpled sheets and wordlessly demanding it. At some point, he won’t be the most important thing in Jiwon’s life and he’ll have to wait for the sun to shine his way, like everyone else.

Right on cue, as if Jiwon heard him waking up, a text message buzzes on his phone.

[morning baby, its freezing here! its gonna be sunny in sk tho]

[thnx for packing the coat, wearin it now]

Yeah, he’s going to miss this so much one day, especially being called baby. Nobody has ever called him that before. He hates it; how much he loves hearing it. Yes, call me baby. I am your baby.

[hey, you’re welcome. How are you feeling? How’s the hangover?]

[im ok. headache tho]

[did you take the tablets I packed?]

[yeah i did, thanks]

[wish i was there with you]

[you are]

[what?]

[took you with me]

There’s a photo that loads on his screen. It’s all the layers of clothes on Jiwon’s chest: a pink t-shirt underneath a familiar gray hoody underneath that caramel coloured coat that they both share.

He knows what Jiwon’s doing, the implication and explanation coming in a photo because he can’t articulate it in a text message. It fills him with so much fondness that his chest constricts violently and he can feels the start of a tear in the corner of his eye. How are you supposed to respond to something like that?

[great, now what am I supposed to wear?]

[lol idk go naked]

[south korea isn’t ready for that]

[haha! you can practice when i come back, ok?]

[you wish]

[i do actually]

[shut up Jiwon]

[lol, i gotta go. Jin’s glaring at me]

[Good Luck with your meeting]

[Thanks baby. Love you. xj]

[You too. xxh]

[have a good day]

[go to your meeting, you loser]

[say something nice at least]

[ok, how’s this: I’ll be thinking of you and I hope something good happens to you today.]

[yeah, not bad, whatever. talk to you later]

[JIWON!]

[lol jk jk. I miss you. Have a good day baby, do something crazy]

He can’t stop smiling after that. What would Murakami write about him right now? Laying naked in bed with the sun streaming through his curtains, smiling like an idiot at his ceiling. Is this what contentment feels like?

He reads Jiwon’s last message again and scrolls through all the photos that Jiwon has sent him from Japan. He scrolls so far back that he lands on a photo of his little sister, holding her ballet trophy proudly. He hasn’t seen her in a long time, too long really, and no matter what he does, there’s no ignoring the guilt.

His self esteem is managable at best and diabolical at it’s worst. He doesn’t want to be one of those guys who constantly waxes lyrical about love but in all honesty, it really does heal a lot of things, some that he didn’t even know were broken in the first place. Jiwon’s love is no ordinary love though, it must be the extra-strength-triple-fortified-eternally-lasting kind because it gives him courage at times when he has none.

His sister is still smiling at him through his phone screen and before he really knows what he’s doing, his fingers have already hit the dial button.

“Hanbin?”

“Hi mum.”

Yeah, love might give you courage but it takes a crazy kind of courage to get involved with it in the first place.

****

He fingers the soft gray fabric of Hanbin’s hoody and tries not to feel completely underdressed in the room full of slick designer rappers. Clothes don’t mean shit. He knows that but there’s no escaping Jin’s sigh when he climbs into the car and the fact that he looks like the odd one out.

Doc McKinney was surrounded by a crowd 3 people deep. The meeting is over in an anti-climatic ten minutes. Everyone wanted to meet the famous american producer and on the hierarchy of importance, he was right at the bottom. He might be known in Seoul’s underground rap scene but here, he was just another fish in an even bigger ocean. He’s not entirely sure why Beatbox wanted him to go because Doc Mckinney doesn’t even know who he is but at least they could speak English and ended up talking about Bob Marley. That was something.

He’s standing at one of the big windows afterwards, trying to take a photo of the Tokyo skyline to send home, thinking of how much he wants to take Hanbin here one day.

“Korean?”

He turns to his left to see a tall thin man with long black hair, a straggly beard and thick glasses. He doesn’t remember meeting him but there’s something in that voice that he recognises. The stranger doesn’t even look at him, preferring just to stare out the window.

“Yes?” He replies, both curious and cautious.

“Get dressed in the dark this morning, kid?”

He looks down at his outfit and yeah, okay, he really did get dressed in the dark this morning. It doesn’t stop him from feeling defensive about Hanbin’s grey hoodie and their caramel coloured coat. Who does this guy think he is?

“Excuse me? I don’t-”

There’s a quite snort next to him. “Relax. You look fine. Stood out like a sore thumb though didn’t you? In that sea of Supreme? Couldn’t tell one guy from the other.”

“Oh, I guess?”

“What’s with all the pink? Your girlfriend dress you? ”

He smiles at his reflection in the glass window. “Yeah, something like that.”

“What company you with?”

“Beatbox.”

“Ahh, Jin. He’s been looking for his Neo all these years. I’m surprised he didn’t dress you up himself.” The guy chuckles. “Must have a lot of faith in you to bring you all the way here for a pointless trip.”

He’s just about protest when the guy turns to face him with a pensive look on his face. “They treating you alright? You gotta watch out for these big companies.”

Whatever he was about to say gets swallowed back down, his mouth opening and closing comically to the point where he gets laughed at again. He doesn’t have much of a temper but there are time where it grates on his nerves a little too much. But even then, he wasn’t raised by wolves, his mother did teach him some manners and he doesn’t want to let Hanbin down by burning any bridges.

“Yeah, things have been good so far.” He kicks himself, unsure what the protocol is when a stranger asks him about Beatbox. This was one thing that Jin hadn’t finish coaching him on. “I haven’t released anything yet though.”

There’s another laugh followed by the shake of a head. “Yeah, he’s really putting all his money and reputation on you, huh? Smart guy though. Indie company mentality with corporate company ambitions and money. Just don’t let them blindside you guys.”

He’s seen those eyes before, the watery thoughtfulness that always looks like it’s watching and reading you the entire time. And that voice…..he knows that voice. Why can’t he place it?

“Sorry, have we met?”

The guy shrugs. “Doubt it, kid. What’s your name?”

“Jiwon.”

“That your rap name?”

“No…no, it’s Bobby.”

“Of course it is.” The guy smiles but doesn’t bother to introduce himself. “How are you liking Japan?”

This entire conversation was like a car driving in and out of traffic; constantly changing lanes, veering sharp lefts and abrupt rights. He has no idea where it’s going or what the agenda is. It’s almost like talking to Hanbin.

And just like that, his focus shifts back to South Korea, where it’s sunny, and to that pokey little apartment, where there’s a sleepy neurotic writer still tangled in their sheets. His fingers come up to absentmindedly smooth over the soft fabric of his coat.

“It’s really nice. Kind of a waste to be here for business in some ways.” He laughs. “Wish the person who dressed me was here.”

“Ahhh.” The Guy says quietly, like he understands the context. Maybe he does. “Well. Work hard. Write often. Learn everything, especially when to shut up. Don’t let anybody change the part of you that makes you you. That’s always the first thing they’ll try to do. But I got a good feeling about you, kid. Put in the work and maybe next time you’re here, you can bring that girl of yours.”

He wants to correct the assumption but there’s someone calling him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, kid. I’ll see you around.”

There’s a brief pat on his back before the Guy disappears through the sea of Supreme again.

Jin eventually catches up with him. “Who were you talking to?”

“I have no idea.” He says earnestly. He really had no idea and maybe he just hallucinated some kind of rap yoda. God, he needs either caffeine or sleep.

No such luck. Jin has him sitting through another meeting with a smaller company this time and as tired as he is, he hears the words of Rap Yoda and Hanbin echoing in his ears. He doesn’t really want to be there but he’s going to act like he does. Hanbin would probably find out if he’s slacking off and kick his ass when he gets back home.

So he turns on the charm, laying it so thick that no-one will ever forget that they met him. Jin and the team seem happy, so he guesses he’s doing something right. They eat at some barbecue joint that serves ice cold Asahi. He wants to avoid more alcohol but chicken without beer is like Jiwon without Hanbin and that just goes against the laws of the Universe.

Everywhere they walk is just another place he wants to show Hanbin one day. The tiny hedgehog cafe (with real live hedgehogs!). The waffle shop that makes dog shaped desserts. The toy store with a life sized Rilakuma at the entrance. The endless bookstores with original Murakami and scrolls of beautiful traditional brush calligraphy on the walls. The parks lined with cherry blossom trees and ivy.

He takes photos of everything and sends them all to Hanbin’s phone.

****

He feels like a stranger knocking on the dark red door and he feels like it was a lifetime ago that he used to live here. They were a happy family once, so he knows it’s possible but he doesn’t know if they will ever be like that again. Some wounds are just too deep.

But there was always his sister. She has nothing to do with all their mess and deserves some kind of normalcy. And it’s really that thought that drove him here today. Maybe his relationship with his parents will never go back to normal but at least he still has his sister.

“HANBIN!!” He hears her before he sees her and for all her ballerina’s grace, she has the tendency to crash into him at 100kph and hang off his neck like she was still 5 years old. He’s glad that hasn’t changed.

“Hey Peanut.” He smiles, half breathless by the tiny monster truck that just crashed into him. “Missed me?”

Hanbyul lets go and grimaces, her words directly contradicting her actions. “No.”

“Yeah sure.” He chuckles and flicks one of her ponytails. “Did mum tell you why I’m here?”

“She just said you were visiting.” Hanbyul says, eyes inquisitive but with a shade of melancholy that shouldn’t be natural at her age. “Are you visiting? Are they still mad at you?”

He sighs inwardly, telling himself to keep it together. When he spoke to his mother this morning, the request was simple: he just wanted to take his sister out for the day. But like everything that seems to happen in their family, a simple request can turn into a drama production.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m gonna go talk to them for a bit. I’m come get you after okay?”

She’s 9 years old now but when he leaves her standing in their hallway, she still looks like the toddler that he remembers following him around everywhere.

He doesn’t have to search very far for his parents, they’re both in the kitchen table when he walks in, his mum pouring tea (like he was some kind of guest) and his dad sitting at the table with a grave look on his face (like someone died).

“Hi. Mum…..dad….” He greets them awkwardly.

“Hanbin, come in. Sit sit.” At least his mum was trying to be kind. He feels a surge of love for her then and doesn’t know why he ever doubted her support. “Are you hungry? I know you want to go out for lunch but well, you aunt brought over some cake so here, have some cake.”

He nods absentmindedly, flashing her a small smile even though he really wasn’t in the mood for cake. He can see the strain on her face but she’s trying and so should he. “Thanks mum.”

The clock ticks too loudly as they just sit and stare at the grains of wood on the dinner table. His dad clears his throat eventually and they all hold their breath.

“So, how are you?”

Stay calm, Hanbin. You can do this.

“I’m fine, dad. How have you been?”

“Oh you know, the blood pressure is no good. Dr. Park has got me on too many medications. Something about my risk of a heart attack and decreasing my salt intake. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Part of him expected this, the overly mundane conversation, and part of him is relieved that they weren’t shouting at each other from the moment he set foot in the house.

“He’s a good doctor.” He says, trying to keep the facade going. “He doesn’t really think you’re going to have a heart attack does he?”

His dad snorts derisively. “ He’s just trying to scare me. He wants me to cut out soy sauce but this is Korea, what a ridiculous request.”

“Are you taking the medication at least?”

“Oh god, not you too.” His dad sighs loudly. “First your mother and now you? For the record, yes I am taking my medications.”

There’s a long silent pause and he knows what’s on all their minds but doesn’t know how how to start talking about it.

“How’s work?”

“We’re on holidays at the moment but it’s been great.”

“You know, there’ll always be a job at my company if you want it. It’ll be a pay rise, if you ever want to move out of that shoebox you live in.”

He frowns again, fingernails digging into his palms under the table. There will never be a time where his dad isn’t disappointed in him.

Keep it together, Hanbin. Think of Hanbyul. This isn’t about you.

“I’m fine where I am. I’m getting help with the rent now anyway.”

His words, and all its implications, hang in the air between them. They all want to talk about Jiwon so they might as well just get it over with.

“Is that still…..” His dad trails off, pausing for a beat before finishing his sentence. “How is that going?”

He hears it, the strain in his dad’s voice, the way he almost had to force the words out in some kind of neutral civil tone. That must be his mother’s influence. He knows they both really want to ask, “Is it still going?”

“It’s going great.” He says, looking at the dense chocolate cake his mum pushes towards him and avoiding any other eye contact. “He’s in Japan right now.”

“Japan? What for?”

Does he want to do this now? Start telling Jiwon’s life story to a man who might never accept them? But if not now, then when?

“For work. He’s um….he got a record deal. He’s a musician. He’s over there for some business meetings.” They can all hear the shakiness in his voice but nobody mentions it, so there was at least that.

“Oh.” His dad says. “Your mother said he worked in that garage downtown. Since when was he a musician?”

He looks up in surprise, first to his mum, who gives him an encouraging smile, then slowly to his dad, who is wearing a genuinely shocked expression.

“He’s always been one. He just got signed recently.”

There’s another long heavy pause and then all pretend to eat the cake that nobody has an appetite for.

“Did you read the contract?” His dad asks suddenly, eyes now serious and focused, like he must be in all his business meetings. “Before he signed it, did you read it?”

He almost feels like smirking, if his dad wanted to talk business, then they will talk business. It’s the one topic where they have some common ground. “Of course I did.”

“What company did he sign with?”

“Beatbox. It’s a new subsidiary of Globalkore.”

“Which law firm is representing them?”

“Lee & Ko.”

His dad hums in what he knows is approval. It gives him emotional whiplash.

“Did you have to re-negotiate any terms?”

“Only a few. We got them all. It wasn’t really that hard.”

He eats more of the cake, finally able to swallow some of it down. He can see his dad’s mouth opening with hesitation before closing again with resignation. Being good at business and law is one thing but wanting to make a career out of it is an entirely different thing. They’ve had The Family Business conversation so many times over the years. It always begins with his dad disappointed by his refusal to put that business-law degree into effect. It always ends with him storming out of the house, shouting about how art isn’t a worthless pursuit.

They’re all shocked when the conversation veers off somewhere else altogether.

“Is he pulling his weight? Helping you out? You’re not doing everything are you?”

He looks across at his dad, surprised that they were back to talking about Jiwon. It’s been some time since he’s really stopped and looked at his parents and their lives. His dad works hard at a job that carries more high stakes and stress than one person should be mentally permitted to. He’s not perfect, he’s hurt everyone in the family with his blunt words and careless actions but right now, there’s just a weary father with too many deeps lines on his face, worried about blood pressure tablets and his son’s future.

Something melts inside him. It’s not forgiveness, not even close, but it’s a small step in the right direction.

“Yeah dad, he’s helping out.”

There’s a crash outside the kitchen that makes them all jump. Hanbyul’s ponytails swing into view, along with the pot plant she tripped over. Their mum is up in a flash, sighing and gently scolding as she dusts the soil off Hanbyul’s jeans and leads her off into the bathroom to wash her hands.

“That’s your cue to go.” His dad says, getting up to help with the cleaning. “Have her back before dinner.”

He’s nodding and is just about to bend down to help when his dad waves him away. “No, I’ll take care of this. Go entertain her, she’s been bored of us for weeks now.”

“Okay. Um, thanks dad.” He says, feeling every bit like a child again.

“We haven’t told her anything about your….situation. If you insist on going through with all that, just think about what you say and who might end up hearing about it, not just for your sake but for everyone else’s too.”

Part of him wants to automatically snap back. Of course he knows all this. Of course he’ll be cautious. But he keeps his mouth shut and just nods again. It’s longest conversation they’ve probably had in 6 months that didn’t end in a some kind of argument or shouting match. It’s unsettling and foreign and he’s almost forgotten how to deal with it but sometimes you have to take a few hits in order to win the war.

“Come on Hanbin! I want to go to the pet store!” Hanbyul is tugging at his sleeve impatiently and he only has a brief moment with this mum on the way out.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“For what?” She smiles mysteriously.

He pulls out of the driveway feeling off-balanced in a good way (if there was such a thing). There are more questions than answers and he still doesn’t know where his dad stands on the topic of Jiwon but at least they were all talking and his sister seems to be doing okay. So for now, that’s enough.

****

“What were you talking about with mum and dad?” Hanbyul asks over lunch. “Why did you look so serious?”

“They’re just worried about my life. That’s what parents do.” He says with a smile. She is even more inquisitive than he ever was at this age. “They’ll worry about you too, when you decide to grow up.”

She scowls at him with the fury only a 9 year old girl can generate. “I’m not a baby!”

He reaches over to pull her hair away from her face so it doesn’t get stuck in her food. “Nah, you’re always gonna be a baby peanut. Better get used to it.”

Hanbyul glowers a few more times before suddenly deciding that it just wasn’t worth the energy to get upset. Kids these days.

“So they’re not mad anymore?”

“I think mum’s okay. Dad’s just tired, you know. I don’t think they’re as mad as they were before, there’s just some adult things we need to figure out right now.” He kicks himself immediately as soon as he gets the words out because his sister pounces on them without missing a beat.

“Like what? What things?”

He sighs. He is never going to come out of this conversation alive. His sister had concentrated Kim genes- all the tenacious charm of their mum mixed with all the cunning intelligence of their dad. It’s a potent combination in a tiny 9 yo human.

“Like my job and my apartment. Stuff like that. It’s boring. You don’t want to hear about it.”

She wipes her mouth daintily and stares lasers at him. “Do you have a girlfriend that’s a boy?”

He’s so taken aback that he can only laugh. “What?! Where did you hear that?”

“My friend Mina said that her brother has a girlfriend that’s a boy because some people have girlfriends who are girls and some people have girlfriends who are boys. So do you have a girlfriend that’s a boy?”

Kids these days.

“That is the weirdest question.” He says, shaking his head. “You know that having a girlfriend whose a boy is just like having a boyfriend right? It’s the same thing. Some people like boys and some people like girls and some people like both.”

He kicks himself again. His parents will kill him for introducing their innocent daughter to the idea of bisexuality. He might as well start digging his own grave now.

“I know that Hanbin!” Hanbyul says, rolling her eyes condescendingly. She’s just a baby, when did she learn to roll her eyes? And where the hell did she learn about bisexual dating?!

“How do you know? Who told you that?”

“Mina’s brother picks her up from ballet and sometimes there’s a boy and sometimes there’s a girl with him. And Miss Lee said that some of the famous ballet dancers are like that and it doesn’t make them bad or weird. Oh! Do you know Tiler, Hanbin? She’s my favourite dancer! Mum let me watch her videos on Youtube, she’s the best.”

He just shakes his head. This whole time, he was agonising over how to explain to his sister that he was gay and in 10 minutes, she’s already explained the concept back to him.

“No, I haven’t heard of her. You need to show me one day.” He reaches across to tuck more wayward strands of hair away from her face. “Does it bother you that some of your favourite dancers like boys or girls?”

Hanbyul shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s weird sometimes.”

He knew it wasn’t going to be all smooth sailing. Maybe his sister understands that more than one type of couple exists but beyond that is harder to come to terms with.

“Why’s it weird?”

“Because it’s weird!” She says, exasperated by her 9 yo brain’s inability to articulate its own thoughts.

“What if it was me? Would you think it’s weird?”

She looks at him with wide eyes for a moment but slowly shakes her head. “I don’t think you’re weird.”

“Well, good. You shouldn’t hate people or tease them because of who they like, okay? You wouldn’t want someone hating you for liking ballet and Tiler right?”

She’s nodding her head but too fixated on her food and chopsticks so he doesn’t really know how much sinks in but this is enough for one day. There’s no point ruining their day together with social politics, there’ll be plenty of time for that when she’s older.

****

Jin finally releases him at 5:30pm.

He goes straight to the hotel room and falls face first onto the bed. There’s the temptation to just crawl under the sheet and sleep but he knows it’ll mean waking up in the middle of the night because he’s missed dinner.

Hanbin hasn’t replied to any of his photo messages, which makes him irrationally worried even though he knows there’s probably a good reason for it.

To distract himself, he decides to check out the rooftop pool in the hotel. It’s dinner time for most guest and he’s relieved to find the 25 metre pool empty. It’s an indoor pool but encased by glass windows so you can see everything outside, including the evening sky.

After attempts at some hard and fast laps, he’s too exhausted to do much more than just float on his back and stare out the glass ceiling. The sky was violet, it reminds him of the colour of the sky on his birthday. It wasn’t the first birthday he’s had with a boyfriend but it was the first birthday where he was given a gift that meant something.

He still can’t get over the mixtapes. Nobody has ever made him anything like that before. Teenage confession letters were one thing but four mixtapes with handwritten tracklists were another thing altogether. 1 hour per tape equals four hours of music and probably days or weeks of thoughts and consideration on Hanbin’s part. That’s his favourite present. It wasn’t so much about the tapes themselves or the songs on them, it was really the knowledge that Hanbin sat down and put so much effort into something just for his birthday. It hits him in the gut when he thinks about it and lyrics start forming in his head as he floats in the warm water.

Locked with your thoughts I’m swimming With u right here I’m swimming With no-one else I’m swimming Wanna be with u

He eats dinner with the windows wide open so he can stare at the glittering night lights of Tokyo and listen to the ‘Before Sunset’ tape at the same time. The sky was dark indigo now and even though Hanbin was still not replying, he sends a photo of the night skyline anyway.

He recognises the song through his headphones, it’s something he remembers hearing somewhere before. Maybe when he was younger, when his family was still in America and they had long hot summers down the West Coast with the radio playing in the car. He lets the nostalgia wash over him, wondering how the hell Hanbin managed to find a song that incapsulated his childhood without even being there.

He’s playing with the little cardboard insert in the cassette case when he sees something written on the inside of the spine.

“I’m not good with words, so I’m using this to tell you instead.”

He wants to laugh because he’s read Hanbin’s articles and knows a talent when he sees one but on the other hand, Hanbin has always had trouble saying what he means and meaning what he says. Some people are better writing words and some are better verbalising them. Hanbin is the former and he himself is definitely the latter.

And right on cue, as if Hanbin heard his thoughts, there’s a message that buzzes on his phone.

[Hey sorry, had a big day. How did it go over there?!]

[Gonna look at all the photos in bed later]

[its was ok, we got along but it was only a quick 10 min thing. Hallucinated a Rap Yoda tho]

[what?]

[was takng a photo to show u and this dude just starts talkn to me like yoda in the sw movies]

[who was he?]

[IDK! super weird]

[That is weird. How’s the headache, feeling better?]

[yeah its fine. how was ur day? do anythng crazy?]

[Actually….yes]

[omg what]

[Talked to my dad]

He stares at the words for a full 5 seconds before attempting to think of a reply. With his chest thumping, he dials Hanbin’s number instead.

“Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me! What happened?!” He nearly shouts down the line.

“Tell me about your day first?”

“Fuck no. Yours is more important!”

“Jiwon….” Hanbin was using his Responsible Adult Voice.

“Hanbin….” He echoes in his own serious voice.

There’s a sigh from the other end. “Okay, fine. Well, I was in a good mood this morning so I rang mum to ask her if I could take Hanbyul out for lunch and she said I had to come over and talk to dad about it because they probably think I’m going to introduce her to being gay or something. Anyway, I went over and we talked and nobody punched anyone in the face. So it was a pretty good day.”

There’s a pause then but Hanbin stays silent.

“And then what?” He asks impatiently. “Did he say anything about us? Or me?”

“He offered me a job again but mostly he wanted to know about your contract with Beatbox. He was worried about us not reading fine print and signing a dodgy deal. It’s a business school thing.” Hanbin says, almost distractedly.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You told him about my contract?”

There’s a quiet intake of air before Hanbin speaks again. “Shit. Did you not want me to? I’m sorry Jiwon! I just thought that-”

“No, it’s fine! I don’t care that you told him. It’s just, why would he be interested in that? Last time you all talked, there was shouting and they stormed out.”

“Yeah I know.” Hanbin says wearily. “I think mum got to him. Wore him down as usual. I didn’t ask her to do that but I think she did it anyway.”

“So, are they just okay with us now?”

His heart jumps with hope but he’s been in these situations before, with equally homophobic parents, and he knows that false hope is the cruelest of them all.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t know what my dad thinks. They’re both trying and that’s all I can honestly say right now.” Hanbin finishes earnestly. “Hanbyul seems okay though, thank God. At least they haven’t messed her up too badly yet.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good. I want to meet her one day.”

“I know. I want you to meet her too but….”

“…just not right now. It’s fine Hanbin. Don’t stress about it, it’ll happen when it happens.”

Hanbin hums a vague response and there’s another pause.

“So tell me about your day?”

He sits in the chair facing the big window and watches all the lights flicker over the city in the distance. Hanbin doesn’t even interrupt him, he’s known for awhile that Hanbin finds his voice soothing and he wonders if he was ever read to as a child.

He’s half way through describing the hedgehog cafe when his body gives up being in an upright position.

“Sorry babe, I need to get into bed, gonna crash soon.”

“It’s okay, me too. My chest is killing me. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“I’m coming back tomorrow.” He says with a tired laugh. “Why’s your chest killing you?”

“It’s nothing.” Hanbin says quickly. “I’ll let you go. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow? Your flight lands at 4pm right?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you.”

“Okay. You want me to hang up first?”

“Yeah.” He laughs quietly. “Night baby, love you.”

“I…..me too.” Hanbin says, only slightly tripping over the words. “See you tomorrow.”

His eyes are already half closed by the time he gets in bed but he doesn’t sleep straight away, instead he scribbles all the bits of lyrics that seem to flood his head all the sudden. He dreams of swimming pools, dimple smiles, violet skies and mixtapes. He can’t think of a title, that’ll just have to wait till morning.

****

He hangs up first because Jiwon still can’t do that for some reason. His chest is aching but there’s something about the pain mixed with everything good that happened today that makes him itch to write it all down. His laptop glows into life but the words don’t look right on the sterile whiteness of the computer screen. Instead, he opens up the playlist he made for Jiwon and reaches for the notebook he jammed under the mattress all those months ago.

It’s cold and smooth underneath his finger tips, the paper old and slightly yellowing with age. His favourite black pen still glides over it just like it used to. This feels better. It feels familiar.

So he writes.

Cloudy With A Chance: Chapter 0....

****

Soundtrack: Tiny Dancer -Elton John | Your Song -Lady Gaga (cover)

#if you got the swimming pool reference....i am VERY proud of you haha #Cloudy With A Chance #please play the music #Tiny Dancer is for two people #i always intended it to be for Jiwon but then it fit for her too haha #that Tiny Dancer video is amazing btw-it's very LA MOOD #a bit of a vague gifset but otherwise it'd be too spoilery #Double B #ikon #hanbin #jiwon #bobby #cwac

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star-maiden-fufu · 7 years

Note

1-37 for the LL ask~ :p

Welp this is goin under cut for bein fuckin massive then lol

cept the first 3, ill keep them above the read more

1. Maki for u’s, You and Mari for Aqours (Yoshiko used to be one of my Aqours best girls, but she’s slipped a lil, mostly due to lack of appearances in SIF =_=)

2. I really like Yuu Aizawa, the sleepy stargazer. Her cards are really cute too ;3;

3. Nobody in PDP really sticks out for me right now, while I do still like them. If i had to choose tho, either Ai or Rina, just for both of them bein interesting

4. Only been playing since about October I think. More around the latter half of October just cos I vaguely recall not finishing the daily login calendar before it started fresh for November. But hey, I’ve stuck in longer w/ this than i have most things lol, maybe ill be able to make it to a year played!

5. Only on EN, though I have 2 accounts; my main, which was actually given to me by a friend who didn’t use it anymore, so I technically started from something that already had some progress to it, and my side account, which is more for casual playing

6. As of right now and what songs are available on EN, I’ve cleared nearly every song available. I’ll admit ive gotten a little lazy with my Easy and Normal songs since I mainly play Expert now, but with the current limited time goal to full combo 75 times, im goin back to my Easy and Normal songs and I’m clearing them to also fulfil that goal.

Masters tho, lol I don’t touch those. Maybe a couple, but I dont count (not that I can anyway since they leave rotation after a while lol)

7. Admittedly, mostly Hard songs, just cos they still feel kinda fun but cos they’re slightly easier than Expert songs (obvs) they feel a little less stressful to play. :’D Some stand outs include Zurui yo Magnetic Today, Strawberry Trapper and Kimeta yo Hand in Hand.

(Which as a lil bit of bonus trivia, are all also songs I struggle w/ on EX :’D)

And a few Dailies as well (still on Hard) like Kohaku Biyori and Otome Shiki Renai Juku

8. Currently on my main i have the Aqours 3rd year badge (I think I equipped it as a good luck thing when I was scouting for V-day Mari) and my background is the UTX cafeteria to fit v-day Mari, who’s also my partner :’D

My side account, I just have the BiBi badge and I’m using the recent Aqours boat background

9. Shit :’’)

nah but seriously, I am Smile cursed like fuck (yet mostly w/ SSRs, haven’t gotten a Smile UR yet aside from Fruits Eli who came with my account), but my Pure luck w/ u’s is terrible. My Cool luck is alright tho, given that I’ve got a few SSRs and two of the 3 Cool URs I have are scorers :’D

My side account is much more Cool cursed tho, and once again, my Pure team seems to be suffering rip

Eternally anti-Pure cursed no matter the account

10. I have one example that I can list for the next point on this list, so I’ll list the other story I have;

I was scouting for Christmas You back when she came to EN, and the first scout I did (with a 10+1 ticket) crashed my game 8′’) so I didnt get to see the box open

So i booted my game up, kinda panicking in case I lost the scout after saving that ticket (that i’d bought w/ actual money). Went to the scouting screen first; red ticket option wasn’t available. Went to my member list and ordered by newest.

And You’s Initial UR was just sitting in my inventory 8′’D

(I’m still kinda salty I didn’t get Christmas You, but I still got a UR of her so… eh? 8′D Hopefully her Cyber card comes home when I scout for it!)

11. Literally all the best scouting luck I have seems to go toward my side account, cos I have 2 URs on there, and they’re both idolised 8′D

Like I’ve told both these stories on here before but fuckit, I’ll tell em again briefly;

I once used the green ticket you get w/ a new account just to scout and get a goal done w/ plus get another ticket; out comes Devil Nico

Later I had enough blue coupons to do a blue coupon scout; its a UR envelope, and its Devil Nico again 8′D

and now recently, I did two scouts for Animal Yoshiko; got her in both scouts, and she’s idolised as well.

12. Okay, so obvs anyone would say getting a single SR or SSR pull, and I’ve had those before, but I might as well talk about a scout i did on my main, back when Job Kanan was on EN

Ive got some 10+1 tickets and Im saving them to scout for both Angel Mari and Cyber You, but i decided to use one for the Job set, cos I could get another one when the start of the month packs came out

It was a single SSR

and it was Initial Mari

whom I already have, and idolised as well 8′D not even any rate up cards

the only plus side was that it meant a skill up for her and an SS seal for me

13. Completely caught up on my main lol

Side account, I’m up to ch16

14. Aside from scouting goals, cos I know there’s a point for that specifically, I’m mainly focusing on trying to improve playing Expert songs :’D and get Full Combos

15. Pretty much any You UR just cos I love her so much ;3; But specifically, her Christmas UR

As for Maki, I don’t care if its a super old card and that it might not be as good anymore, I really want her November/Cooking UR ;3;

And Mari…I already have her Valentines UR, which I love :’D But I’d also like her Angel UR ;3;

16. You’s Valentines SSR *3* People joked when it first came out that it looks like Maki’s Cooking UR, but tbh, i both don’t care, but I’m also amused considering I love that card as well :’D

Also just every You card in general :)

I’d say every Mari card, but I’m ridiculously Mari blessed so I’m honestly expecting to get them lol

17. Maki’s Cafe Maid SR ;3; That was the first card I’d idolised myself, and she looks so gorgeous. This one card is part of the reason why the Cafe Maid set is my favourite.

Also, Mari’s Halloween SR~

And I’m gonna leave it at those two cos they stand out most, cos otherwise I’d be here forever talking about every card I love :’D Also keeping it just to SRs for the same reason lol

18. I’ve tiered in every event since the YouMaru Token Event. Cos You at the time was the tier reward :’D

a few events I got kinda lazy and only hit T3, but otherwise, I’ve tiered for every one

(Well, I got a little too lazy during New Year Nozomi’s event, so I didn’t actually get her ;3; not even her points card. Doesn’t help that it was my first score match, and I’ve hated them since)

19. =_______=

YohaRuby Token

I tried to get into T1 since I was so close, but i was also wary about spending loads of gems cos Christmas You was literally coming out as soon as the event was done and I was saving for her.

But I risked it

and didn’t make it =_=

I think it was the update to include the LP multiplier that made that event a lil more competitive

20. Either YouMaru for bein my first time tiering or YohaRuby since that’s the 1st time - and currently only - that I cleared all the points rewards :D

21. I’ve taken part in every event since I started playing SIF, so aside from the obvious answer of “Events that happened before I started” (Like the School Idol Diary events, or most of Maki’s events, she has some really pretty event cards ;3;), I’d say the event going on when I started, which was the DiaRuby Tanabata Score Match

Granted, when I started I didn’t know the game so I figured I’d take my time with it and take part in the next event, plus at the time I didn’t really know Aqours

Still feel a lil bad I didn’t try :’D

22. The recent YohaMari new years cards~ Told myself when the event came out on JP that I’d tier for it, and so I did :D

they’re both so pretty!

I also really like the DiaRiko ice skating cards, even if I didn’t properly take part in that event ;3; (I got T3 so I still got a copy of Dia)

And finally, partially just cos OTP, I’m fond of the Helper ChikaYou cards :3

And I’m gonna leave that list there for now, cos I actually like a few others, but this entire thing is already long enough 8′D

23. Probably Token events, cos they feel a little more chill?

I also quite like Challenge Festivals; the lil chibis are nice :D

24. I have no clue. I’m seen other people say SIF could do a thing like what FE Heroes does with its gauntlets, and while I do think it’d be interesting, I also see how FEH’s gauntlets turn out, and I feel like a popularity contest would just turn into a mess in SIF given how “best girl” opinions get.

Not to mention there’s a possible risk of what happens in FEH as well; that some people might not actually back their favourite and instead back whoever’s doing the best.

25. Mari for Aqours, Nico for u’s :’D

Kanan’s a close 2nd for Aqours and I thiiiink Nozomi might be 2nd for u’s??

not nearly as much of You or Maki tho ;3;

26. I don’t have an awful lot of cards from one particular set, but from what I can count, its a tie between Aqours’ swimsuit set and Valentines set; 5 each

27. Mostly Aqours cos I love them so much, plus its a little easier to scout them since they come out after events while u’s come out during events, and any gems I have are goin toward the event or bein saved

As for girls, mostly You and Mari (tho like ive said, I’m seriously Mari blessed, so I almost expect her to come home lol), and if I do scout u’s, it’d probably be for Maki

28. I have a fair few now, and they’re all from login bonuses, aside from a handful which I got from the sticker shop

I’ve gotten all the login promos for EN since Cherry Pana

And I also got Christmas Maki when she was added to the sticker shop for a limited time :D

As for non-UR promos, I have nearly all the Angelic Angel promo Rs, plus Maki’s SoreBoku R (to match a figure I have of her :D)

29. Solos :’D

Genuinely tho, my gems mostly go toward events, since I tend to stick in at them. But I can still save (I saved for Christmas You after all)

Rn, i’m trying to save. I’m telling myself it’ll either be for Angel Mari or Cyber You, but if I don’t gem scout either of them, then I’ll basically keep saving till whenever for whatever

30. Either idolise SRs (since I tend to save my pink N stickers a lot more, tho im currently trying to save my silver S stickers) or buy SR skill level teachers from the shop for my cards

31. Probably half the full combos I’ve gotten, since i’d either been struggling to FC them for ages, or I wasn’t expecting to do it lol

32. Planning to do an additional scout for Valentines Mari (I already had her at that point, but I wanted to see if I could get a 2nd copy to idolise her), but I hadn’t paid attention to when rate up would be finished on the set, so by the time I sat down to maybe get ready to scout, rate up was done. :’’’(

33. Nowhere particularly weird? Maybe in the car once, cos I thought I’d be sitting for long enough to get through a song while mum was off doing something, so when she came back i was still playing.

And then she started driving, so I was playing while the car was going :’D

missed a lot of notes I did ;3;

actually, this was during the last event, and I was playing a match

I think i came last, I cant remember lol

34. I have no idea :’D i see so many others come up with interesting ideas for SIF sets, but I have no real ideas myself. Maybe a fantasy set? Princesses and knights and wizards?

35. (ooft, gonna have to think on this one :’D and look at a whole bunch of cards)

Honoka - Circus - I actually quite like the Circus set in general; the tutu-d leotards in the unidolised, and the details in the idolised, like the hats and the frills~Eli - Rock - I skipped mentioning this one under the event cards point since that bit was gettin busy as it was, But I can cheat and mention it here~Kotori - Pajama Party - So plush~ her little braid in the idolised looks so cute~ especially peaking out of her fluffy birb hoodUmi - Seven Lucky Gods - It looks so elegant and pretty ;3;Rin - lilywhite default - So this is a promo card that came w/ lilywhite’s final single (The other members had similar cards and the other singles had similar releases), so its never coming to EN unless KLab adds it to the sticker shop :’’) But I still really like this one, just for how dainty and elegant it is. It suits Rin~Maki - Cafe Maid - I could technically use this opportunity to pick another card of Maki’s that i really love but...bruh I can’t. Cafe Maid ;3;Nozomi - Fairy - the Fairy set in general is really pretty ;3; I love the little details and flowers, and I like that Nozomi’s ear is actually kinda pointed as well~Hanayo - Cherry - Another promo, but this one just looks so shiny and sparkly, and again, just the little details in this~Nico - Dancer - Another really elegant looking one. Bonus points for having Nico’s hair down, cos I really do think she looks nice like that~

36. (Aqours might be easier, just cos less cards lol)

Chika - Initial UR - She looks so happy, and honestly the lighting in both versions looks so nice!Riko - Ice Skating - Genuinely couldn’t think of one that I really liked :’D So I’m listing the event card againKanan - Yukata - I own this card, she was my first UR :D So I do have a bit of a soft spot for it. Helps that she looks so pretty in it~Dia - Job - I’ll admit,she looks gorgeous as fuck! damn beautiful card!You - all of them Animal - okay, i legit love all of You’s cards, and I was half tempted to say her Aquarium R cos my genuine reaction to idolising her for the first time was “She’s so pretty!”. But Animal You tho... ;3; Tho if I’m honest, I genuinely do love all of her cards!!Yoshiko - Animal - She’s a shit scorer, but damn her card looks amazing, particularly the idolised. I love the pastelle colours of her dress (and the other girls in the set) and I love her dynamic pose, and her hair and how its floating in the water~Hanamaru - Angel - She looks so cute w/ her sleepy expression in the unidolised, hugging that lil star pillow. Plus Angel just as a whole is a nice set.Mari - Circus - Another case like with You where I could easily say “all of them”, but something about her Circus card. I love the post of the unidolised with her doing the rope climbing, and then pink corset of her dress in the idolised~ And that lil puppet~~Ruby - Time Traveller - I quite like this set in general; Ruby’s outfit is so cute in both versions~

37. I have no fucking clue :’D As of right now on EN, i’d like some of the features that JP has since they’re just straight up practical (song sorter, easier practising and team management), but as for anything new, I don’t know.

#celestialrancher #fufu's asks #love live #love live sunshine #long post #really long post #like i know its under a cut but christ its long!#thanks for asking

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shamelessmilkshakepanda-blog · 6 years

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